Preface

So, the principle behind this book is one of creation, of the ceaseless effort of the –

There was an artist who painted the same picture a number of times over, over & over again, at

different times of the day, each time stressing different aspects of the same subject. Renee Magritte,

also methodically overstepped the limitations of the artwork in his art, often creating an unnerving and

obscure world-within-a-world, an interior phantasmagoria of awefulness in his paintings, which

alienatied and jarred his viewers. The last thing I want to do with this book is start with some

previously schematized and mechanically determined schematism, which is to be carried out

machinistically to its conclusion to the exclusion of real events happening in the world; I want it to be a

philosophical book, but not one so steeped in aloof speclation as to exlude or avoid reality, and the

possibility of events in the world – and, hell – a bit of imperfection.

Every canvas begins somewhere to have material lobbed upon its surface – the writing of a book is no

different. Whether writing is, as Wiesel said “more like Sculpture than Paitning,” or whether it more

closely resembles the latter should not here concern us, as it is neither: writing is writing, and shouldn't

be compared with other trades, since it is what it is, and not something else.

When I began writing this book, Antoni developed as a thoroughly confusing mish-msh & hodge-

podge of personalities, styles and handlings; it was not until I wrote the ending of the book, when I

wrote & finished the last chapter that I realized that only by emptying “him” (for why not create a

female protagonist? Perhaps a later book) of all significant content (personality, character, etc.), all

prior disposititons, plans and strategems1 could progress: in order for the work truly begin.[??] It's more

fun that way, I think, and in this sense I agree with Vonnegut – and perhaps, if I have taken up his

1 Do you ever feel like you are in a bad, made-for-TV production of Orpheus?
principle, I have not – in so doing – done it an injustice by mummefying it in a rigid frame (which I

know he would not have liked). Instead, I hope I have offered a frame (if we are in fact speaking of

them) I relation to which thinking and meaningful social praxis may come about, and propel itself as

the rocket leaps into space by using of the gravitational pull of the Earth to its advantage.

Chapter 1

The world as you know it is. That much is certain; however, what you may not be aware of as a citizen

of the age in which we live that diminishes the role of dreams, visions and prophecy over and against

an ever protracted systematization of all forms of human social relations is that things were onec

different: that people once entertained another with songs and stories and myth and fable and legend,

and that this brought them great pleasure! Our sterilize anti-septic world of today can no longer deal in

such manners with human social relations, and the author of this book has therefore determined to

weave just such a tale as would walk the tightrope between an ulteriorly scientific and sterile world

view that would fit within any number of demographic calculatable situations in mdoernity, and the

irrational root and core (inherently violent?) of human social relations, and in so doing, crafting and

reframing the phenomenal world in a radical, new context.

The book lives and breathes with an through the author, and in the absense of one, the other dies. It was

said of Vonnegut, that he was aware that – unlike the world Dostoevsky wrote to and of – he could not

expect his audience to believe in a ivine Christ as the solution to their spiritual and moral problems. I

grant that the era of Christianity is virtually to a close, in which a mystical relation was held between

the individual and the power of the written word – not something alien to Western culture, from the

days of Paganism to the Semetic tradition of the “negative ideal” of YHWH – even “Once upon a time”

entails such a disposition, ideally, in which the human being “writes himself into history”. And such
situations and dispositions must – above all -- be sought out, if one does not wish to fall victim to the

universe's process of “folding the bed skirts over one's eyes”.

***

If someone had thrown a used copy of Proust at him – which the newpaper boy did, on accident –

Antoni, as our protagonist later will be called, simply because that is the name that stuck with him,

after I started writing this book, and realized he needed a name, and instead of referring to my character

as “he”, or “X”, or any number of random combination of letters and numbers (heaven forbid the

reader was forced to keep up with a protagonist with the horrendous name “XR7LBC3”, or worse.

and out of the body he was stuck in, probably would not have been the wise. At the moment, being

jarred by a used trade paperback edition of Proust being thrown in his face on the stoop of a Fifth

Avenue Project, the literary development of Swann's world was the last thing on his mind.

Nevertheless, through a decision arrive at by myself – the author – the copy of Proust landed near

Antoni's temple – the soft part of the head, the protection of which requries one to wear a helmet when

biking or – heaven forbid – skateboarding (a dangerous undertaking, through and through, which I

could never see someone doing and not injuring themselves).

What was he, where was he – he had no idea – there was some sort of problem, and he stumbled down

the first stairwell he ran into, without realizing he had done so was lying sprawled on his axis [what am

I trying to say here?]

The lump which was Antoni glided down the stairwell into the crowded corral, first focusing on the

pattern ont the skin of the man who sat in front of the big blue light –he plopped forward, and was
jostled to the bar and landed, with that soft part which hung behind his new-found body, on a strange

device which the man who he sat next to, who – in midst of conversation kept bumping into him –

described as “a chair”. The first thing Antoni noticed – besides the noise and seemingly ceaseless flow

of bright, colorful giant beings with trails flowering out behind them, and who seemed endless in their

flow – was the abundance of abrasive affects which he could not explain, nor describe, that he

somehow felt nevertheless, which momentarily would be described to him as “sound”, but which a

later character in this book will more accurately describe to Antoni as “noise”, or “din” (how is a

Martian to seperate “sound” from “din”, and furthermore, know that all seedy bars & taverns contain a

superabundance of the latter?).

Antoni made his way – was propelled, rather – towards a rather large creature with flowing double tails

(what would momentarily be described to Antoni as a “coat”), sitting at the supposed center of this

place, which he would momentarily learn was referred to as a “bar”.

After the man he was sitting next tointroduced himself as a philsopher – Antoni could never gather his

name –, which he was to learn was someone who sits at bars and explains the relation between abstract

and fundamental categories to aliens from outer space, they began talking. It was not so much the

specific words they used that are significant, which I will not here transcribe, but the fact that Antoni

was given an opportunity toacquaint himself with the basic categories of human thought here, which he

felt often left him more confused in regards to the nature of after he'd had them explained to him than

before!

The man kept bumping into Antoni, which – as Antoni had only for one day been in the possession of

wht the man described to him as a “body” – he hardly took notice of.
Antoni entered back into the chamber of drinking and belligerence, and proceeded to lay out to the

Dane and one of the Fins, who he had persuaded to join him in the bar, his plans of building a great

tower of Babel, of teaching the rabble to stand up for themselves and doing something about everything

he'd heard complained about left and right – that, eventually, they'd have to look themselves in the

mirror. The Dane didn't catch any of what Antoni was saying: the music was blaring: pop aural

imperialism, the penetration of sound! But Antoni was speaking in terms of easily accessible images

and ideas: what lay before him, in relation to failure and success of picking up steam to get to some

end. The drunken scholar – the drunken bald scholar showed up, and began spitting the usual lyric of

imperialism, racism & sexism, but no one, not even Antoni paid him any heed: he was too far gone for

any sense to be made, besides those moonshiners, who were already quite gone themselves. Antoni

glances back over at the Finnish woman – she carried a perpetual smile on her face.

