"What's that, Carey? I can't quite hear you."

"The problem isn't evil, or a fight between good and evil. The problem is that each of us wants to make a better world and none of us has the same vision of what that looks like. Some people think the world would be better if they have more money, or power..."

Hey, Maro! I think we have a hero. Who's next? Colette. Oh, tricky. Should we do English?

Don't You Forget About ME

REFERENCE #112408
That's your address in my memory.

You've seen the signs, all around town.
Having to watch 'Breakfast Club' whilst I do this.

"...And these children
that you spit on
as they try to change their worlds
are immune to your consultations.
They're quite aware
of what they're going through..."
DAVID BOWIE


Saturday, Mar. 24, 1984
Sherman High School,
Sherman, Illinois

60062

Dear Mr. Vernon,
We accept the fact that we had to sacrifice a whole Saturday in detention
for whatever it was we did wrong.

What we did was wrong, but
we think you're crazy to make us write an essay
telling you who we think we are. What do you care?
You see us as you want to see us.
In the simplest terms: the most convenient definitions.
But what we found out is that each one of us is a
brain...
and an athlete...
and a basket case...
a princess...
and a criminal. Correct?
That's the way we saw each other at 7 o'clock this morning.

We were brainwashed.


"I can't believe you can't get me out of this.
I mean, it's so absurd that I have to be here on a Saturday.
It's not like I'm a defective or anything."

The pilgrimage to the newly suburbanized friend is one that most Manhattan
women have made, and few truly enjoyed. In fact,
most come back to the city in an emotional state somewhere between giddy
and destroyed.
Here follows one such tale.

“Have you heard any voices recently? And what were they saying to you?”
contrary to contradict another one. be polite, be true, become opera live to contradict another one pretty damned important too. sleeping, the good stuff. I think that alotta the time I get confused about why people are telling me certain things.
how am i goin to make it right?
“Do you have any worries about your safety?”
A hypodermic syringe flashed in the doctor’s hands, and in a single motion the woman ripped open the sleeve of my shirt. I could smell some kind of chemical and then I passed out.
“Do you feel like you’re being watched?”
“But I AM being watched. There’s a camera in my room right up in the corner there. I know that you guys can see me. I know that you’re supposed to keep an eye on me to make sure that I don’t try to hurt myself again. It’s the law. I’m under your jurisdiction now that I no longer know what is in my own best interests.”
“Just to let you know, today is the twenty-first. It’s Wednesday. You were brought here yesterday.”
“VOLUNTARILY?!”
“No. I think you were brought here. That’s all for today. Take care.”

"It's the shits, huh?"
...
"I can't believe this is really happening to me."
"Oh, shit! What are we supposed to do if we have to take a piss?!"
"Please."
"You gotta go. You gotta go."
"Oh my god."
"Hey, you're not urinating in here, man."
"Don't talk! Don't talk! It makes it crawl back up!"
"You whip it out and you'll be dead before the first drop hits the floor."
"You're pretty sexy when you're angry... Hey, home boy. Why don't you close that door? We'll get the prom queen impregnated."

HAPPY INTERNATIONAL WOMEN'S DAY

Pounding and smashing, even the desire to kill, may be expressed. Self-organization is related to the tendency of the parent or sibling or perhaps the entire chaotic system to spontaneously enter states in which surprising and potentially useful properties arise either through play or through direct verbalization. This concept is revolutionizing: I’m finally locating some confidence in myself.

The brain may suddenly and unpredictably

bumped from one conscious state to another

by the escalating -Holy shit! That chick is interviewing for my job. “University types... We’ll see what happens.” She knows there’s still one candidate. But they’ll never find anyone who can move and shake like this!

activation of one of its many neuronal subsystems.

unknown territory. I know that a path can be made.

Movement and action

takes a certain amount of time or continuity.
How do we do this? How do we account for this? Back to Libet. “There is no experimental evidence against the possibility that the control process may appear without prior unconscious processes (that specifically develop it).”

"Who closed that door?!"

"...If he gets up, we'll all get up. It'll be anarchy!..."

