Saturday, 5 November 2011

higgs boson



iago standing by the york cathedral smoking a spliff in the rain with keith, just before they entered the guy faulkes and switched to the mandelbrot set, fractals, the higgs boson, neutrinos, the cosmological constant, standard candles and, of course, terra firming mars.
it had been four years since keith had seen iago, in brighton. he was in the north now caring for his father. soon after the initial excitement of seeing the same face but at a later stage in life, seeing some advances, or at least changes, things soon enough returned to the modes that had dominated interactions previously.
‘it’s good to see you keith,’ said iago.
‘sure,’ said keith, wth an indecipherable distance.
‘what about steve jobs then?’ said iago. ‘i think all the talk of him being a genius is a little over the top. he was a smart businessman, but a genius? fuckheads.’
‘he had a nice eye for trends, design, aesthetics. he empowered and changed personal comms forever. him and zuckerberg.’
‘yeah, but GENIUS?!’
‘he was incessant but i think you’re right – maybe business is too generally pragmatic to permit genius.’
keith took a sip on his vodka and red bull, as iago drained his pint of guinness. the pub was full of mostly old blokes, there were a couple couples, there was a group of women in fine dresses and colourful hats who had been to the york races that day. there was an off-duty barman talking to the humungous sweating barman at the bar, someone iago knew.
‘i wouldn’t say we are close,’ iago said. ‘do you want another one keith? red bull?’
‘yeah. get me a red bull with some vodka in it,’ said keith.
then it was: capitalist focus; 100,00 years of self awareness, environmental tipping points, the tour de france.
when they left it was still raining-drizzling. teenagers pelting across the street to batter each other… 'it weren’t even im tha said it ya fookn knob!'…bif!
iago and keith in the rain seeing that. the kids running, falling down the wet shiny moonstreet swinging at each other...'waddya fookn say it fa?!' 'i dinn'n say nought! ya cock!' ...whack!
‘see you iago.’
‘see you keith. good to see you.’
'yeah it was. see you.'
keith in the taxi then through the night roads of yorkshire, soon to be lost, somehow anxious about the group of people that lay waiting there on sodden camping grounds in the dense Yorkshire country night; voices arriving he had not heard for some time, words he knew he would have to mouth soon enough, things that weren’t necessarily that representative…


Thursday, 3 November 2011

conned



on a 747 & there is a man in chinos with his connies. pacing. as we sail above the atlantic the dude paces with a hand in his beige chinos. and those chinos pulled RIGHT UP where the three tone black, brown and tawny bevelled 35% leather belt is kinda tightly squeezing his abdomen, just below the ribcage. the pressed, white, abercrombie & fitch thick pin, cufflinked shirt. the side-parted light brown hair straight outta the catalogue, bitch. pacing up and down in the plane with his hands behind his back in his connnies. is that steve jobs? didn’t he die? the telcom, movie and computer genius is dead.

and anyway jobs favoured black turtlenecks. they became one of his motifs, like elegant design and usability and increased personal computing power became motifs of the business he ran. zuckerberg may have had connectivity, but jobs had elegant design and usability and he delivered increased personal computing power to millions if not billions (it's a little too expensive for that). 

he was the guy that saw everything about portable telcoms and entertainment and computers and movie technology and connecting them and us and connecting apple to the beautiful core where phenomenons were born.

and he did all that in a black turtleneck. he slept in a black turtleneck design pair of pajamas. the bottoms were flannel, three quarter length, or four-fifth length, tai kwan doe style, to remind of the east, of faraway wisdoms, of knowing when to attack.

other bottoms were ultra-thin denim. slightly faded. made in the same regional chinese sweatshop the rest of the apple empire’s gear was made in.

the i-phone factory owner did it as a favour, it was easy enough – he used to be in the textiles business. there’d only been 14 suicides this year. not a bad number. last year, 46. “nobody mention that when jobs die.”

connies were made just down the road. why shouldn’t a man try to demonstrate he retains a hip edge via a pair of trainers that rose to prominence off the back of basketball-african american culture in the 1970s? but as he paces his thoughts are deep in STRATEGY. or trying to understand how jobs combined INSTINCT & STRATEGY.

or just trying to think GENIUS THOUGHTS...come ON!!!!!! something...atavism + computers + the environment...er, hang on, is that dinner being served?...