Howdy Hexagons, welcome to the sixty-eighth geometric proof of HACK. If you’ve made it this far, come satiate your appetite with my delicious fibbognocchi….
As always dear readers, my pattern tends toward editorializing for a few paragraphs until I finally get to the actual piece that is the title of this post. So feel free to skip down to the story. Unless you enjoy a healthy dose of someone else’s self-referential rantings, then by all means, continue to the next paragraph.
Well folks, I was recently called out on my saying yes to a writing assignment and then procrastinating to deadline. Fortunately, I work best under pressure. (Some may say that I only work under pressure.) I hacked out a nice little piece about a purple hexagon. Yep, that’s right. All the wonderful ideas in this head, all of them either unfinished thoughts or incomplete rough drafts. And the best I’ve got for you is a story about a purple hexagon.
Hell, I’m (apparently) the only one still writing on this blog. It’s The Crew? More like, It’s Just You! I used to have a deadline of every Wednesday. But today I can be The Man Who Was Thursday because like I said, all of my Crew-related crow-nies have flown the proverbial coop. See what I did just there? So I’ve been having a creative dilemma, or more of a co-creative dilemma. Sometimes I feel abandoned, like I’m the cause of my co-writers copping-out, and now I’m like the only remaining member of a band where all the others members have gone on to do solo projects.
“I’m gonna slip into this feeling like Han Solo.” –Mike Doughty
Sure, I could just ball the loop and leap on over to the other blog. But I won’t, for two very irrelevant reasons: 1) I’ve already paid for the website server storage until about March and the domain registry until next year. 2) Maybe someone will return to write some more. 3) Maybe I’ll just look for new interested writers. 4) Maybe I’ll just hold onto the Crew Concept forever, not even my original idea. I’d be OK with the one who gives it the ol’ two breaths and multiple compressions just to keep it beating. 5) Perhaps I’ll eventually let it go.
But actually, hasn’t it all been kind of a solo project in my head? Isn’t that the whole problem in the first place? Thus, these tired tangents that shoot straight through meta-concentric circles of spiritual procrastination. Well, if this the reality, then really nothing has changed. It’s still up to me to make the choice to keep doing it because I believe in it, because no one else has to believe in it and that should rarely, if ever, be the reason you do it in the first place.
Which brings me to this week’s bit of fiction. My friend is a graphic designer who is apparently obsessed with the aesthetics of fonts. He’s created his own font that is so super secret I’ve been afraid to even look at the attachment he sent me. So all I know and all I’m allowed to share is that this font is called Hex. By the time this piece is published, however, the actual Hex font will be out so I will go back and put a link to it right here.
The first thing that popped into my mind was ‘hex,’ short for ‘hexagon.’ And since rarely is anything I create actually original, Flatland naturally came to mind, mix in the synonyms hex = curse, plus a great ‘font’ pun, and thus we have a story about a personified purple hexagon with some polygonal personal problems. Damn I love self-reference.
This is a story of friendship, co-creation, and finding one’s place among the shape of this universe…
It’s Just You! (The Curse of Hex)
Hex was vexed from the very beginning. Not only was he just another polygon with a many-sided personality, he was a hexagon. He had too many sides, too many angles. Plus, someone had done this before. Someone had done everything before.
He knew the exact dimensions of his shape. He knew who he fit in with and who he didn’t fit in with, and he could see the future in predictable fractal patterns that disappeared into endless torpidity. He needed a place, a purpose, he needed to be part of something unique but something that everyone else was also co-creating. He wanted to fit into the pattern, man. So he bounded in jagged rotation, searching for the Original Orthagonal One.
Word had it that the Original Orthagonal One had left the Sacred Geomatrix that it itself had created, disgusted with all these sorry shapes and their stupid insistence on rigid forms and fits. In fact, the Original Orthagonal One didn’t even like them using his name. He had thought of it himself, so he considered every utterance to be plagiarism, even if they did acknowledge where The Name came from in their petty prayers. The Original Orthagonal One also wanted something new, something…novel.
So he created the Font of Wisdom.
The Font of Wisdom poured outward from the Original Orthagonal One’s infinite-sided infosphere, was filtered in a series of intertubes that mixed the sweet nectars of Serious God Knowledge and Trivial Geometric Lore. The sweet concoction was swallowed by the Universe in one giant gulp, and every living form experienced a Simultaneous Eternal Instant of formlessness. From the shapeless void emerged new patterns, and a new language.
But Hex was still a purple hexagon.
For one moment of despair he feared that all had been changed for the better but him, that he had somehow gotten lost, or overlooked. Then he spun around himself gazing far and wide until at last he found some familiar friends. They marveled and awed at the flushing flow of novel nectar that permeated the reality around them. In fact, they had become osmotic. They absorbed the nectar and the knowledge that came with it.
Thus, realizing all is One they all came closer together. They fit into their old patterns but stopped short before the fractal failures of before. They fit together and formed larger shapes made of themselves, novel forms that fit in a way that no one had ever seen before. The shapes became symbols and the symbols became letters and the letters became sentences and the sentences became a vibrant, living language.
The Original Orthagonal One looked down from his omnipotent ubiquity and laughed at the secret message his collectively conscious co-creations had concocted.
Towel Boy is always on your side, even if he comes from different angles.