"The door is way too heavy, sir."

"I expected a little more from a varsity letterman."
But he sometimes did good deeds amid a throng of bad ones; he stole with furious rapacity, and gave liberally; intrepid in action, rather mild in company, debauched at table, gay in debauchery, and above all full of frankness. ...

Sirens in the background.

"Are you through?"
but are you aware that in Paris there have already been some serious experiments relating to the possibility of the insane by means of the simple influence of logical reasoning? When I looked up at the building, I got scarred. Looked more like a castle than a school - bars on the windows and an iron gate on the front door. Above the door, the words in the stone read: ANTIDEPRESSANTS MAY INCREASE THE RISK OF SUICIDAL THOUGHTS OR ACTIONS IN CHILDREN AND TEENAGERS. Behind the school there were more trees in rows. I came round the corner, and my eyes saw something they didn’t know what to tell me it was. They were people -women, I think-

There was a certain professor there who died not so long ago, a serious scientist who believed that such a treatment was possible. If I say that Mirj is selfish because he refuses to become well, then what does that make me?

The risk may be greater during the first few months that patients take this medicine. Be sure that the benefits of using this medicine outweigh the risks.

"You're right. It's wrong to destroy literature..."

Recording thoughts in language. “It’s very freeing”, apparently, instead of in anger or hurtful actions. They only ever hurt themselves.

Maybe we’re all jus dancing all the time. Maybe those people are staring at me. Maybe they’re’adin my thoughts before I get to them. Maybe they’re passin them on to me. They think I’m copyin them down. They’re interrupting. They want me to move my existence. Well, that’s not going to happen any time soon, because I am an automatic weapon. I’m fully loaded and I’m ready to go. His basic idea was that there is nothing particularly wrong with the organism of the insane person, and that insanity is, as it were, a logical error, an error of judgement, a mistaken view of things. ADDITIONAL MONITORING OF YOUR DOSE OR CONDITION may be needed if you are taking certain diet medicines (such as phentermine), linezolid, lithium, metoclopramide, nefazodone reuptake inhibitors (SNRIs) (such as duloxetine), 5-HT1 receptor agonists (such as sumatriptan), tramadol, trazodone, nonsteroidal anti-inflammatory agents (NSAIDs) (such as ibuprofen), diuretics (such as furosemde or hydrochlorothiazide), cimetidine, ketoconazole, cyproheptadine, aripiprazole, haloperidol, phenothiazines (such as chlorpromazine or thiorridazine), or reperidone. He would refute the arguments of his patient step by step and, would you believe it, it’s said he achieved results that way! But in view of the fact that he accompanied this treatment with cold baths, those results should, of course, be viewed with some scepticism...

All but four patients were right-handed according to the Edinburgh Inventory. Vision was normal or corrected to normal. Patients’ mean IQ, as estimated by the score at the Raven Progressive Matirices PM47, was 91.7. Short-term memory span was 6.4 and 3.5, forward and backwards, respectively. Language comprehension, as assessed by the Token Test was good (mean score 33.2/36).

“Ha,” said I to myself, “it seems that there are some people who grow there,” and, as my mind was so stupefied with grief, I only conceived ideas as in a dream. Suddenly the van changed its course and I saw the towers of Notre-Dame in the distance, blue and half hidden in the smoke of Paris. At once my ideas changed from Beatrice to Notre-Dame. “Those who will be on the tower with the flag will see my execution well,” said I to myself smiling stupidly. They’re interrupting. Want me to move my chair, my body (my existence?). Well, it’s not going to happen.

The patron saints of Bicycle Boys are white-haired writer George Plimpton, whose bike used to hang upside down above his employees' heads at the Paris Review offices, and white-haired Newsday columnist Murray Kempton.

“No physician’s prescriptions, no medecine seemed of the slightest benefit as a cure for this disease.”

