On the other hand, hanging in so unorthodox a way filled the clothing item in question with a visible spirit of reckless laxness, when watched from aside, which conveyed to Lex voluminous roundness a hint at potential erectable standing. Maybe. In case it were needed.
On the whole, he cut a fine picture, like a hussar of the Czarist Army in their parade uniform tunic which was donned in just one sleeve, leaving the second one to freely dangle about. Every commissioned officer shoved his arm into one and the same sleeve, even if you were a left-handed hussar. No excuse would do. The elite troops should keep to the uniform regulations.
However, this here gutsy Lex left all the hussars far behind letting both his jacket sleeves empty, besides, he had no mustache so dear to heart of any cavalryman or pedestrian of a highwayman disposition
Some intriguing puzzle is,' announced Lex, who managed to ferry his jacket to the stall occupied by V, and drop it on the opposite back whose seat he collapsed into, close by (next to his dinner jacket, for those who joined us right now), why you, Pretty Boys, are so predictable, eh? Nearing the Cabin I knew that youd be sitting in the corner. Does not matter whichright or lefta corner remains corner. But why?
To give the commoners a chance to gape and admire our nifty appearance, maybe, suggested V.
So splendidly simple! Youve ditched my elaborate theory that you keep to it as a vantage foxhole to keep in check possible startups. Some Kid from Kenosha, you know, who pops up to benchmark how swift you are at drawing your piece. Cant that be why?
The question why? opens the floodgate for trigazillions of theories each of which might be plausible to a certain extent,' responded V dully like a pedagogue dead bored with repeating the same hooey for dummies.
O! You dont say so! What a nightmare! Now, back from the deluge to the file I stole taking advantage of my position at the Firm. On the whole, its a kinda collective log
Shut up! Got domed with a brick from the roof? What sputter is this? You drunk or something? But if Im wired? Mark well all you say now might be used against you and distress your ass bitterly.
Lex shook his head in disdain.
Forget that deprecated shit, dandy. Recordings do not count now were it even lie-detector-backed sincere confessions of the repentant SOB, thanks to the non-stop scientific achievements. Nowadays, my lawyer would prove easily its a recording of my innocent prank. Moreover, you have nothing but my words and, even though the voice is also my, where is the evidence of the malicious intent?
Wake up and get your rocks off! We live in the times of 2-step-verification. No court would pick up a case based on mere words without well documented thoughts of the perpetrator planning the misdeed or thought by them while doing it.
So, honey, just action without the 2-s-V is of no count any more. Were you even caught with a smoking gun over the body riddled in tatters or with your pants down before a bevy of kindergarten kids. Whatever. You might have easily been a victim to puppeteering, they set you up by means of retroactive manipulation of causality. Yes, Ladies and Gentlemen. It was a mean trick by the great-grand kids of your sibling sister. They revenged your not giving that fool, your sister, a candy bar when she was three. She cried about the deprivation on a video which those posterity brats would find in the attic of their great-grandma. Of all that you were completely unaware while performing actions you had been manipulated into.
Ya dig how the land lays now, eh? Crime is only what slips thru 2-s-V.
Ah, I see. If they hack my email box where you call me to put President on ice but they cant present the record of your frivolous thought, like, Why not sending this trash to V?,' you are immune and sinless as the Holy Virgin?
Attaboy! Exactly! My nose stays as clean as that of a 20-year-old nepo baby of a billionaire running a multinational corporation. And let the hackers fuck each others ass in your email-box. Pardon my unorthodox lexica.
Thats why you shy sending the file to me?
Clear as day. The file in your box plus a plain record of my thought while sending it makes me utterly vulnerable to incrimination.
Record of your thought? Are there any pills to mitigate the alcoholic delirium, I wonder?
Man, thats what Im doing at my workplace. Not pills I mean but thought recording. Ever heard anything about the noosphere?
?
In addition to the athmo- and stratosphere the eggheads have turned out one more the noosphere. The thing consists of thoughts ever thought by those capable of thinking. Any thought, however secret and hidden, flits there openly, like radio signals. But its a lame analogy because a radio signal tends to fade and die away while a thought becomes a part to the noosphere forever and a day. Ineffaceable. Indestructible. Undisguised. True, the technology is not developed to the full potential as of yet, however, with the threshold overstepped the rest is just the question of time. Theoretically, youre able to zero on in and read the thoughts of Leonardo da Vinci while he was doing his Mona Lisa.
