Might as well die trying…

Try not to think. About fine wires the width of hairs. About your brain. About the combination of the two. Neuro-electric clouds on the screens projected beyond your head. They know what you’re thinking through the bursts of color kaleidoscoping on the monitors. Think about her instead.

Three months ago no one would have, could have, convinced you it was true. She was so lithe. Fresh like the first catch of breath from a splash from a cold fountain. She was life in an empty airlock in a world full of contract fulfillment and corporate ladders. You had cracked the shielding on the last source of water in your dried up desert universe.

She died like a wildfire, destructive and tortured. Some new nanite disease spread from the fringe space. Her flat, outside of your corporate scrubbers, was bombarded. You watched through foot thick polycarbonate glass. You pleaded. She tore apart.

The experts shook their heads cumulatively. She was gone already. The signal was just catching up to the station. The bug burned her down like a match stick and you felt just as withered inside. Watching it happen was a death within a death.

We Breathe Their Dust

Our Olders tell these stories as if they are their own, but the truths they mirror died out long before the stars we watch from our windows.

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Mankind of old cut the earth and swallowed up the energy they dug out from the down deep. They plowed it over with monsters they made. Filled the gashes all wrong, and it never healed up right like it should. One day, men went to cut from the ground again but nothing came out of the furrow. They cut deeper still, and the land gave no more than a gasp. That gasp gave way to a scream so fearsome that the men retreated back to their cities and towers and fortresses.

Eventually they thirsted for more again in spite of the fears of what they had seen. The world was cut, and cut again. Forth spewed an ocean, black and thick and murderous and crawling. Dark spiders the size of children half grown poured from the cuts. They had infinite legs and just as many ways to take the breath from the mouths of men. They blackened out the daylight and the lives of all the people who were.

———————————————————————

She walked away from the circle of listeners. The Olders told the same tale… Not as precaution or for learning, but for fear. She was not afraid like the rows of listeners leaning in towards the fires and towards each other. She knew enough of the dark to not fear the stories. They were, after all, just words.

For certain, there was truth in every lie and the truths in the Olders story were there. Hiding. When she stared at the dark she could hear them like far away whispers. There was much she did not know, but what whispers she could decipher now spoke loudly to her in her own voice.

"There is power in this dark world. The men of old fell to madness to contain it and now… We all breathe their dust."

1 note

Now the bitch is yelling to the bus driver that she thinks the bus is on fire.

Now the bitch is yelling to the bus driver that she thinks the bus is on fire.

Lady on the bus in front of me just got finished slamming her phone against the edge of the window because “it was frozen”. Crazy as fuck.

She asked me if she could use my charger and this picture was my immediate reaction.

Lady on the bus in front of me just got finished slamming her phone against the edge of the window because “it was frozen”. Crazy as fuck.

She asked me if she could use my charger and this picture was my immediate reaction.

…and because no one asked for it…

…and because no one asked for it…

334 notes

A Little Something

They sewed his head shut and stretched it tight around enough wetware and antibiotics to cancel out a rotting corpse. While he was still in the isolation tube, he was convinced he could hear the machinery.

If he lay very still, he could sense little clockwork ticks and tocks, small bugs skittering with life-like abandon through his head and veins.

This was just the sensory deprivation. Talking to him in riddles and ideas he knew were actually his, but wasn’t exactly sure which sparsely undiscovered continent within his mind they actually fucking came from.

He has psych profiled in with ease. A blank slate free from psychoses or hang ups or predilections about humanity that would have kept all but the most naive of nuns out of this program. Tox screens came back empty as well.

He was a vessel. Empty. Waiting to be filled. The doctors pushed up their glasses and clapped hands filled with clipboards and patted each other on their white coated backs. Smiling with the malignant knowledge of how lucky they were to find someone they could tear open and jam a world into.

