The gateways had always been there, for as long as the inhabitants could remember, as long as memory existed on the island. They were housed in cylindrical domes, of a material impossibly hard and smooth. Occasionally, the doors to the domes would close, sealing seamlessly with the surface of the walls. Unsure of their failing, or the caprice of the gods, the inhabitants would pray, make offerings or sacrifices, until eventually the doors would open again, and the gateways would be accessible once more.
Background: Death of a Salesman is a 1949 play by Arthur Miller, which tells the story about the slow dissolution of Willy Loman’s life. It is a tragedy of unraveling dreams, and the regrettable meeting of an unshakeable optimism, and an unmoveable (and indifferent) reality. It will be considered how Willy Loman’s dreams are not merely self-deceptions, but are the necessary sustenance of his life – a life that is simultaneously condemned to misery by those dreams. It can be difficult to read Death of a Salesman and not see Marx lurking offstage, watching his insights come to life, as Marx is a political philosopher of some repute. For explicit examination of the concepts that are offhandedly mentioned in this article, the essay “Estranged Labor” by Karl Marx is recommended.Continue reading
The restaurant was dimly lit, with a disagreeable babble of noise. Eli heard a distinct and familiar laugh trilling unashamedly from one table, and saw that the others had already arrived.Continue reading
It had been exactly seventeen-hundred-and-fifty-seven days since the discovery. Marcus knew this because he counted, and counted, and recounted. Sometimes, he felt all he did was count days. He was good at it – very good. He imagined that to many people, counting days was an unremarkable skill. And if pressed, he would agree; but then, quite impulsively, he would disagree just as strongly. These were the contradictions of living with unremarkable skills.Continue reading
The premise of this world is no doubt fictional. It is a garden of many paths. Each path that is taken ends in a fork. If one tries to turn around, they will find yet another fork, different than the one that got them there. It is unknown what happens to the paths that are not taken, and if they end in forks too. All that is known is that for each path that is taken, it will end in a fork. The gods of this world, should they exist, must have fickle motives. Or else they like gardens and paths.Continue reading