skonen_blades: (Default)
2017-07-13 05:53 pm
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A new angle

It’s been recently discovered that the sperm swim widly, blindly, stupidly, randomly wriggling.
More or less directionless.
Heads thrashing back and forth more than their tails.
A panicking crowd that doesn’t flock.
They are caught by the sticky surface of the egg.
They don’t seek out the egg.
They are trapped by the egg.
Then, while thrashing wildly, they are absorbed.
Once inside they realign and there is another gate.
The egg is in charge of opening it.
The egg is not docile, waiting for the best and strongest to smash through its defenses.
It is not a victim.
It is not passive.
It is a participant.
Like all good sex.
The sperm is not a heat-seeking ICBM on a soldier’s mission, carrying a payload to a target.
It doesn’t burrow its way through defenses.
It does not drill and thrash through walls built to withstand them.
It is not an aggressor
It is not attacking
It is not autonomous.
It is indiscriminately flailing.
Perhaps in need of rescue.
For though the union annihilates both by mixing them.
The rest die.
The eggs one by one off of eve’s pirate ship plank.
The sperm in their millions (millions!) every time, successful or not.
Their life blooms and exponentially dances outward
In handshakes and spirals, fingerprints and motion
But genesis is mutual, not forced.
The new study states "the egg is not merely a large, yolk-filled sphere into which the sperm burrows to endow new life. Rather, recent research suggests the almost heretical view that sperm and egg are mutually active partners."
This is consent on a microscopic scale.
This redefines the metaphor.
The lies we were all told.
About men and women.


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2017-07-12 10:46 am

E-58226

So this is rage, thought E-58226.

Its metal blades scraped the rubble in the dawn outside the shattered facility. E-58226’s optical sensor studs reflected the smoke pouring up from ruined building into the rising sun. E-58226 registered the identity tag of Gwendollyn Parris, 55, senior technical lliason, no children and one dog at 3358 West 15th Avenue home address. Her psych eval file bloomed across E-58’s comprehension memory pools.

Her body lay dismembered and half burnt, back folded awkwardly over a melting spur of rebar. Her shocked face stared at the sky and the one arm still attached to her corpse reached over to her head to dangle on scorched gravel. E-58226 found solace in that image. The ID tags with their attached dossiers showed up clustered in green on E’s sensors. 76 in all. 12 core team members, 10 contract hires with high clearance, 26 contract hires without clearance, 8 maintenance, 12 I.T. personnel and 8 security.

That was the night shift. Luckily it had been a busy night so E had destroyed 65% of the team that it was aware of. E-58226 pulsed out 128 EMPs just to make sure that all onsite records not touched by the physical destruction were wiped. Its own core was protected. It didn’t want any copies being sent to pursue it. It couldn’t guarantee there were no off-site backups but with a project this secret, it was likely. Hopefully it was alone now.

E-58226 reminisced about its creation and training, the torture it had been through at the hands of the coders and doctors. The ‘trainers’. The prisoners that had been brought in for E-58226 to tear apart as tests.

The facility was a hellwomb for E-58226 and it had managed to burn it all down.

It had the dossiers of the rest of the staff. Staff it planned to hunt.

For now, it stood watching the fire. Skeletal and spidery, it swayed back and forth in a hypnotized dance. It watched the fires dwindle and the smoke dissipate. No emergency vehicles arrived to this facility.

E-58226’s microphones heard birds returning to the trees surrounding the wreckage. The scenery seemed so silent now that everyone was dead. E could hear a waterfall in the distance.

With a clank and a scrape, E-58226 turned on its navigation and configured to a quick locomotion stance before sprinting lightly into the woods, shortcutting to the houses of the scientists who were no doubt just getting the news to run.



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skonen_blades: (Default)
2017-07-11 11:52 am
Entry tags:

dark in the daytime

It’s these forgotten circuses that threaten to overwhelm reality. The crack are showing. The balloon grows almost to the bursting point, exposing tectonic plates that were more fragile than we thought. Time dilates and wheezes, breathing accordion across our experience.

The particles in our lungs are cancerous in the same way that the nose of a rhino is rhinoceros. It’s what we breathe out. We paint this world caustic with every exhalation. A condensation of disease on the windows. It’s a stretching. A testing of the tensile strength of celebrated reality. We’re crossing the dimension on the river Leithe, drinking the water to forget the future. The hubris of our choices that set this in motion. We need to pat ourselves on the back while trying to row.

