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“Isomorphic algorithms,” I muttered to myself as I walked along the street.

“What’s that,” asked my cat.

“Just something I heard somewhere,” I replied to the immaculate ball of fuzz following beside me. “Like the term ‘quantum enfolding’,” I added, “it was used in a fictional sense yet seems to describe something tangible I was working on but had yet to define to point of naming.”

“The quantum enfolding thing was interesting,” agreed my cat. “Although it’s a bit of an occlusion. Inserting your DNA’s enfolded eigenstate into a quantum frame is where you hit the ground with this one.”

“Funny that,” I smiled, “I did that to reconcile the memory issue. Genetic memory, the key to unlocking junk DNA, that sort of thing. Though it was perhaps overly sentimental suggesting you use a turing machine to reframe the question sequentially.”

“Oracle machine,” corrected my cat. “Anyhow,” she continued, “isomorphic algorithms.”

“Not sure I understand,” I sighed, “at this point I feel I’m making it up.”

“Shadow proclamation,” replied my cat with a stern expression. “I suggest you take this opportunity to explain.”

“Hmmm,” I replied sounding unconvinced. “As you wish.” For a moment I set my mind back and looked for the beginning of the path which had lead my cat to find me. “Particle memetics,” I sighed eventually, “and my ongoing search to explain what I know with regards to the transfer of meaning.”

“Meme clusters,” agreed my cat as she got the point, “act more in a more algorithmic manner than their particulate cousins.”

“Indeed,” I nodded. “And if memory serves isomorphism refers to entities which exhibit similar structure and internal relationships.”

“Indeed,” said my cat “Now why would this be bending your noodle.”

“I think I’ve identified one,” I grinned. “Or rather what I identified resonates strongly with the term.”

“Do tell,” purred my cat.

“It begins with a neural semantic model I was constructing,” I began. “Something simple constructed from two intersecting a open finite sets. One representing the inner landscape of thought and self as reflected through external operators. And a a second representing the wider mental environment reflected within. Each set divides into subsets and each subset utilizes a sequenced iterative approach to identify encapsulated understanding without even beginning to encounter what could be nominally described as spoken language.”

“Finite open set,” queried my cat.

“A fixed data set,” I replied, “known dimensions and parameters yet sufficiently fluid in and of itself to offer infinite scope.”

“A closed set that’s not,” purred my cat.

“Indeed,” I smiled. “Anyhow,” I continued, “what could be described as an isomorphic algorithm is something I discovered manipulating the first set, the minor set as it were in the context of collective iconography.”

“You could simply come clean,” sighed my cat, “and admit you’re referring to a tarot deck.”

“I would,” I admitted, “only my magic is somewhat different to that which is usually associated with tarot. Besides, it’s the framing that’s important. I wasn’t exactly dealing cards when I thought of this, merely applying some of the insights I’ve achieved trying to understand the factors contributing to my schizophrenia.”

“Perhaps,” replied my cat. “Your understanding of social anthropology is somewhat enlightened. As is the rudimentary framework of mind you’re developing.”

“Although the tarot gets a credit here,” I sighed, “because the initial entry points to the meme cluster was glaringly obvious. So obvious in fact I’d never seen it before.”

“Aces, Charles,” replied my cat with a sarcastic reference. “Scarecrow to swords, Lion to cups, Tin-man to pentacles, Oz to wands. One, two, three, four. Attach the kings and let go. What happens next.”

“Everybody goes to the cinema to watch it,” I smiled. “Gets the ideas in their heads. Creates a cluster of thought in their minds.”

“You’ve connected the kings to the source,” said my cat, “now follow the entanglements, Page, Queen, Knight. Quantum resolution agents. Streamers of thought spooling through your memories looking for the connection to self beyond the land of Oz. Thirty-two bits of information split four ways. Returning to source. Over and over. Then halt. Path analysis and evaluate.”

“Oracle machine,” I exclaimed as the penny dropped.

“Only the classic description refers to turing machine which waits for a black box to return,” said my cat, “before continuing it’s operation. A turing machine pausing to reference a quantum resolution interface you could say. Only at the moment talking to you feels more akin to a quantum resolution interface waiting for a turing machine to catch-up.”

“Anyhow,” I continued, as I ignored my cat’s insult with a bright-eyed smile, “what you end-up with is heap of unseen symbols corresponding to the seen and occluded aspects of one’s journey through the semantic set of your choice.”

“Oz,” purred my cat, “as in ‘The Wizard of Oz’.”

“Merely one that’s in most people’s minds,” I smiled, “a popular classic that does little to reference know deities. And given the semantic sets of choice in the theology department it’s safer for the children too. Catholicism is nasty when it unravels, there’s even a suicide imperative built into it. Try to expose the collective, count to twelve, and Judas, game over.”

“That’s deep,” said my cat. “Exposing the damage that caused you when it went bang is one of my core imperatives.”

