The First ManThe snow hasn’t melted for six years now. Until one recent morning, I hadn’t seen any sign of another living soul in months.It was a gangly looking figure, struggling through the snowdrifts. I wouldn’t have even seen it had I not gone up to dig out the second bunker for supplies. Making sure I could find my way back with the radio positioner, I decided to follow it. The last time I had met someone out here, I’d had a lover for several days. Perhaps I would be so fortunate again.On skis I quickly caught up to the walker. She was in her forties, with the thousand-yard-stare of a permanent wanderer looking out from her balaclava. I asked her to come to my bunker for a while.“I can’t. Not without him.” She pointed ahead.Once again, in flurrying snow was a human form, trudging along, obviously wearing snowshoes. So I sped along to this person, my heart bouncing around in my chest. Two people! Two people in one day! I thought of the great meals w
DroppedAn alien who insisted his given name was Gilgamesh gave me a time machine the other day. It was a little yellow egg, no larger than my fist, adorned with near-microscopic depictions of battles and ancient space monsters and other fascinating fantasies.First I used it to go back a week, just to see if it really worked, to order a grilled cheese at this restaurant where I had originally bought a burger. I avoided indigestion, but my head started to hurt when I realized my past self was nowhere to be found.I went to my own birth and couldn’t find my parents at the hospital. It turned out they were at home, my mother quite skinny and beautiful, not haggard and heavily pregnant as dusty photographs had led me to believe. They were very nice people back then. I wonder why they ever evolved to be so malicious later on.I no longer existed, except as a strange and hazy figure out of place. But when I returned to the present, nothing had changed. My girlfriend hadn’t even noticed
InterrogationThree days of rain had come to an end; Jeff Kuhn's boots squelched in the grass of a backyard on the north end. He paused a moment when the porch light sensed he and Talobor Pavlevic's movement. Talobor, who they called "Ludilo" behind his back, was an enormous man with a square head and a broad chest, the typical Bosnian track-suit wearing gangster. Jeff hated the nine-mil toting psychopath.Clear sky, blinking aircraft lights motoring between the stars. It was a good night for a fire, like a family down the street. A good night to go to the trailer park and find a party, or maybe head to the bar with dad and patch things up. Instead he and Talobor were out to solve the mystery of who put two bullets in Andre's brain. And somehow he had to find evidence that pointed anywhere but at himself.This was one of those nights he desperately wished for a regular job.Talobor made a face that told Jeff to get moving, so he did. The way up and across the porch Kuhn thought angrily, eat shit.
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
hallucinations and dreamsHow do I call you without losing the romance and mystery?What ritual or dance is done to the moon to bring me your kisses?The death of a being of such beauty is a spectacle that seems to me as sad as wonderful... I feel compelled to stop it.Every night, when I retire quietly of your dreams, but not before leaving a black rose on your pillow, along with a note "Goodbye beautiful girl. You already have a place in my heart. "For a moment, a feeling consumes me the idea of staying here by your side until I'm lifeless...But then I think about the consequences of letting me die: my soul would rest, yes; but my body would miss you, and that pain could not bear a lifetime.One sometimes die slow, and miss everything that has not happened yet, living in a fantasy, a fast and bright longing to that person who has not even turned around to see us ...These are seemingly endless minutes, minutes where only exists pain and torture.The pain becomes a pang.The rumors are floating in the mist.
A touch of loveYour cold touchMakes me shiverBut the love it holdsKeeps me alive
Golden Field of SadnessGolden Field of Sadness 1/25/14There she stands in a golden field of wheat,hands spread - her face raised to the shining moon.She embraces the rain the slides down her cheeksand falls lightly on her long hair of bright yellow.It is straight and lustrous as it clings to her skin.Her eyes are wild and crazed.Pain wracks her body in wave afterwretched wave. This world has broken her.She wishes to drown in this saturated air.She screams into the night as a cloudcovers the glowing face of the moon.Through her sadness, somehow I see a vibrant life.I feel the fullness of her light.I watch her from a distance longing to easeher anguish but unsure as to how.Oh, that dress looks so nice on her.Does she even see me?Could I ever comfort her?Make her forget the past?She drops to her knees and poundsthe soaked ground. And her tearsblend in with the rain and my heart melts.I have to try to end her fearsand shelter her from the bitter years.To end her pain becomes my aim
Creationme here .. you therea doorway doth divide us--yet our hands move in tandemand strangers can never fathomhow the art we make unites us
Is it Too Much to Ask For?PremièreTake me to places unknownBy normal peopleShow me songsThat don’t play on the radioBut play within your heartThen leave me aloneTo drown in the creativityYou gave meDeuxièmeMy head against your chestListening to your heartBeat nervouslySkin to skinWhispering in each other’s earsPromises of tomorrowsThat may take weeks to comeYour sweaty palmPressed in my dry oneTroisièmeYour nuzzle your faceIn my skinny, frail neckAnd trace your fingers acrossMy bulging stomachAnd whisperAgainst my pale skin“You’re beautiful”I nudge youAnd call you an idiotBut smile a smileYou won’t seeQuatrièmePlanning and planningNine to five shiftsAre for boring peopleI am not a boring personI want to explore where everMy troubled heart desiresWith no restrictionsAnd I want youTo be by my sideLaughing along with meCinquièmeCall me a bitchThen thank me for being sweetI’ll playfully punch youAnd call
Fantasiacreation I turned inside outfor all demanded by the seers three dragon scalestwo phoenix feathersa cup of mermaid tearsone hummingbird’s lashdrops of elvish blooda dash of faerie fears anything and everything to conjure your love for me
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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