A Waveform Collapse is the reduction of a number of physical possibilities into one single possibility as seen by an observer.


The bar was noisy.

And full.

And the drink scrum was horrible.

These three terrible conditions were made worse by the fact that Paul and Andy had imbibed enough alcohol that it wasn’t completely clear whose round it was.

“Call,” said Paul , always the pragmatist.


They’d had enough that simple commands needed explanation.

“Call. Heads or Tails.” Paul nodded towards the bar. “Someone has to go up there.”

As they watched, a new group entered, doing a conga line. They were wearing Santa hats, with glowing, flashing tips.

It was an office party. They thronged to the bar.

Andy considered the question. Tossing a coin was faster than their usual Rochambeau. There were less options, for a start. Though how they got to rock-paper-scissors-tank-monkey-spider-potato he had no idea.

Also…he wasn’t entirely sure he could do the monkey.

“Heads,” he announced.

The move, the Monkey. He knew how to do the dance.

Paul flipped the coin and they both watched it spin, climbing through the air, flipping over itself, reaching its apex, slowing…

Hell, who didn’t know how to do the monkey dance?

…before making its descent, where it was caught, cupped, and covered.


Erwin Schrödinger, an Austrian physicist, devised a thought experiment. It meant to demonstrate the conflict between quantum theory on a microscopic level, and what we see on a macroscopic level.

Stay with me. It’s got cats.

Put a living cat in a box along with a death trap: a device containing a bottle of poison, a radioactive substance and a Geiger counter.

If a single atom of the radioactive substance decays, the counter detects it, trips a hammer which breaks the bottle of poison, killing the cat.

If it doesn’t, then nothing happens.

We then seal the box and wait for a minute or so.

We, the observer, cannot know if an atom has decayed and if the cat is dead. Since we cannot know, according to quantum law, the cat is both alive and dead. It is only when we open the box and observe the state of the cat that one of the waveforms collapses, and we see if the is alive or dead.

Schrödinger is rumored to have said, later in life, that he wished he had never met that cat.


Paul and Andy looked at Paul’s hand covering the coin, which had now entered its Cat State. Both heads and tails.


There is another theory.

One which says the wave form doesn’t collapse. That both universes exist. One where a cat lives and one where it dies.

But which, then, would be Universe Prime? Which would be true reality.

The unsatisfying answer is, of course, the one You witness. You build your universe through your senses. It is the only reality You can know.


[Paul/Andy] [stood at the bar/got caught in a huddle at the bar/hugged a secretary/CEO/CFO/pushed his way through the crowd to get his drinks]. At the table [Paul/Andy] [watched his mate/waited until it was clear his drink wasn’t coming and got up to join him/laughed as [Paul/Andy] tried to get out of a clingy embrace from a stranger].


Terrence McKenna – Irish American psychonaut, researcher, lecturer – had a theory.

And it is wonderful.

It states that the Jesus Incident only happened in this reality.

That there is another where the Immaculate Conception never happened. In that reality Mary and Joseph didn’t have a child that was destined to be of great spiritual and political import.

Without the rise of Christianity, the Roman civilisation wasn’t shattered. There, Greek sience and mathematics continued to enrich roman engineering and government etc. Hypatia wasn’t stoned to death and elaborated calculus some thousand years before Newton.

He continues this line of thinking and arrives at a civilization that was so advanced by the 1900s that it worked out that we existed. That we were in a parallel timeline that wasn’t as advanced as their reality.

They did what all protective parallel civilisations would have done. They tried to make contact with us. They tried to see if they could breach the timelines make us aware of their wonders.  And they did it by detonating an atomic device in their continuum.

This, he said, was carried out in 1906 and was witnessed here as the Tunguska blast…


“Clearly we didn’t send it back in time.”

A room of scientists looked through the safety glass separating them from their experiment.

“How can you know that?”

The first turned to the second. Because we would have found it, read about it. It would have changed everything!”

There was silence. The first, let’s call him Brian. It is, after all, his name, continued. “Suppose we put a message in there that warned them not to let knowledge of the find out. That it was a matter of utmost secrecy.”

“Because that always works.” It was a third who spoke now, this voice heavy with sarcasm.

“Thank you, Steve. I think there are better ways of stating that obvious conclusion.”

Steve left the room with an, “It is what it is.”

Chris and Brian looked at it.

Sitting on a platform in the middle of a complex set of wires, beams, and instruments, was a small metal ovoid.

They had been experimenting with wormholes, with the nature of time and space, with – ultimately – time travel. They were looking at, what they believed, was a time machine.

