Stories

And inexorably we turn to the present and spy on it through the lens.

It is true that even these stories of Hitherby Dragons have an unreliable narrator, which is to say Jane

Martin, in a somewhat controversial fashion,
(and holding the microphone well above his hopping sister’s head)
proposes

but when we speak of the present, the accidents of presentation are those already immanent in the now. We may say that each event is truth walking into a tangled field of narrative: it blunders about like a crystal elephant ringed in fiery angels, trumpeting its heavenly music and crushing the innocent flowers; their stems catch between its toes and their pollen works into its hide.

So this is a story of the libellatici.

It can’t be anything else.

But it is also something that is happening now. It is happening at this very moment; and when it is written, we shall write (1 of 1) at its head to remind you this is so.

Right now: the monster is laughing at God.

Right now: the monster is walking with Sebastien.

Right now, if you go and look, and if you have the code, you will see the entries we shall show you of Linda Myers’ livejournal, along with various drabbles and memes and taggings and complaints about sodas, snow, and boys.

It’s too late to change any of it, except for maybe the most recent post. That could be edited, still, because hardly anybody’s seen it yet.

If we knew her password, we would change its “mood” to add: “because the monster really sucks.”

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