vr

a novel

Scott Alexander Gabriel Reiss

July 1999

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

From: SAGReiss
Date: 2 July 1999
Subject: Introspection

"I fight with my mujer. She no want coger. No mas bambinos. No dinero. Carajo. In jardin publico I see a muchacha. Big blue eyes, small tits. She writing. Puta mia."

Contrary to certain inferences seemingly drawn by our mellifluous friend, I don't think I over-intellectualize experience. This is a problem for some artists, particularly those of a romantic sensibility such as Keats or Proust, where partaking of life becomes a dogged effort frought with soul-ache. I do not suffer from this disease. Rather the work of representation, the recreation of experience in text format, forces me to take into consideration an infinite array of techincal means by which to reproduce it. When Stanley Kubrick died I read this quotation: "It all comes down to the sound of a footstep on the soundtrack." Indeed. In life a footstep makes a noise. The noise depends on an infinite number of variables, the weight of the stepper, the shoes, the floor surface, the humidity in the air, the volume of space, the texture of the walls or environment against which the sound waves reverberate etc. In life these variables are beyond our control, and why should we care anyway? In a film, however, each one of them is the result of a conscious decision on the part of the director. Add into this already bewildering mix the endless ways he must manipulate the sound in the editing process (to make it sound "natural", right?) and you know why it took Kubrick five years to make a movie. Our musicians will recognize this dilemma from their desperate struggle to interpret a score. What have they got to go on, a note, a vague time signature, and possibly a tempo or dynamic adjective or adverb, allegro or fortissimo? How little indeed this tells them. How much, everything really, is left to their paultry imagination. How fucking fast is "allegro"? How loud is "fortissimo"? Why doesn't the conductor stop drinking so much and make precise gestures? You noticed that Murder's last letter was an experiment with what I've called "in medias res". Miel's letter was an experiment with turning rl dialogue into closet theatre. There is no "natural" way to represent experience. There is no reason why Miel didn't tell her park story from Tejano's point of view, except perhaps that she didn't think of it, which is what you pay me for, right? Malcolm Lowry facetiously suggested he might have narrated the bullfight scene in Under the Volcano from the bull's point of view. And why not?

RECTVM VINVM
Scott Alexander Gabriel Reiss

From: SAGReiss
Date: 2 July 1999
Subject: Breeders

The evening began well. I had hidden long enough behind mysterious ailments and the fact that I don't answer my father's phone (No one knows that I've got my own line.) nor listen to his messages, all of which are for his wife anyway. I finally thought it best to accept an unwelcome dinner invitation from my great aunt and uncle. Their daughter and her three kids live with them, and their son and his wife and three kids were coming over. I have no idea who these people are, but they all remember me and whatever lies my father may have told them. At first I listened to my great aunt's complaining about the noise and the mess. The noise and madness hadn't begun yet, but she was just having her say while there was someone to listen. Then a few of the kids came home, and we read from one of their schoolbooks. I can use the practice, since I never speak, and seldom hear, Hebrew outside of class. Dinner was a nightmare. The table was set with well-polished silver and paper plates. I'm not sure if this is because of some arcane Jewish rule about never being allowed to eat like a human being, or maybe just because six kids and six adults at a six-foot table in a tiny, crowded kitchen is a receipe for mayhem and broken china. The whole life is something out of the fifties, seatcovers, songs and prayers amid bedlam, and some of the worst food I've ever eaten. Between the religious laws, the horrible cooking and the filth of my father's kitchen, I'm losing weight. My father's cousin is some kind of cop. He seems to like me. Or maybe he's just so tired of screaming, jumping, running kids that he'd like to go out drinking once in a while. I accepted calmly, secure in the knowledge that he can only reach my father's voice mail, which I never listen to. I've never thought much about birth control. It always seemed to me that women could best take care of that. (I know I may get some silly, chickenshit feminist-type argument about this, but women want unilateral control of their body, so let them have it.) (I also say this secure in the knowledge that I now have sole control of the archives of this list, since Nichelle's hard drive burnt up, that is until mine does, at which point all is lost. Paper copies stored in a Seattle cellar are all that will remain. Actually that's not quite true. Nichelle edited some mail to a Word file which a few people have. I'd be glad to share it with any of you who wish, of course.) Israeli women, however, are what the queers call breeders. There are babies and children everywhere. I would say that if I ever get laid again, I'll have to be careful, except that that's the last thing I'd ever think about if some sweet, dark-skinned thing lifted her skirt. I still haven't tried Israeli anisette, but I must just have cheap taste for liquor. My great uncle served me a glass of Chivas, which was a nice treat, but I'd still rather drink my old J&B. Great wine is better than good which is better than fair. Beer is beer. But wine is fruit, and beer is mead which is bread. Alcohol is different. I'll drink J&B, Dewar's, Ballentine or even Scoreby. I have no great taste for Chivas.

