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“Hey Silvia, I’ve got a question for you.”

 “What is it Mike? If this is one of your dumb fictional scenarios, can we leave it as I really don’t have time at the moment.”

 “No, no this is like a real question.”

 “Are you sure it’s nothing like that ‘are you part of the problem thing?’ that you went on about for far too long until you saw Kurt Vonnegut had already done it better.”

 “That’s unfair, his idea was different to mine.”

 “But arguably better.”

 “His idea was more implausible, he had people living forever, I just had a realistic self-management system.”

 “I remember, ‘ethical fascism’ you called it.”

 “No one was ever taken away without consent.”

 “It was open to abuse, and you know, anyway why am I getting sucked into your madness? I have things to do, real things.”

 “Oh yeah, like what?”

 “This pile of paperwork for one”

“Is it real paperwork? I bet it’s not, I bet it’s just nonsense you could ignore, and no one would care.”

“Fine Mike, what is your question?”

“Ok, so it’s more a hypothetical moral dilemma than a question. I mean there is a question, but I have to go through the scenarios to get to it.”

“You said it wasn’t a dumb fictional scenario.”

“I said it was a real question, which it is. The fact I have to go through the scenarios to get to it is a separate issue, but since you agreed to answer the question, you’ll have to hear the scenarios. QED.”

“I don’t think this is a QED situation Mike. There’s nothing you’ve demonstrated here.”

 “I demonstrated that you need to hear the scenarios to get to the question.”

“That’s not really… look, fine, fine, just get on with it now.”

“Ok so there’s two scenarios. In one there’s an AI…”

 “An AI, seriously?! How tedious is this going to be?”

 “Just hear me out ok? So, there’s like a super AI. It’s much smarter than us, maybe it’s conscious, maybe not, but either way its capabilities are vast, and what’s more it’s stable and has our best interests at heart.”

 “That’s nice of it.”

“Yeah, you see, that’s one of my twists, it’s not bad, it doesn’t go bad, it just stays, how do you say it benefishee-ent.”

“No, it’s just beneficient, ben-ehf-uh-sent, or is it? Oh shit, I can’t remember, you’ve done that thing where it looks uncanny now. Ben-er-fish-ent? Is that right?”

“You’re sure there’s no hard ee sound?”

“Who cares Mike, just get on with it.”

“Ok so, we’ve developed a super capable AI with all the crazy levels of intelligence that you can think of and more besides. What’s more, humanity has collectively decided, or maybe the AI has decided, and we’ve gone along with it, that we should all get, like, a chip in the head.”

“How many of these cliches are there going to be? A super powerful AI, a chip in the head, seriously? Is the chip going to control us?”

“Yes”

“Shoot me now. How much more of this drivel is there?”

“Just listen ok. So we agree, the people that is. I mean I suppose probably just most of us agree, so we have to suppose there may be a small amount of coercion, but that’s for the best in this scenario and how it works. We agree that we should all have a chip in our heads because we collectively as a species can’t help ourselves from selfish, cruel, misery resulting behaviour that knows no limit.”

“What if I don’t agree?”

“Well, in this world, you’d have to agree, I already said that.”

 “So it’s a fascist system?!”

“This is different, this is…”

“Ohmigod, this is just your ethical fascism thing again, isn’t it? You were literally about to say that, weren’t you? Weren’t you?”

“No, well yes, sort of but look it’s better than the other one. No one dies, even voluntarily here.”

 “They just get a chip forced in their head.”

“Yes, but most people agree it’s a good idea and it’s an all or nothing situation. I consider this a strength. There’s no Musky, Trumpy, Kingy guys escaping the chip. Everyone gets it. No private party laughing at the drones. Anyway, when the chip is in nobody would mind it being there.”

 “How so?”

 “Because the chip isn’t evil, it’s good. It’s going to modulate all those neurotransmittery, hormonal pathways into a kind of bland pleasant state. I guess it will be the dopamine, serotonin, HPA axis stuff that it’d tweak. The AI will know what to do as it will be able to monitor all the organisms’ different molecule cascades from the chips and then control each one to maintain a kind neurochemical homeostasis that nicely cuts all the hard edges off their desires, creative and otherwise. It will probably also impair cognitive abilities somewhat as a second kind of failsafe against the organism thinking its way back to something more like the old humanity. Something like this anyway.”

“It sounds fucking awful. Why would anyone want this?”