Randt: “Granted it could always be a scam. Ain’t no people in the world who ain up for some kinda scam. Believe you me. But that don’t entail that there wasn some sorta truth to the proposition. That don’t entail that there wasn somethin real that they were pickin up. Miniscule alterations that you never noticed yerself, but were takin place none the less. “
Lewis proclaims, “The Vorticist does not suck up to Life. He lets Life know its place in a Vorticist Universe! He uses life for his brothel so that he can keep himself pure for non-life, that is Art.”
“Art, then becomes the contrasting force to Life.”
“Take Joe, for instance. Totally stuck in the eighties. He puts everyone into categories and gets so caught up in them that he totally forgets about people, like what real people are like. He's that whole Ringwald movie series all rolled into one. And the truth is, people just aren't like that anymore. Maybe its the drug movement, maybe it’s post-modern ecclecticism. Call it what you will, but the distinctions between different types of people have broken down.”

First I’m gonna try some classic Goffman (1961) on dis’ucker: “Staff members’ energy waxes and wanes. These involvement cycles occur when a staff member becomes close to some inmates, retreats, then builds warm relationships again.”

"Now, why don't you really tell me why you're in here?"

“No, I don get it.”
“Like, there are times when I really like the patients and I really want to work with them and help them. And then there are times when I get completely fed up with all of their crap. Don’t you get that?”
“...”
“When they are discouraged or despondent, they work in a listless, perfunctory, and routine way. Some make an effort to disguise their discouragement, but others do not.”
Randt is jus lookin at me kinda sideways, like he’s supposin dat dis a trick question or somethin, “I jus don’t think it’s the best time to be talkin bout that sorta thing, y’know, like when we’re actually surrounded by ‘the patients’. Y’know, like, we’re in the FIELD right now, man.”
Yeah, I guess he’s probly right bout that one. Somehow dat jus didn’t occur to me. I dunno why. Maybe i’s cuz I turned Maro off, or somethin. Thing is dat I don really get any other chance to talk to Randt. I only see him in de FIELD an sometimes at d’occasional Board Meetin. What am I s’posed to do, get’im to make an appointment?
“Some o’de patients ask to switch counselors when dey have conflicts wid’individual to whom dey bin assigned.”
“What is this about, man? You know I don’t get any patients assigned to me.”
Randt jus goes back to his usual shit, now.
“Take Joe, for instance. Totally stuck in the eighties. He puts everyone into categories and gets so caught up in them that he totally forgets about people, like what real people are like. He's that whole Ringwald movie series all rolled into one. And the truth is, people just aren't like that anymore. Maybe its the drug movement, maybe it’s post-modern ecclecticism. Call it what you will, but the distinctions between different types of people have broken down.”
Ok, so maybe I’ll try some Leibniz, den, “I know what you sayin, Nominal Definition: consists of de numeration o’the marks o’requisites which are sufficient to distinguish a thing from all others.”
I got de feelin he ain gonna like dat one too much.
“You can jus fuck right off. You don even kno’what you talkin bout. See ya later, sucker.”
Guess I’m on my own, now. De patients’till goin on.
“Even Time dissolves in the presence of Art. Life is the Past and the Future, the Present is Art.”
Man, where’d’ey boil up dis bile o’shit from? I’m gonna reply wid some real quality, “It is its time because it puts in the present, just as each acting subject is his time, that is, a presence that puts in the present whatever is related to it.”
Haa ha. Take that. Got that one from good old Henry Corbin.
Lewis insists, “There is no Present - there is a Past and Future, and there is Art.”
Dat is’uch bullshit. Might as well be talkin to Randt. I’ll try some more Corbin, but I don’t’hink i’s gonna get me anywhere. “It is likewise to reduce real time to abstract physical time, to the essentially quantitative time which is that of the objectivity of mundane calendars from which the signs that gave a sacred qualification to every present have disappeared.”
“For the sake of Art artists must reject society; for, in society, men ‘overlap’ and ‘intersect’, and promiscuity is normal.”
“But promiscuity is normal.”
“Artists must undergo a course of egotistic hardening before they can produce hard outside art.”
Dis d’art dat Lewis admires most. I oughtta be referrin dis guy to JoseF.
“Woodcuts are disciplined, blunt, thick and brutal.”
Or maybe I could get’im to meet up wid a student somehow. Maybe I should just enroll’im in one o’JoseF’s classes.