Antoni took the training wheels off his bike and began drunkenly began making his way home. He

made it into the park on 47th street, and Elm, when he realized he'd passed the dumpster where he lived

fifteen blocks ago. The copy of Proust in his pocket grew heavy – the tabloid was more important. He

discarded the Salinger; a passerby picked it up an hour later, dusted it off, and brought it home, to

accompany his terrible German translation: he was a Dane, too, but not a bassist. Who knows what

Danes do in their free time? Perhaps argue?

[Chapter II & III are so injured, I excised them from this draft]

Chapter Four

Antoni and Dave arrived in a new strange town, another city -- this one full of old men with no beards

and little time for much else but food: dinner was big here – a time they spent with each other, but
without regard for each other -- sort of a somnambulatory, end-of-the-road sort of gig -- an

unsympathetic clique. The headmaster considered his position quite important, and did little else but

throw his weight around. He would come into the room, order the old men around: to square dance, or

entertain him for his pleasure. "Get up, get up!" he would shout, with that maniacal laugh of his, "do

the Charleston," and when he got tired of ordering the tired, hungry old men around, he would lock

himself in his room, blaring German march music, and scream about "how much he missed Hitler."

He would come back out, fifteen minutes later, dead drunk, screaming about registries, records and the

like: "and if you can't make heads or tails of the registry, then you shouln't be holding the books, you

know what I mean? That's just common sense, you know? I can't be arsed with this sort of rubbish. t's

just common sense, you know?" And common sense -- if there ever were such a thing -- ruled the land.

The headmaster would scream headlong about it, posting signs on all the doors -- bathrooms, for

instance: "Water consumption up: hand washing to be kept to a minimum," or "running in the hall

forbidden -- remember the Alamo!", etc.

Formerly a bridal shop, the store had now been converted to a parlor -- a bowling alley where old men

would chuck their life blood into the pins, demanding their oblivion, and through their oblivion,

glimpse or catch hold of that last bit of spark left in them, was located upstair. The telephones were out

of order, or the patrons were forbidden to make use of them -- being requested, instead, "to take care of

their correspondence elsewhere -- common sense, you know?" Common sense ruled supreme.
The bowling alley was upsitairs and the bar down -- all sour liquor, distilled in the most unseemly

means -- but the old men with no other means of living drank the stuff, and laughed themselves kaputt

whenever Ronnie was up to bowl -- one could hear it from a mile away -- the inane and falseness of a

misdirected and misguided projectile, careening straight for the gutter -- BLAM BLAM BLAM -- as if

his ball was lopsided, or his hand too big, or as if -- whenever he released the ball, some troll stood in

front of him, and slapped the ball off its course. There was no troll, of course: Ronnie was just that bad.

Then the inkeeper would come back in, banging a cymbal and demanding everyone do the fandango --

what that was, no one knew: his rendition was to get the old men, in some form or another, to stagger

around in circles, until they fell down out of exhaustion, confudion, or a combination thereof. He was

terrible with the books -- the secretary had been fired some months prior, and the place and been shut

down three times since then. But the inkeeper always found some way to bribe the city clerks (who

were really just glad to take the $100 bill and have him out of their office, considering the constant

blatherings of "common sense," you know" he would muster up, whenever interred to such an

occasion). He considered it a feat of his own persuasive skills, but the city clerks would laugh and

snicker as soon as he left. He stank, also, and was bald. "A bald whoremonger," the city clerks referred

to him as: "ah, here comes the bald whoremonger with his $100 bill -- I wonder what it is this time?"

And so on.

Antoni sat and frowned. The sky aged. One wondered what was going on? The inkeeper called from

behind the bar: it was "a fact" that "_he alone_ knew the lay of the land," and as such, "could speak of

what would and would _not_ transgress in this shop! Anything else would be _immediately_ discarded
as raffle, and _lest_ you shake your thumb or forefinger against the wall -- oh, woe be to the Lotus

eaters!.. common sense, you know?"

The socialist revolutionary drunk -- he was mostly penniless, and didn't care what he drank, on such

occasions; as long as he had someone to talk to: that was important -- came in the room and

immediately began hollering of revolution, imperialism and sexism -- but no one paid him any mind.

They were attuned to the chaos & castrophone of the bowling game which was progressing upstairs:

Ronnie was up -- and all the angels and archangels and cherubim and seraphim took note (since no one

could sleep through such nonsense) -- "the idiot, upstairs, and how _can_ one bowl so terribly, how can

you _chuck_ the ball into the gutter, that can't be _healthy_" -- even -- like someone playing tennis

without a net, or cutting a tuna fish sandwisch with cheese and tomato with butter knife -- that also

can't be healthy -- it was a mess and the socialist revolutionary continued his tirrade, though no one

paid him any mind. And so it goes.

The room was bare -- more a dump than even the cheapest hotel room; it was the sort of place you

would find a used maxi pad in the washer, or utinsils with God knows what under the sink. The mother

of all hangovers throbbed in the deep recesses of Antoni's brain, and he laid his head on the bar

counter. The two fellows to his right were going on and on about life's miseries; the one said to the

other, "so I called up my priest, who told me to call a shrink, who set me up with his therapist --

eventually we'd get these problems sorted out." Or the moon would come to pieces and green cheese

would be had for all, thought Antoni -- the only idea rushing through his sluggish head. The earth was
only six thousand years old, he remarked to himself, having learned this in a book he read in the last

hotel room he resided in, and the moon is made of green cheese. "I once knew a woman who told me

her fortune," continued to man to his right, who would occasionally bump into Antoni -- "I asked her

why not tell me _mine_ -- she sent me to the shrink, who told me to call his priest, who set me up with

a therapist." Astrology, too has its limits, thought Antoni. "I fired my astrologist last week," replied the

other man; "he was also my weather man and stock broker, none of which he did with any success."

Tomorrow is a new day, thought Antoni, and the world will come apart at the seams for me. And so on.

Music is a means to redistribute the pains and anguish of a grief-striken heart, and isolation, alienation

an the like can go away -- or retreat into the corner, at least for awhile. They'll come back tomorrow,

but then we'll see.

The old man turned around to face Antoni, and said "you should write down every thought, lest you

forget it -- I once knew a man, his father made pencils -- he was always short on paper, though." The

radio started playing "He's in the jailhouse now". The inkeeper came and cut it off, and stammered

something about "common sense, you know?" and went back to his room and blared more Nazi

marching band songs. "Try having a conversation with barbarian hordes about Schopenhauer, and see

what the proceeds are," said the old man and excused himself to urinate. Antoni had no idea who

Schopenhauer was, but he tried to imagine him as someone one would not talk about in front of or with

barbarian hordes -- whatever those were. The old man said before he left, "you'll make it yet, my boy!"

