Chapter I: The Quick of it (as in-to)
a) context (as in-to) Orientation
b) story (as in-to) Book
c) fiction (as in-to) Fact
-no my, a combining form of Greek origin meaning "distribution," "arrangement," "management,": astronomy; economy; taxonomy. [ < Gk -nomia law . See NOMO-]
non-, a prefix meaning "not," freely used as an English formative, usually with a simple negative force as implying mere negation or absence of something (rather than the opposite or reverse of it, as often expressed by un-): non-adherence; noninterference; nonpayment; nonprofessional.
non•fiction (non fik'shen), n. 1. the branch of literature comprising works of narrative prose dealing with or offering opinions or conjectures upon facts and reality, including biography, history, and the essay (opposed to fiction and distinguished from poetry and drama).
*from (as written in);
of the English Language
In any 'beginning' we will always find ourselves preceding from an unknown number of previous beginnings. In the beginning, therefore, there was no 'beginning', as such.
In the opening of ones eyes there is only the simple fact of Night proceeding Day in a stretch of blank foreverness hovering over and above the face of the Great Deep.
All books, as did his own, open in this manner, never to a beginning but always to a pale-rimmed middle, which, if it be so prudent, then bows immediately towards its binding in some vague posture of self discernment.
There was, in fact, but a single Actual Beginning, and this One-Actual wrote itself as such that its origins should remain largely incomprehensible to those who follow. But follow we must, as the nature of all past is to all ways lead to future.
You find yourself staring out the window of a passenger car positioned at the mid-section of a very long train, say, a mile or so in length -
a whistle is heard, you feel a slight lurch forward, and then suddenly the landscape begins a slow crawl from the front to the back of your window frame. In this case you are quite aware that you're a passenger on a train. You understand that the world isn't moving past your window at all, it only appears as such due to your body being transported by the train opposite the direction of the illusion. Similarly, you are neither shocked to find yourself being moved by an engine you cannot see, nor is it strange when you consider thar the movement is due to the starting of the engine and the engagement of its axils, two events which both occurred in your past, out of your direct line of sight, and prior any movement of your car.
Time is a train you cannot see.
You are the passenger who cannot know.
Thus, shall we proceed accordingly:
And in the absence of all beginnings, over and above the face of The Great Deep and in the time of a Becoming, Light awoke then from an age old Sleep.
The True book will only find itself in the Natural World, awakened from nothingness and bound for no where but a series of event horizons which may never hope to witness the immensity of themselves.
Here now we take a step into his journey just as did he, in the precise recognition of exactly what that step is not - a threshold opened to an orientation of linearity.
But let us enumerate, if only for traditions sake, we say to ourselves,
"And on the first day..."
Nothing True is set gently in.
You were born, not nestled into love and warmth, but from such softenings were you banished. You were born just as all Words are born, from love and tenderness and into shock and awe - from a climate of dependency into one of sufficiency, that is to say, sufficient as such that you should survive from at least that day until this one.
So this is a telling of a story's Undoing and all stories are Undone in order that they may enter into their own Becoming.
as this is not the First Story, and all stories must come equipped with the Histories of their predecessors, it cannot, therefore, contain those elements of form and structure which you, The Reader, might be accustomed.
So must you be birthed again, into the lights and masked instrument of contextual ambiguity, with no course set in your mind. A ball hanging in space is neither right side up or up side down. Here is where you will learn (just as he is presently learning) that directionality is a peculiar illusion of the line.
Mid-afternoon sounds at the bar, most any bar, he liked, but Tuesday's at Springwater's, those were mid-afternoon the most.
To him it sounded there then like huge waters in the steady ebb and flow of unconcerned intimacy.