JoseF never listened to me. He didn’t like poetry. Or perhaps he just didn’t enjoy being read to. (How much attention should I pay to other people’s conversations anyhow?) Drifting in and out. A fake laugh, such a fake fake laugh. Recording thoughts in language (there are those who would say that there’s no such thing as thought without language). But this is just the beginning.
They’re interrupting. Want me to move my chair, my body (my existence?). Well, it’s not going to happen.
De tree dat sits right outside my window
“Post-Modernism... metamorphosis from Modernism into something else... Theory is very important to post-modernism... birth of post-modernism after WWII... big change... before WWII one could hide from modernism, after there was no escaping technology... sense possibility of total annihilation... dominance of image over sound... 1987 stock-crash made computer part of the world... mass consciousness of society... The alienation and anger that modernists felt became irony and detachment expressed through humour (e.g. Andy Warhol)... Borges... Calvino... Rushdie... playfulness with form... self-consciousness of literary form... skeptical regarding the possibility that literature can change society... emergence of Pop Culture... decisive change in repeatability... role of production... image over concept... Cinema becomes a more powerful influence... No one dominates in post-modernism... Rise of the role of the university... No other literary audience beyond the university... Rise of theory... deconstructionism... making of arts subordinate to theory... William S. Burroughs: jump-cuts, linear sequence, plot abandoned, works against convention, no beginning middle and end, reflects changes in sensibility in the twentieth century, polyphonic, multi-dimensional prose... use of the ellipse... experimented with promiscuity and different lifestyles.”
Well, JoseF would know all bout that.

"Now, why don't you tell me why you're really in here?"

Jo pulls a book from one of the shelves, opens the cover. It looks as though there’s a button inside that’s being pressed, and the shelf opens up like a door. Jo looks at us, “Come on, folks. The food ain’t gonna make itself, at least, not right now it won’t.”

I’m crouching down because even though Jo just went through here, there’s still cobwebs all over the entrance. I’m waiting for my eyes to adjust, then trying to feel my way along this dark corridor into which Jo has disappeared. It kinda reminds me of that bell jar we passed through when we first entered the compound, except we’re surrounded by strange, old, dusty objects that I’m practically tripping over. Somehow Jo, Miraj, and Colette are all ahead of me. I try to slow them down by calling out, “Hey, who was that, by the way?”
“Qui?”
“Did you see that guy in the bell jar?”
“Ooooh, you mean the Gatekeeper. His name is, ‘Lin’.”
I think it’s Mirj answering me.
“How does that work?”
“Only U.V. knows that. Jo, do you know how that whole uh Gatekeeper thing works?”
“Trust me. You don’t want to know how the Gatekeeper works. U.V.’s been through it. Lin’s been through it. You’d have to go through it in order to find out. I don’t wanna know that badly. I’m pretty sure you don’t wanna know that badly either. You have to trust that Lin is with us and helping to keep us safe.”
“Oh. Sure.”
Godammit. I almost fell over something that looks like a huge mask. What is all of this stuff doing in here anyway? It’s so musty. I guess nobody ever airs out –
Phmmpp. Flat on my face.
“Cherie?”
“You ok back there?”
“Whathefuck?! Isn’t there a better place for all this junk?!”
Somebody is dangling a pair of 20th century boxing gloves above my head. I guess that’s meant to help me up.
“Well, nobody really uses... We’ve got too many…”
The voice is faint, even though I feel that it’s directly above me.
“You could at least install some kind of lighting!”
A glow appears a few paces ahead.
“Move towards the light, Carey!”
I can hear them laughing at me. Great.

