Darkness

Posted on by tuesdaylatte

There is dark. And there is light. We are in the dark. We can see the light. We are not headed in that direction. We are going somewhere else. I tried the light with all its ‘lightness’. It didn’t work. Some of us are just dark. On the inside. I don’t mean to offend in those words. It’s a ridiculous analogy. As if dark is always bad. Its not. I think the dark is good. I did not enjoy the light.

Its full glow. I felt bare. Naked. Exposed. Here in the dark there is comfort. Like being wrapped in a blanket. I can do things. No one sees. No one needs to know. Do I do things? Perhaps? Maybe. But you can’t know because this is the darkness. You can hear in the dark. Noises. There are noises. It could be me. It could be someone else. The noise. It is acute. You can smell as well. You don’t notice it. Not like you should. But you can. In the darkness, there is noise and smell. And touch. Searing pain? Maybe.

But who is touching? Is that pain? You can’t see it. How do you know it hurts? Because you know pain. You’ve seen pain. But this is the darkness. You can’t see in the darkness. Do you know it hurts? Are you sure? What is the warmth that is covering your hand. Smell it. You know that smell. Is it pain though? You are stumbling. Are you sure it’s pain? In the darkness. You are reaching for the light. I told you, this is not the light. You are here with me in the darkness. I whisper words. You can hear in the darkness. ‘Yes, this is pain.’ I pull out the tiny blade. I walk away. 

Self driving toilets

Posted on by tuesdaylatte

I am not in favour of the toilet travel laws.

It’s a genius idea. Real portable toilets. I mean toilets that actually come to you when you need them. There’s an app. There’s always an app. You sign up. You can request a toilet sent to you anywhere. Ok, well, anywhere local-where the app operates and the toilets are. Basically the High street. It’s weirdly popular. A toilet on demand. You hit the button and a toilet arrives within 10 minutes, within two in London. Still quicker than finding a public one. Hint-there are none left.

No more public  toilets on that pricey real estate. We’ve all signed up. It is a proper cubicle and all. Obviously. I mean its not an open-air experience. Although there are niche companies apparently-but not in the High street. Its like a very small self driving caravan. You just hit a button and it trundles along on wheels until it finds you. Tracking you all the time via your phone. A port-a-loo that comes to you.  Genius.

There are several providers. There are always several providers-ugh competition law.

The trouble is if you use the map service on your phone it often just shows you the nearest one and it might not be your provider. You weigh up how long you can wait and then well you join- at £10 a month. For something that used to be free. Because their loo is nearest you. Then before you know it,  you have three loo providers on your phone, all taking up space. And the total is £30 a month for three. And it used to be free or max 30p. Yet somehow we are grateful.

Worse you find yourself tapping them all and just using the one that comes first. You summon one just to wash your hands, or you join the provider that has the best mirror. Don’t do that. The ones with mirrors-they never arrive-someone is always using them.

There is of course an app to sort through the apps and advise which provider you should use based on cleanliness or loo paper quality or lock quality. Not sure about you but I think lock quality is important in the High Street. I get that the industry does need some regulation but not travel rules.

Part of the problem is they all track each other. Each loo is programmed to follow other loos. Only when their empty. Don’t worry. They stay stationary when you are using them. Ok, well there are stories, but mostly stationary, except for that one company that is being prosecuted for abducting a small child. It was an accident. Its just that the mother ended up running after it for 2 miles-in heels. Like I say they need some regulation.

You can see a conga line of toilets trundling after each other down the High street at quiet times. It has taken some getting used to. Some loos are faster than others, some more unscrupulous. There are complaints from pensioners about aggressive toilets because toilets are programmed to sell themselves. The worst offer a small entry fee but then a hefty exit fee. People have been trapped-again not so good. I do think pay as you go should be banned.  The good providers provide packages though, diarrhoea deals –things like that. 

But of course there is the travel issue. They do take up space on the pavement that could be better utilised. I would say the highways agency and insurance companies have a point. I see why they are less than happy when toilets stray on to roads. There was one just last week out on the M25 just trundling around at 15 miles an hour for 6 hours. Someone had summoned it and then pulled off into the services. But  the toilet got lost and stuck. It was chaos. Hence the idea of a law to ban them from going on roads. But when you are desperate and there is no option, the inconvenience of others in traffic seems small in comparison.  

