> The most compelling Art, he claimed, expressed just one idea–
> the idea of the work of art itself

No, not “just one idea.” The claim is that good Art expresses an idea that is irreducible into constituents. That idea is expressed through the composition of other ideas in some structure, but any analysis of those constituent ideas (some or all) will be an unsatisfactory or incomplete analysis of the Art.

So my response was a cop-out. We could have analyzed it, but it would be easier with paper.

Three corrections, sorry for the nitpicking.

1. Not “primarily”; that’s like saying “a cat is primarily a mammal” which doesn’t make sense and implies something incorrect about mammals.

2. Not a single idea, I think that’s too specific. The idea is that a narrative is an idea-structure, a particular shape of bin for idea-water to fill. I think that my new idea (”narratives are data structures”) is a refinement of that (”okay, what is an idea-structure?”), not a rejection of it.

3. A conceptual atom isn’t a single idea. What I mean when I say “conceptual atom” is something more like “person.”

Looks like a monster that was in an old episode of the cartoon Johnny Quest

You letter has found its way to me, by the usual means, as I sit by
this smoldering ire sickening the air with its damp stench as I watch
through half a corner of my eye a very foolish young man who wishes
only for destiny in a world that has none. Congratulations for
finding me. I am the devil. So they say.

There was once a boy who, sitting with friends in asenine laughter,
spied a man clad in black standing in mid air outside of the second
story window. The boy opened the shutter and the man stepped in. The
boy asked, ‘Who are you?’ ‘I am the devil,’ was the answer. Of
course, thought the boy. But it was too late. The card had been
played. It is a rare thing when one catches one’s own tale, so rare
that a thousand worlds rise and perish, millions of civilization
sprout roots and decay, before one even comes within sight of the
source reflected. And amongst these sightings, there is not one
attempt of the fools who’d dare to throw their lives into the fire
that does not end in tragedy so deep as to make those told in myths
but a pale and childish reflection. No, it does not happen. Yet
persists the hope

There have been an uncountabl number of Ks, each undone by that which
makes them unique. The minds of lessers are woven through by dream
snakes. But in vain defiance of the powers that be, of forces so far
beyond the lives of men as to be rendered invisible, the Ks each world
throw themselves into the fire. They choose to burn to see within
them if there is any grain that would withstand that blaze, knowing
that they are not so unique, knowing that in this vain quest, this
unhedgable bet against everything, they line themselves up for a fall
to such depths that they cannot hope to be prepared. That is their
pride, and their curse. It is, shall we say?, happy coincidence that
Hammel’s Kain and Kafka’s K share a prefix, each crafted unknowing of
the other. As the bubbles dissolve, so the moniker will be rent
meaningless. And yet-

He is very close now. He looks over at me, sees me playing with my
cards, and wonders to the truth. I remember… When I see the look in
his eyes when he learns the price of destiny, my ecstasy will consume
me. That too is without meaning. I must go soon, as he and I must
play.

But first, you asked me of the sleeping gods and the rumors that die
unspent upon the lips of those of your land. Every man gets a wish or
a dream. What you have heard is not false. It would be easy for me
to say, and not untruthful, that this always happens. But in your
sphere, in your lifetime, yes, there is a shift. I cannot say more
but in veiled words; those who dabble in prophecy can assure that
absolute knowledge of the future is absolute imprisonment. That which
has long slumbered is waking. Spires shall fall into dust. Illusions
will be unmade. That which this day is called kindness shall be
looked upon tomorrow as dangerous malice. The horse shall be
strangled from its reins being pulled too tight, for the passenger
could not be bothered to stop to untangle them.

And there is another K. Before the game is played, the last card has
already been turned overe. What he seeks shall appear but as mist in
the air while he walks; but when he sleeps, it shall become as solid
as diamond. Against this he will throw himself. And he will probably
fail. Still, to try … that his the story, is it not?

He comes, so I must close my words to you. I will see you soon.

The Morning Star

While of course the case of K has passed into legend and lost years, a correspondence still reaches us concerning some fragment of his files. I will endeavor to make some light upon the matters you present in your letter and hope that this will assure some understanding of their place.

Firstly, it must be accepted that the silence of those who may know of where things fall is a depthless mercy to those in these lands. Any sign from such an agent, in fact, would disprove their agency’s mastery of clandestine arts, so by remaining in the shadows, it is thus shown that their profoundity is indeed deep. There are some, who by lack of a tangible presence assume an absence, that would make it a matter that, by the universal silence, a lack of a voice unless one foolishly taken on faith. But there is no faith.

In the Castle alone there are uncountable files filled with fragments just as you have found, not only of K, but of an inestimable number of cases where by there was cast some reflection of a light that passed into the night. When these fragments are put together, there can be observed an allusion to shape, or different views of a shape taken at once. But such a notion only lasts for a moment, and then can only be recalled in dreams. Again, such is to be expect. To expect to understand such information all at once with an imperfect mind points to the ignorance of one’s insignificance, and again the blessing thereof.

