fiction of a cipher

A day's tale part 1: the same old, same old

Listen:

The original intent was to avoid all reference to myself and to this modern world, to create a construct that avoided any reference or touchstone with reality - such as it is.

Plans change.

This is a more or less true tale of a day, true in the sense that it happened to me, as far as I can tell, more or less true in the sense that in the end all of this is merely a representation, or perhaps far less (or far more) than that, in a matter of 3 dozen or so symbols, and not a happening event, or at least not THE happening event that it purports to describe. I am writing, here, now, and that IS a happening event, and if (God forbid, although His forbidding things has never seemed to have much of an effect on them happening), someone is actually reading this thing... well, you are a happening event too. I imagine. Imagining you is the best I can do. Sorry, but you will have to deal with the ongoning perception of the happening event of your reading this. I admit that it's pretty obtuse. But you can always type Google into your expanded human symboloogical consciousness engine, and type in the question of your choice, and get away from it. It's not like I charged you for the process. The chances are minute you'll end up here again. If so, hey - that's the universe, not me.

Enough prelude and preamble.

Well, here's something you know already: a person wrote this. Maybe if you're paranoid (or have read too deeply into the anals of the Pentagon Files) you might suspect some kind of autonomous artificial intelligence wrote it. I can't guarantee that's not what I am. I FEEL pretty natural, but honestly, who knows? Well, some claim to know. Not me.

So, I wrote it all, more or less, except for bits of it that I stole, and maybe I've pointed out when I have, with a direct reference or with a couple of quote marks, incidentally for reasons of my own I'm using equal signs in the place of quotes, as in =quotes.= Or maybe I didn't bother. It's hard to remember, I've been at this for several years.

Yeah, I wrote it, as far as I can tell, at least I typed it, and this is a tale of MY day.

Part One.

Get up and the sameness of it all is depressing. Same old hard to get up, same old clandestine cigarette (I was supposed to have quit, and I did quit, for a long time... but that's another story. Who, even the liver of the life, ever REALLY knows the whole story...) in the morning to make it all seem nominally worthwhile, same old preparation of self to pursue another day in normal reality. Truth? Monday I skipped work, feigning illness, something only my wife and my brother know for sure.

Shower, dress, make a lunch, walk to the bus stop. I hold hands with my wife on our way to Central Avenue, which gives me pleasure and makes the same old same old a little easier to bear. Sometimes, I strive to remember, the same old same old is a pleasure to repeat, and repeat, and repeat.

Next:

klik if you demand tedious explanations of every little thing.