So I am opposed you see, to the toilet travel laws.

Machismo

Posted on by tuesdaylatte

I sit. Two glasses. Both full. On the table.

There is only me here . I drink. Alone. 

You drank. I drank. I drive. No you drive. We argued. You drive. Machismo. You drive.

You drive into a tree. It’s faded. Blurred now.

I survived. I sit at this table. Two glasses. Only water in these glasses now.

Two glasses. One table. One person. Alive.

My glass is empty. Yours is still full. Ironic. Sad.

I sit. I listen. There is noise. But all I can hear is the silence.

The hand

Posted on by tuesdaylatte

It moves as if its mine. I think-it moves. As if its my own. It is my own. I paid for it.

The government is saying ‘Epidemic’. No one is listening. I had it done deliberately. It is bright and shiny and silver. I am super strong. Well at least my left hand is. The whole arm in fact. Titanium.  Only the hand is fully replaced, the rest is a kind of internal circuitry. I have kept my bones and my nerves. It’s just that the bones have been reinforced.

I like the sound it makes as each finger taps on the table. Mechanical. Fascinating.  The man across the way is looking at me. Staring. Fear.

He is afraid. Of me.

I like the way it sounds as it crunches against the glass when I pick it up. It is self defence. I have a weapon. Its also useful for jam jars too..

Technically it is illegal for a woman to have her hand cut off and replaced with a titanium hand. ‘Epidemic’.  It’s illegal because there have been problems??? They haven’t passed a law yet on wielding a hand with menace but I’m sure they will soon.

It’s super advanced. It responds to my command but it has 5, 6 times the strength of a human hand. I need a permit for it. I have a very good forgery.

I love the way it feels. How quickly it responds. I can see the man across the way wants to see the permit.  He won’t ask. I have seen this before. He won’t follow me home anymore either.

I get up to leave. I see the waitress admire my hand. I flex it. It is amazing. I get on my bike. Hassle me on my bike and I can rip the door off your car. I love this hand.

I see the officers ahead of me. They hail me down. I have been here before too. I stop.

They asked to see my papers for this hand. I use ‘this hand’ to do it. To prove to them how dexterous it is. How magnificent. It is a weapon. I hand over the papers. Forged. I had this done deliberately, did I tell you? Wouldn’t you? Even the odds. Well not so much even, as tip them in your favour.  

I can see the female officer admiring my hand. The truth is it just works differently, better when it is attached to the female brain. Something about size or scale or something. There is a science but I haven’t bothered with it too much. It doesn’t work so well, something to do with the male body rejecting it all the time.

They say its like pregnancy. To be pregnant the human body has to accept the foetus on a physiological level. Female bodies can do this. Male bodies can’t. My body is capable of thinking I am pregnant with a titanium hand. I can never actually fall pregnant now but it seems like a small price to pay for safety. Although I think I have gone beyond safety.

I can smell his fear. This officer. He doesn’t know what to do. He senses the papers are a forgery. His partner, she looks unconcerned. This is where the system has fallen apart. She is indifferent. He is scared. He knows I can simply end his life with one single slap from this hand. It’s as simple as that.

He nods. She nods. They let me go. That’s how it is. This hand. It changes everything.

Betrayal

Posted on by tuesdaylatte

I don’t look like her. Her hair goes swish. Mine still has lime green highlights. I know her teeth are white. Bright. Her lips lined. Eyelashes clad. Nails polished red. The clothes just tight enough, just short enough. Shoes strapped just right around her ankles.

My nails are blue and yellow and green. Rainbow nails. My clothes are. Unusual.  Trainers.

He is classic. Chiselled. Chino’ed. They are perfect together.

She looks over her shoulder at me. Eyes moving up and down me. Disdain. Turns her head back. Where are my pert parts? Nothing is pert. At least not pert enough. My piercings not to her taste. She leans in to him. Says something. He looks at me. Says something back. They giggle. Together. I look at them both. A shared disdain.  For me.

