Will you sign now? asks Océane Conscience.
No, says Gaius. I cannot approve of the time frame.
Very well, says Océane. That means your friends will be liable. Who holds the money?
What money? says Arthur.
I know you have it, says Océane. The entire Twenty Names Committee saw you collect it.
What a woman, thinks Pablo. Mind like a detective.
Just don't spend it, says Océane Conscience.
The very fast train passes through Saint Quentin.
Arthur and Pablo get up to go to the toilet.
Gaius feels compelled to make conversation.
What will you be doing in Paris? asks Gaius.
Pre climate talk meetings, says Océane.
Ah yes, the climate talks, says Gaius. Let us hope they will be productive. But PRE climate talks, did you say?
Yes, I'm meeting with various ecologists, says Océane, one of whom you may know.
Who? asks Gaius. Is it Xui Li? Or perhaps her best friend, Hui Zhong?
No, says Océane. It's a Swede. I'll give you another clue, if you can't guess him.
Yes, says Gaius. I have no idea. No, wait....no.... I haven't.
Océane scratches her chin, feels the yellow stickiness, scrapes it off with a finely sculpted finger nail, deposits it into her mouth delicately, and swallows it.
He is sometimes known as the Pliny of the North, she says. There's a clue for you.
Jumping Jiminy! says Gaius. Not Carl Linnaeus?
Carl Linnaeus, that's him.
What the dickens is HE doing at the climate talks? mutters Gaius.
Arthur and Pablo come back.
Pablo brushes past Océane as he sits down.
She undulates a little. But he notes that her chin is not sticky.
He thinks about offering her a Spanish fruit jelly. He would if he had one.
What's wrong, Gaius? You look perturbed, says Arthur.
No, not perturbed, says Gaius. I've just heard that an old acquaintance will be at the pre climate talks in Paris. I wonder if I could possibly get out of my........
Why not? says Arthur.
But who'll begin training the birds? asks Gaius.
He is already losing interest in training the birds.
We will, says Arthur.
Maybe just Arthur, says Pablo, testing the waters.
Oh no, says Océane. You have both signed the contract, and another member of the Twenty Names Committee will meet you at Paris Nord to continue your journey.
Pablo looks shocked.
Arthur looks hopeful.
The train approaches Compeigne.
Saturday, October 31, 2015
Friday, October 30, 2015
Don't Wipe Your Chin I Couldn't Take It
Océane stands up to take off her shimmering blue raincoat. It's warm on the train.
Underneath it, she wears a green dress, with white spots and creamy lace edgings.
She sits down, and takes a bottle out of her handbag. A yellow sports drink, electrolytic.
All the beautiful colours of the ocean. Pablo wonders how much more he can stand.
Arthur seems unaffected.
The Lion of Flanders, says Arthur. What was that about?
Oh, I don't know, says Océane, twisting the lid of her bottle.
Pwoosh. A few bubbles ooze out.
Yes you do, says Arthur.
All right, I do, says Océane. My famed ancestor Hendrik Conscience wrote this book about the victory of a Flemish peasant militia over French knights in 1302.
Merde! How boring. Arthur has no desire to hear more.
But Pablo wants her to keep talking. Her lips are wet, with a sheeny tint of yellow. A sticky drip rolls down her chin.
Was he French, or Flemish? asks Pablo.
His father was French, says Océane. His father was the under harbour master in Antwerp in 1811, when Antwerp was part of France. Hendrik Conscience wrote his story in Dutch, which his father thought vulgar.
Boring upon boring. Arthur is falling asleep.
He stretches both legs out. At which point Gaius wakes up.
Ah, Gaius, says Océane. I've been waiting for you to wake up.
Why is that? asks Gaius. Are we there yet?
We are just passing through Mons, says Océane. Please read this contract and sign it.
I have no intention of signing it, says Gaius. But I shall read it.
He reads it, and laughs.
I see Arthur and Pablo have signed it, says Gaius. And I think I know why.
Why? asks Arthur.
Because of this clause, says Gaius. There will be someone from the Twenty Names Committee accompanying the bird trainer or trainers at all times, until the period da-da-da........etcetera.
That wasn't there when I signed it, says Arthur.
I added it, says Océane.
What sort of lawyer does that? says Arthur.
My sort, says Océane Conscience, looking directly at Pablo.
No doubt you take after your heroic ancestor, says Pablo, who hasn't been following.
Not exactly, says Océane. His story was full of historical inaccuracies. I am meticulous.
