Mimetics

[[awaken]]

You wake to unwelcome sunlight through the blinds and an intensely strange [[smell]]. A double bed, the covers tangled and piled, and no pillows in evidence. You are mostly [[dressed]]. Perhaps you should [[get up|Apartment]].

It seems to be coming from the sheets, or maybe from you. It smells like old bread, and it reminds you of the word [[nervous]]. [[...|awaken]]

You seem to be wearing a grimy dress shirt and a pair of grey slacks, wrinkled beyond all hope. You have only one sock on, and no underwear. [[...|awaken]]

You remember your hands sweating, and an unknown smile, not yours. [[...|smell]]

APARTMENT The room is full of diffuse orange light and an oppressive amount of [[reality]]. Flotsam congregates in the corners and across the floor: papers, clothes, [[books]], and what have you. The blinds lie crooked across the [[window]]. A [[desk]] of polished wood sits by the bed. There is a [[dresser]] by the door. Perhaps you should [[go back to bed|1st Dream]].

It feels very heavy today. The edges of things are clearly defined. The air is thick. Space is too close to itself. [[...|Apartment]]

You pick one of them up off the floor. The spine is broken, the pages splayed. On the cover, a picture of a ragged doll. //At first glance, mimesis seems to be a stylizing of reality in which the ordinary features of our world are brought into focus by a certain exaggeration, the relationship of the imitation to the object it imitates being something like the relationship of dancing to walking. Imitation always involves selecting something from the continuum of experience, thus giving boundaries to what really has no beginning or end. Mimêsis involves a framing of reality that announces that what is contained within the frame is not simply real. Thus the more "real" the imitation the more fraudulent it becomes.// [[...|Apartment]]

A sullen, red sun is heating the glass pane. The street is pale with frost, and steam rises from the rooftops. One person is visible in the street below, sleeping in a doorway. [[...|Apartment]]

It is the same desk you've had since you were a kid. The drawers are full of the same things you had as a kid, whatever those are. It is far too heavy for its size. You recall carrying it up the steps of your complex. The paint on the handles is peeling, and the bottom drawer does not open or close anymore. There's an old CRT monitor and a keyboard on the desk, hooked to an aging tower beneath it. On the floor next to the tower are your shoes. You can't put them on. [[...|Apartment]]

Your top drawer is full of detritus. There are socks without partners. Stained underwear that you don't wear anymore. Loose change, broken phone cords, two-and-a-half empty wallets, dead batteries, and an analog watch that you don't feel comfortable wearing. It used to belong to someone, maybe. [[...|Apartment]]

You are at a fancy party. Talk is civil and the glassware is expensive. You know that you know the [[girl]] standing next to you, but not who she is. As you turn to the veranda, she laughs and follows you outside. Beneath the stars, you look back to see that she is bleeding from the neck and eyes. For some reason, you press an ear to her lips as they begin to move. She says, "Lie down." [[...|2nd wake up]]

There is a deep well of //life// in her eyes that you wish to access, but it is not tangible or edible or potable or in any way a thing that can belong to you. [[...|1st Dream]]

[[awaken|2nd morning in bed]]

You remember nothing of the dream but what you were told. Many important things have been forgotten. Perhaps you should [[get up|Apartment 2]].

APARTMENT The room is full of diffuse orange light and an oppressive amount of [[reality|reality 2]]. Flotsam congregates in the corners and across the floor: papers, clothes, [[books|book 2]], and what have you. The blinds lie crooked across the [[window|window 2]]. A [[desk|desk 2]] of polished wood sits by the bed. There is a dresser by the [[door]]. Perhaps you should [[go to work|go to work 2]].

