A place to write for the sake of nothing at all...

Tue, 17 Jun 2008 23:31:55 GMT

Ever notice when we are little we tell our parents how many kids we are gonna have and what our wedding will be like. and they just nod and laugh. then when you grow up you realize they were laughing not because you were funny but how cute and innocent you were. Life makes you so vile. Then again the reason you grow is from learning. So either you can never grow up and be innocent. Or grow up and have been hurt and loved but at least you grew up right?

life.

Thu, 15 May 2008 08:59:11 GMT

34 reasons Jeffery Dahmer should eat his heart out

01.
she pushed herself against me,
to get closer, or maybe for drunken balance.

it was because i challenged her.
definitely for balance.

02.
her voice is soft when she says she loves me;
i swoon like
a child given candy.

sugary sweet,
cavities a plenty.

03.
yellowed wallpaper, i don't even smoke
anymore.
unnerved, i send a text message asking for help.

22 minutes later, i am in her car.

04.
you keep barely enough food to live on
in your refrigerator. you can't connect
unless you're drunk. you are unneeding.

i know i love you all wrong.

05.
tahitian is only spoken by 150,000 people.

island winds whip my hair into my lipgloss
while she makes me a drink.

150,002.

06.
blue shirt, red shirt.

veins versus blood
"how fitting" i thought.

no shirts, no shoes, no relationship.

07.
her face was blank when she told me
"no, i am not in love with you"

i was shocked;
i shouldn't have been.

i didn't tell her i was in love with her anyway.

08.
"the next time i get attached, I'm going to marry
her."

the hardest part of a scab to rip off
is the final tendon. it always bleeds.

open wounds & wedding bells.

09.
she smiles as she walks past on the street.
it is sunny; i recognize her. she doesn't know me.

the crone.

as certainly as i love, i am the mother.
i smile, she frowns.

yes, she loved her once too. it's a shame
we don't know one another.

10.
water puts out fire,
fire eats air,
air is essential to earth,
earth lives on water.

cycles.

11.
the crowd cheers, the ball drops;
the new year is validated.

i spill my beer when i cheer,
i have dropped the ball.

keep be grounded while i help you
fly, fly, fly...

12.
she is a devout woman,
scientist of the culture.

am i just a specimen?

13.
mirror mirror on the wall, who's
the most repulsive of them all?

14.
in a disaffected world, sexuality
would be fluid.

today, i am a whore;
thanks for the defense.

15.
self-loathing brings her to her knees;
skin peeled back, she's not as strong
as previously anticipated.

i assume nothing.

16.
furiously pacing back & forth,
her furrowed brow asks why.

"i am just waiting."

17.
forgive, but never forget.

18.
she slithers her arms around me
in the divet of the slide. stars flutter,
then die out.

have you ever been in love?

i said yes.
i said yes.
i said yes.

19.
brutality.
the police ain't got nothing
on what we do to each other.

20.
you smell like cheap rum, cheap cigarettes.
slurping at an empty cup, finding
air.

cheap is the new classy.

21.
if i ever loved you
once, i love you
right now.

22.
hummingbirds flutter,
women ache, i bow my head.

how appropriate to epitomize this.

23.
maybe you were articulate,
but I'd like to think you were
stumbling like me.

i don't mind the sound of
your voice, i just hate the words you say.

24.
lick my cheek,
touch my hips.

pleasure my mind until i cum in paragraphs & semi-colons.

25.
i was hard for the cash,
so i was down for the crime.

"do you still respect me?"

you held me on your chest while i panicked.

26.
i find myself missing you.
i find myself. period.

27.
& afterwards our skin glowed
& i swear if anyone had seen us
we would have looked

like angels.

28.
i am fucking her.
or is she fucking me?

29.
she crashed her car into the curb
while we talked in quieted whispers
with our hoods on.

all sparks.

7 mph home & we kept our eyes shadowed,
but our laughter loud.

30.
discreet absences are not lost on
these forlorn eyes.

31.
she pushed me into the counter,
i ran her into the wall.
my arm is bruised, her leg is bleeding.

fighting or making love;
is there really a difference?

32.
i have a crush on her.
i am pathetic.
she makes me blush.

it is only blood underneath the skin.

33.
it's been two weeks since we've last seen each other.
i remember her from a distance;
black trench coat, lack of eye contact.

i miss her.

34.
fingertip
to bleeding lip;
you split
me open, here i am.

Anybody Recall the Anti-Vampire Stuff in "Salem's Lot"?

Wed, 14 May 2008 13:54:12 GMT

I was going to write a light-hearted entry on Stephen King's "Salem's Lot," but I can't remember the anti-vampire lore from the book. I recall one was black dogs w/ white eyebrows, and he had a specific name for them, but I can't recall what the name was. Then there was some type of flower, I think, and at one point the main character discovers that they've all been bought up throughout the region. What else?