The ovoid was a probe that would send temporal data back to them, so that they could be sure the machine had worked, and hadn’t just vaporised the device.

“The fact that we can’t see the effects of it proves it didn’t work.”  Chris gave his old argument again.

“How would we know? If our past was changed so radically, we wouldn’t know it. Maybe our world is like it is because we sent it back.”

It was an old argument, and one they had been having for years. From the moment they had started working on the device it had been the same. “It can’t have worked, we’d have known about it.”

Silence again.

“Suppose it’s not our time line?”

“Again, Brian?”

“Hear me out. Suppose it’s not. Suppose that’s a fundamental law, or something. We can’t change our past, but we can look at another time line.”

“What would be the point?”

“We could see how their time line worked!”

Chris looked at him. “And? We don’t know when this thing will land. Or where. Suppose it’s some prehistoric lava pool and it just explodes. We only have one.”

“That could explain why we haven’t found it.”


Kicking out time, and Andy and Paul had gone their separate ways. Paul to write…something. He had tried to explain it but Andy… didn’t care.

His girlfriend was coming home.

He hadn’t seen her for a month. Work had taken her away but tomorrow she would unlock the door and find him…less broken than he should be, because he would do all the post think things you’re meant to do.

He promised himself that, at least.


They had covered a wall in ink.

The math was… if they had to be honest, it was desperate, but could bear testing.

“We should model this tomorrow,” yawned Chris. “Make sure the numbers are right. It could be interesting.

“Model? We should send the damn thing away! What’s wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with me? We’re SCIENTISTS! Christ, Bri. This is an experiment. Which could have massive repercussions-“

“Which we would have seen the effects of!” Brian interrupted.

“Really?” Steve had returned with an enormous mug. “Screaming like school kids?”

“What’s that?” Chris asked.

“Coffee.” Steve took a sip. “Just brewed.”

“Where’s mine?”

“In the pot. Like it always is.”

Chris sighed and headed for the door. “Wanna look at those numbers?”

Steve walked to the wall and stared. “Jesus,” he announced. “Those are a bit desperate.”


“And so to bed.” Andy announced to his phone. He was looking at his lasts SMS. “One more sleep.”

He turned over and, for the first time in a month, drifted off happy.


Chris returned to the room. Steve was giving live commentary on the numbers on the wall. Brian was tapping away at a keyboard.

“Are you working on that model already?”

Brian looked up, grinning. “You could say that.”

He flicked a switch.

Waveform collapse.

This story should have been placed at the end of the first week.

The story was set up for this as a mini-climax. But at the end of the day – because it wasn’t an original photo – I wasn’t comfortable putting it in. Now it’s outside of the story, that’s fine. If someone comes and says “Can you take this photo down, please.” It won’t ruin the line of the story.

It has a title. But for today it’s just “The Boxing Day Special.”


“Are you sure you got this right?”

The older man nodded.

The were in a barn.

“It was a place like this. And there was the mother and…not the father. But not in a daylight-broadcast shout show way. The birth was strange. And the strange was wondrous. This was why the child was venerated.”

The first nodded. “Ok. So. The woman is pregnant – in a manner that is strange, but which you don’t remember. And they travel for miles.”

“Yes! Across the snowy tundra, through the dark forests, they travel. And they can’t find a place to stay. And it’s ok – because she’s not ready to pop. But at the end, she’s going to give birth, and they need to stop somewhere.”

The two were cleaning out a barn. They were wrapped up warm against the chill of Coldmas.

The younger asked again. “Are…are you sure this’ll catch on? I mean – the jolly guy who brings presents is very popular.”

The older stopped, stretched his back and sighed. “I don’t know, Thorn. When I woke from this dream things made sense. That…there could be some kindness in the world. That people would help each other. And even if no one celebrates this with is – at least I’ll have that.”

They looked at the clean space in the middle of the barn and went outside to get the trough.

“Ok – so. They got to an hotel?”

The older man looked confused. “What? OH! Yes. A hotel.” He gathered his thoughts.

“And the hotel,” he continued. “It was this swanky movie star and palm tree affairs. All gold plate and zirconium. You know – posh.”

The younger man nodded, eyes gleaming at the thought of such wealth.

“So they try and check in. ‘Hello. My wife’s about to have a baby. We have no where to stay. We’re no so rich.’”

“They didn’t say that.”

“Well – not in so many words – but that was the gist.”

“What happened?”