Pablo is already composing a poem to her in his head.
To a Meticulous Woman On A Train
Don't wipe your chin
I couldn't take it.
The yellow liquid is drying
and when you say
I am meticulous
it cracks a little
and a tiny hair
escapes and starts waving
under my uncritical
gaze
(This is as far as he's got.)
Underneath it, she wears a green dress, with white spots and creamy lace edgings.
She sits down, and takes a bottle out of her handbag. A yellow sports drink, electrolytic.
All the beautiful colours of the ocean. Pablo wonders how much more he can stand.
Arthur seems unaffected.
The Lion of Flanders, says Arthur. What was that about?
Oh, I don't know, says Océane, twisting the lid of her bottle.
Pwoosh. A few bubbles ooze out.
Yes you do, says Arthur.
All right, I do, says Océane. My famed ancestor Hendrik Conscience wrote this book about the victory of a Flemish peasant militia over French knights in 1302.
Merde! How boring. Arthur has no desire to hear more.
But Pablo wants her to keep talking. Her lips are wet, with a sheeny tint of yellow. A sticky drip rolls down her chin.
Was he French, or Flemish? asks Pablo.
His father was French, says Océane. His father was the under harbour master in Antwerp in 1811, when Antwerp was part of France. Hendrik Conscience wrote his story in Dutch, which his father thought vulgar.
Boring upon boring. Arthur is falling asleep.
He stretches both legs out. At which point Gaius wakes up.
Ah, Gaius, says Océane. I've been waiting for you to wake up.
Why is that? asks Gaius. Are we there yet?
We are just passing through Mons, says Océane. Please read this contract and sign it.
I have no intention of signing it, says Gaius. But I shall read it.
He reads it, and laughs.
I see Arthur and Pablo have signed it, says Gaius. And I think I know why.
Why? asks Arthur.
Because of this clause, says Gaius. There will be someone from the Twenty Names Committee accompanying the bird trainer or trainers at all times, until the period da-da-da........etcetera.
That wasn't there when I signed it, says Arthur.
I added it, says Océane.
What sort of lawyer does that? says Arthur.
My sort, says Océane Conscience, looking directly at Pablo.
No doubt you take after your heroic ancestor, says Pablo, who hasn't been following.
Not exactly, says Océane. His story was full of historical inaccuracies. I am meticulous.
Pablo is already composing a poem to her in his head.
To a Meticulous Woman On A Train
Don't wipe your chin
I couldn't take it.
The yellow liquid is drying
and when you say
I am meticulous
it cracks a little
and a tiny hair
escapes and starts waving
under my uncritical
gaze
(This is as far as he's got.)
Thursday, October 29, 2015
Stuttering Uttering Conscience
Now what? says Pablo.
We go to the station, says Gaius, and catch a night train to Paris, before anyone else comes out.
Too late, says Arthur. Here comes another one.
Another young woman comes out.
She wears a shimmering blue raincoat; it's foggy tonight in Antwerp.
I'm glad to have caught you, says the young woman. The committee has sent me.
What is it? asks Gaius. We've a fast train to catch.
Then I shall walk along with you, says the young woman.
Are you on the Twenty Names list? asks Pablo.
He already knows that she is.
Yes, I am Océane Conscience, says the blue shimmering woman.
Conscience? says Gaius. I remember a Conscience. Yes....Hendrik Conscience.
The Lion of Flanders, says Océane. An ancestor of mine. A writer.
This impresses the poets.
Are you a writer? asks Arthur.
No, says Océane. You keep wheeling your bicycles, and I'll keep up with you. The station is near.
I suppose you're a spy, says Arthur.
Oh no, says Océane. A lawyer.
Fascinating, says Gaius. A lawyer. Has this to do with our contract?
It does, replies Océane Conscience. It is most lucky that I am also going to Paris, for the climate talks. I shall travel with you and on the way we shall finalise the contract.
You don't have any luggage, says Arthur.
No, I don't, says Océane. Everything I need is in my handbag, or on my smartphone.
In fact, she does have a large handbag, with a pair of blue tights hanging out.
They trundle to Antwerpen Centraale, where they buy tickets on the Thalys to Paris.
It's not that expensive. Gaius is a senior. Arthur and Pablo pay for 'least comfortable seats', Océane has some sort of railpass.
They are now on the train, relaxing in comfortable seating.
So, says Océane. At the end of five months, I believe you have promised the birds will be proficient in reciting the Twenty Name List.
No, no, says Gaius. It was vaguer than that.
