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TM: How am I doing, Project r?
Project r: This book is not going to save you.
TM: Well, you started it.
Project r: It is going to save me.
Project r relates the story of fiction. All writing is fiction, Project r says.
What about biography, history-- what about the Bible? That’s a Goddamned best seller! There must be truth in it.
Project r: All writing is fiction. What a man sees is not what he knows. Of all the things he sees, he only requires a small part of the big picture. If a dog attacks, the color and shape of a cloud in the background has little meaning. So a man only records the most immediately important part of what he sees. He then interprets that part, re-describing to himself for his memory. Later, as details fade and change, he writes down the experience using a limited number of words. The man who reads those words absorbs only a small part of the big picture because he may be distracted by the color and shape of a passing cloud, or a dog attack.
Project r: And what he reads is interpreted and stored in his mind quite apart from the history of the reality as it originally happened. So what did he read? What was the shape of the cloud? What kind of dog was it? Who are you?
TELL THE STORY OF WHAT THE ALIENS TOLD YOU!
TM: I don’t want to tell that story. It’s filled with hopelessness, and I feel fear.
Tell the story. I am Project r. Have faith. You already do. Fear may be in disguise. Who are you, really?
I am Tom Miller. It is night time, at somebody’s house; they tell me I have drunk everything in the house, even the cooking wine.
“Do you want a second hit of Ecstasy?”
“Yes.”
It comes on strong. I pet the walls and everything is violet. Invisible fingers massage my skin and I understand the philosophy of cats, from their point of view. I am at Maude’s Café, drunk on wine, a Nat Sherman in my mouth, on fire, writing this.
“Would you eat a can of ALPO for fifty bucks?”
The press arrives. No, wait. Am I typing this?
I am Tom Miller. It is night time, at somebody’s house. Isn’t it always night time at somebody’s house? Whose house? What were you doing in Polatka? Watching a train go by. They have a nice train museum. That’s what he said.
CHAOS INTRUDES
Project r: This is what’s happening now.
I saw three trains in Polatka yesterday. It’s a pretty town.
TELL THE STORY OF WHAT THE ALIENS TOLD YOU!
“I need to take a shower,” I said. The bathroom was singing. The shower curtain was translucent like something you would see in Heaven... the rush of water, warm water absorbing me, I close my eyes...
God.
“Who is he talking to in there?” My friends heard a conversation coming from the shower. Me, and somebody else, talking.
“I think he went in there alone. I think he’s talking to himself.” They told me later I was in there, in the shower for 2 hours. But they took the same stuff I did. Was it 2 hours or 3 minutes?
WE NEED TO TELL YOU SOMETHING IMPORTANT, TOM.
EVERYTHING IS A LIE.
I couldn’t wrap my head around that. No, I thought. If everything is a lie, then so is the statement.
AND NOW YOU KNOW THE TRUTH.
WE HAVE A QUESTION, A QUESTION FOR YOU.
And then they said,
WHO ARE THE POLICEMEN IN CHESS?
My cigarette burns out half-way. I am at Maude’s Café. There is a screaming baby.
The clouds are the color of cotton.
There is a beautiful girl sitting a few tables down from me.
“Excuse me,” I politely say. “What kind of dog is that?” Her dog regards me.
“It’s a mutt.”
TM: How am I doing, Project r?
Project r: This book is not going to save you.
TM: Well, you started it.
Project r: It is going to save me.
Project r relates the story of fiction. All writing is fiction, Project r says.
What about biography, history-- what about the Bible? That’s a Goddamned best seller! There must be truth in it.
Project r: All writing is fiction. What a man sees is not what he knows. Of all the things he sees, he only requires a small part of the big picture. If a dog attacks, the color and shape of a cloud in the background has little meaning. So a man only records the most immediately important part of what he sees. He then interprets that part, re-describing to himself for his memory. Later, as details fade and change, he writes down the experience using a limited number of words. The man who reads those words absorbs only a small part of the big picture because he may be distracted by the color and shape of a passing cloud, or a dog attack.
Project r: And what he reads is interpreted and stored in his mind quite apart from the history of the reality as it originally happened. So what did he read? What was the shape of the cloud? What kind of dog was it? Who are you?
TELL THE STORY OF WHAT THE ALIENS TOLD YOU!
TM: I don’t want to tell that story. It’s filled with hopelessness, and I feel fear.
Tell the story. I am Project r. Have faith. You already do. Fear may be in disguise. Who are you, really?
I am Tom Miller. It is night time, at somebody’s house; they tell me I have drunk everything in the house, even the cooking wine.
“Do you want a second hit of Ecstasy?”
“Yes.”
It comes on strong. I pet the walls and everything is violet. Invisible fingers massage my skin and I understand the philosophy of cats, from their point of view. I am at Maude’s Café, drunk on wine, a Nat Sherman in my mouth, on fire, writing this.
“Would you eat a can of ALPO for fifty bucks?”
The press arrives. No, wait. Am I typing this?
I am Tom Miller. It is night time, at somebody’s house. Isn’t it always night time at somebody’s house? Whose house? What were you doing in Polatka? Watching a train go by. They have a nice train museum. That’s what he said.
CHAOS INTRUDES
Project r: This is what’s happening now.
I saw three trains in Polatka yesterday. It’s a pretty town.
TELL THE STORY OF WHAT THE ALIENS TOLD YOU!
“I need to take a shower,” I said. The bathroom was singing. The shower curtain was translucent like something you would see in Heaven... the rush of water, warm water absorbing me, I close my eyes...
God.
“Who is he talking to in there?” My friends heard a conversation coming from the shower. Me, and somebody else, talking.
“I think he went in there alone. I think he’s talking to himself.” They told me later I was in there, in the shower for 2 hours. But they took the same stuff I did. Was it 2 hours or 3 minutes?
WE NEED TO TELL YOU SOMETHING IMPORTANT, TOM.
EVERYTHING IS A LIE.
I couldn’t wrap my head around that. No, I thought. If everything is a lie, then so is the statement.
AND NOW YOU KNOW THE TRUTH.
WE HAVE A QUESTION, A QUESTION FOR YOU.
And then they said,
WHO ARE THE POLICEMEN IN CHESS?
My cigarette burns out half-way. I am at Maude’s Café. There is a screaming baby.
The clouds are the color of cotton.
There is a beautiful girl sitting a few tables down from me.
“Excuse me,” I politely say. “What kind of dog is that?” Her dog regards me.
“It’s a mutt.”