“Well, the hotel staff said ‘Oh a baby! That’s so wonderful. Maybe you should have thought about that before traveling. You’re not staying here.’ And that went on all over town. Right down to the dive hotels that rent tubes by the 15 minutes.”

“And you wouldn’t want to lie down there, let alone have a child in a place like that.”

The older pointed. “Exactly. I’ll make you right on that one.”

“So what happened?”

“They passed through town and came to a farm. The farmer actually had no room, cussed them out, sent them on their way – but the farmer’s wife stopped them. Said that, even through they had different surnames, and had travelled carelessly, that was no reason not to help. And she lead them to the barn.”

“On their travels their story had spread, and soon people came to see this child with the wondrous heritage. And they came to see. They followed the couple.”

“That sounds odd.”

“It was more than odd. It was wondrous. If only I could remember why…”

“So – that’s it?”

“No! Three fortune tellers – a palm reader, a stone thrower and a cardomancer-”

“Credit or Debit?”


“The card guy.”

“Oh – playing.”

The younger looked even more confused. “He was an actor too?”

“What? No! Look – it doesn’t matter. They had all divined the special nature of the child and they had left the resort they were working in, rented a cart and came to  see the child. And they even bought gifts.”

“But – why?”

“It…it was because….Oh.”

And the older remembered why.


They spent the rest of the day dressing the barn in the style that the dreamer remembered.

And finally, they found three to play the wondrous family: Mother; Not Father – but not in a daylight-broadcast shout show way; and the baby.

“That was why it was wondrous,” whispered the older man, his voice cracking with emotion. “Because the child was the Son of Dog.”

“Are you absolutely sure you got this right?”

And this is how ideas grow.

If you totally mishear them.


This image was supplied by Lee. He’s Dec 8, for those who don’t remember.

If it’s you and you want it taken down, hit the contact us mail link on the website’s main page.

“So, what now?” Ramona was sitting in The Sidetrack Cafe. There was a fearful, but impressed, circle around her and Mona.

“Well, you can’t stay here. Don’t forget you’re still in that lighthouse.”

Ramona choked on her drink. “Oh God! Nono, not you.”

The old guy in robes sitting at the bar shrugged, smiled nervously, and turned back to his Virgin Mary.

“Steven is with me! How long have I been out for?”

Mona pulled a cherry from her drink. “Well. We can access anytime at all from here, so…you’ve not been gone at all.”

Ramona shook her head. “I will never, ever get my head around this stuff.”

Mona lowered her tone. “Well, seeing as you being here freaks them out, that’s not so bad a thing.”

Ramona nodded.

“Ok. But…what now?”

“Well – we do about our days. You get older, the idea stays the same and, at one point, you com over here. I talked to Simon in 10-15 and we wake him up. And you have access to the entire realm of This Side, and I get to walk about in a body every now and then. Oh – and there’s one other thing we have to do.”


Ramona was hiding on a walkway, way in the shadows of the Library.

Below her she should hear Mona’s voice. Impassive, Calm.

“Tulpa. A magically produced illusion. Or creation. An embodiment of an idea created through meditation.”

But she wasn’t here for that. She was here to see herself. Herself as a young girl, back where it all started.

They had talked about how it was possible for Mona to have told herself that she had to be there, if she had to be old to do the act of creation in the first place. There was some mumbling about all time taking place at the same time but Ramona stopped listening when she realised that she could watch.

And all too soon it was over.

Mona came up to her. “So?”

Ramona was lost in thought. “Ra?” Mona asked.

“Why have no one done this before?”


“Yeah. Everyone has an idea of who they are. Why aren’t they all connecting like I am?”

“Maybe those ideas aren’t strong enough. I mean – there’s not loads of people in the cafe.”

“But it’s such an obvious thing. And – if I can attach myself to you, know what you know, see what you see. It could change everything.”

“Ramona… I don’t know if that’s such a great plan.”

“Why? We could pull the wall down. It wouldn’t be ideas walking around there, or us here. It would be different. And – look, no one knows what happens now. It’s different. It’s all blank. It’s… It’s like an idea tree before it grows.”


Ramona sat and thought, and focused.

And placed.



Ramona opened her eyes.


“I’m warning you! Give her back?”

Ramona laughed.

“Oh, Steve. There’s no possession going on here. Look. Buy me breakfast and I’ll tell you everything.”


The place doesn’t matter. Neither do the people. Not really. What matters are the actions:

A fridge opens. A hand reaches for an egg.

It slips.

There’s a fumbling attempt to catch it, but it fails.

