We will be time traveling today. Not literally. We'll be hopping into our "way back" machine to discuss past events that have led us to where we presently sit in the here and in the now.
Recall my last meeting with Robert Lochaven, if you will. At the time, I spared both readers the tedious details of the conversation to prevent eternal boredom. If it's eternal boredom you're after, either one of you can turn on the television set and find a court show at any given time of day.
Stop now.
Go to the television.
Find a court show.
Trust me. You'll find one.
This type of programming fascinates Americans to no end twenty-four hours per day, seven days per week. We are drooling zombies when it comes to court shows and their dynamic, no nonsense judges.
Go to the television.
Find a court show.
Trust me. You'll find one.
This type of programming fascinates Americans to no end twenty-four hours per day, seven days per week. We are drooling zombies when it comes to court shows and their dynamic, no nonsense judges.
Moving on...
I now feel like boring you with said conversation.
Robert Lochaven speaks with a mouth full of his cold cut and salt sandwich. Although it's sort of disgusting with the mustard in the corner of his mouth and saturated bread parts haphazardly entering and exiting their intended target, however his speech is considerably decipherable, if not eloquent.
"How's your bubble?"
I don't quite follow this question's meaning and ask, "what?"
"Your bubble. Your moment. Your right here and right now. How is it?"
That clears things up.
Robert Lochaven continues to explain how the phrase "present tense" came to fruition. Every moment in time is a bubble and everything outside of that bubble is another time altogether, according to him. Being overly general, most people naively think of time as linear, but it's better represented with a confounding metaphor such as a sphere that faces certain destruction outside of its own context. History is not directly behind you and the future is not straight ahead. Both are in all directions all at once. A moment in time is short lived and those that commit to living in and of the moment, must face finding a new bubble upon its inevitable expiration.
The misconception is that time is linear, like a tightrope. If you pull on a rope right to the point that it snaps, the most tense part, right in the center, is where the fray begins and displaces. All things behind that point is history and all things forward is the future. That little space that carries the most tension that will inevitably snap is the present. It is this linear misconception, and the tense rope metaphor that gives us the phrase "present tense."
Of course that's my paraphrasing of his explanation because I'm not very good at expressing dialogue in written form, even though I will continue on writing and give dialogue its due.
I point out to Robert Lochaven that the tension metaphor still works within the context of the bubble.
"It just doesn't work that way," is his response.
"You're full of shit," I say. "Where do you get your information?"
"From the past. Everything that has happened is knowable to the keen observer."
"Give me an example," I test.
"Okay. Pick anyone you know, the only prerequisite is that they are a professional something or other and that they have an extensive work history. Don't ask them where they've worked. Just be certain to visit them in the morning and have coffee together. Enjoy the bubble for everything it is worth and when the meeting is through, at least some of your friend's employment history will be revealed to you."
"Of course. People love to discuss how very important they are." We are in agreement.
"That's not what I mean. Even if neither of you have anything to say. Even if you just sit there and drink coffee, staring at each other in silence until the bubble bursts."
"And what about this devastating house fire of mine you spoke of before? When did this occur, exactly?" Robert Lochaven can sense that my questions are no longer based on mere curiosity, as there now exists an inflection of doubt, toeing the rhetorical line, even.
"You tell me" he says.
"I can't. Because I don't recall a devastating house fire. If I had experienced a devastating house fire, I'd likely remember it."
"I bet you think beards can be grown in space too."
Okay, I admit...the beard in space jab from Robert Lochaven was a good one. He knows how fond I am of underrated, cancelled sketch comedy shows. He has to. That's the only way he would know to throw that particular reference in my face. I still think he's full of shit, though.
"Is it this house?" I reluctantly ask and brace for his answer.
"This house has never burned down. We're sitting inside of it right now."
"You're from the future, though...I thought maybe you saw something coming."
"I can't predict the future and to clarify your point, I am not from the future...I am the future and only know things that have already happened."
"But if you're hanging out in some future time, you could just look back in time, and see this house on fire, and then travel even further back in time to warn me."
"That's just not how it works," he says...again. Possibly just to irritate me and then continues, "no, this house is safe from my vantage point. In fact, this is my house. That's why I'm here. I found you in your previous house to get to know the guy that will become the previous owner of my current house. This house."
"I thought you said you can't tell the future."
"I'll say it again if you think it will help."
"How do you know this will be your house?"
"Because it IS my house. This, right now what we're doing right here, this conversation...all of it...is in the past. It's history. It's your bubble, not mine. Mine is in the future and I live in this house in my present tense. That's not telling the future. That's telling the current."
"And that's how it works, is it?"
Apparently that's how it works. And I'm still confused. The conversation turned to court television shows and he confirms that the genre will actually grow in popularity and the general public will grow even dumber (and number) as a result. Robert Lochaven continues on and urges me to consider rethinking the kitchen lighting and to address the aging roof before too long.
His agenda is exposed. I now see how this really works.
"So when exactly will...ahem...DO you live here?"
"Soon" is all he said in reply, then stood up, wiped the salt and mustard from his mouth, excused himself to use the facilities and vanished.
The bubble burst. The tightrope snapped. At precisely 3:42am, Robert Lochaven used the mysterious time machine that is apparently located in the bathroom and then I went back to bed.
Today's Jazz Hands recapped previously glossed over details.
Day two-hundred and forty-eight complete.
His agenda is exposed. I now see how this really works.
"So when exactly will...ahem...DO you live here?"
"Soon" is all he said in reply, then stood up, wiped the salt and mustard from his mouth, excused himself to use the facilities and vanished.
The bubble burst. The tightrope snapped. At precisely 3:42am, Robert Lochaven used the mysterious time machine that is apparently located in the bathroom and then I went back to bed.
Today's Jazz Hands recapped previously glossed over details.
Day two-hundred and forty-eight complete.
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