Jild

In BeuqBoxz, where transhumanists who are convinced that after mastering fire, inventing the wheel and the coming of steam to machines the possibilities in this umpteenth revolutionary era cannot possibly be exaggerated are just as welcome as die-hard world-improvers who seize every opportunity to ridicule or nullify robotics and every other form of modern slavery, the unmistakable smell of cooking zoervleisj without horseshoe tickles Rinse’s nose.

It is an old recipe.

SlaeSir is back.

Graediva, who between empty bookcases is flat and especially in real time almost lifelike present, has nipples. Slae looks at them. Rinse sees Graediva’s nipples as well.

GraedivaYes, I can see that the slow one is back too, mop.

Slae’s kind of warning clearly achieves nothing. Julius, who with a taupe bath towel knotted around the waist lies next to Graediva on a king-size bed, rolls into view.

JuliusYo! Big fat ride, folks.

Rinse’s rather dry mouth that is open and hangs rather limply receives no signal because the controlling something has processing to do. Particularly artfully integrated pixels in the kind of dining salon are to blame for that. Call it MeMuur.

Going deeper into what took place behind MeMuur before the showering serves no purpose at this moment. Julius looks no less happy for it. The picture is complete.

Thus and so the conference can at last, standing, sitting or lying, come about in this true story.

GraedivaNot so neat, is it, that long letting wait, boy.

Not knowing that he has been waited for a long time, Rinse places his ride with accessories on the ground and sits well in view on the chair indicated by Slae. Rinse clearly has difficulty with the fact that, without having been able to exert any influence on it, he has apparently done something wrong. Graediva sees that.

It is a gift, that talking into. On the small round transparent table between Slae and Rinse a glass of mint tea provided with fresh leaf full of steaming water and a cooled can of cola stand ready. A glass containing ice cubes, a slice of lemon and a muddler is on its way.

No coasters.

GraedivaLetting come also has something again, by the way, on the other hand, if I’m honest. Mustn’t become a raw competition, right, about the exerting. A bit of tempo, though. Whatever. We can.

JuliusMay I go first?

It is allowed. Julius rolls almost militarily practised over Graediva and begins, wide-legged above her, enthusiastically jumping on the king-size bed. The taupe bath towel knotted around the waist comes loose.

Graediva, Slae and Rinse see it happen. Muscular buttocks come hard through MeMuur. Something also hangs between the legs.

No problem. Our mistress of advanced pleasure throws Julius a red tracksuit of the brand Dazzling Adje picked up from the high-pile carpet. No boxer shorts or underpants.

GraedivaAnziehen, du, Arschlog.

Jumping a little less high, Julius puts on what Graediva has thrown him rather deftly.

JuliusAt least nine times over, you wanqers!

Julius speaks quite generally to an equally absent as imaginary audience that supposedly consists of ruqers and then lets himself fall next to Graediva on the king-size bed. The word is now specifically directed at Rinse.

JuliusFoqing rich, you know. Hurray for the DNB!

GraedivaDe Nederlandsche Bank, yes, with supervision, and zhit. No more hassle with creditworthiness from now on. A foqing oath, only, as guarantee, as a little closer. The deal is done, Slae. A full bin. A leaking tap, with pegels, out of nowhere, as it were. Only a bit of difficulty first, right, about not being able to give up a fixed place of residence. And what did I say then, so, Schwanz?

JuliusNo stress, schatje.

GraedivaThat too, yes, afterwards. I first sickened that that is because my bank is in an orbit around the earth, with satellite connection, and so on. Couldn’t all be done, right?

JuliusNope.

There then is the glass containing ice cubes, a slice of lemon and a muddler. Cola from the cooled can on the small round transparent table belongs in it. The equally relieving as well-meant pouring disturbs. Rinse has difficulty with that.

RinseI can manage myself.

Our human-like pouring robot may leave again before the pouring out or in. In the futuristic kitchen the stirring, the cooking and the watching of the time continue fully automatically one way or another.

GraedivaProsit! Whatever. That going around the earth is solved, with my fat servers, in the basement, under BeuqBoxz. Simply add postcode, and done. That first, then.

JuliusYep.

Under the sheet of the material satin in the colour gold Graediva wriggles both legs into the legs of an elastic trousers. Call it faux leather in the colour hell-elf ivory. No slip or string.

GraedivaThirteen more days, boy. Thir-teen, and then after the preliminary phase the formal phase is next, or something. Say how you want it. Wage in money, commission, brokerage, bonus, profit-sharing, fee, from contributions, in kind?

