THE FUGGER INSTITUTE

I have a little black kettle and four large white mugs. How many of the large mugs can the little kettle fill? The answer is all four and the best part of a fifth - if I had a fifth, which I don't. I know all this because I carried out a test. I donned my lab coat and I did the research. I've looked into other things too. Which sells better, a good book or a rubbish book? I gathered the data. I put the data in the Datalizer and the Datalizer shat the results out on my Knowledge Carpet. I examined the pattern on the Knowledge Carpet and the answer is a rubbish book. Rubbish books sell better than good books. The same principle applies to films, music, all art in general, human beings and, somewhat strangely, biscuits. Price difference might account for the latter. I'll have to add that factor to future computations.

These are the kinds of activities that take place at The Fugger Institute. It is here that I and my team search for answers and it is here that we get results. The Fugger Institute is a hub of discovery and invention. It was The Fugger Institute that developed the The Quorak Curve. The Quorak Curve gives an entirely representative representation of entirely representative things. Very useful if you want to represent something or see something represented. We also facilitated Professor Benjamin Wellum in his development of the now famous Wellum's Theorem, a theorem that clearly proves that Wellum had a theorem. Another of my favorites is The Randomizer. By throwing random things together randomly, The Randomizer does random things, producing random results. It's very reliable. In fact, the randomness of The Randomizer is, statistically speaking, the least random thing in the Universe. This indicates that we inhabit a reality that is fundamentally ironic and probably taking the piss. Now, if I can get reality to take this piss on my Knowledge Carpet so I can view the pattern it leaves, I might just discover the key to all of space-time. Wouldn't that be nice?

Amongst our more recent inventions and thought experiments is something we call The Intention Hat. The Intention Hat is an uncomfortable hat that gives everyone who wears it the same intention. That intention being the intention to take the hat off. You may consider these results obvious but to us they are fascinating – fascinatingly obvious. Why are things obvious? That is what we are really looking into here. What is obvious? Why are some things not obvious? How can we make everything obvious so that there is no more confusion in the world? Not so 'obvious' now is it? The Intention Hat inspired us to start work on something we call The Obviousualizer. The Obviousualizer will basically be a pair of goggles and when you look through them the Universe will be stripped of its mystery. A member of staff recently donned a prototype and instantly lost his mind so we've got rough edges to sort out there.

Have I mentioned The Neuroticon yet? The Neuroticon is a large catalogue of neurotic conditions that can be instantly contracted just by reading about them. The man who compiled it mentally disintegrated under the weight of his knowledge. Since he completed the catalogue it has never been opened and is kept locked in a safe that no one knows the combination to. However, intrigued by the contents of The Neuroticon, The Fugger Institute is working on the Neuroticon Codebreaker, software that will provide us with the combination to the safe. Opening the safe will of course be dangerous seeing as The Neuroticon is in there so The Fugger Institute is also working on the Codebreaker Virus that will render the Neuroticon Codebreaker inoperable. Needless to say, The Fugger Institute is in the early stages of developing more software that protects the Neuroticon Codebreaker from the virus.

The thing we are working on that excites me most is Love Money. Love Money is not an object but actually a school of thought that intends to replace all the world's currencies with love. Instead of pieces of paper and coins, our fundamental form of exchange will be to treat others as we ourselves would like to be treated. This will help us understand that love for humanity is not some vague hippyish aspiration but actually an innate and pragmatic force that ensures stability and common well-being. Love Money will also prevent the concept of love from being confused with the incredibly pleasant but ultimately selfish and hideously conditional sexual infatuation that is celebrated in American films and popular music.

Another couple of things that can be found at the institute are The Monkey Chamber, a chamber that The Fugger Institute keeps its monkeys in, and Fuzzy Felt.

