Black seawater lapped at the deck of a discarded yacht. Lee and I were distilling organic cocaine on Wharf 501. Lee’s back was flexible and his limbs strong and sturdy. He hopped walls like a cat and had a looting habit, so he lifted anything he spotted wandering around the wharf. He’d only become an addict because some Can-D had been in one of his hauls. Can-D was a synthesis of distilled cocaine, psilocybin, lysergic acid, DMT, and MDMA; side effects were minimal but the intended effects triple. A dreamboat of a drug, you could say. The official thing was too expensive to buy, but everyone made it on the down-low and shot up. All thanks to the open-source drug fiends who released the recipe. There weren't any health risks to it either. The problem isn’t addiction, but addiction management. That’s what Lee said.
On top of that, this cocaine was sourced from Bolivia through fair trade.
What does that mean?
20% of the profits go toward educational programs for low-income communities.
So it’s a “woke” drug?
You could say that.
I was poking around for any opps to make more cash in addition to my delivery gig. Sometimes I sold stuff Lee had stolen, but the profits were laughable. There was too much competition, so nobody would buy if I didn’t slash my margins.
Originally, I wanted to be a writer. I posted parts of my novel on my blog, translations and journal entries, too, but barely anyone read any of it. Once, somebody posted a comment. They wanted to talk about my writing, so could I give them my email address? I got all excited and replied to them. An email arrived soon enough. I clicked on the email with my heart racing.
You seem to have strayed from the path. I recommend this to all those who pursue success. A golden hand that will guide you through the finance market. Midas’s hand. Get FREE daily access to quality information from real professionals.
= Top Gainers recommended here = https://is.hd./ghreJE
Lee told me to quit messing around and post my novel on NovaSpace. NovaSpace is a virtual text platform operated by MR. Everybody is on it lately, he said.
I had no idea.
Of course you didn’t. It’s trending next month.
It’s gonna start trending next month?
No. It trended. Next month.
I couldn’t understand Lee. How do you know it’s going to trend next month? You time travel or something? Lee shook his head. C’mon, slowpoke.
You know how cryptocurrency is money, right?
Uh . . . No, not really.
Blockchains. Here are the nodes, and if people form an agreement in accordance with the algorithm, that gets recorded on the virtual ledgers, so it becomes money. Same with NovaSpace. If bloggers agree on a certain text being reality, it becomes reality.
Hmm . . . So you can write anything into existence?
That’s a different story. You gotta acquire the right to participate in the agreement.
So how do you acquire the right?
You gotta prove that your work has it.
How do you prove that your work has it?
. . .
Lee turned his head and looked at the sea. An electrically charged wind made its way through an interruption in the purple-black atmosphere. Microdroplets of water molecules settled on my face. Lee put some organic cocaine in the pipe that came with the Can-D production kit and blasted it with his torch.
Now, remember these seven things.
First, make a smooth introduction.
Second, be receptive to feedback.
Third, don’t envy others.
Fourth, don’t be ashamed of yourself.
Fifth, return everything you’ve used to its rightful place.
Sixth, no picking or stepping on flowers.
Seventh, don’t ask about the meaning.
The Can-D in Lee’s veins was already working its magic. I stole a machine gun yesterday, but there weren't any bullets inside . . . You gonna be able to sell it? I nodded. The wind got stronger and raindrops as big as grenades began thump, thumping down. The seawater swallowed the yacht and stingrays gleaming neon green soared between the raindrops. Lee and I slid down the lopsided concrete of the wharf. The fliers stuck to telephone poles were flapping away. MYTHBUSTERS WANTED, they said.
You know anything about the Mythbusters?
Say what? This wind blows in from the Sea of Okhotsk?
No . . . I spat out the cold raindrops sliding into my mouth and hollered. Do you know about the Mythbusters!
What about the Sea of Okhotsk?!
