When Cryptoprophecy Weirdly Asserts Itself


Some website aggregator slurped up an old entry from my site (one of the Symbolic columns from OPi8.com) and, out of curiosity, I clicked through and read it again. It’s short and pertinent to my frame of mind this morning, so I’m going to include it here.

[from 05.29.2004] Symbolic 082: Cryptoprophecy

Speaking of notebooks, I opened mine the other night and noticed the last entry was over two months ago. I had recorded a surreal experience I had had in the checkout line at my local supermarket. At least I think that is what I had written. My handwriting has a tendency to be unreadable which, I think, is part of the charm of the notebook. When the book is discovered by my grandchildren, I want them to have to puzzle out the entries. They will scratch their heads and wonder if I was a raving visionary or just an addled ancestor whose pen hand had a tendency to wander across the page.

I won’t have to wait two generations. I get that feeling now when I try to decipher what I wrote back in February. I think the last word is “cryptoprophecy.” I have no idea its relevance to the story that I was trying to get down which, in a sense, gives it that much more weight and import to the surrounding words.

I was reading a bit of Rammellzee’s Gothic Futurism manifesto yesterday. He argues that there are twenty-six Letters which contain the mathematical secrets which will allow us to return to the stars. It is our culture, our oppressive religious fascism, which prevents us from seeing the true nature of the Letters. We have been convinced that the twenty-six make up the “alphabet,” and we can know longer see the “alphabeta.”

Robert Anton Wilson argues in The Cosmic Trigger that reality is not a singularity and that “reality” as we define it is a perceived universe. What is “real” is based emphatically on our senses, on our perceptions of what surrounds us and is separate from us. We create our world by witnessing it. A blade of grass is not inherently green; it is our perception of the manner in which light is reflected from its surface that makes it green.

We bring a lot to the table. Too much, probably. Beneath all the perception, beneath the obscuration of language and the totalitarianism of culture is something immutable (though Wilson will argue that even believing that statement constitutes a belief structure and, as such, limits your possibilities). Is it Rammellzee’s Letters? We have to explode language in order to hear the sound of the Letters. We have to decode the confusion and maze of our perceptions in order to unlock the secret histories stored in our brains.

At least, that’s what I get out of it. It’s just a scribbled word on a page. I could be wrong. I could be imagining things.

The pertinence this morning is that I’m trying to wrap my head around the end of HARRY, around that final reveal. It would seem that I may have already figured it out, wrote down the key word–“cryptoprophecy”–and then forgot the whole internal conversation. The original plan for this piece had been to discover unconscious connections, and that intent was pushed aside as the story lines started requiring conscious attention. Now, in the end, I’m back to drifting through the symbolic inferences–looking for that bit of “cryptoprophecy” I left for myself–in an effort to discern the ultimate shape of things.

Wherein The Writer Loses Control of His Characters


It’s funny how stories twist out from underneath you.

Originally, when I had scoped and plotted Part 6 (the Chess Game), I had wanted to have at least one of the attendant chess piece nodes to be a bit of foreshadowing–a story about someone who we would know was going to die before he did. And I wanted it to be Harry’s fault. Well, maybe not his “fault,” but by his hand so that he had to carry that knowledge with him to that meeting.

So, I’m working up the bit in Part 8 where Harry gets the knife, and I start moving the pieces into place at the end of Part 9 (Sacrifice happens off-stage, essentially, between Dream 9 and Dream 10), when Phil’s sacrifice suddenly becomes . . . not so much a sacrifice . . . but part of The Plan.

Damn it. Now I need to go figure out what really really happened between Phil and Jerry back in 1973, because there’s some payback happening here that I wasn’t planning on.

Somehow, I Have Managed To Sneak Past the Gates


I got the paperwork today, so it’s as official as it gets. I’ll be attending the Viable Paradise workshop in October. A week in Martha’s Vineyard with 27 other eager writer-types, getting our brains scooped out by pros. I’m still trying to figure out how in the hell I’m going to get there without a thousand flight transfers and probably a taxi ride to nowhere.

I think that’s part of the initiation.

Anyway, I’ll be taking a still damp rewrite of the new opening to INSTRUMENT. (I know, again!) I figure all the bruises from the beating I’m going to take on it will be gone by January when HARRY will be done and I’ll have time to start the next book.

Serial Novel, Part 7


Lots of spookiness this time around. Harry, Part 7 has been published over at Farrago’s Wainscot. This is Funeral of the White Queen, both a continuation of the chess game from last month and a visitation/echo of Nora’s passage. It’s where Harry loses his mind, finally, and falls under the influence of Bleak Zero.

Elsewhere, there’s a few more entries from Dr. Ehirllimbal’s Amazon journal, some observations from Safiq Al-Kahir in his exile, a topical discussion about the nature of memory (as well as an entry where memory is confused), and a bit of hysteria from the oneironauts on alt.o.e. Oh, just a little hysteria (as well as one of my favorite bits that I’ve been sitting on for several months now, waiting for the right time to reveal it; and the reveal has apparently done its work: I spooked editor man pretty good).

Anyway, here’s your cheat sheet for this month. The following charts the new content for July. Other links you might find are both distractions and further illuminations. As always.

::   GUIDE
::   ::  RE: POISON (x7)

We’ll be, hopefully, back on track in August. The Eighth Dream is much shorter. Most psychotic breakdowns are pretty incomprehensible to follow and, well, once you’ve spent a few minutes with one, it all starts to run together, you know?