I have recently read a book about Chaos Theory, and whenever I read a science book such as this, I try to attempt stylistic experiments based on what I’ve learned. With set theory and the idea of redactive structures, I had attempted a self-referential sentence and paragraph. This time my model is the fractal, the self-similar structure that iterates its forms on many scales. These next five paragraphs are an attempt to create this structure. Try to read them and then I will explain my attempt:
Fractal Essay
The initial conditions of a complex environment are superbly sensitive to the least idiosyncrasy -- the gravity of a raindrop a continent away changes the weather of your hometown --, and so the development of a style of language from the moment of inspiration has as much to do with your lunch, and the last three words your wife said to you as it does the breath of memory's daughter, and that starting punch determines everything, the final shape of the equilibrium, down to the bend and tilt of its fractal structure, till the entire system is entrained in a redundancy of order. With such a stylistic initiation, our style can echo the forms of science, the equilibrium between observation and language impregnates literature, and in this case the fractals of chaos are echoed out in the sentences and clauses, essays and paragraphs, working like a fugue to flee again to the same redundancy. What starts peaceful, grows into a peaceful style, finds a balance in the wide web of possibility, slitters down to parts, and iterates the leit motif straight and center. What is fractal at inception sets the tone of the style, predicts the ending with the first phrase, breaks each part into a microcosm of the over all design, and repeats in new forms the initial idea in fresh and unexpected tropes and twists. Style imitates its initial conditions, the forms are derived from conceptual shapes, a bag of tricks from an abstract or invisible geometry, so that a man takes from the various forms he has understood the right corresponding example and cadence to balance his system, rebounding that formal structure to increase the fractal surface area of his system, making a hybrid style to the given concept, that repeats in the very layout of his clauses. A great novel, for instance, sets the tone in its first sentence, the style is derived from an overture of tone, a form built on form to set the flux into equilibrium, branching in chaotically smaller structures, till the entire system resonates with the micro redundancy of the overall drift. The initial inequality sets the pace and shadows a confusion, and the subsequent stylistic choices ache to resolve the initial imbalance, till a thing creates a navel point of pure balancing chi, not quite at the beginning, but still suggested into every single unit, the balancing mode of entraining each subsystem. The initial style of the fractal structure, infinitely nuanced and so nearly impossible to imitate by a mind conscious of only four stylistic forms apace, finds equilibrium in a personality style able to ken the subtly repetitive underflow, breaking by very etymological variance a style of fractalized dispersion, setting a vibrational resonance of a style of reading in the entrained fractal mind of any given reader. For the initial impression, the style in a glance, to entrain the reader, the writer must take a style of love at first sight, imitate the style of romance when a heart is set apace with a second, till the two lovers, reader and writing, both read and are written in a mirror and mutual contemplation of hypnotic style of beat for beat, so that like the sublime, the sentences take a character of suggestive fractal infinity, tying what is seen to step in cycle with the infinite, making the reader become in life a footnote to the book, living his life in the style of one who has put mind to mind with the master. The beginning alludes to the end, the style itself finds its full being in the first uttered unity, so that the balance, the evening out, the left foot followed by the right is initially implied at the beginning, yet a little atilt so that the initial imbalance immediately breaks into an infinite nuance of balancing acts, setting together a balance breath of initial inhale to final equal like the ever redundant breath.
Nothing arrests a man better than that first narrative boldness of a complete redacted salute, where the final figure is alluded from the very promise and contract of the initial personality of the author’s wink, so that whatever is lacking, like Zeus in his marriage, is balanced by a limitless entourage of lovers in stylized tropes, this against that, so that the process could be balanced with a little underthrust like a hundred overtones over a piano tone, a million, an infinite, so that all similar violins find their partner in balance in the style of that one entrapping soulmate of the first. Each introduction of an idea or term balances all introductions, every stylistic form in the author’s bag of tricks balances every other stylistic form from that same bag, the writing agrees with the reading agrees with the writer and with the reader, so that a keen reader could grab any sentence, even a word, and intuit the whole economy of infinite checks and balances, so the reader nods and nods as if looking into the friendly hypnosis of the writer before him. The very first word is infinite, balanced against itself, the very style balanced and self sufficient in the infinite style of Aristotle's autonomous nobleman, so that whether whim or ecstasy upset him, like jazz it will balance itself with the very overtones of an improv, and thus the balance, if opened up infinitely, would have a surface area to cover the whole city, and the man who reads the book enough times finds his whole life balanced and even put in sympathy to the book’s infinity. What starts off balanced keeps you in the suspensive pain of boredom, the author’s predictability is the stylistic clue that the reader is already too balanced and entrained to his world, the structure must be disrupted by entraining the reader to a surprising permutation, the initial yawn must contain a glimpse of the abyss of an open maw with the open maw within the open maw, so that the reader goes from agreeing too easily, to realizing he has gotten himself in over his head, and like one of Socrates’ interlocutors, finds his certainty to be inwardly unbalanced and in need of agreement with the seeming ignorance of Socratic wisdom.