You can see the photons sliding across the carpet in front of the window. As soon as you notice them, they are gone. [[...|Apartment 2]]

You pick one of them up off the floor. The spine is broken, the pages splayed. On the cover is the silhouette of one human carrying another. //A true war story is never moral. It does not instruct, nor encourage virtue, nor suggest models of proper human behavior, nor restrain men from doing the things men have always done. If a story seems moral, do not believe it. If at the end of a war story you feel uplifted, or if you feel that some small bit of rectitude has been salvaged from the larger waste, then you have been made the victim of a very old and terrible lie. There is no rectitude whatsoever. There is no virtue. As a first rule of thumb, therefore, you can tell a true war story by its absolute and uncompromising allegiance to obscenity and evil. ...In a true war story, if there's a moral at all, it's like the thread that makes the cloth. You can't tease it out. You can't extract the meaning without unraveling the deeper meaning. And in the end, really, there's nothing much to say about a true war story, except maybe "Oh."// [[...|Apartment 2]]

The sun is refusing to rise. [[...|Apartment 2]]

The door is shut, bolted, and made of very thick wood. No light or sound makes it past. You can imagine that there is nothing beyond it. [[...|Apartment 2]]

It is the same desk you've had since you were a kid. The drawers are full of the same things you had as a kid, whatever those are. It is far too heavy for its size. You recall carrying it up the steps of your complex. The paint on the handles is peeling, and the bottom drawer does not open or close anymore. There's an old CRT monitor and a keyboard on the desk, hooked to an aging tower beneath it. (if: $shoeson is 0) [On the floor next to the tower are your shoes. You can't put them on. [[But you have to.|put on shoes 2]]] [[...|Apartment 2]]

You slip on your shoes anyway. You are probably fully dressed now. (set: $shoeson to 1) [[...|desk 2]]

(if: $shoeson is 0) [You don't want to leave the apartment without your shoes on. [[...|Apartment 2]]] (if: $shoeson is 1) [You have to step out into the cold and the light to get to work. [[...|at work 1]]]

[[...|at work 2]]

[[...|at work 3]]

It's time to [[go home|Apartment 3]]. (set: $shoeson to 0)

APARTMENT The room is lit by two fluorescent bulbs on your ceiling. They buzz with an impersonal radiance. Flotsam congregates in the corners and across the floor: papers, clothes, books, and what have you. The blinds lie crooked across the [[window|window 3]]. A [[desk|desk 3]] of polished wood sits by the bed. There is a dresser by the door. Perhaps you should [[go to bed|2nd dream]].

The frost is thick against the pane tonight. Your own reflection outlines the scene outside. At its center is the man who sleeps in the doorway across the street. He is standing as if in a spotlight, staring at his shadow in the snow. Or he could be looking at the snow itself. There is something warm about it, like a blanket that the city wraps around itself in the darkness. [[...|Apartment 3]]

It is the same desk you've had since you were a kid. The drawers are full of the same things you had as a kid, whatever those are. It is far too heavy for its size. You recall carrying it up the steps of your complex. The paint on the handles is peeling, and the bottom drawer does not open or close anymore. There's an old CRT [[monitor|monitor 3]] and a keyboard on the desk, hooked to an aging [[tower]] beneath it. (if: $shoeson is 0) [On the floor next to the tower are your shoes. You can't put them on.] [[...|Apartment 3]]

The street is featureless, the windows unlit. If it weren't so dark, you know you could see down it forever. But there are no other streets. As you walk figures appear on the rooftops. Always one per building, always at the edge of your vision. Silent lightning does not illuminate them, but outlines their silhouettes against the sky. You want to move faster. Are you moving at all? You try to raise your arm, but something grips it. You [[try harder|3rd wakeup]].

You are paralyzed. You cannot move or speak, yet you hear your voice whispering in your ear. "Lie down." [[Move your arm|2nd dream]]. [[Open your eyes|3rd wakeup]]. [[Wiggle your toe|2nd dream alt]]. [[Shout|2nd dream]]. [[Lift your index finger|3rd wakeup]].

You are paralyzed. You cannot move or speak, yet you hear your voice whispering in your ear. "Lie down." [[Move your arm|2nd dream]]. [[Open your eyes|3rd wakeup]]. [[Wiggle your toe|2nd dream]]. [[Shout|2nd dream]]. [[Lift your index finger|3rd morning in bed]].

You wake to unwelcome sunlight through the blinds. A double bed, the covers tangled and piled, and no pillows in evidence. You are mostly dressed. Perhaps you should [[get up|Apartment 4]].

APARTMENT The room is full of diffuse orange light and an oppressive amount of [[reality|reality 4]]. Flotsam congregates in the corners and across the floor: papers, clothes, [[books|book 4]], and what have you. The blinds lie crooked across the [[window|window 4]]. A desk of polished wood sits by the bed. There is a dresser by the door. Perhaps you need to [[use the bathroom|bathroom 4]]. Perhaps you should [[go to work|go to work 4]].

The tower vibrates with a gentle frustration. You forgot to turn it off at some point. Later, you will also forget to turn it off. [[...|desk 3]]

You flip the switch on its rear. It blinks once and wakes up. You appear to have two new [[emails|emails 3]]. [[...|desk 3]]

[[hello wadhwhani subj: re: hello wadhwhani if you want to fin dthe present you wish one who its will like-!]] [[Living.With.Pain subj: Clinical Trials: you've been selected]] [[...|monitor 3]]

You find yourself in the center of a vast desert. You find yourself in the center of a vast desert. You find wyourself in thec nert of a vast desert you find yourewelf in the center of a vcast desert You find yourself in the center of a vast desert from which there is no escape. The peoples who people it make war for exactly one week following each full moon. you fidn yoruself in the midedle of a cast desert from which there is no sewapoj [[...|emails 3]]

Someone has tied invisible straps around your chest. It is impossible to breathe deeply enough. [[...|Apartment 4]]

You pick one of them up off the floor. The spine is broken, the pages splayed. On the cover is printed the word "Dictionary". art /ɑɹt/ noun 1. The conscious production or arrangement of sounds, colours, forms, movements, or other elements in a manner that affects the senses and emotions, usually specifically the production of the beautiful in a graphic or plastic medium. quotations ▼ There is a debate as to whether graffiti is art or vandalism. He's at university to study art. Her photographs are nice, but there's no art in them. Sotherby's regularly auctions art for millions. Antonyms (Human effort): mundacity, nature, subsistence second-person singular preterite indicative form of *iraną (“to rise, be quick, become active”) artifact [ˈɑɹɾɪfækt], [ˈɑɹɾəfækt] noun 1. Something viewed as a product of human conception or agency rather than an inherent element. 2. A structure or finding in an experiment or investigation that is not a true feature of the object under observation, but is a result of external action, the test arrangement, or an experimental error. artifice /aʁ.ti.fis/ noun 1. A crafty but underhanded deception. 2. A trick played out as an ingenious, but artful, ruse. 3. A strategic maneuver that uses some clever means to avoid detection or capture. 4. A tactical move to gain advantage. [[...|Apartment 4]]

The sun today is molten yolk, gooping from the rooftops and slopping down the alleys. It melts the snow. It covers the sleeping man's coat in fire. The clouds are arranged to simulate the smoke of a burning city. [[...|Apartment 4]]

Your bathroom is small and moldy. With the door shut and the fan on, it feels like a pocket dimension in which nothing else is required to exist. You have a [[toilet|toilet 4]] and a [[mirror|mirror 4]] and a shower. Maybe there is a sink, as well. [[...|Apartment 4]]

Second person serves as a way of eliminating the protagonist. Erasing his/her features and replacing them with nothing, not even myself. Now I can tell you what to think and to feel, because you are my character. You see a worn face in the mirror. The skin sags in ways you are not quite familiar with. You imagine the face protruding from the surface of a melting candle. There are dark circles beneath its eyes. When it smiles, its teeth are grey. The face is yours. And when I say yours, I mean mine. [[...|bathroom 4]]

You have to step out into the cold and light to get to work. [[...|at work 4]]

[[...|at work 4-2]]

[[...|go home from work 4]]

It's time to [[go home|Apartment 5]].

APARTMENT The room is lit by two fluorescent bulbs on your ceiling. They buzz with an impersonal radiance. Flotsam congregates in the corners and across the floor: papers, clothes, books, and what have you. The blinds lie crooked across the [[window|window 5]]. A [[desk|desk 5]] of polished wood sits by the bed. There is a dresser by the door. Perhaps you should [[go to bed|Dream 5]].

The snow has sublimed into a thick mist, obscuring the buildings across the street. Shapes move through spheres of light like divers along the bottom of the ocean, around lampposts like naval mines covered in burning phosphorous. You can't make anyone out, but you sense someone looking at your window. You close the blinds. [[...|Apartment 5]]

Stretched or melting faces are trapped in the wood grain across its surface. One of them reminds you of a cartoon character from your childhood, though you aren't sure which one. The paint on the handles is peeling, and the bottom drawer does not open or close anymore. There's an old CRT [[monitor|monitor 5]] and a keyboard on the desk, hooked to an aging tower beneath it. (if: $shoeson is 0) [On the floor next to the tower are your shoes. You can't put them on.] [[...|Apartment 5]]

You find yourself in the center of a vast desert from which there is no escape. The people of this desert make war for exactly one week following each full moon. It is midday and the light is cooking the salt from your skull. There are mountains made of triangles and sand pasted to the Northern horizon. About 30 feet to the East are the bleached bones of a dead horse. Which direction will you go? [[North|Dream 5-2]] [[South|Dream 5-2]] [[East|Dream 5-2]] [[West|Dream 5-2]]

You flip the switch on its rear. It blinks once and wakes up. You appear to have three new [[emails|emails 5]]. [[...|desk 5]]

[[LJ subj: re: hello wadhwhani if you want to fin dthe present you wish one who its will like-!]] [[Living.With.P4in subj: Clinical Trials: you've been selected]] [[Indeed subj: 8 New Jobs In Your City]] [[...|monitor 5]]

hello wadhwhani if you want to fin dthe present you wish one who its will like-! How are you and yours? I am Captain Larry James 46 year old man. I am writing to you from Libya. I want to be your Friend and see where it will Lead Us. Kindly contact me on my email address here ( calarryjames!@email.com) for more details and my Photos Look, I'll level with you. There is a war on here. Right now. They are shooting my neighbors in the street outside. I need to get out. I need money. Please send me money Thanks Capitan Larry James [[...|emails 5]]

You find yourself in the center of a cast desert you find yourself in the dcenter of a cvast desert. Youd o find yourself in the center of a vast desert from which there is no escpae. from which tere is no escape from which there is no escape you will find yourself [[...|emails 5]]

You find yourself in the center of a vast desert from which there is no escape. The people of this desert make war for exactly one week following each full moon. In the following year, the months will be named after the first to die in each of these wars. It is midday and the light is cooking the salt from your skull. There are mountains made of triangles and sand pasted to the Northern horizon. About 30 feet to the East are the bleached bones of a dead horse. To the South, you see what appears to be you several minutes ago, shading your eyes to examine the horizon. He hasn't seen you, and it seems best not to call attention to yourself. Which direction will you go? [[North|Dream 5-3]] [[South|Dream 5-3]] [[East|Dream 5-3]] [[West|Dream 5-3]]

You find yourself in the center of a vast desert from which there is no escape. The people of this desert make war for exactly one week following each full moon. They claim to exist for no other purpose. It is just after midday and the light is beginning to bake the outer layer of skin from your face. Blisters burst and congeal. There are mountains made of triangles and sand pasted to the Northern horizon. About 30 feet to the East are the bleached bones of a dead horse. A sandstorm is approaching from the West. You cannot see yourself any more. You listen for footsteps but hear only the wind. Which direction will you go? [[North|Dream 5-4]] [[South|Dream 5-4]] [[East|Dream 5-4]] [[West|Dream 5-4]]

You find yourself in the center of a vast desert from which there is no escape. The people of this desert make war for exactly one week following each full moon. They have no gods but the sand. It is late afternoon. You have replaced your withered head with a wrapping of cloth bandages, kept in place with dried serum and blood. The shadows of the moutains stretch far enough to touch your feet. The storm is almost upon you. Which direction will you go? [[North|Dream 5-5]] [[South|Dream 5-5]] [[East|Dream 5-5]] [[West|Dream 5-5]]

Nothing can exist but the sand. Even the remains of yourself are crumbling to dust in the wind. Yet there is your doppelganger 5 feet to the North through the tears in your eyes. He has seen you. His own head is the size of a pyramid, his arms giant serpents that wrap you and the storm and the mountains tighter and tighter. [[Struggle in his grasp|Dream 5-6]].

Nothing can exist but the sand. Your ribs crack like paper fossils. [[Try to scream|Dream 5-7]].

your n the center of a vas desert in the center of a vast desert a desert from which there is no escape nothing can exist but the sand [[wake up|Dream 5-8]]

In your other's smile are the mountains and the storm and the horse and you -- staring into a crypt of dead earth: the desert at night the full moon rising and only the first to be remembered A whisper reaches you from the stone mouth: "Lie down." [[Wake up!|wake up 6]]

[[awaken|morning in bed 6]]

There is a great deal of sweat on your pillow. Your skin is dry and oily. You are naked for some reason. Perhaps you should [[face the day|Apartment 6]].

APARTMENT The room is full of diffuse orange light and an oppressive amount of [[reality|reality 6]]. Flotsam congregates in the corners and across the floor: papers, clothes, [[books|book 6]], and what have you. The blinds lie crooked across the [[window|window 6]]. A [[desk|desk 6]] of polished wood sits by the bed. There is a half-empty bottle of [[whiskey]] on the dresser by the door. Perhaps you should [[lie down|lie down 6]].

Sales Associate Motivated individuals wanted for a rare opportunity! Marketing Consultant Ambitious people needed for actualizing company portfolio itemization! Support Management Coordinator Manage and support the coordination of managerial support coordinates. Competitive salaries! Server Work for tips! Take verbal abuse! Smile and servility training available. 2nd Shift Shit Shoveller Make your way in the cutthroat world of shit shovelling! Minimum 8 years shit shovelling experience required. Corporate Hypnotist Salaried position, professional hypnotists only. Help us take our brand to the next level! Sales Marketing Seller Seeking highly motivated, avaricious men with bold haircuts. Repackage and market overstocked marketing packages in a competitive environment. Your Dream Job i'm a single mom and I make 90 fucking bazillion dollars an hour for doing literally nothing in front of my computer. Must have intense social media presence. Type O negative blood preferred. [[...|emails 5]]

Every moment seems interminable, yet taken together they amount to nothing. You are forever stuck in the present. [[...|Apartment 6]]

You pick one of them up off the floor. The spine is broken, the pages splayed. On the cover, a bustling marketplace. //An oracle was questioned about the mysterious bond between two objects so dissimilar as the carpet and the city. One of the two objects - the oracle replied - has the form the gods gave the starry sky and the orbits in which the worlds revolve; the other is an approximate reflection, like every human creation. For some time the augurs had been sure that the carpet's harmonious pattern was of divine origin. The oracle was interpreted in this sense, arousing no controversy. But you could, similarly, come to the opposite conclusion: that the true map of the universe is the city of Eudoxia, just as it is, a stain that spreads out shapelessly, with crooked streets, houses that crumble one upon the other amid clouds of dust, fires, screams in the darkness.// [[...|Apartment 6]]

It's getting warmer. A light rain falls. You haven't seen the man who sleeps in the doorway in weeks. [[...|Apartment 6]]

It is the same desk you've had since you were a kid. The drawers are full of the same things you had as a kid, whatever those are. It is far too heavy for its size. You recall carrying it up the steps of your complex. The paint on the handles is peeling, and the bottom drawer does not open or close anymore. There's an old CRT [[monitor|monitor 6]] and a keyboard on the desk, hooked to an aging tower beneath it. (if: $shoeson is 0) [On the floor next to the tower are your shoes. You can't put them on.] [[...|Apartment 6]]

You flip the switch on its rear. It blinks once and wakes up. You appear to have one new [[email|emails 6]]. [[...|desk 6]]

[[LJ subj: re: hello wadhwhani if you want to findthe present you wish one who its will like-!]] [[...|monitor 6]]

re: hello wadhwhani if you want to fin dthe present you wish one who its will like-! I could smell the bodies burning this morning. We can always smell the smoke, but this morning it was the stench of corpses I could pick out. help Thanks Capitan Larry James [[...|emails 6]]

You try to piss in the toilet, but nothing happens. [[...|bathroom 4]]

You are not sure where it came from. The liquid inside is the color of polished amber, made more brilliant by the light seeping through the window. There is a chipped coffee mug next to the bottle. [[...|Apartment 6]]

You cannot remember when your headache started, or a time in which you didn't have one. But it seems to get worse every day. A forward pressure behind the eyes, a cranial nauseau, a sense that your skull is the pliable membrane of a hydrogen zeppelin; pushing you in gradual circles with its propeller. Laying down seems to help. When you stand, the floor might let you drift away. [[Stand up|Apartment 7]].

APARTMENT The room is full of diffuse orange light and an oppressive amount of [[reality|reality 7]]. Flotsam congregates in the corners and across the floor: papers, clothes, [[books|book 7]], and what have you. The blinds lie crooked across the [[window|window 7]]. A [[desk|desk 7]] of polished wood sits by the bed. [[awaken|Dream 7]]

The infinite void above casts its eye upon you. [[...|Apartment 7]]

You pick one of them up off the floor. Many of the pages are dog-eared. The cover is the color of nostalgia. //When a man rides a long time through wild regions he feels the desire for a city. Finally he comes to Isidora, a city where the buildings have spiral staircases encrusted with spiral seashells, where perfect telescopes and violins are made, where the foreigner hesitating between two women always encounters a third, where cockfights degenerate into bloody brawls among the bettors. He was thinking of all these things when he desired a city. Isidora, therefore, is the city of his dreams: with one difference. The dreamed-of city contained him as a young man; he arrives at Isidora in his old age. In the square there is the wall where the old men sit and watch the young go by; he is seated in a row with them. Desires are already memories.// [[...|Apartment 7]]

Every day is shorter, their edges less distinct. Is the sun rising or setting? Are the people in the street going to work or coming home? Increasingly, they are perceivable only as grey contrails that mark their passage. It is raining softly. [[...|Apartment 7]]

The dust on it is getting dusty. You recall carrying it up the steps of your complex. The paint on the handles is peeling, and the bottom drawer is full of childish drawings and writings which you will never look at again. There's an old CRT [[monitor|monitor 7]] and a keyboard on the desk, hooked to an aging tower beneath it. (if: $shoeson is 0) [On the floor next to the tower are your shoes. You can't put them on.] [[...|Apartment 7]]

You've had this one before: A man with one eye (and one abyss) is driving toward the house in an old VW Beetle. Something will happen when he gets there. You want to be away then. Things like gravity and momentum fail to work in your favor and you find yourself clawing at the grass for purchase, drifting upward. He stops and steps from the car and looks up at you with his missing eye. You kick your legs, helpless. In the clouds, incandescent light bulbs as big as hot air balloons blink on and off. You smash into the face of one and see that there is most of a cow inside, impaled on the bulb's filament. Right through the shoulder. Soon it will switch on. Far below, the land is made of fenced plots; shades of green, evenly spaced. [[Go to sleep|Apartment 8]].

You flip the switch on its rear. It blinks once and wakes up. You appear to have two new [[emails|emails 7]]. [[...|desk 7]]

[[LJ subj: re: helo wadhwhani if you w@nt to findteh present you wish one who its will like-!]] [[mom subj: i looked out the window]] [[...|monitor 7]]

re: hello wadhwhani if you want to fin dthe present you wish one who its will like-! I don't speak or write well in English, but I would like to tell you about me. I worked in a pharmacy for 9 years. I never married. Now I am getting too old for it. i can still smell them Thanks Capitan Larry James [[...|emails 7]]

i looked out the window at the kempt lawns and i thought of the place where you live in a box in a field of boxes the coalfire plants and the smog of a million engines and how when we visit you the loose trash forms little twisters with you at the center and the classified ads stick to your legs while youre trrying to walk the record store on the corner where you sold your cds to get by that month and i lose track of how many years ago that was and where have you been since then are you still lost in that haze and will it ever bring you back again take care baby ps: we might've had a few drinks at the bbq [[...|emails 7]]

APARTMENT You are in the center of a vast desert full of diffuse orange light and an amount of [[reality|reality 8]]. Flotsam congregates in the corners and across the sands: papers, clothes, [[books|book 8]], the cast-off shells of gods. The blinds lie across the [[window|window 8]]. A [[desk|desk 8]] of polished ivory sits by the bed. [[unwaken|Apartment 9]]

Dust moves in the wind but does not touch you. Patterns shimmer on the walls. [[...|Apartment 8]]

It lies open, dark stains across the pages. On the cover is a painting of a sad man. //The Tortoise challenged Achilles to a race, claiming that he would win as long as Achilles gave him a small head start. Achilles laughed at this, for of course he was a mighty warrior and swift of foot, whereas the Tortoise was heavy and slow. “How big a head start do you need?” he asked the Tortoise with a smile. “Ten meters,” the latter replied. Achilles laughed louder than ever. “You will surely lose, my friend, in that case,” he told the Tortoise, “but let us race, if you wish it.” “On the contrary,” said the Tortoise, “I will win, and I can prove it to you by a simple argument.” “Go on then,” Achilles replied, with less confidence than he felt before. He knew he was the superior athlete, but he also knew the Tortoise had the sharper wits, and he had lost many a bewildering argument with him before this. “Suppose,” began the Tortoise, “that you give me a 10-meter head start. Would you say that you could cover that 10 meters between us very quickly?” “Very quickly,” Achilles affirmed. “And in that time, how far should I have gone, do you think?” “Perhaps a meter—no more,” said Achilles after a moment’s thought. “Very well,” replied the Tortoise, “so now there is a meter between us. And you would catch up that distance very quickly?” “Very quickly indeed!” “And yet, in that time I shall have gone a little way farther, so that now you must catch that distance up, yes?” “Ye-es,” said Achilles slowly. “And while you are doing so, I shall have gone a little way farther, so that you must then catch up the new distance,” the Tortoise continued smoothly. Achilles said nothing. “And so you see, in each moment you must be catching up the distance between us, and yet I—at the same time—will be adding a new distance, however small, for you to catch up again.” “Indeed, it must be so,” said Achilles wearily. “And so you can never catch up,” the Tortoise concluded sympathetically. “You are right, as always,” said Achilles sadly—and conceded the race.// [[...|Apartment 8]]

The curtains will not move. You haven't seen them since you were a child. They are the faces of people looking in at you, cast in every color a face can be, in all the clothes that people wear, and fired in light like stained glass. [[...|Apartment 8]]

The dust on it is getting dusty. You recall carrying it up the steps of your complex. The paint on the handles is peeling, and the bottom drawer is full of spearheads that you wore out years ago. There's an old CRT [[monitor|monitor 8]] and a keyboard on the desk, hooked to an aging tower beneath it. (if: $shoeson is 0) [On the floor next to the tower are your shoes. You are already wearing them.] [[...|Apartment 8]]

You flip the switch on its rear. It blinks once and wakes up. You appear to have three new [[emails|emails 8]]. [[...|desk 8]]

[[Prince Nalawak subj: tribute]] [[LJ subj: re: halo wadhwhani if you w@nt to findteh present you wasH one who its will like!]] [[ABCBS ASMS subj: Our Condolences]] [[...|monitor 8]]

re: hello wadhwhani if you want to fin dthe present you wish one who its will like-! I don't look out the window anymore. Someone might be looking in. The smoke is gone, and mostly all that makes it into my apartment now is silence. Occasional echoes of fighting, to the north. It follows the bodies, alive or dead. There are no more bodies here but mine. What can you see out your window? Thanks Capitan Larry James [[...|emails 8]]

Per Your "request", Couriers have been dispatched with the Necessary Payments. I Trust what they carry will serve as Suitable Recompense for Water Rights in the Delta Region. All Glory to Your Majesty and the Sand. Please allow 3 to 5 weeks for delivery. [[...|emails 8]]

Hello Valued Consumer, Our Condolences, Your coverage request for: Malignant peripheral nerve sheath Has been: Denied Thank you for your business! ABCBS Automated Claims [[...|emails 8]]

APARTMENT You are in the center of your vast apartment of light and [[reality|reality 9]]. Debris conflates in the corners and across the carpet: [[papers|papers 9]], clothes, [[books|book 9]], the cast-off shells of gods. The blinds lie across the [[window|window 9]]. A [[desk|desk 9]] of polished obsidian sits by the bed. Perhaps you should [[dream of something else|Dream 9]].

When you hold out your hands, you get the sense that your skeleton extends far beyond your fingertips, out into the world; running through the city like the roots of an ancient tree. [[...|Apartment 9]]

What IS all this crap?? Why do you need it? Throw it away! [[Add it to the list.|Apartment 9]]

It lies open, most of the pages shredded and scattered across the floor. On the cover, a contorted face. //...it was there that I simply ran out of motives, as a car runs out of gas. There was no reason to go to Cincinnati, Ohio. There was no reason to go to Crestline, Ohio. Or Dayton, Ohio; or Lima, Ohio. There was no reason, either, to go back to the apartment hotel, or for that matter to go anywhere. There was no reason to do anything. My eyes, as Winckelmann said inaccurately of the eyes of Greek statues, were sightless, gazing on eternity, fixed on ultimacy, and when that is the case there is no reason to do anything - even to change the focus of one's eyes. Which is perhaps why the statues stand still. It is the malady //cosmopsis//, the cosmic view, that afflicted me. When one has it, one is frozen like the bullfrog when the hunter's light strikes him full in the eyes, only with cosmopsis there is no hunter, and no quick hand to terminate the moment - there's only the light.// [[...|Apartment 9]]

The dust in the air outside is thick enough to have reduced the entire city to a diorama of geometric shapes, given depth by the sun passing behind them, racing from one horizon to the other without rising or setting. [[...|Apartment 9]]

The dust on it is getting dusty. You recall carrying it up the steps of your complex. The paint on the handles is peeling, and the bottom drawer is full of spearheads that you wore out years ago. There's an old CRT [[monitor|monitor 9]] and a keyboard on the desk, hooked to an aging tower beneath it. [[...|Apartment 9]]

You flip the switch on its rear. It blinks once and wakes up. You appear to have only one [[email|emails 9]]. [[...|desk 9]]

[[LJ subj: re: halo wadhwhani if you w@nted to findteh past you wisH for one who will]] [[...|monitor 9]]

re: halo wadhwhani if you w@nted to findteh past you wisH for one who will I'm not actually a Captain at all. Someone told me that it would sound better. I ventured outside today. To the market. No one left but me and the dogs. Not much food to be found. There are ghosts in the street. They stumble around the wreckage, with or without clothes, toward the edge of town. Some faces I recognize. I hid because I didn't want them to see me. Are they real? Am I ashamed to be alive? Are you? Thanks Capitan Larry James [[...|emails 9]]

You took that bus to LA and never came back. There was only one reason to go. She was like a pillar of fire on the horizon beneath a sky full of ashen snakes. The sides of the highway were littered with so much roadkill. Dead cows, rabbits, skunks, cats, dogs, deer, one horse. It didn't matter though, none of it mattered. You were going home in a dream. That place you'd imagine must exist as you sat with glazed eyes before the fireplace and wondered where you were and who were these people. Follow the snakes. Follow the fire. My God, that was ten years ago. Ten years of dying in another man's body, another man's house, dreaming of home. Perhaps you [[shouldn't dream at all|Apartment 10]].

APARTMENT You are in the center of your vast apartment of light. Refuse cakes in the corners and across the linoleum: bottles, papers, molded clothes, [[books|book 10]], useless memories. The blinds lie across the [[window|window 10]]. A desk of polished [[obsidian]] sits by the bed. Perhaps you should [[die|Dream 11]].

//He found himself in the center of a vast desert. He found himself in the center of a vast desert. He found yhimself in thec nert of a vast desert he found himewelf in the center of a vcast desert He found himself in the center of a vast desert from which there was no escape. The peoples who peopled it made war for exactly one week following each full moon. he found himself from which there was no escape which he found there was [[no escape|Apartment 10]] from himself//

When you pull back the curtains, gusts of sand flood the room. A storm rages outside. [[...|Apartment 10]]

You are in the center of a vast frozen ocean. The full moon above marks the eve of the sunberry harvest, when every village will take in a stranger as kin. "Good news for me," you think, tugging the fur cloak tight beneath your chin. You can just spot the glitter of hearthfires speckled across the western horizon. Plumes of chimney smoke slither over the sunset's last embers. There are wolves about... [[END]]

Looking down into its surface, you see yourself as if from a great distance; a sculpture at the far end of a forgotten museum. Light cast across the contortions of age. The eyes looking back are fixed on a point beyond you, and blind to everything else. [[...|Apartment 10]]

Thanks for reading. I should also thank a few of the authors who unknowingly contributed quotes for the books in the story. (in order of appearance) Michael Davis Tim O'Brien Italo Calvino John Barth