It’s a kitchen, a regular old-fashioned kitchen. They’re dishing about someone, I can tell.
“Did you know what she was in the middle of doing when we interrupted her? Same thing she’s been obsessed about for years. It’s that Gentlemen’s Club, from Dalhousie in 2014! McKay! He’s the last one. She’s done to each of them what they threatened to do to their female classmates.”
Jo slams down a package of tofu on the counter.
“She’s protecting us, Miraj!”
“At what cost? That’s all I’m saying.”
“Uh, what are we making here?”
I’m trying to break up the tension that’s building from –
“C’est un bon question, cherie. Nous sommes en train de faire quelque chose d'importance -”
“Yeah, but what are we going to eat?”
“Stir fry. Here, chop some carrots and broccoli.”
“Nice! Where did you get those?!”
“It’s all in the brochure, Carey! Didn’t you read it?”
Miraj winks at me.
"Quelle blague vieille, Miraj."
"At least I'm trying, Colette. And, yeah Jo. I'm sick of violence. There it is. Aren't humans capable of more? YOU know that they are. That's WHY we're here."
Jo is looking at Miraj.
"It's like violence is the only thing they believe they can agree on, but WE know that's not true."
Colette has stepped out of the kitchen, back into the corridor. It sounds like she's rummaging around for something. She returns with a big smile and a large bottle of 20th century wine, the good stuff.
"J'ai trouve quelque chose qu'on peut tous accepter. Faites l'amour, pas la guerre."

The GateKeeper

I’ve tackled Colette down on to the dusty ground before she even knows what’s happened. Fortunately, she’s rather famous for her sense of humour.

I can already hear U.V.’s guffaws from the invisible tunnel that she seems to have entered.
“Bravo! Encore! That’s what happens when you’re a DIVA, Colette!”
“Vraiment, cherie! Je ne connais pas que tu te sens comme ca!”
Colette is fluttering her eyelashes at me as Miraj holds out both hands in an effort to help us up. Me and Colette are sort of tangled so we just end up pulling Miraj down on top of us. I hear Colette’s giggle, and Miraj’s sigh, “I suppose that was necessary.”

Jo kicks at us while walking past, then disappears beyond the iron gate. I feel an incredible wave of excitement growing from the pit of my stomach. I have to get in there. I disentangle my own limbs from those of Colette and Miraj, then launch myself at the gate before I have time to change my mind.
Everything is dark.
There’s a flash of light. For a split-second, it’s as though someone is peering at me from the other side of a mirror.

It’s no one that I recognize, and then it’s gone. I feel the slight pressure that occurs when passing through a bell jar. My eyes begin to adjust, and I can see what looks like an elevator door one step ahead of me.

There’s another flash of light. I see the same face again, but this time it looks a little different.

I feel someone standing behind me.
Another flash, the same face.

“Qu’est-ce que tu attends, cherie?”

Two familiar figures stroll by me as the elevator door opens. I follow them and hear U.V. saying,
“We’ve even got compost!”

We’re in a small hallway. To the right is a room with two double bunk-beds stacked in the middle surrounded by walls covered in bookshelves. U.V. and Jo are on the floor, facing-off over a brightly coloured map covered in small cubes.

“Comment -?!”
“Relax, Colette. It’s just a board game.”
“Bon. Maintenant, ou est la cuisine?”
“Don’t tell me you’ve already forgotten.”
Miraj decides to stick up for Colette, “But we’ve never come in this way before.”
“Still, you have ways and means. Can’t you see I’m busy?”
“How did you already get so involved in this game? You were only about 30 seconds in front of us.”
“We’ve had it going for a few days now.”

Colette spots a mini-fridge that's been somehow built into one of the bookshelves. She makes a beeline for it, and opens the door without hesitation.
“Comme c’est mignon! Cucumber sandwiches!”

Jo yawns while reaching over the board to pick up one of the cubes. U.V. stretches out so that she’s lying on her stomach with feet waving in the air. She asks, “Can someone find me a pillow?”
“Je peux le donner a toi, si tu me donnes la route pour trouver la cuisine.”
“Cucumber sandwiches aren’t enough for you?”
Colette is about to make further complaint, when Jo cuts her off, standing up abruptly.
“I’ll get YER damn pillow, and I’ll take YOU to the goddam kitchen. Jesus. It’s like hangin around with a buncha babies half the time. Follow me folks. Lets go make some real food."
Guilty as charged. I'm hungry, and I'm not gonna deny it.