They whisper. He leans into her. Eyes close. Mouths open. Heads at angles. On the tube.

Seriously. I look away. Look back. Drawn.  He is. They are. Eyes flick open. Still kissing. His tongue down her throat. Eyes. Hers closed.  His open. Looking at me. I look at him. My eyes. His eyes. Lock. That look. Mine.  I see. She does not. Not disdain. That other word. I see that other word in his look. I look away.

The doors open. I get off the tube.

Lust. Betrayal is always unnerving.

Hands

Posted on by tuesdaylatte

 I look at their hands. I’ve seen this a thousand times before.

She sits. He sits. She talks. Softly. Quietly. He talks. He talks some more. She starts to say. He talks. Over the top. She starts to say. He starts gesticulating. He is getting louder. The movement of his arms wider. His rightness taking up the whole space in this café. He is definitely right.

She says something. Softly. He briefly makes eye contact. She looks down. Away. I can hear his every word now. His points dotted with expletives. I look at their hands again. His flinging widely in the air. Hers neatly held in her lap. Then on the table. Hands.

He is still loud. The broad sweep of his gestures taking up all of our space. His legs splayed apart under the table. Sitting back. Mouth open. Words spewing out. He must be right.

She starts to say something again. He keeps talking. We are the only customers in the café. He is oblivious to my presence. She is not. Blushing. Embarrassed. He is even louder and the waitress is watching. He doesn’t care. He is definitely right.

I dig around in my bag. A business card. I stand up. There is no point in prolonging my stay. I have seen this before.

I stop as I am passing their table. I hand her my business card. I only say two words, ‘For you.’

She looks down at it. Smiles. He has barely drawn breath. Does not notice.  I walk out. I look back.

She is still looking at my business card, T. Latte, Divorce Lawyer.

The Plagiarist

Posted on by tuesdaylatte

Words elude me. I sit quietly. The world is passing me by. As if this bench is drifting on the open sea. I look at the words on the page. My words. A different page. How did this happen?

A thief. He wanted to shake my hand. I know thieves. I did not shake his hand.

It’s like he reached in and took them out. One by one. These words on this page. My words. His name. I am shaking. Not his hand.

This bench is floating out across the sea. My words. Separated from me. Someone else using my voice. His voice speaking my words. Accolades. Prizes. Not mine. His.

My only consolation. In his smug little mind, there can only be silence. He is not upon the sea. He remains in the mud. With a target on his back.

Arrows run straight and true when fired from the crest of a wave.

The Visitor

Posted on by tuesdaylatte

I buzz the door. No one answers. I look at the card. It’s not my card. It’s not my building. I swipe the card. Push. Open. Enter. I am wearing heels. Well dressed. Smart. Suited. I hear my heels.

Click.

Clack.

Click.

Clack.

On the tiles, in the entrance hall. I record the sound on my phone. For later.

There is carpet here too. Shoes off. I walk across the carpet. Plush. I can see vague footprints. Mine next to another. Smaller. You never look down at your carpet do you? Never really see the faint outline of feet. People are careless. I watched. Dropped. I found.

I run my fingers along the shelving. Dust. I sit on the couch. Nice. It’s a nice couch. Not to my taste. But nice. I turn on the TV. Daytime TV. I pick up the DVD case. The last one watched. I open it. I don’t quite close it. Put it down again.

The kitchen. I go in. Shoes on.

Click.

Clack.

On those shiny tiles. I open the fridge. I touch the bottle of milk. I pluck a cherry tomato from the stash in the fruit bowl. Tasty. I feel the oranges too. Round. Juicy. I like oranges. But I only touch. I open a drawer. No one will know I have been here.

I look in the drawer. Neat. Organised. Something catches my eye. Blue. A blue plastic potato peeler. I don’t own. Well. I do own. Now. I will keep it safe. I look in the bathroom. I look at my watch. How long has it been? Minutes. I put my hand on the sink, just to see the colour of my nails against the porcelain.

Click.

Clack.

Click.

Clack.