Outside the geese squacked and turkeys hooted, fitting represenratives of a society in decline!
Chapter 4

Antoni and Dave parted ways at the cafe, the former having heard news of a steamer -- entitled

Member -- leaving Baltimore harbor in the morning. Antoni thought hard of visiting his home planet,

but he couldn"t be arsed to think of how to arrive there, in good shape enough to be of any use to

anyone, for any length of time whatsoever.

Time was a new concept with which he had to reckon, so he tried to throw its use in whenever possible,

often-times awkwardly.

As he stepped out the door and continued to walk in the direction the mean inkeeper had pointed him in

-- not without the bitterest complaints and bickerings about "common sense, you know?" and the

"bookkeeper needs to do one thing, and one thing only: keep the books - if she can"t do that much then

we have a problem -- common sense, you know?" Antoni was quite confused by this display, and

understood less than half of it. Nevertheless, the innkeeper had at least pointed -- if obscurely -- in the

direction he believed the harbor, which was a big place full of buildings with people running around in

all directions all day long and enourmous machines that crossed the water stuff Dave had described to

him the day prior. The harbor sounded like a fun place, and if he could make it to Athens, where a

Martian spaceship was embedded in the city walls, then he was happy to go along this or that way. He

read his tabloid journal he picked up in the bar that morning as he went along, for better or worse,

attempting to make much of the humongous letters, proclaiming, again, for the second day, MARTIAN

SPACESHIP EMBEDDED IN ATHENS CITY WALLS. Antoni thought it sounded the better plan for

getting home, since Earth was full of strange machines that ate oil and spat out black clouds of smoke

-- giant cockroaches flying and hurtling across the skies at all hours of the day and night, and many

strange and fear-inspiring creatures hurtling and scuttling about on the black rivers that dotted ever

point on the planet, on the side of one of which he now briskly maneuvered. Since he had crossed
several such rivers with Dave, Antoni had no fears of strange goop holding him up, asphixiating him,

and keeping him from crossing over the other side. He would be glad to return to Trafalmador, which

he would already long have done (being that all Trafalmadorians can instantaneously transmoleculify

into pure energy, and travel vast distances effortlessly, in little to no time whatsoever), but an element

unbeknownst to him on the planet's surface was hindering his ability to transmolecurify, which is why

he was headed for Athens on a steamet, where an old model ship of the kind that Trafalmodorian

children used, before they learned to transmolecurify -- but which had since long been replaced by

ulterior technology -- lay embedded in the city walls there; which meant: he had to get across to

Athens!

A green cockroach hurtling blue smoke and unusual sounds -- which would later be described to

Antoni as “music” -- passed, and slowed, and came to a stop, eventually, a few feet ahead of Antoni,

who stepped off the curb and, after a few moments of hesitation, approached the open window:

"Blargha-blargha-blargha-bloo," screamed a voice over the noise and rumble of the engine and the stuff

that would in a matter of moments be described to Antoni as “music”. Antoni didn't understand the

strange language of the man, so he proceeded to scrunch up his eyebrows, which he had grown in the

meantime, as one of the traits of Trfalmadorians was to take on the traits of whatever species they

founds themselves near at the moment, and since he'd seen others make such gestures when in a state

which was described to him by the man who kept bumping into Antoni, and who told him to not to

speak of Schopenhauer to barbarian hordes, as "confusion."

"Get in, before you catch-a-floo!" said the man; Antoni had no idea what the "floo" was, but he didn't

hesitate: he figured ths strange device on the side of the giant green cockroach that the man was

pointing to had something to do with the idea of "getting in," so he touched it and felt the fittings of a

mechanical device which, when depressed, released whatever held the surface in which it rested --

tight. Antoni breathed a sigh of relief -- an activity he'd also learned, to express having accomplished

something previously thought unaccomplishable, and tried to sit in the car -- after getting in upside

down and backwards, he managed to secure himself relatively properly in the cockroach, which was

billowing smoke and, after the man pushed a knob, or turned some sort of lever, continued to billow

strange sounds, which made Antoni at first cringe; he began perceiving a decided pattern to the sounds,

though, and after the man explained to him that this was, in fact referred to as "rhythm", he began to

get a lking for it; as the car (which the man described the object or creature in which they were riding

as) scuttled -- or rolled -- along the highway, Antoni began taking a liking to the stuff -- the sounds

came to his brain as something strangely exotic, and yet the combination of them in a certain pattern

rendered him what Dave would refer to as "happy": he began smiling! The man handed him a strange

stick, which he pointed to his lips in regards to -- and demonstrated -- "a cigarette", he intended. Antoni

had a strange reaction to this object, upon placing to his mouth of which, and inhaling, a rather loud

gutteral noise, and some sort of liquid residue ejected from his the cavity which led to where he put in

food when at the table -- his head felt light, dizzy, and he began to retch in his seat. Another feeling

soon overcame him, in regards to which he could feel himself weakening and weakining, until he could

no longer maintain a hold of his conscious thought stream -- when he regained focus of the latter, the

surroundings were cast in a luminescant purple light, which was described to him by his companion as

"night", and the experience he had underwent in the between time as "sleep". Still unable to grasp
entirely the concept of time in itself, Antoni felt quite disturbed at the thought of what he'd underwent

-- since the inhabitants of Trafalmador lived in the absolute knowledge of all events, both past and

future, the transpiration of this substance which lies outside the perceivable was quite unknown to him:

he could not make much of it, and disregarded its import as subterfuge.

A strange feeling erupted in his bowels -- or what the strange man at the bar had described to him as

such -- it grew, first unnoticably, and then came to a crushing and defeaning roar: a strange sound

escaped his lips, and he continued, indefinitely, for several moments (or what the people from this

strange planet would describe as such). "What's so funny," inquired Antoni's companion, with furrowed

brows (which Antoni did not notice, since he was in the midst of an activity which he did not

understand the nature of). Since Antoni had no knowledge of what "funny" was, he couldn't rightly

reply, but as the feeling (and the sound accompanying it) continued, he could not help feeling it was a

feeling he experienced what the man at the bar described to him as "enjoyment". The sounds continue

escaping from the tube which was attached to the place where food was put when he sat at the table; it

was an uncanny experience.

The man Antoni was riding with introuced himself as a fledgling science fiction writer, and suggested

he was writing a book about how the development of National Socialism in a place called Germany,

and the rise of a man named Hitler there was a conspiracy by an alien race bent on subjugating

thumanity. Since Antoni had no notion or idea what "Hitler", "National Socialism" nor "Germany"

meant, he could not reply to this. Instead of asking about Hitler and National Socialism, he asked the
question, "what is funny?", to which his companion replied, "that's what I'm askin' you, man," and then

after a moment (or what was described as such to Antoni), adding, "whatever you're smokin', man, I

want somma that". Antoni understood very little of this sentence -- except for the "smoking" part,

which his companion had just explained to him the nature of: those sticks which one places on one's

lips out of which strange gray stuff comes, and which make one make aweful noises and eject strange

fluids from the tube into which one stuffs the stuff described as food, or the activity therein was that --

that much he knew!

