41:54

This wait is driving me crazy.  I am lying in the bed trying to shut down.  But I can’t.  I wonder if nano Mark is feeling this way.  Or the opposite.

42:14

Time is crawling.  I wonder if nano Mark is experiencing it whizzing by.  If a feeling is the opposite too.

-- TEAR OUT PAGE --

Not to mention that the thing I have never liked to do all that much, interact with people, is what I cannot do now – because I have attempted to sidestep God’s Order, by nanocloning me. 

Is that right?

I’ll never be able to interact with people again.  I will go comatose if I try because of entanglement.  But that means a life of loneliness.  Unless we solved the problem.  And one solution is to destroy nano Mark.  Rip apart the nanoparticles of him, so they are no longer entangled with mine.   And I’d be free.

But that destruction of him might lead to destruction of me.  If his particles experience destruction who knows what mine might experience.   If his particles experienced Hell would mine heaven?  Or the latter… and am not speculating --- I think there is room for God and an afterlife and all that.  After all the existence of an eternal God with a timeless plan has not been disproved.

So I can’t just destroy him unless I want to risk destroying me.

I hope he thinks of that too, and I guess he will, because I know we must think alike, and the gap of a few days probably hasn’t diverged us that much.  I  write it in the regular diary/mention it to Jim when I get unboxed so Jim gets it too.  So that nano Mark does realize there is no benefit to him to killing me either if it came to that.  So we are cool.

43:40

I am dating these entries differently now, according to the time on the clock.  So they will be going backwards to opening time, which is the way I have started to think about it.

Only a little time gone by now.  It is beginning to wear on me.  Being unable to communicate at all, with anyone.  See a face, talk, touch.  Not that I touched all that much lately.  But I could.

Maria and I had a relationship for a long time, and never really broke up.  But we never got closer either.  Which was okay anyway because we had known each other for so long and were very comfortable.  But I wasn’t sure about what she did or was doing in her job; in a way she was as private as me.   I miss you.

And Jim too.  Hi buddy!  We’ve known each other for a long time too.  You are my closest friend no question, and have done so much for me for so long.  Thank you.

Wow.  Look how maudlin I am getting. 

I haven’t heard anything from the outside about solutions.  I would think Jim and the rest are working furiously.  And nano Mark must be in his box; otherwise I would be unconscious.

Why did he keep his consciousness when I lost mine?  There was something in the process that gave him a consciousness spin but not me?  Could I figure that out?  Can I reverse it?  Can Jim and the others?

But there is no noise, no noise from the outside world and I imagine, none from me.  No sense of others around because, if they sense me I’ll go back into my coma and, if I sense them only, like looking through a one sided mirror, I think I’d soon go crazy seeing but not touching, not being able to communicate with them.

It’s ironic I’ve gone from trying to do too much to trying to do something, anything.  It’s probably even more ironic that I can’t use technology to do anything – when all my life I’ve worked with it and created it and understood it.

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One of the dreams I had when I was out came to mind.  It was Bleary again, in the classroom.   “So Jesus experienced suffering.  And loneliness.  And everyone ran away.  And Dante said hell is nothing – no connectedness, nothing.  Frozen.  So Jesus was experiencing something that Dante later described as hell. 

“Imagine that,” he said.  “No one there.  No one to share your suffering.  No one to reach out to you.  Some of you may feel that now.”  And I steeled myself for him to look at me but he didn’t.  And I sensed Maria looking at me from my left, from her seat.

“What do you think?“ And now he called on me, and I opened my mouth to speak and everyone was looking at me but I couldn’t the words wouldn’t come out, and suddenly we were out at recess and someone yelled at me “C’mon Mark throw the ball” but I just stared at it.  And Maria, but adult Maria, walked up to me her eyes beautifully dark.   It was night.  And she wore nothing/everything.

December 1

I woke up suddenly this morning.  In a room that I thought at first was the copying room.  It was soothing, with wood and leather.  But I was in a bed, with wires and tubes attached to me.

I sat up suddenly and they all broke off when I did.