Does anybody recall the details on this sort of thing? If so, please share. Thanks!

Spare the Rod, Spoil the A**hole

Wed, 23 Apr 2008 19:25:14 GMT

"Morning, sunshine!" he said through a shit-eating grin.

"Go pound sand in your ass," she said, throwing an energy bar at his head.

"Speaking of pounding things in asses," he said, eyes point down to his erection standing proud, if unimpressive. He thumbed it once and it shook with an audible twang.

She glared at him.

"Aw," he whined, "c'mon, baby!"

"I ain't your baby. And you've read Even Cowgirls Get the Blues," she said, leaning toward him, drawing her fist back to strike. "You know what would happen if I punched your dick right now."

She looked down to take aim, but it was too late, his erection had already deflated. His sad, flaccid member a limp protrusion out of his pubic hair. But he had gotten her riled, so she slapped his scrotum with force, then started into her breakfast of part of an energy bar, a vitamin pill, and a drop of water.

"Why'd you do that?" he said after a few minutes recovery.

"Why?" she said. "Um, let's see. Oh, yes, that's right. It's your fault my sister is dead. It's your fault my two best friends are dead. It's your fault we're stuck in a life raft in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. And it's your fault that half the raft has been colonized by an evil book that tries to bite me when I get near it!"

She slapped his scrotum again. "Jackass," she added. She took what was left of one of the oars and tried to push the book back to the far end of the raft. It snapped at oar, sinking its teeth into the plastic pole, which allowed her to shove it farther away from her. When it reached the limit of the raft, she pushed even harder. The oar slipped farther into the book, little by little, until it started to gag and choke. She chuckled and shoved harder, enjoying the pleasure of torturing such an evil thing.

"Be nice," he said behind her, when he could manage the words through his groans.

"Why didn't I think of this before?" she said. After a few minutes she and the book seemed to reach a sort of equilibrium; it wasn't ready to admit she was the boss, but had to admit that it wasn't. "Truce?" she said to the book. The book thought for a moment, then acquiesced. She cautiously reached for the thing. It growled a bit, but let her pick it up. Using some rope and two dolly knots, she strapped the book — with the eyes on the cover facing the ocean — to the outside of the life raft's tent top. "Now you can enjoy the view."

The book was pleased.

She took a view of the ocean, then lay back down in the life raft and let out a sigh. "I wish I had some clothes."

"No one told you to sleep nude."

"No one told you, either," she said. "And no one told me that you intended to summon Octopus-Head from the ocean depths!"

"It was good fun, admit it."

"What the hell were you thinking?" she cried. "Honestly," she added to her self.

"Mistakes were made," he said. "How should I have known what would happen?"

"The book bit Sarah three days before your little stunt. Did that make you think something good would come from it?"

"I thought she cut her hand on that broken bottle," he said. She rolled her eyes. "Besides, I wasn't sleeping nude, I was doing the summoning nude," he added.

She turned away from him, and using the inflated side of the life raft as a sort of pillow, looked out at the ocean. "Hey, book," she called out after a few minutes, "if you see a ship or something, holler, 'kay?" The book growled in consent from it's vantage point outside the opening opposite hers. "I guess the book doesn't want to be lost to oblivion, either."

He leaned forward and tickled her butt. "Back to what we were talking about earlier." She slapped his hand away.

"It's not like you'll listen," she muttered, "but here are the problems with that plan. I don't like you, I never liked you, I never will like you, you're ugly, you lured me out into the ocean with my sister and best friends and got them killed by some octopus-headed monster — remember that? — you're apparently trying to bring forth some sort of world-destroying evil, I'm not attracted to the idea of butt sex, and you don't have any lubricant. There are more reasons why you're not going to butt fuck me, so when you get past those, I'll list some more."

"Spare the rod, spoil the asshole!"

"Asshole!" she screamed as she reached for the broken oar. She swung at him with all her might; he barely dodged the blow. "Keep it up, and I swear I'll feed you to the book dick first!"

The book growled in approval.

She heard a twang. She turned and saw him slouching against the side of the raft, thumbing his erection with one hand, pinching it at different points, trying to play a tune. She went back to watching the ocean, trying to ignore the dick music coming from her only — well, only human — companion.

She gradually let her eyes relax a bit, and the ocean eased into a soft focus. Something started to come into view, and she let her eyes relax a bit more, still keeping them open, and the waves and rhythms doubled and slowly superimposed, creating noise, mostly, but here and there the coalesced into a compelling image. When that happened, she tried to look at it, only to destroy the image by bringing her eyes into normal focus. Then she'd start all over again. Hunger and thirst must have made her a bit loopy, because before long she was hallucinating delightful images with ease, until he broke her lack of concentration by speaking.

