Switch it off! Switch it off! It’s going to blow!
So, what exactly does the Off Switch control? Asked Constance, on being presented with the option, positioned at shoulder height on the wall, all peeling paint and old posters. A legend in broken words wallpapered to the crumbling plaster, naming the levels to which one might sink or swim.
This can switch off anything you wish to cease and desist, said Catonine, pointing to the switch and dial, I invented it to satisfy unsatisfied customers like yourself. Personally, I thought Plan C was a gem, I only aim to please.
Can I turn off at the next exit? said Constance, And drift gently across the music, letting it take me where it rest. I shall turn off the TV and rest my eyes on you, you and your ever-present presence, lifting me up.
Of course the kettle can turn itself off when it reaches a certain temperature, so that’s not a problem, said Constance topping up her tisane.
What if the kettle didn’t turn itself off? Would it eventually melt through the earth’s crust and meld with the iron core? All the faulty kettles dancing in the magma, a Fandango I expect.
I could turn off my laptop……………………………………………sleepy laptop.
I had to turn it on again to tell you how it felt. I could think, but nothing was pinned down and then everything dissipated, like thoughts in the night. Without my spinning top I can’t write anything for a start, but I could still draw up plans on a napkin, even though the paper was unsuitable for detailed work. I could scratch a diagram on the cell wall with a nail I found in the recreation yard. Until they do a cell search and find it hidden in my sponge or down the leg of my uncomfortable bed. Then I must narrate to myself a never-ending story, forever without end, whilst doing pull ups and press downs to keep fit. The beginning and middle of the endless narrative will recede, lost in the mists and only the story of now will be available and keep me in the loop. How long am I in for again? I’ve forgotten, it’s been so long now.
The other inmates will press themselves against the bars just to hear the next episode and development. They never applaud, only go back into the gloom, quiet and replete.
I could turn off the music, but then the musicians would not get paid, and their children always need new shoes and longer shorts. You can’t stop the music Mal, it’s always playing somewhere like breathing or mouldy places in the shower.
I could turn off the booster, which admittedly has been working overtime. It does feels hot to the touch, I’m sure that shouldn’t happen. Should I turn off the whole universe just in case? I could reboot it so that all the programs load quicker and run smoothly, no more stuttering images and circling download logos. No, that’s really desperate and selfish to boot. Should I turn it off in part, just the left or right hand side, so that it can rest and regenerate its vitality, the other side could take over the important bits for a short time.
I could fly in like the snake, above the roof terraces, where unsuspecting wine glasses teeter, waiting for a passing refill. In the evening, when you’ve finished all the musts and can consider the maybes, then your eyes turn outwards and you could switch off time and look around unhurried, in your own time. Events could slip to a stop so that I might examine, in detail, the texture of their surfaces. I could catch or deflect the bullets and drop them into an enamel dish with a metallic clatter. I could lift the child away from the oncoming rhinoceros, I could hide the tyrant’s trousers and stick a rude sticker on his back, written on a yellow send it note in crayon.
I could turn off the power and let it coast downhill, avoiding traffic lights and potholes till its momentum is all used up and it sighs to a stillness.
But the key question is which side to turn off first?
The Guardians of the Cave 