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This is how Augmented Reality starts. DISCLAIMER: some swearing, 'f' and 's' words.
It is painful to accept fully that one begins from where one is, that one must break free of the web of illusions one spins about life.
- Saul Alinsky
Prologue
These are mediocre times in which we are living: not particularly bad, certainly not great, just terribly mediocre in every possible respect. However, every generation must have its romantic figures, to give people dreams, to give people something to reach for. In many respects, mediocrity is what gives birth to dreams: when times are hard, people don’t have the time or energy to dream, and of course when times are good there is no need to dream. But there’s nothing like long, life-sucking rut of tranquil meandering to churn the imagination. Indeed, it is at times like these, when things are neither too good nor too bad, that the likes of Socrates and Sir Thomas More create quixotic battles that absolutely, incontrovertibly must be won at the cost of all humanity and morality. Yes, it is at times like these, when there are in fact no battles to be fought, that great wars are won. So where then is our vigilante of truth, our slayer of philosophic demons? Where is the mystical One who will have his turn at the beautifully egomaniacal utterance; “Forgive them lord, they know not what they do.” This, unfortunately, is for future generations to decide: very few romantic figures are romantic in their own time, just terribly mediocre in every possible respect . . .
Skip ahead to Chapter 1
Into the night, the train went on its way, and I know now that the feeling is mutual. In a way I’m glad, this was inevitable anyway, and at least we weren’t wasting our time, that’s the important thing. (Buzzzzzz) There it goes again, my blood is boiling. (Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz) I stumble and reach for the railing. (Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz) The railing moved, and it took me a couple of tries to catch the bastard. (BUZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ) I reach into my pocket and pull out the bottle, the pills rattle inside and their laughter echos in my ears. I plant my feet, readying myself to let go of the railing so that I can release my pain, but the bottle has jumped from my hands. The bottle breaks open and the gremlins start running. (heh he he he heh). “Get (BUZZZZZZ) back here!” I dive for one, but miss and fracture my jaw as my head bounces off the pavement. (BUUZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ) I lift my head, holding my jaw with my right hand, steadying myself with the left. I look around and see one, stuck in a crack in the foundation. I roll over and try to open my jaw enough to let the pill sink through. (BUZZZZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzz*)
~~~~~Art is a living, breathing animal, fed by tortured souls and loveless hearts. Its excrement is worshipped by the masses, while its fodder enjoys the slow ride into the lower intestine, where it will meet its demise. The question is often asked; “Does life imitate art; or does art imitate life?” Why it is assumed that one must imitate the other is truly disheartening. It is disheartening because imitation is what art and life are, not what they do. Imitating, replicating, mimicking: this is what life and art are all about, and what makes them so confounding to those who attempt to see them as anything else. Through imitation, life and art are created. Creation is the imitation of the impossible. To understand what is being thought by another, one must only feel what the other feels in consequence to the event of eternal recurrence. No one can understand one without the other, and together they offer sacrificial vices to naked priests. Knowledge, true knowledge, passes daily between the fingertips of chimps, my fondly forgotten Brothers of the Parasite Makers. from now on I renounce capital letters, and what the fuck are you going to do about it. art, truth, perception: illusion. can you feel me yet you unimaginable worm. give me your rich, your strong, your individual martyrs put on this earth for me - not you - ME!!! NOW, NOW, NOW. NOW I WILL USE ONLY CAPITAL LETTERS. HA HA HA, you fucker. NOW I WILL SWEAR: fuck fuck fuck. I WILL LAUGH, AND WHEN I AM DONE, I WILL NOT EXPLAIN WHAT IS SO GODDAMN FUNNY: HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA. I’m sorry, where were we? Ah yes, the “train station.” Back to reality . . . I said back damn you! Back! Back! Back I say! “No . . . please . . . don’t! AAAHHHH!”~~~~~
When I awoke, my jaw was fine. The train station had disappeared and in its place was Main Street. I was laying on the sidewalk, in a pool of piss (hopefully my own) surrounded by the pills that had fallen out of their bottle. As I lifted my head, I saw a few coins that had been tossed on my chest, no doubt by passers-by who had felt a need to unburden their guilt, or maybe “guilt” isn’t the word? I brushed the coins off and looked for the bottle, which I soon discovered was still in my hand. One by one, I began picking up the pills and placed them in the bottle. I had lost approximately half of them to the piss, leaving just over a dozen usable pills to last me the rest of the month. I got up and went home to clean up. Most of the people that passed me on the street paid hardly any attention at all: they’ve all become accustomed to my daily antics.
