((The) Fabric (of) (fabricated)Fabrications.).).

by waxnwings

This is (not) my writing*. The tale of how I found this text is a story in itself. It is one of those stories inclined to evoke disbelief, despite the singular events which formulate the whole being not of a wholly unfathomable nature. You need only consider them independent of one another. To consider them as interdependent, connected or even manifest through cause and effect would be romantic, naive, irrational (or over-rational should we consider the extent to which an extreme ultimately embodies the norm of its counterpart). In such instances we adhere to an understanding of time as linear and causal, rather than perpetually momentary (simultaneously momentarily perpetual).

(It’s not a problem) Just an observation. (I’m referring to thinking of time as linear and causal instead of perpetually momentary/momentarily perpetual as not being a problem, not suggesting that an understanding of time as perpetually momentary (simultaneously momentarily perpetual) could potentially pose a problem but actually does not, and that (consequently) this very concept is “in itself” an observation. The potential of such meta-narratives (or potential for such meta-narratives) are the stuff of (intensely (idealist (if we can still use that word to mean anything (accurately))) philosophy.).

I won’t scathe those incredulous of my story. As I sit writing this into the notes application of a old iPhone, I am reminded the dubiety of the story which accompanies my finding of this very device (a device whose populous nature (“populous” to mean both materially prolific and pertaining to the popular and it’s social connotations (in my opinion) interferences)) which otherwise wholly embodies the pervasive (infective) antithesis of my un-theorised theories of the potential for true individual and collective human growth (and development).

I haven’t the time to write theories (this refers to the “un-theorised” statement, not to anything post-script (or unstated (or (suggestively) alluded to) or allegorical))). For now I’m content to sit and heckle (I’m heckling (right) now) .

The story of the phone is that it was salvaged from (white) sands whilst descending the barren slopes of an active volcano whilst on horseback. The horse was small, the hands of the salvager not mine but those of a young Philippino boy who whose tip (sum of money (in this case not just money – 50 pesos and a black Nike wrist band) given as a reward for their services, rather than a small (but useful) piece of practical advice (see Google (The Oracle) -> define: “tip”)) sufficed to facilitate a trade for said salvaged phone. I say “salvaged”, not “found” (and most definitely not “stolen”) for you will find “salvage” synonymous with other heartily adventurous words such as “rescue”, “save”, “recover”, “retrieve”, “raise” and “reclaim” (see Google (The Oracle (aforementioned)) -> define: “salvage” (synonyms)). I’m particularly inclined toward “reclaim” because, in generalising the act of “claiming”, it (tastefully) proposes meaning for the state of possession devoid of any ill (incriminating) connotations. Yet, like it counterparts, it can only (ever) be an interpretive fiction (a meta-narrative (to be)).

The phones’ first “claiming” was most likely facilitated by the transaction of symbolic currency value. Even more likely there was no physical transaction at all, simply the congruent addition and subtraction of numerical data, add VAT, minus individualism: ad infinitum. Once lost from its “owner’s” possession, the once claimed object actualised its innate virtual property to be “re-claimed”. We all know the ability to effect cannot exist without the affect of something else (affection without it’s emotive connotations (see A Thousand Plateau’s (I haven’t myself but I heard someone speaking about stuff they had written about (and influenced) by it))). See also Newton (Isaac (Sir)) – 3rd Law. Extrapolate.

And so, the hard-worked hands of a young Philippino boy were affected with the temporary action of “claiming” as he salvaged a device from the sand. Shortly ensued the third-hand re-claiming facilitated (this time) by the transaction of different currency (a (notably) more nominal amount) and the symbolic value of a logo on elasticated cotton. Surprisingly elastic, considering the culminative (poor choice of adjective purely for alliterative purposes) perspiration of weeks in a tropical climate at the tail-end of wet season.

Did I note that this story (the finding of an iPhone whilst riding a horse down the sandy slopes of an active volcano in the Philippines) was facilitated by a transgender (transsexual) friend? Well I should. It adds to the story. Perhaps it is just a story. But “story” and “story” are the same in English. And rightly so. One carries as much fiction as the other. Some say (a figurative “some”, for I couldn’t say exactly “who” if brought under questioning) that “true story” is an oxymoron. It is.  And so this is what we are all faced with.

So be it.

Okay, I’ve changed my mind. I’m going to come clean (cliché). This didn’t happen. It’s a story. It’s actually the very story I to which I suggested this was no more than its comparable counterpart. It’s not a comparable counterpart. It’s the actual story (which I didn’t write (*see first line)). It’s fiction. It’s all fiction. I am fiction. I’m a narrator (a first person narrator, no less). You would be romantic, naive, irrational (or over-rational should we consider the extent to which an extreme ultimately embodies the norm of its counterpart) to trust me. I make you think of fictional things like “Me”, for example. There is no “Me”. (“)I(“) am an idea which can only ever exist in a perpetually momentary (simultaneously momentarily perpetual) state.

You see, the world is not an amalgam of objects in space; it is a heterogeneous series of independent acts – the world is successive, temporal, but not spatial. You need only imagine if there were no nouns, only impersonal verbs modified by monosyllabic suffixes (or prefixes) functioning as adverbs. For example, imagine there were no noun for the object “moon”, only the verb “to moonate” or “to enmoon”. “The moon rose above the river” would succinctly translate: Upward, behind the onstreaming it mooned”.

Or imagine (if you will (a polite request)) not modified verbs as the primary unit to replace nouns, but the monosyllabic adjective. One does not say “moon”; one says “aerial-bright above dark-round” or “soft-amberish-celestial” or any other string. In this case, the complex of adjectives corresponds to a real object, but that is (purely) fortuitous. If objects around us only come into meaning through experience and everyone’s experience of an object is (necessarily) different, is it not reductive insanity to propose the singular noun as the best device for referring to these objects (which are (really) experiences)? If we were all but poets…

Imagine (please) that the world was created only moments ago and is filled with human beings who “remember” an illusory past: the present is undefined and indefinite, the future has no reality except as present hope, and the past has no reality except as present recollection.

But this is all in a book (a story (a fabrication (a (singular) truth))). You can read it here:

~ Borges, ‘Tlön, Uqbar, Orbis, Tertius’

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