Sentimental Education
Fran decided to walk from Hyochang Park to Yongsan. Kakao Map said it would take thirty-three minutes. There was a mild breeze, and a cloud with distinct edges covered the sun just right. The level of microdust in the air was supposedly “Good.” Fran felt puzzled by these everyday expressions. How come a low level of microdust pollution, which meant the air was good to breathe, got phrased as “Microdust Good” or “Very Good”? People understood abbreviations without any hesitation. Fran was the opposite. She didn’t want to abbreviate anything. Nothing should be omitted. Nothing can be omitted.
Fran’s destination was a bookstore called Metabooks which had opened at the old US army base site in Yongsan. She had a job interview there at 3:00 p.m. Fran had no desire to work, but there was no alternative. She was set to graduate from college, and her family had stopped supporting her financially. According to her plan, she should be on the highway to success right about now, working as an actor or a TV series writer. Instead, she was about to get kicked out of her studio apartment.
Fran was an English lit major and member of the theater club on campus. She didn’t take theater classes, but she loved novels and plays, so she basically lived at the library and the theaters. Up to her mid-twenties, she’d planned to become an actor, but people who saw her on stage would squeeze their eyes shut and cover their ears. But friends who read the stories she wrote for fun would grab her by the shoulders, wide-eyed. Fran immediately signed up for the TV writing course at the Hankyoreh Culture Center and started writing scripts. This was when she chose her pen name Fran. Why Fran? The lecturer asked. He was a writer who’d created a midweek TV series that aired ten years ago. It folded early due to accusations of historical inaccuracy, so he entered the private teaching scene right away. An unfortunate man who was missing too many teeth for clear enunciation (he refused to get implants, calling them a medical industry ploy). The best thing about him was that he kept his nails short. Speaking of her name, Fran said she’d gotten the idea from the sitcom Friends. Fren would be awkward, so I decided on Fran. The “a” is used more often in Korean names, anyway. The lecturer and other students didn’t get it. A or e . . . Anyway. You must like Friends. Fran shook their head. It’s not that, but because Friends is the most successful TV show. The other students burst into laughter. What’s so funny? Fran twirled her pen and thought, Cowards. I’m not gonna waste my time writing some mediocre soap opera. Straight to streaming, that’s the plan.
The series Fran wanted to write was a slice-of-life sitcom about a lesbian delivery driver. It had autobiographical elements but she kept quiet about that. The genre would be science fiction. She told other people that its structure would resemble that of the Alien series. So episode one will tackle fear and anxiety, episode two will be about facing the world, three on despair and surrender, four about resurrection and eternity. Alien/Deliverer says, we are entities outside of us. The lecturer and other students didn’t get it. Didn’t you say it’s a sitcom?
Despite Fran’s swagger, the actual writing didn’t go as expected. She couldn’t figure out how the story would unfold. How can I talk about things that don’t exist? This was different from the essay-type writing Fran had dabbled in. A few years went by as Fran tried this and that. She thought about seeking refuge in graduate school, but Jiwoo, who’d gotten in first, shook her head.
A grad student has to choose between two options. Set fire to their school, or go to Harvard.
Jiwoo said she was stuck on how to set fire to the school but not get caught by the law.
There are two conditions. First, don’t cause any injuries or deaths. Second, burn down the whole campus.
Jiwon was crème de la crème, a grad student at Seoul National University who’d done her undergrad at the same school after graduating from a prep school specializing in foreign languages. Her advisor, family, and grad school friends urged her to apply to a doctorate program at Harvard. Even in Fran’s eyes, she seemed like someone who’d go to Harvard.
If I go to Harvard, walk over my body on your way to the future.
What are you talking about?
Hey, you know what? Grad students constantly watch TV.
Jiwoo said that’s why Fran should write a TV show. Even a world-renowned professor of early Arabic philosophy talks about TV shows during class, she said. Anaximander uses the apeiron to elucidate the workings of the cosmos. Within the order of infinite, unclassifiable time, the characteristics which we recognize took shape and became separate entities. In “My Mister,” Lee Sun-kyun articulates this as well. “If you don’t think it’s anything, it’s not anything.”