Hits tiles.


And there’s a pause.

A moment of distraction.

A pair of eyes starting at yolk and shell.

A moment of focus.

Minutes slip by.

Someone comes in.

A question: ‘Hey, you ok?”

An answer. “Yeah…I have this idea…”


The final photo has been provided by Lorna Andrikopoulos.

The Bad Idea sat on its Throne of Nightmares. It was time.

It could feel the rituals taking place throughout time. It was about to become real. It wasn’t just The Bad Idea, it was the best one, too.

It heard footsteps coming down to its throne room.

“What is this, some kind of lair?”

What on earth was this? Someone coming to question it on its hour of ascension? “Eh..hello?”

A woman with pink hair walked into the throne room. With not nearly enough deference. The Bad Idea through that it had had seen her before. Maybe in the Cafe.

“Christ. Could you be more cliche? Good grief. You want to walk the earth as Darkness Incarnate. Really? Do you think you’re the only one to have had that idea? And – Ideas having Ideas? Does that work?”

The Bad Idea had had enough. He stood and roared. “Do you know who I am? I am Master here. You have decided to fuck with the wrong-“

“Oh, I know what you are. You think you’re The Bad Idea. But you’re just a shit one.”

The Bad Idea charged at her, it would kill her, it would rip her still beating heart from her-

The tentacles on his face pulled back before the full feeling of revulsion hit him. She…


“Yeah. I’m not from around here.”


Mona sat on a chair. “So, Howard. I can call you Howard, right? All I’m saying is – you’re going to be a writer anyway. I just want you to write about monsters.”

The young man sat in his bed, blankets pulled up to his neck. “Who…are you? How do you get into my dreams?”

“Well. That could be one of the ways that THEY come to us. In dreams. Look – it works like this. When the stars are right, the great evil can walk the Earth. Until then, they are trapped. Locked away forever.” She smiled. “And I can promise you, your name will never die. And others will take your vision and keep that alive for ever. And you won’t even have to sell your soul.”

The young man thought about this for a while.

“You know… that’s not a bad idea.”


The Bad Idea was backed up in its throne. It was terrified.

“Can you feel that? My idea has just given someone one. This is it. This is how you end. You want to be on our side? I’ll send you there forever.”

“No…please. Don’t.”


Simon stood on a cliff. It was night. He was looking out over a strange sea. In the sky a woman with pink hair was rearranging the stars.

“This must be a dream,” he said.

“What gave it away?”

He span round. The same woman with pink hair was gathering wood behind him.

“Was it the star moving?”

“Nono.” Said Simon. “More that the stars are so far away, but I can see the colour of your hair as you move them.” He looked back. She was still moving them. “How are you…”

“She’s my twin. You should watch.”

Simon turned back. “The stars look like mine now.”

“Yep. And now they’re wrong for him.”

The Bad Idea appeared, on its knees. It was crying. “Please. Don’t do this.”

“Simon. Kick the trash out.”

Simon was frozen.

The Bad Idea turned to the boy it had tormented. “Please. I’m sorry.”

“This is a dream, Simon. And it’s yours. He can’t hurt you.”

Simon gave The Bad Idea the timidest of kicks.

And it flew over the cliff and sunk beneath the waves.

Simon stood between two pink haired women. The one he talked to first seemed to glow. “Is it dead?”

“No,” said the glowing woman. “It’s sleeping until the stars go back to the way they are. Which will never happen.”

“But in strange eons, even death may die.” Said the other.



“In strange eons?”

“That’s what he wrote.”

Simon spoke again. “What are you two talking about?”

They grinned. “Let’s gather wood and talk about that.”


“So,” said Mona. “This is your idea tree. Terrible things happened to you, Simon. And just because you were smart and had a great idea. An idea so good, it’s why there’s two of us. But you’re going to forget these things, Simon. And you’re going to lose your way and go about your life. But one day you’ll see me. And you’ll remember a lot of things, and this tree will blossom and bloom. And you’ll take those terrible things and write them down and you’ll be keep it locked away.”

Simon nodded. But didn’t understand.

“It’s ok, Simon.” Said the glowing woman. “I didn’t understand either.”


“Two down. One more to go.” Ramona said.

“This is the best one.”

“Mona. I do believe you’re soft.”


They found him moping in his house.

“On. No, no, no. Not you again. You shouldn’t be here.”

“Santa. We’ve trapped that bad idea. He’s locked away forever.”

“So. That doesn’t change what it did to that boy.”

They explained about Simon.

