IN CONVERSATION WITH # (NUMBER) 4 (FOUR) AND # (NUMBER) 7 (SEVEN)

(# (NUMBER) 4 (FOUR) AND # (NUMBER) 7 (SEVEN))

by Peter Breschard

(NOTE: Across an unadorned pine table #4 and #7 at times look to one another.)

# (NUMBER) 7 (SEVEN)

What do you do when the cache is full? Does it all spill out into some universe none of us have ever imagined?

# (NUMBER) 4 (FOUR)

Say what?

# (NUMBER) 7 (SEVEN)

No, think about it From that first instant when, all at once, the senses release themselves to this universe. Immense amounts of what might as well be called data, bombards us with an incalculable jumble.

# (NUMBER) 4 (FOUR)

You are going to continue this?

# (NUMBER) 7 (SEVEN)

Do we simply create the reality our senses transmit to our brain and all the jigsaw pieces are editorialized and sorted and indexed and filed? And we put these jigsaw pieces somewhere near other similar pieces and then we name it?

# (NUMBER) 4 (FOUR)

You want a coffee?

(NOTE: Gender neutral. GODOT. Use best actors available.

They sit across from one another at the table.

Omniscient narrator and characters.)

# (NUMBER) 7 (SEVEN)

Which inevitably leads to how I created you and everything else I perceive.

# (NUMBER) 4 (FOUR)

Thank gods!

# (NUMBER) 7 (SEVEN)

Not that I am. Silly. Certainly not by my own conception of such a creator. By definition: Non.

Does attaining a certain age effect the editing process?

# (NUMBER) 4 (FOUR)

Of course. Is there any place worth calling out for so we can eat in?

# (NUMBER) 7 (SEVEN)

All those years atop one another. Quadrillions of sensory data feeds. Memory of data bits, bytes, buffered beyond belief.

# (NUMBER) 4 (FOUR)

Or a B Plus.

# (NUMBER) 7 (SEVEN)

There has to be a limit. We are solids, not ethereal. (I would creatively assume.)

# (NUMBER) 4 (FOUR)

Do we actually play it this way?

# (NUMBER) 7 (SEVEN)

Any way we want to play it. Or I want to play it. Or you want to play it, if what I am perceiving as my own creation turns out to be simply your projection of me attempting to understand what you are projecting of my own character in relation to yours. It's all quite simple if we view it that way.

(NOTE: They push their chairs inches away from the table.)

# (NUMBER) 4 (FOUR)

Or not.

# (NUMBER) 7 (SEVEN)

For the moment, let us assume that you are my creation.

# (NUMBER) 4 (FOUR)

Thank you so very much.

# (NUMBER) 7 (SEVEN)

Do you dream?

# (NUMBER) 4 (FOUR)

At times. Often before breakfast.

# (NUMBER) 7 (SEVEN)

Do you dream of a day you have already imagined to live? And in your dream are only small details deformed?

# (NUMBER) 4 (FOUR)

Deformed? Do you mean changed? How much do we have to tip for delivery? Could I possibly imagine a larger tip?

# (NUMBER) 7 (SEVEN)

There it is. A dream of fortune. So common.

# (NUMBER) 4 (FOUR)

There were mornings before attending child school. Changing faces of numerous pedagogues. Possibly seeing what would occur later in the day. Possibly living in a memory of a distorted memory within a dream. Possibly your dream. Or mine.

# (NUMBER) 7 (SEVEN)

We take our previous interpretation, and we dream of finer design. We send that imagining into the as yet unknowing universe.

# (NUMBER) 4 (FOUR)

Our dreams are other interpretations. We might or might not still choose? Coffee?

# (NUMBER) 7 (SEVEN)

Always will remain a possibility of going back. But again, how can we have initial sensory input if all we know to be is our own construct? Which could not have existed before one's own consciousness.

NOTE: They sit two minutes drinking coffee.

# (NUMBER) 4 (FOUR)

Difficult to design a tastier cup.

(NOTE: Should reader be brought in at this point?)

# (NUMBER) 7 (SEVEN)

Imagine that.

# (NUMBER) 4 (FOUR)

I really don't have to. I am drinking it.

# (NUMBER) 7 (SEVEN)

So you see what's been done? Don't you?

# (NUMBER) 4 (FOUR)

Smell. Eyeball. Touch. Taste. Yes, I have the general idea. And if I slosh it around a bit, I can hear it.

# (NUMBER) 7 (SEVEN)

When did you imagine the coffee plantations in South America? I know I didn't. So you must have dreamt all the heat, humidity, and the inhumane slave trade along with everything else that goes into harvesting little beans someone grinds to bits then lets sit in nearly boiling water until every last flavinoid, or whatever, blends with the H2O, and you imagine such a combination to be in some ways enjoyable. Good for you.

# (NUMBER) 4 (FOUR)

Why don't we both leave administration of these worldly estates to you?

# (NUMBER) 7 (SEVEN)

Wouldn't that be nice?

# (NUMBER) 4 (FOUR)

Fine by me.