On the tiles. Time to go now. I will drop the card outside your door.

I didn’t use your toilet. That would be weird.

Seen the remake, now see the original

Posted on by tuesdaylatte

I am sitting in the cinema watching the remake. The original hasn’t been released yet. In a bizarre twist of marketing, that idea has been working out really well for films these days.

‘You’ve seen the remake, now see the original.’

It’s a great tagline but I do think it should be mandatory that the original is at least made before the remake. In the film I’m watching they were made simultaneously. It makes sense. It’s cheaper. Two movies for the price of one.  You use the same set twice. It’s just a different set of actors. You can see how that could go badly wrong and in fact it allegedly has.

The actress playing the main character in the original is accidentally in a scene in this movie-as her character in the original-instead of the lead actress in the remake who should be in the scene. It’s confusing. But think it through. It’s been sold as an ‘in-joke’ to all the fans. The ones who haven’t seen either the remake or the original yet because I am at the pre opening screening for critics. Yet somehow in this twisted world, they are still fans because they have watched the preview and ‘liked’ it. Now the release of the remake is anticipated, followed by the original-which somehow is where we are now. Confused.

I am reviewing the remake. I am a film critic. One of the last human ones left.

Is it hard to review a remake without seeing the original? Yes! This way around is never easy.

But there’s another issue. I haven’t seen the original at all, but the bot-crits around me kind of have. Bot-crits is what we call the robots who also ‘write’ reviews that are sitting across from me. Films are stored as data files. The bot-crits will have the original and the remake as a data file. They can just compare two sets of data and review it. I have a data file of the original (which is not out yet) so I can do a review. But I can’t read it and compare it like they do. I need to get my device to sort it and put it into a watchable form. Puts me in last position already. In the meantime their reviews will already be out.

Their audience is different to mine. I tell myself that and there is some truth in it. Some people like to read reviews written by humans. But I will have to fess up that the original I have seen is taken from a datafile and not an original cinematic experience. Regulations.  Welcome to the Critics Institute regulations. Not sure who’s side they are on. I will probably watch the original on my device on the way home. The actual original in a viewable format is not due for cinema release for awhile. They will probably see how the remake goes first. If it is released, I will have to review the original when it arrives in the cinema, which is much, much harder when you have seen the remake. It’s a very dodgy practice.   

Technically most of the bot-crits sitting across from me aren’t even watching it. The Critics Institute has a rule that where possible, even bots reviewing films must come to the critics screening. Regulations again. This at least gives us humans a fighting chance. Allegedly. Well sort of. Their reviews will be pretty much the same, an analysis of two sets of data files. A comparison of data and you can get a full set of actual comparative date if you want, everything from the differences in time when a scene was shot to the volume of the actress speaking.

A lot of people base their viewing on that kind of technical analysis. You hear them saying ridiculous things, like, ‘it was so noticeable that the actress spoke louder in the remake’ and ‘the colour was so much stronger in that scene’ and other ridiculous points that have nothing to do with whether they actually enjoyed the film. They are just comparing bits of data, not the actual movie. There are whole websites devoted to finding points that the bot-crits didn’t manage to spot. Most of these are imagined as well. It’s more like newspaper astrology than anything. ‘Ooh her dress was a shade greener’ and the computer didn’t pick it up. No it’s just that your brain is a shade dimmer. I hate what film has become. But I like films. I am clinging to the past, telling myself this is a phase. It will pass. People will become sane again. I know I am wrong.

Its not like a critics screening used to be. There are probably 30 seats in this cinema. 5 seats for humans and 25 for bot-crits. I am the only human here. The human seats are off to the side. Not the best view. Its for our own safety. Bot-crits emit a lot of heat. Someone got burned. She got burned badly. She never returned to the industry. So now we are segregated, separated. There is a heavy duty sprinkler system above me so that I can be saved in the event of a fire. It has happened, not to me but to others. The bots tend to have their own inbuilt sprinkler system.