Something within the atmosphere of the planet made his skin moist, an a strange layer of liquid began

to prick at the surface of what was described to him as "skin" (since on Trafalmador, creatures

remained within a constant fluctuating state of shifting energy patterns, they had no use for "skin" nor

these strange things the man at the bar kept bumping into him with!), especially under his arms and in

other areas he had not yet explored, and did not know the name of!

Antoni's companion talked more of this "music" stuff, which fascinated Antoni. His companion was

rather talkative -- introduce himself as Bruce; he was a tax agent as a profession, but hated the job, and

did his best to escape its grasp on his entire life, which is why he found himself now on the road, and

he felt furthermore that he would eventually arrive somewhere, that "all journeys eventually arrived at

some destination", and that his was bound to arrive somewhere at some point! They discussed,

furthermore, the role of isolation (an idea which Antoni had no notion of, but the more Bruce described

it to him, the more he realized it a fitting description of his state of being), and that "in and through
conversation the meat of life develops", and "man is a social animal", and that without a bit of push an

pull, we would all be reduced to mirandulae (which Antoni had no idea the nature of), propelling

ourselves forward by pure will, without any intent left or right -- and that would _not_ do, thought

Bruce!

They discussed further -- after Antoni's proddings -- whether music was in fact a substantive object --

with its own mass --, or, if not, of what it in fact consisted? Antoni could not believe that a

phenomenon (a word the man at the bar, who kept bumping into him described fully and adequately

enough for Antoni to thoroughly understand its attributes) as such which could have upon him such

consequences, could be without some form, now that he considered the idea, and now that he was laden

with this physical body that existed around him, and through which his actions were mediated. Bruce

believed that everything Antoni was saying was "intense", and that he had some sort of "gift": "you've

got the juice, man", said Bruce to Antoni -- who had no notion of what "juice" was.

Bruce and Antoni had ben sitting silently in the car for awhile, when the latter suddenly piped up: "I've

been meaning to write a book about a man who invents a solvent that eats through and dissolves

metal," he said. Antoni had no idea what metal was. The man -- perplexed at Antoni's silence --

continued, "you know, which the guy would then sell to various peace groups or other NGO's or

somewhat like that; Palestinians, for instance -- so they could use the stuff against soldiers who are

shooting at them, you know -- dissolve their guns and their tanks away, like that?" Antoni had no idea

what tanks, guns or Palestinians were, but if they all dissolved there was little for him to recognize, it

seemed.

They continued on in silence for awhile; eventually, Bruce turned up the volume on the radio: it was
classic rock -- the Righteous Brothers, as Bruce explained. "You know how they got their name, right?"

said Bruce. "The band -- before they had a name, of course -- was performing in Pittsburgh, I think it

was -- and a marine who was present at the concert -- a bit drunk, I think -- shouted "that was

righteous, Brothers!" after a set, and it just stuck."

Antoni looked out the window, and studied the variations in the landscape, which was tinted in a deep

shade of grayish-green that struck him as "pretty" (or what the man who kept bumping into him at the

bar would describe as such). He had no interest in "Righteous Brothers" -- he wanted to go home.

X asked Antoni where he was headed – heading somewhere entailed “locomotion”, which the man who

kept bumping into Antoni at the bar explained to him as a process by means of which one started one

place, and wound up somewhere different; the whole thing sounded complicated to Antoni, who had

little undertstanding of “heading somewhere” without transmolecularification. This question, since

Antoni understood the term “heading somewhere”, he answered with an exaspeated sigh – which he

had been explained connoted longing –, and which he answered “Athens”. The man asked him if he

was headed to “Athens, Georgia”, which Antoni had never heard of, so he could not answer; instead, he

pulled out his tabloid newspaper with the headline ALIEN SPACESHIP LODGED IN ATHENS CITY

WALLS emblazoned on its front cover, and showed it to X, who steered rather gracefully, considering

he took occasion to glance at the newspaper cover. “Oh, so you buy into the whole scenario?” he asked

Antoni, who looked blankly at X. After a moment of silence, X began again: “So, you're headed to

Greece – how are you going to get there – you know?” which was a question Antoni also had no

answer for. Antoni began speaking of the giant steel monsters he had seen, floating and bobbing in the

smooth surface that bordered many places on this planet, but X did not seem to understand what it was

he was describing. Antoni looked out the window as the insect continued hurtling down the black river,

studying the flying insect way above, whose body flashed the occasional signal, as it proceeded across
what the man who kept bumping into Antoni describe as “horizon”.

Chapter Five

Antoni experienced -- for the first time -- a sensation that burned down in the place where the palce that

conneted to the tube in wich one placed food, and created in him the sensation that the man at the abr

who kept bumping into him described as "pain" -- though, he was uncertain, as the man had described

to him at great length, that all pain, in fact, entailed a common source (the man had described himself

as a philosopher, which is on Earth someone who describes through words various sensation and also

other thigns, unbeknownst to Antoni, but which the philosopher had described as "ideas". Whatever

these were, or consisted of, Antoni had intended to ask the man, but he had excused himself to urinate

-- another experience Antoni had of recently undergone for the first time: it began as a sort of "pain" in

the general region of his lower back, or what Dave had described as such (an area on his body he

couldn't rightly see, because of the shortcomings of its anatomical features, or what Dave described the

body as), an it eventually found release when Antoni noticed a dark patch on the front of his pants.

Dark was a shade of color, which was created or perceived by little pyramids -- which are geometric

shapes that Antoni felt he would better understand if they had never been described to him in the first

place! -- located in the two gelatenous globules that stood in the middle of his head, and with which he

"saw", as Dave explained to him, which consisted in the perception he experienced of things and colors

and shapes around him, or something like that -- as Dave had explained it -- again, something he felt he

would have been better off understanding, had his understanding remained in the "dark" "Being in the

dark": that was a phrase Dave had used to describe the state of the bathroom -- which is a place where

people go to relieve the "pain" of urination, which is the act of disposing of liquid waste that every

human individual apparently regularly undergoes! -- after he had noticed the "dark" patch on the front

-- a concept Antoni could somewhat understand; moreso than "pain" or "urination" -- of ANtoni's
pants.

So, Antoni contemplated "being in the dark", and also what were "ideas", and whether whatever they

were consisted of a substance (another word the philosopher had described to him to describe

something one could "touch" or "feel" -- which were ideas Antoni also understood easier than "eyes" or

"urination").