How about the thoughts of your dad at the moment of spilling you out in the crowd of your doubles, obviously not as zippy, spermatozoids?
A problem of a higher level. You have to sieve his contemplation out from those by other males in the like phase, and by bigger apes too both in zoos and in the wildthe shifty bastards conceal their wit so as no to get harnessed into the mutual labor efforts. Theyre all alike, the orgasmic thoughts of men for the last five million years wrapping the planet with innumerable layers, reaching the altitude of the Everest. You certainly will need assistance of AI yet, in principle, the problem looks rather trivial.
Bullshit! The legends, myths, and fairy tales by a group of anonymous alcoholics in a marathon session!
A well-grounded heat, yours is. The idea looks as weired as mobile communication would seem to Chinguiz-khans granny. Yet the public is readily trained to never give a bean. One more wrapper around the planet? So what? Arent we taught about the atmosphere containing the oxygen atoms? Have you ever seen an oxygen atom? Nope. Still you use them for breathing. Noosphere? Just an immense bulk of thoughts of any kind both precisely defined, and laxly dropped halfway, and lost and popped up again
They are really squeezed in there, aint they?
In the head?
No, in your announced noosphere. The thoughts must have been flagged off by the incantation Let be light! and since then thereve been thought up such a magnitude of thoughts that all the ware-houses, dumps, and canyons should get inundated by the surface in rising deluge.
Looks like it started dawning on you, good friend, which is a welcome news, yet you still apply the obsolete square-nested approach. Of course, it might seem tight for all kinds of thoughts starting with the Wheres mom? I wanna tit, and pee, and poop! up to the Damn nurse! I need the bedpan! Now Ill wet the pajamas to spite her!. They are born to never disappear, millions upon billions thoughts every moment, wreathing, meandering, swiping thru each other. The buggers dont give an eff about the grim warning by Malthus.
A-and there is a well substantiated suspicion that any living thing is capable of thinking, from the unicellular to stalagmites. Another host of contributors The good news is they are intangible, floating thru one another, anyones thought withing whoever elses thought. Just like radio waves do or maverick quant effluence and so forth doo-doo that no normal dude can ever understand. Do you follow, student? Beware, I am strict and demand details at the term examination.
As long as they are so intangible, I dont care about their Gulf Streams and Maelstroms made up of immaterial matryoshkas sitting in each other or wherever they hang out.
Everywhere, buddy! Everywhere in you, in me, in this here table. Thoughts, thoughts, thoughts, thoughts
Youve screwed the cite, Words, words, words, words, says Hamlet.
Words are not for storage. Theyre too fragile, unstable, often broken, forgotten, lost irretrievably. Thoughts are another kettle of fish, they are always there. Accruing parts in the noosphere.
Thanks for your entertaining tale, yet as an inveterate mountaineer I cant believe a thing without grabbing it first.
How many times have you groped a radio wave?'
Somehow missed the experience. Yet I can switch on the receiver thrown together by my Dad in the past millennium and listen to the weathercast.
The announcer reads the forecast and you, piehole open, believe in the maneuvers of the clouds which you cannot grab. By the by, some guys earn a good living from thought reading.
Come on! No medium has ever managed to cheat the guys from AIP neither to pass SPR or ASSAP checks.
Who talks of mediums? I meant the guys who work with me in the Firm. Turning the knobs to tune to a thought in the noosphere. Easy as cake.
A kinda radio receiver?
A sort of.
V gave his pal a closer look. To give out such a yarn you should be pretty high. But no echo of pipe dreams in his eyes, neither the purplish circles about them, and none of the uncontrolled sipping whiffs at nothing. The guy broadcasts not from under influence. Hmm. And leaves no loose ends, a kinda Second Coming of Isaac Newton for you.
Okay,' began V thoughtfully, if for a split second we suppose all this blither to be not a sham spilled by hostile aliens from Tau Ceti as a mock Trojan Horse, then I cant even remotely see how
But are you ready to hand over twenty years of your precious life to see closer yet dimly? interrupted Lex. The learn curve is pretty steep. Some nutty field of science. And all of that fundamental brainbreaker is based on a certain Algorithm of Chaos. Which is about all I know.
