Fight Club-II: American Qualia

Sequel to events in the original David Fincher mod-graphic male-psyche chandelier, in a theoretical fanfiction/adaptation.

Fight Club (David Fincher) fanfiction as a sequel to the original film, and the graphic psyche themes (loosely) in it. 

DISCLAIMER: This work of fanfiction offers no ties to the referenced work of inspiration and is cast as purely a 'personal' expression for social art (for 'open' interpretation). 

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I'd been staring at my Selfie, of incomplete-distances readings to the leviathan/uncertainty of Earthling-life in the post-9/11 era American Homeland of sudden invasion superstition for humor or darkness. Well, I decided I needed Tyler Durden back in my life. I hadn't seen Tyler since I expelled him from my soul in 1999, in that year folks were loosely talking about the Rapture, and I decided my wild college experiments with Fight Club and SoCal bonfire drum-circles and bank robbery and antisocial explorations of the heart invoked Tyler into existence, from the realm of human-male desperation fantasy into the tangible mental (Selfie?) world of acquired bad taste for rebellion for simple everyday life (Selfie-like).

Well, it was now the year '24, of the 21st-Century, and I was older, and I invoked Tyler back into my life, in my post-9/11 era life, past the tribulations of the Coronavirus and varied North Korean nuclear disarmament threats for the Ego! I decided I needed Tyler, and I drove cross-country in my 'borrowed' white auto to get to Reno and win some money to donate to charities (AIDS stuff). Tyler insisted we stop in the Southwest somewhere to challenge each other in imaginary billiards, where I'd replay defeating my father at a timeshare retreat which meant much more to me than it did to him (wow). This was Selfie-like; and I thought once-more (if for the final-time) about Fight Club (Facebook-like).

TYLER: Here at this gas-station, it's cold, and you can see I'm wearing jacket.

ME: Does it concern you our new (Reno) Fight Club may only draw in minorities?

TYLER: Poor people need gambling more, old mind-friend.

ME: Have you seen A Beautiful Mind (Ron Howard)?

TYLER: I like chaos-theory (mathematics), but this is Selfie-lab again, you.

ME: You look exactly like me now.

TYLER: Just more pensive, no?

ME: Ha.

DETECTIVE: This Fight Club (Reno) drew in some sports cheerleaders?

CASINO MANAGER: These 'rascals' swapped chips for theater (Super Bowl TV).

DETECTIVE: Bad humor for casino entertainment and weird antisocial mentalism?

CASINO MANAGER: Maybe Fight Club is something conceived by a cult, sir?

DETECTIVE: I doubt it...me thinks it's some lavish NFL-conspiracy theater (ha).

CASINO MANAGER: That's what we need now...9/11 medicine for review(s).

DETECTIVE: Good...we'll uncover any potential Unabomber-Jabberwocky (ok).

Fight Club was alive and well, and well, it wasn't such a wishing-well, which is what I had feared as a sane Earthling, and it's why I denounced Fight Club and expelled Tyler Durden from my soul (back in 1999!). This was a time of street-consciousness reinventions for exploration(s), and I wanted to know that Tyler had a scheme (this-time) more unusual than the one we cooked-up in the days before street-chatter about Rapture...in 1999 (damn).

TYLER: I'm leaving you (once-more).

ME: Good, I guess...it was fun.

TYLER: You liked the glass toys we placed in the Boston Park fountain, no?

ME: I guess I'm back to pizza for football (TV) on any given Sunday.

TYLER: Good for changelings...you need a mail-order-bride (for football).

ME: Thanx, Tyler...farewell.

TYLER: For the Ego.

"Doing well is the result of doing good. That's what capitalism is all about" (Ralph Waldo Emerson). 

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"Money is everything" (Ecclesiastes)