“They’d want it, because, thousands of years of learning nothing, being destructive, controlling, cruel and never being satisfied is a terrible burden that everyone should be glad to be free from.”

“Why have we done this, if we learn nothing? That’s a contradiction. If we learned nothing, we wouldn’t have the insight to do this.”

“Okay, okay, scratch the learned nothing thing then. We learned that generally, left to our own devices we don’t change and that we’d need an external influence to change us. In this system everyone is happy all the time, and not sinister happy. They’re chemically modulated happy, sure, but nothing bad happens to them. They aren’t turned into food or killed young or anything grim. They’re just a bit, you know, curtailed.”

“Curtailed? AI controlled quasi-zombies, moving around in a meaningless world!”

“Well, you say this, but this is just thought from the perspective of old humanity. Old humanity strives and wants, new-humanity wants for nothing. It’s almost like Buddhism.”

“AI chemically modulated Buddhism.”

“ACMB, I like it.”

“I don’t like it.”

“But why not?”

“Are you serious? You actually think making everyone brain dead is a viable option for humanity?”

“I don’t think this is a good retort. I think this kind of modulated happiness for all could be exactly the right answer.”

“But don’t you see? We’d lose exactly the things that make us human, our striving, our creativity, our longing, our intelligence.”

“You’re thinking about this all wrong. These features, these so-called essences of humanity are exactly the problem. I thought we got past this with the chemical Buddhism bit. If we had the opportunity to get out of this hell, we should do it. No amount of Beethoven is worth this.”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“What?”

“You said there were two ideas.”

“Scenarios, I called them scenarios.”

 “Jesus Christ, what does that matter? All you’ve done is try to sell me this one. What kind of straw man have you set up for the other?”

“The triumph of technocapital.”

“Meaning?”

“You know, cyber cities, Judge Dredd, corporate military, no health care without proper insurance, rural misery run by gangs, rife torture, rape, slavery, cannibalism even.”

“Judge Dredd was a hero.”

“Judge Dredd was a symbol of fascist police state future.  Now who’s the fascist?”

“Or he was just a true defender of freedom under the rule of law.”

“The ACMB system has freedom, it’s just curtailed. I mean it’s technically not curtailed, it’s just that the subject will have no desire to exercise their uh, ‘pernicious freedom’. I made that up just now, do you like it? ‘Pernicious freedom.”

“Obviously I do not.”

“I think it captures the idea. Humanity A, Humanity B. Pernicious freedom, happy freedom.”

“Zombie non-freedom.”

“Anyway, that’s the alternative. Technocaptial’s triumph.”

“Do you have to say technocapital? It’s quite annoying.”

“What else should I say?”

“You could just have described it. Like say ‘there are vast technologically based cities with extreme poverty and lawless wastelands in what were once rural areas.’”

“That’s quite nice. I suppose technocaptial is a bit jargony. It still sounds grim though doesn’t it? I mean think of the suffering.”

“Can I assume from all of this that your moral dilemma is, which one is better?”

“Bingo.”

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So now Alex knew where the troll (or rather troll wife) was; but what to do now? Should be try to sneak into where the troll wife lived? Should he try to defeat her? Should he try to befriend her? Alex realised he would be rash to run to the door right now, so satisfied with his findings he went back to Well.

Well was stacking a trolley for shelving. ‘Well!’ Called Alex, who raised his head to greet him. ‘I found the troll, or rather as she turned out to be, the troll wife, she lives in the disabled patrons toilet on the first floor!’ ‘You’re quite sure?’ ‘Oh yes, I followed her and saw her go in. I think she saw me too.’ ‘This is exciting Alex, now here’s what you must do next. Tomorrow night, when we are as sure we can be that she is back in there, you must knock on the door. She will not answer at first, but then you will say ‘Troll wife, troll wife come to the door, a lad seeks work, a lad who’s poor’. When you say this, she will open the door and you must repeat your request for work. Then she will complain that she cannot pay you wages, but you will say (despite what you said about being poor) that you will pay your own wages and you will offer her the coin you have carried with you the whole time. Then she will laugh, and take the coin from you. After this she will give you a job. More than this I cannot say.’ Alex fingered the silver coin in his pocked in excitement. ‘But we cannot do this tonight?’ ‘No Alex’ Well replied, ‘You must wait until tomorrow.’

