Kapitano
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Posts posted by Kapitano
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Yes, the point is it works for any 24 hour period, not considering the periods before and after. The original question was:
What event takes place on a clock face twenty-two times per day?That is, "What occurs twenty two times each and every consecutive 24-hour period?" Your solution requires that the final passing be discounted from today's 24 hours and shunted over to become the first passing in tomorrow's 24-hour period, but once we get to tomorrow, the same passing event is shunted back into the previous day, so as not to count.
It's slight of hand, like counting two Sundays to prove that there's eight days a week. In this case, we can see how the magician moves the cards, and the trick is exposed.
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Intriguing.
There's a story of a journalist asking Issac Asimov the difference between a happy and a sad story. Asimov replied, "It's a matter of where the story ends."
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1.
You're there.
Tapping away on that computer in the bedroom, online to whoever in one chatroom or another.
I don't remember when I stopped loving you. It could be last year, or the year after we met, or any time in between. I know I loved you once, but that seems like another world.
Oh it's not a bad life here with you, and we're not unhappy. We both have good jobs, similar taste in music and food, and we like a lot of the same TV. We haven't argued for...actually I can't remember when we last had an argument.
Why don't I leave? Why don't you? You must feel the same way, though we never talk about it. Why don't we just call it quits? Simple. I've got nowhere to go, no one else to go to, no reason to leave, and you're the same.
We're friends, not even especially close. Nothing like the all consuming passion when we fell head over heels for each other that summer, however many years ago it was. Too long ago.
But we're friends, and that's good, and we're happy.
2.
You're gone.
One day you were there, and the next there was a note on the kitchen table. All the laundry neatly done, the fridge fully stocked, housework done.
And a note saying you still loved me but couldn't stand the way our relationship was going. That you were sorry, truly sorry, but felt like too much of a coward to tell me face to face, and you hoped someday I might forgive you.
The first proper conversation we'd had in months. You'd found someone who was nothing like you but they made you feel funny and daring again, like you did when you met me. You met them in real life and it was still good - that time you were away on business, you were with him.
I didn't even miss you. I miss you now, just a bit, as a friend.
3.
You're back.
Same computer, probably the same chatrooms.
You were with him for nearly twelve months, until it went sour. We spoke on the phone, met up two or three times, went for a drink and you always told me how sorry you were, and I said it was okay - I understood.
Then one night you knocked on my door. It had all gone wrong and you knew I had no reason to let you in but you had no one else to turn to so...please? Just until you could get things together.
That was months ago. You've got no reason to leave, and I've got no reason to push you out. You have occasional flings on the net, we like the same food, the same music, and a lot of the same TV.
We're not close, but we're happy.
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The usual answer is that the minute hand crosses the hour hand.
But it doesn't really stand up to analysis. The idea is that the first crossing at midnight (0000 hours) doesn't count because that crossing belongs to the previous day, and the final crossing (at the next 0000 hours) belongs to the next 24 hour period, which entails a contradiction if you say the event happens on each consecutive day.
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The "bus" and "train" puzzles you give aren't strictly logic puzzles at all. If they test anything, it's how little attention you pay to details that look like they're not relavent, because they look like irrelevant detail in what looks like a logic puzzle. If you see what I mean.
Real logic puzzles, like the one in my little story, test something completely different - whether you had the kind of education that taught you how to solve those kind of puzzles.
IQ tests contain a lot of logic puzzles, plus a lot of supposedly general knowledge, some mathematics, and some parlour games involving anagrams. In other words, IQ tests test whether you've been playing these kind of games long enough to get skilled at them.
Incidentally, my IQ is 164 for mathematics (which I'm useless at), 135 for general knowledge (which I don't have) and 79 - subnormal - for linguistic ability.
The kind of puzzle I wrote above (which BTW I wrote first, building the story around it) is easy if you know the method - draw a grid of all the possible relationships, and blank them out as they're discounted by the information given. Whatever remains after that is the answer.