"Listen to this," he said. She heard a confused string of barely discernible musical notes. "It's Funky Town!"

"This is too much," she whispered to herself. She shut her eyes and drifted into sleep. She dreamed she was a priestess in a great cult, and Sarah was the High Priestess, performing a sacrifice. He was the victim. She slashed his belly with a stone knife and then drew his entrails from his writhing body, his screams high and pleading, like a little girl's. No, it wasn't him, it was the book. And octopus-face was the High Priest. There was no one left but the monster, the book, and her. The monster had the book strapped to the alter, and was tearing the pages from it as if disemboweling a living victim. Pyramids of skulls were stacked behind the monster, and from the high vantage point on the dais, she could see pyramid after pyramid of skulls stretching to infinity. They weren't just human either, but every conceivable living thing was similarly displayed as trophy upon trophy. She looked back to the monster sacrificing the book and saw it was waist deep in viscera; the stench of blood and death and shredded bowels overwhelmed her. I've never smelled in a dream before, she thought.

She woke with a start. The sun was setting. He was sleeping. The book was growling a tune to itself. She crawled over to the book, trying not to wake her human companion. She leaned out and studied it closely.

"I get it," she whispered to it. It growled questioningly. "Why you attack anybody who tries to open you — you'll be sacrificed, too."

The book's eyes smiled.

It pointed with its eyes. She looked in that direction and two triangular fins sticking out of the water, apparently circling the raft. "One will do," she murmured.

She turned and gave him a kick, but not too hard. He woke quickly, the bastard.

"Okay," she said. "You can do it, but you're really gross. Take a swim and get as much grossness of you as you can."

"For real?"

"For real. I'll figure out the lubricant problem while you're swimming."

His face lit up with joy, and without hesitation, he dove from the raft and into the ocean. He was under for longer than she had expected, then he surfaced a little way from the raft, kicking with his legs and splashing himself with both hands. He didn't even have time to make a face when he was jerked under the water, some ripples being the only evidence that he had been out there.

She smiled, then untied the book from its perch and brought it into the raft. She propped it against the side opposite her, then she leaned back and started preparing a meal of energy bar and a sip of water.

"If we get rescued," she said to the book, "I'll make sure you're safe from curious eyes."

The book was content.

She's running out the door

Thu, 14 Feb 2008 07:12:28 GMT

Angel, oh angel
Please don't weep
The serpant's tongue is sharp, but the poison's weak
Divert your eyes don't let yourself be mesmerized
Like Medusa she snakes her limbs around your waist
"You're too warm to turn to stone." she says
Instead you'll be a display in her menagerie
Come one, come all! See this broken creature try to fly!
Watch him! Watch him as he cries!
Oh, sweet soul, did you expect the devil to play nice?
She smiles and she sings, cool as rain
And you pets dance to the sound of your chains
Angel, oh angel
Please don't weep
The walls are tall, and your wings are torn
But you don't need to fly to change your course

Constellations

Tue, 05 Feb 2008 08:16:37 GMT

Putting prices on everyone's heads
shifting the blame to anywhere but it's rightful place
O, Hercules! O, god among men
You've picked your battle
Congratulations, victory is yours
Are you prepared to pay the cost?
O, soldier, put down your sword
It's stained by true love's kiss
Somebody! Save us from the hell we're living in
For it's not really living at all
Empty and metal, you left your home for this?
O, Hercules! O, god among men
O, soldier, slave or merchant
wipe your blade
the show is over

Tue, 29 Jan 2008 22:59:07 GMT

like standing on a cliff, the second before you drop
a sickening dizziness resides inside me.
what happens when you fall;
from a place so high the clouds are scared?
the impact is sure to shatter everything.

so I am holding onto you, terrified of the night I can’t,
praying I don’t lose my footing,
that somehow the world doesn’t crash.

you wear your skin like its too tight.

Fri, 14 Dec 2007 03:11:11 GMT

the only present ive ever opened up is the one on my wrist.
kiss me cliche, i'll taste your lips before the irony.
face the girl in the mirror before anyone else. i'm always breaking the glass instead of the silence.
sleeping silhouettes on window panes in celebration of an empty world.
fold into yourself before anyone else.
three simple words written in lipstick on vanity mirrors.
the vain in your is just under your veins. dig deeper, darling.
the "you" in us and our "i" will ultimatly become our demise. face our decay. stitch our smiles on sober so we won't laugh them off.
when theres nothing to laugh at you end up crying to make up for the lack of emotion.
or maybe just to soak the pillow for a story or two.
dddish it out. crush my drugs with your heels & my heart with your hands.
chasing blood down the drain & your car through the city.
breathe me in. im your cancerstick because i'll kill you before i'm done.

the truth is that you love me because i'm just like you.
& for that same reason i hate myself.

