word gains 8

now the point, he is thinking, is, do i continue on with this or do i allow it to die a dignified death? can the pursuit of a furtherance to the story achieve anything other than to perpetuate an inwards collapsing of the narrative so it will resemble a souffle that has been left in the oven too long?
his second thought, following closely on the heels of that thought, is, well, what if i let that happen and try to pass it off as commentary on the nature of metatextual texts?
but having built that into the framework as yet another expectation which can either lead to disappointment or fulfilment, yet another question that is being asked of the reader, how can it be a surprise if i jump either way?
has he painted himself into a corner – that is the important question? the corner in a sense is an ever unfurling series fo questions, form-lead experimentations, narrative tricks, etc, etc.
a writer chasing his tail like a dog, a reader bored and licking his own balls.
so he comes up with another idea – superpositional fiction, where the fiction as a whole exists in a state of having ended and having not ended and existing in the superposition state of both of those outcomes. so he can tie it off here like a bleeding stump – eight being a nice number that suggest an infinite loop, and the next piece will do something entirely different with the game.
he scans through all previous entries to see where he might go, sees that the loose ends he will be leaving are actually integral to the nature of the experiment, and is happy that he can write
THE END
and it will be the end of something, though not technically this.
so he types
THE END
for real this time
considers typing pass GO and collect $200
wonders how many will consider remaining engaged in the game and how many will loop back to word gains 1 and try and re-read to glean the meaning of it all. he wonders if he truly understands the meaning himself.
he will type ‘THE END’ and will finish of this section with a footnote*.
THE END
* I am the I and the he and this may not be fictional or it may be, at the end of it one has to ask the question, do they really care?
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word gains 7

he finds himself to be disappearing up his own posterior, kind of like ourobouros, but less dignified. and he decides that he needs to add some kind of humour into the proceedings lest he become an insufferable pompous ass choking on his own post-modernity. he briefly considers writing himself a haiku but then he has the cognition that nothing could be more pretentious than to sit down and write a haiku.
minimalism brings out the insufferable boors as much as hyperbolic manifestations of intellect can do, but god, what does that leave? the middle road? the one taken by all those beige conservatives with less imagination than your average toilet cleaner?
he ponders writing some fast food fiction; not literally being fiction about fast food, but fiction which can be consumed in the same manner. but how ironic and full of metatextuality would it be to write about fast food in that way?
circle jerk fiction comes to mind too – get a whole load of self-involved egotistical bastards with typewriters together and get them to write about what they are writing about, what their neighbours are writing about, and the relation between the two. it could even turn into an exquisite corpse eventually; a game of musical chairs with typewriters. a choreographed typewriting pool set to a voiceover by william burroughs talking about his cut-up technique, whilst brion gysin pictures are flashed in tryptichs upon three carefully positioned screens.
he wonders about non-fiction fiction because he feels like he has been writing fictional non-fiction. hmm, selling actual events as fictional events and then blending in the fictional to accounts of real moments in time. where does that get you? confused? enlightened? does it make you a liar or does it make you creative?
circle after circle after circle: chains of self-reflexive loops linked by titles that suggest a cohesive push to an answer but never deliver one because the whole process of asking questions about the nature of the thing being written is the point. provocation, narrative dislocation, and interpenetration of the diegetic and non-diegetic realms which the writing interacts with; shapes and is shaped by. interactivity is not limited to intentionally interactive mediums Рa piece of static writing is still, in some senses created from the  relationship of the author to the work and the reader, and of the reader to the author and the work. but he wants his work to exist as both Рin the writing of it it is meant to be interactive; in its final incarnation it will be in traditional print media and will adopt a new relation to the concept of interactivity.
he imagines each instalment of the piece of work called word gains turned into a series of beads in a kaleidoscope and he twists it and notes down the new patterns.

word gains 6

conversations with fictional constructs aside, he is happy with the latest piece. well, it was really an extrapolated conversation with himself: an internal dialogue externalised. he wonders at other formats that he might explore in a way that adds to the already convoluted form of the narrative – a film about the writer who creates the fictional writer given a voice over by someone other than the real writer himself?
infinite regression may indeed be the game – the aim to pull the whole world into the mirror, turn the mirror into a black hole. crush time, space, light, everything, and push it through a wormhole eventuality in another universe where the laws of physics are completely different.
what if he were to suddenly start adding elements of transhumanism into the mix – tell that science fictional lie that all of this was embedded into the brain in a series of flashing lights that locked a patterned behaviour onto a physical alien structure implanted by an invisible society that wants to control everything? the fluid nature of the story thus far would allow it. it would represent a shift perhaps from writing where the inner workings are worn on the outside like an exoskeleton to a form of writing where there is no reference to the external world, the process of writing, or anything self referential. except the science fictional constructs would most likely be metaphorical representations of real world constructs.
but he doesn’t really want to do that with this piece – his use of suggestion by means of paradiastole means he can throw red herrings at people left right and centre and not worry about the outcome. it distorts the fiction, plays with the reader’s imagination and offers cul-de-sac promises which may eventually come to infuriate.
he wonders how long the game will allow itself to be played. how long before boredom attacks and destroys forward momentum in the motion of the reader and the author. again – to ask the question tempts fate; invites expectation.

word gains 5

‘so there i am,’ he says.
‘yes?’ expectation in his voice.
‘… and i’m writing this piece which is intended as fiction, and someone mistakes it for reality, so it mutates the piece and it becomes some metatextual, self-referential, post-modern piece that aims to provoke the reader so it can then feed of that reaction and fold it into the future momentum and structure of the writing. and it actually gets a response …’
‘ok, so that’s good, right?’
‘yeah, sort of …’
‘ok, so did they engage on it in the way which you were wanting and expecting?’
‘yes, they did actually; it was exactly the kind of thing i had been looking for …’
‘so?’
‘well, now part of me is wondering whether having the understanding response is better than having the clueless mistaken response.’
‘you mean so you have something to react against?’
‘exactly.’
‘ok, well, aren’t you reacting to it by questioning whether it is what you wanted?’
‘hmm, i hadn’t thought of it that way.’
‘ah, really? so you hadn’t thought about writing about the process of thinking about the process of responding to the writing which he had responded to?’
‘hmm, can you say that again? you kind of lost me.’
‘did i really?’
‘no, i’m controlling this conversation – sorry, the influence of the text is obviously leaking into reality somewhat, given that i am seeing this conversation as an extension of the fiction.’
‘well, in a sense it is. i was wondering – have you thought how the fiction will behave when it moves from the internet where it exists now as an interactive entity to a book where it will basically be mapped onto a different structure and forced to behave in a different manner?’
‘yes, i had thought about screen shotting the story and giving both a context via a preface and the visual cues of reproducing the internet version on the physical page. but of course it will still be something other than an internet interactive serialised fiction with live readers who work to change it as it is written.’
‘of course, but the readers who come to it as a printed text will also change it in the way that they percieve it.’
‘yeah, fuck, it gets kind of complicated doesn’t it?’
‘it always was – a critical reading, any reading, has always changed the nature of the text – goes with the territory. once it is out of the writer’s hands its solidity ebbs. not that a piece would maintain its semiotic integrity were it to only exist in relation to its writer because the writer would change over time.’
‘what if the writer died?’
‘oh, you think that makes them stay in a fixed position? constellations move my friend. is shakespeare held in the same esteem from generation to generation?’
‘hmm, no, course not. damn, what the hell am i building here?’
‘frankenstein.’
‘ha ha.’