Choose an event that happens every day, a routine action. Write out the
gestures it takes to do that action in order and in very fine-grained detail.
Write a scene using only those gestures in that order which does not include
any reference to the original action. Repeat for all possible new actions which
fit the gestures of the original The resultant texts will produce a body of
work which contains all possible actions which are formally adjacent to your
chosen action bringing disparate situations into confluence with each other.
An Example: Getting on the bus
The chosen action will be getting on the bus. The bounds of this action will be
from when the bus doors open, to when you turn to walk down the bus length. It
will not include taking a seat or finding a place to stand.
The gestures:
Raise right leg. Lower right leg and push on the ground ahead. Shift weight onto
right leg. Raise left leg. Lower left leg beside right leg. Raise right arm
with palm open towards hip until fingers align with hip. Lower right arm down
thigh. Push finger tips toward thigh. Raise right arm while still pushing on
thigh with finger tips. Move right index finger left, then down then right.
Clamp the bottom of middle finger and top of index finger of right hand
together. Move right arm up and forward, bending at the elbow. Clamp right
thumb against other fingers while other fingers remain as they were. Turn head
down towards feet. Slide right foot forward. Slide left foot forward. Bend at
the right elbow so that the right hand moves to align with the stomach. Rotate
right arm outward to the right. Raise right leg slightly and move it across the
body to the left. Rotate your entire body 90 degrees to follow. Rotate right
arm to align right hand with right thigh. Slide right hand down right thigh.
Relax hand and release all fingers from their tensed, clamping position. Raise
right arm up thigh. Relax arm by right side. Raise right leg. Lower right leg.
Raise left leg. Lower left leg.
Getting on the Bus -- Displacements:
1
The doctor asks you to step up on the scale in order to take your weight and
height measure. You tentatively step up on the scale, while scratching your
right thigh slightly. At that point, zoned out, lost in thought, you lose
balance and reach your arm out to brace yourself against the wall. Once your
balance is regained, the doctor takes your weight. You then turn 90 degrees so
that your height may be checked. You scratch your right leg again, a strange
recurring itch. After the doctor measures your height with a metre stick, you
step off the scale.
2
You have just won the bronze medal. The crowd cheers as you mount the podium
with your fellow top placers. Snow falls slightly. You dig your gloved right
hand into your pocket, lodging the glove within. As the band plays a rousing
tune, you briefly hold hands with the gold medalist beside you for the photo
op. You spot your arch-nemeses in the crowd aghast at the possibility of a
rookie like you even making it to third place in the freestyle skiing
competition. They wear matching neon snow suits and scowl in your general
direction. You turn 90 degrees to the left, and step off the podium as your
entire home town claps, tears welling up in their eyes.
3
Ishme-Lim is standing behind a rise in the city wall at E. The wall is
partially finished, and it is his time to labour on this enormous construction
project, his months of service to The King: King of Kish, King of the Four
Quarters, and so on. The king keeps heaping titles upon himself and his panoply
of ministers. Ignoramuses are numerous in the palace, as they say.
Frustratingly, this has been demonstrated as painfully true: the appointed
foreman has made a mistake in calculating the dimensions of this section of the
wall. Ishme-Lim steps up on a pile of mudbricks recently delivered thinking of
their earlier altercation over this mistake. Those who get excited should not
become foremen, as Ishme-Lim's father used to say. Ishme-Lim scratches his leg,
then braces his right arm against a section of completed wall, looking over the
parapet. A cloud of dust is visible in the distance. Is it arriving or leaving
or neither?
4
8:59 AM. Your co-workers stream down the hall. They each step up onto the
platform and punch in on the machine appended to the wall, then they turn left
to follow the person ahead. It is your turn. You fish in your pocket, thinking
you forgot something, but are relieved to discover that everything is present.
You remove your hand and bang the clock when your turn arrives. You then turn
left into the fluorescent light void of the ensuing hallway. Your shoes click
against the polished concrete floor.
5
The storage facility is top secret. Its location and contents are held under
such a layer of secrecy that only two people know entirely what is contained
within. The staff are ferried to the site in a windowless ferry. It is
an archive. The lights are off at all hours requiring any visitors, of which
there have only ever been two, to utilize high-powered LED headlamps. A
white-coated figure reaches the 12th door of building A. It is solid steel
with "A12" emblazoned on its surface in white paint. This third-ever visitor
climbs the single step which is the door's threshold. She nods at the two
guards who acknowledge the official coat badge and removes a key card. The
incessant buzz of almost-blown lights is fractured by the card reader's bleep.
The white-coated researcher turns left towards the door as shadows fall. The
left guard's teeth grind.
6
A grey void. A figure appears at (0,0). All limbs are stiff, two arms are held
out and knees are locked. Stare? Straight ahead. No facial expression. Ragdoll.
The figure takes on a casual pose. The figure's right leg flails upward, knee
glitching through the stomach. The falls back down. The right arm has now
glitched through the thigh. Again. The arm flails outward. The figure turns
left as a single unit.
We gotta fix the collision detection.
7
The universe. In the universe a planet, on the planet, a geographical region,
in the geographical region a metropolis, in the metropolis an urban
neighbourhood, in the urban neighbourhood a block, on the block a building, in
the building a water closet, in the water closet a piece of paper, on the piece
of paper a list, in the list a checkbox. A footstep. In the checkbox a pen, in
the pen ink. On the page, now, a checkmark.
The toilet had been cleaned today.
8
Mr Anglethorpe, angrily approaches the glass front of a display case,
remembering all of the time spent polishing and re-polishing the glass with his
team of professionals, specialized buffing equipment, antistatic gloves,
full-body anti-contamination suits and negative ion appendages. There were
always fingerprints and they seemed to multiply daily until the glass was but a
mass of them. Finally, Mr Anglethorpe, in discussions with the staff, the
staff's staff and the staff's staff's staff agreed that steps must be taken.
The big guns were out now! Mr Anglethorpe digs into his pocket and removes a
thin sheet on which was a custom printed sticker. He pushes the sticker firmly
against the pristine glass and glares smugly.
The sticker, in enormous bold letters, says: "DO NOT TOUCH!" The exclamation
mark is a nice touch.
"That should hold `em off," Mutters Mr Anglethorpe to no one in particular. The
grubby-hand-havers must be quaking in terror.
9
The wall began to glow. The Captain reached into the space suit's utility belt
to retrieve a multi-spatial scanner. She was surprised to find any trace of
settlement on such a harsh planet. Plasma storms usually precluded any sort of
permanent occupation, except by the incorporeal Plasma Dwellers who have so far
refused diplomatic ties with "solids," though have remained peaceful. The
Captain really didn't want a confrontation with the Plasma Dwellers now. The
wall continued to glow, the colour began to change, an ever-changing pattern
emerged of complex symbols. The captain replaced the multi-spatial scanner in
her utility belt, turned left and continued down the wall.
