Wmason
09-16-2007, 01:02 PM
“I feel like a great big Indian guy with no brains.”
This is precisely how our hero felt, although his self classification is in fact imprecise, for his origins hail from Zambia. Nevertheless, in the strictly figurative sense he more or less felt like a great big Indian guy with no brains; of course that is not to say that Indians have no brains.
Betsy was his most loyal companion. Falling short of being a lover, she settled for a untimely platonic relationship, one which our hero felt added a dramatic spice to his life.
Mr Wilburt, the next door neighbour, sat on a stool outside of his apartment door, distributing apocalyptic literature in the form of brochures. He denied having any affiliation to a particular sect, although you may wish to know that he shopped regularly at a downtown kosher store.
On this particular day our hero, who goes by the name of Cyberface, had just exited his apartment, to be greeted by Mr. Wilburt, whose current activity had just been related.
Cyberface greeted his neighbour nonchalantly and then offered him a stick of gum, Mr. Wilburt refused and began to narrate a series of events which had left him averse to, as he called them, trifle snacks.
"I felt fat", he said, "I had just eaten a burger and fries, and it had been at a very late hour- something I frequently try to evade, but how then am I to deal with that most ignoble of bodily sensations, the feeling of being hungry and bloated at the same instance."
"I believe ignoble is the incorrect word", replied Cyberface, "and I would not call it a bodily sensation."
"Why on earth not?"
"A bodily sensation is felt by any of the 5 senses."
"And so you wish to say?"
"Hunger is a bodily state, not a sensation."
"But you do feel hungry, do you not?" Mr Wilburt, as is the case, grew wearisome of the discussion.
"Yes but it is by no means the result of touch, it is an internal state, an act of communication between different bodily parts, an intra-bodily network"
"In any case, do you wish to hear my story, or do you want us to forgo all that, and continue with this nonsense."
"No please do," Cyberface conceded gallantly with a stroke of his hand, but before his silence offered a chance for Mr wilburt to continue he added," I was merely pointing out a scientific fact".
At this Mr Wilburt turned his face away from his interlocutor," Be gone now" he said," you are not worthy of even listening to my story!"
"Mr Wilburt, I implore you with all that which is cordial and praiseworthy, I did not mean to offend you in any way, let us consider this altercation in the light of mutual understanding and self betterment for the both of us."
"Self betterment?" Mr Wilburt asked in astonishment. "Are you saying that I am a lowly ignorant man?"
"No," Cyberface said with all confidence, "Simply put, let us replace all our differences with niceties."
"You make it sound as if you are conceding to a child, leave me be." Mr Wilburt stated in conclusion.
Cyberface moved along the hallway, across the red carpet, and plastered walls. He entered the elevator and descended, as the doors opened, he was struck by a bright light in the lobby.
"Mr Cyberface how are you?" the door man screamed. He appeared to be a dark spectre of a suit, drowning in bright white light that enveloped everything.
"What on earth is happening here," cyberface asked screaming, for the sound of some sort of generator rose above the level of normal speech.
"They have installed a new cleaning bot, do not fret, you can pass through, you might feel a little tingle though." Cyberface passed through the white light, to the right he could see some people in the sofa, sitting and speaking in loud voices.
Outside the air was crisp and clear, trees stood as green waving sentries, and the gray buildings like old cryptic friends that smelt of antiques.
Betsy sat waiting for Cyberface at a bus station. She jumped up at his arrival and rushed to him. "What took you so long?"
"I was having a discussion with Mr Wilburt."
"Must you always tire the old man that way?"
"I am indeed fond of such debates, they are at best, fulfilling."
They caught the early bus that day, and there were a few strange characters sitting across from them. A cyborg named XIX, designed to speak in Latin, and behave as a Roman centurion would have done; it is most probable that he worked in tourism; Mary; a model who lived every minute of her life in a pallid spacey state, as if hypnotised; and Sir Positive, a man of excellent manners, and exuberant wit. He was the first to address our hero from across the aisle of the bus, where they sat facing each other, as the grey cityscape flew past.
"I do say dear sir, do you usually sit staring at bus passengers with such an alarming concentration, or are you hoping to make new friends?"