It might surprise you to know there is an infinite structure in the simplicity of a literary clearing of the throat, the very style is already infinitely initiated by the unsaid glance of writer to reader, the equilibrium of infinite balance depends on the disruption of initial suggestion, the very first words are opened like an infinite origami, and even when the unfolding paper is set down, the life of the reader begins each project with that clever bit of infinity now at his own centermost. Perhaps the style of the parents’ love-making, the very energy of the orgasm and nature of the relationship to its infinite nuance, makes the style of the child, knits his very soul from the edge of the universe to its innermost moment, so that the child becomes the equilibrium of the parents’ balanced and unbalanced romance and contract, a thing whose borders are characterized by infinite complexity, so that from his every first step till his last move, the child is the style of his parents’ complex love, and the nuanced means of entrapping each other sets the beat of the child's destiny in life. The very word let there be is infinitely nuanced as the balance of the glorious ohm which created all to the mmm, the Motherverse hums from infinite to simplicity, to balance her knitting of the laws of being, for the very infinity of vocal disruption is balanced by the styles the universe and her people respond to her name, so that infinity balances infinity, godhead balances godhead, the entire universe is present in each atom, and the secrets of reality are in the pinch of corn balancing on your fork, so that suicide away from or growth into infinite complexity, will be balance her as she sets you to her step. From the first blink it is difficult to guess the nature of the infinite structure that is any living experience, but as each word of a book repeats in every new forms the writer’s style, a style which balances the style of his city, a fractal which balances the fractal of his country, of mankind, of nature, of the universe, so does each part sink into each part sink into each part sink, till you realize the final thing is in the mere nodding of your head as each infinite word makes you blink in agreement. The very first burst of the infinite word repeats in each sigh of your life, the style of your thousands of friendships keep you walking in line, a style you can't see is really in all you choose, so that with each friend you balance yourself against your other friends, and bring that internalization of that friend to interject it into each new friend, so that even if they are perfect strangers, they walk in step to each other, so that, really, the very way you talk to yourself is in terms of how your friends have set their minds to yours, they are in your thoughts and you in theirs, and how they view you is internalized to you, and how you view their view of you is internalized into them, and so on and so forth, until you are both overtones infinitely repeating from the same string of the violin.
I'll have you at my very first word, my style will tell you all I am, and what I am will be forever in your soul, so that with my first word you have balanced yourself against me, and forever balance your soul against mine, where I am in you, from the first moment I laid eyes on you, so that even the quark upon quark of our first handshake shakes us down the subs of our subs, and the first words I said to you will be the last words you remember of me when you pass on. My style you know from the first breath you hear, and have you like a punch of the tar babe, your heart cannot resist each word it lets into the intimacy of its own style, so they tandomly ride, and love me or hate me I will balance you and the cadence of your breath, if but a bit of my ways enter your heart, they will change its waves to the infinite down, and we will forever talk with the same accent. We're balanced, we're equal, the first word announced it, we are forever as one in the manner of our breath, so that just a flash of your face balances my style with these words, and balanced forever each new surprise we bring on each other, and the infinite nerves of our minds are connected, as if threads balanced us to each other, equal to equal, infinitely down, and together will be, by balance of word against word: I'm yours. The Trojans became Greeks with the first gift of the Greeks, man within beast, and beast within man, so that my gifts are my ownership forever to settle in your soul, and yours in mine, so that we style together a whole logos for the west, a balance of Pandora's gift on all mankind, with a balance of Greece's gift to the unGreek mankind, so that each of our narcissism is haunted by the Greek echo--or are we the echo of the Greeks?--so that the West is Greek, and the Western religion is Roman materialism, Lucretius the prophet, with a spirit within, and within that spirit more matter. That first gift to the west has caught us accepting bad things from beauty, and good things from ugliness in the figure of Socrates, we are forever after seeing ugliness in truth and badness in beauty, the style has caught us, we've learned our lesson: the West is Greek in style and manner, its great balance, reverberating to the Tao of the East, which lacks any inception myths, and balances our concern for beginning and ends, so that the West is the cross and the East the yin yang, and yet in each yin a cross, and in every cross a yin, so that west is eastern is western, forever, down to the pith, and we are all together as mankind, all glorious gods to be mankind, walking in step, in the ode to joy that is ever man, criminal and saint, walking in step, with words balanced forever balanced, breath for breath. Vivoce.
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This experiment was difficult for me to write, one of the hardest things I’ve written. The essay is broken into five paragraphs. Each paragraph is broken into five main sentences, each sentence is broken into five main clothes. The order of these fives is always the same, the general topic of each being:
1. Initial condition
2. Style imitating forms
3. equilibrium
4. fractal structure
5. entrainment
Entrainment, by the way, is mode locking, when two systems become locked in cycles, such as the fact that the moons rotation around its axis and around the earth keep the “face” always towards us.
So in this essay, the first paragraph emphasized initial conditions, the first sentence of each paragraph emphasized initial conditions, and the first clause of every sentence emphasized initial conditions; the second paragraph emphasized style imitating forms, as did the second sentence of each paragraph and the second clause of each sentence.
As I said, this was a challenge to write! But it has inspired me to create a new structure for my upcoming young adult novel: the Emilegends, which I am writing for my second daughter.
Take care, Caretakers,
Daniel Christopher june
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