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May 16, 2005
Internet Fiction
| In any dynamic age, the gatekeepers of the archaic arts gather arms to halt the barbarian advance of innovation. The contemporary literary community scoffs now at the idea of "Internet fiction," but this may very well be the most liberating development of the Gutenberg revolution. We must respect the written word, whether scrawled in chalk, carved in stone, or typed on an ergonometric Dvorak keyboard.
In this spirit, I humbly present my own contribution to the world of Internet Fiction: a piece called "A few honest men are better than numbers." |
"A few honest men are better than numbers."
by Marxy
A shorthand letter from Theodore: "I've sent you a telegram. (emoticon)" and lo and behold, there's a small discolored envelope from Western Union sitting on top of the icebox:
| WEBPAGE BURNED DOWN STOP SEND MONEY STOP |
is scrawled on the envelope in burnt sienna crayon. The message inside says more or less the same thing: his "webpage" burned down? Again?
For every friend who graciously contributes to my overall sanity, there's an idle bastard who plunders from my mind like a poll tax - and if Theodore had a motto - outside of the self-absorbed "J'adore Theodore" - that motto would surely be "theodore.com" - a sly reference to a website dedicated to the band The O'Dore.
A recap of Theo's last pecuniary mishap:
In a moment of sheer genius, Theodore decides to invest all his cash money and sundry currency into the stock market on White Wednesday - October 23rd, 1929, but gets mugged on his way to the broker's office - and what's worse, he had gone out of doors sans chapeau. As I chide him, the phone rings, "Call from an Archibald." - "Thanks, Doris."
"Hello, Archibald! How is 'Ars Poetica' going?"
"What?"
"I'm sorry, this Skype connection is terrible."
"This is Archibald Cox."
"Oh, I'm sorry. This Skype connection is terrible."
"I need a favor. I'm about ten short of FTP. I was wondering if you could spare some. I'll pay you back once we finish up this Nixon case."
"I'd be honored. Alger Hiss is my third cousin, you know."
"I didn't know that."
"I would never have thought Nixon would find proof of Alger's guilt - pumpkin seeds - inside a pumpkin."
"You've lost me, but okay."
"I'll send you the FTP later via Telnet."
"Tchuss. A poem should not mean."
(click)
Click? Again? I must get this rotary phone fixed.
The phone rings again.
"But be."
I hang up, and go about my day - trying to figure out how in the world I'm going to deal with Theodore and my gopher problem (I own a farm). I load up Mosaic, place in two buffalo nickels, and crank the dynamo until the screen starts producing moving images. After a laborious search requiring a half-dozen upgrades of Shockwave, I find the Western Union corporate page, scribble down the address on a sheet of newsprint, and jump into my automobile.net. The landscape is dull - like a blog written with a dull pencil - and I think to myself that I'd very much like to see a man speaking Basque in an old-timey hat riding an antique bicycle with one large wheel and one larger wheel.
I recognize the teller at Western Union as the young woman who "lost her virginity" on the Internet - an obvious hoax, seeing that an Internet could not possibly support the weight of two able adults. She makes small talk about the weather and stagflation, and I cash in my last war bond to help Theo (see above). I look out the window: teenagers on wheeled-boards are doing tricks with names like "Reverse IP Lookup" and "But Torrent."
My iPod rings: "Hello?"
"Am I speaking to yahoo@prodigy.com?"
"No, this is her husband."
"We got a call from WHOIS, and they've traced your wife to Linux, Nebraska."
"Linux?"
"It's an open source town. Very altruistic."
"Is this a symbolic element in an allegory?"
"Yes."
"Well, I appreciate your call. Vote Debs."
I would just telephone over to my wife's office and end this mystery, but I had unfortunately written her phone number down on a scrap of yellow cardstock in BinHex, thinking that it would save space. Standing in the parking lot, I think of a good pun on the term "cookie" and the physical object "cookie" - remembering only seconds later that my virtual shoe-shine boy had said the same thing hours before on a live televised chat session. Across the street, a thresher is podcasting green beans very loudly. Backslash, backslash! I cover my ears but I - a soft system of flesh and blood - am no match for machine.
By the time I get home, a quick WAIS search shows that Theo's site is back up. I drink a Pepsi Free and read raw AP feeds - stopping every once and a while to pour myself another round of Liquid Audio.
Posted by marxy at May 16, 2005 2:20 AM
Comments
omg, it's craaazy ... i was thinking it would be fun if you turned your problem-themed posts into fiction stories, like a conversation or smth ... it seemes quite fresh and just fun ...
Posted by: porandojin at May 16, 2005 2:51 AM
i'm waiting for odot to pass judgement on this one. are you out there, kiddo?
Posted by: r. at May 16, 2005 1:01 PM
hey,
so when is that (r)e-make of war&peace collectively wrote and (r)e-wrote by marxy/r./nick's gonna be achieved?
your great short story reminds me of "coming soon!!!" by john barth, although yours is way more funny, and way, way more realistic.
i'm waiting for the full flawn novel.
Posted by: odot at May 16, 2005 4:58 PM
that was wacky and fun in a nostalgic way
Posted by: Chris_B at May 16, 2005 9:07 PM
come in j.g ballard, your time is up///
Posted by: jariten at May 17, 2005 7:35 AM
Great job, marxy. I have been posting stories every week this year to my livejouranal:
Posted by: stanleylieber at May 17, 2005 6:33 PM