It begins… (N1)

This is a story told from the perspective of a non-human or fairy tale character who is feeling impelled to share their side of the story. Nothing about what the character says has been verified, but it still could be true, nonetheless.

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I am perhaps not human to some people, but that fact does not mean that I do not have a fully functioning brain and some important things to talk about. As I tell you my thoughts, it’ll be my goal to explain things in a way you can easily understand. In the end, you may not believe what I’ve told you, but you’ll probably be glad I took the time to tell you what I know. If it’s real or fiction, you’ll be welcome to decide. A novel is just as good as an investigative report, and since I’m neither journalist nor historian, perhaps you’ll be better off seeing my story as pure fiction.

My origin? Does it matter? I could be from a far-off time or place, or I could be your neighbor - the one you don’t often have conversations with. Sometimes, however, those conversations take place. They can ruin our relationships forever or, instead, bring us to a mutual understanding.

Why I must tell this story. That’s hard to explain to many people, but for a few, it’s simply the belief that words matter, whether they convey truths, lies, or something in between. I know things and believe you might want to know them as well. In addition, I enjoy telling stories, entertaining people, just thinking about what happens in the world.

What language ought I use to talk about these things? This time, I think a plain version of English works best, but then again I could change my mind and go off on an odd linguistic ramble. Please try to avoid getting a picture of me in your mind. I’m never going to look like you imagine - note my shapeshifter claim - and thinking what my voice could be like (young, old, male, female) will only lead you in the wrong direction. Let’s just have fun with this and see where we end up.

What literary techniques might I select to speak to you or anyone else? That’s far too complicated to say, and genre mixing isn’t impossible, but I’m not seeing a lot of poetic language at this point, except through intertextuality. Meaning, if a poem or the lyrics to a song seem appropriate, I’m not above using them.

I am a muse and a shapeshifter, neither of which is a bad thing. My goal, at least one of them, is to entertain you. If you think you’re going to be reading a novel, that might be the best approach. How our paths came to cross and where yours leads after this is up to you.

My story is about political worlds, like and unlike the ones we know. It’s only my story because I found the first documents. I’m an archivist. I do things with things. Classify. Identify. Connect. Then I reveal what I find. This time I’m going to talk about a man who was rather a dumb thug, dumb because his DNA, while belonging to what he considered to be the master race, never learned how to do anything and never felt he should work for a living. He deserved the world, except he didn’t, not really.

I’m going to call this fellow Henry Karl, but that’s certainly not his real name. Henry also went by the name of Hank, and probably several other names like Mitch Ganz, Marvin Lagos, Kasper St. James. He liked traveling a lot, getting to know people, partying, but always moving on. He was floundering when he met a lovely, nubile young woman, which is probably why he proposed to her after a couple of weeks. Soon they went on a honeymoon overseas, which seems extravagant for a less than successful entrepreneur.

While overseas, in a country never to be named, Hank and his bride met some people. They partied whenever possible, finagling their way into parties of the rich (free food) and a few famous individuals. Every last one of them saw through transparent Mr.Karl quite quickly, and what they saw was lust, greed, a keenness for violence. He was going to be very useful. Over the course of the honeymoon, which might have gone on longer than planned, he became their focus of study. They knew him inside out and could send him back to his country to get to work for them. That might be a slow process, but that was all right. The main goal was long-term.

I’m not going to go into detail, because this is really only a draft of my story, but having a ‘man in Hanoi’ started to pay off. Deals were made, items were bought, sold, and trafficked. People got rich and people disappeared. Men and women. Competition for sales, waterfront locations, companionship - all good business. Hank Karl was good at what he did, although many people, even those close to him, didn’t know what he did, in fact, do.

I was there with him, observing, and saw that his main reason for living was being in the company of money. Oh how vulnerable that made him. Maybe his parents didn’t love him, because he isn’t good at interacting with people in general. Money buys appearance and intimacy, it’s all that’s needed in life. Art, music, reading are superfluous, and so Hank pushed onward, ever hungry. His bride disappeared somewhere and he forgot about her. There were more to be had (bought). And so, each new wife, and there were half a dozen, occurred because she had an important contact with persons with assets. The hotel industry, food shows, top performers in various genres, etc. He was like a vampire, finding ways to suck venues dry. Fortunately, his foreign friends (he called them something else) were there to prop him up.

Then one day another player joined the game. That country was magical and seductive. Hank was soon swooning and drooling and traveling to exotic places, feeling so powerful, so handsome, so smart. His self-confidence wasn’t long in attracting another player and Hank was surrounded, caught in a playpen formed from his addictions, weaknesses, fears, inability to reason, impatience, ignorance… enough said…

As I stand here reciting events and motivations, I realize my story sounds like that of any normal human person you might meet. Yet this is only an outline of what I know and I could only know it - believe me - if I were NOT a simple human. I could not tell you what I know and survive to live another day if I actually existed or if I had witnessed things. If I really existed or if I’d seen the things I’m going to tell you, I would soon be eliminated, I know that. However, just think of me as a voice, maybe crying in the wilderness, maybe not, and do not try to turn me into some entity like you.

Let me talk, tell the horrors and their hows, snaking in and out of (conscious) depravity, and let me at times use images or sounds or multiple media multimedia to virtualize for you what the world of Hank Karl, his seven or so wives, his golden throne. Then, because he might find a way to become immortal, let me tell you what I’m going to do about it, how I’m going to fix it.

Because I know a lot, more than any single person, and I know these things, these dangers, when I see them. I cannot be silenced because I speak a different tongue and I fit in unexpected spaces. And this story must be told if the world is to survive, my technique is less important.

I can’t do it alone, but I definitely can help deconstruct the wrongs. Once you know who or what I am, you might understand where I come from and why I’m here.