Media Unfriendly , livre ebook

Andrews UK - Jason Winstanley

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83 pages

English

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Description

Everything you see, Asimov, is a deception.' This book is a collection of deceptions, of reflections, of fictions, of distractions and distortions. 'Media Unfriendly' features vignettes, short stories, improvisations, meditations and sketches inspired by, but not exclusive, to John Simm, Five Star, Elvis impersonators, cream jeans, androids, Italo disco, Nicole Kidman, media barons, psychosis, local councils, Swedish pop groups and idea material one cannot mention in a family publication. It requires your emotional and financial investment, and your attention span. You could 'Like' if you are a slave to platitudes. Or buy it, if this blurb is not considered too smug to the point that you want to smash the authors face in. With a horse skull.

Informations

Publié par	Andrews UK
Date de parution	26 juin 2014
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781782347859
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	1 Mo

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0100€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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Title Page
MEDIA UNFRIENDLY
Jason Winstanley

Publisher Information
Digital edition converted and published
by Andrews UK Limited 2013
www.andrewsuk.com
Copyright © 2013 Jason Winstanley
Artwork by AutoCreate
Edited by Marie Kenyon
The right of Jason Winstanley to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
All rights reserved. No part of this ebook may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or any means, without the prior written permission of the author.
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Dedication
For Donna

