Introduction: Lost in the Cabin Fog (and Maybe a Fever Dream)
What happens when reality unravels at 30,000 feet and you're not sure if you're dreaming, dying, or trying to reset the in-flight entertainment system? In Ry Book Suraski’s Decortication of an Airplane, the foundation becomes both setting and metaphor, a pressurized metal tube of postmodern collapse. Identity? MIA. Time? Delayed. Meaning? Checked but never arrived. Alongside Radiohead’s “There There” and “Pyramid Song,” this trio dives headfirst into the deep end of fragmentation, confusion, and the ironical failure of traditional narratives to explain, well, anything.
Super Thesis (now with extra legroom)
Through surreal imagery, scrambled timelines, and intertextual whiplash, these works double down on postmodernism’s favorite thesis: reality is a glitchy simulation, identity is a choose-your-own-adventure, and meaning is forever circling the runway.
1: The Plane That Forgot to Land (and Took Your Sanity with It)
“The fuselage became a scroll of unwritten theories.”“I can’t tell if I’m remembering or inventing—either way, I’ve misplaced the exit row.”
Suraski’s story throws narrative structure out the emergency hatch. Characters don’t just break the fourth wall, they forget the wall existed. There are no names, no places, and no clear timeline, only vibes and altitude. Events happen out of order (“altitude replaced chronology”) and logic politely exits stage left. It’s like reading an instruction manual for a dream, annotated by Kafka.
Classic postmodernism loves this chaos. Readers are plunged into uncertainty, unsure if they’re reading reality, metaphor, or just the fevered hallucinations of someone who mixed Ambien and airline peanuts. Enter Beowulf, yes, that Beowulf, with his line:
“Fate will unwind as it must.” (line 455)
Originally meant to flex stoic Viking vibes, here it sounds more like someone who’s accepted their Uber will never come. In Suraski’s disjointed universe, fate isn’t a guiding force, it’s a shrugging cosmic shrug. The Beowulfian “wyrd” becomes less divine destiny and more “guess we’ll die.”
2: The Sound of Fragmented Feeling (Now with Extra Reverb)
“Just ’cause you feel it / doesn’t mean it’s there.” – Radiohead, “There There”
“All my past and futures.” – Radiohead, “Pyramid Song”
Both songs could soundtrack a mental breakdown in an IKEA showroom, and we mean that in the best way. “There There” mashes up British children’s TV with existential dread (Boney King of Nowhere) in a genre-collage only postmodernism could love. Its lyric, “Just 'cause you feel it doesn’t mean it’s there”, screams emotional gaslighting, but make it poetic. Nothing is real; everything is suspect. Your emotions? Fakee.
“Pyramid Song” floats in a sea of temporal confusion. It skips structure like a broken record and folds time like an origami swan on shrooms. It blends Buddhist reincarnation with Egyptian afterlife myths, all wrapped in a lush, off tempo lullaby.
Cue Beowulf again:
“Behavior that's admired / is the path to power among people everywhere.” (lines 24–25)
Once the hero’s roadmap to glory, this line now feels like a critique of your average influencer’s TikTok strategy. In postmodernism, power=performance. Identity=curated. Reality=human based. Who decides what’s admirable? Apparently, the algorithm. Like Suraski’s passengers and Radiohead’s ghostly narrators, the self becomes a fragile echo chamber. Likes pending.
3: Identity in Annihilation and “Breathe Me” (Spoiler: It’s Melting)
Like Suraski’s passengers who forget who they are somewhere over Greenland, Annihilation and Sia’s “Breathe Me” unravel identity like a sweater caught on a nail. In Annihilation, characters literally and metaphorically dissolve into the environment. Part science fiction, part existential midlife crisis.
Sia, meanwhile, delivers an emotional sucker punch with “Breathe Me”, a song tailor made for crying in a bathtub or emotionally collapsing in the clurb. Its minimalist piano and aching vocals channel postmodern fragility: the self as shattered mirror, held together by Spotify playlists and sheer willpower.
Back to Beowulf again, flexing:
“So every elder and experienced councilman... supported my resolve… because all knew of my awesome strength.” (lines 415–418)
What once was heroic humility now reads like someone copy pasted their LinkedIn bio into a medieval group chat. “All knew” sounds less like destiny and more like curated branding. In today’s terms, Beowulf is the guy with 10,000 followers and a podcast about conquering your inner Grendel. The mythic hero becomes just another floating manifestation, like a passenger midair, a pop star mid breakdown, or a student mid semester.
Conclusion: Through the Exit Row (No Refunds, No Reality) Nutshell
Suraski’s spiraling prose, Radiohead’s beautiful confusion, and postmodern disco ball like Annihilation and “Breathe Me” don’t just question reality, they put it on hold, forget why they called, and leave it on read.
Golden Nugget: In postmodern art, clarity is optional. Embrace the glitch. If the seatbelt sign never turns off, maybe it’s not broken. Maybe we were never supposed to land.