A contract cannot be vague, says Océane. Shall we say five months and two days? Three, if that makes you happy?
Say what you like, says Arthur.
Yes, say what you like, echoes Pablo. He likes watching her lips move.
Océane starts to tap something out on her smartphone.
The dark countryside rolls by outside the fast train.
Ten minutes later:
Gaius is snoozing.
Arthur and Pablo are playing I Spy.
Finished, says Océane Conscience. You must all read it, before you sign.
Arthur skim reads it. Five months and three days, or their money back. That's never going to happen.
Pablo skim reads it. Océane has a nice turn of phrase. 'Or their money back'. And she seems to undulate gently, even when sitting......
They both sign the contract. How? With a pencil. On a smartphone, that is okay.
Now that just leaves Gaius.
But Gaius is sleeping. He jerks in his sleep. The jerk corresponds to the point in his dream where the bird stutters uttering CONSCIENCE.
We go to the station, says Gaius, and catch a night train to Paris, before anyone else comes out.
Too late, says Arthur. Here comes another one.
Another young woman comes out.
She wears a shimmering blue raincoat; it's foggy tonight in Antwerp.
I'm glad to have caught you, says the young woman. The committee has sent me.
What is it? asks Gaius. We've a fast train to catch.
Then I shall walk along with you, says the young woman.
Are you on the Twenty Names list? asks Pablo.
He already knows that she is.
Yes, I am Océane Conscience, says the blue shimmering woman.
Conscience? says Gaius. I remember a Conscience. Yes....Hendrik Conscience.
The Lion of Flanders, says Océane. An ancestor of mine. A writer.
This impresses the poets.
Are you a writer? asks Arthur.
No, says Océane. You keep wheeling your bicycles, and I'll keep up with you. The station is near.
I suppose you're a spy, says Arthur.
Oh no, says Océane. A lawyer.
Fascinating, says Gaius. A lawyer. Has this to do with our contract?
It does, replies Océane Conscience. It is most lucky that I am also going to Paris, for the climate talks. I shall travel with you and on the way we shall finalise the contract.
You don't have any luggage, says Arthur.
No, I don't, says Océane. Everything I need is in my handbag, or on my smartphone.
In fact, she does have a large handbag, with a pair of blue tights hanging out.
They trundle to Antwerpen Centraale, where they buy tickets on the Thalys to Paris.
It's not that expensive. Gaius is a senior. Arthur and Pablo pay for 'least comfortable seats', Océane has some sort of railpass.
They are now on the train, relaxing in comfortable seating.
So, says Océane. At the end of five months, I believe you have promised the birds will be proficient in reciting the Twenty Name List.
No, no, says Gaius. It was vaguer than that.
A contract cannot be vague, says Océane. Shall we say five months and two days? Three, if that makes you happy?
Say what you like, says Arthur.
Yes, say what you like, echoes Pablo. He likes watching her lips move.
Océane starts to tap something out on her smartphone.
The dark countryside rolls by outside the fast train.
Ten minutes later:
Gaius is snoozing.
Arthur and Pablo are playing I Spy.
Finished, says Océane Conscience. You must all read it, before you sign.
Arthur skim reads it. Five months and three days, or their money back. That's never going to happen.
Pablo skim reads it. Océane has a nice turn of phrase. 'Or their money back'. And she seems to undulate gently, even when sitting......
They both sign the contract. How? With a pencil. On a smartphone, that is okay.
Now that just leaves Gaius.
But Gaius is sleeping. He jerks in his sleep. The jerk corresponds to the point in his dream where the bird stutters uttering CONSCIENCE.
Wednesday, October 28, 2015
Quick To Whip
Outside da Kleine Hedoniste, very late in the evening:
Gaius: That went well.
Arthur: Yes, we now have four hundred euros.
Pablo: Instead of a debt for three hundred and seventy.
Gaius: Arthur can always be relied on in these matters. And I'm impressed with you Pablo. You play the guitar well. And you were quick to whip out your pencil.
Pablo: I am Spanish.
Gaius: Are the Spanish all quick with their pencils? You surprise me.
Pablo: No. We all play the guitar very well.
Gaius: Remarkable. And now we must be going. We don't want any of the people inside to come out and start asking questions.
Pablo: What sort of questions?
As if in answer to his question about what sort of questions, the red-cheeked young woman in the stiff cotton dress comes out of da Kleine Hedonist to ask a question.
Anaïs: One moment please!
Gaius: Yes?
Anaïs: Your list of names. We wish a copy.