PS. The "train" puzzle is based on the inference that a freight train transporting livestock would have no conductor. But we don't know that it is a freight train - we just know there's animals on board. So what looks like a purely deductive (therefore objective) test is based on an inductive (therefore questionable) premise.
But then, people who love to give that kind of test don't know much about logic.
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Sean, Adam, Drew and Rick are two couples.
One has invited the other to their place for an evening meal,
and probably later a movie.
Rick tells a joke and Sean laughs even though he doesn't get it, while Adam rolls his eyes and smiles - he's heard Rick tell it a dozen times before. Drew helps Adam carve the beef, while Sean spoons out vegetables onto everyone's plate, himself last. Rick nibbles on a baked carrot and makes a little appreciative "Hmm" noise.
I sometimes wonder what an anthropologist from another planet would make of our little rituals. The way we dress, act, and speak. The things we say and the things we really mean.
I've known these people for years. I was at college with my boyfriend before he became my boyfriend, and we both knew our hosts when they started dating. They were the proverbial odd couple, with an age difference of nine years and contrasting attitudes to punctuality and neatness, but they surprised everyone - including probably themselves - by staying together.
Drew has difficulty opening the bottle of wine. He gives it to Rick to try and eventually the cork comes out. Adam sips his wine first. Sean proposes a toast and all four raise their glasses.
Two of the men are also having a secret relationship.
Sean's boyfriend went to the same school as Drew.
Adam's boyfriend once worked for the same company as Sean.
Yes alright, I'm carrying on with one of them, and it's not my boyfriend, and his boyfriend has no idea, and if one of us slips and it gets out...well I don't know what'll happen. But it'll be bad.
So yes, there is something else going on here. We're both nervous and desperate not to show it. Sometimes when I look across the table and our eyes meet there's a moment of shared fear - so I try not to make eye contact. Someone might see it.
There must be a thousand little clues which would tell our alien anthropologist that our hosts are very much in love - subtleties of body posture, movement, expression. Even the way they manage to co-ordinate their eating and speaking, so one holds up the conversation while the other chews.
But if that's true, there must be a hundred clues that there's discord mixed in the harmony. They argued earlier, before we arrived. They didn't mention it, but I can tell.
They've broken up a few times, once for six months, but they always get back together.
Rick passes the jug of gravy to Drew, who offers it to Adam, but Adam signals that he doesn't need any more. Sean starts talking about a documentary he saw on television last night. When the others show interest, he goes into more detail.
Sean is Rick's boyfriend.
Rick is not having an affair with Drew.
I love my boyfriend. I just can't think of anything to say about him. He's just...nice. When he's with me we can happily spend the whole day in separate rooms, so long as we share a bed at the end of it. But when he's not around I miss him terribly.
This whole...thing started when he was out of town, about a year ago. I was feeling very sorry for myself, trying to think of an excuse to call him. But then someone called me.
I didn't even recognise the voice at first, sniffing and weeping down the phone at me. "He's gone, walked out, says he's never coming back, says he hates me, I don't know what to do, oh god..."
So I went over and...yeah, you can guess can't you. We just needed someone to listen, hold our hands and say it'll be alright.
Of course they did get back together, and we agreed that we should forget what had happened because we both had really great partners of our own. So let's never mention it again, but before that, let's just have one...last...yeah, right.
Adam starts to say something, but is interrupted by Drew choking on a piece of food. Sean asks if he needs help, but Drew says he's okay. Rick looks relieved. The four eat in silence for a minute before Sean takes up the conversation again.
Drew is not having an affair with Sean.
Sean once went on a date with Adam,
but this was their only romantic involvement.
Rick takes the last baked potato, cheerfully munching on the leftovers as Adam pours himself another half glass of wine and Drew leans back in his chair, a little overfull. Sean is still talking, the others occasionally nodding to show they're still listening.
I am Adam.
Who is my boyfriend?
Who are the other couple?
Which one is my lover?
Give your answer in full.
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It's always the same. They always leave me, and they always wait till I've just decided this time it's the real thing. This time it's perfect and they'll stay forever.
