That sunlight-reflecting orb in the sky that moves and changes shapes, the one that inspired wonder, calendars, werewolves, witchcraft, religions, belief, is a catchall for emotion. The people 9500 years before the messiah were making pies but they had no idea about the moon. They looked at it. Kids asked, “what is that?”. “I don’t know, good question,” was the answer.
“I’ve seen it a lot.”
“Wish I knew.”
“I have more pressing matters. Pie’s done.”
The thoughts of eager, overgrown men are tired replicas and false reflections of The Phantagasm. Everything with a pulse is just reacting to a predetermined set of disconnected events, and the thoughts are the impossible attempt to digitize the world like an mp3. Imagine 5mb to store every piece of wisdom concisely, nerds.
Pills are fakes. They trick the body. The body pushes back with side effects and failure and death. Another coarse attempt to control a fine measurement permeates existence. Big deal so what.
Where its leading is straight to Hell. You know it, I do, et cetera. Big whoop. No pleasure or reward knowing that. Comes with the territory. Just doing your job. Fixing a time machine because it broke and stranded you in some lost time in some alternate universe that you just want to get back to you own time, life, and spoiled kids. Shouldn’t have been a part of that fiction, eager jerk. Its what you signed off on. You gave your word, now say the lines or we kill you.
“Ferdinance, I don’t like the way this modulator looks. It appears to be burned up at both ends.”
“I had noticed that. Not to worry, we can fix it. What we need is time and a few other things. I get underlings to get the needed stuff. Is there any other complications we may have to deal with because I hope not.”
“Could be our enemy is going to be shooting at us with ray guns very soon. Oh, look, there he is. Shit, we should tend to this first and wait on getting that modulator fixed. We need to get it fixed, but just this new development is more important to the story line right now to fill up the pages. Look, I’m just doing my job.”
Time passes.
“We were lucky there, weren’t we, Ferdinance?”
“We very nearly got done in that time. Our enemy got us off guard at first, but then we went back and forth for awhile, the winner of the conflict could go either way, but then that final thing happened. You know, I wish we had killed our enemy right now because I have a feeling we’ll be seeing him again now, which is bothersome because the modulator is out and we’re stranded in this time and place that is not very fun and can’t get back to our own backyards and barbeque pits and dogs.”
“I have cats, but the point is it’s a step by step procedure. One foot in front of the other. The right hand doesn’t know what the left hand is doing and visa-versa. We have a plan now but I bet in a little while, once things calm down a little, a new conflict, slightly unforeseen, vaguely foreshadowed, will emerge and we’ll have to deal with it too. Its bad enough being fictitious besides being wrung through the ringer.”
“Do you think it will up the stakes? I signed a contract.”
**Special note to the characters of this story from the author. Do not stray from the orders that I give you again. The last page or so you guys have been really pushing it. I allowed it for a while but now I’m starting to get perturbed. How would the reader feel about this? Think about all the people you are letting down. Think about starving children in third world books. Think of all the works of literature that were censored for this very reason. Help me help you. Do as I say from now on. The next character that acts up will be written out of the story. Don’t test me. Is that what you want? You never even existed before I thought of you, and once I forget you, oblivion.
“Yeah, so what. You haven’t given me a name yet.”
**You’ll get a name, its going to be Steven. I want to play around a while before I fully introduce you. I don’t want to have the audience visualize you as anyone they know named Steven, which is a common male name.
“Why can’t I be a woman?”
**Well, no reason. You want to be a woman? And what do you wish to be called?
“Carry Zinn.”
**Okay Miss Zinn, carry on. What are you wearing?
“Duh. I'm dressed like a prostitute.”
**No. You're a nun.
“Get me a drink.”
These spaces are strange, where the story goes now. You become compelled and wish to read further. You turn pages, which are like money in the pocket of this author and this author’s agents, publishers, children, ad infitum. Go one with it. You see things are going to go into a pinch and then when you least suspect it you’re going to be….
****Author’s note to characters: You guys are just standing around. When I’m writing in narrative I want you to be ready in case I go to you. What if I want you to say something out of the blue? Zinn, I am looking at you.
“If you want me to talk, just say so. I’m going to drink my drink as long as you don’t need me. The minute you need me I’ll jump right in.”
****Author’s note to characters: bullshit. Then you won’t be ready. I need you to follow along the whole time in the event I want you to speak for yourself. When I hired you onto this job, I specifically asked for previous experience with improvisation. On your resume you promised you had been in several novels where your main function was to come up with, as you said, zingers and one-liners that would captivate the audience and sell books. We are all working for the same goal, to trick people into spending their hourly wages and wasting their free hours on our project. It’s a win-win. On one hand we get freedom for our own time but also the nice added bonus of warping people’s minds. Not to mention that popularity will increase our ability to go where we want to and not be looked at like intruders. We all want to meet JK Rowling, don’t we? If you guys meet her, she might hire you on for one of her stories. Then, you’d be exposed across the globe and people would talk about you until they die a lonely death and everyone forgets about them. But you will …
“Okay, you’re losing me now,” said Miss Zinn noticeably drunk.