It doesn’t really matter, their work is going straight into the cloud, if they sizzle out, no one cares. The magazine just buys another one. I on the other hand, will be in the burns unit. I can see some of the bot-crits don’t even have visual equipment to watch a movie so they are just here because of the regulations. Legally they can’t release their review until the credits have finished. Another regulation. It has shortened the amount of credits at the end though. 10 seconds max now. It’s fast and they are illegible but it is over quickly.

They complain a lot about the regulations and I am sure that one day the regulations will go and I will no longer be needed. I used to enjoy the camaraderie of critics screenings. Now I dread the heat that is generated by the 25 bots sitting across from me. There is a constant array of lights flashing as they perform different functions while they sit through this. They answer messages and take pictures of themselves. There is a constant low hum  as they are all running on their batteries although I can see a fluorescent power cord plugged into something at the front.

I have dark glasses on-in the darkness as it minimises the interference from what they are doing although it means I can barely make out the screen. I have ear plugs in-it’s not a foreign film-but in another sort of victory for human film critics, the noise levels from the bots are such that sub titles are also a regulation. It’s health and safety. If I don’t wear ear plugs in five years time I would be deaf from the low frequency humming that 25 bots can emit.

I wonder why I bother. I am a relic. This is the future. I am simply the past. I squint at the screen and try to make sense of it all.

Beware the fridge

Posted on by tuesdaylatte

I pop some bread in the toaster and the music starts. It’s a genius idea-music to cook toast too-it’s a whole genre now-its on that internet thingy if you’re interested…read more

I’m sleeping in the car. Well for as long as it lets me. Its one of those days that’s gone horribly wrong.

It started with a joke. We thought it would be funny. It isn’t now. Rather than have the lights come on automatically when we entered the room, we programmed our device to do it by voice control. For a joke, we used the phrase ‘Put the fuckin’ lights on’. Ok so its not funny in any way. Its immature and stupid. I understand now.

Anyway on Tuesday, I walked in and screamed, ‘put the fuckin’ lights on.’ I did scream it. Really loudly. They came on. I smiled. What an achievement. I sat on the couch in the lounge, with a glass of juice on the table, and briefly fell asleep.

I awoke to a funny sound. When I say awoke, I leapt up and knocked over the juice. Juice all over the rug. No probs, I can clean that up. But the noise was like something falling.  It was then I remembered. We have an anti-swearing function on the fridge. I know-why would you do that? Ok well- I get frustrated cooking -seriously the recipe programme device thing still escapes me.

It says- ‘Lets cut some onions for the casserole for dinner.’ Which sounds nice and cheery. It is able to see me chopping onions so it can give me ‘tips’. But there not really tips, there just rude.

It says things like -‘No that’s not right, that’s not how you chop an onion. Do it like this’ and up pops a picture of perfectly chopped onions-which incidentally is not even a thing.  Then it says, ‘perhaps you should start again?’

As if? I am not going to waste another onion. Then it argues-‘Really you should start again, this will affect the quality of your casserole-you do want it to be perfect, don’t you?’ Actually I just want it to be edible-which it often isn’t-which is nothing to do with how I chop the onion.

It usually ends with me screaming at it ‘How would you know? You are a machine and have never chopped a fucking onion in your life.’

Anyway because I swear so much in the kitchen and because I am a tech head and because I just could, I set the fridge to defrost every time I swore. It works. It means I never swear in the kitchen now because I don’t want the fridge to defrost. It’s expensive when it defrosts and its full, I have to get more food.

Except today, I walked into my house and screamed, ‘Put the fuckin lights on’ as I walked past the kitchen to get to the lounge. I guess the fridge ‘heard’ it and has now defrosted on to my floor. Big chunks of ice falling onto the floor and melting nicely.

Fine, you know what-I can sort that. Except that it has also sent a new grocery order out because everything is ruined. OK, so that order will either arrive in 24 hours or 24 minutes-which one did I programme?  I can’t remember because I never swear in the kitchen anymore.