# (NUMBER) 7 (SEVEN)

One of us created this world. At least as far as I can now imagine. We certainly are responsible for our creations. We own the world's horrors before our coming to this consciousness. And what will certainly arrive in our perceived future.

# (NUMBER) 4 (FOUR)

Then we certainly can change the past, our future, and this present. Is the door unlocked for the delivery driver?

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# (NUMBER) 4 (FOUR)

There was a time before?

# (NUMBER) 7 (SEVEN)

Before time? There was? Another construct. Created by you or me or the construct itself? So like a picture frame. To isolate what you don't wish to blend into the wall.

# (NUMBER) 4 (FOUR)

Even ancient art?

# (NUMBER) 7 (SEVEN)

Can you imagine a worse frame for a drawing than a cave? Adorn your art with poorly illuminated moist rock?

# (NUMBER) 4 (FOUR)

But there are positives.

# (NUMBER) 7 (SEVEN)

Of course there are. Oil paint on canvas can only last so long but art hidden deep within a cave, undisturbed for thousands of centuries, will exist until rediscovered and brought to destruction by the eyes that view.

# (NUMBER) 4 (FOUR)

Nothing is eternal.

# (NUMBER) 7 (SEVEN)

Nothing is. Nothing precedes everything. Ergo nothing is eternal but art most certainly is not.

# (NUMBER) 4 (FOUR)

That's an idea.

# (NUMBER) 7 (SEVEN)

Most certainly and to my point of view, one of your best. But the idea itself, now that certainly cannot be eternal.

# (NUMBER) 4 (FOUR)

Thought is not eternal?

# (NUMBER) 7 (SEVEN)

A construct. What we view as thought exists as how we perceive it. Is it expressed in language? Does it exist as an image, be it two or three or possibly four dimensional? We express the thought within our own constructs. Languages perish. Never rediscovered. Three dimensional objects revert to dust. Expressing thought dooms itself by its own existence. Expression is never timeless.

# (NUMBER) 4 (FOUR)

"I think therefor I am."

# (NUMBER) 7 (SEVEN)

"Cogito ergo sum." Dare you disagree? If one fails to think does one simply fade into an indescribable form of ether? Or is thought process a thing constantly aware? If you can never stop thinking does thought enslave? Is it thought alone that so many wish to escape? If you imagine life to be eternal what are the limitations to your imagining of existence?

# (NUMBER) 4 (FOUR)

I think I hear our food.

# (NUMBER) 7 (SEVEN)

I hear therefor I eat.

# (NUMBER) 4 (FOUR)

I eat therefor I am.

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# (NUMBER) 4 (FOUR)

And don't forget the background players.

# (NUMBER) 7 (SEVEN)

How can there be a background? Does it not entirely depend upon your focus? What's in the foreground and background all depends upon from where you view.

# (NUMBER) 4 (FOUR)

And what is that I'm hearing?

# (NUMBER) 7 (SEVEN)

Oh, it's always the radio. Your, our, entire kaboodles. Close your eyes. Hear our quiet. Cut out all extraneous noise. And then, it's all radio.

# (NUMBER) 4 (FOUR)

Open your eyes. Their, ours, whoever.

# (NUMBER) 7 (SEVEN)

Third base.

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VOICE OVER

Taken from IMMORTAL TALES FROM NINETEEN PLANETS. For those of you just joining us now, we've been participating in IN CONVERSATION WITH #(NUMBER) 4 (FOUR) AND # (NUMBER) 7 (SEVEN). Have you marveled and puzzled yet? Have #4 and #7 created wonder within your own weary world.

VOICE OVER

But isn't that why we are all here? We've all known creatures similar to #(NUMBER) 4 (FOUR) and # (NUMBER) 7 (SEVEN). Are we not similar to them ourselves? Think about that for a moment. But to return.

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# (NUMBER) 4 (FOUR)

We create our worlds? All the upsides and all the downsides? We create languages which we'll never understand spoken by people of our imagination who we will never meet? And if they never become a concept within our own consciousness they will never exist?

# (NUMBER) 7 (SEVEN)

Now you're getting the idea? Or I'm elaborating on a theme entirely new to me where you begin to become a creature of awareness unto yourself. Of course an imaginary creature, such as yourself, could easily become as corporeal as I and begin your own creation voyage. That's not out of the range of utilitarianism which is often of use to myself.

# (NUMBER) 4 (FOUR)

So how does all of this play out? Cannot I create works of art which will keep me from becoming bored and disillusioned ever again? Can we expand every expanse to be free from ever experiencing eternal ennui?

WHERE’S LAURENCE HARVEY NOW THAT WE NEED HIM?

Take today as an example. Did the nine-to-five without breaking a sweat or breaking into song, so that’s a victory. Had a fine dinner and later as I was sprawled out on the couch an odd assortment of concepts congealed into something somewhat frightening.

They really don’t need him anymore.