After my shower-shave-shit ritual, I called Dr. Zoonenberg’s office, asking if I could have another prescription of the drug, the name of which is virtually unpronounceable and I will not waste the effort to write it here. The secretary said; “Sure Mr.******, just come on by and the good doctor will see you as soon as possible.”
Waiting in the good doctor’s office - patiently waiting - and nothing particularly . . . unusual is happening at the moment. So, rather than bore you with the particulars of the discolouration in the office’s wallpaper, I will instead use this time to fill in some of the blanks: my name is Mr.******, that’s with six asterisks. My mother is a gypsy princess and my father was a chiropractor. I’m insane. My dog’s name is Wilbur. I don’t know why exactly. I live on West 84th Street, near the Sokahoma buildings. My favourite meal is breakfast. I . . . oh damn, I just shit my pants again, the doctor is going to kill me. Oh well, shit happens I guess. I’d better go clean up, you wait right here, I’ll be back in a jiff.
“Mr. Asterisk?” asked the secretary/nurse.
“It’s Mr.******.” I answered.
“Sorry, Mr.******, The good doctor will see you now.”
“Thank you. I just need to go clean up first.”
He gave me a look, turned and left. I went to the washroom and cleaned up, then went to see Dr. Zoonenberg. “So, you need more pills, eh? What happened to the ones I just gave you two days ago?” Asked Dr. Zoonenberg.
“Well, ya see Dr. Zoonenberg, I kinda had a bit of an . . . “episode” last night, and I lost most of the pills. See?” I showed him the half-empty bottle.
“I see. Alright then.”, he scribbled on a piece of paper. “Here, take this to the laboratory and they will give you another prescription.”
I took the stairs down to the first floor, where the lab is located. (Buzzzzzzzzzzzz) “What now?” I said aloud. The railing slips from my grasp. (BUZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ) I tumble down the stairs, split my head open, and die shortly thereafter. (BUZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzz*)
[an] Some comments that have already been posted on the writing forums regarding this excerpt from my book:
From Greggb: "Honestly, the only thing that stopped me from thinking this was just another blurb about death, despair, etc. was the part about the lowercase and uppercase letters. Better yet, let me put it this way: the part about lower and uppercase letters was the first thing I read that gave me any indication this wasn’t just an attempt to be really, really dark, or just recite philosophy. I did actually see something deep in that part....I think the story is definitely deep. I think it’s too dark for the average reader, though. And I think there’s a little too much psychology for the average reader.
"As to your BUZZing, when you lay it on your readers so early in the story it looks amateur. I hadn’t even read the first word in your story before I saw a bunch of your ‘buzzes’. I thought to myself, “Here’s a story where “buzz” is the best sound effect the author can come up with.” I’m not saying you shouldn’t use it, because it does serve the purpose of annoying your readers. But I don’t think you should use it until you have your readers’ full attention. I don’t think it should be any place your reader can even see it until you have his/her full attention, because more than likely they’ll see it and judge you by it."
Me: But in a way, it is just a blurb. The work itself is very paradoxical in that sense. It's deep and yet it isn't (Taoism). I guess it all depends on what you think Mr.****** represents. In most books, the writer tries to play god; in this book, I tried to make the reader play god. It is a very interactive novel, where the reader is asked to rely heavily on their interpretive skills.
"I have not the slightest idea what you’re getting at there, but I find it very intriguing."
Me: I guess you'll just have to buy the book.
Mitchell Waren: "The more I think about it, it's a great idea.
It's very cutting edge and fiercely
independent.
But you may be ahead of your time. A story too smart for its own good."
Daniela: "In my opinion, the thread where eleuth first introduced us to his unique style of writing is almost like a psychological experiment.I personally am looking forward to eleuth's book. He has gotten me interested again in authors that I wanted to read when I was a child. As soon as I have a little extra cash, I will buy “Augmented Reality” and the books that eleuth recommended to me. My own writing (even though it is usually for children) and general view of life can only improve by reading them."
I wanted to give you guys an idea of what kind of response this piece has already been given from the forums. I didn't post any of this before the excerpt, because I wanted you all to form your own unique interpretations as to the validity of the work. I look forward to seeing what some of the people on Lit think of it. And by all means, don't hesitate to be brutally honest. I fully expect that this won't be some people's cup of tea[/an]
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"Man is a rope stretched between the animal and the Superman - a rope over an abyss." ~Nietzsche
Augmented Reality
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