I wake up to sirens.

“Shit. Sorry, folks. I forgot about disarming this part. Hang-on a second.”
The truck immediately halts. U.V. begins speaking in subdued tones to a device that’s wrapped around her wrist. It almost looks like it’s made out of tumble-wire. She holds it up to her eyes for a moment, as though she’s doing a retinal scan. She turns back to us, nonchalantly continuing with her guided tour, completely unfazed.

“So 188 hectares were chosen as the site of the Central Experimental Farm and Arboretum. This is the land that we’ve got now. It’s all ours. We’ve got Marquis wheat, Preston lilacs, the Explorer series of roses.”
“You mean that in a non-colonialist sense, right?”
“On the prison-colony side of the moon, Miraj, sure. Hey Jo, use that bridge over there.”
“You mean the broken one?”
“I fixed it. I know it still looks broken, but trust me. I fixed it.”
“Whatever you say, U.V.”
“Comme vous etes droles.”
“Yeah, we’re gonna take that bridge and then there’s a bell jar we can use -”
“Tu veux me dire que nous allons arriver toutes suites?”
“We’ll have to go a little ways on foot -”
“Quoi?! Mais qu’est-ce que tu prends, toi?”
“Oh, Colette. It’s good exercise.”
“Tu ma rien dit comme marcher -”
“How do you get away with being SUCH a diva, Colette. Really. In our line of work...”
“Being a diva IS my line of work, U.V.”
“Of course it is.”

Our truck has just crossed the broken bridge when suddenly, what looks like an ornate iron mesh gate appears in front of the truck. U.V. hops out, plucks a large, old-fashioned key from her pocket, inserts it, and the door swings open. I’m watching U.V. as she enters the gateway. I can see her entering, but I can’t see anything on the other side. It looks like a gate sitting in the middle of a lunar desert, with a bridge on one side and nothing but a continuation of the desert on the other. She simply disappears. Then she waves her hand back out at us, so that it looks like an arm has emerged from thin air. Very cool. She shouts to us and it kind of echoes all around.
“Are you coming or what?”
Opening the door, Jo jumps down, and walks around to get supplies from the back of the truck. Colette throws open the door beside her, sticks her head out, sniffs the air, and then gingerly steps forward as though she’s about to get into a pool of water. I hesitate only a moment before yelling, “Onward, ho!”

A battered old truck, Jo's, sputters to a halt in back of Dr. Hubbleworth’s (our agreed-upon meeting place). Ultra-Violent is already riding shotgun in the front. She looks at us and nods with a wink of enticement.
“You scared, Carey?”
“I know I’m in good hands, U.V.”
“You certainly are, my friend. Hop in!”
U.V. climbs into the back and opens the door for us. She holds out her hand to Colette, who giggles as she climbs in. I go next, then Miraj comes in behind me. He whispers something to U.V. who quickly nods and says, “Of course.”
“I’m hungry,” Jo announces.
“Me, too,” chimes in Colette.
“Don’t worry, folks. I got plenty of snacks.”
“I’m sure you do,” Miraj says in an undertone as he settles into the seat located furthest in the back.
“Onward, ho!” U.V. shouts as the vehicle lurches forward.