What the hell is she saying . . . ?
For Fran, time passed too slowly. In her teens, she felt like an old soul while her peers seemed like little kids. Body, mind, and the world were all floating in timelines of their own, out of sync. At times, she thought she was more talented than others, and felt impatient as it seemed success was far from sight despite her extraordinariness. Success wasn’t everything, but that’s what you would say after you’d snagged it. Lying on a beach chair on the deck of a yacht crossing the Mediterranean, you’d say this into a satellite phone: Money is just a number. Beside her on the deck would be her partner and partner’s partner and partner’s partner’s former partner, soaking in the sun. Fran would read under the shade of a parasol, sensing the currents of the Atlantic moving counterclockwise beneath her. Against the low buzz of all these lovers’ skin crisping under the sun, the splash of spearfish jumping out of the water, she’d warble, Real happiness is in the everyday . . .
The problem was that there was no way to arrive at a dream like this. Fran had no idea why she’d come to have this dream, either. Probably because you’ve watched too many pathetic movies and books, Jiwoo said. From time to time, on a day with good weather, this delusion felt so vivid that its arrival seemed imminent. In those times, Fran would walk or bike from Seonyu Island to Nanji Park; she’d sit at a bench at the UN Peace Park overlooking the artificial lake and mumble new year’s resolutions. You just watch. I’m gonna make it.
Still, she didn’t know what to make or how.
NE: Interview
Got on Flight 708 at Schiphol Airport. The job interview will be on the plane, I was told. What the hell am I doing? Applicants like me are scattered among the economy seats. The plane will cross the Indian Ocean and arrive in Chongqing. So, start at the Netherlands, get hired at China-3. No explanation why. Of course, I might not get the job. I gulp down a Jack and Coke to calm my nerves and start feeling buzzed. The guy behind me strikes up a conversation. Wearing wide-angle sunglasses and nodding his head nonstop, he seems manic. Whispering the lyrics to some song. Sweet, sweet Jesus . . .
You’ve heard the rumors about the Mythbusters, right? People who don’t pass the interview have to get off the plane. Before we land.
Before we land, huh. Sounds like a load of fake news. Internally, I’m barking, Fuck off, you idiot. But I’m nice to him. Here’s my rule of thumb: be nice to people. But don’t try too hard to leave a good impression. Regardless of my internal debate, the guy keeps rambling on and on. Says the agreement forms we signed before getting on the plane had all this information about death or injury during the interview. He says he read all of that and signed. Even when he gets a bidet installed, he reads all the fine print; his brother-in-law was an audio repairman who used to be a lawyer, and he died last year due to an explosion accident. An explosion? The guy taps down his wide-angle shades. Happens occasionally. He was trying to upgrade the nozzle functions and ended up installing a passive wire coil that combines nano-sized ceramic particles and carbon powders in the pipes. He beams at me. Piooong.
What about a parachute? Have you ever used one?
Ah . . . The guy pulls his sunglasses back up and opens the in-flight magazine. Sweet, sweet Jesus . . . I look at his handsome skull and mumble. Do you scuba dive? The man doesn’t respond. I sense that my attempt at small talk is a flop. Why? Were my reactions dull? Or is it impossible to have genuine conversations with other applicants? I feel deeply disappointed by the cold-blooded logic of the world . . .
The interviews are held in first class. A man wearing a bomber jacket with a condor on it has just come out after his interview. He looks flushed. Taking some Can-D out of his pocket, he injects it into his neck. Smooth. His Can-D has the quality certification, too. He tugs open his shirt and pounds back some whiskey. The emergency exit sign lights up, and the roar of air blasting into the plane rattles my eardrums. Soon, we see the applicant floating midair through the window. I order another jack coke as I send the guy my thoughts and prayers. Starting to get sleepy. Dammit . . . My interview should start any time now . . . The flight attendant shakes me awake. I see the condor bomber jacket flapping away, caught on the tip of the plane’s wing.