Gaius: Whatever for?
Anaïs: Inside we have quickly formed a committee. Firstly, we wish to compare the list.
Arthur: What's the committee for?
Anaïs: To draw up a contract, stipulating a time frame and an agreed proof of completion of the task.
Gaius: Let me understand. The task of teaching birds to say your names?
Anaïs: Of course.
Gaius: One cannot impose a time frame on such things.
Pablo: Too true. The birds may find some names more difficult than others.
Arthur: Your name for example, AN-AY-EES, has three syllables and a complicated dipthong.
Anaïs: That's exactly why we need a contract. Where is your list?
Pablo (uncrumpling the list which was screwed up in his pocket): Here.
Gaius: Let me have it. I'll read them out, young lady, and you can tick them off: Robbe, Manon, Maxime, Jens, Océane (that's delightful!), Silke, Arnaud, Niels, Hanne, Anaïs (that's you), Amandine, Dries (how do you pronounce that?), Maarten, Femke, Stijn, Arno, Lore, Fien, Jorne, Luna. Twenty in all.
Anaïs: That seems to be in order. And the time frame?
Gaius: First I must return to Paris, then fly to Sydney, and catch the train to Blaxland, where my good friend Pastor Moon is holding the endangered birds at his home. By the time I get there they should have forgotten their native language. Then I begin my task of teaching them the cries for danger. Teaching them your names will then begin. I estimate five months at the earliest.
Anaïs: We had no idea it would take that long.
Gaius: That's the absolute earliest. It may take longer. Some of you have very funny names.
Anaïs: We do not. And proof of completion?
Arthur: Gaius will put it up on YouTube. We'll let you know when it's coming out.
Pablo: It'll probably go viral.
Arthur: Then you'll be famous. You and your committee.
Anaïs: Here are our details. We call ourselves the Twenty Person's Names Committee.
Pablo: That's descriptive.
Anaïs goes back inside. Laughter is heard, and glasses clinking.
Gaius: That went well.
Arthur: Yes, we now have four hundred euros.
Pablo: Instead of a debt for three hundred and seventy.
Gaius: Arthur can always be relied on in these matters. And I'm impressed with you Pablo. You play the guitar well. And you were quick to whip out your pencil.
Pablo: I am Spanish.
Gaius: Are the Spanish all quick with their pencils? You surprise me.
Pablo: No. We all play the guitar very well.
Gaius: Remarkable. And now we must be going. We don't want any of the people inside to come out and start asking questions.
Pablo: What sort of questions?
As if in answer to his question about what sort of questions, the red-cheeked young woman in the stiff cotton dress comes out of da Kleine Hedonist to ask a question.
Anaïs: One moment please!
Gaius: Yes?
Anaïs: Your list of names. We wish a copy.
Gaius: Whatever for?
Anaïs: Inside we have quickly formed a committee. Firstly, we wish to compare the list.
Arthur: What's the committee for?
Anaïs: To draw up a contract, stipulating a time frame and an agreed proof of completion of the task.
Gaius: Let me understand. The task of teaching birds to say your names?
Anaïs: Of course.
Gaius: One cannot impose a time frame on such things.
Pablo: Too true. The birds may find some names more difficult than others.
Arthur: Your name for example, AN-AY-EES, has three syllables and a complicated dipthong.
Anaïs: That's exactly why we need a contract. Where is your list?
Pablo (uncrumpling the list which was screwed up in his pocket): Here.
Gaius: Let me have it. I'll read them out, young lady, and you can tick them off: Robbe, Manon, Maxime, Jens, Océane (that's delightful!), Silke, Arnaud, Niels, Hanne, Anaïs (that's you), Amandine, Dries (how do you pronounce that?), Maarten, Femke, Stijn, Arno, Lore, Fien, Jorne, Luna. Twenty in all.
Anaïs: That seems to be in order. And the time frame?
Gaius: First I must return to Paris, then fly to Sydney, and catch the train to Blaxland, where my good friend Pastor Moon is holding the endangered birds at his home. By the time I get there they should have forgotten their native language. Then I begin my task of teaching them the cries for danger. Teaching them your names will then begin. I estimate five months at the earliest.
Anaïs: We had no idea it would take that long.
Gaius: That's the absolute earliest. It may take longer. Some of you have very funny names.
Anaïs: We do not. And proof of completion?
Arthur: Gaius will put it up on YouTube. We'll let you know when it's coming out.
Pablo: It'll probably go viral.
Arthur: Then you'll be famous. You and your committee.
