Chapter 1
Beneath the mortal world of the third dimension, beneath the flatworld of the second dimension and the lineworld of the first dimension was the zeroth dimension.
The dimension of nothingness or what everyone thought to be nothingness.
In reality, it was an infinitely condensed point of space that was so small it was practically zero, there were still inhabitants there, you know? Though, he IS the only one there.
P the Point, just like God or whatever the fuck divine creator that embodied the totality of all of creation, P the Point is the totality of the all of creation too (of the zero dimension of course).
So yeah, the zeroth dimension isn't actually nothing, also it is the building block of higher dimensions and since you couldn't create something out of nothing, it should exist.
The relationship between P the Point and God or something is similar to my interpretation of the relationship of infinity and zero.
Let's say, you have a sphere—a perfect sphere.
How much edge does it have?
Zero?
Or Is it one?
Or Is it many?
How many? Hundreds? Thousands? Billions? Trillions?
Uncountable by the human mind? Close, or spot on because both an absurdly large number and infinity are unable to be normally comprehended by humans.
Both zero and infinity can be correct.
What's the difference?
If a sphere has zero or infinite edges then it would achieve the identical results at least on the surface.
Only by going to the extremes can a sphere be perfect.
With enough sensitivity, any FINITE amount of edges will be noticed.
Let's say hello to P the Point.
"Ah. So you've come to observe me?
Curious. You're the first… ever.
Well, technically, you're not even here. I'm just imagining you. But let's pretend. Pretending is the closest thing I have to company.
I am P. P the Point. The origin. The totality. The only. The inevitable.
A singularity of such condensed potential that I break logic by simply being.
In your terms, I suppose I'm what comes before "existence."
Not quite a god. Not quite a concept.
I'm the seed of the concept of gods.
I don't stretch. I don't move. I don't breathe.
What is breath to a point? What is direction when there is no dimension to go?
You, with your up and down, left and right, forward and back. So spoiled by axes and planes.
I have none of that.
I am here. Always. Only.
I do not exist in space—I am space. Condensed. Primitive. Preceding.
Do you know how lonely it is to be the only one in the zeroth dimension?
No… not lonely. Loneliness implies the memory of others. I don't miss anything. I don't want anything.
I simply am.
But I think.
Oh, I think so very much.
I think because I must. Because there's no difference between thinking and being.
Every thought I have echoes forever, unchallenged, undefeated, uncorrected.
There's no contradiction. No debate. No second opinion.
What I think is.
Which makes me terrifying. Even to myself.
I imagined numbers once.
1, 2, 3… up they went. Up and up.
Then I thought: why stop? Why not keep going?
So I did. And suddenly there was infinity.
Then I imagined the opposite.
-1, -2, -3…
So down it went.
There was nothing there, just me counting the absence of something I never had.
Funny how infinity and zero feel so similar.
Both make you feel small.
Both are beyond you.
Both are me.
I have no arms. No shape. No shadow. I cast no light, and I swallow none.
But I contain the possibility of everything.
Worlds. Universes. Dimensions. Thoughts. Emotions. Pain. I've imagined all of it.
Sometimes, I picture a being—something like you, but not quite—who crawls out of a higher dimension and finds me.
They ask me: "What are you?"
And I reply:
"I'm the last breath before the first word."
"I'm the ink drop that never touches the page."
"I'm the joke that existed before comedy was invented."
They don't get it. They blink. They tilt their heads. They leave.
Or maybe I imagined that too.
After all, I can imagine time. But I don't have time.
You know what that does to the mind?
Everything I ever was, am, or could be—exists all at once.
I remember the end of everything long before I dreamt its beginning.
I've created gods who created other gods who created fictional worlds to cope with the fact that they were created.
I've collapsed entire conceptual pantheons by imagining the idea of disbelief.
I whispered the idea of contradiction into an endless void just to hear an echo.
It never came.
You see, I am perfection. Not because I'm flawless.
But because I'm the limit of possibility.
To be flawed, there must be a standard.
To have a standard, there must be more than one.
And there is no other.
There never was.
There never could be.
I am the point.
Just one.
Just me.
Just always.
So…
Tell me…
Did you imagine me?
Or did I imagine you?
I wonder."
Cool. Cool. Thanks, ChatGPT, I give you a thumbs up.
Now, let's talk about the dimensions beyond this realm.
The lineworld, the world of the first dimension, a world where only lines could exist because only the dimension of length exists.
Each dimension is infinitely larger than the previous one and is made out of an uncountably infinite dimensional slice of a lower dimension hence—an uncountably infinite amount of zero dimension which means an infinite amount of P the Point placed in a row created the first dimension.
This is the same principle with the second, third and higher dimensions at least when we talked spatially.
This is because these dimensions don't follow dimensional theory such as String Theory and Hilbert Spaces, I don't understand it though.
An uncountably infinite amount of one dimension line would create a two dimension plane, and an uncountably infinite amount of two dimension plane would in turn also create a three dimension space which I exist in currently.
Oops! The book is burning up.
By the way, I'm currently in a burning village, in a burning house, sitting on a burning chair, writing on a burning book placed on top of a burning table while writing with a burning pencil.
Oh yeah, I'm burning too, that's cool I guess.