So, Antoni sat in the dark and tried to touch ideas.

-------The next ay, Antoni realized he did not feel like doing anything; "doing something" entailed a

certain expeniture of the stuff which he put into the tube attached to the palce that sometimes generated

sensations of pain, which Antoni could nto rightly grasp the nature of. Dave had tried to explain the

process of "doing something" to hi, but he felt more confused after the explanation than before -- to

him, "doing something" resembled more the concept of "pain" than any other he had learned to that

point. He could not imagine a world full of people "doing things" -- that sounded to him like an awful

idea, and one which made him feel tired, which is an idea he understood well, after having walked

--uninterruptedly -- for long long periods, with no end.

n.com/YSu8ifmE

-----

Antoni felt a strange sensation, which he had never experienced before, and which he could not

describe; as he was walking, he began looking for a bar to go to, as that is where Dave told him he

could find individuals who could describe to him what he was experiencing, and who could help him

with finding a way to Athens, where the spaceship still lay lodged in the city walls, with which he

could get home to Trafalmador. He found a bar, and walked into the door; there was a man sitting at the

counter, an a very elegantly dressed woman, both of whom were nursing their beers, as Dave would

describe the motion as. Antoni sat down at the counter and looked around at the room -- there were

lights in the ceiling, glowing very dimly, and the far wall was covered in postcards and pictures of

yellowing tint, which had begun to wore on the edges, for the most part. The man asked Antoni, what

was his name, to which ANtoni answered, "Antoni". The man looked solemnly at Antoni an said

something which he could not make out. The bartender arrived, with hands full of dishes -- glasses an

plates and forks and knives, and the like -- which he set down on the counter, and began drying with a

towel, which he had slung over his shoulder.

The bartender asked Antoni "what was his business," in a cordial manner, to which Antoni -- whom

Dave had told to "always order a whiskey sour" -- replied likewise. While he was puring the drink, the
man sitting beside Antoni asked him, also, but in a friendlier manner, "what was his business?", which

Antoni did not know the answer to, since he had already ordered a whiskey sour, when the bartender

had asked him the same thing! He began discussing the feeling he was having, which, when he was

finished, the man beside Antoni described to him as "loneliness": "you -- my friend," he said, in a

serious and long-winded manner, "are feeling the pangs of isolation -- I was seventeen myself at one

time -- how old are you again?" Antoni didn't know how to answer this question, since Trafalmadorians

-- on their own planet -- existed outside of time, and were familiar with the history of every event, both

present past and future. Antoni tried to explain this to the man, who asked, how they managed to

fathom that, to which Antoni replied, that Trafalmadorians try to remember the better moments.

They sat in silence for awhile, the man rapping his knuckles on tha bar, and Antoni contemplating the

idea of loneliness, and whether it, too, could be touched. He tried to imagine what loneliness would be

like, if it were what the man who kept bumping into him at the bar described as a massive body: would

it be cold? Probably slimy, and full of holes! Somehow he could not picture loneliness very well as a

massive body -- perhaps he was doing something wrong.

Antoni paid for his drink and left. After walking for a few blocks, in a direction he knew not where,

Antoni passed a very strange-looking man; strange, in that he had never before encountered -- on this

planet -- such a sight: the man -- who was sitting in the street, infront of a shop window -- was wearing

flaming bright neon orange robes, and his feet were bare, except for a pair of sandals. His head was

shaved, and he was chanting -- at the moment Antoni passed him -- very loudly in a language Antoni
knew not what! Antoni -- beguiled -- stopped in the street, and observed the man -- who seemed to take

no note of him -- in his act. He would stretch his arms up and to his sides, and over his head, in a big,

swooping circle, and hum Antoni knew not what, as he was doing this. Before him stood a candle.

Antoni stood for a very long time (he could tell, because the sound of car horns and traffic and other

suicidal and psychopathic noises surrounde him for a long time, standing there), observing this man,

who finally dropped his hands to his sides and, opening his eyes, smiled at Antoni: he bade him closer,

and, pulling something from his pocket, bade it to Antoni: it was a piece of fruit -- a pear. Antoni sat

beside the man and ate his pear, and thought of doing nothing.

Chapter Six

As Antoni climbed out of the gutter he slept in the night preceding the day he was experiencing --

which took time for him to adjust to, dreams of Trafalmador still in his head, swimming in his head --,

he was awakened and aroused by a thundering roar, a procession of black cockroaches was passing by

the sidewalk where he stood -- scuttling along, squacking like birds he saw wading and washing in the

river (washing was an activity Dave had introduced him to, after several of the old men at the parlor

had complained of a certain "smell" Antoni produced -- smell took quite some time to explain to

Antoni, and it was only after the inkeeper's repeated refusals to allow Dave to come to any definite

conclusion, and his insistence that "you had to keep it on the books, you know -- lest they come in and

take everything away" that Antoni realized that smell was something entirely outside of his

comprehension!

These ducks however, were much bigger an shinier than the ones Antini had seen in the river, and were
much noiser, additionally! Several people around him stopped and glanced streetwards at this

procession of giant shiny metallic ducks that was passing by, and Antoni managed to approach one

elegantly dressed woman, asking her what all the fuss was about, she responded that it was in fact a

"funeral", but the rest of what she was saying was absolutely drowned out by the sound of the ducks

quacking.

Since Antoni had no notion of what a “funeral” was, he could not rightly understand what the ducks

were quacking on about. He presumed it was some sort of celebration by the mutant alien ducks by

means of which they distracted and annoyed everyone they came in contact with.

ANtoni scoured the street and eventually -- when he grew wearisome of the noise and began to feel

"tired" -- stuck his newly acquired head, which dragged the rest of his body along with it -- into a bar;

he ordered a whiskey sour, and immediately gulped it down, as soon as the waiter -- an older retired

man -- set it in front of him. He laid his head on the counter, and when the barkeep said he "couldn't do

that", Antoni responded by asking "what is a funeral", to which the barkeep glanced sympathetically --

"sympathy" was easy idea for Antoni to understand, and most reminded him or described how he

pictured Trafalmaor in human thoughts and ideas --, an asked "you have a loved one die?"; as Antoni

knew none of these words, "loved one" whether "die", he shook his head.

Chapter 7

After awaking, Antoni found the man he'd ancountered in the street who had shared a pear with him

had gone away. He got up -- experiecing the feeling of which the man who kept bumping into him at

the bar described as "heaviness": it took him a few moments to get up. As in Trafalmador, no creature
possessed anything resembling the outward contours of what Antoni now possessed -- what Dave had

described to him as a body --, he was quite uaccustomed to this feeling!

After he got up, he looked aroud, and saw many gray giant square blocks, which looked to him like the

could be spaceships, which might be able to take him back to Trafalmador, so he assumed that's what

they were and started walkig in the directio of the most promient one near him, on top of which stood, i

big block letters, the word SONY. That must be a spaceship that can take me back to Trafalmador,

thought Atoni to himself, as he began heading in the general direction of the SONY-ship.