Anaïs: Here are our details. We call ourselves the Twenty Person's Names Committee.
Pablo: That's descriptive.
Anaïs goes back inside. Laughter is heard, and glasses clinking.
Tuesday, October 27, 2015
Masterclass In Voices Of Danger
At da Kleine Hedonist, later that evening:
Word has got around that Arthur and Pablo are conducting a Masterclass.
In what, nobody knows.
Excitement is mounting. Drinks are being consumed. Men unbutton their loungy retro jackets. Women kick their heels off. Speculation abounds.
Will it be Poetry? Jazz? Or boxing?
Gaius steps up to the podium. Boo!
Come now, says Gaius. This is supposed to be a creative fish tank.
Swim off, says someone.
Heh-heh! laughs a group of lads who have brought their own sandwiches (as no food is served).
I am here to conduct a Masterclass, says Gaius. With the help of my young colleagues, Arthur Rimbaud and Pablo Neruda.
Arthur! Arthur! Pablo! Pablo! chant the afficionados.
My talk is about teaching birds a new language, says Gaius. You may wonder at the usefulness.
Yes! calls out someone. What is the usefulness?
(Gaius knows they are hooked now).
Pablo strikes up a chord on a Spanish guitar. Plong!!!! (He is Spanish)
Birds that have been raised in captivity, says Gaius, are at a disadvantage when released into the wild. They have not learned the language by which they warn one another of danger.
Wark! Wark! calls a wag with a sandwich.
Foreseeing danger, Arthur approaches the podium.
Now for the demonstration, says Arthur.
(Plonnnnngggg! Pablo reproduces his one Spanish chord)
I'll be the bird. Pablo will represent Danger, says Arthur.
Gaius is confused. What does he do?
You don't do anything, says Arthur. Watch me.
Arthur sits down at the feet of Pablo, who continues his repetitious plucking.
The crowd is on tenterhooks now.
Arthur speaks, in bird language:
Cawawaoogleeeeooowaeeoeeo!
Pablo (the Danger) stops playing.
The Danger stands up.
Schleeffoorhowwahspingelroohe! says the Danger, and leaps upon Arthur, who rolls up in a ball.
Now, says Pablo, you will see how this could have been different, if we spoke the same language.
Gaius is outraged.
No! The Danger never speaks the same language! That is not it at all! The victims must learn their own language.
Yes, yes! cry several Belgian beer drinkers. They must learn their own!
Would you pay money for that? asks Arthur, catching the zeitgeist.
No! cries a punter. Not money!
Unless...... trills a red-cheeked lady in a stiff cotton dress..... unless he would teach them our name!
Super! calls out her friend. Our own names! I'd pay money for that!
I'll make a list of names, says Pablo, taking out a pencil and notepad.
Gaius is impressed. A young man who can produce a pencil!
Soon Pablo has a list of twenty names, each person having paid Arthur twenty euros for the privilege.
But the Masterclass is not over.
Pablo gives them a poem, on the spur of the moment.
Ode to Danger:
I pluck the chord
And dig the holes
Now I can connect things
Otherwise it's not going to work.
When I finish I make a list
My pencil is smaller
But to get the job done, it's worthwhile.
A good ode. And relevant. Everyone likes it.
Word has got around that Arthur and Pablo are conducting a Masterclass.
In what, nobody knows.
Excitement is mounting. Drinks are being consumed. Men unbutton their loungy retro jackets. Women kick their heels off. Speculation abounds.
Will it be Poetry? Jazz? Or boxing?
Gaius steps up to the podium. Boo!
Come now, says Gaius. This is supposed to be a creative fish tank.
Swim off, says someone.
Heh-heh! laughs a group of lads who have brought their own sandwiches (as no food is served).
I am here to conduct a Masterclass, says Gaius. With the help of my young colleagues, Arthur Rimbaud and Pablo Neruda.
Arthur! Arthur! Pablo! Pablo! chant the afficionados.
My talk is about teaching birds a new language, says Gaius. You may wonder at the usefulness.
Yes! calls out someone. What is the usefulness?
(Gaius knows they are hooked now).
Pablo strikes up a chord on a Spanish guitar. Plong!!!! (He is Spanish)
Birds that have been raised in captivity, says Gaius, are at a disadvantage when released into the wild. They have not learned the language by which they warn one another of danger.
Wark! Wark! calls a wag with a sandwich.
Foreseeing danger, Arthur approaches the podium.
Now for the demonstration, says Arthur.
