I (sometimes) call myself Mr. Pondersome. I'm a rather wordy, weirdy person. I say hullo a lot. I write a lot more. While you're here, why not give some of it a read?

Wednesday, 26 June 2013

LINKS AND BREAKS (a.k.a. An Over Analytical Mind Speaks Out)

Why? What are you thinking of when you do that? Pull out the chair like that? I see you're sitting down, I suppose it's because you're tired. Tired and conditioned. Not that social conditioning is necessarily a bad thing, we're all vulnerable to it, guilty of it. It's a poison in the sky.

            But why? Why is that? Why did I pick that particular metaphor? Now I'm wondering about poison, how it floats in the air sometimes. Contagion. I like etymology but I've only just picked it up. It...stimulates me. I'll have a go anyway.

            Contagion: sounds like contain, like containing everyone, everything. I hear age in there too so I'm guessing that means it lasts a spell. And gion - John? Join? Brings us together. In the sickness.

            This is fun, this works. Let's do condition too. Con - problem. Dish - container. Contain again, meaning everyone. Tion. A corruption of 'gion' or maybe the purest form of the word? Either way, it means all together again.

            I'll stop now. Stop. The word ends itself. Plosive, right? I remember that. I love that.

            You see, things get smaller and smaller. And smaller and smaller. First I trim for fun then I cut out of pure curiosity and then I'm just hacking away. Hacking like mad, slashing, sculpting. I get so close but then I cross my eyes too much and realise how far down I've gotten. I pull away because I'm scared. I'm only a child.

            But like a child I can't stay away for very long. There are questions that need to be investigated, questions so tiny they're dots in the dark. Yes, that's halfway decent. They're pin pricks. No wait, they're dots. You can't say much about a dot.

            I try to speak but not too much. Too much thinking sets the ball off. Not a ball, a big rolling splodge that goes all over the place, then straight down. It trickles down. Tricky down.

            Who decides what a trick is? How do you know? Is it anything but the truth? Can people be tricks? I've always pursued this. Tricks. Try. Icks.  Trying for icks and other sounds. Hurt sounds. Tricky sounds.

            Now why did you just do that? You folded your arms. What is it like to have arms to fold? Legs to cross? I have arms, I have legs, I cross and I fold but what about you? Enjoy it? Don't take it personally, all things baffle me. My eyes, my brain baffle me most. They show me links and breaks and they themselves are just links and breaks.

            The universe lunges at me. I shrink and shrink and shrink again because nothing can cover me, not if I consider it. Instead I think of the words.

            Baffle. Bafflement. Baf into bath. Fle into full. Ment into meant into meaning. The bath is filled with meaning. The container.

Monday, 10 June 2013

TUTTE E CYBORG (a.k.a. I'm Bound to Have Got the Italian Wrong. And/Or the Science. Be Kind.)

THE product recall details hit Rome days after the meltdowns started.

Over eight billion Braccio models had already been shipped and distributed all across Italy before the initial bug reports had even been properly processed. Damian Montague made the majority of the obligatory company phone calls himself, specifying that eighteen corporate heads would soon roll.

Whilst he was waiting to be put through to the numerous appropriate channels, the Braccio models had already been activated and were in use. The latest in prosthetic technology, all that was needed to operate the machine was a living human brain.

Users of the technology started experiencing faults on Tuesday 23rd April at 11am exactly. This included mysterious clicking noises and an overwhelming compulsion to cough. By 1pm, users suffered overheating and involuntary fist clenching spasms. Complaints quickly flooded into the Braccio Production Headquarters in the south of Rome. Damian Montague was away from the office at this time, dealing with other contracts overseas.

Nevertheless the details were collated and sent through to the R&D department for immediate testing. By 3pm it was confirmed that the Braccio models were melting down due to two separate circuits that magnetically interfered with one another. They predicted that all activated models would meltdown within the next hour, burning users and perhaps even breaking their bones.

On hearing this, Montague devoted all company resources towards creating and distributing safety warnings. The sheer volume of warnings going out caused the entire company server to crash. The computers were back up and running an hour later but it was of course too late.

Four million shoulder blades received third degree burns and significant bruising. Forty thousand pelvic bones were shattered. Fourteen thousand brains were fatally burnt.

As soon as the details came through, Montague switched company focus towards sending apologies to politicians and condolences to grieving families. He fired half of his R&D staff shortly thereafter.

A week later, just under eight billion Braccio models were shipped back to Rome. Montague returned to his office and spent the following eight months dealing with lawsuits and various other legal proceedings. A candlelit vigil was held in what was once the Vatican on Monday 29th April. It was the first candlelit vigil held in 440 years.

Friday, 7 June 2013

JEAN PIAGET HAD A TUGBOAT (a.k.a. He Probably Didn't)

Jean Piaget had a tugboat and, on it, a thousand soggy blankets. His net was so exhausted it told him so.
'Jean,' it groaned, 'No more fishing. I'm tearing apart as it is.'
Piaget turned to the net. 'Who wears the hat?'
'You. You own it.'
'And who holds aloft the spectacles?'
'You just did, Jean.'
Piaget slid them back up his nose and gripped the wheel again. 'Thank you for your honesty. Would you like one toot or two?'
'Two.' the net said, flapping open.
'I agree,' Piaget muttered, 'There look to be mountains up ahead.'