Or, On Politics & Kanye West
Or, Some rambling before I leave for a few months
Or, whatever, shits stupid and nobody cares
What up, Fam?
What up, Fam?
Officers Parker and Bishop shuffled down the steep scree field, sending smaller rocks racing out under their heavy feet to the bottom of the coulee. They had parked behind the ambulance, which itself had been parked behind the fire chief’s rig, which was further parked behind the logging truck that had first stopped and called in the crash. The guardrail was severely mangled, like a great beast had come along and shredded its rusty contours with razor-sharp claws. It was that time of day where the sun had just begun its travels off to other parts of the world, and the mountains and trees were casting jagged shadows that danced as the emergency service lights all spun around at different speeds. The bottom of the ravine was home to numerous small shrubs and a creek that gurgled by gaily with little to no regard to the horrendous addition the mangled truck had made.
Both deputies had heard over the radio who exactly it was that had been ejected from the driver’s seat. Both couldn’t help but think it was related to the Nice case, yet both were determined to not let the paperwork from this incident join that growing pile of shit.
The Teacher watched the bubbles race each other to the surface of his drink. It was a bastard drink, 7-Up and Knob Creek Whiskey on ice. It was the yellow of an ale and had almost no bite. He could have sworn he put in several fingers of the whiskey, but the soda held all the bite at bay. It was good and sweet in the late afternoon. It made his mind at ease at first swig.
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
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
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.
My face isn’t symmetrical
And these ghouls keep sharpening my teeth
On their way down.
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.
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.
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 comments , pretty please. – OG Soggy Boi
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.
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
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 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…