Five hundred years from now, academics will study The Whole Banana in the same way professors of English currently study Wild Willy Shakespeare. They will apply all the tried and true metrics: symbolism, metaphor, and my utter disregard for/incompetence in proper grammar. They will likely call me the “Harbinger of the Post-Mayan Apocalypse,” and indeed they probably should.
If you are one of these academics, this section is for you. If you are not an academic from the year 2500 AD or beyond and are not a time traveler returned to this century to read my work in the original text, feel free to skip ahead to Chapter One.
This the part where I tell you the correct way to interpret this book. Unfortunately, I don’t know the correct way. I’m counting on you (Academician of the Future) to have developed a sophisticated interpretation mechanism that goes something like: you simply connect with the parts that fire your rockets.
Current academics are still working to figure this out. My friend Mark is an English Professor, and was at one time my graduate adviser. We get together about once a month to shoot the shit (future geeks, this is an idiom meaning talk socially) and watch football. At one such get together, in accordance with social niceties, he asked, “So, what have you been up to?”
“Well,” I replied, “I’m writing a book.”
“Really? What’s it about?”
Now, normally this is a question that any author who is one-third of the way through his book could pontificate for hours about.
“Well, it’s sorta about this and that. It doesn’t really have a plot.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“It has progression.” I was on the verge of getting defensive—I mean, inspired.
His other eyebrow came up.
“It has a vibrational shift.”
I am reminded of a Firesign Theater skit.
The Lone Ranger and Tonto were sitting around a campfire. They were in the frickin desert, deep in a canyon, and hadn’t seen anyone in a couple of days, so they decided to risk a fire. A lone coyote howled at the moon. It wasn’t Wile E, but his great, great, great, great-grandfather, Snee K. A tumbleweed rolled somewhere. Tonto broke the silence.
“Don’t stare into fire too long, Kemosabe. Mess up alpha waves.”
The Lone Ranger lifted his head, and slowly his eyes focused. He shifted off a rock that was protruding into his butt crack.
“I swear, Tonto, sometimes you say the durndest things.”
Tonto moved a half-burned log over the flame with his stick. “That okay Kimosabe. White man understand one-hundred years or so.”
Okay, it’s true that Native American Indigenous People only talk like that in 1950’s B Western movies (and sometimes when they find a gullible European-American Non-Indigenous tourist they can have fun with), but you get the point. And in fairness it should be noted that Dr. Mark was trying to understand something outside his literary schema, and had never actually read even part of this book. I was making it up as I went.
So, in deference to the concept of vibrational shift, I will coin the name of the new genre I am creating:
Now, place your seat in the upright position, fasten your launch harness, lock your tray engaging your g-force decelerator, and enjoy the ride.
Oh, and turn off all your electronic devices. I’m told they screw with the hyper-drive.
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The book will be presented in sections, each one appearing within 2 to 3 days of the last. Well, that is, pending editing. I’m funding the editing through Kickstarter. You can learn more about this book by watching the video to the right.