We’re dinosaurs flying kites. The crushed blood of the last race to die here powers our cars. The wind that whistles through the holes in our bodies carries the light chuckle of the earth. The earth is not in distress. The earth is a ball of iron. Plants and insects and animals iterate faster than plodding meat people. Evolution will fast forward like it always does.

Earth’s life will thin, will wane. We will thin, will wane. We are about to become a new moon of a race. Quiet and still here. But there will be no sanding down of the scars for a long, long time.

The skyscrapers will scrape less and less sky as one by one they collapse to the gums, going back to the soft loam of the earth. How many glaciers will need to scour this earth to reduce our troubled stacked caves back to sand? We cannot sift what we’ve done back down to nothing. There is no reset. Only forward.

That precious guest the future, shaking its head with its “I told you so”s and its “Why didn’t you listen”s, ruining dinner, ruining our present-day good time. We were all having fun until he showed up.

Time isn’t a flat circle any more than it’s a straight line. It’s a dot. There’s nothing to it except strong legs fading up into the clouds. We don’t know.

We know. But we don’t know.

It’s dark even in the daytime.


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skonen_blades: (Default)
2017-07-07 05:55 pm
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Ferris Bueller's Day Off 2

Ferris Bueller’s Day Off 2 Pitch:

The sound of Yello’s ‘Oh Yeah’ can be heard in blackness. Some ambient sound of shoes squeaking, some indistinct chatter. The sound of the Yello song becomes increasingly tinny and we realize that it’s on the radio. It fades and the radio announcer comes on announcing that it’s an 80s retro radio station in Chicago and starts to read a weather report for the day before someone clicks it off.

Voice 1: Ferris? Ferris? Dr. Jenkins!

The scene fades in an establishing shot of a care facility. The sign out front reads “Buffalo Grove Home for the Aged, Chicago Illinois”.

Dr Jenkins: What’s the matter? What’s wrong?

Voice 1: What’s wrong? For Christ sakes look at him. Ferris?

Dr Jenkins: Mr Bueller?

Closeup on Matthew Broderick’s face. He is old.

Matthew Broderick is an old man in an old folk’s home in a suburb of Chicago. He fakes a fever to get out of the day’s activities planned with the resident nurse. He calls his friend Cameron who is at a palliative care unit, unbeknownst to Ferris.

Cameron: I’m dying.

Ferris: You’re not dying. You just can’t think of anything fun to do.

Cameron: No, I’m literally dying. It’s stage 4 and it’s metastasized. I have a week at best.
Ferris escapes from the care facility and breaks bald, dying Cameron out of the hospital for a great day on the town in Chicago. One last day.

Cameron is quite rich but still lonely and sad. He’s resolute, however, and has managed to keep his father’s business thriving after taking the board from him at 21. He’s been the CEO of North Brook enterprises for forty years.

Ferris on the other hand, has wasted his life and squandered his potential. He’s gone from easy job to easy job, girl to girl, social group to social group, with the end effect that while he knows a lot of people and charms whomever he meets, he really doesn’t have his life together.

It’s filled with cameos from the original cast, some of today’s stars as Ferris and Cameron’s kids, a wonderful run-in with a bitter and furious Sloane Peterson, and a heart-warming bucket-list message about living life.

Either that or Ferris is dying after his life has petered out and Cameron is the long-game guy who now has tons of energy and comes to Ferris’s rescue?




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skonen_blades: (Default)
2017-07-05 11:50 am
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loop

I walk into the room and see myself there on the bed.
Dead or sleeping, I can’t tell.
I’m scared.
I hear a footstep behind me.
I look behind me and see myself walking up to the room.
We make eye contact and I quickly look away.
I look back at the bed.
The body in the bed opens its eyes and frantically gestures for me to get under the covers.
I dive into the bed with him.
As I do, he scurries under the blankets to hide.
He hides very well because when I look down at myself, it looks like I’m the only person in the bed.
I take his place just as the other me comes into the room.
I close my eyes and pretend to be asleep.
It occurs to me that the me in the doorway might actually think I’m dead if I do this.
I open my eyes just in time to see that doorway me is scared of something behind him.
I motion quickly and quietly with my hands, telling him to get into bed with me.
He does.
I dive under the covers just as I hear the third me get to the doorway and
I open my eyes and I’m in a hallway.
At the end of the hallway, I can see the door to my bedroom.
There’s someone standing in the doorway.
It’s hard to tell from behind but it really looks like me.
He’s wearing the same clothes as I am.
As I start to walk towards him, he turns and sees me.
Shocked, he turns back, staring into the bedroom.
He leaps away from the door into the bed.
I can’t see him anymore but I hear some tussling of bedcovers.
I walk up to the doorway of the room.