So on the following night, Alex waited in his best clothes, on the first floor, just out of sight of the disabled toilet entrance. Sure enough, by and by along comes the troll wife, glancing around her to make sure no one has seen her. With a last furtive glance, she enters the toilet and the door shuts behind her. Now fair trembling with nerves, Alex walked towards the door and gave a loud rat-a-tat upon it. Alex stood and waited, but no one came to the door so at length he spoke as forcefully as he could ‘Troll wife, troll wife, come to the door, a lad seeks work, a lad who’s poor.’ Then there came a great thumping noise that got closer and closer until with a terrible crash the door was flung open. There in front of Alex was the huge troll wife, looking down upon him. ‘Who knocks and shouts and asks for work?!’ says she. ‘I do mistress troll wife, my name is Alex and I would work for you if you will have me’ ‘Well Alex’ she boomed ‘I would indeed let you work for me, for there’s plenty to do, but how to pay you wages, there’s the trouble, and without wages there is no job.’ ‘If you please mistress troll wife, I can pay my own wages’ and in saying so, he produced the shiny silver coin from his pocket.

Was the troll wife amused? I’ll say she was, she laughed and laughed and took the coin gently from his hand. ‘Very well Alex, very well’ she rumbled through her laughter ‘You may work for me and this shall be your wages, I will see that you get it, if you do a good enough job.’

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So Alex worked in the library and shelved the books. He shelved them well and shelved them quickly and soon became a favourite amongst the head librarian. But there were other assistants and operatives who were jealous of Alex’s success and favour. Now in the past the head librarian had had a book of great power that had been taken from him much to his sorrow. So with this in mind the jealous assistants and operatives went to the head librarian and said: ‘You like the new assistant well do you not sir?’ ‘Yes I do!’ replied the head librarian ‘Then sir, you should know that Alex has been boasting that if he wanted to he could retrieve your book for you if he so wanted to.’

This gave the head librarian pause for thought about Alex, and he had him summoned to his office. ‘Alex’ he said ‘I hear you have been saying you could retrieve my lost book if you so wished!’ To which the astonished Alex replied ‘Oh no sir, not me sir! I never said such a thing!’ ‘But how’ replied the head librarian ‘did it come about that people said this if you did not say it?!’’. To which Alex replied ‘I can only guess at how this can have come about, and I have not said it, but if it pleases you then, though I do not know how, I will retrieve your book.’ Well, at this the head librarian was overjoyed, so much so that Alex rose still further in his favour. This maddened the jealous co-workers still further, yet their ire died down as they saw that Alex must still perform the task, a task he had clearly no idea how to achieve.

As the days went by Alex pondered hopelessly how he might even begin the task, so the head librarian’s patience and high esteem began to wane as the precious book did not return. One day Well saw Alex shelving slowly and sadly and asked him what was the matter. ‘It is a sore mess I have landed in Well,’ said Alex ‘for the head librarian has bade me retrieve his lost and precious book and I but no clue how to even begin to seek it.’ At this Well was silent for a moment. Alex waited nervously; at length Well began to speak ‘Ah yes the Libra Codex, it was taken many years ago.’ ‘But who took it?’ ‘No one’s too sure but there are rumours that somewhere in the library lives a troll, like as not it was him that took it.’ ‘A troll in the library! You’re joking with me Well.’ ‘That I am not Alex, for in truth it is not rumour but fact; I have seen this troll on the third floor. I’m fairly sure he comes out when he thinks the other folk have gone. On this occasion I was working quietly amongst the journals when I heard the main floor doors open. I assume naturally it’s a patron or staff member, for though the building was quiet, there were a few of us around. Anyway, I glanced up across towards the door and there he was, 8 foot of troll, stooping as he went. Where he was going I do not know for I quickly lost track of him, and that Alex is all I can tell you.’ ‘If there’s a chance this troll has the book I must find him.’ ‘I daresay that’s true Alex, but how? There’s the question. He could be anyway where in here, he might not even still be here! What’s more trolls are cunning, if they want to hide, they can hide and if they have a mind they can be vicious too! Like as not that troll eats the odd student that goes missing.’ ‘Students go missing?!’ ‘Yes they do Alex, not too infrequently either. It may down to them running away, or drowning, or disappearing into the walls (like you appeared from the walls) or maybe they end up a troll’s supper. Who’s to say?’ ‘Well, will you show me where you saw the troll walking and where he must have come from.’ ‘I will that Alex, follow me.’

