SIMPLY WANTED TO OUTLINE

By Ben Greenman

from forthcoming collection, as yet untitled

What has to be done to restore general mental health in the region is complex, but one part of the equation is clear: residents must be protected from those forces that would exasperate them by emphasizing and even intensifying distractions.  The governor is doing nothing to help matters, and in fact it can be argued with some degree of persuasion that he is a direct threat to the equanimity of others. This past Tuesday, in a speech before the state’s business leaders, he moved from one topic to the next in such a rapid and bewildering manner that it was almost as if he was trying to upend his listeners’ minds. A summary of the main points of his speech will suffice to illustrate: after starting with an announcement that dressed poultry will now be subject to slightly more stringent refrigeration standards, he moved to the next topic without prelude or context, noting that a historic three-masted full-rigged ship named the Temerity will be sailed back to the yard where it was built and converted into a museum. And then it was off to the races, one subject succeeding the next relentlessly: thieves breached the security system at  Hollander Park and stole six medals, including a Legion of Merit and a Silver Star; Ambrose Brookmire’s new restaurant on the pier, AB Sea, was damaged over the weekend by a blaze that could be seen for miles; the zoo has a new baby kangaroo; rising butter prices are a source of concern;  Roberta’s not coming back. This last bit of news, of course, is of relevance mostly to the governor, who has been coping with the dissolution of his marriage since early summer, and who has several times paused mid-speech to canvass the crowd and see if she is in attendance. She has not yet been. Following the speech, some stood to ask questions, and at least two prominent members of the audience, including the warehouse magnate Arthur Swecey, accused the governor of placing his own personal needs before that of the state, particularly where mental health resulting from sustained focus was concerned, and speculated that the governor’s hostility toward the peace of mind of others was a direct result of his own disarranged emotional state. The governor shook his head and reiterated that Roberta’s not coming back. By early evening, a spokesperson for the governor had issued a sharp denial: “He simply wanted to outline the various issues and challenges currently facing the state.” The same spokesperson added that the Temerity will be free to all school-age children until the end of the year.

DULL TASKS ARE THE DOMINANT THEME

By Ben Greenman

from forthcoming collection, as yet untitled

What do robots read? Fewer editions of The Bolt Companion, perhaps, fewer intriguing tales of metal barrels and dials and animating sparks of electricity than humans suppose. It would not be right to judge by such books as Anson-8’s Palletizing Calisthenics or David-118’s Six Electromechanically Driven Axes. Both are intended for simple robots, and in the end are little more than guidebooks for servitude. Nor by Antia-10’s Inverse Kinematic Verse in the Attic, itself advised for semi-autonomous robots with fixed arms. Throughout all these volumes, the mechanical aspects of the robot, rather than the emotional ones, are unfortunately emphasized. Speech synthesis is mentioned repeatedly, but the deeper meaning of speech not a single time. Continuous refueling using organic materials features in at least two books, but there is no thought given to the implications of what would, in human terms, be considered immortality. Factories, packaging, and other dull tasks are the dominant themes, and they are sold as a kind of satisfying obedience. Cobots are privileged without any justification. Throughout, an authenticity of thought and soulfulness of purpose are missing. And individuality is too often lampooned. Two books alone seem worth preserving. The first is A Mobile Robot Contemplates a Conflict (Herbert Brothers, $15.95), with a well-drawn scenario of a military engagement. Cronin-11’s forty illustrations, precise and intricate, retain their sense of humor and elevate the proceedings.  The second book—also no novelty—is the new edition of Oakley-12-1’s Swarm Robots, Not To Be Denied (Walker & Wind, $25.95). This is a large-format volume, cheap at the price, with splendid photographs of buzzing clouds of robots blackening the sky, taken by the robot photographer Daisy-9. Oakley-12-1’s fiery prose and Daisy-9’s unique sense of composition make an excellent match.

THE CLAMOROUS LIFE

By Ben Greenman

from forthcoming collection, as yet untitled

The prohibition of children standing on porches and yelling at the top of their lungs to children on other porches comes into force tomorrow; and inquiries made throughout the neighborhood, as to how youngsters propose to overcome the difficulty, found that the new injunction is being handled in a spirit of resignation, and that no attempt is being made to organize a less clamorous system of communication. Roughly ten years ago, an enterprising group of fourth-graders on Panel Street devised a plan that used flags, lights, and hand signals, in a kind of modified semaphore, but it proved too abstruse, and was gone within the week. In the case of the block between Felt Street and Chart Street, however, there are backyards with fences, so that juvenile residents can stand and speak over the pickets. And nearly all of the houses have telephones. “The real cause of all this difficulty,” said one boy, eleven, “is that we like to yell. There it is—it’s just that simple.” 

MEASURED AND EVEN MILD

By Ben Greenman

from forthcoming collection, as yet untitled

A man has been fined at Water’s Edge by Judge Francis Cowper for ill-treating three facts. George Murray, a small businessman, was the source of a complaint filed by his ex-wife, Karen, who noted that Murray frequently operated with flagrant disregard for the truth, and specified one incident last May where, during an argument about the couple’s impending separation conducted in full view of a neighbor and a mailman, Murray insisted that his wife had alienated affections for more than six months (they had in fact slept together the night before), that his wife’s mother had meddled in the marriage by sending Murray a letter condemning his career choices (Murray’s mother-in-law had been dead for several years), and that the state’s junior senator had done nothing wrong by arranging for a Saudi businessman to contribute money to a the presidential campaign of a candidate beloved by Murray and despised by his wife (ample reporting attested to the arrangement, though the Senator, like Murray, denied any involvement).  Murray defended his behavior by noting that it was measured and even mild compared to what could have been. “I planned to make up several new facts to stand in the place of these,” he said, “but instead I just told my truth, and if Karen has her own truth, well, I guess we’ll just have to agree to disagree.” The players in this drama reacted across a wide spectrum. Karen Murray’s attorney remarked that George Murray’s restraint reminded him of the merciful nature of the autocrat who pulls an officer from the ranks of his military to make an example of the man, planning on simultaneously hanging him and having him executed by a firing squad, but who then, petitioned on the man’s behalf, withdraws the firing squad.  George Murray, for his part, hailed the decision as a victory. “I’m happy that the court agreed with me on all points,” he said. The facts in question released a statement through their spokesperson, who said that “The facts speak for themselves.”