"I am neither sir, my eyes simply chanced upon your person as I sat here pondering something."
"And what might I ask where you pondering?"
"The nature of subterfuge, and the relation thereof to counterpoint."
"Do you mean musical counterpoint?"
"It is a type of subterfuge is it not?"
"How so?"
"Well you are interspersing two melodies into one, it is as if you were drawing something that appears to have perspective, something that cannot exist on a piece of paper, unless of course it was a subterfuge of the eye."
"Do you mean that counterpoint is the subterfuge of the ear?"
"No I mean to say that..."
All the while Mary listened attentively but then she began dancing the boogie woogie in the middle of the bus; this guaranteed the attention of everyone, more so than a discussion of counterpoint.
"Boogie woogie all night long!" she screamed.
The bus stopped suddenly, Mary continued dancing, everyone continued cheering. And so the plot device to this wonderful story made his grand entrance; Mr Wilburt, the man who has already made your acquaintance earlier in this narrative.
"Cyberface" he screamed, and then he raised his left hand above his head, it held one of his brochures.
Everyone shuddered as the bus began to float, almost immediately the city below appeared to be like a tiny colony of little black dots.
"You may wonder why the pressure has not destroyed you..." Mr Wilburt said
triumphantly. "It is only because we are outside of the space time continuum at the moment, we are in the state of PI, the waiting room of existence you may call it."
"What is the meaning of this?" cyberface shouted from the end of the bus.
Mr Wilburt approached the group of passengers and stood above Mary, who had been dancing the boogie woogie, now crouched next to a seat.
"Mary" he said, "why have you left me?"
"Oh wilburt you are mad, absolutely mad."
Sir Positive stood and prepared to make an allocution of sorts.
"I do say, though you may be a super villain and it is only natural for us to detest you, I should have never known about this waiting room of existence, had you not so abruptly made our acquaintance. "
"Thank you sir," Mr Wilburt said bowing, "Would you like to be my right hand man?"
"I am more than flattered, so flattered that I haply accept your generous offer. And what is it that you would like me to do?"
"Simple as always. I would like you to make an exposition of my actions, and words."
"Alright then I shall start now. "
“Everyone sat listening in awe. Fluffly clouds drifted lazily across the sky.” Sir positive began: "Mr Wilburt stood proud and bashful in front of his audience and began to speak his grandiose words:
" All shall hear me now!" shouted Mr Wilburt (excellent exposition Sir Positive)
"After thanking his most trusted advisor and henchman, Mr Wilburt strode up and down the aisle of the bus, making all behold the manifestation of his profound ponderings. "
"Cyberface," Mr Wilburt declared, " I have come for you! You can no longer stay in the land of PI, I shall send you to the fourth dimension, namely that of time, in which you will be an ethereal nothingness that is perceived in the mind of man as a string of fate.”
"What on earth are you saying?"
“I mean to say that I shall do such species of villainy upon you, in such wise, and with such utter abandon, that you shall all but fail to even comprehend the nature of my doing!"
Sir Positive began: "And so Mr Wilburt raised his two brochure filled hands to the thin air, and began to float within the floating bus. All men and women alike shuddered in terror at the spectacle of ingenuity before them."
'Floating within floating' thought Cyberface; and Zeno’s Eighth paradox came to his mind.
"You are not in motion!" cried Cyberface.
Sir positive and Mr Wilburt turned.
"How do you mean|?"
"If you float within a floating bus, your previous action would have to cancel out your succeeding one, because a body in motion acting upon itself in an inverse force is stationary, meaning to say that you are non existent weirdo."
Sir positive began: " Mr Wilburt hovered over the floor of the bus, and then slowly lowered himself to standing position, he remained silent for several minutes."
"Enough Sir positive," murmured Mr Wilburt.
He turned lurking to his right, and made his way to the front of the bus, where the driver sat sleeping with his face over the controls.
Mr Wilburt exited the bus and stepped onto a fluffy cloud. As the bus descended back to the ground, they saw him standing at the edge of the cloud muttering to himself something about Zeno.
They were on the ground now, the earth stretched before them, the rolling hills dribbled dew and ferns of green ever wood, the scents of the soil seeped through the windows and the rubbery tires screeched on the concrete river below.
