Who put this crown upon our heads?

Us.

in failing to receive the recognition, the french-kissing of models and the chortles of bearded pipe-smoking ship captains we believe we rightly deserve, we’ve turned our hunt for verification to elsewhere, from the virtual world of poorly-paid casting couch porn stars and neckbearded glass-pipe smoking insomniacs. Note that we said verification. Our crowns are self made, we wear them so that our heads may sag and our necks break, we wear them to remind ourselves that being part of a generation of wanna-be’s and posers is nothing to be proud of, indeed is something to attempt to escape from as fast as possible. We wear them so that our bodies break long before our flimsy ego’s built upon years of being told “you can be whatever you want” do.

Every artistic compilation project must have some goal, some nirvana to reach towards. Ours is simple, submit, for your approval or loathing, our creations, so that you may judge/enjoy. Anyone can wear the crown of a Peachy King, anyone can submit to our oligarchic asses their magnum opus or works of lesser opus, All we ask is that you read, you write, you play, you create and you be some version of our cult’s ideal member.

Namaste.

The Last Poem I Ever Wrote

I’m slurping down my ghouls with whiskey shots

Suppress and deny

 

Suppress and deny.

 

I finally found out what is wrong with me

My face isn’t symmetrical,

 

My face isn’t symmetrical

So how dare you expect me to contribute

To society.

 

The left eye is lazy,

The crows feet are different heights,

There are already crows feet,

One eye is sadder than the other,

The hair doesn’t line up,

There are already crows feet,

One eyebrow is intense

And it ain’t the right one,

Or the right one,

The left eye is lazy,

My face isn’t symmetrical.

 

How can you expect me to contribute

To society?

 

All the friends keep saying,

“It’ll be good.”

But I never was a friend with smart folk.

This will have to be the last poem I ever wrote

Until I drink whiskey again.

 

 

 

Even then,

My face isn’t symmetrical

And these ghouls keep sharpening my teeth

On their way down.

Entry #20

From: Academypublishinghouse@*****.com

To: thepeachykings@gmail.com

Subject: Progress?

Body:

Hey AT & RH,

Loving the copies we have seen so far. You two have a real knack for filling in the blanks of what happened in those bumpkin towns. Two reasons I’m contacting you today, and frankly, it’s not all peachy. (see what I did there?) The first item, sales from the last book are down. This was to be expected going into this quarter but still thought you two should know. I guess people are done hearing about the incident in Phoenix, with the final finding being inconclusive and all. There is a palpable energy here in the office though; we are really excited about this Deercliff work. Which leads to my second reason for emailing. WTF is up with the delays? That sheriff got her memoir out within months of the events up there, and she is on fucking Ellen. We don’t know how much longer we can cover your expenses without seeing some tangible results from our investment. Need to see the next entry of the work sooner rather than later. If you two are burnt out or something, then just say so, but we need to have something ready to publish in the next few months (even if it’s unfinished) to keep up our contract with you.

Sorry for the pressure, like I said, we really like what you have sent our way. just really really need you guys to wrap up your work in Deercliff and come on home.

Good Luck,

Amelia.

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Dear Alt-Right, More Pizzagates Please

Dear Alt-Right, More Pizzagates Please

 

If you are a fan of my work, you already know of my predisposition for conspiracy theories of all flavors. If you aren’t a fan of my work but are reading this, I love conspiracy theories. Something about the visceral need to escape reality, the desire to separate from the accepted, It’s in the base desire of all fiction writers. Our brains augment reality all the time to find ideas, and in conspiracy theorists, we find a similar ilk. A fraternal twin. Similarity shouldn’t be seen as acceptance, however. I’m more a fan than a researcher, an artist looking for a muse. Do I like conspiracy theories and read about them and dive deep into the bowels of YouTube for them? Yes. Do I believe them? Not really.

 

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Keelhaul (Short Story)

This is a long short sci-fi story about space and goo and loneliness and love and fathers and stuff. It has been taking up most of my writing time lately, and I’m just happy to have this first draft done. Definitely a work in progress. Enjoy and feel free to provide feedback in the commentspretty please.  – OG Soggy Boi

Keelhaul

By AJ Tompkins

Audio log – Hospital Corpsman Antony

Assigned: UENC Giles

Joint UEN/Herrmannian Empire Expedition

Mission Statement: Rendezvous with Exploratory Drones in Asteroid Belt Z-378 for Frozen Water Stores

Entry Number: 1,031

I am recording this entry with the purpose of submitting it as an official record and as part of my case against UENC Commander Charon, CO of the UENC Giles. I will attempt to leave out no detail, and cover all the bases for this complaint.

