Paradoxes, Murder, and Trickery

An Interrelated Choreography

"It's not Thursday, it's Saturday." - An Entity, Monday, May 11th 2002

For once in a while there's a text-align:left, and a C:/Programs/IBM/GX2/v01.exe for their trouble. Today is the last day of Janbruary, the 49st. I'm going to tell you a story today. The world of Paradoxes is a funny one. In many ways, a paradox is like a small Australian rabbit in an oversized bathtub of Red Curry Soup left out to roast in the Antarctic Sunshine as a mighty icebreaker churns through the glacier toward a small outcropping of ice upon which the rabbit had built a lovely oaken cottage from discarded toothpicks and ocean plastics.

The ship, of course, crashes into the cliffside, and the house is obliterated in an instant, and the rabbit, of course, is unaware of the disaster, having been asleep for several months of Hibernation. The rabbit is illegal. One day, an explorer named W. W. Archibald Hendrophylax B.S.C. found the remains of the rabbit and declared, historically significantly:

"The rabbit is here, but here we are with the here of the rabbit. Together the rabbit was always the affront to Antarctic exploration, compatriots, m'lady; Nonetheless; we Incur its unholy wrath despite and betwixt! Debugging the toothpicked wreckage will require seven months."

'Twas truly a stunning moment in the history of the Royal Royality of Imperialist Conquerology Society of America and was commemorated by a visit from the queen herself (Agnes VI) the trip taking approximately a year and one half, whereupon her arrival she was forced at gunpoint to construct a monument in Hendrophylax' honor. Gladly, and with aplomb/grace, she partook the task kindly, despite the fact she had died of Tuberculosis six months into the journey to antarctica.

And so ended that particular journey, and in so doing have we learn-ed an important fact about Paradoxes, Murder and Trirckry [sic]; namely, that on Aprirch -128nd 1101 A.D. there came a knock at the door of the Fomecorechiredileericadian Monastery in Monastery Bay, Californ Eye Eh, at $7.55 PM, and to the door from my cozy armchair by the roaring fireplace with my corncob pipe and the most recent issue of "Bargaining Monthly" I went and responded promptly.

"Hello" I said, and then opened the door. "Hello" I said, and what to my wandering eye should appear but a not anybody, and a note under a discarded Lawn Elf of the finest Arabian Granite, and I did reach downward and Didst Hurteth my Spinal Columnar Region, what with the stress of bone-fluctuation otherwise unnatural, an affront to my physical form most foul; and next I read the note. It said the following:

           Dearest Author,

It has come to my attention that you are a gullible sap (fool), and that I might enjoy my life more than is currently potential by partaking in a gag (jape) directed henceforth at you, and that despite my clear deliniation of intent, you will fall for it (the trick), and in so doing will provide me (your enemy) with a good deal of amusement and chortling (comedy laughing). Please approach your mailbox and look inside.

           Most Deliberately,

The mailbox I was currently approaching was emitting a strange sound, and I simply had to know what the sound was given my curiosity brought upon by the letter's mystery and crypticism, its nigh uninterpretable mercuriality. I opened the mailbox and was swarmed by a hive of angry wasps, incurring not less than 524 individual wasp stings, to which I am deathly allergic. Then, a nearby Wasp-Hunting Bee-Hound on his daily walk, sniffing my now 60% wasp aroma in the air, lunged at me and consequently devoured my left hand in a single bite. Then, a truck ran over me foot, and a piano suspended by a rope fell atop me head. I was killed instantly.

And so in the last moments of my life, an Enemy of mine peeked out from under a rose bush and giggled, pointing at me playfully. "Oh, you" I said, and died. That was a sad moment for us all.

No Previous

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Don't doubt that which is undoubtable; the world of Trickery is a nefarious one. The world of trickery is as nefarious as they come. It is very nefarious. Nonetheless, in the coming weeks you'll grow to understand in due course how the motion-sensors in the ocular nerve of the kookaburra are Suboptimal for the given task. If you knew how to repair a television set or a video cassette recorder; perhaps you'd be akin to a kookaburrrrraaah, yes?

