4242: Fundamental LawsHeld in place by enormous steel couplers, the General Esteban Navarro dwarfed every explorer, medical transport, and freight slinger on the station docks. It was big enough, Ramon Galvez figured looking up at its nose from a port bar, that oncoming traffic could see it from a thousand miles away. He puffed on a cigarette and drank overpriced beer from one of those odd hourglass pints that were so popular in these places.It was a hell of a ship, yessir. A little less than a kilometer long, though to be fair most of that length was made up by the strange matter drive. Bristling with laser cannons and rail guns and missile launchers and mine layers that weren't a hell of a lot of use unless you had somewhere real nice to hide. Ramon stubbed out his smoke in the ashtray, with more force than he intended.The strange character who sat across the table noted Ramon's frustration. A tall, rugged human in his forties, the man had sat watching the Navarro's captain wordlessly and with obvious a
Two AM, At A PlaygroundThe streets all slick with rain reminded him of a hazy digital painting, the lights in their puddles formed with exaggerated, unpolished brush strokes. A half-dozen men and women in front of the bar, all lit up by the big white light hanging over the bouncer, formed the only distinct part of the scene. He wished he knew how to paint the things he saw.Standing beneath a playground, he looked miserable and out of place. The loaded revolver in his right hand looked more like a child's toy in this setting. What a place for a skid bar like that, he thought, just across the street from an elementary school. Tomorrow if all went as planned the kids who played on these swings and platforms would be stuck behind yellow tape, their vacation place home to grisly murder.Murder as committed by Jeff Kuhn, a man who played the part of a lost high school graduate far better than that of a hitman.Nearly ten to two. The greasy biker son of a bitch would be coming out any minute, dragged drunkenly alo
Early WinterDeath drives a green Packard. Depression era, with modern bumper stickers and parking tickets which, if you look closely, were written out by Hammurabi. I met him once, he’d pulled up outside my house and hopped out for a smoke break on the street. He looked like he didn’t have anything to do when, far as I know, somebody dies once every few seconds, somewhere. I went outside and asked him who he was after."You. But not for a while. Y’know Arnold Rothstein got shot just three blocks from here?""I thought he was killed in New York. Definitely in America.""Who you gonna believe?"Death flicked his smoke to the asphalt and crushed it with a casual twist of his purple dress shoe. Then he drove off, leaving me feeling a little melancholy and a little drained. Never could get the hang of snow in October.
HelenaFlames cross the horizon on stilts of cast iron. Hot winds gust from seams in the earth. An old man babbles about salvation. There is no business here. No dreams. No illusions. What was is long lost and the remnants are not memories, they are daggers through the soul.Repentance is for the weak, I said. Well, the old girl is sure to bleed my resolve.
Late to the PartyAt quarter-past one AM, dispatch sent me a noise complaint in Somerton Tower, a ritzy place four blocks south of Granville Street. Every so often I'd receive this sort of call, and head up to some obnoxious cocktail party attended by thirty or forty upper class men and women listening to pounding electronic music. This one was different though; there was some suspicion of domestic violence.I pulled up to the sidewalk out front and hopped out of my cruiser. It was Friday night--little packs of young people stumbled along on their way to the bars and nightclubs of Granville, or to underground shows to see some of the hundreds of death metal bands. Most of them became instantly nervous around the sight of white and blue, and even more so when the red stripes on my pants told them I was RCMP.They weren't in any danger. A cop in Vancouver who wants to bust everyone with more than an ounce of weed in their pocket or a couple ecstasy tablets is a very, very busy fool. I craned my head to lo
The Day of the Falling SkySand fell through the earth, invisible and intangible. In every corner of the world, confused and uneasy people listened to its strange sound, like white noise on a television cranked up just a little too loud. Very few of us understood what this heralded: the vanguard of our new masters was near, and humanity was soon to suffer the agony of enslavement under crazed despots. I had to spare my wife and son the misery.When I first heard the Sand, my team was in Hawaii, scouring a beach covered in a strange sort of mass suicide: thousands of dolphins and sharks had washed up on the shore days earlier. Voluntarily, in a mass migration we had surveyed from above as it happened, without concern for the prey they passed up, the creatures of the deep sea threw themselves onto dry land and died. I was walking alongside an associate, Dr. Ehlers, both of us clad in MOPP suits, carrying cases of tissue samples.For a little over a year, we had known what was coming. They spoke to us, They spoke t