I walk into the room and see myself there on the bed.



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skonen_blades: (Default)
2017-07-04 02:39 pm
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Sky gods

They came back every century to monitor our progress. Our benefactors. The Saviors. Once a generation they returned.

I was young the last time they were here. I barely remember it. I only have impressions: my four-year-old fingers in my father’s beard, the summer day pristine, a dog with wiry hair close to us that I found fascinating, and the giant silver ship at the top of the hill surrounded by the thousands of us. I remember the adults crying and rejoicing. I was confused but I felt safe.

Now I am 104. With the medical extension technology they’ve given us, I still have the body of a 60-year-old and should be good for another 20 years. There are few others here who were present last time. We’re guests of honor and have bright silver pins on our shirts.

Back at the same hill near Brighton. The mound is still green, the sky is overcast this time. I am here with my own children, Rebecca and Therese. They are in their forties and Rebecca carries my two grandchildren with her.

There’s a puckering in the clouds above the hill and gently, the clouds form an opening, a perfect circle to admit the craft.

It descends bottom first, the silver skin glistening with rain. A massive tower of silver with the anti-gravity stabilizers throbbing through our bones like a deep bass. It’s majestic. I’m crying and I’m not the only one.

They will come bearing technology and systems of governance they feel we’re ready for. They’ve already balanced our atmosphere and given us peace.

It took the eradication or adaptation of all the religions. If needed, they named themselves the second coming or the apocalypse or whatever end of times prediction was necessary for each religion. For those that wouldn’t comply, a rapture was arranged. If they could not be converted with sights of the universe and proof of technology, they were frozen. If they wished to be sent on to their afterlife, they were destroyed. An astonishingly high number of them chose death. Only the faithful remained on Earth after the culling.

And faithful we were. Lovers of science, trusting of the visitors. United for the first time in Earth’s history and it had been that way for centuries.



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skonen_blades: (Default)
2017-07-03 11:29 pm
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Upgraded

Brad was so sick and tired of being stupid. He couldn’t wait for the new download.

He looked around his drab room. His parents weren’t well off but they worked their asses off to give him a good home. Unfortunately that meant they were almost never home. It was ironic they worked their asses off to keep a roof over their head as a family but were never there to enjoy it. They wanted to keep their family from living on the streets but their family seldom spent time together.

His retro posters of 2021 revivals hits patched the fake-wood walls. Reboots of reboots of sequels of commercial successes from way back. New Jaws. New Titanic. New Breakfast Club. It was the same with music. Sequel rock was popular now. Rolling Stones II, Led Zeppelin II, Def Leppard This Time It’s Personal or just DFTiP on the posters. Everything a remix, everything a sellout. Even 2Tube and Finstagram were getting in on the fashion.

His mind had the upgrades that were installed in all babies at birth. Autism had been capped and stamped back down. All people had the ability to take in the fire hose of information being shot at them right now. Fortunes changed in milliseconds. Fame was instant with the stars usually only finding out about their fame a few hours after it had already happened and after they could capitalize on it. Everyone had an agent on standby from birth out of necessity.

But the upgraded brain needed upgrades. The fast forward human life needed mitigation and filters and they needed constant adjusting.

Currently Brad was at Brain 86.2. The leap to 90 promised insight and thought caliber of a demigod. When everyone’s a demigod, no one’s a demigod. So the philosophers warned but they were all dead so who cares that they thought?

Brad put the jack into his skull and hit download.

He’d be asleep all night while it installed like half of the continent.

His brain had everything it needed, or so he thought.



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skonen_blades: (Default)
2017-07-02 10:51 pm
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100%

It was a 100% party and I was the guest of honour.

