Either/Or (no fish)

Don’t get lost. It may seem like a big ocean, but it is all water. Exactly the same. Every drop. Once you realize this you’ll never be lost again.  

We are to believe, so the story goes, that a man, a victorious hermit, became attached (for reasons unknown) (i.e. by fancy) to a certain escritoire which he saw in a shop, and he made it a point (from that moment forth) to see this escritoire whenever possible. Although it was quite out of his way, whenever possible, he would visit this desk.   

Although he had no use for it, he desired it. He made an offer (easily refused) for something less that what the desk was worth. This was his idea of fate – if he was intended to have the desk, perhaps the shopkeeper would sell it to him for much less than it is worth, because this desk was, somehow, he felt, meant for him.  

A roll-top antique. A fine desk. But something more. He was drawn to it. Time passes, he continues to visit the desk. He pays the full price. He takes it home. He hopes that this desk will act as a reminder of this strange, extravagant behavior. He has no need for this desk. He bought it from a desire. An extravagant desire for an unnecessary escritoire. 

It is important to note that all of the details -- the whole story of this man, the shopkeeper, the escritoire – are an invention. A cover up!  

Just wait, it goes deeper.  

Victor Eremita, as the story goes, bought this desk and brought it home and placed it in a prominent spot to remind him of his strange, extravagant behavior. And then one day he is to go on a trip. And he is always on time, but this particular time he falls asleep. He falls asleep and when the taxi arrives he is not ready, and being the type of man that is always ready this is a shocking embarrassment for him. So he hurries. His travel money is in the desk. In the drawer of the escritoire. But he has misplaced the key. He cannot find it. 

He is never late. He is in a rush. The reminder of his extravagant behavior. His money is in the drawer. He is never late. He must open the drawer.  

He gets a hatchet -- a hatchet! -- and the desk is assaulted. Split open. However – however -- the drawer does not give. Instead, something unexpected happens – a secret compartment. Delightful! A secret compartment is revealed containing papers. Letters. Essays. And unexpected discovery. A revelation. Treasure!  

He quickly puts the papers into a case – a pistol case. A pistol case! And he takes his “pistols” out to the country.  

(Such an in-depth cover story. The very best kind. The very best.) 

Out to the country he goes, and everyday his hosts suppose that he’s going off to practice shooting. (An impending duel, perhaps?) But he is reading the secret papers – which he deems to be authored by two parties: the papers of A and the papers of B. He deduces from the handwriting two separate authors, and furthermore he deduces an order to the letters of one of the authors – the “B” in this story – due to the fact that one letter presupposed the other.  

And why such a cover up? Can these papers possibly be so dangerous as to require such mysterious authorship. 

And he, Victor Eremita, call himself merely the editor of these papers. He claims to have found them in the desk, which he was mysteriously drawn to, in a secret compartment, which he discovered one day while hurriedly attacking his new desk with a hatchet, and he took the papers to the country in a pistol case and separated them into the papers of “A” and the papers of “B” (and there were, in fact, others of questionable authorship…)  

Of course, we must recall that this is all a cover story. All of these papers – the A, the B, and the questionable authorships included – were all written by Victor Eremita (which is not even his real name) and he invented it all: the desk, the hatchet, the pistol case, a secret drawer, the papers of A, the papers of B, and the others of questionable authorship.

He did not want to interfere. The ideas, he felt, should be considered without consideration for the man who put them to paper. Therefore: the necessity of a cover story. The ideas which follow this intricate scenario are not ideas which need be attached to any man. 

Don’t get lost. It may seem like a big ocean, but it is all water. Exactly the same. Every drop. Once you realize this you’ll never be lost again.  

Don’t breathe if you’re under water. You’re no fish. Don’t forget that! It’s good advice! Know thyself – you’re no fish. You may swim in the water, but you can’t breathe it, my friend. That is the truth. Breathe your own air. 

(If you’re still following, you’re doing well. This too is all part of the cover story.) 

You’re no fish. Don’t breathe the water. If you’ve ever known anyone who has drowned, this may seem heartless, but I say they should have known better. We’re no fish.