These last two items are not so impressive and the latter may have already been invented but what the hell, it's great fun and surely that's what it's all about at the end of the day. But what is fun? Maybe we should look into that. It's an interesting question. Hmmm, are games fun? What if they become too competitive and the participants become upset? Is that fun? If not why do it? Some say it's character building but you'd want to be building a pretty strange character. Speaking of strange characters, Benji Wellum proposed that we investigate how many large white mugs it would take to fill my little black kettle. I pointed out that the result would be almost five as a new experiment would merely be the one I carried out earlier in reverse. However, Wellum asked if the reverse is always the inverse of the forward and when I said I wasn't sure what he meant he turned the kettle upside down and concluded that it couldn't be filled at all. As I watched Benji dementedly pour filled mugs onto an upside down kettle, it occurred to me that maybe some minds inquire too much. Can inquiring burn out your wiring? This question is laced with irony because asking it invites the possible burn out the question warns against. I suppose that's reality again, taking the piss.

****

Hmmm. The human mind. The questions it asks. The lengths it goes to answer them. Then these answers lead to more questions and so on and so on, forever, without end, into the infinite circle and back to where it left off, the very start, the Ouroboros eats its tail because further discovery usually reveals that previous discovery was wrong and so everything must be discovered again. Oh yes, inquiry and discovery, looping, arcing, spiraling in a never ending game. A game someone or something must have invented ...for 'fun'.

'The divine is hidden from the people according to the wisdom of the Lord.'

THE MAKING OF THE MAKING OF

I recently watched a film and after it was finished I watched another film about the making of the film and then I watched a third film about the making of the making of the film and then I watched a fourth film about the making of the making of the making of the film and then I watched a fifth film about the making of the making of the making of the making of the film then I watched a sixth film about the making of the making of the making of the making of the making of the film and then I watched a seventh film about... well, I'm sure you get the gist of it by now. I kept on watching 'the making of the making of' films for days and days and days until finally I realised that this endless daisy chain of 'the making of the making of' films was the nation's largest and only employer and that the entire population worked as part of a film crew following a film crew following a film crew following a film crew and on and on until finally I realised that I too was holding a camera and was at the end of this endless iteration with my lens pointed at the screen filming me watching me filming me watching me and so on and so on and everything kind of dissolved into that infinity you see when you attach a camera to a monitor and then point the camera into the monitor and see an endless corridor of monitors within monitors within monitors and I was running in that endless monitor corridor chasing myself and being chased by another myself who was also being chased by an endless procession of myselves and I was the last living person on Earth and so were you and so is everyone else and we're all so very tired and we're all so very hungry because no one thought to hire a catering department and even if they did there'd be no one to work for it because we're all busy making films about other films that are about the making of films that are about the making of other films that end up with us in the films making films about us watching the films that are about us watching the films about us watching the films ourselves and watching ourselves watching the films that are about us watching the films ourselves and watching and chasing ourselves and being chased by ourselves and watching the making of the chasing ourselves being chased by ourselves being chased by ourselves chasing the chasers and being chased by chasers chasing ourselves and so on and so on and so on and I'm sure you get the gist of it after all that so can I go now?

KNOCK KNOCK

I remember I wrote a piece for the stage. It was kind of a Beckett meets Sapphire and Steel thing. You know, a few laughs for the existentially bewildered. I called my play ‘Knock Knock’. Here’s the entire thing:

A Man and a Woman sit on a park bench on a lunar surface. The Man is engrossed in a paperback novelisation of the Clint Eastwood film In the Line of Fire. The Woman fidgets with a mischievous look on her face. She nudges the Man in the ribs with her elbow.
Woman: Knock knock.
Man: Fuck off.
Woman: No. You’re meant to say ‘Who’s there?’
Man: Who’s there?
Woman: Yes.
Man: Fuck off.
Woman: No. Let me start again. Knock knock.
Man: Who’s there?
Woman: Doctor.
Man: Fuck off.
Woman: No. You are meant to say ‘Doctor who?’
Man: Doctor who?
Woman: Yes.
Man: Fuck off.
Woman: No. Let me start again. Knock knock.
Man: Who’s there?
Woman: Doctor.
Man: Doctor who?
Woman: How did you know?
Man: Fuck off.
Woman: No. It’s a joke.
Man: Fuck off.
Woman: You are being impossible.
Man: Fuck off.
Woman: You are always like this after a few brandies.
Man: Fuck off.
Woman: I am leaving you.
Man: Fuck off.
Woman: I’m taking the children.
Man: Fuck off.
Woman: (says nothing)
Man: Fuck off.
Woman: Knock knock.
Man: Who’s there?
Woman: Fuck off.
Man: How dare you?
Woman: How dare you who?
Man: How did you know?
(Lengthy pause of about one hour and a quarter)
Woman: How long have we been here?
Man: Forever.
Woman: Is this our purpose?
Man: Fuck off.
Woman: Knock knock.

