Herein follow minutes concerning the Earth House Chess Club meeting on 01/14/10.
(Or "Why I never win; the nature of the beast.")
On this day we begin the 11th meeting of the Earth House Chess Club.
Total members = 2
Including: Bradley Jones, Ian Doe
Total members in attendance = 1
Including: Bradley Jones
Turn out for chess club was scant this week. Brad Jones was the only member in attendance, not by happenstance, but in accordance with his work schedule. Thus, no proper games were won, lost, or drawn. However, two homeless men (non-members), here named Billy Joel and Charlie 5 (homeless men who enter Earth House more than once are assigned a "Charlie" title, and a number designating their order of appearance, unless endowed with a special trait; "Billy Joel" had the ability to play scales on the house piano for multiple hours without signs of fatigue, for example) were present and available for conversation and fellowship.
As Billy Joel warmed-up and the aether of the church sanctuary filled with dashing glissandos, Brad mentioned to Charlie 5 an interest he had developed in Rube Goldburg-esque suicide machines.
Quoted conversation:
"Have you been thinking of them for a long time?" Charlie 5 said.
"Not really, just for the last few minutes." Brad replied.
"Is it the piano?"
"Yes."
"Want me to ask him to stop playing?"
"No, a suicide machine would be easier."
"Need help building it?"
"Sure, I was actually hoping you might set it into motion for me?"
"What were you thinking of?"
End Quoted Segment.
Brad removed an ink pen from a dented canister on the front counter and sketched a rough diagram for Charlie 5. The plan called for a dog dish filled with wet food, two foot-long lengths of string, 14 dominoes, several cats-eye marbles, a series of pulleys and levers, and finally a child-sized crossbow loaded with a razor tipped, poison dipped arrow positioned to launch from one side of the sanctuary and accurately pierce Brad's heart at the other. Brad pointed with his toe to a spot on the floor stained by espresso coffee (a story in itself) and announced that this was the place where he would be conveniently seated on a stool to make certain the arrows purpose.
Charlie 5 agreed to the plan and they set to it's realization. Just as they finished, the two were interrupted by Billy Joel harshly striking a sour note at the piano and coming to a full stop. Both looked up questioningly.
Quoted conversation:
"God damn fuck fuck fuck!" Billy Joel said.
"What happened?" asked Charlie 5
"Sour note. Everything on this piano works perfectly except this one fucking note and it drives me crazy. How am I supposed to even play this piece of shit?"
"Maybe you shouldn't.." Brad said.
"I've got to, fucking song goes though my head all day and I need to play it fucking perfectly; it's like one of those infected splinters in your finger and you can't think of anything but getting the fucker out. It's making me sick."
"You know the key is bad, but still complain. What do you expect?"
"You obviously have no idea what it's like to be an artist, dude."
"Is it like being an idiot who expects a repeated action to arrive at an impossible, however so desired, consequence?"
End Quoted Segment.
At this Billy Joel turned back the the piano to begin again. Brad sighed and made his way to the carefully positioned stool in defeat. Sitting so as to make his chest an open a target as possible, he pointed to his heart, then motioned for Charlie 5 to set the machine into motion.
The sequence of steps was flawless. Brad felt a rush of anxiety and hope, despite his resolve, as the order of opperations approached the crossbow's trigger. The deadly missle's tip glinted for a split-second as it took flight. It whistled across the room. Brad closed his eyes. The arrow glided just past his neck, he felt the fletchings brush against him, before burying itself in the wall some feet behind.
He opened his eyes. Charlie 5 shrugged at him scratched his head. Billy Joel contiued his playing, the sour note rapidly approaching.
Quoted conversation:
"Load it up again Charlie 5, maybe it will work this time." Brad said.
End Quoted Segment.
Quoted conversation:
"Have you been thinking of them for a long time?" Charlie 5 said.
"Not really, just for the last few minutes." Brad replied.
"Is it the piano?"
"Yes."
"Want me to ask him to stop playing?"
"No, a suicide machine would be easier."
"Need help building it?"
"Sure, I was actually hoping you might set it into motion for me?"
"What were you thinking of?"
End Quoted Segment.
Brad removed an ink pen from a dented canister on the front counter and sketched a rough diagram for Charlie 5. The plan called for a dog dish filled with wet food, two foot-long lengths of string, 14 dominoes, several cats-eye marbles, a series of pulleys and levers, and finally a child-sized crossbow loaded with a razor tipped, poison dipped arrow positioned to launch from one side of the sanctuary and accurately pierce Brad's heart at the other. Brad pointed with his toe to a spot on the floor stained by espresso coffee (a story in itself) and announced that this was the place where he would be conveniently seated on a stool to make certain the arrows purpose.
Charlie 5 agreed to the plan and they set to it's realization. Just as they finished, the two were interrupted by Billy Joel harshly striking a sour note at the piano and coming to a full stop. Both looked up questioningly.
Quoted conversation:
"God damn fuck fuck fuck!" Billy Joel said.
"What happened?" asked Charlie 5
"Sour note. Everything on this piano works perfectly except this one fucking note and it drives me crazy. How am I supposed to even play this piece of shit?"
"Maybe you shouldn't.." Brad said.
"I've got to, fucking song goes though my head all day and I need to play it fucking perfectly; it's like one of those infected splinters in your finger and you can't think of anything but getting the fucker out. It's making me sick."
"You know the key is bad, but still complain. What do you expect?"
"You obviously have no idea what it's like to be an artist, dude."
"Is it like being an idiot who expects a repeated action to arrive at an impossible, however so desired, consequence?"
End Quoted Segment.
At this Billy Joel turned back the the piano to begin again. Brad sighed and made his way to the carefully positioned stool in defeat. Sitting so as to make his chest an open a target as possible, he pointed to his heart, then motioned for Charlie 5 to set the machine into motion.
The sequence of steps was flawless. Brad felt a rush of anxiety and hope, despite his resolve, as the order of opperations approached the crossbow's trigger. The deadly missle's tip glinted for a split-second as it took flight. It whistled across the room. Brad closed his eyes. The arrow glided just past his neck, he felt the fletchings brush against him, before burying itself in the wall some feet behind.
He opened his eyes. Charlie 5 shrugged at him scratched his head. Billy Joel contiued his playing, the sour note rapidly approaching.
Quoted conversation:
"Load it up again Charlie 5, maybe it will work this time." Brad said.
End Quoted Segment.
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