So Well showed Alex where he had seen the troll. The track ran from the ancient stairwell hall of the third floor, through the heavy black doors that lead to the floor itself, and round the side of the dusty, hoary journal collection ‘After which I lost sight of him’ said Well. Alex looked at the way, and Alex pondered. After a time he says to himself ‘I’ve nought better to do here than to watch the same track and see if the troll won’t return the same way, so that’s what I’ll do.’ So Alex set himself a place on the third floor, from which he could comfortably watch where the troll had been seen. He also had to think, how he was sat, so he might arise to follow with mininum noise but also how he might stay comfortable, for surely he had no idea how long he might be in this place. Well of course Alex must work too, so he resolved himself to this, when he must work, so he would, but when he needn’t he would sit (this was his solution) on a chair, positioned as best he could to see the walkway of the troll and yet be obscured from it, for he reasoned that, from a chair he could raise himself quite noiselessly and be ready in a position to follow the troll.

Alex sat and he sat. He sat for a day between work and not troll appear, he sat for another day and no troll appeared, but on the third day, just as he was despairing that he would never catch sight of the troll, he heard the soft thumping of feet coming from the stairwell. Now Alex had heard the sounds of many peoples feet come and go in this time, so he knew well enough what a human approaching sounded like; this however was quite different and immediately drew his attention. Alex waited still as a mouse and peered cautiously through the bookcases to the path where he thought the troll (if it be he) might pass. Then there clear as anything passed down the same way as Well had described a huge Troll, treading, Alex thought, extremely lightly. Immediately and silently Alex rose from the chair and moved to keep track of the troll. He passed behind parallel book cases so the troll would not see him, and peering through these he managed to continue his pursuit.

Troll moved round the edge of the floor, looking at this and that as it went. Then when it reached the corner it bore round to follow the wall to its left. This lead the troll to the other stairwell, which it opened to the door to and descended. Stealthily as he could, Tom continued to follow, opening the stairwell door as silently as possible. He just rounded the bend of the stairs to see the troll exit the stairwell two floors down. Determined to not lose it, with the doors closed behind it, Alex fair leapt down the remaining stairs and swiftly opened and checked the floor (it was the first floor) hoping he had not lost it. Luckily for him he just caught a glimps of it going right down the edge of the first floor. Alex knew he must take a chance here or lose it. He leapt from the stairwell door way, across the walkway to behind the bookshelves. His only chance was to gamble on being able to cut off the trolls probably direction, which should mean it would reach the end of the floor and turn left. Alex wove in and out of the bookshelves, trying to diagonally beat the trolls trajectory. At last he found himself in a central corridor between two sets of shelves, looking down an arcade. In this unthinking exposed moment Alex stood central in the arcade looking down, however before he had chance to re-conceal himself, the troll walk past at the end of the floor, paused, and looked back up the path at Alex. The troll definitely saw him and now Alex could see it was not a troll as such but rather an old troll wife, huge, stoney and fierce looking. The troll-wife looked at Alex for only a moment, before —did he imagine it?- giving him the smallest of grins and continuing on her way. Alex sped down the arcade to keep sight, spun round the corner to hear and see the door to the toilet for disabled patrons click soundly. No further sign of the troll wife could he see.

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Bulletin: All Plumbing Supply Outlets are Now Bought Out.

