Category Archives: Vision: Impossible


Alien Hipster

The person hiding in the far corner of your local cafe, pretending to be a local plant, is not your enemy. Nor is the suspicious contraption which sits in front of you, at the communal table, badly disguised by merely a pair of round reading glasses, a wooly wide striped sweater and an improper amount of facial hair. Nor is it me, your friendly server, who just accidentally poured some liquid straight into your lap. Honestly, none of us is your enemy. In fact it is you, perceiving us as such, who are.
Please note that our observation has nothing to do with the falsehood, or lack thereof, of yours.


Cause and Effect


Only after his third horrible encounter with the neighbors’ dog he realized that those weird daydreams he was having were actually memories of the future. The visions were vivid, but faded quickly. Hours later he could remember only the sense of urgency and, sometimes, the love or the terror. That day, after sloppily applying a bandage to his swollen ankle, he purchased a notebook and some pens. He then embarked upon a terrible, terrible effort to remember what those memories of the future were about. It amounted to nothing whatsoever. Come midnight he succumbed to his exhaustion, slept with the empty notebook in his lap, sat up in bed a bit after sunrise, groggily wrote something in the notebook, dropped it on the floor, fell asleep again, and finally, late in the afternoon, woke up.

He spent the evening avoiding the notebook, sensing – was that, too, a memory of the future? – that he’s not going to like what’s in there.

Eventually, indeed he didn’t.

Will fall in love -> have wonderful child -> crippled by child -> wife and child take care of handicapped in wheelchair till dead.

No bloody way, he thought. I’m not spending the rest of my life in a fucking medical contraption.

It took him a few seconds to become absolutely determined never to love a woman. It took the universe a few more seconds to collapse.

Bloody determinism.


Three and a Half Variations on a Single Cork


He opened a bottle of champagne to celebrate the success of his time machine. The cork flew through it to the previous month and knocked him cold. He opened a bottle of champagne to celebrate the success of his universe machine. The cork flew through it to the previous universe and knocked him cold. He opened a bottle of champagne to celebrate the success of his improbability machine. The cork flew through it to the previous probability and became a bistro and fell on him, and that was that. And in another time, in another universe, improbable as it was, he or someone just like him opened a bottle of champagne to celebrate the success of his eventuality machine, but this time the cork didn’t fly anywhere, and he sat quietly and drank, wondering why he was suddenly feeling disappointed.





In a faraway place in a faraway past, a radiation blast sterilised every member of the smarter sex of the colonisation expedition merely moments after landing. Using genetic engineering and biotechnology trickery the settlers survived, though only two of the three sexes remained: the fairer sex and the stronger sex. Presently, there’s no memory left of the third sex, and the members of the other two do not imagine the possibility of its existence, though nothing else explains the fact that they’re so messed up and incompatible to each other.

Tomorrow, a space vehicle will appear in their skies, carrying a second expedition, a rescue mission consisting of all three sexes, looking for their lost brothers and sisters. “Take us to your leaders,” every communication device will coo, moved by a deep desire to set things right as quickly as possible in that tormented place. A very predictable turmoil will ensue, with celebrations and demonstrations and knock knock knocking on heaven’s door, and forty five dark pieces of metal in orbit will turn quietly towards the messengers and will cover them softly with an atomic fire brighter than the sun.

And thus it will turn out that the smarter sex isn’t smart enough, and that the other two will stay hopelessly irrevocable.


The Door into Something

Nic feels nothing as he passes through the door. There’s no wind, no special effect, no indication of a complex space-time vortex in action. He hears the door closing, softly, behind his back. The room he’s now in looks just like the room he’s just left. On its other side, right in front of him, there’s another door and someone, his back turned to him, is in the middle of stepping through it. “Hey!” he shouts, but the other guy passes through and the door closes after him with a soft sound. Nic runs to the other door, which opens quietly, quickly steps through it, and manages to see, in the new room, the other guy’s back as he’s running right at a door in front of him.

“A time-loop, then,” Nic says aloud, immediately feeling stupid for doing it. Some sort of bloody time-loop/sequence, he thinks, sheepishly. He stands motionless for a moment, then turns back towards the door he just entered the room through, opens it and glances back at the previous room, in which he sees someone’s back turned to him, as that someone is busy peeping through the previous door he’s passed through.

“Hey!” he shouts, and immediately, behind him, someone shouts “Hey!” at him. He turns back, getting ready to face another version of himself, but when his head is fully turned, so is the head of that version of himself that had shouted at him, probably towards some other time-copy of himself further down the line.

Fine, he thinks. I can get over that. He turns left, slowly, looking at the wall, so that anyone standing at the door can see his profile. Now, slowly, he turns his eyes, only his eyes, to the right, so as to see the profile of his other self standing at the door.

But the other person is a woman.

Not a time-loop, then.

Just as he decides to say”Excuse me?”, someone to his left says it, and he notices that it’s a woman’s voice too, though all that doesn’t stop him from saying “Excuse me?” as well, and the woman to his right follows suit immediately. How can this not be a time loop/sequence? he thinks. Our actions are too coordinated. We’re not controlled by anything. At any given moment I can decide to, say, shout – “Hey!” the woman to his left shouts, just before he shouts it, just before the woman to the right shouts it.

Right. So these women must be, in some way, me. He stares blankly ahead as another thought sneaks into his mind. Could I have turned into a woman? Slowly, he turns his gaze down. To be sure, he also moves his hand down, way down.

He’s not a woman.

Are these women, somehow, him?

“My name is Nic,” the woman to his left/he/the woman to his right say. Then there’s a short three-voice musical canon consisting of the word “Crap”.

The hell with space-time continuum, he wants out. Right now. He clicks the buzzer in his pocket. The side wall turns on itself, and through it he steps out. The wall turns and closes behind him without a sound.

And someone says, “Hey, Nic, I liked you more when you were a woman.”