We’ve been driving for less than a minute when U.V. says, “Blindfolds, please. Except you, Jo.”
We all comply. We know it’s in everyone’s best interest. Less than another minute later, Colette whines, “Are we there yet?”
Jo snorts, “As if...”
“C’est bizarre, vous savez, mais je me sens comme... C’est comme j’ai fait tous ca -”
“Colette, tu commences maintenant? En francais?”
“Qu’est-ce que tu veux? Tu attends quoi, Miraj?”
“Ahem. Well, Carey, I don’t know about you but I, personally, do NOT speak French.”
“No, me neither.”
“Presque, mais ce n’est pas tout -”
“Colette-euh.”
“Quoi? Je veux l’aider.”
“Lentement. Tu dois etre gentil.”
“Miraj! Bien sur, je vais etre gentil! Qu’est-ce que tu croit? Je vais la craquer?”
“Tais-toi, si te plait.”
“Hmmphfff. J’ai faim. Qu’est-ce qu’on va manger?”
“Colette-euh. Ca suffit, maintenant.”
“Comme tu veux, mais, tu sais que tu -”
“Enough with the French already! It’s rude!”
“I could just as easily say to you, ‘Enough with the English, already!’”
“Which way do I go here?”
“Straight ahead.”
“Oh, yeah.”
“It’s been a while, eh?”
“Sure has.”
“We scared ourselves pretty good last time, huh.”
“Yeah, but lets not get into that tonight.”
“Nope. Everything is very secure.”

Silence.
“Are we there, yet?”
Groans all around.
“Well, I could’ve asked it in French, n’est-ce pas?”
“Carey, how’re you doin so far?”
“I’m ok. Do you think you could describe the place we’re goin to a little bit, before we actually get there?”
Pause. Then, U.V. says, “Sure. Ahh, where to start, eh Colette? Never mind. Don’t say a word. Once there was an investment banker... For two weeks we kissed, held hands, then on a wonderful, Earth-lit day he drove me to his inflatable, self-sealing fabric habitat where -”
“Mon dieu, U.V. Is the drive really THAT long?”
“Alright, the banker is not important. While I was with him, I happened to discover his plans to build a subterranean abode somewhere along the boundaries between -”
“Aughh, U.V. I don’t exactly want to be tortured for the information you were about to, so cavalierly, share with us.”
“Miraj, I was only going to say, ‘mares and highland regions’.”
“Even that is a little more than -”
“It’s no more than any idiot knows about a lava tube, duh. ANYway, as I was saying... A lovely spot giving ready access to elevated regions for communications, regolith harvesting, plenty of mineral resources. Long story short, I’ve taken the place over, and I think you’ll love it. I call it ‘Malebolge’.”
Colette giggles, “Male bulge!”
“Sure, Colette. Anyway, I like to think of it as an amphitheatre -”
“The kind they used back in the day to dissect bodies.”
“Ahem. As I was trying to say, it’s kind of like a large funnel-shaped cavern that has tunnels leading out from it like spokes on a wheel.”
“There’s something about that design: the honeycomb. It’s supposed to be an easier way to control the masses.”
“Yeah, well there aren’t exactly any masses staying there.”
“You mean, not any masses that are still alive.”
“It’s something about discipline that requires complete enclosure.”
“Ahh, that sounds like Foucault.”
“Thanks, members of the peanut gallery. May I continue? Of course, the way they’re describing it sounds harsh, but wait until you see how I’ve decorated it: frosted blue night-lights, rubber matting beneath the rugs. It’s really quite comfy-cozy.”
“The specification of a place heterogeneous to all others and closed in upon itself. It is the protected place of disciplinary monotony.”
“You’re making it sound like the prison.”
“I’m just quoting Foucault. Besides, that’s what it was designed for...”
I finally decide to participate, “I thought it was going to be built for some banker?”
“Tsk, tsk. La pauvre...”
“Prison is actually big business, Carey. He was planning on developing the place and selling it off to one of the major incarceration corporations.”
“Oh. Have the rest of you already been there?”
“Yep,” Jo pipes up from the driver’s seat.
“Yeah, there’s nothing to worry about. In spite of all our jokes, it’s really a pretty nice place to stay,” Miraj says trying to put me at ease.
“Cherie, wait until you see it. Quite a unique space. The lines are so clean and you don’t get any of the ‘partition’ quality.”
“Brand new kitchens, bathrooms. One for everybody.”
“Every body.”
“Don’t start that shit up again. C’mon now.”
“Quelle merde, exactement? C’est Foucault, ehn? Tu ne l’aimes pas? Mais il t’adorait. Je t’assure. One must eliminate the effects of imprecise distributions, the uncontrolled disappearance of individuals, their diffuse circulation, their unusable and dangerous coagulation.”
“Colette, as if we don’t already know this stuff: establish presences and absences. Know where and how to locate individuals. Set up useful communications...”
I’m kinda starting to tune-out after this point, even dozing off a bit.

