1.

An ineffable story, t. i., a story that is impossible to put into words or signs, could, paradoxically, be written anyway, if it is written in seemingly disparate fragments. The unity will come after – through a thorough process of exegesis.

2.

A story that seems to be there, at the end of one’s fingertips, hiding behind the curtains like a puppet-master, but which, nevertheless, remains ineffable, is a meta-story or a story of stories. Fetus-like, it stands on the shaky ground of potentiality and contains an infinity of narrative seeds. These may grow, stretching beyond the kingdom of pure possibility, and be actualized through an interpretation of the underlying meta-story: an apple fallen from a tree (a peach? a pineapple? a pear?).

3.

A meta-story, or a story of stories, resembles a looking-glass. One may access it only subjectively (meaning – intimately) and thus partially, sculpting its simulacrum with varying degrees of precision. It is also a kind of story that allows you to know / to notice thyself, once you detect thy own inescapable shadow in the act of interpretation. Likewise, it invites you to be playfully active, matching pieces together and distilling a more or less coherent narrative out of it – drop by drop. In the process, you might get carried away by a vortex of (al)chemical actions, reactions and interactions. These would keep bursting forth as you follow the hints, clues, and imperceptible coincidences scattered, like dust or stars, everywhere. The story is yours, since it is you who shapes it out of the mass of data, but is shared by many, like a mirror, making the general and the particular meet.

4.

A meta-story is a ghost of Adamic or Universal language. Despite multiple efforts of Dante or Lull, Leibniz or Kircher, the search has linguistically failed. Some say it succeeded in mathematics, others – in the silent language of gestures (although not really).
A quick question: is it possible to write poetry in numbers?
A possible answer: yes, especially, when they become something else, merging into a new interface capable to create a visual simulation. This simulation would be made of pixels and non-dimensional points, squares and circles, etc. The nature of its reality would be profoundly abstract, just like its language.
An example of a word-made meta-story is Joyce’s Finnegans Wake. In painting, it is Peter Halley’s geometric abstraction, in which geometry gives flesh to ideas while colors give them blood.

5.

A story of stories is endless and in a way is similar to a dream, a fantasia and sometimes a fantasma (depending on what kind of reality you attribute to dreams). And, like a dream, it could be written down on the condition of becoming something else. It may also be shown or experienced in a fleeting immediacy of a multi-faceted now, which, however, could hardly be stabilized in a concept. Rather, it would pass through one’s fingers if one wishes to put a stop to its run. Uncatchable and always moving: Atalanta Fugiens.

6.

In 8 out of 10 cases, a meta-story addresses the subject of the reality’s creation either directly or in an oblique way.

7.

Atalanta Fugiens is a meta-story born out of necessity and chance and filled with the magic of encounters, wonders and coincidences (although isn’t a coincidence a wonder too?).

8.

When a circle meets a square, several possible outcomes could arise from such an encounter. Architecturally, they might form a temple or an inner yard of a Renaissance cloister, crisscrossing two of the most perfect geometric forms. Philosophically, they could create a paradox, an impossibility, a monster: a circled square or a square circle. However, alchemically, they would attempt to forge something else. An opus magnum, whose weirdly knitted language is filled with allusions, associations and transformations, aiming to open portals (or pearly gates of fiction) towards the unknown words, things and worlds.
(Besides, wouldn’t a kaleidoscopic world, world, broken into thousands of pieces of stained glass, be created anew each time one rotates the tube before looking right through it?)

9.

In the thirteenth century, Grosseteste (d. 1253) considered the physical world to be brought into existence when a “dimensionless point of light” was inserted into a “dimensionless point of matter” making the light shoot out “instantly and spherically in all directions from a single point of origin” – like a match struck suddenly in a dark room. Alongside an unconscious allusion to a Big Bang, another beautiful inkling is hidden in this vision: a transformation of mathematics – or of a non-dimensional point – into geometry and physics – or light spreading in all directions. Such transformation enables a quantitative shift from a mere concept to a material reality, bridging metaphysics towards something more tangible.
Speaking of this shift or bridge, some say that between idea and actualization lies a shadow.
I say, a geometric labyrinth lies underneath, whether it is a rhizome of neural pathways or a labyrinth of streets and cells. Whatever it is, one is destined to pass through this inner or outer maze (meaning – inner or outer prison) to bring something forth.
By focusing on these labyrinths, one gets closer to creating a meta-fiction.

10.

A patchwork principle is an attempt to stabilize the kaleidoscopic vision. Both work with fragments, but the first glues them together, while the second let them move freely (though that doesn’t mean that their freedom is undetermined by a multiplicity (or should we say ‘complicity’?) of causes). Both recompose what was torn, piecing together different visions or variants of the world.
A question: what would happen if one mixes a bit of Joyce, Virginia Wolf and Anonymous, adding some Wittgenstein-inspired pieces of puzzle to the potion?
A possible answer: an inner bang, rearranging the world into a new variant.

11.

Speaking of a bang, it seems that all paths lead to it over and over again, especially when one climbs the long ladder of causality, crawling towards the very first cause or the very first beginning. This eruption out of non-being, tearing the veil of nothingness in order to squeeze a whole universe out of a metaphysical point or physical particle, is tied to the most fundamental of philosophical questions. This question is “why there is something, fundamentally, of course, when there could have been nothing”? And: “is it a miracle or a bane”?
It seems funny that what usually brings destruction, reducing physical bodies to particles, would have an opposite effect then, re-actualizing the pharmakon principle, where one thing can be poison and medicine, depending on the dosage. This duplicity also alludes to the coincidencia oppositorum rule formulated by Nicolas of Cusa. “One” develops out of a “zero”. An infinity unfolds from “one”. According to the same author, this very infinity, with all its conflicts and contradictions, is contained in the “one” from the start. How? Through the coincidence of opposites, precisely.

12.

Coincidences are the bridges towards the unseen and the forgotten: once you notice one, a rain of memories falls on you, bringing you downstream and sometimes upstream of the timeline.
Indeed, they are not only about flashbacks and sudden resurrections. Sometimes, they help to piece together fragments of a possible future. One may wonder why a coincidence has occurred: was it to show that some paths were meant to cross in this timeline or maybe in a different one?

13.

Another thought about the Bang: the universe might actually be a frozen firework. If it started with a bang, who could guarantee that there wasn’t another and another one? These multiple explosions might only be visible sub specie aeternitatis – “If we could only remember…” Besides, to echo Robert Venturi, in architecture, less is a bore. Why wouldn’t it be the same for the architecture of the world? And then - if there were only one universe, wouldn’t it be a terrible waste of time and space?

14.

What would happen if two bangs occur simultaneously, synchronized in a specific space-time, arranged by a magical encounter making the opposites coincide?
Two outcomes are possible.
One: ultimate destruction.
Another: a mystical union, an alchemical marriage, and a birth of another universe - whether outer or inner –
occurring through both necessity and chance
not with a whimper, but with a bang.

All is text, or the text’s shadow, says Postmodernism, completing the Christian revolution, which gave flesh to words. By making a full circle and hypertrophying the process enabled in Christianity, it subtracts flesh from flesh, turning it into words, abstract shapes and numbers.
All is text, says Postmodernism, but the Book is lost, and God is dead (or is he sleeping?)
What is real then?
A possible answer: a pearl-bead game.
And a starry night stretching above the Player’s head.