What you say about Confucius is well-taken and points to the truth of the matter, as well as the only solace in life and permanence one might take. Far from being inapplicable philosophic esoterica, it is directly applicable to the realization of the will of the Castle. Becoming untethered from Castle laws does not dissolve one from one’s loyalty to the Castle. Only the most uneducated and backwards peasant would make such an association. Even a common laborer, though perhaps without conscious awareness, realizes that even when one circle of the Castle’s influence is lifted, there are infinite concentric circles whereby one is defined, one is measured, and the flow of one’s thoughts trinkle down from the sky. Of course, as mentioned before, there are uncountable files. So the flow of information is not, nor can be, governed on the basis of the individuality of fragments such as you have written regarding.

We chose to believe that those who remain forever silent and behind doors in some inner chamber that has become lost and unvisited in countless years do cause the microfluctuations observed in information flows. Is the crystallization of a thought the direct analog of the collapse of waves to particles? Is there an economics of information? The first question is unanswerable, the second, undeniable. Though it must be remembered that to point to these questions is not to point to truth, but the reflection of a reflection to an unknown degree. It must also be remembered that the doors to such chambers are not locked. They are merely lost and fallen out of memory. There are occasions, such as the K case, when a chamber long since forgotten is reopened, and then a reflection much nearer the light source is briefly seen. Figments are written of it, and they are pondered over the years, as a subject of mysteries, but in the end it is just as common as the break of moonlight through a gap in the clouds.

To answer your questions as to the shape of the trackless desert, I will draw from other documents. Understandably, you must find, I cannot share the original source materials or any direct copy, but you must take my assurance that my representation of these materials is to the best of my ability of which I assure you I am fully competent. As to the accuracy of the source materials themselves, I can give you no confidence as to their accuracy. I can only say that scholars spend their lives debating such matters, and each draw a different interpretation. There is even a debate, amongst those who take it as an interest, if the scholars even share a language or if their interpretation of the others’ verbalization is purely coincidental.

The trackless desert is a literal one. It is called Grynth and spans a continent to the south that fell into the Earth following the Second Cataclysm. The desert was wandered by endless nomads, who rarely made cities or permanent camps, but would each cast their lot in the sands. The sun was given some strange quality by the Grynth sky, perhaps triggered by drinking the water of oases of that land, whereby heat was only felt as a deep but pleasant warming of the body, but that the visions of the mind danced and met physical reality. One could never be sure which shades were real and which were figments until night fell, and the illusions would fall with the rising of the first star. When illusions were shared, travelers wondered if they were visitors of intangible realities or no more realities but the rising of heat distortions from the desert sands.

For K’s trek there, I can not give you an ending, but can tell of his first travels, at least addressing a few of the issues you spoke to. After the business at the Castle, K found great respite in Grynth. The matter had made his life a wash; you must understand, what K desired was, in that same clandestine manner, briefly shown, and then gone forever. The experience had changed him, for much as the illusions of Grynth by daytime, something had passed into illusion. It is said that K carried his own water through that land, or woke exclusively by night, to not fall into the illusions. But I do not believe this. I believe that K wandered in the shadow realm while keeping a firm understanding of the material world. There is one fragment that described:

“Kain sought and understanding of the shadow realm [of Grynth's day]. He developed, by alchemical means unknown, a manner to discern shades from nomads and scenes of the World. So doing [he] passed through Grynth, and came to a place where the Ocean and the Shadow realm co-joined. He wrought a ship and set upon the dark waters. When the Earth opened [the Cataclysm], the ship fell with the ocean to cthonic depths.“

For the last of it, it is hard to say whether this literally came to pass, even if one takes the source documents as accurate accounts. For reasons you must understand, I cannot give you the authors or origins of the documents, and I will remain silent if you meet me with any query there concerning.

In short, I can assure you that Kain’s path and the path of Confucius are one. While each trek through the desert is individual to the traveler, each path is of the same sand. While K lost the way back to that inner chamber, neither was he defeated, for in the experience he took wisdom. While he would never be free of the longing for that chance again, he had learned of permanence and took the lesson to heart, for the only doors that are locked are those that face the past. K accepted that that would be forever lost to mystery, and accepted a good life for himself as one might make of a blank canvas. So there is a path between success and failure, and it is that path that binds us.

I do hope that my communique resolves some of your concerns regarding the matter of K. If you remain of wonder, I advise to take mysteries as mysteries. They are fun to ponder in a chair by a fire consuming brandy, but to take each as a mandate to pursuit is a folly best told by Cervantes (with whom, I believe, you are acquainted). When a mystery sweeps one up, then one of a good mind should pursue it with a mind of clarity and with zeal though not lust. When one tries to sweep up a mystery, however, it will quickly remove to unrecoverable distances and become forever closed. For also, see http://k0s.org/stories/figments/guard.txt . The ability to discern between the cases is wisdom.

Franz Mitz

Curator of Documents

2nd Circle, Alexspie Building

The Castle