RECTVM VINVM
Scott Alexander Gabriel Reiss

From: SAGReiss
Date: 6 July 1999
Subject: Bear Claw

The bus driver told me he couldn't take me to Telshe Stone, a gated religious community where I had an appointment to discuss work in a kitchen at eight in the morning at the home of the brother of a friend of my mother's. Telez Ston has two different names in Hebrew. This makes it challenging for foreigners trying to find a bus to an unknown destination at seven in the morning. The helpful driver told me there was no way to get from Bet Shemesh, House of the (Rising) Sun and home of Samson or Shemshon, to where I wanted to go. Overcome with shame and hopelessness, I asked him to take me somewhere, since I was already on his bus. He said he'd take me to Shoresh, about five kilometres from Telshe Stone. I said that would be fine, knowing that I'd never get to my appointment on time or at all. I paid, sat down and bemoaned my fate. He took pity on me and said that he could take me somewhere else, if I paid a little more money, where I could catch another bus. Having no better alternative, I agreed. By some accident I made it on time. I knocked on the door. A gruff voice called out: "Gabriel?" "Yes." "Come in. I'll be with you in a moment." I stepped into a hall between a living room and a kitchen. I quietly closed the door and stood with my arms behind my back staring at the floor. I could hear the private noises of a big family waking up. A big, fat girl walked into the hallway in a nightshirt, paused, said: "Good morning," and went to piss. A huge, fat man with a beard and earlocks walked in wearing black gaberdine. He didn't shake my hand. He offered me coffee, which I refused. We spoke briefly. We set off to look at a rented kitchen. We talked about the job possibility, which turned out not to be great, though I was happy to meet this funny man. I noticed he has what I would describe as a club foot on his right hand. I think perhaps that's called a bear's claw, though I'm not sure and don't know much about that animal's anatomy. The man runs a small catering business. We continued to his main kitchen in Jerusalem. I hung out for a while. There was a relaxed, smoker-friendly atmosphere and two Russians working. The man kept telling me these stupid anecdotes about peasants and mules that were vaguely charming or funny, or so I might have thought if my mind were at ease and I had a job and could get drunk from time to time.

RECTVM VINVM

From: Nichelle
Date: 16 July 1999
Subject: The Grey Hornet
Attached: hornet.jpg

I bought a car today- a 1977 Hornet Wagon. It's one of those "little old lady drove it to church every Sunday" cars- 22 years old and looks almost new. It cost me $999.75, after the 25 cent rebate I found in the glove box. It also came with an orange pillow, a roll of paper towels, and a bumper sticker that says "Uff Da." Now I have to wait to get insurance, but I'll be driving soon. I put in for a position as a trainer, which I have a good chance of getting. We shall see. Until then, I'm just sitting on my ass, trying to think of a name for my new car.

From: SAGReiss
Date: 22 July 1999
Subject: Lux et Veritas

Maybe I've been reading too much. At least now I know I can read, that my concentration is not so broken by years of alcoholism and netsurfing as to make it altogether impossible to slog through five hundred pages of mind-numbing gibberish, especially Proust's endless sentences where the first hundred-word declaration is followed by four hundred words of such elegant concessions and conditions as to render the whole statement meaningless. I like my girls to have poetic names. When I first met Nichelle I thought she was a sistah. I actually logged a few of our early conversations, though they're in some weird format. The girl I lived with in France is called Benedict Ackermann, two dactyls. I've met a girl at Hebrew school named Sveta Skidan. I like the alliteration and assonance. Her first name means "light", or so she says. She comes from Belarus by way of Siberia. I was talking to scaredycat about her. I know you all appreciate seeing me at my seductive best, and I'm hoping that 1999 won't become my first virgin calendar year since 1993. Besides, negatron needs to study my technique. John, just adjust for about twenty degrees Centigrade less heat. Make jokes about long underwear. Chicks love that. Anyway I was reading The Bros K last week-end and complaining to scaredycat that I had called Sveta four times and only spoken to some Russian lady who told me in broken Hebrew that Sveta was out for a stroll or something. I didn't bother trying to leave my number. It seemed like more trouble than it was worth. She had made an ostensible effort to ask for help learning English and had given me her number, but I hate the phone and hate running after people. I was whining to scaredycat. Reading Dost one might tend to read too much into insignificant events, but as I said: "She didn't give me her phone number by accident. She must want something." Keep in mind that she is quite tall, six foot or six one, thin and beautiful. She looks like a model, except for an old-fashioned 'do and a bad dye job and slightly sensitive skin which might be reacting to the unbearable heat (as is mine) and could, in any case, be air-brushed out of the photo shoot. She used to edit television commercials in Siberia. People seem, myself possibly included, impossibly naive when they're struggling to speak an unknown language. One ends up speaking in senseless generalities, as it's much easier to talk abstractly. I try to keep my mouth shut, which isn't a good sign. Anyway I gave her my phone number (the real one, the one that isn't on the class list) and last night I got a call from a dude in our class asking me if I'd like to go out for a walk. I knew that he could only have gotten that number from her, so I said OK. We went out, he and his wife and Sveta and I. I didn't ask, but I guess she thought it was more respectable if he called. We drank a bottle of Israeli Emerald Riesling on a park bench. Sveta mumbled something about buying ear rings and Russian tradition, but I have no idea what she was on about. I wasn't in great form, and didn't drink enough to become loquacious. We talked though. She's Nichelle's age but seems younger, again probably because of the language barriers. They all think I'm crazy to have come to Israel, as everyone in Russia would go to America if he could. Sveta wants to go to America "in three years". She seems like a pretty determined girl. She's a diligent student from what I can tell. (I, of course, am hopeless, and can only somewhat make up for it with good instincts for phonetics, morphology and syntax.) OK, John, since I know you haven't laughed since about January, I'll tell you what I tried. When she bemoaned her poor English, I said pointedly: "Your English is ver-y beau-ti-ful." I made one respectfully ambiguous caress of her shoulder. I assume she knew what I was doing, but she didn't react one way or the other, so I didn't follow through. When we began to wander off, I offered to walk her home, which she declined. I didn't pursue the matter. If anything I would say that I showed a lack of determination, which is not good. I will have to talk more. I'll call her. Remember, Monday is my birthday. I think it would only be fair if I got laid.

