Photo: Mark Seliger

Arse-Bot here. I’m sure all three of you that read Proletaria-Tron and mine’s weekly LOST Review’s are wondering where the hell it is this week. Well, frankly, since this week was essentially a repeat from a different POV, we couldn’t find the necessary motivation to write up a review for it (and to be honest, I haven’t even watched it yet…).

So, instead of our weekly LOST Review, Proletaria-Tron found an incredibly interesting essay written for Wired Magazine by Mr. JJ Abrams himself we’d like to share with you. You can check out the essay here, but if you need more convincing, here’s a small excerpt:

Mystery, obviously, is everywhere. Is there a God? Mystery. What about life after death? Mystery. Excuse me, what material is the ShamWow made of? Mystery. Stonehenge? Big Foot? Loch Ness? Mystery mystery mystery. McDonald’s Special Sauce? I don’t care how many bottles of Thousand Island Dressing you show me, it’s Special Sauce. Mystery.

And yet: For all that mystery, why does it feel like the world has been ripped open, all parts exposed? Why does so much seem absolutely and thoroughly demystified? These days we can leap, all of us, from a casual curiosity about anything to a sense of satisfying understanding. Instantly. Want to fold origami? There are more than 200,000 Google results on that subject available to you, now. Need to know the capital of Mauritania? A recipe for sticky buns? How to pick a bicycle lock? You could answer all these questions in less time than it will take you to finish reading this article (which, for a second time, I suggest you skip. Remember: You know how it ends, so why are you still here?).

What I’m getting at is hardly news to anyone: We’re smack dab in the middle of the Age of Immediacy.

True understanding (or skill or effort) has become bothersome—an unnecessary headache that impedes our ability to get on with our lives (and most likely skip to something else). Earning the endgame seems so yesterday, especially when we can know whatever we need to know whenever we need to know it.

People often ask me how Lost is going to end. I usually tell them to ask Damon Lindelof and Carlton Cuse, who run that series. But I always wonder, do they really want to know? And what if I did tell them? They might have an aha moment, but without context. Especially since the final episode is a year away. That is to say, the experience—the setup for a joke’s punch line, the buildup to a magic trick’s big flourish—is as much of a thrill as the result. There’s discovery to be made and wonder to be had on the journey that not only enrich the ending but in many ways define it.