“There’s no way he’s going to be this organization’s Presidential candidate.” Beppo had control of the room. “As a matter of fact, there are many of us who consider him an extreme liability. More than anything else, Americans hate horse thieves. And they really, really will fire the wrath of God on a, lying, horse thief. And a whole bunch of our people are seeing him that way now.

“Let’s face it, he’s had his run. It’s time to turn this fucking limping, screeching, obnoxious liability into the best kind of asset we can.”

“How’s about he sicks it out? Comes down with malaria or something?” Kitchen appeared lost in thought.

“Definitely considered. Definitely. His royal fatness, I am sure, hosts numerous ailments which might do him in at any moment but, although illness would very well turn this situation into an asset, we think we might have a way to eke out even more mileage from the old boy.”

“Inheritance baby resigns and anoints another?” Glastonbury intoned the obvious.

“You know Fats isn’t gonna go for that.” Ripper snorted while straightening his tie.

“We have discussed this. As was mentioned, it’s never going to happen. Knowing full well that if you don’t win your fate will be much more dire than losing an election for some boondock mayorality, you know he’s not bowing out. He’ll fight on to all of our detriment. Allow me now to share the thoughts of the committee.

“You all know I am a fan of old movies. Listen for a minute or two.” Beppo smiled and eyeballed his notes.

“Now here’s how it happens. And might I say here that most necessary elements for this endeavor are already in place, patiently awaiting their time.

“The committee has spent many months reviewing any number of plausible scenarios. We do our darnedest to cover at least the bare minimum of possibilities. These particular circumstances were guesstimated very, very high, and this scenario is the culmination of our best efforts.

“All would come to an end soon after our clown emerges victorious at the convention.

“This past Tuesday an outspoken transsexual, whose outward appearance is that of a woman, was brought in by our men and is currently under, let’s say, heavy sedation until that time when it will be needed. That’s Number One.”

“They don’t by any chance happen to know each other, do they, Beppo?” Kitchen again.

“Actually I’m not privy to such detail. Compartmentalization, they say. I’ll bring it up. Back to it then.

“Number Two is ex-Iranian military. Ranger type or at least their equivalent. Sharp. He’ll be fallback in case something goes totally astray but we imagine more beneficial outcomes if our primary, Number One, takes the fall.”

“Will any blues be injured?” Wall was always concerned about her troops.

“Not if everything, or at least most everything, plays out the way we think it should. Only one fatality on site.”

“Will any friends be there?” Kitchen was leading this inquisition.

“Three, I’m telling you, three of our people will be on stage with him. Couldn’t believe it when they told me. Three.”

“Out of how many?”

"Mostly the rest of the family. Some high ranking media echoers. Like I said, three, getting into position should be relatively a bit easier.

“Logistics, transport, local enforcement, already in place.

"Still working on a go signal. Certainly a minor issue. His roundness doesn’t read very well so we can’t use cue words inserted into his victory speech. I’ve tried and failed to imagine how much blather that would be but, as some might say, words fail me.”

“Is he that much of a liability? I always considered him moderately amusing. Does it have to come to this?” Rayon decided to make their presence known.

“Our research, and unanimous consent of committee with their considerable experience, say yes. He has to go in a way most beneficial to our organization. Research sees him as a loser and his name alone costs the down tickets almost everything. With him gone, in our maximalist fashion, we will still lose the big one but the harm to down tickets will not be fatal. It’s do or die time.

"Sometime after the nomination and toward the beginning of his acceptance speech, we don’t want it to be at less than five but no more then ten minutes. If it were up to me I’d be as close to five as practical. Who needs listening to his shit more than necessary?”

“Is Tip Top here tonight or are we going to have to wait until morning to get the picks? “

“Wait until morning. The markets will be just as open for business as they ever are. I’m told none of TipTop’s tips are particularly time sensitive.”

“I’m guessing Number One will encounter some heroic blue and not-survive?”

“Covered in, what do they call it? GSR. Gun Shot Residue. Which will match the weapon used by Number Two.

“Number Two will be found dead, somewhere little known and far away, within the week. Another knotted end.” Beppo grinned.

Continuing: “Two shots. Clean. Head. Chest. Suspect dies in firefight with our courageous blues. Any further questions?"

“And I’m assuming one of our three friends on stage with him will jump in and, cradling Fat’s volleyball of a head in their arms give a speech for the ages.” Oddly, Kitchen actually said this with a wide smile.

“Absolutely. You’re getting it. You’ve seen the movie. This will be a speech the Committee has been working on for nearly a year. Just in case events like those we now have might occur. At the end of the speech with the babbling, drooling, dribbling, dying candidate’s head in the new candidate’s arms, the entire country will be moved to tears and we might as well enthrone our speechifying friend as the new POTUS then and there; bloodstained battered but ready to defend our United States of America! Vote for Me and god bless America!

“And finally. And finally after all of these years. She will, as she cradles our fat, inane martyr to her breast and calls on America to avenge this attack on Christianity and our Homeland, Sarah Palin will, after all of our blood, sweat and tears, become the next President of Our United States!

by Peter Breschard