Interjection I



Hey. Kali here. Yeah, the character in this story, not the goddess. Come to think of it, though, the goddess is already an implied character, here - I'm guessing that was foreshadowing, but I can't be sure since whatever it would foreshadow hasn't been written yet. That's right, I'm aware of the illusory nature of my existance, as a character in a piece of fiction, yaddah yaddah yaddah. In a strange way, I cross over to the level that you (I'm only guessing here, since in this case "you" is a very broad reference) share with The Author. Yeah, I'm kind of a meta-character. All you existentially-inclined fucks out there ought to get a kick out of that.

So, I'm in kind of an odd situation, here, and I don't just mean the obvious implications of the above paragraph. It's really strange to know that I, my actions, the course of my "life" and of my "existance" are not predetermined, but that down the road they will be. Except that, when that's happened, I'll be finished. It'll all have run its course. The story will have been written.

See, this story has no planned-out plot, so neither I nor The Author knows what's going to happen to me. Yeah, he's just kind of making it up as he goes along, letting each word take him to the next on its own. Metaphorically, asshole, I know that words just represent information... so, that's a bit disconcerting to me, though I guess it's also kind of reassuring at the same time. In a way, it means that I still have a fair bit of control, since I am contained within those words. These words. Shit.

Anyways, the thing is that you could be reading this at almost any point relative to its creation - "you" are many potential people. You could be reading the seventh printing of the third revision of a finished novel, if that's what this becomes. It could be a short story or a novella, I guess, but that's beside the point. Maybe you just discovered the lost manuscript of the famous author that The Author will probably never become. Or the unfinished manuscript. I hope it's not that - chilling to think of myself as a character in an unfinished story. You could be a friend of The Author's, giving him feedback. You could even be The Author Himself, writing this even as I - oh, I guess one of you is. Hi.

So, I'm also at one Hell of an odd point when it comes to placing my existance in time. I guess the easiest way to describe my situation there is as transtemporal. Forty-dollar word, watch me go... but, I mean, sure, this story has its own little time continuum or whatever that's entirely separate from you reality, but then where, excuse me, when do I exist relative to your reality? When are these thoughts of mine that The Author is penning? Is their time that of their writing, or of their reading? Is their time that of all the time that they exist somewhere, either on paper or in a computer or in the vibrations of someone's voice? (Book on tape... hi, yeah, that's me) Or even just in the back of someone's mind? Where, then, do revisions come into the picture?

I think a big part of the problem here comes from using the word "is". It implies that the truth can only lie in one or the other of these options, that it "is" either A or not-A. If the answer "is" that my actions and thoughts exist when The Author is writing them, how can they also exist later on when you are reading them and still be the same actions and thoughts? Maybe they aren't the same ones, exactly - maybe I'm repeating myself... or rather, being repeated. I think I'd have to say that my role in all of this is fairly passive. The thing is, how can I repeat exactly the same actions? For you, each time you tie your shoe the context, all of the little details are different. For me, at least within my frame of reference, each time I go though one of these "repetitions", all of the context and all of the details are exactly the same, right down to the time on my watch and the date on my calendar.

I wonder if The Author gets some kind of a perverse pleasure out of seeing all of these references to Him capitalised. I mean, sure, He's the one writing them, but the references are being made by His character. I guess that doesn't sound like much of a distinction to you, but I'm guessing that you've never written something like this. I'm also guessing that you've never been written like this.... Fuck. I'm not even getting into the implication of that statement.

Okay, coming back to that time thing, you and The Author are the same. I mean, from the vantage point of this piece, if you can think of it as an entity, there's a huge overlap between you and The Author. "You", obviously, refers to whoever happens to be reading it at the moment, but, again, from this perspective that could mean either everyone who ever reads it, or... see, not only will The Author eventually go back and read His own work, even if only for the sake of editing, but even as He writes it He is reading it. He doesn't write with a blindfold on - He is sitting there and watching each word spill out of His pen. I guess I just placed myself at the same instant that you currently place yourself in - again, though, "you" refers in part to The Author as He writes me.

Okay, I really don't think I can deal with any more of this right now. I need a cigarette. Can you let me have that? Please?

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