Complexities of the air, detail tripping on detail.
Bits of colour. Little plastic anythings.
Like the online world turning itself inside out.
“What did the deep sea diver say to the astronaut?”
It seemed like there was a need to keep considering different ways to categorise things. I thought maybe the world needed a scale for measuring how close any one question-answer combination was to being a fully-functioning joke. It would not necessarily have to be funny – matters of taste make it impossible to quantify. The only requirement would be that the joke would have to work.
Once the details of that scale had been ironed out, we could think about extending it beyond the question-answer format. I was always spotting things that struck me as being little visual jokes, indefinable until now. Like amusing tricks that crop up in the every day and are either sleight of hand or velvet comedy. Then sick little ironies, odd noises, the stupid things people sometimes say. They would all need to be assigned a rating between 0 and 1, so that at the end of any designated time period the stats could be collated and manipulated using mathematics, and we would know more than we ever had before. Not a moment of our lives would be left knowingly under-analysed.
If only the complexities of the complexities of life could be collected up and laid out flat, so that the overwhelming detail reached a point like white noise, where it was no longer possible to distinguish each individual complexity from the next. And there would be nothing to worry about. No need to worry about what to say and when. We could live on scripts, the excitement of the 1s and the 0.9s rationed out, evenly spaced in the days and weeks filled with calming 0.1s and 0.2s.
“So, what did the deep sea diver say to the astronaut?”
“I don’t think they would have said anything to each other. I think they would probably sit quietly, communicating without having to speak. Sending each other dead-flat none-liners, one after another measuring 0, 0, 0, 0.”