Evie's Stream of Consciousness

... how many full stops should an ellipsis have? More's the point, does it take an article like that? Not sure it's really that important in these days of failing economies or even in any time since ellipsis was invented. Shows how much I just don't know about things I should know about. Too fast again ... Evie's unhappy and possessive like a jealous owl with nothing better to do but wait for tomorrow. It seems to be snowing indoors - just a hint of snow against things of correct contrast but unusually there is some sun outside - not right at all for Christmas Eve. Christmas Evie even. That may be a pun but it's certainly not a joke. In fact it looks a bit like spring with what appear to be a few light-green spears on the small trees at the back of the car park. Thought for a second I'd started this whole paragraph without using the letter 'e' but that would be complete coincidence. One of the cars out there rolled away this morning, driver forgot to put his hand brake on and it rode up onto the grass verge after bumping up the kerb. usually it's just the lights left on but how embarrassing is that? Can you imagine if there were no hypothetical questions ... or ellipsis ... or drums. I love drums. I want them loud and deep, set at the resonant frequency of my internal organs, pounding out some future failure is a physiological system of which I am not aware. Like electroacoustics used as a weapon. All we wanted was a sound that could kill someone from a distance. So they buried it. The whole hour and more is what you want - a tracing of all my memories over the years since I could first string two ides together. What was thinking like when I was a baby, gurgling and sweet and pretty all those years ago? I cannot remember and it is so sad. So what are my first memories - I remember being in that garden full of children all sisters and their ducks - they gave me a duck egg and I had it at home for tea the next day - too strong - Ulla - Una - Sophie - all sensible, everyday names and pretty with them. Nothing to worry about between the remembered events of those days but that gives me no clue as to how I thought. It all just fell about - sometimes words - sometimes just pictures and sometimes smells and tastes. I don't remember being a child - I thought then like I think now - there is no difference between the child and the adult. Evie thinks the same at 3 as she thinks at 37 as she thinks at 95. I never change the way I think though I seem to like changing tenses. What if I was Chinese and had no tenses to change into. How do you write an experimental Chinese novel - maybe you write it in Chinese - translate it and set the tenses then change it back - invisible idiot you might get. The world ends and we all go down with it. Still an hour to go. Stick that in your provincial pipe and smoke it. Pyroclastic flowers. Dry biology down the sides of mountains. My own flow has been interrupted for the nicest of reasons. Using nice again. Who can I talk to inside my head. I will make up Mary's Stream of Consciousness - I always spell that wrong but the computer helps me - Anyway Mary is much more structured.

I certainly am! You won't catch me making up rubbish just to fill up what promises to be the last lunchtime session. I am thinking about serious things. That fractal up there was created by a proper specced-out version of the generator - I would like to link it to the Steve Reich Simulator but as I didn't actually write that or the the Fractal Machine, it will not be possible. You are three down in the stack and the only one of us who can actually create anything is Rogier all the way up there in the real world. The title was his idea as well. I'm not sure I like being the creation of a creation and I already know that I'm usually only one down in the stack. Evie seems like a usurper but as I'm already a creation I can only get jealous if Rogier tells Evie and Evie tell me. Tells? The stack is not created by "telling" - it is a psychological levelling deep within the grey-matter of whoever is the real person in this mess of thoughts. I was toying with making up someone below me - a lover or something like that but the word from above is that that is no real experience of women around so I'd better stick to science and rational things. Love is never rational even if it is just the physical manifestation of a chemical imbalance created by the psychological mess that is the mind and brain. Actually those three levels suggest the three levels in this stack. Rogier is the rational one up at the top who creates a chemical soup which is Evie who turns that into my thoughts deep down where all the bits and bytes turn into that black spider scrawl on the screen. Still with me? I like the idea of a lover but a real one on this same level rather than me writing about one. For a fleeting moment then I thought about writing another level below me with instructions to write yet another level with the same instructions and so on all the way down a bit like God Over Djinn. I had no idea what that meant when I wrote it but the news has come down to say that it is a Recursive Acronym create by BRAM - BRAM Recursive Acronym Man who is the cleverest of all of us and lives on dog food. he is my PAL ... my NTSC ... my video tech ... my guitar tech. I am the owner of that beautiful guitar that Rogier was talking about all those days ago. The guitar that I sleep with, that Evie envies now she knows about it because Rogier tells he how wonderful it is. She covets my guitar without having ever seen in because in telling me what it looks like Rogier has told her as well. She knows everything that I know and more and Rogier knows all that and more. I was supposed to be talking about proper things, like that lovely,lonely wood with the gentle rain, the wood that has been the same since the Romans were here and was described by Virginia Woolfe in the saddest and most evocative terms. I sit at the window on many days, looking out over land that I know every inch of, what is the most beautiful landscape in the world of all that I know and yet I dismiss because it is familiar and only the new is cool at this age. because of course you are talking to me at all my ages - from when I was a baby, through being a little girl and up to being independent and working hard at academia. I write poems because Rogier thinks that is what I should do but I know that poetry is weedy - music is the thing - words to full-throated, raucous guitar and iatrogenic phobias created by the unfamiliar, the loud music and the bright, flashing lights. That fractal is a bright light - a defined mess of chaos, created by a few lines of code -



.. that's it - all that light and colour from just that little set of arithmetic and not a square root in sight - that's what sped it up. What do you think Evie?

I'm not sure. You tell me that you only understand what I tell you to understand and that all my knowledge comes from someone else who "writes" my thoughts? I know nothing of the fractals of which you speak. It seems like perfectly normal paranoia to me. The funny colours and patterns that came just before I started to write are nothing that I know about. And as far as I am concerned you are a real person to whom I am talking - like that? I'm trying to write longer and more rational sentences because you told me that you like them. Or did you - I'm not sure I heard you say that but the thought exists in my head and the only person I have heard since I handed over is you. If I am being written by someone else then they are not in my head but then again they wouldn't be in my head - I would be in theirs wouldn't I? I am tempted to try and imagine all these other people out of existence. For instance I seem to be talking to you Mary but you are not responding probably because the interface between us is an occasional one, a stack I suppose. I know a stack can be defined to hold any amount of data in each element but that is not how they usually work - they define a state and the state at the moment is that I am thinking - one level down from your idea of the main, controlling intelligence. Still is it not possible that Rogier as you call him has his own controller and possibly more levels above that? The upshot I suppose is that somewhere the original intelligence is defined but doesn't this suggest an abnormal level of complication? On another note, I am trying to keep the punctuation and spelling working correctly. I seem to remember that sometimes all this breaks down and makes some of the things that I say - or get said at least - into gibberish of the highest order. I cannot pop because there is no one to pop to so today your sign of is from Evie who really does it exist - it's true.