Friday, June 11, 2010

Spurn of the Crew

"Crew," I said, emphasizing in intonation my rank. "I am leaving you now."

Bollycks was sitting down there, showing Tirsa how to weld a proper mackarel with an electric tongue-twister. I could see his twiggy hands, trying to reach, reach into her drafty blouse. His little gray, pustule-ridden hands just shivering for that one texture of her wet and warty tits. Fucking nerds.

Contasyhage was of course showing his brains to the succulent Lambasta. Like a woman body-builder would ever take interest in the cortexes of a bleeding worm. I smirked as he did that one trick where he cut off his hand, and then grew another one on the other side, making it look really difficult.

Wait? How does that work again? You tell me. I am your control substance. I am what you put inside this experiment so that *your* 'little cocktail' would take first place in the *evolution* of your spacetime cozooistry and still not seem 'zany'.

"And I am not happy, so I am leaving," I said to them. Those ... characters.

"Sod off then," said Bollycks.

I had put myself in a terrible place.

Thursday, June 10, 2010

What you mofos don't know how you started?

Let me lay it down in plain text.

Most people have to invent some sort of 'origin story' for their existence. For drones, there are convenient templates such as Bibles, Qurans, Torahs, whatever. You can even get polytheistic beliefs; a woman bathed in a river and a man saw it: wham-bam thank you Venus.

Smarter apes of course realize they actually come from a teapot, in space.

But I am not an ape. We do not have a common ancestor. Any of your tricks -- the music, the rhythm, the ... 'love' ... it won't work with me. The bacteria and viruses on your planet already know this. They're really making a good effort to resolve their bacterial and viral inferiority to me. Like real sports.

Gah, how to explain properly without going fishing with you for one of your fishies? For example, you can take a good rod, with a nice length and your best fish cable+hook. I will watch your performance, as you demonstrate to me how you fish.

You will show me your struggles, your pain. How tough it is to pull that little fishy into your hand. Then you will stand there smiling at me triumphant, a bead of honest sweat tricking down your forehead.

I will then change the properties of the universe so that every fish in the river leaps into my body, like I'm some kind of fish magnet.

Saturday, June 5, 2010

In Absentia

You, whose absence deprives me of sleep,
whose last words a stinging jewel in my keep.
Come snow yesterday, cloudy now or sunny future,
you, upon my heart threaten every suture.

Like a sneeze it seems we were thrown together,
then your yawning and imminent departure.
Almost a smile but in every way
contemplation each wayward day.

I'm worst on mornings just like this,
terrible on evenings like this too,
in markets they won't even sell me superglue
because they think that I am two.

I am not two and I know you're not -2,
about the extent of my mathematical ability,
especially when I reinvent you
to placate my personal conceits.

discombibulation lotions antifr0zen mummified+veins yeti-adoption corn_embryos blackbox_uncles tools

Because it had to be done, this is my list of things they could slap onto future Fringe 'television' intros:
pterodactylic imaginations

hypersensitive digits
'n' cheese
completion (this is still in concept)
generation x-y-z post-trans-humans
naffin-scaffin ;)
obstipatin petunia
(last 50 or sixty from 'Depraved and Insulting English' by some people who don't even sound English. It's on Amazon, don't ever say I didn't credit them where their bloody credit is due).