 

A note was on a table next to me.  “Dear Mark,” it began, and I read about the past few days.  “…We are working on the solution,” it said as it came to its end.  “In the meantime, we were worried about you.  So you and nano Mark are isolated now  to permit the superprobabilities and, hopefully, keep each of you in a conscious state.  Two of you, working on this, will probably solve it quicker than all of us on the outside.

“Love you buddy.  I will see you soon.  Jim.”

A pile of books was next to the note.  “No Man Is An Island” by Thomas Merton was on top.  Bastard. 

I knocked them off, pissed at what had happened.  The most incredible fucking development.  I am in a fucking box.  A large fucking box.  No one knows if I am awake or asleep.  No one knows if I am alive or dead.  I am Schrodinger’s fucking cat, writ large.

I don’t even now if it’s worth writing this.  Will any one read it?

I got up and explored the rest of the room. 

There is a bed and the usual stuff here, and the other rooms have food and more books and a bathroom and in the back there is water recycling equipment like the astronauts have and workout equipment and food and food and food cause I’m not gonna be able to show anyone out there that I am consuming anything, that water is running into here, that electricity is being used,  that the Internet is active, that I am accessing websites, etc. etc. etc.  that I am taking a shower or peeing or eating cause any knowledge would collapse the probabilities. 

Or at least Jim and the others think.  I am back now reading the synopsis again more carefully and slowly.  “We have taken probably excess precautions to make sure that you are safe,” Jim wrote.  “Mark is in another room just like this one; we set both up in an attempt to isolate you as much as humanly possible.  No one has said it outright, but we are worried that entanglement could be life threatening to you.  We can’t have your consciousness deteriorating.”

“Hopefully you can read this.  We had put you in the room on life support that was designed to break away if you woke.  The difficult thing is that we won’t have any indication if you have and, speaking for me, I can’t really let you go on without even knowing your state.  You might be pissed at that, interfering with your experiment and all, but I can’t let you go on without knowing, consciously, the alternatives.  So after a lot of thought I’ve told everyone we are going to break the seal two days from when you’ve been put in here, which is the only way we can ascertain if you have recovered.  But we aren’t going to break Mark’s seal then, hoping that, if we are right, you will be conscious.  He probably will collapse then because the entanglement will work in reverse – you will be up and he will be in a coma state.  He knows, and we have identical times in each room, so he doesn’t just collapse on the floor, he’ll know to get someplace comfortable when he can pass out.  If all goes well I will talk to you about two days from when you read this.  The timer is on the wall. “

I glanced up.  47:32 it read in big red numerals.

“All my best bud.  You will be pleased to know that aside from this small glitch, every other thing has gone right.   There are no anomalies whatsoever.”

Right.  No anomalies.  I am a fucking rat in a cage – no a fucking cat in a box – and he says there are no anomalies.  I threw his fucking note down.

 

November 1 later (44:12)

I’ve been pacing through the rooms.  I should try to start to get to work but I’ve been pacing.  Back and forth back and forth.  What the fuck?  Of all the things that could go wrong, of all the things we planned for, it’s entanglement?  Really?  And entanglement as cause of consciousness?  Fuck me.  Fuck fuck me.

I am the probably absolute reductionist.  We are nothing but bits and pieces of matter, thrown together at random over 4 billion years, forces beyond our comprehension.

And that is all life is too, the mice proved that.  When we copied Jekyll and made Hyde we proved that too, that life was just a set of reactions we could copy.  And man is just an animal writ large. 

There is no noise, no noise from the outside world and I imagine, none from me.  No sense of others around because if they sense me I’ll go back into my coma and, if I sense them, the experts think, like though an undetectable one way mirror a video feed over the internet, I will soon go crazy seeing but not touching, not being able to communicate with them.

We can’t even communicate on a time delayed manner, sending them this notebook, using a computer or anything else…even time delayed communication would collapse the probabilities, according to entanglement theory.  It even works through time and probably on an indeterminate basis – we wouldn’t know exactly how then would affect now aside from probably random blackouts.  Oh efff me. 