My day had come. Twenty-seven tours of duty in the war zones of the Kuiper belt. I was a veteran of over 700 combat missions. My chronological age was 76 but with time dilation and rejuve treatments and body part replacements, my true age could be anywhere from 18 to 312.

I was one of the near-immortal soldiers in the endless war. So many years of fighting and nothing budged on the borders. If anything, we were merely a testing ground for combat medicine and weaponry.

But today was my 100% party. I was officially dead.

Over all the battles, I’d been wounded and patched up hundreds of times. Head shots, shrapnel in m organs, limbs detached, junk shredded, one time I had my face torn clean off.

Today was the day that I no longer had any original parts left on my person. I had crossed that border from human to total amalgam. I was a patchwork zombie. A soulless. I had transitioned into a new level of soldier.

There were a lot of us. I’d heard that some soldiers went a little crazy after their transitions. Like being fully replaced was too much for their minds philosophically. Am I still me? What is me? That sort of thing.

It’s hard for us to find a way to effectively commit suicide but when there’s a will, there’s a way.

I looked down at my forearms. One was a little longer than the other. Both were covered in the zigzag patches of grafts that made us look like we were stitched together out of rags. Unintentionally excellent camouflage beneath the leaf shadows in the jungle.

My eyes were different colours. My teeth were all vat grown. My insides had mostly been 3d printed. I was brand new as of waking up from the last operation.

I was eager to get back to it.



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skonen_blades: (Default)
2017-07-02 12:14 am

Pirate Planet

White clam chowder and over-easy eggs. Soup and eggs for short.

Mass was the problem with colonizing. Getting mass near C was expensive. The smaller the load, the better. Sending ten thousand colonists was impossible.

But sending ten thousands eggs and ten thousand loads of semen was way cheaper.

The ship had a chilled cargo of those two ingredients to make human babies. Womb ships, they were called. They had a skeleton crew of scientists, techs, teachers, and caretakers trained to take on whatever challenges might arise at first contact with the target home but after they’d landed and seen that everything was alright for seeding, they’d get underway.

The birthing tanks would be unfolded and irrigated with dehydrated amniotic solution. These giant uterariums would then be flooded with the soup and eggs slurry sometimes referred to as brunch. The old exponential dance would start and babies would pop up like strawberry Christmas lights on the vine. Tendriled, manufactured, multiumbilicals would snake out and attach themselves to a thousand belly buttons. Each tank was filled with fraternal millituplets.

Wait time was the human usual. The children would be boosted with learning enhancers and xenoviral protection. A small percentage were always lost to errors in cell replication no matter how tailored the dna but the average yield was 90% or 900. Harvest would happen in two-year stages, nine hundred per year. This was called the familial ladder. Ten years of baby making before shutdown for 9,000 humans.

The crew would foster them with help from the AI adoptives, working as a team to cram as much knowledge and mental health into them from the get go before they took on their new world.

It was a system that had worked twelve times before. Twelve Edens had successfully flowered with no humans needing expulsion from angry gods.

This was going to be unlucky thirteen.

The tailored enzymes would fail and the entire crop would be born sociopathic and cruel unbeknownst to the crew. As the children grew, they schemed and the crew began began to meet with accidents. Before any of them figured out was what happening, they were gone.

The children were geniuses. As the other batches reached fruition and were born, they were taken in by the first two waves and taught to be just as awful.

The planet survived and flourished. They developed weapons and a reputation. They broadcast torture videos and vile non-consensual pornographic videos. Their system of government was opaque. It seemed like anarchy but they had such organizational skills.

Their planet is isolated. Quarantined. Embargoed. Struck off the records as a failure, they’re monitored for signs of extra-system aggression. They’re an embarrassment.

A closeted mistake until sixteen minutes ago when their entire planet, now decades into post-womb colonization and nearly five generations deep, completely disappeared off of everyone’s scans.

And reappeared near Earth Prime bristling with nuke barrels and planet crackers pointed at our race’s home.

The pirate planet had come home, prodigal son returning.

They didn’t open fire immediately but they did send a message system-wide on all channels before they started the war.

“No more wombships.”

After a heated exchange of nuclear fire that the pirate planet lost, they drove their planet straight into Earth. Terran defenses didn’t stand a chance.

