082: Cryptoprophecy

Speaking of notebooks, I opened mine the other night and noticed the last entry was over two months ago. I had recorded a surreal experience I had had in the checkout line at my local supermarket. At least I think that is what I had written. My handwriting has a tendency to be unreadable which, I think, is part of the charm of the notebook. When the book is discovered by my grandchildren, I want them to have to puzzle out the entries. They will scratch their heads and wonder if I was a raving visionary or just an addled ancestor whose pen hand had a tendency to wander across the page.

I won't have to wait two generations. I get that feeling now when I try to decipher what I wrote back in February. I think the last word is "cryptoprophecy." I have no idea its relevance to the story that I was trying to get down which, in a sense, gives it that much more weight and import to the surrounding words.

I was reading a bit of Rammellzee's Gothic Futurism manifesto yesterday. He argues that there are twenty-six Letters which contain the mathematical secrets which will allow us to return to the stars. It is our culture, our oppressive religious fascism, which prevents us from seeing the true nature of the Letters. We have been convinced that the twenty-six make up the "alphabet," and we can know longer see the "alphabeta."

Robert Anton Wilson argues in The Cosmic Trigger that reality is not a singularity and that "reality" as we define it is a perceived universe. What is "real" is based emphatically on our senses, on our perceptions of what surrounds us and is separate from us. We create our world by witnessing it. A blade of grass is not inherently green; it is our perception of the manner in which light is reflected from its surface that makes it green.

We bring a lot to the table. Too much, probably. Beneath all the perception, beneath the obscuration of language and the totalitarianism of culture is something immutable (though Wilson will argue that even believing that statement constitutes a belief structure and, as such, limits your possibilities). Is it Rammellzee's Letters? We have to explode language in order to hear the sound of the Letters. We have to decode the confusion and maze of our perceptions in order to unlock the secret histories stored in our brains.

At least, that's what I get out of it. It's just a scribbled word on a page. I could be wrong. I could be imagining things.

« « little fictions || 05.29.2004 @ 03:02 PM

081: Progress Report

I'm just about finished with a draft of Chapter 5 of this iteration of the BOOK OF LIES and progress is, well, moving. In comparison with the speed at which I used to work, it's a glacial pace but it is forward progress nonetheless. There are a number of reasons for the pace, the primary of which is that I've been busy killing myself with sugar. It's an insidious way to go, stuffing your pie hole with donuts and bits of cake -- "Mmm, tasty poison!" But I seem to have finally gotten my head wrapped around the solution and the reversal of my misfortune is progressing apace.

It's a pretty simple equation really; it just took some effort to get started. Entropy and all that. I have a predeliction for entropic activity. And sluggishness leads to more sluggishness -- the entropic equation of increasing gravity at work. However, putting a rocket up your ass and lighting the short fuse is definitely a way to break free of the gravity well that leads to Obese and Dead Of Coronary Disease at 40. One of the benefits of breaking away is the clarity of mental effort.

It's been pretty apparent for awhile that I've been working from a shortened vocabulary. It's been frustrating -- immensely so -- because I'm aware that I'm running at less than 100%, but there just hasn't been anything that I could do about it (well, there was and is, but, you know, that entropy thing again). Once the sugar levels dropped, the synaptic connections to those lost parts of my brain reengaged and dusty, unused places started working again.

I get up in the morning at a bit before 5.00am which means I've got to be supine and nestled under the covers by 11.00pm. Last night, I was lying there at 11.30pm, and my brain was still firing. This is the witching hour -- that time of night when everything is possible and I used to be able to write for two hours straight and not remember doing any of it, but being genuinely pleased and surprised when I read back over the material the following day. This is the time of finger-burning delight, when you just channel all the energy still resident in your shell right down through your arms and fingers.

I put a cap on all that freneticism, saving it for another day. It's nice to know that it's there. Not all progress is pure word count. It's been quite out there; I hope the rest of you are finding ways to bring yourselves out of winter hibernation and getting back to creative work.

[update: since this was written, I've actually progressed to Chapter X.]

« « little fictions || 05.23.2004 @ 05:40 AM

080: Notebooks

"So, when were you going to tell me about the notebook?"

Notebooks are fascinating. I've got three running right now and I get excited when a project comes up that might require the construction of a notebook. As an object which will contain everything you know about a single subject, they become grimoires -- secret texts which are the storehouses of collected knowledge. Mine tend to be filled with more than just text. There will be line drawings, newspaper clippings, scraps from magazines, charts, graphs and lots and lots of small, nearly unreadable text. That's one of the requirements of a good notebook: handwriting that is indecipherable to anyone other than yourself.

They've got to be the right size too. The one I have in the car is paperback sized because I don't use it but rarely, and when I do, I'm scribbling in it while sitting at a traffic light. I don't want something heavy and bulky. It needs to be quickly accessible and small enough that I can throw it across the steering wheel. My daily notebook is large, a full-sized book with nearly three hundred pages in it. Its fairly generic -- I get them at the University Bookstore -- and, as such, I can be assured of being able to get the same thing year after year. When you start filling them and stacking them on the shelf, there is a certain delight in having them all be the same binding.

