mostly me, relaxed by the goodies and the ambience. He prods me for sure but I
am glad to show off my knowledge ...
About the Pueblos, how a whole culture, a whole ceremonial and mythological
synthesis is held together by a set of interlocking stories, story rounds that pass
through the seasons held together by peer checking, no one speaker always several to stop
the teller if a mistake is made, making them repeat the story again from the beginning ...
The Greeks, how they knew memory tricks that allowed whole books of knowledge
to be passed w/little change from one generation to another, who formalized the Western
alphabet, the pure abstract symbolism that now represents hundreds of languages ...
The astonishing discovery in the 1930's of Balkan story tellers whose tales,
although changing from day to day, relate a structural meaning and form that can be traced
directly back to Homer ...
The first books, stored in the human brain, then writing, knowledge now spread
widely by the discovery of printing and now in this past century, stories stored in
mechanical, semi-electronic and now pure electronic form ...
I'm babbling, a chill wind drifts through the balcony. My host is holding
something in his lap, fingers so pale they almost glow, his lower hand and knuckles dark
w/thick hair. He places it on the table, a rectangular slab matte black in color.
what is this?
a book
oh yeah?
go ahead, pick it up
I do. It has heft but not heavy, rounded, featureless, a texture of warmth and
softness, almost seems alive - no - not featureless, on either side small indentations
like thumb prints, no other breaks or cracks. It has no meaning yet I know I cannot put it
down, perhaps forever ...
He is looking at me intently from across the table, dark eyes one hand on chin
forefinger tapping the side of his face.
A book, a repository of stories, but the means of output
is different, no aural or written or visual translation but a direct link, poured directly
into the human imagination.
You mean dreams?
Yes, you could call it that, it manipulates dreams,
streams in the form, your mind does the rest.
I'm astonished, realize how tightly I'm holding this thing, take a deep breathe
to relax.
This is new? A new technology?
Neither old nor new but a potential.
A potential? This is crazy! You mean the future?
There is no future, only potential, branches limited yet
limitless.
But, where could you get such a th-
He scowls, frowns. I realize my mistake, a collector never asks a seller of
their sources. I reverse track.
Sorry. So, sorry. Please, I want this, please show me how
it works?
He smiles, the smile of a seller who has hooked a big one, who can name his
price. His teeth have been filed to points, inlaid heavily w/turquoise.
Yes, perhaps a taste
A taste? I'm feeling flustered, desperate.
Yes, yes please!
Just hold it in your lap, press each thumb into the
indents, sit back and relax. Yes, you've got it.
I feel a tingling like a slight itch under my fingers then a flood of sensation
- the smell of print, the warmth of my mother's side as she reads to me - all of this to
jell into a bright coalescent spot, blooming outward, beyond - a world ...
the center has held