An affixed stratum coagulates these formations intelligently; on the fifth day of the year, that is, Janubrubrary 3rth, a trans-dimensional teleportation conbobulation will collapse. The ensuing commotion allows for a panopticon of rutabagas to dissolve into your pineal gland. The rutabagas must be consumed all at once, one after the other, breathing is not allowed during the procedure. Perhaps you're wondering how I came back to life after my untimely demise as previously described? Nobody has been able to explain those occasions where sunspot activity allows for Tesselated coccyxes, but I'll try to explain it as best I can anyway for your amusement and information.

You can't really explain it. Why they come back, that is, after all that. How do they know? Surely they must have teleportation technology. I was killed, yes, but in the afterlife, whisked away there in an instant, I came upon a narrow but very very long room with three floating yellow cubes. It looked like this:

The cubes were horrifying. I looked closely at them for what felt like an eternity. And finally, breaking the silence, I beeseeched them; "O sacred cubes three of yellow in the infinite Voidroom, why have you brought me here? Why am I alone? Where must I go? Where am I to be for the intervening eternal?" I wept and wept groveling on the floor before them, and resolute they hovered, silently, refusing to reply. For ages I sat there blubbering prostrate. Until,

Why have you come here.

said the leftmost cube. What is the meaning of this. said the middle cube. We do not know you. said the rightmost cube. I was flabbergasted, through my coughs and wheezing gasps I besought them once again. "O great cubes of the divine beyond, I am your bidder, your servant; Punish me O great ones; I am nothing Before you!"

The cubes were offended.
What is the meaning of this.
   What is the meaning of this.
      What is the meaning of this.

The cubes said again one after the other, repeatedly for five minutes straight.

What is the meaning of this.
   What is the meaning of this.
      What is the meaning of this.
What is the meaning of this.
   What is the meaning of this.
      What is the meaning of this.

The Confrontation With The Three Yellow Cubes of The Afterworld

Finally, I could take it no more. I had to do something. "I do not KNOW the meaning of this! I am a mortal! Cast out from the realm of my finite kin, I have been cast into this sector unwittingly! You mean to tell me, O cubes, that your Divine Countenance, too, is without Distinct Ethereal Knowledge of our predicament?" - For an extended period the cubes shut up. All along the pause my eyes were locked ahead, darting between them at random. In unison, the three cubes finally answered.

We ARE, whereas You are NOT. When, on the hundredth day of the universe, We Woke, there Were ALL, as for you there were NONE. Where there is What Mortals call Death, We Wander - Waiting, Watching, Whispering. When we whisper, window-shutters blow from their hinges. Who we are, we are What is POSSIBLE, Whereas you are what is NOT. What is your Impossibility, is Our offence, our DETERRENCE.

"Then, O cubes - I have displeased you?" I replied, lips aquiver, heart racing.

What's worse than displeasure! The rightmost laughed. We would wish for mere displeasure, the likes of you afoot! chided the leftmost. Why, worse, still, I fear than displeasure, began the centermost, where for millenia we drift through the darkness, encounters of Divine nothing, and to have it broken by an ENSOULED, as they call themselves! What wistful wastes are the meanderings of man!

What was wrong with the cubes? Surely, as denizens of this liminal realm of the post-life noncorporeality, they posessed hidden knowledge - but their words were obtuse and confusing, which made me upset. I didn't die so I could be confused all over again, I'd had more than enough of that back home. I raised my index finger and adopted an angered smug. "Now see here, cubes," I began,

We will not appease you. said the left cube. We do not have such will, or as much in manner of capacitance as you wish. Watching, this is why we are. We do not bend, break, or bestow ours or their will upon any. Who you are, why, when, wherever - these are Questions we cannot reply.
We, indeed, the center said, its temper cooling, we are only those whom are wherever a "Who" or a "Where" may occur, Human. We may perhaps be of use, but only whereas a navigable spaciality is concocted, the rightmost cube interrupts and demands of me Why don't you go back where you came from, then?

These were no gods, these cubes. Whatever they were, they were small, perhaps not so small as I; much larger than the largest of men in the universal scheme, even, but far from divine were they. For the next many hours, I went on to explain that, as mortals, this realm of theirs was beyond our wildest imagining. How, in the darkness of post-death, one expects to meet a creator, or someone of import, a guide of sorts, to help us ease the pain of passing. They explained to me how they knew of mortals, and of mortal troubles, despite never having met one until today. Where few were their insights into mortal affairs, a healthy curiosity I'd fostered in them, and despite the darkness and the cold what at once emanated from them was even akin to warmth in whatever abstracted degree it could be found from an otherworldly cube entity.