At that point the play meets itself coming back and the actors take it from the top. The whole thing repeats over and over again until the audience is gripped by insanity or the theatre building collapses. The show started playing in town many years ago. It’s still going today. It's the same performance in fact. The very first one, still repeating. Needless to say, I didn’t go and see it myself. If I did I’d be there now and I’m not.
I’m right here.
Knock knock.

HELSINKI

All the clocks in my house are set to different times. None are set to your time. They are set to different time zones. I have a few that have completely stopped. When people ask about the stopped clocks I tell them the clocks are set to Helsinki time. When people point out that the clocks are all stopped at different times I just laugh and say ‘that’s Helsinki for you’.

There’s a strange smell in my house. Actually, there is no smell. No smell at all. That’s what’s so strange about it. You probably think you wouldn’t notice the lack of a smell but you do. It’s like when fridge buzz stops and you’re suddenly aware of the silence. When you walk through my door you are suddenly aware of the lack of smell. People say to me ‘hey, why doesn’t it smell in here?’ and I answer ‘maybe no one farted’ and give a little laugh.

People get a bit freaked out at my house. There are no pictures on the walls. I have no curtains or blinds or light shades or even lights. When I have guests and the sun goes down I’m usually asked to turn on a light or at least get a torch or a candle. I refuse. I tell my guests we’re better off in the dark. ‘You don’t want to see what’s in here with us’ I say. They ask me what I mean. I tell them they know exactly what I mean. They say they don’t and get worked up and demand to know what’s in the room with us. ‘Each other’, I tell them. ‘Isn’t that bad enough?’ I ask.

I keep this huge owl in my bathroom. He’s kind of the boss in there.

There’s a room upstairs in my house that people sometimes wander into by accident while looking for the bathroom. There’s a trampoline in this room and a really skinny lady is bouncing on it and weeping. ‘I’m so hungry’, she pleads. Visitors tell her to come down off the trampoline and get something to eat. I tell them that there’s no use trying to reason with her. ‘That’s my wife’, I explain, ‘she’s addicted to the endorphins released by the bouncing. She’s like a crack addict. She can’t stop. I’ll throw her a sandwich later. She can eat it while she jumps.’

I have an office in my house. I’ve got a lot of files in there. People wonder what’s in the files. I tell them that files are in the files. Then they ask what are in the files in the files and I tell them more files. This usually goes on for a while until they discover that there are a never ending amount of files within files and that the office stores infinity. The files have names on them, ‘MacCruiskeen’, ‘Pluck’, and so on. ‘Why do the files have names on them?’ I’m asked. ‘Why does anything have a name?’ I ask back. I’m pretentious that way.

My house has no garden but I mow the lawn daily. Just to be on the safe side.

As you enter my house, you see a huge electrical pylon to the west. When you leave it’s to the east. Everyone notices this. No one mentions it. It makes me laugh.

People tend not to stay too long when they come over to my house. They grow tired of my cryptic pronouncements. The constant squeaking of trampoline springs plays upon their nerves. They can’t piss with the owl staring at them. They usually end up bumping into something when it’s dark. Even when it’s daylight, the strange architecture of the place makes them uneasy, spatially discombobulated and a little dizzy.

People don’t stay long and rarely visit but that’s OK with me. I’ve got things to do. I’ve got clocks to unset and owl shit to clean up. I’ve got to make a sandwich for the wife and sort through infinity by name. Don’t let that put you off though. I mean, it would be OK if you wanted to pop around for a cup of something. You’ll take the cup and put it to your lips. Then you’ll spit the contents out in disgust and say ‘what the hell was that?’ I’ll just laugh and shrug and answer ‘something’.

Why not come around on Wednesday? I’ll be pretending that it’s Tuesday. It’s always Tuesday in Helsinki.