As is usual in these cases, a soothsayer was consulted.
“I find sitting and reading something through to the end to be a far heavier burden than in my youth. What must I do to regain this faculty?”
“I am a soothsayer, not a healer.”
“But surely being a soothsayer, wise in the world's ways and long in years, you have seen the cause of this before.”
“It is ever the same. The problem is you.”
“Look, I paid you five drachma, and in return you tell me something I already know?”
“Fair enough,” said the soothsayer. He closed his eyes, threw a pinch of incense into the flaming bowl, and began to intone:
Lo, there was a time upon the earth when a group of the literate decided to harness text to computation. And they wove strange narratives, and sent them out to the world on small wires. And it seemed as if the stories had shattered along the journey. But these ergodics had accounted for this from the beginning, and had foretold of this from tomes of yore.
And they sang of hypertext; and they sang of narrative; and they sang of complexity.
This is an account of the hyperverses they left in their wake.