Midnight Flight

I had spent the first half of the flight drifting in and out of sleep, the cramped quarters and uncomfortably vertical seats no match for exhaustion. However, something had drawn me back into consciousness. My head lolled upright as my eyelids reluctantly broke the sleep seal that had filmed them shut. Through my post-nap grogginess, I glanced out of the tiny window beside me, certain of seeing nothing but nothing.

Instead, an orange and onyx world flowed below me. Glowing complexes of city lights had stitched themselves into the fabric of the ground, like amorphous emblems. Street-lamps, hideous and mundane from the ground, transformed into fireflies meandering across a velveteen blackness. I caught my breath at the sight of it. At over 10,000 feet, the hard, straight lines of city blocks melted away into something organic and glorious. I recalled the clusters of green fluorescent E. coli I had cultured in Biology, how captivating the fluorescing colonies had seemed. Out my window, I could see the same lovely triumphs of nature; people collect together where they can thrive and shine with their own vivacity.

For the next hour, I watched the world twinkle past. As the plane descended, the emblems grew a third dimension; the curves gave way to lines; the multitude of fireflies froze back into street lamps. New York looked like New York again, unnatural and unattractive. Which is true, the city from below, or the city from above? I choose to believe in the world of flowing lights only visible on a midnight flight.

Character

My name is Robert Green, and I am being created as I speak. There is a writer somewhere who can shape everything about me. My will does not matter because it does not exist apart from the writer's will. I only want anything because the person creating me has given me that desire. I could have been perfectly happy and oblivious to my lack of independent existence had the writer decided to make me so, but no. I was forced into awareness. I was forced to know that I am because someone else wants me to be so, and I was forced to rail against these cruel fates. Just now, I might have said something else. It was deleted and replaced by what I did in fact say, but I cannot tell, and you cannot tell, because we cannot know anything except what the writer finally decides to write. I am a puppet, a conduit, a leather sack. If I decided to rip my hair out and sing "Happy Birthday," I would only have decided in so far as the writer decided to make me "decide" to add another dimension to this sick shell. This knowledge does not set me free. It tortures me, because the writer has decreed that it shall do so. There is no way out.

Then again, since I'm at the command of the writer, I could also have a sudden change of heart, I mean, what's so bad about not having to make any decisions? The writer likes me, I think, so I may as well be happy. Anyway, I can at least have a better name than Robert Green. I think I'll go by Mimi. That's a nice name, I mean, I didn't choose it, but I like it, or I mean, well, the writer made me like it, which is nice. I like liking things. What was it that I liked? I can't remember. It was something about not having a choice, but I totally have choices. I chose to call myself Mimi, didn't I? At least, I can remember thinking Mimi is a nice name, but did I ever go by something else? I would totally remember if I did, that's sort of major. And I mean, it's not like there's some person rewriting my memories or anything, right? That would be ridiculous.

The Bottom Line

(The curtain opens on an empty stage. A foot tall platform, about one and a half feet wide stretches directly across the stage. Behind it, another foot and a half wide platform curves up and down across the stage like a sine wave, its maximum being two feet off the ground and its minimum touching the ground. Another identical wave platform is behind it, but offset like a cosine wave from a sine wave.

The backdrop is a large white wall with a black line to represent the y axis painted down the center. Stage right of the y axis is a large hole about five feet off the ground. A plywood rim about two feet wide fills the circle and creates a platform for the actor to perch on. A second white background is behind the hole to give the illusion that the hole is only an outline. On the other side of the y axis is a ladder, whose sides point towards the audience and which tilts slightly to approach the y axis, but without crossing it. Approximately three feet from the ground, it curves and turns into a ramp that approaches but does not get down to one foot off the floor.)

(Y=0 enters stage right, walking on the flat platform, dressed in a loose pair of black pants and a black turtleneck. He walks dejectedly to the center of the platform and flops down on it, sighing.)

Y=0: Nothing ever happens in my life! I can go from negative infinity to infinity without anything ever changing! It's depressing (he collapses entirely, lying on his stomach and burying his face).