Fictions
Asimov
1. Balls. Small. White. Polystyrene. I have to sink my hand into a rectangular puddle to get at the instruction manual, installation discs and the battery. The lounge is full of balls. I’ll be finding them for years. Then I see it, a body, a face encased in bubble wrap. Dark hair. Lightly tanned. Toned. Clean. Eurasian. I trace my fingertips over his perfect form. His chest. His lips. Shoulders. I have a tear in my eye. His face.
2. Language? English/Deutsche/Français/EspañolI click on English. Accent and Tone? Friendly. Soft. Educated. I want a smooth tone, as if the inside of his mouth has been carved from crystal. The instructions and set up process is simple. I’ve always loved getting new gifts. They keep me occupied. Must keep occupied. I love shiny packaging and the chemical smell of the instruction booklets. I enjoy the process of reading and following the manual but also discovering how things work. The naked Eurasian mute is sitting against the wall by my side with the wire running from him to the computer where the installation CD’s take me through his education within twenty minutes. After the set-up wizard, I’m guided towards the ‘knowledge filter’, a screen where I’m invited to click on the areas and intensity of the skills and attributes I could give my new companion. It fascinates me. Would he be vocational or academic (or both?) What subjects or areas would he specialise in or be experienced at? To what level? I could click on them all. Tastes. Personality. Sexuality. Health. Skills. With the click of the mouse he could know it all or know nothing. He could be fit and frisky or sad and sickly. I didn’t want everything. What’s needed is the right amount of innocence and naivety. So he can learn. So we can appreciate things for a long time. The idea of a practical existing encyclopaedia is intriguing, someone who has something to offer to other people, whether it be his prodigious talent for the piano, languages and knowledge of European history or modern culture. I could always input or delete things to suit the occasion. Is experience something you can download? I look at my Eurasian prince. Is anything going in? He’s already perfect. Information as infection? His head moves. His vacant expression switches from absence to awareness. In seconds. Every single byte of information can be read in his eyes. The slightest flicker. Then a smile. The screen in front of me prompts me for a name. He isn’t a pet. I know what I’ll call him. It’s always been obvious to me.
3. Tea. Soup. Bread. Asimov negotiates his way through Franz Liszt on my old piano. Minutes later he’s mastered it. He smiles. It’s windy outside. I can hear the loose tiles rattling above. It’ll probably throw it down by the time I go to bed. Alone. I’m not ready. I should know him. I’ve left gaps of all the things I want to know about him. There should always be mystery. We’ve only made small talk so far. He’s very polite.
4. Reading usually helps me sleep, as does the rain tapping on the window like it is now. But I can’t sleep tonight. I’ve turned the light off and I’m staring into the darkness thinking of the possibilities. Thinking of my future. For Asimov and myself. I wonder what he’s thinking. He doesn’t just respond. He can dream, he can plan. He can never hurt me. Well not intentionally. He has a limiter or whatever it’s called. If only they could install them in people. Stop them massacring each other in pursuit of meaningless things. I get up to drink. The door won’t open. I remember. I’ve locked it. I don’t need to switch the lights on. The orange glare from the street lamps normally directs a gentle glow through the windows. I drink. I look in the bathroom mirror. The half-light is good to my complexion. The shadows cover the wrinkles, the map of age. The years. Sometimes it feels like the shadows penetrate further and blot out the memories but there’s some it can never hide. Even when I wish they would. Suddenly, two very sharp but bright pin pricks of light appear behind me and I’m frozen with fear. A large darker shadow comes towards me and is almost upon me. Is this what death looks like? My chest is heavy and tight.
‘Don’t be afraid,’ the gentle voice whispers. ‘It is Asimov.’
‘You nearly gave me a heart attack!’
‘I thought you were unwell.’
‘I didn’t hear you come in!’
‘I am sorry.’
‘When I went to bed you were on the sofa.’
‘Why were you scared?’
‘I couldn’t hear you. I couldn’t see you. Just those pinpricks of light in your eyes.’
‘I could not see very well without them in this light.’
‘Well they will have to go.’
‘My eyes?’
‘The lights.’
‘You should turn the lights on. Then I won’t have to use them to see.’
‘You should have stayed where you were.’
I make a mental note to go to the official website. Look through the Frequently Asked Questions or join some discussion forum about this subject. Something that was dedicated to teething problems.
‘Goodnight Asimov.’
‘Have I done something wrong? Can I cook you a pizza or something? You did say that you like pizza. I can make a pizza. I have the necessary skills. I can do that. We could have a pizza and watch Hill Street Blues. You would like that?’
‘I’m tired.’
‘In the morning then?’
I can see that I will have to look into this matter further. He needs more experience in areas such as tact, sensitivity, personality, interaction, empathy or whatever.
‘Maybe not in the morning. I’ll let you know.’
‘I am trying, Alice.’
‘I know you are, Asimov. There’s a lot of things we need to look into and learn from each other. It will take a bit of time but for now, just for now, if I want something, I’ll ask you, Okay?’
‘Goodnight Alice. Sleep well.’
‘By the way, Asimov. What have you been doing to keep yourself occupied well I was in bed?’
‘I thought about all that I have learned so far, all the information that was downloaded and then I had some ideas on how I could apply them in the future. Like when I played some Franz Liszt. I thought about when we talked and you told me about yourself. The jobs you used to have, your hobbies, your favourite things.’
5. Breakfast. Boiled egg. Toast. Coffee. It’s perfect rather than adequate. Asimov knows all the best techniques. I prefer adequate. Asimov apologies about last night. I say that it’s okay. The rest of the day is spent in research and scouring discussion forums and FAQs. I take on board some suggestions re. Asimov. I make some guided adjustments. The change in him is instantaneous. He now has space to learn manually. He seems more human. He consumes more data. Current affairs. Popular Culture. History. Politics. He has room to develop his own interests and ideas but spends the rest of the day on the internet downloading music and pornography. He develops a fetish for legs and stockings and suggests that I should buy some. He orders me a pair. I haven’t worn stockings for years.
6. ‘Hello Patti, it’s Alice. I know. Not much. I’ve been feeling better. And you? I know. I just wanted to know if you and Brian fancied coming over one evening for dinner. It’s nothing too formal, just a drink and a meal between friends. It’s been too long. There’s someone I’d like you to meet. Not long. It’s a cliché but it all happened so fast. I think you’d like him. Okay, get back to me about that. I can’t talk now. I’ve got things to sort out. See you soon. Good to speak to you again. Yes, it’s been too long.’
It’s been a month or so since Asimov arrived. It was at least a week before I actually got around to dressing him. He likes plain clothes. They have a timeless quality about them. He likes to wear grey, black or white long sleeve t-shirts with blue jeans. Sometimes with a black jacket. It makes him look European. He’s also started shaving. He looks older with stubble. He looked far too boyish and sensitive before. We sleep in the same bed now. Although he’s affectionate he doesn’t come any closer to me. I could program that function into him but it would feel like prostitution. I’ve tried to get closer to him but he needs time. He needs experience and space to develop. Maybe I should wear stockings. I’d look ridiculous. I feel too old. I think he loves me. He cares about me. He tells me jokes and fascinates me with stories and anecdotes that I’ve never heard. He reminds me of the company I’ve missed. Sometimes it makes me depressed. He tells me that he would like to be an architect or something but I know that that can’t happen. His purpose, his job is who he is. What he does for me. I sense that dreams keep him active and distract him from thinking about serious issues, and questions that he’ll never understand the answers to, (if there are answers), and help him forget that he exists. Sometimes I catch him, sitting alone with that far off look in his eye as if he’s in a place where I can never reach him. Everyday I’m with him I miss him. I don’t know what I’ll do without him. I love him.
7. I’m watching television. Asimov