Wave of Mutilation

Unreality, the disappearance of a center, meant that I had a destiny.

I got to the front lawn by following the pattern of everyday life. I opened doors that weren’t there, turned down halls that could no longer be said to exist, and then looked out at the lawn through a window in empty space.

He was being read, the world itself was a kind of act, and knowing this gave him the power to stand outside the text.

You realize that this story is very nearly finished now and pause at the end of this sentence in order to consider other, more satisfying, conclusions. The space you can see through, this hole in the world, doesn’t exist. It’s just a trick that I’m pulling. It’s a trick that you agree to let me pull even as I give the trick away. Somehow the trick

Breaking the fourth wall meant that Christian could move as the crow would fly. He could get back to Samantha and that strand of the plot by following a straight line.

“I thought I had depth, that there was my surface self and then my own real self inside, but look at this game. The surface and the underworld, day and night, both are on the same flat screen.”

Holding onto an idea of her identity, even though the idea is a fiction, is what she’s aiming at.

The problem was the lifting of the invisible barrier between the story and the reader. “I have to create a fictional space,” Christian says. “Can you do that? I mean if this is just a story then anything you do in it will just be another part of it, it will follow from what came before,”

the voice on the other end of the line wasn’t my father at all, but was the voice of a narrator. He was calm, assured, and from another era…probably the fifties or sixties. This was a voice from nature documentaries or educational films made by Disney, and he wasn’t addressing me directly but was speaking to Donald Duck.