THE SAME MRS. SHAY

By Ben Greenman

from forthcoming collection, as yet untitled

A theft of a muffin having been committed in Berk’s Bakery, a woman challenged a boy early Monday morning near the pastry rack. He did not answer but instead ran toward her to avail himself of the exit door. The woman, Betsy Shay, struck him with a nearly empty flour sack but he escaped. Later that day, which was also the first day of school, a boy arrived for the third grade to meet his teacher, the same Mrs. Shay. He had white powder in his hair and was sent immediately to the principal, where a confession was extracted. 

A HOWLING WIND IN HIS NEW BOAT

By Ben Greenman

from forthcoming collection, as yet untitled

Some recent striking examples have brought emphatically to notice the hold which the habit of acquiring possessions has obtained in some segments of society. Though focus has been placed on the matter from time to time, concern over such behavior was limited largely to the mortal world, to editorials and awareness campaigns conducted by consumer advocates and religious leaders. The debate was not one in which ghosts made their opinion known until recently. Their stance against feckless materialism began ten years ago with random minor opposition voiced spontaneously and simultaneously in an uncoordinated set of regions: some ghosts objected in Maine, some in Texas, some in Missouri, mostly by making spooky noises as people got ready to go to stores, but no one protestor knew of any the others. That was remedied by the appearance of an organized movement headed up by a coterie of phantasms up and down the East Coast. Dubbing themselves Revenants For Responsibility, they endeavored to explain to the living that possessions were an inadequate protection against oblivion, and that time would certainly sweep away not only all material acquisitions but the emotional comforts they claimed to confer. They inserted into dreams images of bodies peeling into skeletons, of skeletons crumbling into dust, of infernal flames leaping from otherwise common currency, of malls filled with skulls. The goal, as they explained in their charter, was not to prevent mortals from having things, but to prevent them from defining themselves primarily by the things they had, and they were motivated not by anger and envy but by wisdom and contrition. “Several of us lived the way we see them living today,” their charter read, “and we know full well that the spiritual agony that results from arrogant consumption is more than lasting: it is eternal.” The RRs, as they dubbed themselves, appear to have achieved little, unless it be an increase in the number of people making purchases. Buying parties, commonly called “dollar orgies,” are more prevalent than ever in Washington, New York, and Boston, some of the same cities counted among RR strongholds. Spending habitués may conveniently be separated into two categories: those who buy things with a feeling of slight shame (they tend to pretend the objects they purchase are presents for others) and those who buy things with a feeling of misplaced pride (they insist that they are “exercising consumer confidence” or “boosting the economy”). Whatever the affect of the practitioner, excessive spending is chiefly practiced by those of higher status, and while the quantity which can be spent varies, it is always large. In one recorded recent case a man spent $58,000 in twenty-four hours. Word got out along the RR network, and by the end of the following day the man was subject to several moderate haunts, including the spoilage of two high-priced bottles of wine and the sound of a howling wind in his new boat. Despite these, the man’s first feeling was one of exhilaration. As he readied himself for bed, the RRs vowed to one another that they would deliver a series of dreams terrifying enough to fully reform the profligate, but their tone was one of anxious bravado rather than calm confidence.

LUNCH ON A BENCH

By Ben Greenman

from forthcoming collection, as yet untitled

Interesting evidence of the different aspects of human connection was given by a young woman yesterday in front of the county courthouse. A homeless man was pushing a cart along the southern edge of the plaza, and when passing a man in a suit, implored the man for a few coins. Money was exchanged, along with a few words and even laughter. A twenty-six-year-old woman eating her lunch on a bench observed the entire scene, and later remarked upon it. “I saw a real balance,” she said. “For all the economic differences, the second they began to speak, they assumed the same posture, the same expressions. They made the same gestures with their hands. Forget race. Forget class. I mean, we have to remember them, but forget them for one second, the way I did when I was watching the two men. One of them said something surprising and funny, and the other one threw back his head and laughed, a real spontaneous laugh. The fact that I don’t quite remember which one spoke and which one reacted, well, that’s the point.” The woman, who would not give her name, explained that she was out on the plaza because she had just broken off an affair with her boss, who she loved, but who she also resented, because he had pressured her into the affair at first, and in a way that she knew was entirely beyond the bounds of propriety, and that friends of hers had urged her to go to Human Resources and report the conduct, but that she had no plans to do so, that the very idea was anathema, because there had been love, because there still was love, and that now that the affair had ended, everyone was going back to their corners, which meant that she was going back to oversee the paralegals and he was going back to the corner office, to the long black leather sofa that ran underneath the window with the view of the park, to the floor-to-ceiling bookcases filled not only with bound legal opinions but with novels and even poetry that he loved to read out loud, to the big wooden desk with pictures of his wife and children, and at this she began to weep. Her shoulders shook with life lived and unlived. A few moments later, she composed herself and pointed back toward the southern edge of the plaza, where the homeless man and businessman had conducted their transaction. “Humans connect in unpredictable ways,” she said. “That’s my point and that will always be my point.” Her weeping recommenced.