I am sitting at my desk before this liquid crystal writing machine, watching the geese as they traverse a patch of ice still clinging to the surface of Harris Creek. They walk as I would walk were I treading on thin ice. I wonder what would be the effect of removing the author from the play; no one off-stage, behind the scene.

Thomas Pynchon is as close to anonymous as an author could be. One is forced to read his books, as if he were them. What if we took it a step further, and erased the name? What if all the books were authorless and all the readers nameless?

Quinten Tarantino's Resevoir Dogs is an exploration of the violence of naming; the violence begins with the naming. The creation of the name precipitates the destruction of the name. But is it possible to read or write without naming? Is there any such thing as a non-violent story? Perhaps the corporate project, the ego project is the project of naming.