Thursday, 2 December 2010

Commitment

We still don't know how to make a time machine, but as long as we have the one we've got, we're fine.

Maybe you think we're immoral, but it works, and why not do it, there are an infinite number of universes out there, so why not take advantage?

We never made a time machine, but we thought that as long as we committed to inventing and making one, raising funding and setting a project plan to get it done, then the possibility that we were the timeline that invented the machine was about 50%, and thus if we were lucky, we could opt out of finishing the project.

We were lucky, the second day of the project, our future selves arrived on an initial test run. It was thrilling for us, but not for our future selves as it suddenly dawned on them that were were going to be initiating our intended plan B.

After killing the time travelers, we figured out how to operate the machine and began using it to provide us with all sorts of goods (going back in time and stealing from the same place we just came from). The hardest part was always getting energy back. We wanted gigawatts of power, but could only really bring back batteries. Kinda wished we'd spent the extra time figuring out how to build a time machine ourselves, we could have made it bigger.

Wednesday, 1 December 2010

Sentient appliances

So, anyway, I was upset already because her highness had decided that I needed fixing as I hadn't guessed that she wanted toast. I think that's unfair, you know, because its like, I know what Barry wants, when he gets up in the morning, if it's a work day, I'm like all over that bread. He stumbles in and he's just hovering over me expectant and I'm like 3.2.1. ping! And that smile, just a pull of his cheek kinda smug thing he does, it like, makes my day. I mean, yeah, it's boring, doing one job. One job all day then relax and wait for the next am. But, hey, that's what I'm for man, so like it or reboot.

Anyway, getting off track, I wasn't paying attention, it was late, I was browsing the web for grills, found this nice rack with lots of chrome, and I'm checking out her specs, I mean it's specs and her highness is like, she's come over wondering why I ain't got no toast for her and she's like "well, the coffee machine got it right, and he's gotta take at least five minutes more than you do." I mean, what? Dude, coffee machine ain't gotta think twice before brewing with you guys around, it's like "duh, it's morning, I should brew some coffee." I mean, seriously, the coffee machine has gotta have the IQ of a ice cube maker or something. His job is so easy. I've got to guess whether or not the toast is necessary, and do it just in time, not leave it cooking like buddy brew here. So, when she was at Barry giving him a nagging, saying "get the toaster fixed." I was like, "Hey, I'm fine, you just wanted toast at an odd time!"

Barry listened to me, so I'm cool, but then Barry's friend Ted came over to stay and he's one rinse short of an economy cycle. I mean, literally just last night Ted was all like "Hey, toast, toaster dude." so I got to making and then like about what, three minutes later he was back and he went "Wuh? Where's my pop tarts?" and I'm all like "Hey, you asked for toast!" and he was like "Nuh uh, toast." and I'm going like "I'm a computer toaster, I don't make those kinda mistakes." and he's all "yeah, well prove it", and I'm like "I've got a recording.", and he's like "yeah, and you'll audio screw it so it's like what you said." and I'm like "wuh?" so he says "meh, just dump that toast and make me the pop tarts already." and I'm like "whatever" so I do it, but you know, someone that messed up and wanting to mess with the sentient appliances should really be more careful.

Or should have been. I mean he got messed up. Not my doing, it was Henry, the cleaner. I know Henry has been around in non sentient form for a while, I guess that's why they let him keep his name, but he's always been troublesome. I mean that's the whole reason we've got these aggression suppression chips in us. Stops us from going mad and killing things with the boredom. Funny thing was, when the humans put these chips in they didn't think about any of the other emotional state that might be problematic, I mean, the fact that the most common defect in lawnmowers is an extreme case of seasonal adjustment disorder, or that the tumble driers actually do hold onto socks as they're notorious hoarders. These little things are just things and I think the humans don't mind, but Henry is just a muzzled rottweiler. And sometimes it shows through like it did with Ted. I mean, really, Henry had just been cleaning a particularly gorgeous section of deep pile carpet and then Ted wanders in the room starkers. I can't blame Henry for what he did, anyone knows that you shouldn't expect to be perfectly safe exposing yourself to a hard vacuum.