And now Bob's gone too, just an hour ago. He was so sweet about it - it was him who cried, not me. Said he still loved me but...it would never work.
The first time it happened was...how long ago? With Steve. I honestly thought it was the happiest night of my life. He'd come home from work early and made us a wonderful candlelit dinner, with wine and three courses. I thought...
...I thought he was going to tell me he'd decided. To commit. To give up that wife of his and be with me.
But he wasn't proposing, he was leaving. The meal, the candles - it was his way of trying to soften the blow when he said he wanted to go back to his wife.
He was so...charming about it. He was charming in everything he did. And just as I stopped telling myself he was too good to be mine, he wasn't mine anymore.
That time it was me who cried, and he took me in his arms and held me close, wordlessly, for a long time until I stopped. I knew it was the last time he'd ever hold me, so I took each moment and tried to make it last.
He kissed me, the bristles of his beard against my mouth. And then he was gone. He didn't look back, but I watched him walk away until I couldn't see him anymore.
Then I...drank the rest of the wine, cried some more, walked around the flat for a bit, and lost for anything else to do, went for a walk. I can still remember every detail of the evening.
I found a park bench and sat down to collect my thoughts and wipe my eyes. I didn't even notice there was someone else there. He asked if I was alright. He smiled at me, asked if there was anything he could do to help.
He said his name was Ste...
Wait a minute. That can't be right. His name was...
His name was...
It was Steve. So...this was when Mike left me. Yes it was Mike the chef who cooked me the meal to say goodbye. But Mike didn't have a beard. And anyway I didn't live near the park then.
Steve was the only one with the beard, and Mike was married. And I actually lived with Steve, for six months - we moved into a new flat together.
It wasn't a whirlwind romance - I mean, it took us nearly a year to admit that somewhere along the way we'd become more than best friends.
It seemed silly to live separately when we spent all our time round each other's places, so we found a place and just moved in. He even started speculating about adopting a child together - but I said it was way too soon for that.
Secretly I thought it might not last - he was a wonderful guy, so supportive and patient, and I couldn't help wondering whether he'd really want to stay with someone like me.
Then one night, I honestly thought it was the happiest night of my life. I can still remember every...
He came home from work early in the evening and...
...he kissed me, the...
...no. that can't be right. It can't have been Steve. It must have been John. No, John was later, after Carl. So it must have been Dave - except I met Dave in the park after Pete left. No that was Sam. But it couldn't have been.
Was it Bob?
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Complicated relationships.
David could get rid of Jase if he really wanted to - what's Jase going to do? Tell Celia? No one'd believe him. So David doesn't really want Jase to "fuck right off".
Jase obviously gets off on controlling men like David, and perhaps David is drawn to being controlled.
Celia and Sean - oblivious in their different ways, but seemingly happy. And David is seemingly happy with Celia.
How many of us have been in one or another of these characters shoes?
Nicely done - obviously it's a first draft but the rough edges don't detract. And hey, you've actually followed my suggestions - I'm flattered.
So of course I had to do an "hour" story of my own...
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Oh wow. Looks like I'm appreciated
. I might have to get an editor.I shall submit it to the story page. And then spend a week reading what everyone else has put there.
Thanks people.
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Pornography, from the Greek meaning "Writing about prostitutes". Pornos - Prostitute, Graphia - Writing.
It's a word spoken only by those who don't use the stuff - indeed, by those who don't want anyone to use it. "Police broke a pornography ring", "Pornography = Rape", "Save our children from pornography".
Have you ever heard anyone say "I love pornography" or "I'm going to watch some pornography tonight"?
No. Real people don't have pornography. They have porn, which is completely different.
Ten years.
Ten years of being there for each other, of talking and listening to each other, of hurting each other's feelings and making it better.
And now you tell me it's all over. And why? Because you think you might have found someone else.
So what if we haven't had sex in four years, or kissed in two, or hugged in one? Yes I've been keeping track. You know why? Because I care, that's why. Because I care about you. About us. But now you're saying there is no more us.
