The Case Against The Mad-Geometers Of Dystopia

TIME & SPACE

Earth Time:

~1989

Real Space:

~on the far side of the moon, in the K.A.T.S. (Kind And True Society's) Court.

Abstract Space:

~in the realm of Lunar science, where 'thought' is regarded as a 'sense' (like 'taste' or 'smell' for example) when all senses are in synesthetic cooperation, Incoming Data is perceived as 'geometric shapes arranged in juxtapositions' that inform of one essential thing only — whether or not a juxtaposition is perceivable as 'beautiful,' or, its opposite, 'devoid of beauty,' or, somewhere in between. All artists know this. Unawareness, of the state of beauty within any situation, results in 'Apocalypsia' being diagnosed because without an awareness of the 'beauty-of the-juxtapositions-within' status, of some given situation, all that can really be 'sensed' about that situation, is, that it exists in an unfixable (apocalyptic) state. And out of apocalyptic states, dystopias are spawned: and how do we adjust back to 'a state of beauty' from there?

~~~

The Recently Dead from planet Earth could apply in the K.A.T.S. Court to return for another lifetime on the blue-skied Planet. Earth embedded her natural beauty in her rocks and rivers and seas and seasons and in the abundance of dazzling species. That alone should have prompted all deceased Earthlings to apply to return. But with Apocalypsia-affected human Earthlings everywhere, the extreme psychological environment of Earth resulted in little demand from The (sane) Dead to return.

The Union of Galactic Realms (UGR) met on the far side of the moon, to avoid human gaze. But Earth's increasingly high tech-enabled 'seeing' was pushing the UGR to decide, ''either, we turn human Earthlings into kinder beings, or, destroy them!''

A way forward, towards Kindness, via focused, mini-apocalypses, against selected targets, was glimpsed unexpectedly.

It arose from an application in the K.A.T.S. Court, from an Earthling, a recently deceased cat seeking to use one of his remaining eight lives to return to Earth on a mission: to exact a mini-dystopian retribution against only those specific few ('mini-mobsters' he'd called them) that had wronged only (that he knew of) himself and his loved ones, inflicting, on just them, mini-dystopias, destroying their small worlds ... small worlds though that were cosmic to them.

The UGR members wondered, ''can we extrapolate that it's simply a multitude of mini-apocalypses, caused by Apocalypsia-affected mini-mobsters, that makes Earthly life so dystopian at times? And might an accumulative healing occur if we grant, to The Deceased-&-Wronged, permission to return to Earth, to help banish, to a dystopian-to-humans planet, for a lifetime's learning, specifically those that had mini-mobstered them?''

K.A.T.S. Court Counsel, Lydia Bengal, addressed the judges' panel. ''Your Honors, we present an application from Sir William Tabbinöt, a cat with eight lives left, requesting to return to Earth to exact a Dystopian Retribution upon (a small, Apocalypsia-affected group within) Humanity. But first, let's hear expert testimony, on the science relevant to this application.''

Professor Mary Mercury of The Lunar Centre For Earthling Studies, testified that she was the author of 'The Use of Geometries Of Thought (GOT) In Solving Abstract-Evidence Related Crime.' ''My book covers four main points,'' she said,

''1.) that, GOT (Geometries of Thought) assessments, are, to abstract-evidence related crimes, what DNA (Deoxyribonucleic Acid) assessments, are, to physical-evidence related crimes,

2.) that, although Apocalypsia sufferers are colloquially called 'mini-mobsters,' the scientific term is 'mad-geometers of dystopian realities,' since they're the primary 'normalizers' of apocalyptic-thought patterns — that lack insight into 'the science of thinking in geometric-shapes,' essential in insightful perception, and hence essential in perpetually monitoring and adjusting for 'optimal beauty within' any situation,

3.) that, truly apocalyptic events are so rare as to be effectively non-existent. Mostly it's just loosely structured networks of Apocalypsia sufferers churning out swathes of mini-dystopias, which are falsely perceived as being one 'maxi' dystopian space,

4.) that, most Apocalypsia sufferers feel 'not guilty of anything,' until Lunar scientists demonstrate the precision of GOT measurements in calculating specific abstract situations as being either, 'a beautiful composition of geometric shapes' or somewhere on that spectrum running back towards 'zero beauty' ... and, that the advanced thought-sense (perception capacity) of Lunar computers confirms this.''

Then Sir William Tabbinöt's evidence unfolded:

... the sensation of his mother's rasp-like tongue, traversed his sensitive face in curve-edged rectangles of movement, then onto the zones at the sides of his neck, where the felt-shapes became more circular. He perceived, like other animals, that all this beautiful movement was the normal shape of the mother-child communion. The dimensions changed. He felt himself become more triangular now, carried by the scruff of his neck accross the building site. Some cube-like clay forms blocked their way, but his mother, like all non-humans, a born geometer, calculated with finesse the complex mathematical world of muscles, movement and navigation. When they reached a multitude of stiff wrinkles, forming small triangles of sound in the wind, which, to humans, would be just a sheet of crumpled, discarded builders wrap flapping in the breeze, she set him down. It was their home, thanks to a kind-hearted young apprentice builder. The shifting shape of his mother's milk filled his mouth and stomach. Then he slept.

His mother's screams, rising in uneven and jagged sound-shards towards the sky, woke him. Then silence. Her contours had changed. Her once moving shapes became still, now just pieces of a mosaic, becoming more and more incomplete. A new geometry met his mind, as patterning, of ... a colour, blood-red — unlike the dusty worksite's colours — a spreading pattern that kept moving out from underneath Mother.

''Can't you drive across the yard without killing something!?" said the young apprentice.

"Listen kid! You put food out for that cat-and-brat! Whaddiya think was gonna happen?'' said the older builder.

The young man's heart wobbled painfully but in seeking steadiness refused to become brittle, unlike the older man's heart, apparently, since its shattered mini-shards were always transmogrifying themselves into mini-apocalyptic events descending and descending upon others.

The young apprentice was steadied by a heart connection he'd made with an old lady near his work. He'd seen her talking with several cats in her front garden. She let him bury the mother cat there and then conducted a ceremony, with violets from her garden placed on Mother Cat's grave. She addressed him as ''Kind Sir.''

His hand stroking the kitten's head comforted the animal, though it was not the beloved sensated-shape of a mother's cleansing tongue. He thanked the old woman for taking the kitten in, then left.

The kitten melded into his new life. The young man would stop and chat on his way to work. His name, William Truearrow. The old lady's, Gwendoline Hart. She named the cat after William, adding a title, 'Sir,' and a surname, 'Tabbinöt.' William, the human, would bring food bundles for the cats.

One day he told her that the building game was not for him. He'd taken the law entrance exam and passed, so he'd be away studying. Gwendoline took a small locket in the shape of a heart from around her neck and gave it to him. ''It is only the shape of hearts communicating that has value,'' she said, ''whereas these,'' gesturing towards some carers hovering in her house and garden, ''are all, with rare exceptions, opportunistic in their communication with me. I know they steal from me. And I'm so worried about my cats. They say they'll find them a good home together, when the time comes, but there is some sort of 'illness of their minds,' that makes them 'carers that don't care!' Mini-mobsters is what I call them, and it's not just me and it's not just them. My friends tell me they are everywhere in society. They can get away with anything and they know it! But your heart has kept its shape. Communicate with your namesake, Sir William, and me, if your heart ever becomes so overwhelmed it begins to sag. Just touch the locket. We'll sense it.'' He smiled, accepting her gift.

William heard one day that Gwendoline had died, but was given no details. But Sir William Tabbinöt knew, as he was being unceremoniously 'put down,' the secrets he had witnessed, but had no choice but to take them to his grave.

''We won't grant an application motivated by revenge,'' one of the K.A.T.S. Court panel of judges said.

''Your Honor,'' Lydia said ''He is, by nature, a kind cat, frequently taken advantage of. He is unsettled, yes, but not vengeful.''