Wed, 31 Oct 2007 05:41:01 GMT

dancing to so much techno my brain has turned electro,
shake and pop, shake shake and pop.
skipping across rock pools, trying to find a shell-
aint nobodies baby, aint nobodies friend.
running round in circles hiding from myself,
everyone’s shaking their thing
falling
out
of
sleep.

A lover

Fri, 05 Oct 2007 13:13:13 GMT

The attraction bowled me over
He may be 43, have a bauld patch, a paunch, long white hair and beard
But I'm attracted as hell to him
I'm just not sure I would have gotten involved if I had known how much hard work he would be

My Man

Wed, 03 Oct 2007 07:53:39 GMT

Cut off the hair
Take off the makeup
You’re twenty one, it’s time to wake up
No longer my nancy boy
You’re gonna be my man

I’ll grow my hair
and start wearing dresses
read martha stewart, clean up your messes
I’ll be a good girl
makes me want to hurl
But I’ll be a good girl, for you

You’ll laugh like a guy
and start watching football
last five minutes and worry your thing is small
You’ll be a real man
The kind I can’t stand
But I’ll love a real man, if he’s you

We’ll watch tv
and start wanting a car
have a few babies and forget who we are
We’ll be normals
With Proms and Formals
But I’ll dress like a lady, if you’ll be there too

home again.

Wed, 03 Oct 2007 06:00:12 GMT

Southern Comfort? If only that were true...

Mon, 24 Sep 2007 06:38:38 GMT

I hope you taste every shot I take
and I hope it makes you hate me
I wish I could be your Clementine
enjoy the bliss of a spotless mind
Memories not drenched in you

I can't look at the stars
they don't shine the same without you
Nobody sees my constellations
And I hate you for loving me
despite my many flaws and cracks
It's just cosmetic damage to you

Maybe if I keep fucking up
you'll lose faith in me
and realize I'm not your salvation
But maybe if I keep fucking up
and maybe if you finally give up
I'll realize that you're my foundation

You are my security
and I hate myself for needing you

Thu, 14 Jun 2007 07:10:20 GMT

I'm in_vivid_color. I have a new user name. I haven't posted in forever.

Horizontal cuts worn like a heart monitor sleeves.
Her veins unwrapped like a sneak peek of a Deathday present.
No bandage can fix this flat-line.

Might as well remove the IV from her wrist,
She's just a lost cause now.

It must be frustrating,
Watching your blood drip down your fingers,
Waiting for your end to come.

What a shame, such a pretty face withering away tonight.
What a shame, they actually tried to save her.

When train wrecks look better than what they see in the mirror,
You might just want to let another one slip away.

Wed, 23 May 2007 04:23:35 GMT

The sun poured into the window & I knew in that moment that someday I would break his heart. Everything is too perfect, as he mumbles "I love you" & plays silent songs on my hipbones. I closed my eyes, tried to trap the smell of his room; sex & reptiles & stale cigarettes. His lips are so soft, his eyes so tired. I will hurt you if you let me. Why doesn't anyone believe me? Why can't he believe me? My stomach drops to the bottom of my feet when he pulls me close, tells me I'm the woman changing his life, making him happy. I've never met anyone like me. But with every laugh at the same joke, with every sentence we finish for each other, with every song we both scream "I LOVE THIS" when it comes on... I know I've finally found someone who is exactly like me. Except he's so sensitive, so sure. I've never been sure of anything, especially this slender boy laying next to me, confident that I'm his better half. I rub his hair, enjoying the difference in his scalp versus his hair. I gulp and my throat is dry, congested with things I should say that will push him away. If I have things my way, he'll never know that I've already got two other boyfriends, including one that lives with me. I want him to be able to be the only one, so we both try to believe that. I snuggle my hips closer to his own & sigh.

OT LJ question

Mon, 21 May 2007 10:14:21 GMT

Just an off topic question - what is the layout used for this lj - i really love it and would like to know but cant seem to find it :)

many thanks :)

Article help

Thu, 17 May 2007 08:57:06 GMT

im writing this article for publication and i would appreciate any comments/feedback on the content and structure of the article - thanx heaps

Deep within the suburbs of Western Sydney, I sit here contemplating why I’m sitting here in this lovely, though dark closet – I have peeked out on occasion, but without very favourable reactions, in fact the reactions I got were enough to send me hurtling back inside chanting ‘Never again, never again’ over and over while rocking in a corner. To paraphrase a famous frog “It’s not easy being in the closet”.

Living in the west, I’ve found most people, are accepting of gay people…in theory but when confronted with the reality i.e. someone they know being gay, most of them tend shove those who have come out right back into the closet – making for a case of once bitten, twice shy, which is where I currently find myself.

