Generally, stories are narratives: Linear in plot - in creation - and serving merely as a bridge from the beginning to the end. For that reason, stories carry with them an inherent tinge of being anti-climatic: After reading thirty seven words of the opening page, you know immediately that your story is beginning to transition towards the end and all that's left to you in the meantime is to fill in the gaps.
Generally, stories contain no real story at all.
Today's lesson begins in the middle. Maybe not the exact middle - because exactitude isn't something that life yields frequently - but definitely somewhere between point a and point b. Every word I write - every impulse I dictate - is going to function as some sort of mean; not necessarily an average, per se, but an invariant permutation of the two known elements we're given (namely, the start and the finish) that falls somewhere between them.
Nonlinearity will henceforth be the way of life.
In the world I see - you are stalking elk through the damp canyon forests around the ruins of Rockefeller Center. You'll wear leather clothes that will last you the rest of your life. You'll climb the wrist-thick kudzu vines that wrap the Sears Tower. And when you look down, you'll see tiny figures pounding corn, laying strips of venison on the empty car pool lane of some abandoned superhighway.The goal of the human race is attainment. Attainment of goods - of wealth - for the sake of completion.
Their goal is media prostitution.
Our goal is to destroy, and to backtrack long enough to convey the entire beginning.