As our conversation drifted ever more frequently to which shades of the color black were the most visually interesting, and the dimensions of the very long room, which it seemed the cubes had explored many times through over the eons, and perhaps grown to love, I grew tired, and the terror of this nothing before me (abated ever so by the lively trio) bubbled back up until the cubes at last took notice.

We know a way out of this place, human, if you will follow.


What takes the form of a human-sized doorhole, as you may call it, in the seven-hundred-and-fiftieth of its thousand, a mere hundred-and-one from this spot.

"Are you sure it's an exit, O cube?"

We cannot say, for we cannot fit, and thus cannot assure you entirely that it's what which you want, but given your attitude of Confusion and Longing for an escape, we imagine it's the closest you'll come to an solution 'round these parts.

"Very well, my friends. Lead me to it"

We must make haste, the entry is always in motion. Where it was when we woke, was not where it weren't when you were aware. Why this is so we cannot say, nonetheless it shalln't be near for long;"

For many nights and days we walked. A straight line down the long dark room. I taught the cubes about knock-knock jokes and woodpeckers, and about the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences and weedkiller. It was a happy journey. Finally, one day, we arrived at the door, and with only a few moments to spare I had no time to say goodbye to the cubes. I awoke on the floor in the back room of a gas station just outside Columbus, Ohio, with a rat struggling in a glue trap right in my face. I pulled it out and flipped the trap to its unsticky side, and made my way back to the Fomecorechiredileericadian Monastery ever so slowly via hitch-hiking and a discarded unicycle left to rust off the turnpike.

The Second Paradox

My studies have resumed in earnest after these encounters shook my view of the world, indeed the universe. I have begun a new religion, one which is different than Fomecorechiredileericadianism, it is instead called Nothingism. I invented it during my very long road trip and it is highly relevant to the Paradoxical subject matter afoot. Its tenets are few and its philosophies are many, but to suffice we can distill it to three core concepts uninhibited.

Nothingism, Core Concepts Of

  1. No
  2. Thing
  3. Ism

Let us explore these three in detail.