Rinse, who lets the abundance of information in real time wash over him, tensions the pull tab on the cooled can of cola and then lets it spring back under the index finger of the left hand. The repeating more often than necessary disturbs.

GraedivaDon’t, mate.

It is Julius who after some irritation helps the elastic trousers of the material faux leather in the colour hell-elf ivory over a dead point. Rinse makes no choice.

GraedivaYes, think about it a bit longer.

Julius throws Graediva gender-blind an oversized white T-shirt with print from his own collection and thus unisex removes the free view of her nipples.

GraedivaHere I am again. Qubits are the new fields. Rinse Jonkheer is going to be it, as your username. The foremost and first of the remaining 49 percent in the blockchain, boy.

Rinse, who rarely calculates quickly in his head, comes to the conclusion that Graediva with her majority can as the only one implement or make changes in the chain. It is put differently.

GraedivaWe mustn’t scare off entrants into the system, right. Everyone is equal, of course.

JuliusFoq advertisers.

GraedivaInvestors, mate. Whatever. Disrupt, and so on, Jonkheer. We put it differently first, but it is going to be an AI that no one can get around later. Every Verbraucher gets 2.73 jild for a thousand euros, as opening rate, as it were.

JuliusHe will still be broke, honey.

GraedivaYes, say it out loud nicely, with your empty pocket, now. It will all come good for him. Everything will come good, you know, boy.

One must know that suspicion is warranted as soon as all, everything and good come in a single sentence from the mouth. Rinse knows that. Julius does not pause at that.

JuliusDecentralised zhit. The real deal, without governments. Nosy foqers.

GraedivaGenau. We will not let them take our freedom away again by bringing jild to the stock exchange, for example. Dick pics, big tits, talk and pictures. Further no interference from outside.

Shaking his head and without spilling Rinse pours cola over the ice cubes in the glass with a slice of lemon on the rim. The muddler lies beside it.

GraedivaWhat are you shaking for now, with your long face? I’ll ram it in again properly, Jonkheer: innovating is even harder for those brigadiers than disentangling a bankrupt bank, you know. Long-term service contract here. Frozen credit there. Not a cent to those foqing bunglers, with their upper world, you hear? The big joint bill. Tell me where we can still flee into.

JuliusCrypto.

GraedivaSchnauze! I’m talking to the boy now. Everything that goes in straight comes out crooked again, always, with representatives of the people. Well, except that one time then, with you, Julius, in that corridor, somewhere, late, after that debate.

JuliusYeah. Me and me lobby.

GraedivaJawohl. And what did you say today, in that one other building, after our little visit to the DNB?

JuliusMust that?

GraedivaYes, it must, that. They like it.

JuliusGive me the Second Chamber as well.

It is Slae who almost chokes, with a mint leaf sticking to the light-pink lipsticked lower lip as a result. There are spatters. No problem. Rinse misses the punchline.

SlaeElectoral Council.

GraedivaYes. I also had the soaking wet laugh of it for a moment, at hip height. You can’t just tick things as a wish, after a foot massage, or something with needles, on the flyer, Caesar. That’s not how it works, officially.

JuliusPiss off.

GraedivaThat’s what I say, ruler. Really good, the way you showed that you have never voted. Whatever. You do the list leaders, right, pop?

SlaeAnd the campaign, mistress. We keep it warm.

No word about the European Parliament, but that is because that has already been gone into more deeply earlier. Still it is not entirely clear to Rinse who is now going to stand for election for what. It actually does not matter to him either. No fingers. Then there is still the matter around ANBI, where institutions aiming at the general good can after designation more or less obtain tax advantage.

GraedivaDuh. And have you found an empty church somewhere yet? With BeuqBoxz no interference, for contributing to the building, with tenders, and so on, and that sort of thing. We must not want that.

SlaeA construction is possible. It is in development.

GraedivaWatch out, mop. You know how it goes: yes the mortgage, but then also the insurance attached to it. Yes the job, but then also the professional association. Yes the terrace, but then also the drink. Yes the toilet, but then also the little saucer. Foq those…

JuliusYo. Ease it, babe.

GraedivaYes, I’m completely in it again, I notice. And just keep hammering on, then, about a not recognised, therefore non-existent faith, according to him, with their ANBI. A whole pile, about environment, and sustainability, and culture, with their bleating. Could be arranged and shifted immediately, all of it, as long as it falls under one roof. Wasn’t like that with me yet, Julius. It simply did not sink in with that piece of confetti that I could not designate a church or meeting place on the map. Shall I repeat what I said then, to that curly head?

JuliusSure. Entertain us.

GraedivaThat is because it is the church of the future, with your goatee!