When I part the curtains into first class, I see holograms of the three interviewers. They’re Mythbusters working in designated fields, top-tier investigators recruited from state information agencies. If I pass this interview, I will be doing their busywork. The work isn’t as interesting as you might expect, the Middle Eastern woman says. Mentally, you’ll get driven into the ground, she adds. This scene is chock full of mental cases. The Mythbusters are a transnational organization that was created after the early-twenty-first-century pandemic. What’s more concerning than the virus is rumors about the virus. The crisis of the future isn't an environmental one, famine, war, or one of facts—it’s “reality.” (Air quotes. Cute.) The work of the Mythbusters isn’t simple. We investigate conspiracy theories, conspiracy theorists, and exterminate fake news, myths, and brainwashed cult followers. Do you know what that ultimately means? asks an Asian male investigator with slicked-back black hair. I’m not sure. Briefly, I glimpse an applicant plummeting past us through the window. No parachute. Hmm . . . I saw this earlier. The condor on his jacket flaps its wings. Its pink head tears through the leather, and the condor splitting into several beasts collides with the plane’s wing, ricochets off of it. Addiction management. I’m thinking of what Lee said. That’s what’s crucial. The Middle Eastern woman says, That’s a fascinating perspective. What we do is manage reality. Even within the organization, there are differences of opinion. Does reality exist a priori? What if reality comes to be due to the Mythbusters’s investigations? What if we are opening the box and influencing reality? Does this mean there are multiple realities? The Asian investigator’s hologram glimmers, and his head begins to elongate. The first issue is that investigating conspiracy theories and investigating conspiracy theorists are incompatible. From the perspective of the legal system, something can be true or not true, never both. The investigator’s head ripples into multiple layers. An issue typical of quantum mechanics . . . Voice splitting into multiple layers’ wavelengths . . . Because we intervene in the realm… where it is impossible to distinguish guilty from innocent . . . the Mythbusters . . . are at odds with judicial agencies . . . Each layer creates reverberations . . . to identify and track down . . . the realistic possibility of physical slaughter . . . Those who speak of humanity are frauds . . . I mumble, Oooh, fascinating. Two words (or four?) spin around the 3D panel inside the glossy glass wall, emitting light rays of twenty-four colors. REALITY ADDICTION. REALITY MANAGEMENT. That’s the issue at hand, then. Plane experiencing turbulence. Ruckus that sounds like hail hitting a tin pail. A sudden drowsiness overcomes me. I think one of the investigators must be an avatar. I’ve seen him as a vendor on a post-mortem sales website on Marianas’s Web. Rating: 1.5 stars. Review: I ordered the soul of a pet dog, but I only got the nose. Vendor response: Do you not believe in the existence of souls?
SE: Making a Better World
Anyone visiting Metabooks for the first time is shocked by its size. Metaplex, the multifunctional culture-and-shopping complex in which Metabooks is located, is based in Yongsan, but Metaplex is bigger than the neighborhood itself. Those unfamiliar with architecture, geography, geology, 4D mapping, GIS, and metaphysics might wonder how this is possible. How can a part be bigger than the whole yet still be part of said whole? This is a mistake stemming from preconceived notions on the relationship between the whole and a part. Our senses and cognition make it impossible to see nature in actuality. Of course, if you are familiar with Portini Marcopoluclamara’s theory of topos, all this would be easy to comprehend.