* * *
3
In the most ruthlessly devastating of her gait styles, waitress Sally neared their stall. So it was announced in the badge on her magnificent breast, the left one, pinned over the dazzling white blouse (for the folks who tend to read in fits and starts, like, for instance, me at times, when not sufficiently concentratedthat was said about the badge, the damn thing was pinned and nothing else whatsoever, so as to remove any groundless expectations and keep staying on the safe side)
As always in his intercourse with the fair sex, V gave free rein to his habitual instinct or, which also possible, to his instinctive habit, notably aggravating at the instances of communication with the distaff segment in personnel of both budget organizations and private business (the time of day, it might be mentioned, had no effect on his deep-rooted habit or, maybe, ingrained instinct).
At times he gave it a shot at reckoning location of tattoos in private nooks of their anatomy, for intimate exposure besides those on the show at their working hours.
However, the imaginative detours were merely spells of an aside activity and for the most part V stayed unobtrusively keen on intercepting the flickers of the random signals emitted by female subconsciousness. Those will-less weather balloons to scout out and plumb you. The unexpected winks or, say, playing the tongue along their parted lips then leaving its tip to stick forgetfully from the corner of her mouth. Subconscious, unpremeditated impulses are numerous and unforeseeable.
Why?! Pray I earnestly, tell me why learning all those grammar rules and phonetics? Why enrolling courses of differently foreign languages online or strain yourself with a paid tutor? They are intended only to obscure the simple and ultimate truth conveyable which is so easily imparted by means of body language. And bodies, moreover so lavishly opulent and graceful as by this here representative of millennials, Sally the waitress, do have the right for self-expressing. Unrestricted. The opener, the better.
Even for the reps of earlier generation branded with offhand Xfretted with wear and worries, wasted by their useless anxieties and utterly worn out by the unsparing exploitation of their poor selves and those by their side they only could put their hands onthere always remained a warm nook in the big heart of true knight and gentleman, that of V.
To boil it down, enough is to remark that even for a lady fairly advanced in her years, whose puberty coincided with the times when beatniks (another since long lost and safely forgotten generation) revolutionized jigger-bug into the rock-n-roll acrobatics, even for herfaith!could V politely wind some sixty years back and there inadvertently admire the high tempo of her strong legs step enfolded tightly in sleek nylon. The stockings of black nylonthe ritzy vogue, the seam shot plumb up from her heelssqueak tinily and rub each other in between her heated thighs gee! girl! No need to haste. Youll be in time and everything OK, and he will surely be waiting for you chain-smoking his Lucky Strike, and thatll become the best date in your whole life, yes! In swaying swoon till midnight and beyond it to the predawn twilight sipping into the interior of his chicest of all Ford models, Crestline Victoria, over lie-down seats A!. Babe!. O!. O!. Moreee!. mmm Tommy dear
With a sad smile of understanding would V watch after that silly brimless hat of hers, and the single feather stuck up from the teensy roll of mash veil tripping in her bouncing hops which are impossible to abate, keep down she runs on she doesnt hear him the distance is too great
By his nature, which he doesnt flash too freely, he is a ladies man in love with all the women in the world both in stock and separately, and ready is he to go on down that road, free of charge and not overly exacting (do it!) but with gentlemanly chivalrous laziness: his yes to welcome yes, and if no then so be it, he does not press too far too hard. In short, to use just a couple of couples of words womanizer and benevolent sociopath would be a fit description of this here cat, V.
As for the rest (more and more diverse) spectrum of advocates for the emancipation of non-traditional appetites, he never speak up against them, so is his principle. At most (and without further comments), he may shrug his shoulder (the left one as a rule), like, so what? Jedem das Seine and let everyone be the master of what they got while he (which is not superfluous to repeat) upholds the principle of non-interference and respecting the right for self-determination and inviolability of preferences in private life and in the international arena.
Yes, pathetic they are and, on the whole, coyly overacting, however, a crowd like any other one, passable for communication if abstaining from in-raids into your personal space. Yes, they wince at free-style speaking and, unaware of enlivening paganish power of incantation, grow too melodramatic, at once. But then who is without a blemish?
Pardon my axiom, tastes in any direction are preconditioned by Nature, you cant skirt around the ineluctable, right? Though at times its hard not to feel sorry for a Natures critter who locked their vintage vehicle up and keep the artifact of brightest ingenuity incarcerated, devoid of rides because the fucking mother Nature directed them to drive some complete shit of a car. Yet, nothing doing, no way to resist Eff Mother and, for the tolerances sake we close the discussion of tastes as well as other surplus idle talk. Lada Kalina is their choice? Be happy, enjoy your ride, gourmets. Fuck!