S M A L L T A L K // [210711]

In the dream I was a bison fleeing from a wolf pack, turning back to lock horns with the alpha.

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I was an executive assistant at a small property consultancy, attending a business lunch with a former colleague.

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The race was just about to start when I woke up.

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There was a shower and sink on the landing at the top of the stairs, with no dividing wall.

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Although I held my own appearance, my memory wasn’t quite the same.

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The attic had blue walls with flecks of orange from the previous decoration and tired victorian furniture that I began packing with my clothes.

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It was colder in the waiting room than I expected.

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As I lifted the television up the stairs, the woman coming the opposite way struggled to carry too many bottles.

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Outside of the conference room before the interview, or somewhere thereabouts, I overheard an anecdote reach a humourous conclusion.

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We spoke in ways that we never usually would.

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I wasn’t aware it was a dream, but there was a distinctly lucid breeze wrapped around the sun soaked buildings. I wondered which city it was. 

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Was her name Parvati? She might have been an old school friend, but it was impossible to extrapolate the child I knew into the figure before me.

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It was the time when my counterpart and I manipulated the environment. I recall the benches were treated with a darker stain; my counterpart and I almost unrecognisable from our current selves, but historically accurate.

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An African province, constructed from dribs and drabs of second hand imagery. At least one species likely not native to the region. Lacking any olfactory knowledge, the mind is unsuccessful in emulating the smell of Africa.

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We were Oneironauts, subject to perpetual spacewalk.

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The melody was ever so slightly different – identical notation and timing with differences in accent. Those dancing to the offbeat were thrown into an unusual flail.

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An abrupt end to the conversation left us all stuck for something to say. Opening the door to the kitchen led to a different room entirely.

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Time remained linear, but my perception of it passing varied between faster and slower than normal. Communication proved to be impossible under both circumstances.

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I watched three women exposed to all possible iterations of their self and encouraged them to pick a favourite.

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Several of the culinary delights I had previously experienced were combined in ways that made them less appealing.

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The circumstances were predictable in every way, such that it was impossible to truly realise I was dreaming.

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During the interval of a seminar I was holding on differential geometry, I walked through a part of the institute I had never been through in the seventeen years I had been lecturing there.

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It was difficult to conclude that experiencing the dream as the opposite gender changed anything.

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You were all there, but I could not recreate you exactly as you are now. The various attempts at facsimile overlapped slightly and you shared the traits of each other.

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In the dream, it was indistinguishable from reality.

S M A L L T A L K // [110711]

in which the rules of engagement are laid out plainly via a conversational introduction to the author.

So, who are you?

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I am an artist.

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No, no, that’s not what I mean. I didn’t ask what you do, I asked who you are.

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Quite the opening gambit. Well, I am an Englishman.

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Your location, ethnicity and gender are pretty self-evident – after all, you are standing right beside me. But who are you, really?

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I am a customer service advisor; I work just over that bridge.

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Your profession suggests many things, but still does not answer my question. Who are you?

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You seem to be looking for a specific answer, which I am sure you will endeavor to return to me as a kind of shocking transcendental revelation. Needless to say, I do not have the means to satisfactorily give you an answer, nor the will to appease your transparent line of questioning.

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Why are the clever ones always so fucking hostile? Oh well, at least you’re not dull. I’ll try another question. Do you presume all the people you meet in cordoned-off outdoor smoking pens are trying to psychoanalyse you?

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Not as a rule, but they’re quite easy to spot. A penchant for unusual attire, bright wide eyes. A little playful hostility breeds fascination. So, if you’re not on a mission to unlock my inner strength, or convince me to join your small group of true believers, then who are you?

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I’m the total stranger sharing a cigarette and awkward conversation with you in a small, enclosed area.

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That is how you answer your own contrived, leading question? It doesn’t exactly give me a great deal to go on.

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If your purpose is simply to learn about my activities, ask me who I was, or ask me who I want to be.

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I see. Now we’re getting somewhere. So your grand revelation is that you ‘live in the moment’ and don’t let your past and future define you.. I bet you thrive on risks and extreme activities, never stopping once to consider anything. How’s that working out for you?

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I like you, you’ve got an interesting way of saying things, but how is all the deeply cynical moral superiority working out for you?

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What may appear to you as cynical is simply realistic. My anthropological conclusions are slightly more sophisticated than ‘live for the moment’ and they are working out for me just fine, thank you.

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Fair enough. I can’t say I’ve made many anthropological conclusions. So, with all that busy and fulfilling work at the call centre, how do you find the time to be an artist?

