This bit of writing I have titled Endnotes and Commentary. It relates to the book I wrote/sculpted/put together/published. Fuck it. I didn’t do shit. I’m a practicing Taoist for God’s sake. No matter. Currently, as I produce these here words (the surplus value of which, no doubt, will be hoarded by the gods), the book to which these words relate continues to exist with neither name nor cover art (although it does include a kick ass soundtrack). Hmmm. How about Book: A Novel by Jacob Rosen and the Voices In His Head? The cover art will come to us later. Where were we? Ah yes. What follows here are various endnotes and commentary relating to said book, which maybe you’ve read or are reading, perhaps? Initially, some time before the book was published, the thought of adding footnotes was hatched in my head—the idea being to make for a more comprehensive read. Perhaps it was my old friends spite, sloth, and apathy who got in the way of the completion of that task at that time, but it surely seems to be these same friends who place me where I am today, in the present time. Continuously plagued by the guilt of not doing anything productive, yet not visualizing the courage nor the incentive to leave the house and go take my chances on the street and find a way to contribute to meaningful change, I have decided it is time for Endnotes and Commentary.
Table of Contents. This here is the table of contents for Endnotes and Commentary. We, the decision makers, have decided to abandon our hard-fought ideals as we can no longer remember exactly why such ideals were fought for so hardly. Surely it would be nice if we could go about life without naming things and putting them in their corresponding places, but that would hardly be PRACTICAL now, would it? Ah, did you see the sarcasm dripping through like a monsoon through a paper cup? And here I was trying to keep a straight face. The computer jukebox is singing Propagandhi songs. I am reminded of my To Do Blackboard, which currently reads, amongst other things, Fuck the Border. Of course, I am also reminded of the time I found myself smack in the middle of a McRestaurant commercial as I drove two young travelers through the streets of Philadelphia. We’ve got to find a better way, screamed the radio, as I spoke of both shit AND graffeeti. But I digress. This is a table of contents for notes on words already published. Yet still, amidst the writing of these words, as I listen to the book’s soundtrack I can’t help but be reminded of the flux of an unknowable feedback machine that society interrupts constantly with the most varied and noisy rhythms. Or a snake eating its own tail. Yet we remain on track. The digressions will be limited this time around. We might even provide you with parenthesis. [we did not intend for this to turn into a treatise on the ethical implications of tables of contents] But who will speak the truth to power on this issue if not us, those who are responsible for the production of tables of contents? (Fuck them all). But surely we can have dreams of producing works of art that move from point A to B with the precision and form of a mathematical equation without being labeled fascists. Ha ha. We’ll leave this debate for your head. Let us go back in time. Where were we? Ah yes…We, the decision makers, have decided to abandon…and such and such. Yes, yes, Foucault, Althusser, and Gramsci aside, we have a job to do. We are producing a table of contents, are we not? And as such, we will break things down into sections—chapters perhaps—and give things names. For your benefit, of course. (but seriously folks, what could you possibly want with a broken horse?) The chapters that follow will be called Section 1, Section 2, and so on and so forth. For example, we might see a Section 3A or a Section 5C, but we might not. We’ll decide as we go. The book to which these words refer has no table of contents, no chapters, no names of chapters. This is about to change. We shall now go throughout the literary universe known as the book and perform the duties of explorer, translator, cartographer, and archaeologist. We shall fence in and tame the power of the book so that it is of more use to you who reads. For that is our job and privilege, which we are able to claim, as we are producers who have abandoned their ideals. Yeah fuckers, that’s the royal we I’m using. All right. Enough with the longwinded monologue.