The other thing is I programmed the fridge to defrost every time I swear- I didn’t think about the ‘refrost’ bit-is that a word. So I sit there in the kitchen whilst it defrosts away, ice falling at my feet and sloshing on the floor whilst re programming the thing to be cold again, whilst simultaneously mopping a very wet floor with a towel under my feet. Which is like suicide, because its an electrical device and water. But what choice do I have. I can feel a tingle as I tap on the screen. I ignore it. Seriously the door comes open when it defrosts-I must have set that to happen. Seriously it clearly needed a defrost long before this as well- that is a lot of ice. There is going to be a lot of ruined food in there unless I can sort this programme soon. The order has been sent by the fridge and there is nothing I can do anyway. Perhaps I should focus on the juice in the lounge. Soon I will have double the food. The clock is ticking. Did I do 24 minutes or 24 hours for that grocery delivery? I just can’t remember.

The front door then sends a notification to my device. The new groceries have arrived-24 minutes it is. But I haven’t managed to get the fridge back to cool again. There is no space in this house.

I go and get the groceries. There is no space to leave them in the hall so I just put them in the bath. I know, I wasn’t thinking but I thought it would be colder in the bathroom with the tiled floor. I was also cleaning the floor and reprogramming the fridge and thinking the juice is staining the rug in the lounge. I was not focussed on where to put groceries. The problem is there are lots of groceries and the bath thinks there is someone in it. The bath starts to run water when it thinks someone is in it. I hear water running but it doesn’t click for a bit. Then I realise that the bath is running –all over the new groceries. When I go in, there are vegetables floating and frozen meat on the bottom of the bath. It looks like the ocean on a good day. I need to empty the bath of water and groceries. The groceries are ruined. I need more groceries –again-but I need to fix the fridge first. Or the juice, maybe the juice?

I need to mop the water off the floor in the kitchen, throw out the food in the fridge, mop the floor in the bathroom and probably throw out the food in the bath. And there’s the juice in the lounge. Why can’t my device do any of this? Never mind, it can do mood lighting and whatever song I want at the drop of a hat-which it can’t pick up. I just need to remain calm. I am hungry and need dinner. I think it’s going to be toast. I pop some bread in the toaster and the music starts. It’s a genius idea-music to cook toast too-it’s a whole genre now-its on that internet thingy if you’re interested. I go back to reprogramming the fridge and wiping the floor with a towel under my feet-which is never going to work. Still getting that tingle.

Then an emergency red signal pops up on my device. There is a water situation. I know that. I am in the kitchen. I can see the ice melting on the floor. Then I realise it’s the bathroom not the kitchen. I looked but I didn’t actually give the command to turn the taps off, I just shut the door.  The bath still thinks there is someone in it, its waiting to be told to switch off.  Seriously how much meat did the fridge order. The taps are voice activated. I am totally panicking now. I leg it for the bathroom, screaming ‘fuck, turn off the taps.’ The water stops. The bathroom is a small lake. I fling some towels on the floor. I need the toilet but can’t get to it.

I head for the kitchen, then realise I have sworn very loudly a second time. The fridge. The fridge is now glowing red. My device is telling me there is a situation with the electrics. Everything stops. The lights go out. The music from the toaster stops. I hear a pop from the lounge room. That will be the screen objecting to a sudden loss of power.

I am now sitting in darkness and probably the only way to get the lights on is to swear very loudly again. But I have not reprogrammed the fridge yet. And there is no power. I don’t even know how to fix that. The fridge is still glowing red but fading slowly as it powers down. Seriously defrosted now. My device is working on battery. I can hear the bathroom taps again, I don’t know why that is. What system are they working on? I take my device and put it by the front door. There is no water by the front door. I stare into the kitchen at the glowing fridge and the water on the floor-best to leave it. Abandon ship.

I poke my head around the living room door, silence and darkness although in the corner a small line of smoke is snaking up from the screen. There is the faint odour of juice mixed with Ikea rug. Abandon ship there too.

I look in the bathroom, I wade in, switch off the tap. There is a chicken with sage and onion stuffing on the floor by the toilet. There is broccoli under the sink. I need to pee. Its dark outside. There is vegetation. I grab the toilet roll. Abandon ship.

I could try the bedroom, but seriously would you?

I am going to sleep in the car. Until it tells me I can’t. I will deal with it all tomorrow.