Almásy's notebook in The English Patient is one of my favorites. It's a copy of Herodotus' Histories that he has augmented with his own notes and observations. Professor Henry Jones' Grail notebook -- though but briefly seen in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade -- is another tome which inspired me as a youngster. And, of course, nearly every Lovecraft story seems to contain some sort of journal that records an adventurer's descent in madness and despair.

Notebooks allow us to leave messages for those who follow us. They allows us to leave record of our obsessions and paranoia; to leave a warning in our wake. "Yes, this is what killed me." Notebooks are keys. There's a notebook in the BOOK OF LIES. There are nine actually, but only one is important in the beginning. They need the first key before they can understand how to utilize the others.

« « little fictions || 05.17.2004 @ 09:44 PM

079: Modern Alchemy

"Alchemy leads to perfection on all planes, by the separating and 'death' of the body, followed by the a rejoining of the purified parts, this time in perfect proportion, via the transforming powers of earth, water, fire, air and ether, soul and spirit -- i.e. evolution speeded up by man." [Diana Fernando]

I was paging through Diana Fernando's Dictionary of Alchemy over the weekend and paused on her definition of the subject matter. As a historical subject, alchemy is one of those many occult subjects which interest me. But as a course of living in the 21st century? Where are the modern alchemists? I see the name Fulcanelli bandied about a bit, but he's a 20th century alchemist at best (and, admittedly, I know very little beyond his name and that he was working the alembics during this last century).

Who are the 21st century alchemists? Is it the transhumanists, seeking to speed evolution by the addition of the mechanoid to their human shells? Is it...well, I don't really know, actually. A question to go have answered, I suppose.

But the above quotation and this question of modern alchemy have gotten me thinking about the Secret Plan in the BOOK OF LIES. In this age, would you actually apply the principles of alchemical transformation on yourself or would you conduct the experiments on unsuspecting subjects? You wouldn't want to evolve them completely, but getting the framework right before you slipped it onto yourself would be the safe route.

Genetic experimentation = modern alchemy?

« « little fictions || 05.09.2004 @ 10:49 PM

078: The Rediscovery Sphere

When I was in short pant school, I came up with the phrase "sphere of personal influence" which was funny the first time I said it and after that it became just another example of how much a geek I really was. I couldn't just say, "Hey, you're standing too close to me." It had to be: "Ah, you're inside my sphere of personal influence." As you can imagine, there is very little which communicates more effectively to the team on the other side of the volleyball net that you are a kid who will be afraid of the ball when it comes hurtling across the net at your noggin.

There are invisible spheres which we carry with us -- headspaces, if you will. We climb inside of these spheres and they protect us, they ward us against the external forces coming to bear. Our very own occult circles, imagined by our paranoia and made real by our inadequacies and fears. But not all of the circles which Solomon built were intended as protective, some granted assistance or aided you in your searches. The Rediscovery Sphere is that bubble in which you store your other self.

I have a day job -- that eight hour existence which keeps the roof over my head and allows me the luxuries which I enjoy -- and my writing time is slices that I steal during the other hours when I'm not sleeping. And, as such, my existence is somewhat schizophrenic: all that I become during the writing process must be quickly swept aside when other priorities take effect. I have to be able to sweep everything into the Rediscovery Sphere where it will hang in space until I can get to it once again.

I call this the "Rediscovery" sphere because when I come back to it -- if I've been away for awhile -- I have to rediscover the self which I have deposited here. I have to reassemble the pieces which I've so hurried tossed aside previously. Things have a tendency to change if you leave them in the sphere too long. It's almost as if moss grows. I need an effective moss-killer or, at least, a way to come and go in this sphere without leaving dead things which fester.

« « little fictions || 05.02.2004 @ 04:18 PM

writing

BIBLIOGRAPHY
This is a reasonably comprehensive list of my published work, both virtual and physical.

THE MISFIT LIBRARY
I am Nine of Thirteen, one of the members of the Misfit Library, a writing collective which puts out a quarterly journal of our respective work. We are scattered across the globe and determined to change the face of the planet one story at a time. The link above will take you to Misfit Central where you can acquire copies of the journal as well as read exclusive online material.

SYMBOLIC
I wrote a column for OPi8.com's Transmit blogs: journals of the new dark underground. SYMBOLIC tracked the novel I was working on, referencing the process and the research materials which mad up the backbone of the work. In addition, SYMBOLIC busied itself with ruminations and considerations on the nature of language and communication. And a wee bit of mythology. The first 100 entries of SYMBOLIC can be found here on this site as well as at OPi8.com.

LITERARY REPRESENTATION
I am represented by Scribe Agency as my literary agents. Please contact these gentleman if you have any queries about my work.

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