Colin Stewart

Just A Minute

On the silent stroke of midday the P.A system announced, as 'a sign of respect for the victims of September 11th,' that a minute's silence would now commence. Not a hair or a breath turned at the National Gallery. The paintings remained on the walls; the lighting held pale over wood-block floors; the heating eased its smooth, warm exhalation. The Gallery goers continued to contemplate the pictures, although the silence stood in total observance.
I was here to see Vermeer. In his small, delicate deliberations there is not a breath of wind or sound. They are 'quiet' pieces - hushed, domestic - speaking of order and rectitude, their occupants caught in frozen action. Today was the last day of the exhibition: 'sold out,' but a hundred tickets remained on the door. There was a queue of us by eight a.m., united in the pilgrimage.

Silence was observed, but motion continued. I noticed then that everyone wore earphones. These described and explained the art: you pressed the numbered code, and were directed to the strangely bluish texture in the foreground, or the myriad reflections appearing in the stained glass triangles. So, although there was silence in the room, there were also a thousand voices - the same voice replicated. These angels spoke about beauty into the ears of a thousand people observing respectfully a silence they had not heard announced.

E. Hughes

Smoking a Pipe

The flies buzzed everywhere, and he shooed them half-heartedly, lazily. The sun was hot, very hot, and the warm currents could be seen rising from any point in the distance. He was covered by the arches of the building, and was cool underneath. But no one but no one wanted to be indoors in this kind of weather, and it was glorious weather. Even for Turkey. Even for the summer.
He sipped his too sweet coffee, read his too small newspaper and dreamed his just right dreams. He closed his eyes and simply existed. He was still there. He closed his eyes again, this time for a little bit longer. A boy ran across the road, shouting and cheering, and then a family with one father and mother, and two young children made their way passed the café quietly and respectively, solemnly observing the calm that had settled on everyone. But no one minded anything at all, in fact it all played its part on this impromptu stage of life.
What dreams would be found or embarked on this afternoon, and what worlds could be conquered? He closed his eyes and imagined other places, other worlds, other people and their different thoughts. If you just existed, and were invisible in a place like this, what did it matter? What did anything matter in fact? The sun was bright and warm, the atmosphere good and the air breathable and fresh. He smoked on his pipe and dreamed his thoughts again.A magic carpet ride. A sense of exhilaration. A flirt with life and death. A smoke on a pipe.

John Owen - Exclusive Report from the Front LIne!

One hour Before The Revolution Breaks

The day started with a serious communications failure. Percy the Pigeon had developed a viral strain which affected his flying capabilities. After a world renowned ornithologist was flown in from Alcatraz penitentiary it was decided to let him rest with milk and protein. "Phone shavers at the ready" was the code word adopted followed by a secret firework display. After a last minute game of spot the plain clothes jack/police informer/MI5 stooge, morale was high as a sniffer dog after a raid on a WRVS (Legalise Jam Making) rave.

Sock

The radio station that had been rigged up using a talking Cindy doll was broadcasting 'sleep time bo bos - I need my nappy change!'. All systems were definitely GO! GO! GO! All that is but for a strange pebble that had miraculously appeared in Sub-Commandant Muckos sock. The assault was stalled while a fresh pair of woollen combat zone socks were liberated from a passing nun. "Are you ready to rock?" As a chorus of yes resounded the streets were filled with the sound of gunfire - from a spaghetti western soundtrack CD.

Vandals

What was to happen next became the critical manoeuvre or opening scene. The paint still drying on the walls of the city buildings with slogans denouncing the 'capitalist regime', calling for 'death to the monarchy' and 'long live the People's Republic'. 'No to fox hinting' and 'a square meal plus good puddings' for all. The daring, the audacity, the luminous paint and the spelling mistakes were there for all the people to see. A new power had risen and it was the beginning of the revolution. Flags, banners, posters were issued calling on the people to stay calm and chill. 'We are the majority of the minority', 'the rite to make revolution is taken not given'. 'We are going to take what is ours and build heaven on Earth-not a holy place but a real and open city for all who want to go forwards.'

Yobs

The chattering classes and the noise of the noiseless were to be hard for the first time. Not as servants of the rich, but with the newly inspired confidence nurtured from a free thought provoking atmosphere. World generals and sixteen million viewpoints, all equally valid, weighed up, discussed and if needing be, acted upon. Who was to know what the outcome would be: this was the first time all the people had collectively spoken to themselves. It was not a daily chatter of mindless trivialitia but life and death questions. The thirst for knowledge would be matched only by the hunger for answers and with that, action - revolutionary action. Anyone not fast enough would be swept along by the tide. Voting time was over.

Perverted

As the brave foot soldiers walked out into the blazing sun (actually, one of the chandeliers had caught fire) they heard the footsteps of the approaching riot sheep. They had miked up their boots and were fiendishly relaying the signals onto the channel used by the comrades CBs. These unadulterated terror tactics did not defeat the courageous warriors, but they were very nearly destroyed by the tap routine from 'Singing in the Rain'. The horror!

Internet

The dawn of the anti-capitalist movement began at midnight exactly. No one was up and it would have passed by quite unnoticed but for an ice cream vendor who became suspicious at the purchase of 24 choc-ices and a cigar. After he was tailed for two weeks he proved to be 'normal' and a cheap dealer. He was promoted to look out duties and remains optimistic of gaining a more worthwhile job. 'I'd like to be involved in the re-nationalisation of cheese burgers' he tells us, his mind reeling with the possibilities of this new, free age.