(Plonnnnngggg! Pablo reproduces his one Spanish chord)
I'll be the bird. Pablo will represent Danger, says Arthur.
Gaius is confused. What does he do?
You don't do anything, says Arthur. Watch me.
Arthur sits down at the feet of Pablo, who continues his repetitious plucking.
The crowd is on tenterhooks now.
Arthur speaks, in bird language:
Cawawaoogleeeeooowaeeoeeo!
Pablo (the Danger) stops playing.
The Danger stands up.
Schleeffoorhowwahspingelroohe! says the Danger, and leaps upon Arthur, who rolls up in a ball.
Now, says Pablo, you will see how this could have been different, if we spoke the same language.
Gaius is outraged.
No! The Danger never speaks the same language! That is not it at all! The victims must learn their own language.
Yes, yes! cry several Belgian beer drinkers. They must learn their own!
Would you pay money for that? asks Arthur, catching the zeitgeist.
No! cries a punter. Not money!
Unless...... trills a red-cheeked lady in a stiff cotton dress..... unless he would teach them our name!
Super! calls out her friend. Our own names! I'd pay money for that!
I'll make a list of names, says Pablo, taking out a pencil and notepad.
Gaius is impressed. A young man who can produce a pencil!
Soon Pablo has a list of twenty names, each person having paid Arthur twenty euros for the privilege.
But the Masterclass is not over.
Pablo gives them a poem, on the spur of the moment.
Ode to Danger:
I pluck the chord
And dig the holes
Now I can connect things
Otherwise it's not going to work.
When I finish I make a list
My pencil is smaller
But to get the job done, it's worthwhile.
A good ode. And relevant. Everyone likes it.
Monday, October 26, 2015
God Is Out Of The Machine
Inside the red box:
Mrs Bristlebird: What on earth do you mean, dear?
Mr Bristlebird: If only one of us were found alive, that would prove that the contents of the box, in this case us, were both alive and dead at the same time.
Mrs Bristlebird: I see, and that was Schrodinger's paradox?
Mr Bristlebird: Yes, it was supposed to seem ridiculous. His cat couldn't be alive and dead at the same time.
Mrs Bristlebird: But....there was only one cat.
Mr Bristlebird: True.
Mrs Bristlebird: So we're back where we started.
Outside the red box:
Sweezus: What do you think, Ray?
Ray: Very nice. I'll have my shirt back.
Unni: Dad, don't be so sour. Sweezus looks great. And look what it says on his top. Deus ex machina.
Ray: Hah!
Katherine: What's that Hah! for?
Ray: Did he pick it?
Unni: No I picked it. But he liked it.
Sweezus: What about the boardies?
Ray: Disgraceful. I was trying to ignore them.
Katherine: So am I. But they're starting to grow on me.
Unni: Let me take a photo, while they're still new.
Click. She takes a photo.
Katherine; Let me see it. Oh what a nice one. Send it to my phone.
Unni: Sure. Do you want it too, Sweezie?
Sweezus: Okay. I'll send it to Arthur. He'll be jealous.
It takes only a few seconds for the photo sending to happen.
In Antwerp:
Arthur is jealous.
Arthur: Look at this photo.
Pablo: Is that Sweezus? What does it say on his pants?
Arthur: Live Fast Die Last.
Pablo: I'm jealous. Are you jealous?
Arthur: Yes, I am.
Gaius: What's this about being jealous? Let me see. Ah, it's a photo of Sweezus. He looks better than he did in the last two.
Arthur: What last two?
Gaius: This one, and this one.
He shows Arthur and Pablo the photo of Sweezus smiling with the funnel web spider, and the one of him grimacing, with a Bristlebird perched on each shoulder.
Pablo: It looks like he has been having many crazy adventures!
Arthur: While we've been washed up at Kleine Hedoniste, making drunken poems with no substance.
Gaius: That's what I've been telling you. Are you ready to leave now?
Arthur: I am. Let's go.
Pablo: Me too. Let's get going.
The Manager: Not until you've paid the bill, boys.
Gaius: That should be no problem.
The Manager: Good. It's quite a large bill. I believe you have guaranteed it.
Gaius; Have I? How much is it?
The Manager: Three hundred and seventy euro.
Gaius: I'm not paying that.
The Manager: Then perhaps all three of you would like to put on a Masterclass for our party tonight, instead of paying? It's loungy-retro-jacket, especially-many-good-music night. Anything goes.
Gaius: All right.
Mrs Bristlebird: What on earth do you mean, dear?