My own experiences have been interesting to say the least – Since I’m not your “stereotypical” looking lesbian, it does seem to make the whole ‘I’m gay’ announcement that much harder for people to come to terms with you tell them.

Given people’s preconceived notion of lesbians and what one should (theoretically) look like, this has had a great impact on my own need to come out. When I first realised I was gay at the tender age of 17, I wanted to shout it to the world in all my youthful enthusiasm, and let the world know. Admittedly I was petrified at the thought, so I decided to test the waters with my friends, starting hypothetical conversations with various friends and family along the lines of…‘So what would you do if someone told you they were gay?’ . To say I was shocked by some of the reactions people gave me, would be an understatement of the worst kind, they were enough to send me back inside the proverbial closet. After this happened I decided I needed to find people in a similar situation to myself.

GLBT support out west is limited – it seems most lesbians here ‘fly under the radar’ well, at the very least they don’t seem to register on my gaydar. Being at university, you would think that there would be a GLBT social group or support service there for students – unfortunately not at mine, which does make things difficult. Without a support network it’s akin to trying out the trapeze for the first time without a safety harness or net to catch you. In lieu of a ‘real life’ support network I turned to the internet and have met some wonderful and very supportive people, though there really is no substitute for real people of a similar background in the same situation as you.

I struggle being closeted, and some days I want nothing more that to open up and step out saying ‘I’m a lesbian, and I’m in love with a beautiful woman.’ So why don’t I? I’m sure you ask, well there’s a multitude of issues, least of all being my family.

The main reason being, well I’m scared, I know who I am and I accept that but I know most of my friends wouldn’t accept it - once bitten, twice shy, and my girlfriend is in the same position. Though my friends are a factor, the larger and more frightening prospect is telling my family. I have a wonderful family, my parents are loving and accepting, but like most parents do, they harbour dreams of their little girl walking down the aisle to the perfect man and giving them lots of grandchildren. Personally, I can’t bring myself to see the disappointment in their eyes, when they realise that will never happen.

With no solid support network, it makes it that much more difficult to come out to those I care about – a few select friends do know, and from them I’ve gotten some very positive reactions, but some have had very homophobic reactions despite their outward appearances of tolerance, which is one factor keeping me in the closet.

Coming out of the closet is an extremely difficult thing to do and takes a great amount of courage, I applaud those of you who have done so, but I think, at least for a little while longer, I’m quite happy where I am.

Thanx

MOD//IMPORTANT READ THIS

Tue, 08 May 2007 04:41:40 GMT

In reference to this post:

If you have a problem with community rules, (and there are very few) please don't take the time to offend me or any of the other community members directly. I've also been fortunate enough to not experience "one up-manship" in this community until that post. (I am a firm believer that content is content, reguardless of whether or not someone is published. That is and should remain the furthest thing from this community. We are all writers, artists and thinkers reguardless of social recognition.) This community touches on themes such as death, suicide, sex, drug usage and other potentially VERY adult themes. It says in the userinfo that this community's content is NOT limited. I will not tolerate people starting drama here. Do so, and you will be banned in a heartbeat.

Now I understand the initial request wasn't unreasonable, but going off on a childish name-calling tangent is. If you experience any problems with what you'd deem as unappropriate negative feedback, name-calling or anything along those lines, let me know and the offender will be banned before you can blink.

Just to clarify- 18+ means full nudity, blatant drug use and/or any pictures depicting sexual acts. (Use your judgement. Don't go above 1st base, you know?)

Now that we're all on the same page, write on. ♥

Questions or concerns, don't hesitate to comment.

-Watson

Mon, 30 Apr 2007 19:38:29 GMT

The long car ride home always reminds me of when I used to go visit. The impatience of a 15 year old is unmatchable. All I wanted then was a cigarette, to fend off the moments before I collapse into his arms... all I want now is a cigarette, just to give him a reason to look me in the eye. I used to touch him on a cold, kitchen floor; flutter my eyelashes against his blushed cheeks & we were happy. Now I lay next to him in bed & we can't even bring ourselves to touch. I roll the window down, let the warm breeze push my hair away from my eyes. Lifting my face to the sun, I wonder if he's looking at me like he used to, with that familiar love in his eyes. Now I know he's just happy I'm going home because it is awkward, it is not the same. 2 years can do damage to a masterpiece. I would roll over, let my naked body cover his like a slick coating of sweat & kiss his collarbone, the vunerablity of his jugular. We were so comfortable in our romance. Now I touch him & I swear I can feel him shivering. We fucked the first night I saw him again. I was so drunk, he was so happy to see me, we were so much like how things used to be. The next morning, we stretched against each other & immediately withdrew. I climb out of the car & he kisses me on the cheek. "Goodbye Maggie" I am 15 again, stroking the small of his back, desperetely wanting to crawl in there & sleep until things are alright again. But I am 19 now & when he says goodbye, I only trust that he might mean it this time.