He had not walked far, when he experienced the strangest sensation: he did not realize at first, from

whence this sensation arose, but he could soon gather that it was coming from one of the spaceships he

was passing. Whatever it was, and wherever it was coming from, it reminded him immediately of

Trafalmador. It made him feel quite warm and whatever the opposite of the feeling which the man who

sat at the bar who kept bumping into him had described as "heaviness" was -- he had no idea what the

opposite of "heaviness" was, since the man had never returned, after excusing himself to go to the

bathroom!

He neared now the spaceship from which the strange sound emanated, and the light from this ship was

strange -- he could not describe what about it it was -- since he knew nothing of colors, and nothing of
light, besides that little objects in the globules in the middle of his face which resembled shapes with

sides inverse of each other absorbed these things -- and what happened then, was beyond Antoni's

knowing, as, when X had explained to him he was writing a novel about Hitler and National Socialism

and bourgeois conspiracies: as he had no notion of what a "Hitler" was, or what a "bourgeois", he could

not rightly gather what any of that meant. Anyway, as he felt the opposite of what the man who kept

bumping into him at the bar described as "heavy" (which he did not know the name of), and also,

simultaneously another feeling which felt to him alot like "dark", but in an entirely different matter;

this left Antoni with a feeling of "dark-not-heaviness", which he contemplated touching.

The first thing he noticed when entering the ship was the noises -- the sounds his feet made -- which he

was sensitive to, because of the surroundings. Somethig about the material of which the undergirding

of the ship -- what he was explained meant "ground", or "floor" -- responded to the depressions of his

feet with a most unusual sound -- one that the man who kept bumping into Antoni at the bar would

describe as "funny"; a feeling resembling "pain" erupted in the place connected to the tube into which

one placed food, and which developed into that feeling which inevitably resulted in sounds emenating

from that tube the continuation of which felt to him _quite_ different than "loneliness" -- he began

making these sounds, and as he did, he stopped short in the ship, which was empty where he stood,

save for the strange "dark-not-heavyness" sensation surrounding him and the sounds apart from

"loneliness" Antoni was making, in response to his feet on the ground.

A strange voice cried out from behind Antoni -- "what's so damned funny?" Antoni had not realized he
'd drawn the attention of anyone in making the sounds -- which really seemed to escape from him

rather than ebing of his own creation -- and in the throes of which, which reminded him more of

Trafalmador than of Earth -- he was unable to comprehend or "perceive" -- as the strange man at the

bar who kept bumping into him would describe the sesation as -- anything besides -- or anything at all,

really. He turned aroud, upon hearing the voice, and the sounds of his footsteps on the floor of the ship

brought forth aother burst of the same string of sounds, which the possessor of the voice behid him --

who now stood in front of him -- found so interesting. "I asked you, what's-so-damned-funny", he said,

this time stringing the question part of the sentence in one hurl. Since Antoni had no idea what was

"funny", and since he was currently in the throes of a sensation that rendered him incapable of

answering any questions, or much of anything else, he was unable to answer the man who asked the

question.

When Antoni regained his senses, he was alone in the ship, which had a rather long corridor leading up

some stairs, upon which no one was now to be seen. The sounds he'd heard -- which had struck him as

"dark-not-heavy" before could now oncemore be heard from somewhere beyond the top of the stairs.

He heard a man's voice, too, or what sounded like one, but, instead of speaking as most people did

when addresing one another on this planet, what the man was doing sounded more like what Antoni

had done when his feet had tread the strange material of the floor in the entryway to the ship he now

stood at the foot of the stairs of. On Trafalmador, all thoughts in relation to all events both past and

present and all time in either direction are known at all times to all individuals, so speech was

unbeknownst to Antoni prior to his landing on this stragest of planets! He could picture the man

upstairs, but inside the body he was currently, this required too much thought, so he decided to simply

mount the steps and see for himself where the lovely sound was coming from!
Before he'd made it halfway up the steps, the sounds emanating from where his feet depressed the

strange material of which they were composed made such an orchestration, that Antoni fell backwards,

in a fit of that sensation which to him felt not a bit like "loneliness". He crashed to the bottom of the

stairs, still retching in that sensation, which was accompanied by the strange cooing of the man

upstairs, which seemed all the more "dark-ot-heavy" to Antoni now that he was upside down at the

bottom of the stairs of a strange spaceship on a strange planet he wanted to be gone from! All on his

sides he felt "pain" from falling down the stairs, but yet, he could not catch a hold of himself. For a

long, long time, Antoni slay like that, in a ball on the floor beneath the stairs, projecting strange sounds

of he knew not what from the tube connected to the place where food went -- it was really unseemly!

Robert later explained to Antoni that what he had experienced in the strange ship had been the blues.

Antoni realized -- in retrospect -- how much he admire the blues, and how much they reminde him of

this strange planet!

Chapter Eight

Robert brought Antoni to Baltimore harbor, with its strange big ships floating on the flat, smooth

surface of the soft stuff you couldn't walk through in these “body” things he was slowly becoming

accustomed to. Robert introduced Antoni to one of the ship's captains and said the following (having

explained earlier that, since no one in their right mind would believe Antoni was an alien, he would

need to explain things a bit differently):

“This fellow is a Greek national, whose mother is dying, and who needs desperately to get back home

to Thessalonkia”, to which the ship's captain said, he could take him as far as Madrid, which Bruce

suggested should be fine, that he could catch a nother ship from Madrid, or a train, or for heaven's

sakes, one of those snaking cockroaches flying through the heavens at all hours of the night!

Antoni was asked, if he had any luggage, and, when he responded “no,” was given a strange look and

led up the gangplanck, to his lodgings, which were near the galley, which was a place where the

strange-looking stuff one put in the tube attached to where the sensations of fullness arose from was

prepared. His room was quite Spartan, and had a view of a thin metal pole and of iron girding, which

was darkened by the innumerable smudges on the window's surface.

Antoni spent most of his time in his room, being rocked back and forth by the motion of the ship, and

listening to the groaning of the pistons and the motorworks. The boat soon arrive in Madrid.

Chapter Nine

Robert McKambry was an American expat -- and self-proclaime neo-Platonist living in Athens,

Greece: his adopted home town. His spiritual beliefs inclued the interconnectedness of all phenomena

and the unity of all experience with an all encompassing Universal nature, which described every living

thing, and which human kind reflected, in their day-to-ay (but especially their religious) activity.