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Two Bottle Ballad (Poetry)

Two Bottle Ballad

 

Like Christ my blood is wine,

Each sip a fuzzy caterpillar crawl

To the fruit end of the tree,

Barely flowered, tart,

I let it consume each new possibility

Before its time.

The only other route being

let them grow fat and drag my branches

Across the ground,

Creating a whole new generation,

A grove of mistakes,

Thorns and vines

Stealing away light that should be

Mine.

It Gets Dark Early (Poetry)

It Gets Dark Early

 

Round this way it gets dark early,

So all the people follow suit,

Antler crowns and flowers in their hair

Amulets designed to catch the solstice sun

And faux Orion belts round their waists.

 

Never enough light around this way,

So our eyes adjust and pupils get big,

Chakras aligning with the shadows cast

By all the bigger figures of imperial history

And them chains they got tangled in.

 

Round this way celebration requires fire,

So the hands are always sap stained and cracked,

The axes have constant existential crises

They are the only ones singing and swinging

And that just doesn’t seem fair.

 

Never enough good around these days,

So we just wear cloaks plucked from ravens,

Better to blend into those smoky bar walls

While sticky hands pass ciders and meads

And all the voices mumble apologies.

 

Round this way superstition reigns,

So all the sovereigns lean on the entrails

Cast about by lazy shamans with red hands

Despite them never picking up afterward

And claim truth is theirs alone to create.

 

Never enough round this way,

Yes, round this way there is never enough.

The Final Countdown (Short Story)

The emergency broadcast ran on this sort of constant loop, filling all corners of the room with the radio quality voice of Mr. Shuja Willow. I had tried to shut it off, but none of the buttons, remote or console, had worked. I basically had the whole dialog memorized by this point and had started adding appropriate chuckles and snorts when Shuja said something particularly cliché or blatantly false.

 

Attention all citizens of this great republic, I come to you today in what appears to be our final hour. After extensive analysis of reports from both the Apple Luna and Bezos Martian colonies, we here at MSNBC/Fox can confirm the presence of a large celestial body approaching on a collision course with both the Moon and Earth. The estimated time of arrival for this object is within [Two Hours, Thirty-four minutes, fifteen seconds] and current trajectory shows it colliding with the Western third of this great nation and vast parts of the Pacific ocean, potentially also hitting Eastern sections of the United Chinese Nations. The outcome of this event is… incomprehensible… yet hope cannot be lost. Congress and Commander Kennedy have begun scouring the dusty tomes of the obsolete NASA program for all records of deep space objects of this size and their last known position as well as opening up communications with all other major powers on the planet. Google and Musk Robotiks have dedicated all their AI bases towards calculating the impact and potential survival rate of such an impact. All areas not highlighted on our MacDonald’s Meteorology Maptm should be aware that while they won’t face this challenge to humanity directly, smaller meteors WILL break off from the main leviathan and ecological extremities will scour the land. Citizens are advised to do everything in their power to get emergency supplies, and, if you would, brace for impact. The only remaining option we have as a species is a swift response from the world, our leaders, and most importantly, our technology that has so long saved us from the attempts of Mother Nature to eradicate us. All YOU, the beloved citizen, can do is hope with all your might for your loved ones. Technicians save us all…

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Entry #19

Author’s Note: Blame Persona 5 for the delay in my publishing this. (God, but that is a very long and very awesome game.) Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year from Austin and me! 🙂 ❤

The slamming of the door served as an exclamation point on Big Mac’s dramatic exit from Reggie’s garage. Jackson’s whole body shook as he absentmindedly rubbed his hands together. He turned to face Ann Marie and found that although there was evidence that tears had been running down her cheeks moments ago, it appeared that they had now ceased. In fact, Jackson was surprised to find Ann Marie more or less collected. No running to the door in regret, no uncontrollable shaking; Jackson would have thought her to be in shock if she didn’t turn away from his gaze to begin removing the gym bag from Todd’s head.

When it was off, Ann Marie put her hands on Todd’s shoulders and bent slightly to make eye contact with him. “Are you all right?” she said. Continue reading