Adsurrection Part 4

Wed, 25 Apr 2007 03:05:26 GMT

Paulie lounged in the back of Vyv’s fly-car. Emile sat in the front, next to Vyv, and watched out the windows as Vyv chatted at her, barely pausing to take breaths. The car was luxurious, in a minimalist sort of way, and was top of the line. Vyv could afford it. She even had a set of Gecko-6 van der Whitewaals, tires that cost more than a forty-acre estate. Her wealth was more than he could really understand.

He wondered why she drove this thing. Yeah, it was best on the market, but it couldn’t fly and could be stopped by bad terrain. It did have advantages, however. Since the power came from two counter-rotating flywheels, it was efficient and didn’t need to convert energy to move. The twin rings of depleted uranium, supported by ceramic cradles, stored more energy than a gasoline tanker, and the fuel cell kept slowly adding kinetic energy to the system every minute of every day. She needed the power, since her flycar was heavily armored.

She was taking them to her family’s estate in the Sault, and to save time, it meant going through the Charlevoix ring. No one could live there, but in a shielded vehicle, travel wasn’t too dangerous. Except for the criminal types who took advantage of the Law Enforcement Vacuum. Pauli always got a little nervous whenever he entered an LEV, but it was still some time away, so he was browsing a magazine he found on the floor of Vyv's car. It had an article about science fiction predicting the future, which prompted him to muse on the disconnect between fiction and reality. He had read of dystopian worlds, where the government crushed people or where those same people were ground in the cogs of capitalist nightmares. Neither seemed to have obtained, however.

Yeah, there were bad things. And bad people. One such person drove around in an antique Chevette that had a tactical nuke in the trunk. The guy had done a case mod on his head, linking him with the bomb, so that if he expired, the bomb would go off. The guy was touched in the head in more ways than one. He carried ceramic-glass knives that were as sharp as a blade could get without involving quantum physics, and he tried to fillet Vyv. His oh-so-sharp knife blades broke against her intermetallic maille. The blow would have been serious nonetheless, he was that strong, but her padding took care of that. She sported a brilliant defensive system: it featured confusing system of plates that sandwiched a non-Newtonian fluid between steel (outside) and ceramic (inside). This was backed by a system of carbon nanotubes immersed in another non-Newtonian gel; the outer surface was cloth made of synthetic web. A bullet wouldn't break the outer mesh in normal circumstances, but her armor went far beyond that. A sharp blow would cause the non-Newtonian fluid to turn solid under the strain, and if the blow was sufficient, shatter. Thus her flexible armor became stiff under stress and sucked up the energy when it shattered, but would return to its fluid state after the impact. The ceramic and steel provided extra protection, and the nanotube backing gave the structural strength to prevent the armor denting inward.

In the case of Bird, or whatever his name was, trying to stab Vyv, his knives accomplished nothing, while her rapier and dagger perforated his guts with wicked efficiency. He managed to escape immediate death, which was a good thing, but he had to be neutralized before his slow death nuked Detroit. That was easy enough to handle; Paulie popped the back of Bird's Chevette with an RPG. Nukes don't go off accidentally. Problem solved. Paulie would confess that it was fun to watch as a career sadist, weak from multiple punctures of his intestines and facing imminent, horrific infection, watch as his insurance policy and last bit of spite and revenge evaporated before his eyes. His break down was epic, and Paulie and Vyv could barely stand from laughing as the would-be demon's world collapsed.

Paulie shuddered when he recalled what Vyv did to the guy once she finally stopped laughing. He had never seen her put nobility above pragmatism, but she had never been excessive or cruel. Bird was a special case. His vagitus still echoed through Paulie's nightmares.

The downside of the modern world was the excess it provided. The Earthies were relatively few in number — although their cohort grew daily — and most people lived better than people in the Dark Ages. But society was rich, and when a Gog could expect to get a 12,000 horse-power hovercraft for her sixteenth birthday, it wasn't hard to understand how people could make bad decisions on a grand scale. It didn't help that America was in the throes of political, economic, and social paroxysms.

Two generations back, Americans elected leaders who had thrown off the yoke of mercantilism and instituted The Great Opening. They dropped all barriers to the movement of goods, people, and capital between America and the rest of the world. Since then, the policy had probably prevented close to two-billion premature deaths; however, it also meant that Americans couldn't extort their high standard of living out of the world's poor.

America was flooded by immigrants, and many Americans lost protections on which they relied. The Great Opening caused a Great Balancing. Those without material goods may pose threats when they can't get what they need, but their wrath is nothing compared to the wrath of those with material goods when they are at risk of losing their stuff. Racists of every stripe rose up in protest; those who hated the colored and the poor, and those who loved the colored and the poor enough to starve them for their own good, stood together to reverse The Great Opening. To its credit, the American government stood firm, and before it could break, H5N1 went airborne.

