Korridorium

♫ Trust Me Not ♫

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I enter the cor­ri­dor. (Don’t believe him; he’s a Cre­tan.) I have my power tools with me and I’m sup­posed to install new elec­tri­cal out­lets here. (All lies: In math­e­mat­i­cal and philo­soph­i­cal logic, the Cre­tan stands for some­one who never tells the truth.) At the end of the cor­ri­dor are two doors with strik­ing door knock­ers. (Lying is patho­log­i­cal among Cre­tans, and they prob­a­bly can’t help it.) They have faces and can talk. (The ques­tion is whether logic existed first and the Cre­tans were forced to adapt to the lemma, or if logi­cians took advan­tage of this noto­ri­ous Cre­tan trait for their own pur­poses.) But one of them mum­bles. (Even Paul men­tions in the New Tes­ta­ment: “One of them, a prophet of their own, said, ‘Cre­tans are always liars.‘”) Ah, but what do I care about the door knock­ers? I’m just here to replace the out­lets. (Which he has prob­a­bly brazenly lied to you about.)

The Liar Para­dox:

The Door Knock­ers in Labyrinth:

The Door Guards in Labyrinth: