A Brief Introduction to Everything Important I
The high rises stare back at us and we shiver. I don’t suppose you want to know all this, but it is the sad burden laid upon your shoulders, like a beast of burden (ideally a llama, but we’ll take what we can get, our budget is rather low) forced to go up a freezing cold mountain in Peru when really all it wants to do is eat some peaches.
The high rises stare back at us and we shiver. The Peruvian mountains you are trekking through I have already trekked and I am familiar with the cold you are experiencing. I am familiar with the fatigue you wish you could relieve. I am intimate with the fatigue, with the cold, with the mountain. I wish you didn’t have to come. I wish you could stay home. We don’t pick these things, though. They pick us. C’est la fucking vie, grab your toothbrush, let’s roll.
The high rises stare back at us and we shiver. This is a true story, a depressingly true story, about a boy and some friends and their struggle with reality. You see, well, I don’t really know how to explain this except: reality is much more unstable than you’d undoubtedly love to believe. Reality is less like a stone and more like a sea. Shifting subtly, gently, and depending on the weather, suddenly and impulsively.
The skyscrapers leer at us and we are emboldened. The struggle with reality is not perceptible, really. The battlefronts, the trenches, are located in an amorphous “theater” that is like the subconscious afterthought of World War II-torn Germany. What I’m trying to tell you is the path you’re on, that Peruvian path up Mount Chimborazo, isn’t so much a path as it is a ethereal staircase. You feel it beneath you and that is the only sign of its existence. Moving on.
The high rises stare back at us.
A Brief Introduction to Everything Important II
We rile. The dominant strands of reality-debate focus on experience and knowledge. I know this thing over here because I have experienced it. Au contraire, mon frere, but I know this thing over here because knowing it is intuitive and second-only to genetic predisposition. (Hard and fast, hard and fast.)
The only problem with these infantile gestures is that they are absurdly limited in their actual understanding of that Great Sea, reality. Reality is not something that can be easily defined by or easily understood with. Reality is an object obscured by a snowstorm, that we can barely see: we know it’s there, we just don’t really know what it is.
But my car goes too fast, I have rushed you through the easier sections of Mount Chimborazo. Life is hard, yes, and the Battle With Reality is harder still, but I should give you some easy victories where they might be found. As with most progressive forms, those easy victories are towards the beginning. Imagine starting at the beginning of the Beatles’ career. Everyone can dig “Twist and Shout.” “Helter Skelter?” It may take a few listens. You should probably sleep on it.
This is a true story, a depressingly true story, about a boy and some friends and their struggle with reality. They struggled with reality because, as most anything is brought about to struggle with anything, disagreement arose. The foundation of society is in understanding, and as I explained, reality is not something that is easily understood. So there was, you may guess, misunderstanding. As with many conflicts, misunderstanding led to disagreement led to conflict. So here we are. At the beginning. This path is at the foot of Chimborazo. It is pretty.
Rose bushes line the sides.
A Brief Introduction to Everything Important III
The boy Telos lived in the city of Damascus – you could say, I suppose. It has high walls, walls of green and blue. The smell is the smell of the machines, a smell Telos has had to get used to. He no longer is bothered by the odor. He has lived here, in this mecca of skyscrapers, for four years. Yet he still fails to understand the city in such a way as he should.
There is a quality in the city, behind its walls of green and blue, there is a quality that Telos desired to understand but could not. That is the beginning of the story, and it is a rather humble beginning for an irrationally impudent story. Telos also wanted to meet a girl, a nice girl that resembled the hidden quality of Damascus he had yet to know. He felt that once he found the girl he would find the City and then knowledge, true understanding (perhaps, even, reality?) would open itself up to him like a clam revealing it’s pearl.
This introduction is roughly at a conclusion, although it would be useful to point out that Telos’s search for a girl for the City is in all cases entirely wrong. You can’t understand a city via a girl, and you certainly can’t understand a girl via a city (no matter how old, no matter how sophisticated or rich). The entire concept, of understanding your place within a city–and then, by association, within the globe and thus humanity–via anything outside of yourself is foolhardy and bound to failure.
Although it’s good for us. Well, maybe not good in the sense that it helps or is productive to society, because it’s not, it is in fact quite counterproductive to society. But it’s good for those of us who are here for a story.
It’s good for us because Telos needed to find Cavillace.