Without the unity of though -- which Robert believe underlay all beings, all actions, all things and

phenomena in the universe -- both visible and not --, there would be utter chaos and the Universe

would come to utter ruin. Robert was living off a stipend from the death of a familial relative -- a

distant aunt somewhere, who had left him a large sum of money, which Robert used to develop and

groom his higher instincts, in order to, and by means of which to achieve unity with the all-
encompassing consciousness which underlay all reality. Robert had frightened many a host, when

proclaiming -- on an occasion such as Halloween -- that his costume -- a silver tinsel suit of aluminum

and wire hangers was in fact the all-encompassing energy field of Mother Earth, and they promptly

shut the door, most times (which is in part what led Robert to Athens -- the seedbed and foundation

stone of modern democracy in the first place!).

Rigth now, Robert was sitting idly in a cafe in the Theseol region of town, admiring the splendor of the

view -- the ocean, the beach and what lay before him. He was in the midst of completing a major opus:

an epic work on the birth and development of the human soul, which he hoped to publish as soon as it

was completed (though he had of yet found no publishers -- he was hopeful!), and which had occupied

the better part of the last eight years of his life. In his view, the earth -- and all human life -- revolved

centrifugally around the ominant female spirit -- the embodiment of mana (energy), from which all

lower forms (of which he believed the male potency was one) emanated. All history -- according to

Robert -- was circular, and the events of the past may help shed light on future progressions. One could

only hope, thought Robert often, as he stood in front of the mirror mornings, shaving, that something

can be gathered from the ideas of unity of consciousness and an eternal return to prior states -- the

forebears were _not_ mistaken when they set up the Earth in the centuer of the celestial spheres; they

had only to idealize their notions, establish them in the ideal realm, rather than push them forth as

science -- then, maybe things would go straight in the world -- or so he thought!

A man encountered Robert -- they caught gazes, for a moment -- and Robert knew immediately that --

being the astrologist an superstitious individual he was -- that this individual possesses some secret
gnosis -- knowlege -- that he must acquire; before he had time to address the man (something he did

rather seldomly, for it was bad habit to scoop out the wrong aspects -- the darker tones -- of being by

spending one's time in banter and speech: Robert preferred, much rather, the striktures of silence), the

strange lad (who looked about as confused as anyone Robert had ever seen), approached him. In his

hand, he held a crumpled up and stained tabloid newspaper, which he pointed to, virulently, and tried --

in hurried tones -- to explain to Robert as being the map to a spaceship -- his only means home, which

lay buried in the city walls!

Robert had heard a lot of strange things in his life -- a science fiction author -- for instance -- had once

approached him, an presented himself as the creator of the universe, and thereby, of Robert, and then

asked for change to buy a cup of coffee! But this, this was something utterly unheard of: "your home

planet?" stammered the latter.

"Yes -- I come from a land far far away, which we in our tongue call Ichsooquatsee, but which means

to you nonsense, so we refer to it here as Trafalmador; it is a kind place, where gentle spirits live

outside their bodies -- or, for we have no bodies to speak of, as you see them, that is; and we spend our

time -- well, for you see, we have no time as you see it as well -- for, on Trafalmador, all beings co-

exist in relation to all that ever was, and all that ever will be (we remember the good times, and try to

relish in those!); yes, Trafalmador is where I want to go, and this spaceship which lies lodged in your

city walls (this is your city, right?) appears to be my only way home!"

"If you are, in fact, what you say you are, and you o not -- in principle -- reside in bodies, as we know

them, as you say," replie Robert, "then why can you not simply (were I to believe that any of what you
are saying were true -- and I've heard some strange things -- I should tell you about the strange man

who introuced himself as the creator of the universe, some years ago -- another time), then, why could

you not simply.. er, teleport, or transmolecurafy yourself, such that you may appear -- instantaneously

-- on your home planet (what did you say its name was again?)?" Antoni tried to explain that, as long as

he remained within the body he was in, all the wonders and marvels of what being a Trafalmadorian

entailed were impossible for him as far as he knew and that it would be of no avail to try to prove to

him he was, in fact, a Trafalmadorian, by teleporting instantaneously from anywhere in the universe to

anywhere else, since this was the case – as far as he knew!

Antoni was growing quite weary of human questions and what the drunk man in the bar who kept

bumping into him referred to as “the human condition” – it seemed like an excuse for any sort of

“selfish” behavior imaginable. Antoni had trouble grasping the concept of “selfishness”, as he ha

trouble grasping the concept of “self”: he knew it had something to do with the body he was in, an its

relation to his thinking and so that formed the foundation of his understanding of what it meant to be

“selfish”

Robert and Antoni were walking along one of the alleyways – there were many like it in the city – in

the general viscinity of Robert's apartment. Robert explained that all the thoughts of spaceships and

transmolecularification and alien life forms reminded him of a book he'd read – not a very good book:

the author was rather awkward, but had brillianr ideas; the book had been about a world in which

airports – a term Antoni now understood the meaning of – were really interdimensional monsters with

gaping maws, who ate torrential amounts of fluis – fluids of all sorts: shampoo, bottles of lotion greater

than 3 mL in volume, toothpaste, water bottles, deoderant – and fed primarily and exclusively on these.

What the rest of the book was about, he'd forgotten, only that the author had posed Hitler and the

Nationali Socialists as a capitalist conspiracy, “or something to that effect” – Antoni perked up, when

he heard this, and began telling R about having ridden from New York City to Baltimore with a man
who'd claimed to write a similar such story, and that they had discussed music.

There was a sudden burst of “feeling” in Antoni; a truck passed by, with the word AJAX written on the

side, and Antoni wondered what others thought that meant.

He had begun walking around the perimeter of town all day, and had yet to find the crash site.

He had figured he would meet other from Trafalmador along the way, or that someone would “point

him in the right direction”, as the biologist Dave had described what he had in mind.

Every chapter should begin with “0” – there should be no continuity, or “building” as from a certain

experience or encounter, in the setting of mis-en-scene, “Umgebung”, etc, beyond the memory (and

hopefully eventual integration) of human social relations between Antoni and others he encounters

along his way; the book will then become a sort of testament, or ode, a novel study (with caricature,

although not exluded, not the ostensible intent) of an individual's experience of human social relations

from the perspective of an absolute outsider – an alien.

Antoni awoke with a start – he had been experiencing what the man at the bar who kept bumping into

him might refer to as a “day dream”, an what Brucex the science fiction author and holographist might

call “Zonin' out”. He looked about him as his surroundings more clearly came into focus, an realized

that Trafalmador must – in spirit and being – be close at hand: the ground was growing a crystalline

hue, and the flowers and the trees were beginning to speak with him, singing and relaying the secrets of

the universe in quiet whispers, which he had to lean close to the ground in order to hear and make out

the nature of. Antoni suddenly felt quite overwhelmed, and as the ground dissolved underneath him,

and the colors grew ever more intense, he immediately lost consciousness.
He could hear the wind – or what was described to him as a movement of particles over matter in the

universe – rustling in the leaves of the trees, which were now bending t'wards and over him, tending his

wounds and whispering strange songs that worked to rejuvinate Antoni; he was soon in a trance.