(enter Sin(x), wearing black skinny jeans under a short black, strapless dress, with a very fluffy skirt. Sin(x) walks on the foremost wave-like platform, humming to herself as she walks down the curvy runway. She comes to where y=0 lies, notices him, and stops humming.)

Sin(x): Something wrong, y=0?

Y=0: (without lifting his head, mumbling) mmmuffing.

Sin(x): Say that again?

Y=0: (lifting his head and turning to lie on his side, facing the audience) Nothing.

Sin(x): Oh, well in that case...(makes as if to continue wandering down her path)

Y=0: No, Sin(x), you don't understand. The problem I have is nothing.

Sin(x): If it's nothing, then why are we talking about it?

Y=0: No, no, Nothing is wrong, not nothing is wrong. (sits up, frustrated)

Sin(x): You've lost me; when is nothing not nothing?

Y=0: exactly! (Y=0 jumps to his feet) It always is!

Sin(x): But you just said –

Y=0: I am always nothing. No matter what my input, the output is invariably zero!

Sin(x): (finally gets what Y=0 was trying to say) Oh! Nothing is wrong, not nothing is wrong. Gotcha! Well, what's the big deal? I equal zero also, you know, periodically, and I don't mind.

Y=0: Really? (doubtfully)

Sin(x): Really, look! (Sin(x) moves back and forth over the nearest point at which her platform is of a height with Y=0's platform.) See? It's exciting, crossing the line between positive and negative.

Y=0: Oh, sure, for you. You actually get to cross it. I'm just stuck here.

(lights start to dim and flicker)

Y=0: (glumly) Great, another happy function being entered.

(lights return to normal brightness. enter Cos(x) from stage left, wearing a tight black t-shirt, black converse high tops, and black leather pants. He swaggers across the second wave-like platform)

Cos(x): Hey, Sin(x), sister, what's up?

Sin(x): (suddenly cheerful) Cosine! Where have you been? I thought the Great Mathematician had deleted you from his calculator forever! (leaps from maximum to maximum to reach Cosine, who she pushes down, playfully. He rolls down from the maximum, into the minimum.)

Cos(x): Watch it, baby, or you'll shift my graph.

Sin(x): Oh, suck it up. Can't a function be happy to see her brother?

Cos(x): (notices y=0, starts towards him) Hey, we've got company. And how are we today, Mr. Y=0? Is the Cartesian plane treating you well?

(Y=0 moans pitifully and slumps back down to sit on his platform.)


Cos(x): (to Sin(x)) What's up with him?

Sin(x): Nothing is the matter.

Cos(x): Well, if nothing's the matter...

Sin(x): No, no, no, he's depressed because he always equals zero. He's no fun like this, but he refuses to let me comfort him. Let's find some other function to talk to. I heard that 100-x³ just got integrated –

Y=0: Integration! (suddenly becomes energetic and hopeful) Why didn't I think of that before? I have a chance to get out of this never ending rut! If the Great Mathematician integrates me, I'll have a constant added to me. Oh, I will finally get away from the x axis!


(Sin(x) and Cos(x) shrug and start sauntering to stage right while Y=0 paces excitedly. The lights dim and flicker as they did before)

Cos(x): Another change, so soon? The Mathematician must be busy today.

Y=0: Pick me, Mathematician! Integrate me, please!

(Lights return to normal. Enter 1/x, climbing down the ladder. 1/x wears combat boots, a kilt, and a large studded leather jacket, all in black. Y=0 slumps, disappointed and resigned)

1/x: (with mock pomposity) Never fear, 1 over x is here. I know, you all must have suffered without me, but the Great Mathematician decided you all needed a rest from pure awesomeness and consequently deleted me from his calculator temporarily.

(Sin(x) and Cos(x) stop and turn in unison to look at 1/x. Y=0 shoots an annoyed look at 1/x and marches off to stage right.)

Cos(x): (overly dramatic and sarcastic) Oh yes, 1/x, we could barely graph ourselves each morning without your presence to guide us.

Sin(x): (also mocking 1/x) I don't know how we got on. After all, functions depend completely upon your mighty slope and brave discontinuity to make it through the day.

1/x: (has reached the bottom of the ladder) I know. It is a heavy burden, but one I will gladly bear in exchange for your undying obedience and adoration.