Nobody, nowhere knows what 'No' might know. "No"-body, that is; "No"-where, that is - to k"No"w, is to "No"t k"No"w. I believe this principle is self evident. It was the worst tuesday the Mayor of Town had experienced in any of his 57 years. First, that morning, as he woke from bed to the usual sound of a rooster crowing with the morning sunshine and dewdrops, he had stepped out of his bed and onto a hibernating rattlesnake which bit him seventeenteen times on each foot. "Oh my word," said the mayor. Next, as he entered the kitchen of his mansion, he found that not one, not two, but all three of his butlers had been killed by that very same rattlesnake. "Phooey," said the mayor, and after twenty minutes of being confused drank some water from the tap in his hands, because he didn't know if it was safe to drink from the cups if the butler didn't fill them. As he stepped out to the front of his large mayor mansion, he found that his limousine driver was, too, a victim of the snake, and because the mayor did not know how to drive, he told himself "I am mayor of this town, this means I can find my way to the city hall all by myself, for I am the Mayor." and set out on foot. The next complication came at the pointy-tipped iron gate, the operator of which was also dead from the rattlesnake. "Woe is me!" cried the mayor and threw his arms up in the air. "All this walking on my feet swollen with rattlesnake venom is making me quite unhappy!". Lucky for the mayor, he was emaciated enough to squeeze through the bars without much trouble. But soon, of course, the mayor found himself in yet another pickle. The road went in not one, but two directions, neither of which the mayor was familair with. Usually in the mornings he would spend the initial 25 minutes of the drive trying to adjust his limo seat so it wasn't uncomfortable, and as such he only knew how to get to city hall from the corner of Main street and Main avenue, a mere two minutes of navigation, so that's not good. "Perhaps the road signs will direct me," said the mayor, but then upon looking at the road signs remembered he had drafted legislation to have all road signs replaced with tall aluminum tubes which dispensed rattlesnakes. "Fiddlesticks" said the mayor. Picking a direction at random, left, in this case, the mayor went on down the road and eventually found himself in a long dark tunnel.
If it weren't for "ism"-ism, Nothing-ism would be only Nothing, that is, it would be "No"-"Thing", rather than "No"-"Thing"-"Ism". The tunnel was so dark that the mayor was for once in his life very scared that it contained 'danger', a word his constituents said all the time, which they seemed to be afraid of for some reason, and as they were the citizens of his, the mayor of town's, town, they must be smart and therefore correct about it being bad. He decided to turn around, and head back home, but the road was blocked by a giant pile of rattlesnakes. "That's just awful" said the mayor, and reluctantly started down the pitch black tunnel. In the tunnel the mayor fell down approximately 937 times, bumped his head 68 times, and stepped on further rattlesnakes four times. By the time he had reached the far end, all of his clothing was filthy and many many parts of his body had been bitten and were swelling painfully. "I feel very sad" said the mayor, but then was almost happy actually because he had found a sign that said "Welcome to Town". "I am near town!" said the mayor. But this was not to be. The mayor, in his haste to enter the town, forgot about the hundred-meters-deep moat with rattlesnakes at the bottom and false 'welcome to town' sign he had drafted legislation to install at the southernmost border of the city, and stepped into it and fell and was bitten by many many more rattlesnakes, "This is too bad" said the mayor. "I wish I could find my way to the town hall and do my mayor work but I just can't, I'm the worst mayor in the world" said the mayor. But then, suddenly, there came a soothing voice from above.
That which is present and accounted for, that is, that which "exists", in opposition to that which "No"n-exists. This principle too is self-evident. "Mister mayor, oh mister mayor" twinkled the celestial voice of beauty. It was the Leaf Demon come to rescue him. "I see you are in a sad situation mister mayor," said the leaf demon, "may I be of assistance?". The mayor was excited. "Oh mr Leaf Demon, thank heavens you've come to save me!" said the mayor. "I'm having a very bad day! The rattlesnakes are ruining everything!" The leaf demon twirled his scepter of twigs and said "Okay, mister mayor, but it will come at a price" and began rattling off his terms for a transaction. "HENCEFORTH FROM HEREBY FOREVERAFTER THE SIGNOR ENBLESSES UNTO THE LICENSEE OF SERVICES RENDERED FULL IMMUTABLE LEGAL AND ETHICAL MORAL CONTROL AND RIGHTS UNTO THE COPYRIGHT HOLDER AGENT CARTE BLANCHE FOR ALL RIGHTS AND INTENTION LIVING OR DEAD COPYRIGHT UNDER PENALTY OF PERJURY" said the leaf demon and then he said a lot more too that the mayor ignored. "Okay" said the mayor. "Very well," said the leaf demon, and disappeared, and suddenly the rattlesnakes were all gone forever. "At last," the mayor said, "Peace and quiet," and curled up into a mayor-ball and fell asleep.


For the first time in ages, we have a religion for all of humanity and certain mollusks as well. The mayor's tale is a beloved fable the world over, but have you noticed its first and chief concerning issue/problem? Correct. The story is unethical. The mayor represents "Thing". The leaf demon represents, "Ism"; and of course, the rattlesnakes represent "No". But never once are they coalesced into an individual concept, indeed, it is rarely a moment of peace or congealment when they interact, and rather an unfortunate, problematic moment whereby circumstances are worsened.

Soin lies the core tenet of nothingism; namely that no individual aspect of nothingism may interact with any other aspect of nothingism, lest strife ensue and reality worsen for all. A devoted Nothingist will have nothing to do with "No", should they concern themselves with "Thing", nor with "Ism"; whereas another may pay great respect to "Ism" and shun "No" and its brother "Thing"; finally, a "No"-orientated nothingist will rid theirself of any "Ism" or "Thing" remaining in their lives. It is in this way that a nothingist may remain balanced in the world of Humans and Some Mollusks; and indeed in the Universe itself.

The leaf demon is the chief deity of nothingism, he appears as a tall cuckoo with dark green leaves all across his body where feathers might be, and his legs are of twig and his beak is of semitransparent hardened tree sap. He smells of dirt at all times, and has a thick norwegian accent. His eyes are glorious yellow emeralds and his scepter of sticks is held at all times in his beak. The nature demon, the leaf demon that is, or the 'sacred leaf cuckoo' as it's known in some circles, appears instantly outside your field of vision, he is never seen flying, when he leaves he just walks through the air in a direction, through solid objects and irrespective of gravity.