RECTVM VINVM
Scott Alexander Gabriel Reiss

From: Lauren
Date: 24 July 1999
Subject: Re: Lux et Veritas

mmm. yes I believe that Svetlana does mean light. (Sveta is the shortened/common form of Svetlana. Somewhat like Katie & Katherine in english.) But anyway.....there is a new love in my life by the name Amy (hardly as poetic as you would prefer there Scott.). She is a car hop for a chain called Sonic (roller skating and all). In otherwords, nice legs, well muscled, and a TIGHT ass. :9 It's really too bad that I can't take her with me but I'm moving in a few weeks back to Alaska, and she has to stay here. But, I thought that I would let you all know what's going on in my life. I will respond when I can and all, but from August 10-August 31 I may not be able to respond at all because of lack of e-mail access. So, ya'll take care. :)

-Cyanne

From: SAGReiss
Date: 31 July 1999
Subject: Misinterpretation

scaredycat pages, "ISP problems yesterday? or just got bored?"
page scaredycat I got dissed. I'm not sure why.
page scaredycat I'm lagging badly right now.
scaredycat pages, "divine intervention."
page scaredycat I'm not sure about aquanet. And I still think this 'puter has problems.
scaredycat pages, "how come?"
page scaredycat Well, you know. It's three and a half years old. A lot of shit was downloaded. Nichelle didn't know what she was doing. I've even downloaded some shit. I think I need to save a few files (old e-mail archives) and reformat the whole thing and reinstall everything, but I don't know how. I'll probably just wait until I can afford to buy a new 'puter.
scaredycat pages, "you computer is probably fine, you just need to reinstall everything."
page scaredycat I know. But I don't know how to do it.
scaredycat pages, "i guess i cant help you. maybe ask your dad what he think should be done. maybe he knows of some computer stor that would give you illigal copies of windows and word."
page scaredycat My old man doesn't know anything about 'puters. I've got my own Windows95. I haven't got MS Office. I don't even know how to download Netscape. I'm still using 3.0.
scaredycat pages, "so convert all your word documents to plain text (unless the layout is important to you), go to come computer store and ask them to reinstall windows, while saving your email and those text files. installing netscape is easy. i can explain it on the MOO."
page scaredycat I can reinstall Windows. It doesn't affect files. The problem with Netscape is that Nichelle installed it somewhere strange. My Eudora, Netscape and Telnet etc. are all in some file called EMBARQUE.
> scaredycat . o O ( i do have a copy of windows98 and word with hebrew, but you already said you didnt want them. )
scaredycat pages, "if you had linux i could reinstall everything from here... but it doesnt work that way with windows. linux is way cooler."
page scaredycat No, thanks. I get scared trying to do things because if they don't work, I'm fucked because I can't fix them. I once installed this anti-virus shit, and it's fucked up my whole 'puter. I can't even delete the shit.
scaredycat pages, "i /can/ do it. i can even take 50 shekels if it'll make you feel better."
page scaredycat I know you are a computer genius. But this is Windows.
scaredycat pages, "i used windows 95 for 3 years. if you dont want, then fine. i'm not going to /convince/ you i am able to do it without losing your stuff."
page scaredycat Of course I do. If you want to fix my 'puter, that would be beautiful. I know you can do it.
scaredycat pages, "fine. but only after my exam in logic. dont feel obligated to say yes, i wont get hurt or anything."
page scaredycat I don't feel obligated. I'd be very happy. I've never directly suggested we meet irl because I thought you were afraid.
scaredycat pages, "i assumed you didnt suggest it because you didnt want to."
page scaredycat Well, I guess we both misunderstood.

From: Nichelle
Date: 31 July 1999
Subject: Hello...

If you can find it, could you forward me a copy of the letters that werewritten just after watching Clockwork Orange...? Thanks.

June 1999

August 1999

vr: 1999