Mr Bristlebird: If only one of us were found alive, that would prove that the contents of the box, in this case us, were both alive and dead at the same time.
Mrs Bristlebird: I see, and that was Schrodinger's paradox?
Mr Bristlebird: Yes, it was supposed to seem ridiculous. His cat couldn't be alive and dead at the same time.
Mrs Bristlebird: But....there was only one cat.
Mr Bristlebird: True.
Mrs Bristlebird: So we're back where we started.
Outside the red box:
Sweezus: What do you think, Ray?
Ray: Very nice. I'll have my shirt back.
Unni: Dad, don't be so sour. Sweezus looks great. And look what it says on his top. Deus ex machina.
Ray: Hah!
Katherine: What's that Hah! for?
Ray: Did he pick it?
Unni: No I picked it. But he liked it.
Sweezus: What about the boardies?
Ray: Disgraceful. I was trying to ignore them.
Katherine: So am I. But they're starting to grow on me.
Unni: Let me take a photo, while they're still new.
Click. She takes a photo.
Katherine; Let me see it. Oh what a nice one. Send it to my phone.
Unni: Sure. Do you want it too, Sweezie?
Sweezus: Okay. I'll send it to Arthur. He'll be jealous.
It takes only a few seconds for the photo sending to happen.
In Antwerp:
Arthur is jealous.
Arthur: Look at this photo.
Pablo: Is that Sweezus? What does it say on his pants?
Arthur: Live Fast Die Last.
Pablo: I'm jealous. Are you jealous?
Arthur: Yes, I am.
Gaius: What's this about being jealous? Let me see. Ah, it's a photo of Sweezus. He looks better than he did in the last two.
Arthur: What last two?
Gaius: This one, and this one.
He shows Arthur and Pablo the photo of Sweezus smiling with the funnel web spider, and the one of him grimacing, with a Bristlebird perched on each shoulder.
Pablo: It looks like he has been having many crazy adventures!
Arthur: While we've been washed up at Kleine Hedoniste, making drunken poems with no substance.
Gaius: That's what I've been telling you. Are you ready to leave now?
Arthur: I am. Let's go.
Pablo: Me too. Let's get going.
The Manager: Not until you've paid the bill, boys.
Gaius: That should be no problem.
The Manager: Good. It's quite a large bill. I believe you have guaranteed it.
Gaius; Have I? How much is it?
The Manager: Three hundred and seventy euro.
Gaius: I'm not paying that.
The Manager: Then perhaps all three of you would like to put on a Masterclass for our party tonight, instead of paying? It's loungy-retro-jacket, especially-many-good-music night. Anything goes.
Gaius: All right.
Sunday, October 25, 2015
Live Fast Die Last
Nowra. Ray drives down Junction Street.
Stop here, Ray, says Katherine.
Ray stops the ute outside the Aquatique Surf Shop.
Coming in with us? asks Katherine.
No, I'll stay here, says Ray. Someone needs to keep an eye on the Bristlebirds.
Katherine, Sweezus and Unni enter the Surf Shop.
Inside the Surf Shop:
Des: G'day guys. Lookin' for anything in particular?
Sweezus: Yeah, boardies.
Des: Got these new ones in from Jet Pilot.
Sweezus: Let's see. Woah! "Live Fast Die Last"! That's cool!
Des: Yeah, they're pretty awesome. They come in black and brown or black and purple.
Katherine: Do you really want to wear a picture of a girl in a coffin, and that motto?
Sweezus: Yeah, but Live Fast Die Last is kind of.... you know.....
Unni: What, exactly?
Des: Is this your sister and your granny?
Sweezus: No way.
Unni: Die LAST? Is it a movie?
Des: I think it's a song. So what, anyway? It's manly. However if granny and sister don't like 'em, how about these ones?
He shows Sweezus a pair of Big Sleeps by Hurley.
Sweezus: Big Sleeps, the street artist? He's unique, man.
Katherine: I can't quite read it. What does it say?
Des: Yeah, he's got this stylised script. Grannies can't read it.
Katherine: It looks like B-I-G S-L-E-E-P-S. And something else I can't.....
Sweezus: Okay. I like them. And what about a tank or a muscle top?
Unni: D'you like this one?
Sweezus: Wicked! Deus ex Machina.
Unni: That's so you.
Katherine: The black goes well with the black and white board shorts. Quite striking.
Des: Goes well with? Striking? Pfff! What's that about?
Sweezus: Heh! She's just kidding. It's tricky shopping with women.