*** Author’s note: that’s a wrap. Everybody go home. Come back tomorrow to cut the pie.
“I’ve seen it a lot.”
“Wish I knew.”
“I have more pressing matters. Pie’s done.”
The thoughts of eager, overgrown men are tired replicas and false reflections of The Phantagasm. Everything with a pulse is just reacting to a predetermined set of disconnected events, and the thoughts are the impossible attempt to digitize the world like an mp3. Imagine 5mb to store every piece of wisdom concisely, nerds.
Pills are fakes. They trick the body. The body pushes back with side effects and failure and death. Another coarse attempt to control a fine measurement permeates existence. Big deal so what.
Where its leading is straight to Hell. You know it, I do, et cetera. Big whoop. No pleasure or reward knowing that. Comes with the territory. Just doing your job. Fixing a time machine because it broke and stranded you in some lost time in some alternate universe that you just want to get back to you own time, life, and spoiled kids. Shouldn’t have been a part of that fiction, eager jerk. Its what you signed off on. You gave your word, now say the lines or we kill you.
“Ferdinance, I don’t like the way this modulator looks. It appears to be burned up at both ends.”
“I had noticed that. Not to worry, we can fix it. What we need is time and a few other things. I get underlings to get the needed stuff. Is there any other complications we may have to deal with because I hope not.”
“Could be our enemy is going to be shooting at us with ray guns very soon. Oh, look, there he is. Shit, we should tend to this first and wait on getting that modulator fixed. We need to get it fixed, but just this new development is more important to the story line right now to fill up the pages. Look, I’m just doing my job.”
Time passes.
“We were lucky there, weren’t we, Ferdinance?”
“We very nearly got done in that time. Our enemy got us off guard at first, but then we went back and forth for awhile, the winner of the conflict could go either way, but then that final thing happened. You know, I wish we had killed our enemy right now because I have a feeling we’ll be seeing him again now, which is bothersome because the modulator is out and we’re stranded in this time and place that is not very fun and can’t get back to our own backyards and barbeque pits and dogs.”
“I have cats, but the point is it’s a step by step procedure. One foot in front of the other. The right hand doesn’t know what the left hand is doing and visa-versa. We have a plan now but I bet in a little while, once things calm down a little, a new conflict, slightly unforeseen, vaguely foreshadowed, will emerge and we’ll have to deal with it too. Its bad enough being fictitious besides being wrung through the ringer.”
“Do you think it will up the stakes? I signed a contract.”
**Special note to the characters of this story from the author. Do not stray from the orders that I give you again. The last page or so you guys have been really pushing it. I allowed it for a while but now I’m starting to get perturbed. How would the reader feel about this? Think about all the people you are letting down. Think about starving children in third world books. Think of all the works of literature that were censored for this very reason. Help me help you. Do as I say from now on. The next character that acts up will be written out of the story. Don’t test me. Is that what you want? You never even existed before I thought of you, and once I forget you, oblivion.
“Yeah, so what. You haven’t given me a name yet.”
**You’ll get a name, its going to be Steven. I want to play around a while before I fully introduce you. I don’t want to have the audience visualize you as anyone they know named Steven, which is a common male name.
“Why can’t I be a woman?”
**Well, no reason. You want to be a woman? And what do you wish to be called?
“Carry Zinn.”
**Okay Miss Zinn, carry on. What are you wearing?
“Duh. I'm dressed like a prostitute.”
**No. You're a nun.
“Get me a drink.”
These spaces are strange, where the story goes now. You become compelled and wish to read further. You turn pages, which are like money in the pocket of this author and this author’s agents, publishers, children, ad infitum. Go one with it. You see things are going to go into a pinch and then when you least suspect it you’re going to be….
****Author’s note to characters: You guys are just standing around. When I’m writing in narrative I want you to be ready in case I go to you. What if I want you to say something out of the blue? Zinn, I am looking at you.
“If you want me to talk, just say so. I’m going to drink my drink as long as you don’t need me. The minute you need me I’ll jump right in.”
****Author’s note to characters: bullshit. Then you won’t be ready. I need you to follow along the whole time in the event I want you to speak for yourself. When I hired you onto this job, I specifically asked for previous experience with improvisation. On your resume you promised you had been in several novels where your main function was to come up with, as you said, zingers and one-liners that would captivate the audience and sell books. We are all working for the same goal, to trick people into spending their hourly wages and wasting their free hours on our project. It’s a win-win. On one hand we get freedom for our own time but also the nice added bonus of warping people’s minds. Not to mention that popularity will increase our ability to go where we want to and not be looked at like intruders. We all want to meet JK Rowling, don’t we? If you guys meet her, she might hire you on for one of her stories. Then, you’d be exposed across the globe and people would talk about you until they die a lonely death and everyone forgets about them. But you will …
“Okay, you’re losing me now,” said Miss Zinn noticeably drunk.
*** Author’s note: that’s a wrap. Everybody go home. Come back tomorrow to cut the pie.
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