Metaplex does not have a roof, unlike other large-scale malls. Influenced by the futuristic tradition established by Joseph Paxton, the designer of the 1851 London Convention, architects and planners of all kinds have been imagining and creating spaces that are separate and protected from external nature. A system of total control over temperature and humidity. But the word “mall” originally refers to a path for easy walks. The programmers of Metaplex predicted that the malls of the future would become malls in their true sense. The more elaborate malls become, the more people romanticize rustic, well-worn neighborhoods; the more digital our day to day, the more valuable all things analog. Metaplex is not a man-made garden under an enormous roof; it is a true garden that is cold in winter and hot in summer, a sensory space in which one can experience nature’s principles. The goal of Metaplex is to overlay a dimension of artifice indistinguishable from nature onto reality. The symbiosis of mall-like layers upon all of Earth. (See also the “Nature” page of Metaplex’s website.)
A vital characteristic of Metaplex is that it has no boundaries. In accordance with the Treaty on Outer Space approved by the United Nations in 1967, the outer space that lies above each nation’s atmosphere is not part of its airspace, and thus the space beyond the atmosphere in which satellites, spaceships, and exploratory rockets float is, presumably, free for use by Metaplex. Rumors that Virgin Galactic Holdings has acquired part of the stock for MCU (Meta Culture Universe), the mother company of Metaplex, attests to this. (MCU has yet to be IPO-listed, and thus the exact percentage of ownership has not been disclosed.) The boundaries on Earth’s surface are similarly undefinable. Unlike outlets, theme parks, or administrative districts, there are no markers to indicate the limits of Metaplex’s perimeters. There are no walls or fences, not even a wire. Metaplex welcomes your land, your buildings, and your shops. Financial news outlets reported that Metaplex expanded its real estate to 1.5 times its original size just six months after opening. Owners of buildings, land, and businesses nearby have voluntarily become members of Metaplex. What are the benefits of Metaplex membership? Interior design support? Partnership perks? Membership cards? Badges? More than anything, what’s important is being a member of Metaplex. Programmers state that the appeal of Metaplex lies in its being Metaplex. Metaplex is an actuality as well as concept that is no longer present as its name nor made visible through its existence; a “resource” sans content or shape whose value is inherent in its name. (See “Vision.”) As this is the state of things, Metaplex has no center. Upon opening, cosmetics shops, cafes, flower shops, fashion boutiques, shared offices, record stores, galleries, vintage markets, international auctioneers, snack stores, drive-in theaters, fitness centers, religious spaces, residences, alternative spaces, camping sites, and members-only spas, among others, registered as vendors along the paths and gardens, lakes, and squares of Metaplex; Metabooks, the only store directly managed by the Metaplex, also opened in tandem, but none of these locations occupy the geographical center of the mall.
A fascinating fact is that Metabooks is nevertheless referred to as the singular center of Metaplex. If a space is infinitely expanding without a designated vector, how can a center exist? Metaplex resolves this through the concept of Invisible Force, a virtual and absent center. Metabooks is spread across the entirety of Metaplex, in practice of the force-core concept. A six-story leading bookstore and office exists, but this is simply one node among many. Scattered across Metaplex are smaller shops, booths, and shelves that are also nodes, and even a single book dropped on the floor or digital signals that can transport content which are books-without-being-books operate as nodes as well. (Says the press release.) The entropy created by the traces of books, signals from books, remnants of books, spirit of books, all sorts of information flows related to books become Metabooks’s tentacles. Metaplex’s programmers were inspired by the biological mechanisms of cephalopods. Researchers from Cambridge University proved through the Stanford Marshmallow Experiment carried out on cuttlefish that these creatures have the capacity for self-restraint and patience. The brain distributed among ten legs achieved systemic and comprehensive goals without following a single, centralized organ’s commands. (See Dr. Schnell’s interview from SCI News.) The structure of Metabooks is aligned to the principle of Metawork (META+NETWORK), and Metaplex is organized as a form of trans-species informational communication powered by Metawork’s emergent properties. Up until now, no architectural firm or institution had risen to this challenge. But innovations like these come at a hefty cost. Especially that of human resources. Humans must manage all of these nodes until the drones or robots tasked with node management can function at their full capacity. It’s quite unfortunate.