“It doesn’t change what it did to me!” He yelled.

There was a silence.

A long one.

Santa shook, silently sobbing his fear and shame.

Ramona broke it. “Santa. You have to go out. Because your idea is out there. In millions of heads. In millions of hearts. Across time. You have to go out. And when you do, they’ll see you exist. They’ll know that you’re there.”


And Ramona told him.


“Sir? I’m picking something up. I’m not quite sure what it is.”

The general looked at the radar. “Stand down, Private. That’s just Santa.”

The private looked at his office. “Santa?”

The general nodded and announced to the tracking station: “This is NORAD Control. We have Santa on Radar. Make sure he has a safe trip.”


And throughout time, across the Ideasphere, breaking across our side, small lights spark as Santa crosses over.

Lighting up Time like his own personal universe.


Today’s picture was supplied by Martine Pedersen. Follow that link, and you’ll be told about Howard, too.

Steven carried on talking. Had he noticed anything it would have been the rapid fluttering of his sisters eyelids, or the way she seemed to keel forwards, before Mona caught her and righted themselves.

He didn’t notice she was dying at all.

So. Don’t blame him.


It was white. Retina burningly white.

Ramona blinked and found herself looking in a mirror.

“Hello,” her reflection said.

“Shouldn’t you only speak when I do?” She reached her hand out, but her reflection didn’t.

Ramona blinked. A penny dropped.

“OH! You’re Her! Me! The .. Thing!”

Mona laughed. “Yeah. That’s me.”

They shook hands. Fire raged through Ramona’s head.

She blinked. “So…where are we?”

“I’m not sure. I think ‘between.’ It looks like you’re calling me into you, and so – in some way, you’re coming into me.”

Ramona blinked. “It that usual?”

Mona shook her head. “Never been done before.”

Ramona blinked. And looked concerned.

“You know,” said Mona. “You blink a lot. Are you ok?”

“I’m not sure. My head feels like it’s on fire. I’m seeing all these things.” Her nose started bleeding.

Mona nodded. “You’re getting all the ideas that I hold in my head in one go. Your head might not be able to contain it.”

Ramona stumbled.

“But if we don’t sort this out, you’re going to die.”


Mona snapped her eyes open.

“What were you saying?” Santa asked. “You just stopped mid sentence.”

“How long have I been gone for?”

“Gone where. You’ve been here all the time.”

Mona opened her mouth to ask something, shook her head. “No time. Santa. How does it work? Idea transplantation.”

Santa shuddered. “That’s what got me here today.”

“Please.” Said Mona. “I may not have much time.”

Santa shook his head and told Mona how he did it with the Idea Bomb.


“Ramona. Be me. Take the idea that you have an idea of yourself that’s not where you are. That you can be in two places at once. Do it.”

Ramona’s eyes rolled back in her head.

Her mouth foamed.

“Or…I could try,” Mona muttered.


Ramona opened her eyes.


Steven stopped talking. “Mona? Are you ok?”

“I am. Yes, thank you. At least. I am now.” She tried to stand, thought about it, tried again and, eventually got up. “It’s nice that we get to meet, actually.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The last time we saw each other, you told me…to get my hands off her, I believe.”

Mona stepped from the circle.

“These hands?”


“And…you’re from over there? Oh, here. Use my tissue. I think it’s stopped now.”

Ramona took a tissue from a very fat man in a red suit. He had a huge white beard.

And was sitting in a sleigh.

“I…I hate to ask,” she asked, mopping the blood from her nose. “But…who are you?”

The man looked crestfallen. “Forgotten already. That explains everything.”

“Well – you look like…Like Father Christmas but.”

Santa laughed.

“And – you laugh like Father Christmas. But…”

Santa looked at her.

“Oh. Oh. My. God. You..you’re-”

Santa nodded.


“What have you done with my sister!” Steven screamed at the woman coming towards him.

“I’ve  saved her life. I’ve left her sitting on the lap of one of your biggest ideas. And I’ve come into her body.”

“You stole it?”

Mona laughed. “No. I borrowed it. We’re going to be sharing it from now on. I wanted to know what it felt like.”


The white was less blinding now.

“Mona. Are you scaring my brother?”

Mona laughed. “A little?”

“Well, don’t,” Ramona chided. “He spoke to me, remember? This was, after all, what we wanted.”

They smiled.

“I know everything you know. We have to do something.”

Mona nodded. “We do.”

Ramona thought. “I have an idea…”


Today’s image was provided by Melissa.

Creative Commons License This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported License.