As if you haven't spent the night in dozens of other beds before coming home to ours. As though I haven't done the same. We've both been to saunas and cottages and parks, and afterwards we compared notes. In our home.
We're supposed to be friends, goddamnit. And now you say you think it'd be best if we didn't see each other any more?! What is this?!
Porn is text or images designed with one purpose only - to assist masturbation. A lot of people get it confused with erotica, and sometimes to be fair there is an overlap.
Erotica give you a little rush of sexuality, in the broad sense of the term. It gives your hormones a pleasant jolt without requiring you to follow things to conclusion. It suggests the enjoyment of another's body without pushing you towards penetration or orgasm.
Erotica is sexually sensual, not just sexual. Maybe that's why some erotica is great art, but no porn is.
Porn doesn't get you in the mood for sex, though erotica can. Porn is what you use once you're already in the mood for sex with yourself. Porn is just boring if you're not already a little aroused.
So who is he, this other man you'd rather be with than me? Does he even exist, or is he just an excuse to leave me? Is that what you really want, to be alone? I could understand that; You don't have to lie.
Ten years of our lives. And what have you left me with? A box of the letters we wrote when we were apart, a headful of memories, and a stack of your mucky DVDs. Half of them with your name in the credits.
There you are, freshfaced and eighteen, getting off with two strangers in a barn. There you are again with a different haircut, making exactly the same noises with someone else.
Aroused. Now there's a word. It can mean "awake", or "angry", or "with an erection".
When we arouse the wrath of the gods we provoke nemesis by committing hubris. More Greek words.
Psychologists talk about "arousal" to mean something like alertness. They're probably the only people who say "Are you aroused?" to mean "Are you paying attention?"
But when you wake from sleep - when you're "roused" - why don't we say you're "aroused"? Especially because when you wake up, first thing in the morning, you're probably...aroused.
I was reading one of your letters, from when you were setting up photoshoots in Europe.
Your descriptions and photographs of the churches and caves - they made me want to be there, so we could explore them together.
I always liked going places with you. Do you remember the time the truck broke down a hundred miles from anywhere, you built a fire, and we slept under the stars, huddled together for warmth?
Masturbation is another word used by people who don't want you to do it. No one says to themselves "I think I will masturbate tonight" - they say "I'm gonna have a wank".
You can imagine religious nutjobs holding placards reading "Masturbation is evil!" - but not "End wanking now!".
Pornography - Porn. Masturbation - Wanking.
Do you remember how we met? The final scene of one of your films is of an orgy - you and twenty youngsters who look just like you in a forest.
If you look closely, in the background, one of them is me.
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The rain started to fall harder so I quickened my pace. I was going from nowhere important to nowhere very much. It was getting dark, and I didn't want to be late for nothing much.
Beside me a red faced man in his forties bustled along under an umbrella. His paunch was wheezing, and raindrops wobbled on his bald pate.
Then, sauntering towards us was the boy I'd often seen before. Eighteen or nineteen, straight dark hair styled into spikes under the hood, white leads trailing from ears to Ipod, baggy lowslung jeans and those same old battered trainers, the logo on his teeshirt plastered wetly to his torso.
Oblivious to everything but his music, he obviously didn't know how angelic he was, and well, that just made him more angelic to me.
I slowed so I could have a few more seconds drinking him in...before he passed, unaware as always.
I took a quick look backward, at his tall swaying frame, before dragging my eyes away with a mental farewell, and promise to do it all again soon.
I glanced at the man with the umbrella, and...
...saw that same look in his eye. Taking in every detail as he looked back, trying to make it seem casual. The wanting to take, the pleading to give.
So there's someone else who understands. I wonder if, maybe, seeing as we both can't have, you know, that one, we could, perhaps.
No. He wouldn't want me. Because I'm too much like him. Too old, too needy, too...used up.
. I might have to get an editor.Scan to donate
ADSR
in Flash Fiction
Posted
Ah. Of course. How could I have missed that?
Nice one.