TEAR OUT PAGE

And so here it is, my creation, and me.   What now?  No longer alone, someone separate from me who yet is me.  Will that alleviate loneliness?  The loneliness of the sufferer?  The loneliness that Christ Himself underwent on the Cross when all had turned away from Him, even Peter His Rock, even God His Father:  “My God, My God why hath Thou forsaken me?”  The gray aloneness, the horrific nothing, no one, they can listen but even then they are all too willing to offer advice.
You must have done something they will say.  It is your behavior.  You enticed him on.  ARGGHHHH!  Listen to me and share my suffering.  Wow, I guess Christ thought that too…
The room had gotten so quiet.  Even Maria was quiet.  Outside was grey and cloudy.  Inside Father Bleary, who kept every other bank of florescent lights off, for some reason, moved slowly in the semi-gloom, up and down the rows of silent, afraid children, at the chairs fixed to their desks, unmoving, waiting to see what he was going to say.
“What about the suffering of the innocents?”  he repeated into the silence.  He slowed as he got near me.  “Why has God let us on earth be hurt?  Why has Jesus broken His Promise?  We are being hurt, some of us in this very room.  Why?”  He stopped above me.   His words just hung there in the air, in the grey.  The room was tense, wanting something, anticipating something, some relief of this tension, four graders holding their breath, a priest asking the questions that no one else would even ask, staying away from the ugly truths.
“There is no solution for us to the suffering of the innocents,” he finally said, gently, “none at all.”  And the room let out a collective breath, not so much at the answer but at the fact he had said something, anything.  But as the meaning of his statement came clear, as it penetrated our young minds, our tension lessened but we started to get confused.  How could a priest say this?  What is he trying to do?
He went on.  “You know, some people think the worst part of suffering is the loneliness.  Some people who suffer can’t tell anyone, or if they do, they aren’t believed, or, if they do, they are believed, but the people they tell think it’s their fault, that the sufferer cause the suffering, or the people they tell simply run away.”  And his hand fell on my shoulder, briefly as if it was just a casual touch, and I could tell, I could feel, that Maria noticed it.
“Isn’t that what happened to Jesus?  On the cross?  Didn’t everyone run away, even Peter?  Only a week earlier He was being greeted as king of the world, riding into Jerusalem people singing Hosannas to Him, praise echoing in his ears, but behind the scenes people were working to bring him down, to kill him.  Probably some of those same people who were in the crowd praising him were planning to kill him.”
And we went silent again. 
“Everyone had run away from Him.  No one listening.”  He went up to the front of the room and turned around.  “Even his Father, his God.  God running away from God.  My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?”
“Haven’t we felt that?  Just like Jesus?  When we, the innocents, suffer?” 
His words hung there in the air, we were holding our breath again, give us an answer Father we silently pleaded, relieve our tension, something anything, make it simply, make it understandable.
“There is no reason we can understand for the innocents to suffer,” he finally said.  “No reason even Jesus could understand.  My God, he cried out.  Why have you given up on me?   Why have you forsaken me?  Suffering can be so great.  It can destroy you.”
He looked all around now.  Everyone was fixed on him.
“But it won’t,” he said.  “It won’t.”  And we breathed again.  “Because like Jesus, you can still call on God.  You can still say God, why am I suffering.  And remember we studied Job last fall, and Job suffered too, and he called on God too, and God’s answer there was you don’t understand Job, you don’t understand me, or what I am, or what is happening to you.”
“We know a little more about how Jesus suffered, and we know he was God, and even God suffered on this Earth, on His Earth.  He suffered, died and was buried.  And He was alone.  Even God was alone and I think aloneness makes suffering worse, much much worse.“
The bell rang but none of us wanted to leave.  We wanted a resolution, a tidy resolution, something to send us home feeling good, but Father Bleary just turned to his desk to his books and started tidying them up, ignoring us.
We slowly got up and got our things.
“One more thing,” he said suddenly, and his words rang out in the silence and gloom and everyone stopped moving, hopeful this was the resolution.  “Jesus said My God, my God.  He knew God was still there.  Even though God was silent.  He still had faith.  Even though God wasn’t answering.  And that is the only solution I can give to you.  All of you.  Keep your faith.  God is there.  Keep your faith,” he repeated one more time looking at me again, and we all left.

 END TEAR OUT PAGE