Neither Death Nor Reincarnation Can Destroy LoveWith morning comes dread. Once again, I open my eyes and find I am still trapped in this small body, my hearth and home a mere black pit at the heart of an oak tree. I unfurl from my own bushy tail and clamber out of my nest of twigs and refuse, and creep to the opening through which the sun pours its taunting light.I must go on. This I tell myself every day when I scan the skies in fear of a bird of prey. I must go on, for Clara and the boys. They have no idea, of course. It would be an absurd tale even if I could vocalize it for them: their husband and father, reincarnated in the body of a rodent with all memories of his past life intact. I must go on, so that I may help them in some small way, but I can never again know Clara's warm embrace or the joy one of my jokes gives to the kids.I zip down the tree and onto open ground. Look left and right; nothing has spotted me, but the neighborhood tomcat always lurks through these parts before noon. Clara is getting the boys ready for an
Duel on Tsymenadae-7Yuri locked his eyes to the creature's sensory bulbs. It couldn't make any facial expressions he could truly comprehend, but the second it scuttled out from behind the chipped shale and into brilliant purple daylight, he knew there was only one way this first contact was going to end. He darted his eyes to the neon map in the corner of his helmet visor: everyone else was backing slowly toward the ship.This monstrous little alien shimmied its weight a little closer, a little further into the open, and it slid one of its pseudo-pseudopods into the sleeve of what could only be a disintegrator. Yuri's hand hovered over his own, strapped to his leg. What he wouldn't give for a personalized spatial distortion field! If only the new equipment had actually arrived before they were sent to this godforsaken chasm of savage space!Gradually, the human slowed his breathing. He needed a steady hand; if he drew too quickly he'd miss by a mile, and there was no way of knowing how accurate a bolt fro
Pants Down and Red HandedGrandpa built an owl, with analog clocks for eyes, that smoked a real pipe and hooted when spoken to, and spun its head around entirely to amuse myself and the other grandchildren. At night it would guard the chickens from weasels and the cats from coyotes. A trained owl wouldn't have been as good because real owls don't smoke pipes or tell the time or fire little plastic rockets from under their feathers.One night, when I was on grandpa's farm and all the adults were asleep, I snuck out to meet a girl. I was fifteen at the time, which I suppose meant the owl had been around for about four years, and something of a trouble maker. For the life of me I can't remember the name of the girl I for whom I risked the next month's privileges. I do recall that she was stunningly beautiful, a short redhead with steel gray eyes and larger breasts than anyone else in our grade--a vital part of the body for the uninitiated sophomore.Grandpa's owl followed me, though I didn't know it at first. It m
SimplyA simple touch and I walk upon the water,A simple kiss and I sail above the clouds,A simple word and I float among the stars,For I simply love you.
.let the flowerin your heartb l o s s o m
I'm not telepatheticI'm not telepatheticand you aren't too,because you would knowand you wouldn't be angry with me.Therefor, you're thinking of me too.
SupermanHe's my SupermanBut I'm his KryptoniteHe's found his mortal weaknessWhile I found my shining knightWe fit perfectlyYet tear each other apartWe connect easilyYet find it hard to sync upI can read him like a mapBut he gets lost by my sideI watch him save the dayWhile he's blind during the nightWe are inseparableYet we tend to come undoneWe are seizableYet we can't be overcomeHe's my RomeoBut I'm his poisonHe's taken my lethal doseWhile I've cherished his antiveninI'm no good for himYet I can't leave his sideHe's my SupermanYet I'm his Kryptonite
Heart's ApocalypseYour lips on my lips- apocalypse.
Winter RoseI am your winter roseblooming beneaththe midnight moon,and your breath,the tender touch of your fingertips,a moth-hush of your lipsbecome to me as the rainand the sun,without whichI begin to wither away.I grew out of the shadows,and your eyes shinedthe light upon me,subtle, soft, seductivetones of your voice,become the wind enticing my petalsto tremble and dance.
Love Poem, or: Fuck You, Pablo NerudaEmily is so prettyThat when other chicks are around herThey burst into big stinky bagsOf horse poop.At least as far as I'm concerned.They might still be alive.But fuck 'em.
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