~~~

TIME & SPACE

Earth Time:

~2089

Real Space:

~ on planet Earth, in 'The Bengal Tyger' (a pub owned and run by Dorothy Bengal) located near the newly established Earth branch of the K.A.T.S. Court.

Abstract Space:

~inside the mind's eye of veteran investigative reporter, Gwendoline (Gwenni) Hart, of 'The Galaxy Times.' The pub is her base. Today she's covering the verdict in an historic K.A.T.S. Court case, against a small group of 'mini-mobsters' ... a case brought by a cat!

~~~

Gwenni sat, amid coffee cups and paraphernalia associated with the holographic report she had just given, on the long awaited verdict in the 1989 case that had been held, back then, in the Lunar branch of K.A.T.S. Court. Peeking out from amongst the spread was a small heart-shaped locket, once the property of her coincidental namesake, from 100 years ago, Gwendoline Hart. It had been sent to Gwenni anonymously, after a retrospective article she did on the case, long before today's verdict.

Chatter and the clinking of crockery and cutlery shaped the pub's lunchtime ambience.

Gwenni scanned a small yellowed piece of paper that was inside the locket. It read, ''My tribe: The Voiceless. My oppressors: all mini-mobsters. Gwendoline Hart 1989.''

The lunch crowd cheered the judge's entrance. ''Lunch for William!" Dorothy called out to her husband in the kitchen.

Dorothy left the bustling lunchroom, reappearing with a young cat. "I found him around the bins earlier. He needs a home ... and you, a companion, William!''

"Well I doubt he'll 'speak out,' like that parrot did!'' the judge laughed. Peter the parrot had been banished to life at the pub, ever since, 'once upon a time,' revealing the case of, then young, Barrister William Truearrow III, to a professional rival visiting his digs.

"I know Peter was a consoling gift from you to me, Dorothy ... after I failed to speak up and that husband of yours got in and proposed first! But it changed me, Dorothy. I can give voice to The Voiceless, through the K.A.T.S. Court on Earth, now.''

The young cat snuggled into the judge. ''He's seen the vet for a check up. Good news! He's healthy, but ... here's your vet's bill.''

''My bill ...?" William said, ''hmm, Bill ... Billy, that's your name now!"

Gwenni re-played the hologram of the Judge handing down the verdict. At the part where the cat was granted permission to return to Earth, to help exact retribution, the demeanour of the gentle young Billy changed. He meowed loudly, then arched his back, hissing and growling at the images of those mini-mobsters of 100 years ago, including the builder that had killed beloved Mother Cat. His vocalizations were mirrored by the parroting Peter ... and by the amused lunchtime crowd.

~~~

TIME & SPACE

EarthTime:

~2115

Real Space:

~the planet Mars

Abstract Space:

~deep within the elaborate patterns and structure of microbial society, where Respect (and the Beauty it brings) is rigorously demanded, making Mars a Utopia for the microbes, a dystopia for the metamorphosing humans sent there.

~~~

The new arrivals had just begun their lifetime sentences — on a dystopian-to-humans planet — to learn that what is Utopia for some is Dystopia for others. These merry microbes on Mars would teach them, for future reference, how to strengthen the geometries of their thought-sense, sufficiently to self-impose a selflessly-ruthless adherence to Respect, by all, for all ... or else.

END.

(COVER PHOTO CREDIT: Indi Jarango, a friend.)