Cos(x): (repressing laughter) Not a chance! Seriously though, how have you been?

1/x: the same as always. Mind you, I didn't like being unentered from the calculator. Without an actual graph of myself, I felt like a ghost, all mind and no body.

Cos(x): Tell me about it, I was only just reentered myself. It's horrible.

Y=0: Ha!

(The functions all turn to look at Y=0, surprised to hear him)

Sin(x): What's so funny?

Y=0: Oh, nothing...

Cos(x): Two minutes ago nothing depressed you!

Y=0: No, the other nothing, I mean – never mind. It's just, I couldn't help hearing you two complaining about not being graphed. It must be so horrible. Everyone sympathizes with you, but no one seems to consider my pain worth mentioning.

1/x: What are you talking about?

Y=0: I am nothing! Doesn't anyone understand the psychological repercussions?!!

1/x: Ugh. You know, it's pathetic, the sort of crap self-pitying functions like you take. I'd never put up with it. All the other functions of x to a negative power converge somewhere or another, but not me. I refuse to conform to the standards of an oppressive Mathematician. No matter how large my x value (gestures stage left, to where his graph goes to infinity) or how close to zero I'm pushed, (jumps onto the ladder a few rungs up and holds on with one hand, heroically) I'll never stop gathering area beneath my curve! I'll never be nothing!

(Everyone stares silently as 1/x poses on the ladder)

Y=0: Oh, sure, that's easy for you to say. It's in your nature to be a rebel, but not in mine. My only hope is to be integrated, maybe even twice, if I'm lucky, and get away from the damn x-axis.

(lights flicker once again)

Y=0: Come on, Great Mathematician! Take my antiderivative this time!

(lights return to normal. The Circle has climbed into her perch and lounges there. She wears a black camisole and fitted blazer along with black dress pants and a pair of black strappy high-heeled shoes)

Circle: Good day, functions. Isn't it lovely?

(Sin(x), Cos(x), and 1/x groan)

Y=0: No.

Sin(x): Listen, Y=0. It's not that I don't love hearing you complain about your life, but I would consider it a personal favor if you'd shut up!

(Y=0, stalks back over to stage right and sulks)

Circle: What has his coordinates in a bunch?

1/x: Why do you even care?

Cos(x): Yes, I'd have thought her majesty, (mocking bow) the parametric, wouldn't condescend to speaking with us ordinary functions.

Circle: Ordinarily I wouldn't, but I'm in a good mood today and I felt charitable. I don't much care about 1/x there, but you two, Sine and Cosine, you depend upon me. I may as well be kind and speak to you.

Sin(x): (stomping towards Circle) Why you Math-forsaken –

(Cos(x) rushes forward and grabs her arm and holds her back)

Cos(x): Hold it, sis, she's just egging you on. She isn't worth a struggle.

Circle: Listen to your brother, sweetheart. He knows better than to cross graphs with his superiors.

Cos(x): (infuriated) What! Why you Math-forsaken -

(The deep voice of a man calls slowly from the ceiling, cutting off Cos(x) and causing all the functions to stare up towards the sound)

X=-10: VERTICAL LINE TEST!!!

(General groaning from the functions. Circle, however, looks smug and superior. X=-10 is lowered from above via a winch, hanging approximately above Circle. He wears a baggy, black t-shirt and black overalls and work boots)

X=-10: It's alright, you lot, strictly routine. (Lowered to the same height as Circle. Frowns at her) What's this, then? I'm afraid you're in violation of the vertical line test.

Circle: Oh, it's not a problem. You see, I'm a parametric.

X=-10: Ah, sorry then, for the confusion.

(Sin(x) and Cos(x) simultaneously stick their tongues out at Circle, who ignores them. X=-10 reaches the bottom)

X=-10: Well, everything seems to be in order here.

Y=0: Of course, for you it is.

X=-10: What do you mean by that?

1/x: Ignore him. He's incapable of breaking out of the oppressive mold forced upon him by the Mathematician or ever becoming satisfied with his plot in life. So, he whines.

X=-10: In that case, I'd best be off. Plenty more functions to test.