This is precisely how our hero felt, although his self classification is in fact imprecise, for his origins hail from Zambia. Nevertheless, in the strictly figurative sense he more or less felt like a great big Indian guy with no brains; of course that is not to say that Indians have no brains.
Betsy was his most loyal companion. Falling short of being a lover, she settled for a untimely platonic relationship, one which our hero felt added a dramatic spice to his life.
Mr Wilburt, the next door neighbour, sat on a stool outside of his apartment door, distributing apocalyptic literature in the form of brochures. He denied having any affiliation to a particular sect, although you may wish to know that he shopped regularly at a downtown kosher store.
On this particular day our hero, who goes by the name of Cyberface, had just exited his apartment, to be greeted by Mr. Wilburt, whose current activity had just been related.
Cyberface greeted his neighbour nonchalantly and then offered him a stick of gum, Mr. Wilburt refused and began to narrate a series of events which had left him averse to, as he called them, trifle snacks.
"I felt fat", he said, "I had just eaten a burger and fries, and it had been at a very late hour- something I frequently try to evade, but how then am I to deal with that most ignoble of bodily sensations, the feeling of being hungry and bloated at the same instance."
"I believe ignoble is the incorrect word", replied Cyberface, "and I would not call it a bodily sensation."
"Why on earth not?"
"A bodily sensation is felt by any of the 5 senses."
"And so you wish to say?"
"Hunger is a bodily state, not a sensation."
"But you do feel hungry, do you not?" Mr Wilburt, as is the case, grew wearisome of the discussion.
"Yes but it is by no means the result of touch, it is an internal state, an act of communication between different bodily parts, an intra-bodily network"
"In any case, do you wish to hear my story, or do you want us to forgo all that, and continue with this nonsense."
"No please do," Cyberface conceded gallantly with a stroke of his hand, but before his silence offered a chance for Mr wilburt to continue he added," I was merely pointing out a scientific fact".
At this Mr Wilburt turned his face away from his interlocutor," Be gone now" he said," you are not worthy of even listening to my story!"
"Mr Wilburt, I implore you with all that which is cordial and praiseworthy, I did not mean to offend you in any way, let us consider this altercation in the light of mutual understanding and self betterment for the both of us."
"Self betterment?" Mr Wilburt asked in astonishment. "Are you saying that I am a lowly ignorant man?"
"No," Cyberface said with all confidence, "Simply put, let us replace all our differences with niceties."
"You make it sound as if you are conceding to a child, leave me be." Mr Wilburt stated in conclusion.
Cyberface moved along the hallway, across the red carpet, and plastered walls. He entered the elevator and descended, as the doors opened, he was struck by a bright light in the lobby.
"Mr Cyberface how are you?" the door man screamed. He appeared to be a dark spectre of a suit, drowning in bright white light that enveloped everything.
"What on earth is happening here," cyberface asked screaming, for the sound of some sort of generator rose above the level of normal speech.
"They have installed a new cleaning bot, do not fret, you can pass through, you might feel a little tingle though." Cyberface passed through the white light, to the right he could see some people in the sofa, sitting and speaking in loud voices.
Outside the air was crisp and clear, trees stood as green waving sentries, and the gray buildings like old cryptic friends that smelt of antiques.
Betsy sat waiting for Cyberface at a bus station. She jumped up at his arrival and rushed to him. "What took you so long?"
"I was having a discussion with Mr Wilburt."
"Must you always tire the old man that way?"
"I am indeed fond of such debates, they are at best, fulfilling."
They caught the early bus that day, and there were a few strange characters sitting across from them. A cyborg named XIX, designed to speak in Latin, and behave as a Roman centurion would have done; it is most probable that he worked in tourism; Mary; a model who lived every minute of her life in a pallid spacey state, as if hypnotised; and Sir Positive, a man of excellent manners, and exuberant wit. He was the first to address our hero from across the aisle of the bus, where they sat facing each other, as the grey cityscape flew past.
"I do say dear sir, do you usually sit staring at bus passengers with such an alarming concentration, or are you hoping to make new friends?"
"I am neither sir, my eyes simply chanced upon your person as I sat here pondering something."