The dirty fat laughing especially on Julius’s side on the king-size is not to be missed. Graediva’s mood nevertheless turns again like a leaf on a tree. Our mistress of advanced pleasure rather rudely pretends that Rinse in person is out of view.

GraedivaSo. But, is that little sour one of ours to be trusted, or not, pop? It is now, after my signatures, about the real thing, right. Ai-ai-ai, as project, after thirteen days knows no way back anymore in society. We still need a dummy, as test, before ruqers and qutjes can safely follow. As soon as everything works it can no longer be stopped, or reversed, as regards artificial zhit. Am I clear?

SlaeFully.

GraedivaFully what?

SlaeIt is fully clear. As far as sir is concerned we must have patience until after the meal. Nothing has been brought in yet.

Having to have patience lands badly.

GraedivaWhat have you two been doing then, the whole time?

Julius pretends he is massaging something large and firm and also looks serious at that in the vacuum. Rinse is clearly more than fed up with being the odd one out, with interference as a result.

RinseWhat use is trust if under pressure everything sooner or later gives way once, right? Give me Vincuit until the formal phase, or whatever you call it. I ask no more. Your money or jild can be stolen from me.

Thus and so our pauper in a kind of social hunger strike has not yet spoken when Graediva already strikes back with a reply. The volume does not matter to MeMuur.

GraedivaYou had Vincuit! Vincuit was already yours, boy!

RinseFine! Do what I say. Full access to the factory. Every detail, madam. Not only working on retaliation with that unequal coin of yours. There is more than Qier. The poor countries are almost finished already. After this it must go further.

Slae, who has never heard anyone speak against her mistress like that, does not know for a moment where to look and waits tensely for a reaction. Julius does that as well.

GraedivaThirteen days. Foq you. You get your way.

JuliusWhat the foq!?

In the vacuum Graediva pretends she is squeezing something very hard. It works. No more comes through, because between the empty bookcases in the kind of dining salon the image goes black. No goodbye or see you later. Pure old sore. There sits Rinse then.

RinseThere we sit then.

No reaction. Knowing what he has caused, Rinse takes his ride with accessories from the ground and goes rather guiltily towards the kitchen. There is mayonnaise.

There are chips. There is zoervleisj without horseshoe and a specific touchscreen that will soon stop with digital countdown. No more cola.

Our mindfucking slayer and dissector as well brings the empty glasses. A simple gesture makes clear to our human-like robot that it can go. There is a kind of hard reset.

Two plates stand ready. An expressed suspicion breaks the silence.

RinseAre you already experimenting, Slae?

SlaeWith what?

The question after the question says enough.

RinseI can see it in you. Your hair, eyelashes, lenses, nails, skin. Your posture: it is smooth.

The inspecting repeats itself from toe to top. There is eye contact. Rinse sees in Slae something of a restomod. It sinks in, and precisely that nullifies all the rest. It makes vulnerable. The expressed suspicion is out and can impossibly be taken back. Words separate thoughts. Words determine what is truth, or form a lie. He really does not want to use it against her. There is recovery.

RinseYou don’t have to… the shield. It occupies me.

Rinse rather courteously grants Slae some space, and time. Salt goes over the chips. Divided into two portions the chips end up on the plates.

Zoervleisj without horseshoe also ends up in several scoops on the plates. Mayonnaise ends up in separate little bowls next to the cutlery and the plates on both sides of the kitchen island. Instead of cola there is spring water with or without bubbles.

Only because having it has happened to him more often Rinse makes no problem of it. It therefore does not matter to him. Call it habituation.

Slae serves the chosen bubbles.

SlaeEnjoy your meal.

RinseEnjoy your meal.

During the evening meal Rinse’s thoughts go out to an artist in pop music. In the foreground a classical orchestra. In the background a band.

In the orchestra a cellist. Notes on a stand. Fingers and a bow on and over the strings.

Rinse knows nothing about chords. Between the exceptional notes and the touched strings: pure concentration. It is not the cellist’s genre, yet she plays disciplined as the being schooled prescribes and thus goes faultlessly into the whole.

Call it out of the boxz.

RinseNothing moves me more than dedication.

What comes out of nowhere for Slae feels like a lack. No projection. It is warm above the plates. Only as makeup, make-up or make up can run does it slowly run. There then is the confirmation of the suspicion.

SlaeIt is not toxic, I can tell. It can be used in the body for medicine transport. The joke is that without Graediva I would probably no longer have lived. In my case our mistress protects better than nature. Enough emotion, like this?

RinseSorry.

It is enough. No side effects. A little finger goes under an eyelash. Rinse chews deeply thinking, sweating and without further questions on the crispy and the tender with sauce.