2nd case
Upon first glance, who would take simple satire to be… prophetic? Edwin Abbott Abbott, you will endure.
And now, my pseudonym is that of a square, and - in the mindset of a God - I can perceive lesser dimensions and their abundant flaws, but these other dimensions dance away from my grasp; and, like the square, I will not truly know them until I visit them for myself.
But by all accounts they are not something greater, no - they run parallel, perhaps, like the pages of a book; as brothers, in time. Time, as a dimension, in action and incongruous.
[There’s a certain amount of urgent tension and hushed trauma in his tone. He’s visited the upside-down deck, he's seen clear sky indoors on deck 13, had his mind completely blown wide open by the Major… and, as a result, Sherlock’s gotten into an unlocked cupbard somewhere, while no-one was looking, and drank some concoction of the things in it.]
[…He’s trippin’ balls right now.]
“Let us leave this God of Pointland to the ignorant fruition of his omnipresence and omniscience…”
[He twangs on his violin, not playing anything in particular - but anything to stay deafening silence as he thinks. Focus. Focus.]
Different rules, advanced technology; seemingly magical beyond what I can explain, by what is now... archaic perception, by the extent of my current understandings - a handicap on my genius.
A most formidable challenge, but what, ultimately, is the question to be answered.
[He stops playing.]
And now, my pseudonym is that of a square, and - in the mindset of a God - I can perceive lesser dimensions and their abundant flaws, but these other dimensions dance away from my grasp; and, like the square, I will not truly know them until I visit them for myself.
But by all accounts they are not something greater, no - they run parallel, perhaps, like the pages of a book; as brothers, in time. Time, as a dimension, in action and incongruous.
[There’s a certain amount of urgent tension and hushed trauma in his tone. He’s visited the upside-down deck, he's seen clear sky indoors on deck 13, had his mind completely blown wide open by the Major… and, as a result, Sherlock’s gotten into an unlocked cupbard somewhere, while no-one was looking, and drank some concoction of the things in it.]
[…He’s trippin’ balls right now.]
“Let us leave this God of Pointland to the ignorant fruition of his omnipresence and omniscience…”
[He twangs on his violin, not playing anything in particular - but anything to stay deafening silence as he thinks. Focus. Focus.]
Different rules, advanced technology; seemingly magical beyond what I can explain, by what is now... archaic perception, by the extent of my current understandings - a handicap on my genius.
A most formidable challenge, but what, ultimately, is the question to be answered.
[He stops playing.]