He goes off to try on the Hurley Big Sleeps board shorts and the Deus ex Machina tank top.
Comes back, looking remarkably striking.
Katherine: Very nice. How much will that be?
Des: Hundred and forty five altogether.
Katherine: That's expensive!
Des: The Jet Pilots are cheaper. If he got them it'd only be a hundred and five.
Sweezus: And I like them better.
Katherine: All right, try them on then.
.....
Outside Aquatique Surf Shop:
If you live FAST, says Unni, shouldn't you die FIRST?
No, says Sweezus. You don't get it.
What's dad up to? says Unni.
Ray is leaning over into the back of the ute, poking the lid of the red box with a barbecue fork.
DAD! yelps Unni. Don't take the lid off!
I wasn't, says Ray, straightening up. I was just checking.
.......
Inside the red box ( Schrodinger's box) the Bristlebirds talk quantum mechanics.
Mr Bristlebird: Did you hear that?
Mrs Bristlebird: They're checking.
Mr Bristlebird: If we're alive or dead in this box.
Mrs Bristlebird: And are we?
Mr Bristlebird: What do you think?
Mrs Bristlebird: We'll know when they open it.
Mr Bristlebird: We know already. They'll know when they open it.
Mrs Bristlebird: And if there's only one of us......?
Mr Bristlebird: That will prove that you CAN think about quantum states for large objects.
Stop here, Ray, says Katherine.
Ray stops the ute outside the Aquatique Surf Shop.
Coming in with us? asks Katherine.
No, I'll stay here, says Ray. Someone needs to keep an eye on the Bristlebirds.
Katherine, Sweezus and Unni enter the Surf Shop.
Inside the Surf Shop:
Des: G'day guys. Lookin' for anything in particular?
Sweezus: Yeah, boardies.
Des: Got these new ones in from Jet Pilot.
Sweezus: Let's see. Woah! "Live Fast Die Last"! That's cool!
Des: Yeah, they're pretty awesome. They come in black and brown or black and purple.
Katherine: Do you really want to wear a picture of a girl in a coffin, and that motto?
Sweezus: Yeah, but Live Fast Die Last is kind of.... you know.....
Unni: What, exactly?
Des: Is this your sister and your granny?
Sweezus: No way.
Unni: Die LAST? Is it a movie?
Des: I think it's a song. So what, anyway? It's manly. However if granny and sister don't like 'em, how about these ones?
He shows Sweezus a pair of Big Sleeps by Hurley.
Sweezus: Big Sleeps, the street artist? He's unique, man.
Katherine: I can't quite read it. What does it say?
Des: Yeah, he's got this stylised script. Grannies can't read it.
Katherine: It looks like B-I-G S-L-E-E-P-S. And something else I can't.....
Sweezus: Okay. I like them. And what about a tank or a muscle top?
Unni: D'you like this one?
Sweezus: Wicked! Deus ex Machina.
Unni: That's so you.
Katherine: The black goes well with the black and white board shorts. Quite striking.
Des: Goes well with? Striking? Pfff! What's that about?
Sweezus: Heh! She's just kidding. It's tricky shopping with women.
He goes off to try on the Hurley Big Sleeps board shorts and the Deus ex Machina tank top.
Comes back, looking remarkably striking.
Katherine: Very nice. How much will that be?
Des: Hundred and forty five altogether.
Katherine: That's expensive!
Des: The Jet Pilots are cheaper. If he got them it'd only be a hundred and five.
Sweezus: And I like them better.
Katherine: All right, try them on then.
.....
Outside Aquatique Surf Shop:
If you live FAST, says Unni, shouldn't you die FIRST?
No, says Sweezus. You don't get it.
What's dad up to? says Unni.
Ray is leaning over into the back of the ute, poking the lid of the red box with a barbecue fork.
DAD! yelps Unni. Don't take the lid off!
I wasn't, says Ray, straightening up. I was just checking.
.......
Inside the red box ( Schrodinger's box) the Bristlebirds talk quantum mechanics.
Mr Bristlebird: Did you hear that?
Mrs Bristlebird: They're checking.
Mr Bristlebird: If we're alive or dead in this box.
Mrs Bristlebird: And are we?
Mr Bristlebird: What do you think?
Mrs Bristlebird: We'll know when they open it.
Mr Bristlebird: We know already. They'll know when they open it.
Mrs Bristlebird: And if there's only one of us......?
Mr Bristlebird: That will prove that you CAN think about quantum states for large objects.
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