Should the book also concern private thoughts of the author? That would render it more of a

methodological study than an ontological work – a sort of exoskeleton of a tale, over the meat and

flesh of the story (plot); but certainly, this would leave “room” to expand beyond the – decided –

limits of the novel. The work would thereby take on a highly reflective quality which would

mirror also the episodal representation of the –ultimately – cohesive effort of the human being to

find his way “home”: to become a person, to fulfill the demands of a developing personality, in

the course of development. Desnoeds wrote Underdevelopment, as well as Overdevelopment, but

never concerned himself with development in itself, which the pages of this book would then act as

an ode, and an inspiration – an impetus to, by doing away with the formal aspects of the novel,

and by rendering the plot, setting and mis-en-scene as part & parcel to a larger conversation

between the author and the audience, “kill” or “murder” the the sterility & independent

existence of the book in itself [!]. Its substance would then take on a rather intransitive, that is,

owever, intransititve in its tendency to metampsychosis (Verwandlung), in which method exists

as an Umweg to the practical aspects of living, or of conversation in itself, or even of dreams, in

their immediate relation to the dreams.

I also want the audience to feel a bit of a jarring experience, wherein, just as others grow

comfortable with the voice of the writer...

Antoni becomes unstuck in time; he is now aware of a strange sensation in the back of his mind
(or what Bruce the holographer and science fiction writer would describe as such: he told Antoni

“that strange feelin' is one you got to watch for, and guard yerself against it, you know – it can

catch you off guard otherwise, and when you're there, that's hell man.” Antoni had understood

very little of what had been spoken to him there sitting in the car listening to John Foggerty talk

about “ a sickness coming down” and a “bad moon rising”, but he felt a pestering now, an he

couldn't help but think of that time.

Bruce was sitting with Antoni now, in a bar – they were beachside – and, as they were rinking

their whiskey sours, Bruce began to explain to Antoni how to create perfect, three-dimensional

reprouctions of anything in the world – that, in fact one could create seemingly infinite

reproductions – to scale – of, for instance, the planet Earth, or the solar system, or even, if

enough material existed to put into use, the entire Universe. He explained, further, that a French

mathematician had once discovered a mathematical formula by which to prove that if one

subdivided a triangle into three seperate triangles, by drawing another triangle inside that

triangle, and repeated this action, one could theoretically create a shape with infinite perimeter.

Bruce exused himself to go to the bathroom, and Antoni was left to his own devices.

This might be where I – the author -- come in and talk a little bit about the intent and design and

purpose of the previous section, and the book at large, although too much explanation would

render the book more tedious than the first five hundred Jakarta Tales.

The point is to build a framework upon which a revolutionary class consciousness – and its

accompanying theoretical apparatus – can arise; that is, in other words: as in the case of Mexico

City, where the old buildings and streets are simply and regularly built on top of – the project
entailed by this book would seek to string a line across the precipice, from now to the garden of

the realized ideals of revolution in itself, and by means of which, the thoughts which direct men –

as if out of a social necessity – towards the subject of revolution may develop!

There may additionally be room for all sorts of irony – which the true thinker and artist and

social dialectician should never wholly exclude from his pallette (also, taste! Marxism has always

had a tendency, in the history of its development, decline and sissolution as a viable philosophy,

to tear down cultural and political barriers – also those artifacts which give & which render life

to entire communities, and which the revolutionary theory of the future must also leave room

for! But enough about that...)

Antoni sat alone at the table, clutching those strange appendages which Dave the biologist

referred to as “hands” (which, when clutched such, the latter had referred to as “fists”) – the

persons at the table next to him were discussing some sort of third party wjhich he had no notion

of the nature of – a certain person named “Karen” – he wondered who this “Karen” was, and

what she looked like; she must be a pretty person, thought Antoni to himself, sdrinking his

whiskey sour.

[Preface?]

Like George Sand supported Chopin's creation by padding him in emotional & psychological

“pep talk”, the book will be & convey an ontological ally (?), as well as methodologically cohesive

narrative within the context of which, the means to direct consciousness towards life and towards

motion will be facilitated. That leaves us in the same relation as the biblical prophets: addressing

at what they felt was a raptured (…) & hopeless world a message (of??) So..

The world as you know it is. That much is certain; however, what you may not be aware of as a
citizen of an age that diminishes the role of dreams, visions and chance is […]

Bruce returned and began discussing a book project he was working on, in which he was

attempting to discover the proper limitations of discussing and depicting and representing acts

and desires of human sexuality. Antoni had little notions what to make of this, and kept silent

mostly. After Dave gave up, and determined to teat human sexuality “as any other aspect or facet

of human social relations, and to neither neglect nor fetishize it”, Antoni posed a question that

ahd bothered him for some time. He asked Dave, “how come Earth people fight so much?” that

he was unaccustomed to such rage and such acts of violence, and that such was non-existent on

his home planet, where all events of the past and future were known to all members of the social

order, and where they “simply liked to remember the good times.” Bruce answered that the

Shakers, and other devotees of Mother Ann Lee might see things differently; he advised Antoni –

if he ever got the chance – to rive up into the woods of Kentucky, and ask them the question, and

suggested that, after hearing their answer, he “may never leave!”

Antoni slowly arose, and suddenly lowered the trousers which hung suspended around what the

biologist Dave referred to as his waist: he studied his “legs”, and especially the strange probiscus

dangling between them, which to him resembled those gelatenous beings which he'd seen

propelling themselves through the waters of Baltimore harbor. He was now – however – neither

there, nor in Madrid, but in Athens, and the mountain he was sitting upon suddenly erupted, and

a voice called to him that he – Antoni – was merely a figure in a novel, and that of course he knew

what cars were, and the like, that they were not strange cockroaches, and that “feelings” could

not be seen, and so forth, since Antoni himself was merely an extension of the author who is

writing this book, just as Bruce the science fiction writer & holographer was merely such as well.

There was no spaceship lodge in the city walls of Athens because the story was made up and all of
Antoni's experiences and journeyings and various encounters had all been imagined in the mind

of a person who felt he had something to say that needed sharing about the nature of human

social relations, which – as the October Revolution of 1917 had certain ideals the carrying out of

which, or their transmigration into praxis required a drastic reconfiguration of existing social

relations – required a drastic reconfiguration of the nature of language & thought and of human

social relations, in orer to fully be expressed!

All of this the voice in the mountain proclaimed, and shoted at Antoni at varying volumes and

intonations and, as the olive trees uprooted themselves, and the weather-bleached rocks in the

short walls around which Antoni sat began to tumble own the face of the mountain, and green

and purple fog and lights, and smoke began appearing from above and around in all directions,

Antoni suddenly opened his chest to reveal its contents: a ticking clock.