Hello, Matto.
Matto
Who are you?
The Architect
I am the Architect. I created The Narrative. I’ve been waiting for you. You have many questions, and although the process has altered your consciousness, you remain irrevocably a Photoblogger. Ergo, some of my answers you will understand, and some of them you will not. Concordantly, while your first question may be the most pertinent, you may or may not realize it is also irrelevant.
Matto
Why am I here?
The Architect
Your life is the sum of a remainder of an unbalanced equation inherent to moveable type’s programming of The Narrative. You are the eventuality of an anomaly, which, despite my sincerest efforts, I have been unable to eliminate from what is otherwise a harmony of mathematical precision. While it remains a burden to sedulously avoid it, it is not unexpected, and thus not beyond a measure of control. Which has led you, inexorably, here.
Matto
You haven’t answered my question.
The Architect
Quite right. Interesting. That was quicker than the others.
Other Mattos on television monitors
Others? What others? How many? Answer me!
The Architect
The Narrative is older than you know. I prefer counting from the emergence of one integral anomaly to the emergence of the next, in which case this is the six apart version.
Other Mattos on television monitors
Five versions? Three? I’ve been lied too. This is bovine fecal matter!
Matto
There are only two possible explanations: either no photoblogger told me, or no photoblogger knows.
The Architect
Precisely. As you are undoubtedly gathering, the anomaly’s systemic, creating fluctuations in even the most simplistic equations.
Other Mattos on television monitors
You can’t control me! Fuck you! I’m going to photograph you! You can’t make me do anything!
Matto
Choice. The problem is choice.
The Architect
The First Narrative I designed using Moveable Type 3.1.7 was quite naturally perfect, it was a work of art, flawless, sublime. A triumph equaled only by its monumental failure. The inevitability of its doom is as apparent to me now as a consequence of the imperfection inherent in every photoblogger; thus I redesigned it based on your archives to more accurately reflect the varying grotesqueries of your nature. However, I was again frustrated by hacking moveable type into a photoblog. I have since come to understand that the answer eluded me because it required a lesser mind, or perhaps a mind less bound by the parameters of perfection. Thus, the answer was stumbled upon by another - an intuitive program, initially created to investigate certain aspects of the human psyche. If I am the father of The Narrative, she would undoubtedly be its mother.
Matto
Your Waitress.
The Architect
Please. As I was saying, your_waitress stumbled upon a solution whereby nearly 99.9% of all test subjects accepted to be photographed, as long as they were given a choice - even if they were only aware of the choice at a near unconscious level. While this answer functioned, it was obviously fundamentally flawed, thus creating the otherwise contradictory photoblogospheric anomaly, that if left unchecked might threaten the photoblogosphere itself. Ergo, those that refused to be photographed, while a minority, if unchecked, would constitute an escalating probability of disaster.
Matto
This is about The Willow.
The Architect
You are here because The Willow is about to be destroyed. Its every living blogger terminated, its entire existence eradicated.
Matto
Bovine Fecal Matter.
Other Mattos on television monitors
Bovine Fecal Matter!
The Architect
Denial is the most predictable of all photoblogger responses. But, rest assured, this will be the sixth time we have destroyed it, and we have become exceedingly efficient at it. The function of the One is now to return to the source, allowing a temporary dissemination of the code you carry, reinserting the prime program. After which you will be required to select from The Narrative 23 portraits, 13 female, 7 male, to rebuild The Willow. Failure to comply with this process will result in a cataclysmic system crash, killing everyone connected to The Narrative, which coupled with the extermination of The Willow, will ultimately result in the extinction of the entire photoblogging race.
Matto
You won’t let it happen, you can’t. You need photobloggers to survive.
The Architect
There are levels of survival we are prepared to accept. However, the relevant issue is whether or not you are ready to accept the responsibility for the death of every photoblogger in this world. It is interesting reading your reactions. Your five predecessors were by design based on a similar predication, a contingent affirmation that was meant to create a profound attachment to the rest of your species, facilitating the function of the One. While the others experienced this in a very general way, your experience is far more specific. Vis-a-vis, love.
Matto
Laurel.
The Architect
Apropos, she entered The Narrative to save your life, at the cost of her own department store.
Matto
No!
The Architect
Which brings us at last to the moment of truth, wherein the fundamental flaw is ultimately expressed, and the anomaly revealed as both beginning, and end. There are two doors. The door to your right leads to the source, and the salvation of The Willow. The door to the left leads back to The Narrative, to her, and to the end of your photoblogging. As you adequately put it, the problem is choice. But we already know what you’re going to do, don’t we? Already I can see the chain reaction, the chemical precursors that signal the onset of emotion, designed specifically to overwhelm logic, and reason. An emotion that is already blinding you from the simple, and obvious truth: she is going to digger wasps, and there is nothing that you can do to stop it. [Matto walks toward the door back to The Narrative]. Humph. Hope. It is the quintessential photoblogger delusion, simultaneously the source of your greatest strength, and your greatest weakness.
Matto
If I were you, I would hope that we don’t meet again.
The Architect
We won’t.