2 notes

Flashback Part 2

some days it feels like i need to walk away… from the bullet riddled bodies of hurt feelings and over-sensitive wants and needs i have for other people i unhealthily love without getting what i think i need slash want in return.  two steps backwards, turn, 180 degress, two steps forward, followed by two more, repeat, times infinity…  i wish i could concrete harden my heart and not need “someone” more than i have needed anyone in a long time…  ive been so fine on my own for such a long time, i think i just need someone to share with and latch onto.  anyone who wants someone like me.  soft smiles at candle light and shit like that.  comfort and love and arms to hold and a heartbeat to power it all…  im a trainwreck with feet and eyes sometimes, but i dont ever ask too much.  at least i dont think so.  so why this all empty feeling?  it creeps like a kitchen sink scent deep down in my guts and down to my cold toes…  it shackles me to wait for what i know i wont get.  not in a million years.  not before i climb into outer space with my own hands, swimming through the air and cutting through gravity under my own power and take a piss in the boot prints on the moon… its a long hard trip.  better start training yesterday…

thats the desperation talking i think…  it says, “burn down your bridges and your churches and your scrapbooks.  whatever you can to get out of feeling like this.”  feeling nothing is better than feeling lost and loveless and cold…  burn down your history and your memories and all the old flames that you said you loved but couldnt keep around.  leave your conscience in the cabinet right next to where the bible would be if you hadnt already hidden it from yourself… where did it ever get you anyway?  fucking the expectations of this world for some kind of moral stand, right?  sure thing, trooper.  whatever keeps your heart ticking towards some shallow oblivion…  feel any better now?  and still you look beside you and theres no one there.  not by a long shot…  all the best ones are taken.  the best ones you can get left you long ago, son…  so settle, settle for less or nothing, which ever one comes first.  and you dont have to be a psychic to figure out which one does…. going once, going twice… SOLD!  and the auctioneer looks out into the audience and sees all empty chairs, sets down the gavel, and soft-shoes it the hell out of there.  all that fast talking wasnt good for much with no one to notice,  no one to sell it to.

this isnt so much a crazy persons rant so much as what im telling myself is a therapy activity…  i say that with the absolute certainty i might be wrong, but i nuzzle on with my fingers continuously biting the brain that feeds them…  ive been wrong before, right?  who can remember since its been so long since anyone told the truth.  god couldnt even keep her story straight anymore…

back on target - still it gets later and later and this spinning spinning spinning, washing machine style, of my guts, this sloshing mix of lonely, jealous, inside-out grief over god knows what and miscellaneous pride promises to bubble up and dry clean with a scent that smells fresh for weeks…  downtrodden dryer sheets of neglect, spring fresh smelling tears to cheeks too busy doing nothing to hide them in the summer rain.  my jaw gets tight.  chest shakes like shivers more from the cold than the pain this time.  i should wear more armor to this fight…

Flashback Part 1

she moves and tumbles here and there and back again like summer leaves.  never stopping, never failing, never letting me catch my breath.  just when i think i have, well, it has all come back around again. 

suddenly all the things that i thought i would have to say, all the barbs and heartsprung landmines i have faithfully placed, inscribed with the words “never again”, get brushed aside carefully.  counter to my better and smarter nature, of course.  i should be long gone.  i know this.  yet still i cling to the way she says the things she says.  i slip, climbing the face of an insurmountable wave.  black as granite and wedged someplace between the possibility of truth and an equal distance away from the probability of bullshit. no matter though,she owns them both.  i shuffle to either side with the same ill effect.  never seeing past what is in front of me.  the words and ideas and possibilities from her mouth, said or unsaid, almost make the word “doomed” seem hospitable.  it’s like waking up to your favorite breakfast being cooked by cannibals or breaking a stint of insomnia by passing out in a bed filled with hedgehogs.  welcoming and repulsive with equal measure. either way i am fucked.

where do i partition the difference between lust and love?  these things are tricky, like your first time ice skating, except with SLIGHTLY more emphasis on the scrapes and bruises you end up with.  i have these memories in there (points to head) and the good ones seem to dwarf the bad ones with no more an effort than breathing, but a few months ago it would not have seemed the same way to be sure.  she must be a witch.  holding all the cards in my deck of feelings and wielding them like a millionaire at the high stakes black jack table all the same.  hit me.  hit me.  double down.  bust.  with as much committment as well.  run through the whole deck, have you?  depleted and used up all the luck, eh?  its all fine for you though, just pick up your high-heeled sexiness and hit the door.

the things she says… they destroy my defenses easier than a bullet.  faster than a mach 3 jet drops a bomb at the doorstep of the enemy.