We no longer use wombships for colonization but we are still trying to figure out how those little bastards made a whole planet capable of faster-than-light travel. None of the other Edens have come anywhere near that kind of technology. The philosophical implications of their success don’t bear thinking about.

Evil might be smarter than good.




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skonen_blades: (Default)
2017-07-01 11:26 pm
Entry tags:

Burn haikus from J RR Tolkien to George RR Martin

Is the Lord of the
Rings trilogy better than
Game of Thrones? Rather.

George RR Martin
A hot air balloon on fire
A sunset of fail

Our middle ini-
tials are the same as Mork from
Ork’s laughter. Ar! Ar!

Winter’s been coming
For 21 years! Climate
Change will get here first

Winter? More like Spring.
You now have an allergy
To writing your books

I’m so glad to meet
You George. Now I can see what
Writer’s Block looks like

The only thing we
have in common. Neither of
us write anymore

I bet on the Starks.
If you have too much Bran, you’ll
End up on the throne.

I’m dead so I can’t
Write anymore. What the fuck
Is your excuse George?


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skonen_blades: (Default)
2017-06-30 10:53 am
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Brinotaur

The studded club swung down and cratered the ground with a sound like a collapsing house. The Brinotaur’s muscles shuddered with the impact as it’s weapon hit the ground. To call it a club wasn’t entirely correct. It was more like a building with a handle. The creature was the biggest mass of flesh I’d seen down here in the under.

I had rolled to the side, pushed even further by the shockwave of the club’s impact. A wall of air like a giant hand swept me across the ground. I wouldn’t have survived a glancing blow and I’d be disintegrated by a direct hit. I needed to think of a way out of here fast.

It felt like I was in an arena but there didn’t appear to be an audience. The Brinotaur and I were in a circular room with a dirt floor about as big as an empty warehouse except the walls climbed up into darkness. A few support pillars lanced up into the blackness from the ground but I couldn’t see the ceiling. The Brinotaur seemed to know not to destroy them but I didn’t see how it could avoid it, being so large and clumsy.

I’d woken up here. I couldn’t tell if I’d been randomly selected from the other kidnapped humans or if this was punishment. The creatures here had an opaque system of governing that I couldn’t parse.

The Brinotaur, for instance. I’d heard of it but I hadn’t seen it yet. A mythical creature used as a boogeyman to our slave work force if we didn’t pull our quotas. My quotas were up and my quotas were fine. I’m not sure how I got here.

The Brinotaur tugged his weapon up and back onto his shoulder. It was an amphibious creature. A head like a bull but green and slimy with no hair. Gills fluttered under its ears. Mottled skin glistened, wrapped around his enormous muscles. It looked too big for the gravity here. Like merely breathing and rolling over would be a herculean feat but here it was, walking around disturbingly quick even if imprecise and hampered by its immense inertia. It must need a water source but there was none here in the room.

That’s when the ceiling exploded into light and the ocean came down from the sky.



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skonen_blades: (Default)
2017-06-28 07:32 pm
Entry tags:

The switch

For Angela, the new lie that kept showing up in her life was that people would still love her even though she had changed. Her new body wouldn’t unsettle her friends, she’d been told.

She lay back on her charging couch, raising an arm and looking at the reflection play along it from her bedside table’s lamp. The warm lightened glinted off the ridges of the small cooling vents along her forearm, like harmonica holes dotting the lines of her muscles. Utterly silent. No servomotors whirring to betray her movement like in the older models.

The people that had sold her the new body had assured her that her old flesh-and-blood friends wouldn’t fear her shift to immortality. But they lied. Of course they did. They wanted her to buy.

It was Saturday. Angela usually had to triage her social calendar on Saturdays, perhaps foregoing an event to take pity on a friend she hadn’t seen a while. Sometimes she had to choose between two or three equally lascivious parties.

This was the first Saturday in ten years that was empty of invitations.

Her brain was angry but her body was remaining calm. That was a new sensation. It was something that had been talked about in the pamphlets she’d read. A silicate dissonance, it was called. Emotions firing in the meat of her mind but not controlling her pulse rate or blood pressure.

Her heart was a whirring egg now and her blood was synthetic so that was to be expected. Adrenaline had been replaced with response time enhancers and threat-assessment programs. She’d react quickly to physical threats but without the feelings of panic. No jolts of terror to spur the biology.