"Dr. X? I feel like I'm missing something. When I'm in the FIELD, or like, walking around in the halls, or whatever, and I get into conversations with people... Well, I just feel that there's something missing from this simulation."

"Hmmm... Getting homesick, are we?"

"Oh. I don't think so. Not yet. Is that ok?"

"It's ok with me, as long as it's ok wid you. So what do you wanna change?"

"Well, there's this thing that happens sometimes with groups of people. I'm not sure if you've ever noticed it."

"Believe me, I've noticed pretty much everything, when it comes to people."

"Ok. It's like this thing, where one person will leave the room and then come back. The next person will leave the room and then come back... Do you know what I'm talking about?"

"Totally. De ting I don't understand is why doctors try to convince patients dat dis'ome kinda paranoia. Dey always so eager to prescribe. I's terrible."

"Uh, Dr. X?"

"Yeah?"

"Can you tone down the accent a bit?"

"Sure! Sorry bout that. The thing I don't understand is why doctors try to convince patients that they are not observing some facet of human behaviour. Rather, doctors simply prescribe medication to treat the alleged delusion."

"So, it's not a delusion?"

"No, I've observed this behaviour. I know exactly what you're talking about. I have no idea where it came from, or what it's based on but it's not a delusion."

"Then what is it?"

"As far as I can tell, this behaviour aids humans in determining their limitations. Or at least, it's meant to help individual humans in communicating their limitations to one another."

"That's it?"

"Well, there's actually quite a bit to this pattern. For example, it's not enough for you to simply copy the behaviour of other humans around you. When you are in conversation with a given human being, say Pat, and you find yourself expressing agreement with everything that Pat says, Pat, in turn, may say something like, 'You need to get to know yourself better.'"

"Right. I think I remember something like that happening."

"Since you have stated your response in this fashion, I'll share with you another observation I've made. Now, you're not yet of legal age to drink alcohol but should you ever come across a situation where you are able to indulge in its consumption, one thing you should certainly consider is at what point you may begin to lose your memory."

"You mean, like black out?"

"Not necessarily. It's normal for humans to experience short-term memory loss on any given occasion, however, the consumption of alcohol certainly increases the range of this loss. It's difficult to determine the precise effect alcohol will have on an individual's memory loss before any consumption has occurred."

"Is this your way of asking whether I ever drank alcohol before?"

"Actually, what I have in mind is the simulation of consumption. Up until this point, I've been simulating your consumption of non-alcoholic beverages."

"You mean, even when I'm in the saloon with the girls?"

"That's right. You've never actually experienced the effects of alcohol in our Moon simulation. I do find it interesting that you've noticed this facet of human behaviour. It's unusual for humans to make observations of this kind before the age of 16."

"I'll be turning 16 this year."

"Right, but even 16 seems early."

"I guess I'm just special then."

"You certainly are, Carey. Shall I add the effect of alcohol to the simulation?"

"Yeah, but not too much."

"That'll be up to you, Carey. I will make sure that there's never too much alcohol in your drinks, but as always, the number of drinks that you consume is entirely up to you. I've noticed that you're quite conservative even without any noticeable alcoholic effects."

"Yeah, I feel pretty nervous about the whole thing."

"That is quite understandable. I want to emphasize, once again, that you are in a safe environment. I am always in control of whatever situation you are in. I will always make sure that no harm comes to you, no matter what happens. We've set the safety parameters ahead of time, and I am at your command should you ever wish to change them."

"Well, I was wondering if I could practice this whole behaviour thing. Like, how is it supposed to work?"

"How bout I set you up with the girls? Where would you like to try it?"

"Somewhere I feel safe. Maybe at Ultra-Violent's place?"

"Yep. We can do that. No problem."

"Thanks, Dr. X."

"Glad to help, Carey. Always remember that."