Mr. Orange Narrative O'Clock says...

"The things you imagine cannot possibly be real! We know, as it says in Skrayandiff and Meltheus, that all existence is uniquely partitioned into unambiguous ontological categories which derive their truth-value-schema from precise logical statements and are inflexible and absolute." -- ONOC A couple of ducks fly over the pond, their feathers blurring bits of water thrown up by their confusion. Gerestheo, an Uapthu mathematician of some renown, is sitting eating a sandwich. ONOC continues: "You yourself say that the Cosmic Right Angle is the Orthological..." Gerestheo: "I also say that I am a complete idiot. Which statement do you hold in higher regard?" ONOC: "But the Orange Narrative..." Gerestheo: "Is discardable... provides evidence of its own discardability in more than luxurious abundance upon the slightest breeze of thought. What happens to it under cogitative torrents is best left unmentioned by me." ONOC has the aspect of an admixture of crestfallen and courageous. Gerestheo: "There are true things, true worlds, and true people whom we can sense by our imaginations, what do we do? We sing to them so that they might sing back to us. Sometimes they do happen to sing back to us, sometimes they even love us, and your first reaction is to get nervous and to attempt to shore up that Orange Narrative, a storyline whose own discardability is abundant and unmissable. I am not so good at seeing them as much as I am at encountering them, but then again, I am Uapthu, and moments have no meaning for me. Sometimes the people most akin to us, don't even live in the same universe or cosmos or strobing of the WSOGMM that we do. If I were to accept, hook, line, and sinker, the ontological model of Skrayandiff and Meltheus, then they wouldn't exist at all. Kind of sad, an ontological model which says that the people who might love us the most or are most akin to us don't exist in some formal, hairy, and dessicated idea of how the cosmos works. The world is not a formal system."