A Door Into the Narrators Dream

The problem with this author is that certain images arise in his head, that seem to be certain ways of relating ideas, images in motion that make little sense when it comes to trying to fit these aforementioned images into a certain kind of narration. They do not fit well into the typical style of this came first and this came next and then this happened. They are moments, glimpses into the true nature of things, glimpses into an alternate way of perceiving the world, not mere sequence.

Yet the author knew that sequence was important, crucial even. Sequence could be done away with to some extent, that was not so much the problem, but keeping a particular narrative tone, a way of conveying a whole idea, rather than dancing around the outskirts of what made little sense. It did not matter to him one bit that the number 9 did not rhyme with the letter H and for that matter, or letter or whatever it was, the letter H had become a hateful thing to him, inconsistently  jamming up and not releasing its precious H fluid into the glowing screen that the narrator desperately craved. After all, certain habits had been created, certain ways of assuming that if the fingers moved in this order and the proper clicking and clacking was heard, then in fact the H juice would appear exactly where the narrator assumed it would. It was a form of future prediction, a modern day oracle in fact and yet it was often ignored by those stoic and dodgy charlatans who claimed that oracles did not actually exist. They make informed guesses, just like everyone else, but there sources from which to make these guesses came from a realm entirely “other” than the realm of science, in which the most sturdy and irrefutable of believers dwelt. It came from an inner world, a world of imagination that made the links between this thought and that object. What does an idea and a light bulb have in common? Nothing, but one is short hand for the other, and you see, dear reader, that some of us think in this imaginary short hand, not to mention write in it. So I may describe to you a character and certain events that happen to this character, but I am not in fact to you a character that has particular weight to a narrative. This character is a short hand symbol, a thing I the narrator use in which to convey an idea that may not be conveyable in terms of the more limited approach of descriptive imagery, plot, narrative direction. Why do I tell you about Ray and Ray’s exploits over and over again? I do not know. Why do you read Rumi or any of the other poets?

But these are just ideas dear friend, words that flow out from the mouths of babes. And beware, here there be wolves in sheep clothing.