Tuesday, September 16, 2014

The Common Good

Episode Twelve

>>Fast-Forward One Month>> (in the interests of being able understand what Atom is saying, which is in fact, very little these days)

“I think that it’s important,” says Pinky, “to clarify a deeply pertinent fact; especially since we have made such strong progress in establishing the granularity of your role during the induction so far.”
Atom nods attentively.
“The Company holds your employment in the highest possible regard; you are a valuable asset and as such it is in their interest to make all possible effort to ensure that you are happy in their employ, going forward.”
“…“ Atom conjures a picture (in his mind’s eye) of the NOM3’s loose tongue.

Thursday, September 11, 2014

The Coriolis Effect

Episode Eleven

"You lucky, lucky bastard"

“We are at the eye of the storm you know”
“Leemeloan” whispers Atom, too tired to beg.
“We’re surrounded by the storm, you know? Greed and paperwork; all round us, circling like dirty water down the plughole.”
“Still, gotta lookit the bright side, it’s not all bad; at least we get a bitta peace n quite away from all that ambitious career climbing, cock measuring and arse-kissing”
“Mood be piethfool iph ood dust thut yur nowth”
“If I’d shut my mouth? See that’s my problem… If I could keep my mouth shut I woulda been outta here ages ago, but I was born with a loose tongue… no really… my tongue is not properly attached to the back of my throat. It has always got me in trouble.”

See Mad Scientist’s Notebook (Entry No 2.3)

Wednesday, September 03, 2014

NOM3: A mind's eye view.

Episode Ten

Phillipe Druillet

With the exception of the necktie, which is of a rather broad variety consisting of diagonal red, green and blue stripes, the apparition that forms in Atoms mind is almost entirely grey.
The necktie, tied at waist height, acts as an apron that, thankfully for the fragile state of Atom’s mind, modestly covers those grey appendages that hang at the convergence of hairy grey legs and the tip of grey beard.

Friday, August 29, 2014

Ye Who Enter Here

Zdzislaw Beksinski

They are taking names at the door, comfortable in their role as doorkeepers to the only show in town.

Inside we dance as we have been taught to dance; all etiquette and procedural compliance – as if we hadn’t a care in the world. We are the crest of the wave; the cutting edge of cultural sophistication; we are the children of unencumbered freedom – we have everything; we have no needs save those we’ve yet to imagine or invent.

But nothing is ever everything and everything is not enough.

We are ringed by the doors that require passwords to enter.


One by one we enter, dutifully, each believing he is unique in having overheard the password.
“White Sheep” we utter with various degrees of trepidation, half expecting to be caught out, but to each the door gives unquestioning admittance.
Inside we join our silent predecessors lined up in a silent and crowded room, smoking or picking at our nails; afraid to move further into the labyrinth, each newcomer compelled to follow our lead for fear of breaking cover from safety of the herd and being revealed as imposters.

It is not long before we become accustomed, comfortable in our blinkered insignificance, our self-hatred a secret, licking the barrels of pornographic weapons or bowing before the gleaming, the chrome and the carbon, voicing incantations to the logos, the badges, the beast in our breast that beats we’re the best, the only one in the room besides the audience that have come here to love us - not for our bodily perfection but for who we are.

Imposters we are, we have no need for restraints, the severing of which serve to give us the edge over our fellow actors; fellow practitioners of hypocrisy and self-aggrandisement ; fellows of The Society of One who cannot live without the audience of the many that come here to adore us for the perfection of who we are.

And when we have convinced ourselves of our invincibility we move deeper still, passing through doors we alone can see, entering rooms where passwords are not sufficient to guarantee access, encasing ourselves in bubbles that amplify all sound inward. We, the chosen, sing to ourselves in voices unencumbered by doubt, in words bereft of meaning save that defined by personal gain.

They’re giving names at this door for it is here that we become who we are: the gilded, the lauded, and the loudest; it is here that bureaucracy inscribes those names on the decaying pages of time.

Tuesday, August 19, 2014

Stop me if you’ve heard this before.

Episode Nine

“You know, when I was first brought here from the Complex, they said I had the potential to go right to the top”
Atom groans from his bunk.
“I’m not repeating myself am I? I hate it when that happens.”
Atom hears the naked old man shuffling about in his corner of the room and tries not to create an image in his mind’s eye.
An image appears in his mind’s eye.
“You know, back in the old days all this was done manually; hands-on kinda thing… I lost count of the number of times I had to apologise to Pinky’s predass… preediss… ah… the bloke before Pinky for the bloody mess I made on the tests”