The iceberg meltwater in the kettle refused to boil, preferring instead to evaporate into a light lavender vapour that smelled vaguely of cinnamon and roasted coffee beans. I did not mind. It was, after all, almost the end of August in THE SEVENTH YEAR OF THE TWENTY-TWENTIES, and the thermometer outside my window had long since melted into a yellow puddle that resembled a poached egg.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My neighbour, whose real name I never knew, leaned over the scorched remnants of our shared hedge. He was wearing a suit made entirely of damp linen tea towels.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018Warm one,\u2019 he said, fanning his sweaty face with a dry leaf.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018It is merely the consequence of complexity,\u2019 I replied, adjusting my wide-brimmed sombrero. \u2018The world has become far too tangled. Too many numbers. Too many specificities. I have decided to simplify life.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018Simplify, how?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018Precisely. Take the calendar, for instance. People insist on using four digits. Two, zero, two, six. It sounds like an invoice number for a mid-sized plumbing firm. So, I replaced it. From now on, we are living in THE SEVENTH YEAR OF THE TWENTY-TWENTIES. It rolls off the tongue like frozen melon.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The neighbour squinted at the horizon, where the tarmac on the high street was gently undulating like a sleepy python.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018Does that lower the temperature?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018Conceptually, yes,\u2019 I said. \u2018By expanding the phrase, I spread the heat across more syllables. It is basic thermodynamics.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The Root of All Heated Stuff<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n The heat had begun its proper ascent around the start of the decade, back when numbers were still short and manageable. Year after year, the sun grew increasingly aggressive, baking the local parks until the grass clicked underfoot like dry twigs. By the fifth year, the ice cream shops and vans started selling block ice to desperate commuters. By the sixth year, the local council replaced all the traffic lights with small, heat-resistant brass cuckoos that simply sang higher pitches as the asphalt liquefied.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The problem, as I explained to the postman earlier that morning, was that everyone had made things too precise.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018You see,\u2019 I told him as he handed me a letter that had fused into a solid paper brick, \u2018when you call a heatwave 45 degrees Celsius, you give the sun a target. You invite it to reach 46. But if you simplify the term, the sun loses interest.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Is that why you paid for your stamps in buttons?\u2019 the postman asked, wiping sweat from his brow.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018I did not pay in buttons. I paid in CIRCULAR DISCS OF FUNCTIONAL FASTENING. It is much simpler than worrying about coins and notes. Currency is far too specific. Specificity breeds friction, and friction creates heat.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n A Vision for the Future<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n By afternoon, the sky had turned a pleasant shade of bruised plum. I sat on my front step with a notebook, mapping out how I intend to fix the coming years. If THE SEVENTH YEAR OF THE TWENTY-TWENTIES was to be saved, we needed a radical expansion of our linguistic economy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Here is a list of old terms and their simplified alternatives:<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2022 Rain<\/strong> – THE UNEXPECTED VERTICAL LIQUID REVITALISATION<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2022 Winter<\/strong> – THE PERIOD OF HYPOTHETICAL SHIVERING<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2022 Global warming<\/strong> – THE GREAT CALORIC ENTHUSIASM<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2022 Tuesday<\/strong> – THE SECOND ACT OF THE WEEKLY SUFFERING<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018How does your grand plan account for the fact that the lawn is currently smouldering?\u2019 the neighbour asked, pointing a trembling finger at a small puff of smoke near his gnome.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018That is easily remedied,\u2019 I said calmly. \u2018We shall simply stop calling it a lawn. If we refer to it as THE EMERALD ASH BED, then, technically, it will function perfectly.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018And what about the next year?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Ah,\u2019 I smiled, leaning back against the hot brick wall. \u2018Next year will be even simpler. We shall not have a number at all. We shall refer to it exclusively as THE EIGHTH CHAPTER OF THE SWELTERING ERA. And if the sun dares to press its luck, I shall simplify the atmosphere itself down to a single whisper.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n The neighbour pondered this for a moment, adjusted his tea-towel lapels and nodded slowly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Will there be tea?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Only in the form of WARM HERBAL INTROSPECTION,\u2019 I assured him, raising my lukewarm cup of lavender vapour. \u2018And it will be splendid.\u2019<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" The iceberg meltwater in the kettle refused to boil, preferring instead to evaporate into a light lavender vapour that smelled vaguely of cinnamon and roasted coffee beans. I did not mind. It was, after all, almost the end of August in THE SEVENTH YEAR OF THE TWENTY-TWENTIES, and the thermometer outside my window had long since melted into a yellow puddle that resembled a poached egg. My neighbour, whose real name I never knew, leaned over the scorched remnants of our shared hedge. He was wearing a suit made entirely of damp linen tea towels. \u2018Warm one,\u2019 he said, fanning<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":4149,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[64,185,13],"tags":[299,300,301],"class_list":["post-4146","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-experimental-prose","category-satire","category-trails","tag-global-warming","tag-heat","tag-numbers"],"aioseo_notices":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/eurolit.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4146","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/eurolit.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/eurolit.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/eurolit.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/eurolit.net\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=4146"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/eurolit.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4146\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":4148,"href":"https:\/\/eurolit.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4146\/revisions\/4148"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/eurolit.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/4149"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/eurolit.net\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=4146"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/eurolit.net\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=4146"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/eurolit.net\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=4146"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}