"And what might I ask where you pondering?"
"The nature of subterfuge, and the relation thereof to counterpoint."
"Do you mean musical counterpoint?"
"It is a type of subterfuge is it not?"
"How so?"
"Well you are interspersing two melodies into one, it is as if you were drawing something that appears to have perspective, something that cannot exist on a piece of paper, unless of course it was a subterfuge of the eye."
"Do you mean that counterpoint is the subterfuge of the ear?"
"No I mean to say that..."
All the while Mary listened attentively but then she began dancing the boogie woogie in the middle of the bus; this guaranteed the attention of everyone, more so than a discussion of counterpoint.
"Boogie woogie all night long!" she screamed.
The bus stopped suddenly, Mary continued dancing, everyone continued cheering. And so the plot device to this wonderful story made his grand entrance; Mr Wilburt, the man who has already made your acquaintance earlier in this narrative.
"Cyberface" he screamed, and then he raised his left hand above his head, it held one of his brochures.
Everyone shuddered as the bus began to float, almost immediately the city below appeared to be like a tiny colony of little black dots.
"You may wonder why the pressure has not destroyed you..." Mr Wilburt said
triumphantly. "It is only because we are outside of the space time continuum at the moment, we are in the state of PI, the waiting room of existence you may call it."
"What is the meaning of this?" cyberface shouted from the end of the bus.
Mr Wilburt approached the group of passengers and stood above Mary, who had been dancing the boogie woogie, now crouched next to a seat.
"Mary" he said, "why have you left me?"
"Oh wilburt you are mad, absolutely mad."
Sir Positive stood and prepared to make an allocution of sorts.
"I do say, though you may be a super villain and it is only natural for us to detest you, I should have never known about this waiting room of existence, had you not so abruptly made our acquaintance. "
"Thank you sir," Mr Wilburt said bowing, "Would you like to be my right hand man?"
"I am more than flattered, so flattered that I haply accept your generous offer. And what is it that you would like me to do?"
"Simple as always. I would like you to make an exposition of my actions, and words."
"Alright then I shall start now. "
“Everyone sat listening in awe. Fluffly clouds drifted lazily across the sky.” Sir positive began: "Mr Wilburt stood proud and bashful in front of his audience and began to speak his grandiose words:
" All shall hear me now!" shouted Mr Wilburt (excellent exposition Sir Positive)
"After thanking his most trusted advisor and henchman, Mr Wilburt strode up and down the aisle of the bus, making all behold the manifestation of his profound ponderings. "
"Cyberface," Mr Wilburt declared, " I have come for you! You can no longer stay in the land of PI, I shall send you to the fourth dimension, namely that of time, in which you will be an ethereal nothingness that is perceived in the mind of man as a string of fate.”
"What on earth are you saying?"
“I mean to say that I shall do such species of villainy upon you, in such wise, and with such utter abandon, that you shall all but fail to even comprehend the nature of my doing!"
Sir Positive began: "And so Mr Wilburt raised his two brochure filled hands to the thin air, and began to float within the floating bus. All men and women alike shuddered in terror at the spectacle of ingenuity before them."
'Floating within floating' thought Cyberface; and Zeno’s Eighth paradox came to his mind.
"You are not in motion!" cried Cyberface.
Sir positive and Mr Wilburt turned.
"How do you mean|?"
"If you float within a floating bus, your previous action would have to cancel out your succeeding one, because a body in motion acting upon itself in an inverse force is stationary, meaning to say that you are non existent weirdo."
Sir positive began: " Mr Wilburt hovered over the floor of the bus, and then slowly lowered himself to standing position, he remained silent for several minutes."
"Enough Sir positive," murmured Mr Wilburt.
He turned lurking to his right, and made his way to the front of the bus, where the driver sat sleeping with his face over the controls.
Mr Wilburt exited the bus and stepped onto a fluffy cloud. As the bus descended back to the ground, they saw him standing at the edge of the cloud muttering to himself something about Zeno.
They were on the ground now, the earth stretched before them, the rolling hills dribbled dew and ferns of green ever wood, the scents of the soil seeped through the windows and the rubbery tires screeched on the concrete river below.