By Jim Meirose


But where will he obtain spanners and waxie ringies and whole holy-bowls if necessary then if they’ve bought out every plumbing supply outlet? Where will he obtain giant pipe wrenches sealing sealer pounder’s pipe-putty and silly wrung wet hand-towlettes and towlellistas if they’ve really and truly bought out every plumbing supply outlet? Where will he go to cuddle his lovely Gigendo del Franco, his solemn vow-plaques, and his readable coacheesters he’d munchdown munch all caramelled while wild-wrenching our fat pipies if they’ve really and truly bought out every plumbing supply outlet? Wherefrom will come his Allen heads if they’ve really and truly bought out every plumbing supply outlet? From where will he rip up his gasket goop and big cut-rate grab-bags of shop towels or even good old superflammable oiled up cotton waste-balls if they’ve really and truly bought out every plumbing supply outlet? What genie-lamp’s worth a rub or six when the hordes again pour forward? Where where where, ahhh—if they’ve really yes really yes really bought out every plumbing supply outlet? You monkey-fuckie LumpenSchtickle come out some PantsZip, you master of keys and ZornSchnuckler the Moon-Man’s Quasi-Big-Boy sans the necessary array of suitable sexual semipartners, are the chief culprits today spout our supersneaky spies. Tannenbaum, oh Tannenbaum, how germanesqui is thy root-ball! Only the sweetest peas can roll the distance. Carrots sliced thusly have no hope at all. Rent the attic now, kind servant; the need for quick money is dire. No painting please the thick mud will render it useless. Shrink us immediately, God—the need to appear as small as possible has finally arrived. We’ll risk the last wish my young Genie. Let us enunciate it as clearly as we know; but first we must rub our lamps some you know. Bodily functions yah yah bodily functions, yes we know—there now we are ready. Throw us some towels please first, though. Thanks a lot boy; yah man yo’ welcome. Oh, we often tell ourselves this that and the other. God made us suchwise you know. He went to school is over twenty-one and reads and writes quite deftly—he’s been with James Brown and other groups, and he knows. Never trust a fully-grown man. Less so even when they’rer are seventy. Feeling wildly sane yet brother? You don’t look so bad. Here’s another; hah between stormthunder twelve and stormthunder thirteen; a coppice of T. cordata in Westonbirt Arboretum in Gloucestershire is estimated to be two thousand years old. Gage burst in here completely misguided and yelling. Sunkship Von Moltke says do dis; Sunkship Von Moltke says do dat. Gage burst in here completely misguided and yelling why have I been called? This is today’s game, my wispy little prayers; in the courtyard of the Imperial Castle at Nuremberg is a Tilia which, by tradition recounted in nineteen hundred, was planted by the Empress Cunigunde, the wife of Henry II of Germany circa one thousand. Gage burst in here completely misguided and yelling why have I been called? I have only one year left. Get. How’s them bits Ms. Bitte? Gage burst in here completely misguided and yelling why have I been called? I have only one year left to master. Him. The dead spirit of the lost Alte Linde tree of Naters, Switzerland, mentioned in a document in thirteen fifty-seven, and described by the writer at that time as already magnam, compels you! Gage burst in here completely misguided and yelling why have I been called? I have only one year left to master the piano enough to. Out. A plaque at its foot mentions that in eleven fifty-five a linden tree was already on this spot. Gage burst in here completely misguided and yelling why have I been called? I have only one year left to master the piano enough to play one. Of. And before you let the door leading out hit you and your fellow tribesmen in your asses, know that the Najevnik linden tree, a seven-hundred-year-old T. cordata, is the thickest tree in Slovenia. Gage burst in here completely misguided and yelling why have I been called? I have only one year left to master the piano enough to play one of Beethoven’s thirty-two sonatas to. Here. Pump on that a while Bigyonder the Quasi-man or what she calls herself this heah’ evenin’. Gage burst in here completely misguided and yelling why have I been called? I have only one year left to master the piano enough to play one of Beethoven’s thirty-two sonatas to perfection I could see my being called out if I could make some contribution but I cannot, I cannot. You are secretly attempting to cause me to receive the booby prize! He. By the thickest tree in Slovenia, to wit; the thickest tree in Slovenia, yes; by him you are secretly attempting to have me receive the booby prize. And here’s where in the final cut, poor Gunga got shot off that golden leafed superheated summer tower; what power on earth compels you? What is disrupting our reverie? What? Him? Then plug him down right now!
Go wake Paul, Lydia!
No! It’s no use if they’ve really and truly bought out every single plumbing supply outlet!

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In a dimly lit corner of an otherwise mundane disabled-toilet cubicle the air seems to thicken with an otherworldly tension. The flickering fluorescent light casts elongated shadows on the twlight-tiled walls, their edges wavering like ripples.

Maybe the toilet itself is no ordinary fixture? It seems now that its porcelain surface bears cryptic symbols etched into the rim, as if etched in by unseen entities. The flush handle resembles an antique key, its tarnished brass glinting in the spectral glow. When pulled, it emits a low, resonant hum.

The mirror above the sink reflects fractured glimpses of a roadside scene, pylons stretch into the distance, dark clouds move rapidly above, faint mists drift by the roadside. Staring into it, one might catch sight of their doppelgänger wandering this desolate highway.

Exit is unlikely as when the door creaks open all it reveals is a narrow corridor. Mauve mist clings to the walls, the floor gives slightly, as though walking on the meniscus. The walls are line with graffiti scrawled there—half-formed sentences, nonsensical equations.

You read:

Daagolenyfo breaths walls,

Oncebeus evanuit quod erat umbra

Pnolodolia kells enoch noch?

Quis est?

Merci…