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I work to fulfill my creative goals. One must have the money to live. It is all merely a means to an end. In the future, I will be a successful artist and make a living through my painting.

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Do you have your work displayed anywhere? I’ve been to a few gallery shows recently, I might have seen some of your stuff.

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My work is not ready for that. When I feel I have reached a point where my work is ready for public scrutiny, I shall offer it for display – not a moment before. I would not presume to force my unfinished and haphazard ideas on a brutal audience. In any case, the process is more important than the result.

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That all sounds very sensible. So when do you expect it will be ready, when do you plan to ‘launch your attack?’

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When I am ready.

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When you’re ready to become an artist? What are you waiting for?

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I am already an artist, but the competitive nature of the creative industries means that unique approaches like my own have very little chance of being appreciated.

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Is this another of your anthropological conclusions? It appears that you have conceded defeat without the hassle of actually entering the competition. Can I roll you another cigarette, because you seem terrified of the world.

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I assure you I am not scared of anything. I’m standing here talking to a stranger in a smoking pen.

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It’s quite easy not to be scared when you actively resist participation. Why risk anything, when it’s safe to be anything you want in a cordoned-off pen?

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The pen protects the non-smokers from the smoke, not the other way around. Those in the pen are wrongfully stigmatised by a hostile world.

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You’re right. Let’s stay in the pen and protect everyone else from ourselves. So I ask you once more, who are you?

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I’m a man, sharing a cigarette with you in a small enclosed area.

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We’ve been in the pen for far too long. Are you coming?

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Yes. It’s about time I got back inside.

S M A L L T A L K // [150511]

Abridged conversational excerpt from "Successful Relations with Technical Persons, Vol. 5: Are They Broken?", Asimov, 1964

Can you fix it?

I can try, my darling.

Have you fixed it yet?

Not in the small series of moments since you drew it's broken state to my attention.

Why is it broken?

This conversation is playing no part in the malfunction, but is delaying any possible diagnosis.

Did you break it?

Frankly, I doubt that. It remains to be seen whether I further break it in the course of my investigation. This often proves necessary.

What does it do when it works?

Why, it functions within normal parameters!

When do you think it will be fixed?

It would be misleading for me to give you a time, as even on identification of the problem, there is uncertainty whether it is even resolvable, let alone within a reasonable timeframe. It is reasonable however, for me to tell you that it will be fixed at a near point in the future as that must happen.

Do you fix lots of things?

Compared to the average person, I probably fix slightly more things than I break.

Why do you fix things?

A conscious and unconscious longing for things to function correctly;
Because things are broken;
I am employed to this end.

Can you fix yourself?

I am only qualified to perform superficial maintenance on myself.

It is obvious to me this is broken. Why is that not obvious to you, with your cold, mechanical brain?

Your assumption of failure has been drawn without a strong understanding of the functionality. You cannot possibly conclude it is broken because you expect more than it is capable of.

What do you do when you're not fixing things?


Find ways to improve on their original design so they do not break as often;
Contemplate matters beyond understanding.

It is an unacceptable inconvenience that I must wait for you to fix this.

Imagine how inconvenient it would be if it were never fixed.

I don't understand why this needs to be so complicated, no wonder it is broken.

A simple solution is often reached through incredibly complex means.

I have a mobile electronic device in my pocket which is better than this electronic device I am looking at, which is broken.

Chances are your mobile electronic device was subsidised and cost five times the amount you paid for it to manufacture. This electronic device is mid range, ubiquitous and reasonably priced to allow for ease of replacement.

Is it fixed yet?

I fixed it not long after you asked 'what does it do when it works?' but have broken it again out of sheer petulance.

You're not normal.

101010111110000001101011111110101000000111111111101010101010101011111111010101010101010101111110101010101010101010101010111110101010101010101010111101010101000000010111010101000000001010101010101010111111111111101001010000000010101011111111111111

S M A L L T A L K // [110411]

With conversation formally initiated, the most basic of pleasantries are exchanged. However, both parties immediately percieve the distance between their vantage points to be unresolvable. Unsurprisingly, the subject and purpose of this discussion remain undefined for the duration.

Initial subjects include meteorology, arts and the social sciences, framed around current events. Both parties have the foresight to disguise their frustration in communicating with the other, as a result of which the conversation persists past the point where either are able to maintain this polite facade.