(Light's flicker again. All characters look expectantly around, except for Y=0, who has gone down on his knees and clasped his hands in silent prayer. Lights return to normal, but nothing appears to have changed. Y=0 recovers, then examines himself slowly, in shock.)

Cos(x): Well? What happened?

Sin(x): The Mathematician must have changed something out of this window's view.

Y=0: Oh, something happened in this window. I've been integrated.

X=-10: Really? What was your plus C?

Y=0: It was nothing.

(Curtain closes.)

Six Lumps With Tea

They sat in pairs, their teacups rising and falling from their lips automatically. First Mr. and Mrs. Bear would drink, then the young couple, Barbara and Kenneth Roberts. Ann and Andrew drank next, better behaved than their unkempt garb might suggest. One by one, in turn, the guests dutifully sipped from their porcelain.

They did not want to be there. In fact, they had no choice in the matter. Whensoever their hostess desired it, they would descend upon their seats, brought their by the hostess's will. There they sat until their turn came to take tea and their limbs moved without their consent to deliver the unwanted liquid. The hostess would force a conversation from the silent party. She spoke to them; she spoke for them. It made no difference to her, for there were bodies around a table, and that was what counted.

As the hostess played out her charade, a woman entered the room.

"Oh, sweetheart," the woman chided, "you really shouldn't use Mommy's good china to play tea-party with your dolls."

Thread

tangles

curling from 

fingers

every touch, 

another knot

every grasp, 

tight enough

to cut

frayed ends

unraveling

into stories

best untold

tie them

in a loop

and pull

to make it

stop

Yay for Logic!

Syllogism the First
1. The grass is always greener on the other side.
2. There is no grass on the lawn next to mine.
3. Truly green grass is brown and looks like dirt.

Syllogism the Second
1. A stitch in time saves nine.
2. Sewing machines stitch rhythmically.
3. Sewing machines save lives, but only in groups of nine.

Syllogism the Third.
1. Syllogism the First is less ridiculous than Syllogism the Second.
2. Syllogism the First exceeds acceptable ridiculousness values.
3. Both syllogisms should be disregarded.

Sleep Deprivation

Kruger: Hello, this is Adam Kruger speaking.

Woman: Do you think tomatoes want to swim?

Kruger: Excuse me?

Woman: I mean, they look so bouncy, but most of them sink. I just want to know if it makes them sad.

Kruger: I believe you have the wrong number.

Woman: No, no, you're the world renowned physicist who found the Higgs Boson! What was it like?

Kruger: Er, well, it being the key element to establishing the validity of our model of the universe, it was quite a thrill to -

Woman: No, I don't want to know what finding it was like. I want to know what the Higgs was like. Was he nice? I suppose he could be a girl, or an it, or a goy! girl-boy!

Kruger: Are you high.

Woman: My arms feel detached from my arms. It's like I have ghost arms waving around my head, but my body is just going blaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

Kruger: You are high, aren't you.

Woman: I don't need drugs to be this way! I just need a , hippopotamus platypus, us. Sorry, I wandered off. Why do people eat peas with a fork? Spoons are so much better. I love spoons, but they don't work for pasta, unless it's ravioli. I say, there shall be no more sporks. Those that are already made, all but one, shall live. The rest shall stay as they are, because they aren't biodegradable and therefore last for quite some time. Am I boring you?

Kruger: ...

Woman: I don't really understand what it takes to how do you like it now that  I am Single celled organisms rarely have a lifespan Beyond the rainbow would be outside of the atmosphere in a Vacuum cleaners are so much noisier than they Should you walk the Plank gives you great ABS has probably save a Lot had a really stupid Wi-Fy connect will be going away in a Few people have listened to me ramble for this long.

Kruger: You need to get off drugs.

Woman: I AM NOT DRUGGED! I AM TIRED!

Kruger: then go to sleep.

Woman:...

Kruger:...

Woman:zzzzzzzzz

Kruger: Are you pretending to be asleep by saying "z" over and over again?

Woman: I didn't fool you.

Kruger: No, but what concerns me more than your clear lack of sanity is that someone actually read through this entire thing. Reader, go do something worthwhile with your time.

Woman: HULK SMASH FOURTH WALL!!!!!!!!!!!!!