All for the best

7 January 2002
Matt will see you now.

It's a flaw or something, a mutation, like being albino, but there's an extra thing in my eyes that lets me see another colour, and in this colour I see the people, the people who make coincidences happen. And they're everywhere, pale people making sure that everything important goes the way they want it to. The general who loses his keys, the stockbroker who flips a coin to sell a stock.

When I was young I thought everyone knew so it confused me when people confided in me, like it was some great secret, that "everything happens for a reason". Well yeah, of course. Slowly I figured out that other people didn't see what I did and I kept things quiet, didn't want to be different.

I reckon that's what religions are. Relics of somebody speaking out, saying with only the conviction and authority that people who know the truth have that We're Not On Our Own, that there's a Will, a Guiding Force.

Not that it did humanity much good. To be told, I mean. It didn't really change anything. Of course, that was before -- it's only biochemistry that I can see after all. Given a little analysis, a little experimentation, the whole world could see what I can see. That would shake things up a little wouldn't it?

I'll Come Out With It, I used to think. How can it be fair to us to be forced down a road without even knowing where it leads? We're being manipulated.

But then again, does it really matter? What we don't know doesn't hurt us. We live out our lives. Should the mechanics of the universe concern us, however they're enacted? And since we don't know the purpose, are we really being disturbed? It's only a Plan if it's taking us somewhere.

So I didn't say anything. I kept my head down, and led a life where I saw the figures as little as possible.

Then so many terrible things started happening. It was an awful year, not just for me but for everyone. A compendium of mistakes and cascading coincidences caused death and misery on all scales, and everywhere I saw these almost transparent figures. I was furious.

When somebody I cared for very deeply muttered, almost chanting, almost trying to convince themselves, "It's all God's will It's all God's will", crying and hugging me tight I couldn't even look them in the eye.

I was all ready to act.

But then.. I lost confidence that knowing would make everything that had happened easier for people. What did I know anyway? And so, slowly, I went back to my life.

And I've no doubt returning to my quiet life was made quicker and easier when We met.

When we met for the first time I knew she was the one for me. She occupied my mind continuously. In a way, she was a person shaping the way my individual life went. Not that she knew to begin with.

We talked and kissed and I don't really think she had much of an idea how much of an effect she had on me. And she would do things casually I never thought we be possible in another person -- she almost knew what I was thinking, or would do next, without even realising she was there with me. She understood.

And gradually we came to know each other more and more, and I found my feelings being reciprocated. That day she said she loved me for the first time, that was my universe complete, my life fulfilled, but I was staring into her eyes and just as I looked away I could see something else behind those clear, deep brown eyes. Something pale, cold and thin, something that flickered away as quickly as I saw it. So when I buried my face in her shoulder, smelt her hair and pressed her close to me, I was crying, because I knew none of it was real.

That's why I'm here. That's why I want to the world to know. Who are these figures? What are they pushing us towards? Why that year of catastrophe? I refuse to believe that any of this can be good for our society. We should have control of our destiny.

The university have said they're going to help, to investigate and spread the knowledge. I've avoided any chaotic events, any hints of those thin shadows passing over the world. There wasn't a moment when a lost set of keys could mean a missed train. I can careful.

Here I am. The anesthetic is taking effect and I'm in theatre. We're about to find out for the first time what's really going on. The figures aren't anywhere in sight.

But then the surgeon says "It's all for the best" and I realise there's no reason for the figures to be here, everyone knows already. I know now there's no point struggling against my fate, I'm not going to wake up, and this knife is the last thing I'm going to see.

But then from the corner of my eye I see a pale shape flash by -- the lights flicker, go out and I hear with a muffled curse the doctor trip and crack his head on the floor. I sleep.

Current clown:

18 December 2003. George writes: This List

Most recent ten:

15 December 2003. Jamie writes: Seven Songs
11 December 2003. Dan writes: Spinning Jenny
8 December 2003. Victor writes: Rock Opera
4 December 2003. Matt writes: The Mirrored Spheres of Patagonia
1 December 2003. George writes: Charm
27 November 2003. James writes: On Boxing
24 November 2003. Jamie writes: El Matador del Amor; Or, the Man who Killed Love
20 November 2003. Dan writes: Rights Management
17 November 2003. Victor writes: Walking on Yellow
13 November 2003. Matt writes: Disintermediation
(And alas we lost Neil, who last wrote Cockfosters)

Also by this clown:

4 December 2003. Matt writes: The Mirrored Spheres of Patagonia
13 November 2003. Matt writes: Disintermediation
23 October 2003. Matt writes: Topology
2 October 2003. Matt writes: Haunted
8 September 2003. Matt writes: The Gardener's Diary
21 August 2003. Matt writes: The Starling Variable
31 July 2003. Matt writes: Two stories
14 July 2003. Matt writes: What is real?
23 June 2003. Matt writes: Mapping and journeys
29 May 2003. Matt writes: Extelligence
5 May 2003. Matt writes: Religious experiences
17 April 2003. Matt writes: Seeing the Light
27 March 2003. Matt writes: Flowering
10 March 2003. Matt writes: Climax state
10 February 2003. Matt writes: The Role of Cooperation in Human Interaction
20 January 2003. Matt writes: The same old subroutine
2 January 2003. Matt writes: New beginnings
9 December 2002. Matt writes: Packet Loss
18 November 2002. Matt writes: Wonderland
31 October 2002. Matt writes: Having and losing
10 October 2002. Matt writes: Trees of Knowledge
19 September 2002. Matt writes: The online life of bigplaty47
29 August 2002. Matt writes: Divorce
8 August 2002. Matt writes: How to get exactly what you want
18 July 2002. Matt writes: Eleven Graceland endings
27 June 2002. Matt writes: Listopad, Prague 1989
3 June 2002. Matt writes: Engram bullets
6 May 2002. Matt writes: Sound advice
15 April 2002. Matt writes: How it all works: Cars
21 March 2002. Matt writes: Proceeding to the next stage
25 February 2002. Matt writes: Spam quartet
31 January 2002. Matt writes: Person to person
7 January 2002. Matt writes: All for the best
13 December 2001. Matt writes: Life
19 November 2001. Matt writes: Giving is better than receiving
25 October 2001. Matt writes: Ludo
1 October 2001. Matt writes: Gifts, contracts, and whispers
6 September 2001. Matt writes: The world is ending
13 August 2001. Matt writes: The Church of Mrs Bins
16 July 2001. Matt writes: Things I Don't Have
25 June 2001. Matt writes: Fighting the Good Fight
31 May 2001. Matt writes: Code dependency
7 May 2001. Matt writes: Up The Arse, Or Not At All
5 April 2001. Matt writes: The increasing nonlinearity of time
19 March 2001. Matt writes: Hit Me Baby, One More Time
22 February 2001. Matt writes: Space, Matter, Cities, Sausages
29 January 2001. Matt writes: Truth in Advertising
1 January 2001. Matt writes: Six predictions for tomorrow
7 December 2000. Matt writes: You must reach this line to ride
16 November 2000. Matt writes: The truth about the leopard
23 October 2000. Matt writes: Shopping mauls
28 September 2000. Matt writes: Heavy traffic on the road to Utopia
4 September 2000. Matt writes: Sixty worlds a minute
17 July 2000. Matt writes: You, Me, and Face-space

We are all Upsideclown: Dan, George, James, Jamie, Matt, Neil, Victor.

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