Prelude to 'Pseudoreality Prevails'

With the problem of 5G out of the way, the IEEE turned to their next problem: solving the problems of chronology.

"Look," said one chair, who was a simple wooden chair, in fact: "January, February, and March are really confusing. Does 3/2 mean March 2 or February 3? How is anyone to know?"

"Yes," replied the chair across from him, the red La-Z-Boy: "I can never keep it straight. What do you propose?"

"The following scheme was more-or-less used two-hundred-and-fifty years ago, and it failed, so let's try it again. Each year will have ten months, and each month will have one hundred days."

"That means a thousand days a year!" interrupted the bar stool.

"Yes, there will be up to three winters a year. But what of it? The scheme will not interrupt the passage of time; rather, it will become easier to notate."

"Yes," mused an Adirondack: "Four digits for year, three for day, two for month."

"Which could be reduced to four-two-one if we included day zero and month zero."

The simple wooden chair had overplayed her hand. Too radical! Too outré! However, the zaisu, the chesterfield, and the potty chair promoted it to the next session.

 

*

 

Brushes with Greatness 1

 

Sat down at the dirty table with the heavy stolen book in hands. Looked around guiltily, fearing someone had seen or followed. The coast looked clear. With the smell of old socks rising around, cracked open the purloined volume.

Just then, Peter Armstrong came into the room. Armstrong had all kind of interview equipment with him. He asked: "Can I set up here? This is the perfect place for an interview."

"A dorm-room?" said.

He didn't reply. Went into the bathroom to clean up a little bit, just in case it wanted to be used. While in there, heard the Great Man himself arrive. No-one else had that voice. Book was still on the table so had to go out and sit down, right beside the Great Man himself.

Ignored him, and proceeded to slowly tear out the page with the bookplate on it. Kept head down as Armstrong outlined to the Great Man the subjects to be covered in the interview.

While the crew was calibrating its equipment, the Great Man noticed the book. He said: "Good guy, that Picasso. He was a funny guy."

Closed the book. Said: "I like him too." Crept away.

 

*

 

Found the perfect house, with two floors, four bedrooms, two-and-a-half baths, a parlour, and a dining room, on a stone in the river. Carried the house to an empty parcel of land, knowing no-one could stop. There, on the porch (for of course there was a porch), waited for you to come wandering by, by chance.

Toward evening of the sixth day of vigil, saw you approaching. You'd never seen such a house. Invited you in, and you looked around. You said: "It's a very nice house--but there's no furniture."

Let you leave, promising tomorrow would find some nice furniture.

Wandered down the stream in which had found the house, and lo and behold, on little rocks, found two beds (in case you were shy), and tables, and chairs, and a grand chesterfield with plenty of room. Carried them all back to the house, and put everything in what thought to be the places for them. Then you arrived, and said: "Now it's nice."

Stayed there, now two, and went to the river every once in a while when there was something wanted. Some time later had a child, then another, and another. And lived there happily ever after.

 

*

 

"So, Bartleby," said the videophone: "The lockdown is over! So, let bygones be bygones, and stop picking at that wound about how your civil rights were trampled upon by the State! And stop with all the questions about how they profited from it all! It is now your duty to suddenly resume living, re-integrate yourself into society, undo the gargantuan psychological damage that has been inflicted upon you, and perhaps even touch a human being! The powers-that-be can't possibly repair all the damage they've done--don't expect any apologies!--and so you'll simply have to carry on as if you're not being used and abused. So, head out to a restaurant if you can find one! Shop til you drop at your favourite store if it still exists! Visit the relatives who haven't killed themselves! If you give yourself a running start, it'll be easy to jump on that carousel again, trust me. You learned to walk and talk before, so there's no reason you can't learn it all again, am I right? Of course, you have to keep in mind that the state will not accept any responsibility, nor do they promise to never abuse you again. Bartleby? Bartleby?"

 

*

 

CONFESSION

 

Sure, am drunk. But that doesn't change anything! It was years ago, agreed, but it has never been recorded.

In that high school auditorium, which was a big auditorium, some 748 seats, discovered could through the catwalks two storeys above the orchestra get to the high school's central boiler room. (Had to crawl through a small aluminum passageway to get there.) Would go from there across the hall to the home economics room, wherein would feast on the stale mini marshmallows in the refrigerators, then would escape the way came, through the aluminum passageway. And no-one was any the wiser.

Sure, am drunk. It was pure and simple theft. Don't think can be prosecuted, through, since everyone who would have any interest in it is probably dead by now.

Another confession! Going out to ... don't remember his name. Kelly MacLennan's boyfriend at the time. In that hallway, passionately kissed Kelly one Sunday afternoon. Had gotten frisky, there, in the hallway, and kissed.

(In any case, as heard later, she only went with him because he had a car.)