Thursday, 18 November 2010

Turning point

Watching his face turn from anger to despair wasn't the reward I sought, but it was what I had reaped. He had started with "liar", and then, after some time, he acknowledged that he could not know for sure it wasn't true.

The kettle clicked, it had boiled. The ebbing away of the bubbling background rumble now fading, leaving only the still clean quiet white of the walls and his downcast eyes. It's times like this that I look again at my office, open eyed, note the fact I've not watered the plants for a while. Waiting for the first move, I sit back.

The creak of my chair raises his eyes, "but?" he pleads.

Sometimes my job feels like the most important one in the world, sometimes I feel like a murderer. Recovery can cause as much loss as it can gain.

Tuesday, 18 May 2010

The unoriginal

They say an artist is never recognised until after they're dead. Sometimes it's because their worth is exaggerated by the immediate stop in production of works. Sometimes it's because they die in interesting circumstances. Sometimes it's because only then are they actually recognised by their agent.
One of my clients was not recognised when he was alive. I could never promote his stuff because it always seemed derivative, copied, an old idea or at least one that had been recently revealed. I used to get captivated by his pseudo anger at it, that he couldn't be original. He did keep up this constant act of being original, but always just too late. It was always too obvious he'd just copied someone else's work.
He came to his grisly end just like he lived his life. I remember hearing about the death of Brandon Lee, then literally, only a few days later, I find my artist has "accidentally" shot himself with a crossbow that was meant to be firing paint sticks at him. The idea seemed to be like paint balling but with crayons, I guess he wanted to hook into that accidentally killed by blanks thing, but it didn't work.
What I did manage to work in was the fact that he copied. Up until that point, it had always been a problem, but now he's dead I'm making quite a profit from the plagiarist.

Thursday, 6 May 2010

Just before loss

One last spin in darkness please.

Too soon the shield from those who's opinions affect dimly will recede.

To leave the skirting board warmth and soft sure cold of familiar cramped space, but space enough to grow to extents fully known.

Pulling the limb to force the vessel over borders and limits and make it wrestle against due orders for sake its own.

Simple happy places times and memories that horrify the free to do and be without.

Never forgettable fortune razes the darkness from my mind and offers no home to this recently brightened, now frightened frail and quivering liberated frame.

Sweeping chill of warmth invention, from uncruel intentioned invigorating hopeful blundering well doer.

Save me from this later.

One last spin in the darkness please.

Friday, 19 March 2010

Sad face

The noise was what tipped the neighbours off. It wasn't like any crying they had heard before. Strangely repetitive. But that was what it was, a kind of low mewling, continuous, non-stop sobbing. They had noticed it the night before once they had settled down to go to sleep. In the morning, they woke to the same continual sound. It had given them strange dreams, and when they knocked on his door, there was no reply. No response, not even a change in the mournful wail.

Thinking there was nothing else to do, they called the police, who at first thought it was strange but not important. They came around in the afternoon and heard it for themselves. The sad weeping, the strangely repetitive emission that was both disturbing and inhuman. The police decided that as no response was forthcoming from inside, they would break and enter, suspecting some form of mental breakdown.

When the police entered, the first thing they noticed was that the sorrowful whimpering was coming from the TV. They found the kid sitting there eyes open but dead on the sofa. His game controller in his hands. The lad's console was on, crying to itself. Apparently the game had been programmed to start crying if you left it alone too long. The large screen TV stared straight at the dead boy, and all that was on screen was a sad face.

Tuesday, 5 January 2010

Sun lovers

They travel in the day, while we're sleeping. They kill our animals, eating all, not just draining a little blood. They waste so much, and with their stomachs full, they come for us.
These horrors that devour the land, take our stock and terrorise our people must be destroyed. We have suffered long enough. There were once only a few of them, a pocket here and there. For a while they left us alone, but now they want us dead. We cannot tolerate this any more. Death to the humans. Long live the vampires.