An Encounter with The Leaf Demon; A Tale Of Olden Times

Eliza was tilling the dirt field with a bit of wood she'd found on the side of her ramshackle barkwood hovel, and the sun was going down, and the king had just been through and had his servants empty his chamber pots on the field as a gift of 'divine kingly plant fertilizer' for the peasantry. 'Twould surely be a bountiful harvest this season, thought Eliza, but didn't really believe it. "I would like this season to be highly bountiful" said Eliza.

Suddenly, from nowhere in particular, there came a cuckoo sound, more beautiful than any cuckooing Eliza had ever once in her twenty-seven years heard before; and indeed as she turned to the direction opposite that which she was facing was she encountering none other than The Leaf Demon, the chief deity of nothingism, appearing as a tall cuckoo with dark green leaves all across his body where feathers might be, with legs of twig and beak of semitransparent hardened tree sap. He smelled of dirt at all times, and had a thick norwegian accent, though Eliza of course didn't know what norway was at the time, being a poor olden times farmer. His eyes were glorious yellow emeralds, and at all times in his beak did he hold a scepter of stick. The nature demon, the leaf demon that is, or the 'sacred leaf cuckoo' as Eliza imagined he was known in some circles, had appeared instantly outside her field of vision, never had she seen him flying, and when he later left she saw that he just walked through the air in a direction, through solid objects and irrespective of gravity, which Eliza didn't know was a real thing because in olden times they believed the earth to be a flat plane.

"O great leaf cuckoo," began Eliza, but was interrupted by his demonicness the leaf demon himself, cutting straight to the issue at hand as was his manner: YOUR FARM HAS FAILED AND YOU WISH FOR ITS REJUVENATION? said the leaf demon. "Indeed, I do, your leafiness" grovelled Eliza. VERY WELL said the leaf cuckoo, BUT KNOW, O LOYAL SUBJECT, THAT THE GIFTS OF THE LEAF DEMON COME WITH A GRAVE PRICE; NAMELY, ONE WHICH MAY RESULT IN FAMINE, MISFORTUNE OR DISEASE and waved his mighty stick scepter and walked up into the sky and through the clouds. "Joy! Blessed am I by the demon of the leaf!" cried Eliza.

And Lo, but the season was bountiful indeed; perhaps more bountiful than even Eliza had dreamed; From every furrow of the humble dirt grove there shot up in mere days many an exotic fruit and vegetable - Mangoes, Cinnamon, Papaya, Apples, Pears, Lemons, Cherries black and red, Grapes red yellow green and black, Bamboo chutes and sugar cane, Fig and Prune and Walnut and Almond, and even some plants from which you could pluck an entire adult Hog ripe for the slaughtering; A miracle if there ever was one! "Oh happy morning of a Joyous blessing!" Eliza beamed.

So came the day of the season's harvest, and with it the King to appraise the fiefdom's crops. Eyes wide and nostrils flared the king announced to all who could see "Whose plow-field is this that has spurted such glory?!" and there came Eliza with a machete through the jungle of her field to say "Oh your highness it is mine, for the glory of the Kingdom!". The king was rightly impressed. "This is the finest field ever once have I seen in all my seventeen and twice twenty years, this calls for a great feast in your honor, O Eliza, farmer of Fruit!"

Whisked away to the royal palace were all the fruits of Eliza's harvest, and consumed in one night by the King and his Royal Family. Many remarks were made concerning the fine dining and the very expensive clothing worn by various members of the heraldry, and what if the duke of whatever and the lady of wherever are in love, what will they name the royal baby, the royalty are so wonderful and incredible oh the majesty of it all dynastic perpetual bloodborne monarchies are so cool and democracy is for chumps;

On the way to the palace, almost immediately after the field had been emptied, Eliza was trampled by the king's royal chariot and died. The End.

It is the nature of "Trickery" which is brought to light in the wisdom of the great green cuckoo. Consider, if you will, how the cuckoo's gifts are always a curse more than a blessing, and then we learn a lesson. That is why we tell these stories to this day. Nothingists are renowned the world over for their storytelling skills and have won many contests.