Paulie's grandmother had been fighting the war against H5N1. Against the best efforts of the world medical community, the bug had mutated sufficiently to make humans a vector. Seven years after that accomplishment, the bug took to the air. The event came to be called the Ashen Christmas: the discovery was announced on Christmas day, and within four months, nearly a billion people died from the influenza. Africa took the hardest hit. But every nation, every community suffered. Rare among flu bugs, the new H5N1 hit young, healthy adults as viciously as it hit the old, young, or weak. Those who wanted to keep foreigners where they belonged took the new H5N1 to be a conspiracy, and that's when the paroxysms obtained acutely.

"Heads up," Vyv called back to him, derailing his train of thought. "Gun"

He passed her MAC-10 up to her. Then he turned to the storage space behind him and started to ready her ramgun. It amazed him that something so complicated could actually work, but it did. It worked well.

"We're being followed," Vyv said.

"How cliché," Paulie muttered as he fiddled with the gun.

"Yeah, that's why I said it," she trilled. "It was a joke."

"Funny," Emile said. It was the first word Paulie had heard her say.

Back Door Lovers

Sun, 22 Apr 2007 01:26:51 GMT

This exchange happened yesterday:
ME: "So, the Census is going to use GPS units to locate the front doors of every housing unit in the United States?"
CENSUS GEOGRAPHER: "Yes."
ME: "That's creepy."

--------

I envision a short story about illicit lovers avoiding the increasingly right-wing's "culture war" by having to use the back doors of their lover's home, because satellite imagery will catch them at the front door.

I can't think of how to write it.

Mountain?! What mountain?

Mon, 16 Apr 2007 02:40:50 GMT

"All right, goddammit! Who stole my dandruff shampoo?! It had to be one of you! Who else is there?

"Oh, yeah? Is that what you say, Carmen? Well, I know for a fact that it is NOT snowing outside. What you see here is, in fact, dandruff. And a bloody bad case of it, too. That shampoo wasn't any over-the-counter crap! It was an effin' prescription, and I'm NOT insured for prescriptions! Understand?

"Be advised, team, that this is a highly contagious type of dandruff, and the only way for you to keep from getting it is for me to regularly shampoo with my freakin' dandruff shampoo. Got it?!

"So, nobody knows, eh? Then riddle me this, team, why the hell are you dressed that way? You, Ken, what is that you've got on?

"Long underwear? Wool sweater? Snow pants? Arctic climbing boots? Brilliant, Ken. Carmen? Oh, yes, I see, Carmen. Cashmere will make all the difference, won't it? And Karen? Right, down is a very warm parka filling. Well argued. And the rest of you? Yes, I see.

"Why is it, dear team, that you think I'm wearing short pants, short sleeves, and a breathable, white linen robe? No, no, Steve, this will not provide any warmth. It's to keep the sun off me, see?

"How do you expect to survive out there in those outfits? Oh, yes? Cold? Blizzard? Sub-zero? Where is it you all think we're going? Say that again?

"Mt. Hood?! Mt. Hood, Oregon?! How the hell are we going to climb Mt. Hood if we took a charter flight to Africa?! Is Mt. Hood, Oregon in Ethiopia? Yes? Phil?

"The map? Yes, clearly the map is of a mountain. Why? You've hung it upside-down! We're descending into the Great Rift Valley!

"Yes, Karen, it is very warm in the Great Rift Valley. Down at the bottom, it's about one-hundred-twenty degrees, which is why your long underwear may not be the best choice for you. Do you understand that?

"Yeah, Ken, that might be a good point, if we had crashed in a plane and were just waiting for help to arrive. But you'll be hiking down to the bottom of the Great Rift Valley...have you noticed that?

"No, Sarah. No, it's not just a stroll. Don't forget that our funding is from the Anti-Defamation League! We have to mine three-thousand kilos of kosher salt off the valley floor. Yes, Sarah!

"And bloody Rabbi Waspstein will be there making sure we do it right! Do you know what that means?! If you even think about bacon while hacking out those slabs of salt and we'll have to start over from the beginning!

"No, Phil, there ARE Jews in Ethiopia, but that's irrelevant. Why? Because Rabbi Waspstein is from POLAND! No, Phil, he flew here. Jews can ride on airplanes, too. Jesus, Phil! Were you home schooled by the Manson family? Lord.

"No. NO! No, Karen. Did you really say that? Oh, my.

"Tell you what. I think you were right in the first place. You all go ahead and suit up. Be sure to bundle up — don't forget your arctic hats! Yes, wear your mittens...no, not your gloves...not warm enough, you see, go with the mittens. Everybody bundled up? Good.