Took marshmallows, and kissed a girl whom shouldn't have. That's all have to confess this evening. Plenty more is due.

 

*

 

"Why did I go? What for? I could have thrown the notification in the trash, but I didn't; I stared at it for a long time before deciding to go. But: Why go, you may ask? Simply put, I knew I didn't deserve an award for Librarian of the Year, and I wanted to see the process in action.

"I took a train there. Some pamphlets had come with the notification, for appropriate hotels and restaurants in the area. I should have looked at a map before booking a room at the Eastside Holiday Inn, but I didn't. I figured: How big can Columbus be?

"There was a long line at their reception desk, which I figured meant I'd come to the right place. No-one looked inappropriate; everyone was meek and quiet, freshly-bathed, and with not a hair out of place.

"I sat alone during the awards ceremony, which was held not far away from the Eastside Holiday Inn, at a dance-club. For hours I waited to hear my name announced. Then the emcee said: 'Well, thanks to all of you for coming out. Now we can have some music, and dance.'

"I got no award. I'd gone wrong somewhere."

 

*

 

What did you do next, didn't you expect to get caught, where did I put the screwdriver, who left the door open, what is the air, how many colours in the rainbow, when's the next train due, how many angels can dance on the head of a pin, why is there something instead of nothing, what's for supper, why can't you clean up more often, how fast can you type, what are your qualifications for the position, do you come here often, why can you be more like her, are we there yet, what's the square root of two, what's the capital of Bulgaria, how do you know, what, who said that, was it Spinoza, how much for a coffee, do you want to fill that cavity now or do you want to make an appointment, where does the time go, can't we all just get along, why does water flow downhill, can't you tell, does this colour become me, what are you wearing right now, what's your sign, have you ever seen Spellbound, are you under the care of a psychiatrist, would you like another round, what does she see in him, doesn't it feel like we're standing still????????????????????????????????????

 

*

 

"They were some crazy days back then," the old man said as he stirred a stick in the campfire. "Boy, when I joined up, I was looking for adventure, and howdy was it ever adventure I got. Somehow, don't know who, got us all the way down to East Texas, and whoever it was said to us: 'Take everything you can.' We all waved our hats in the air and got right down to it. We'd come across some settlement, and we'd destroy it. Burning it to the ground, murdering, raping, what have you. We'd take whatever could be sold and barter it back, quietly, of course, crookedly to D.C. We got systematic about it, with a map in grids. Up and down, north to south and east to west, we cleared out that whole area. Sometimes we'd skirmish with some dog-faced pony soldiers from the so-called 'military', but they were no match for us, with our blood-smeared faces and our hair sometimes on fire. I'm telling you, it was the greatest of adventures."

Asked: "So, who were the folks you got rid of?"

His elbow needled ribs as he said: "Never stopped to ask. Wouldn't have mattered anyway."

 

*

 

Colonizer

 

He showed up out of nowhere, when was eleven or twelve. He hopped, he jumped, he had a mind of his own. Must be alone in this, because no-one has seemed to mention it. How could such a small force take over such a large area? Don't know. It has led into some shady places, places so shady am ashamed to mention them. Dark places, with loud music, and naked women, and expensive drinks. Light places, public parks in late spring, when the coats and jackets are finally off, and everything's bare arms and legs. He doesn't let alone even in the middle of the night. He makes dreams; maybe he makes all the dreams. Also: it's like the guy has a sense of smell, always aiming for the sweetest flowers, juiced with scent. Places been, things seen: sometimes he comes down, tired-like, control-lost, when can have a moment to think about what he's made do, against will. He's violating ten or twenty times a day. Always bossy, always demanding, always distracting, always troublesome, always there there there. And all the time, whenever questioned, he comes back with the same riposte:

"I was here first! I was here first!"

 

*

 

"This one is going to be the big break-through."

"Probably. You've struck out so many, many times before."

"It not something high-falutin', with weird spellings of anything like that."

"Yeah, that was all a pretty stupid idea."

"Plus, it's going to be very reader-friendly. Something that wouldn't have been out-of-place in the New Yorker in 1970."

"Sounds terribly avant-garde."

"That's exactly what I'm going for. It will be an imaginative tale, and it'll take a little work from the reader."

"Oh, see, you may be going wrong there."

"What?"

"Maybe you should stop messing with people's heads."

"And be like what?"

"I don't know.... Comfort food.... Like all those super-hero movies."

"Maybe you got something there. Maybe I could weave a super-hero into it."

"It would have to be an original creation, though."

"Why?"

"Because then the thing can be franchised, and you could net a bundle."

"Ah! Ah! Thanks for the tip! I can find room for a super-hero. The 'star' of the thing can be a super-hero. yes."

"The rest doesn't matter in the least. Donald Barthelme away with whatever it is you like. Do you have a good title?"

"'Pseudoreality Prevails.'"

"Uh...."

"I stole it from Musil."