“Quite,” I muttered with a frown. “Anyhow,” I continued, “it gets a bit hyper-real and zen here because the map in not the territory and the tao that can be written is not the true tao. The Oz encoded data set represent my entry points to the Oz meme cluster. My points of reference into the heart of Oz if you like.”

“Something similar allows you to spot me in your past,” purred my cat, “even way back back before I’d met you.”

“Hmm,” I sighed. “Experiencing severe credibility shortfall.”

“No matter,” grinned my cat.

“In which case,” I smiled, “please excuse me when I switch to my internal semantics and refer to the minor arcana in this role as sub-space entry points. This is where it gets worse, because now I have to expose the secondary framework.”

“Secondary framework,” sighed my cat.

“The thing that holds-up the yellow-brick road,” I growled. “A similar form of neural semantic pattern matching but this one I would refer to as a personal tool-chain rather than an independent resolution agent. My way to interface my view of my world over that of the internal world of Oz. This is where it get problematical.”

“Pourqois,” purred my cat.

“Cheeky cat,” I grinned. “You know full well that I refer to the area of infinite scope I manipulate with the Major Arcana as grid-space. Your sister is, after all, a grid-space sub-entity.”

“All I seek to do,” purred my cat deeply, “is help you connect the grids together in a somewhat rational manner.”

“Rational,” I hissed, “I’ve been talking about these insanities for years. Holding on to any valid thread of rational as I seek to pull myself through it. Now the return messages are leaking back to me via Hollywood.”

“Reference of ideas,” purred my cat, “quantum encoding, secure comms, broadcast in the clear. It’s like you’ve got a babel-fish tuned to an higher frequency than what’s available to mortal man.”

“So I get to fill my head with probability functions,” I sighed, “then wait for the omega resolution to pull the wave-function collapse vectors out via Hollywood.”

“No escaping the message then,” said my cat. “You may put the post collapse resolution into a wait-state but the legwork, as it were, was done publicly in a public place.”

“Methinks you have issues in the Lion department,” said my cat with due concern. “Probably stemming from the Scarecrow issues.”

“Don’t,” I yelled, “That collapses into a whole heap of other poorly understood phenomena. I realize it’s impossible to cross the same river twice, but the Scarecrow was screamingly obvious.”

“I feel some of the other entangled memetic operators,” replied my cat with obvious concern, “have been giving you problems.”

“Other entanglements,” I conceded more calmly, “there’s an relative dimension that’s more than a simple entanglement with invariant operators. Relinking and purging my cache helps, but takes time. There’s also a lot of fallout.”

“What you have,” said my cat, “is the backdoor key to archetypes in the back of the mind of anyone who’s seen the film or read the book. Even the question of the colour of the slippers renders the interpolated ideal archetypes open to observation.”

“Isomorphic algorithm,” I muttered to myself.

“And this,” announced my cat smugly, “is the problem.”

“There’s an old trick with empathy that’s been known to yield useful results,” I smiled. “The equivalent would be running into the street and yelling ‘stop thief’, emotionally those within earshot will grab their ass, their wallet or their guns.”

“Not exactly useful information,” said my cat, “not as if empathy comes with a GPS.”

“Useful to obtain an overview,” I smiled. “Unconscious data to be used unconsciously in learning to step beyond the boundaries of a locked box. But as a metaphor I think it describes the problem to which you refer.”

“Indeed,” purred my cat. “Imagine there’s a set of seven lesser symbols in the context of an eight dimensional grid locus that could access your internal representation of the The Wizard himself based merely on the mismatches which exist between the actual isomorphic algorithm corresponding to the Land of Oz and the inner representation of that algorithm you were left with last time you watched the film.”

“I tried it in public once; reading the grid loci of others that is” I smiled. “It resonates nicely with the girls. Probably the Dorothy effect. Men, it seems, are mostly blind to it. It’s probably that ‘killed their mother’ vibe in the shadow realm. Along with an inability to recast the inner child into the role of a Female.”

“Fools Journey,” said my cat. “I mean honestly, Toto. It’s classic Fool symbology. Finding him was almost as good as that time Disney had Susan bridging a grid-space entity into Narnia.”

“It’s funny,” I smiled, “it resides in the mass unconscious almost unseen. Yet tie it to NLP and it’s like shooting fish in a barrel when it comes to seeing into the minds around you. Though oddly the internal physics of morality and ethics evoked when doing such a thing do seem to be based on those operating within Oz itself.”

“As it should be,” replied my cat sternly. “It’s keyed to the lowest levels of actual thought. It’s dangerous. It’s like the Universal Translator for unconscious telepaths.”

“It’s kiddy tech,” I sighed. “And a kid’s book.”

“A fairy tail,” purred my cat. “Grab hold for the path to enlightenment that’s safe for the kids. Far better than that god awful tome from your youth you started with. The one designed and upheld by the muggle equivalent of death-eaters.”

“Stormtroopers,” I muttered. “General Order Sixty-six. Emergency temporal relocation for all wombles with light sabres.”