"Off you go

"No, no, I have to make some arrangements here at base camp. I'll catch up with you. So, go ahead! Have fun!

"Bloody shampoo thieves."

Sun, 15 Apr 2007 04:08:49 GMT

It was the smashing of a thousand dinner plates against a thousand family owned walls. It was the gasp that escapes your lips the first they say "I love you too". It was the lipgloss found on collars of shirts that your girlfriend leaves at the end of your bed. It was your very first christmas, smelling of pine & presents. It was the silhouette your body makes as you leave me your back.

It was brutal & it was beautiful.
Too bad you were drunk & I could do nothing by cry next to you in the dark.

Fri, 13 Apr 2007 17:25:14 GMT

We sat among the tallest trees,
Singing sweetly and waiting for spring.
Then we talked and talked;
My jaw came unhinged,
And you pulled out my tongue with sweaty fingers and hands.

I believed every words that you said to me,
For no other reason than you were so discreet.
Wasting away beneath lovely willow trees,
We awoke like Rip van Winkle;
How long had we been asleep?

Now the days blend together like watercolors,
And your face like a rainy day window pane.
In that moment of arrival, I breathed you in,
And without question, I looked you straight in the eye.
Oh, I was hypnotized.

Adsurrection Part 3

Fri, 13 Apr 2007 02:35:02 GMT

Paulie paced about the landscaping decorating the grounds of St. Michael’s Hospital. He had Vyv’s sjambok and occassionally punctuated his brooding by punishing plants for being within reach. He could have been waiting inside the hospital if he were so inclined - association with Vyv opened many doors - but having grown up on stories of the Missing Ones, he was wary of organized medicine. He much prefered alley surgeons; they may not be as clean, but they weren’t known for causing systematic disappearances of the unwary. He wandered the grounds for several hours before he heard Vyv’s voice.

“The procedure is complete!” She giggled and skipped over to him, a strange sight, considering she sported an antique sub-machine gun and a rapier. She took his hand and kissed his cheek. She stepped back, grinning, and her polished fangs glowed red with the reflection of a distant Shuji-Nak panel.

“Thank you for the kiss,” he said, touching his cheek. “But what’s the point of this? Are you going to keep her as a pet?”

“Don’t be foolish,” she said. She started her march back to the hospital entrance with Paulie firmly in tow.

“But what’s the point?” He stumbled as he tried to keep up with her long, purposeful strides. Vyv had that effect on him.

“Emile has eyes now,” she said, “she’s going to be part of our team.”

“That’s a bad idea.”

“Good.” She threw the door open and pulled him in after her. “Quit fussing. The surgeon is my uncle and I don’t want you embarrassing me. Got it?”

“Got it,” he said. At this point, he’d gain nothing by being fussy. He followed Vyv through the halls; though people usually made room for her, Vyv dodged those they passed, weaving, spinning, and backtracking to accomodate the people blocking her way. Paulie broke free from her grip and let her gain some distance on him. He enjoyed watching her when she was forced to be graceful. At her hip a sword four-and-a-half feet long hung nearly parallel with the ground, and she still danced through the crowded hall without incident. After several minutes of winding through the labrynth, she stopped at an open elevator and scooted the occupants out into the hallway. Paulie joined her, and she punched the button for the tenth floor.

“Those two suits scoping us,” she said when the elevator doors had closed, “know them?”

“Just more of the same,” he said, inspecting his fingernails. “Why?”

“They’re new,” she said, “and not obviously rubes.”

“Speaking of lurking creeps,” Pauli said, following a tangential thought, “we need work. I’m broke.”

“You’re covered,” she said.

“That’s,” he muttered, “that’s -”

“Don’t,” she said. Her voice was flat and she stared at the light indicating eaching floor the elevator passed. “We’re going to help this girl, so you’re not on a free ride; you’re being compensated for your assistance.”

“That’s bullshit, and you know it.” He glared at her, but she only watched the lights.

“Just stop it,” she said. “There’s no grand fucking accountant. Why don’t you understand that? I am not your sugar-fucking-mamma, and you are not some slick-dick taking a rich girl for a ride.”

“Bullshit,” he said. “Do you know that our last pay-check’s anniversery was two weeks ago? I’m a load, and you know it.”

“Yes I do,” she said. “You’re a load of feckin’ shite when you’re like this. And it makes no sense. If I help you in a gunfight, if I help you get access, if I help you into places where you’re forbidden, then you’re happy and I’m happy and we’re a team. But if I help you with bread, it’s some sort of feckin’ sin. All you Gensergs are like that. And it makes no sense.”

“Then let’s get a bloody job,” Paulie said through clenched teeth. “And it won’t be an issue.”