Chapter 12: "Everything I knew about what’s happened–the NPC’s and the loop here at the river–the fake objects and Dean—even The Curator himself. It all suddenly disappeared, like a wave had come and scooped it up and I was left staring brainless at the smooth sand."
His name is a part of me, just like his stories. A fabrication imbued with truth. Or truth imbued with fabrication.
The Grid (Part 1)
Chapter 11: “The world we came from was the dream, and the place we go to when we fall off The Grid is the swirling nothingness that’s the real reality, the one that’s usually hidden.”
A Beautiful Death
You want to be a good friend and you want to be a good person but it’s hard when you like movies better than real people.
The poisonous grip of the mountain is loosening, but like any detox there are feelings of grief– Now we’re exposed, there’s talk of needing protection, and of going to Mexico, where whatever money we have left will last a lot longer.
How I Found The Others
Chapter 10: It was then that I saw them... Two women and one man. Right away there was something different about them from the others who milled about, on blankets and bikes, flickering according to a predictable rhythm.
How tripped out is it that it can be a day like any other when suddenly, out of the blue, tragedy strikes and nothing is ever the same again? It sends you reeling, grasping at the details of an ordinary life... I know what it’s like to be finally and firmly on the outside of everything.
Will the act of me walking through the tunnel bring him out? Will he appear in the guise of my own face’s reflection in the sheen of water that covers the walls inside? ... Will he be there, in the syncing up of the simulacrum and my awareness of it as such?
How genius is it that these extradimensional beings are appearing in our own world as a simple tab in the daily workflow on our screens, a combination of a pet and an assistant to whom we pose questions.