The cling and clack of glasses stacked or hung for the ready. The wind-chimed bowling pins of last night empty bottles tossed carelessly in trash cans. The sacramental tink of the full. Conversations that clearly shouldn't be heard are heard clearly nonetheless. Primitive languages somehow resurrect in these hours, slung low and quick like the Old Nashville of his youth. Greetings arriving in "Hidees" or "What say"'s with loud and friendly smacks on sweat soaked shirt backs. The sounds of American 'multi-tasking' and auto-piloted action where drink orders are taken like car talk, utterly absent the vocal stress of policy's assigned smile - no arm wrestled mental grunts from the obligatory eye contact - no televised chatter of announcers announcing their statistical analysis of human kinetic intelligence - no hiss and roar from a pixelated crowd as goals are scored in sports imported from less temperate climates - no CMA ordained sounds splintering forth from the speaker sides of the old juke-box in the corner, where still to this day rests a flat nosed 9mm lead projectile lost within its less vital components.
She sits Now where he was then, but not before a door opened in this room.
On certain occasions a burst of Sun-Light is exactly the orange blast from a sudden trombone.
When such occasions arise a woman's figure beneath her dress is exactly an X-Ray.
say the eyes of man.
It is not true that nothing being an accident is all things deliberate, for a coincidence is deliberate only if either or.
Should then one even speak of synchronisticy at all? If, given that all things are synchronized,
only the clock knows the contradiction lies outside of itself.
whispers Einstein In Awe.
"We have so manufactured clocks of ourselves".
he thought saying
"Here's yer pen back partner"
Buddy picked it up from his Profession, as all bars have exactly two sides. Only then did he collect the 2 worn bills and 3 coins lying stacked neatly on the counter.
Five years later, Buddy, would find himself looking up the word 'Irony' in a foot thick copy of
Webster's Encyclopedic Unabridged Dictionary
of the English Language
(he'd long suspected the kids of certain Linguistic abuses).
"Definition of irony
: a pretense of ignorance and of willingness to learn from another assumed in order to make the other's false conceptions conspicuous by adroitquestioning —called also Socratic irony
a : the use of words to express something other than and especially the opposite of the literal meaning
b : a usually humorous or sardonic literary style or form characterized by irony
c : an ironic expression or utterance
a (1) : incongruity between the actual result of a sequence of events and the normal or expected result (2) : an event or result marked by such incongruity
b : incongruity between a situation developed in a drama and the accompanying words or actions that is understood by the audience but not by the characters in the play —called also dramatic irony, tragic."
A crumpled napkin with blurred writing in blue ink sat soaking up the condensation of a nearly full bottle of warm beer. The bottle was brown with thumbnail scratches parting a metallic paper label which read, in part:
"#ab*st Bl@e Ribb~n"
She picked up the napkin using only her thumb and index fingers and about to toss it further down the bar from her, when, seeing the writing, straightened it smooth on the bar without any thought of tactile economy.
Twenty minutes earlier three napkins beneath his beer one was only just damp. The pen he asked for was slick and greasy. The bartender slid it from behind his ear, obliging his request with an annoyed toss across the bar.
"Always stealin my goddamn pens man"
The pen fell to the floor. He must remove himself completely from the stool in order to pick it up, which he then wrote:
a) sequence is a matter of orientation
b) orientation is a matter of
c) subject is a matter of thought
d) thought is a matter of Language
"Gimme another'un Buddy"
Buddy took a beer out of the cooler, opened it (though it twisted) with a flick from the ancient bottle opener hanging around his neck. His tee shirt was stained where the opener was rusted. Army dog tags must share their chains sometimes, but only after the property is returned from service.
The cap became suddenly only a sound - then less and less of itself.
"Hell ya'ain't hardly touched thatun"
Buddy said, while not going away.
"Hate warm beer Bud"
Buddy leaned in close to him whispering as though in secret,
"Thasss why ye drank it when it's cold son"
Buddy never smelled like alcohol.
Q: What is thought without Words?
Q: What is thought without Pictures?
Q: What are feelings?
Q: That's not an answer
(The struggle of the Hemispheres to find the balance of themselves)
R: Compensation gives way to dominance, is the rule.
A man is from nowhere but his language.
Now, say a man is from Chinese while waiting on a bus -
And say that bus is going to that mans past -
Which way will that bus be traveling - in front of him or behind?
A: In front - the past of a man from Chinese is always in front of him.
Only an English has a backwards past.
Where is always the past of ones mind? Always in front as in front is where one sees.
Concrete or Abstract-
The source of dilemma is only found in Orientation.
Orientation is Context.