The former participant considers his or herself to hold a comparatively high degree of analytical depth and clarity in explanation. They have reached this conclusion with due consideration for their adversary, struggling to articulate the most basic of notions in terms suitable to have a significant impact on the course of this particular discussion.

The latter participant considers his or herself to hold a comparatively high degree of social awareness and focus of communication. They have reached this conclusion with due consideration for their adversary, struggling to articulate the most basic of notions in terms suitable to have a significant impact on the course of this particular discussion.

Unable to ignore the ideological fault line each has created between the other, the once pleasant conversation has devolved into an increasingly resonant feedback loop of antagonism.

The audibility of the discussion has become socially unacceptable and is drawing attention to the event, however there is no recourse for either party due to the anonymity of the environment. To compensate for this drastic change in level, recorded audio is added at high volume to ease the tension.

The music is not known to either participant and does not make a significant impact on the general attendance - however it does serve to immediately cease the heated exchange taking place.

The former participant is struck by a high level of syncopation and harmonic complexity within the piece, framed within a well developed and constantly surprising structure. Aggressive character assassination is replaced with sheer musical curiosity and aural delight.

The latter participant is rendered speechless by the overwhelming beauty of the song and finds themself powerless to remain stationary while subject to the constant double-time pulse and high presence/recurrence of bass frequencies.

As the conversation is coloured with music and sound, the participants redirect their frustration at the largely indifferent crowd. They find a shared solace in their comparatively high degree of appreciation for music.

They share a drink and a dance and the discussion ends with little fanfare or repercussion.

S M A L L T A L K // [050311]

Where are you going?
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Well, that's a complicated question. It's only possible to tell you where I've been, and let you extrapolate my probable course.
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Whatever mate. Where are you actually going?
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Everywhere and nowhere. You should have put the fare clock on years ago. But I'm not paying you. You've done nothing.
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Stop talking in riddles. I just want to know where to take you.
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I bid that you take me to town - post haste. As we speak, the possibilities that await me there are exploding in an infinite number of permutations.
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Do you always talk like this?
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Sir, my practicable grasp of the lexicon is not your concern. Drive on.
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I can't really afford to be taking you anywhere. I'm on the breadline. The constantly rising tax justified by ever increasing oil costs is making it impossible for me to do my job.
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My empathy is palpable, however I am sitting in an enormous car with, no doubt, terrible fuel efficiency. Could it be that your miles per gallon and some level of bad financial planning on your part are beginning to own you?
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Are you fucking taking the piss out of my car?
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Your car is metallic purple. It is widely accepted that purple things are often ridiculous.
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Listen mate, I am driving you to town, do I have to sit in my own car and take this abuse on it's behalf?
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You don't have to do anything. Every responsibility in your life is synthetic and largely of your own creation. However as I am paying you and we are locked in a moving vehicle, your choices are few. You must either continue an improbable one line back-and-forth with me, we can sit in silence, or you can stop the car and I will continue to town without you and your financially crippling level of brake horsepower.
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You have an answer for everything, don't you. Well, in your profound arrogance, I believe you have underestimated me.
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Estimations are by nature imperfect, I couldn't possibly reach a satisfactory conclusion in this amount of time. Needless to say, I certainly haven't offered a critique of your choices in vocabulary or for that matter accused you of the casual racism so prevalent in your industry.
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Are you calling me a racist, gay boy?
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Homophobia a worthy addendum as predicted.
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I guess someone like you didn't watch the match last night then, did you?
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I didn't, however I was saddened to hear Derek Llambias' passioned rebuttal to Kevin Keegan's outburst - It seems the only news is financial these days. I also hear that Pardew is thinking of John Arne Riise to replace Enrique at the back. Quite coincidental, as Enrique is more than likely going to Liverpool, which provided Riise with his only stint in the Premier League.
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I didn't expect you to know anything about football.
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Surely it is you and your purple car who have now underestimated me?
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I'm getting tired of this. You get into my cab, with all your stupid words - you insult me, and then expect me to drive you to town?
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I expect nothing more than for you to drive me to town. Intelligent conversation is, clearly, at a higher premium.
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For god's sake. I am perfectly capable of intelligent conversation, my career provides me alot of opportunities. However, I certainly don't feel the need to ram my intellectual superiority down your throat and have learned, through practice, to excercise brevity in conversation, which is far more than can be said for you, with your meaningless ideas contrived as half-hearted axioms.
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How elegantly you dismiss our differences, when they are nought but errors in communication.
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That will be £6.40, please mate.
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Let's call it £7. I hear the government's fucking the cabbies over. Bastards.