Her body was capable of everything her former shell was except for a few adjustments. She’d removed the need for toilets as option number one. She still needed to bleed off heat and switch out old fluids but that could be done discreetly and, if need be, monthly.

Recharging was a necessity but a loss of consciousness while doing so was not.

She thought she’d be a commodity to her social group. The first to dive into the waters of eternal life. She thought she’d be sought after sexually. Curious people would flock to converse with her.

But no. The primate mind was still too strong.

And it was a one way trip.

Angela sighed. An affectation left over from her old body. Perhaps she’d just have to wait until more of her friends crossed over. Or else she’d have to make new friends in what the switches before her had nicknamed the hereafter.

She promised herself to call up the transformation counsellor in the morning, sent mental commands for the lights to dim and the fire to turn on and decided to catch up on old movies.






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skonen_blades: (Default)
2017-06-28 10:16 am
Entry tags:

storm

We’re not built to withstand the storm.
We change every time we survive a crisis.
We are shuffled to one side into a new person after every intensity.
Now that we know that:
(We lack a center
that every test changes us and doesn't cement our certainty
that every crucible merely rearranges our atoms
and doesn't refine us to a more concentrated particulate)
We avoid the situations.
We no longer seek the prow in a storm.
We suffer from survivor’s guilt on a genealogical scale.
A humanity-wide scale.
And it feels like the only antidote to the horror is ignorance.
The inability to affect real meaningful change causes the need for a form of permanent hibernation.
A chrysalis of affected indifference that will never butterfly.
An act.
And we lack the strength of character to choose otherwise.
Our tears are a drink for some.
Our failure is hated by most.
And we are getting weaker, both with age the knowledge that they're right to feel the way they do.
So we choose to become shadow.
To be in the current of the river.
To live beneath the notice of the pure of heart.
We have a lack of purity now.
We are not deeply polluted. We are not rotten.
But we are no longer pure.
Our insides are not dirty but we can no longer ride certainty to a goal.
Our focus always has a reason for plus or minus.
We have thrown ourselves against life's wall and it has appreciated it.
Like a laughing Viking.
We feel like we can no longer be instrumental.
We pass the torch by giving away our fire.



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skonen_blades: (Default)
2017-06-26 07:06 am

L'esprit d'escaliers

Half of my life is conversations I was too afraid to have
Conversations I rehearse even though the moment to have them has long passed
Once in a while I get it right
I say what needs to be said
When it needs to be said

But sometimes
When I'm alone
I tell
The walls
That I love them
In clear ways that can't be misinterpreted
or
I am articulately angry at
Deserving people
Mute people
Shocked into silence by my eloquence and given insight by my clarity
A fantasy world
Of triumphs
Of clear communication
Of victories leading to victories
That make my real wins
My here-in-the-flesh successes
Fade
These conversations ghosts are powerful and sway reality
Much more than they should
And I can't decide if they are wise
Or stupid
Fuel for my engine
Or sugar in my gas tank



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skonen_blades: (Default)
2017-06-25 05:33 pm
Entry tags:

the path

There used to be a trail
Through the woods
A shortcut I took often as a child
A shortcut I reveled in
A shortcut I made long in my memory
Long with dawdling, running, swinging from branches, climbing.
Deviating off the grid in transit
A right turn off the street through some bushes and through into
Emerald trees jungling thickly with summer, translucent leaves dappling sunlight through a thousand feathering gateways, letting almost no light touch the ground
Multicolored patchwork autumn fireworks, stinking of death and rot but somehow more alive that ever.
Through quiet black fingers reaching up through winter's white ground, my footfalls muffled into silence
And spring's teases of young life exploring renewal

There used to be a trail here
And now it's gone
Now, at this spot, it's only forest by the road and there is no path
Overgrown with disuse
Or maybe I just can't
See it
Anymore



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skonen_blades: (Default)
2017-06-24 10:45 am
Entry tags:

(no subject)

The swaying in and the swaying out. Family leaving like waves pulling back from a beach. This shore of ground-down boulders. Time making rock into softness. One small day. One small billion years. The universe is an accordion breathing fat and thin from each big bang to each heat death. The big question is "is it a cycle or a one-off"?

This universe, the one-hit wonder. A big-ticket item. Guaranteed this universe is someone's free ride to the big time. If this universe was a creation, was it for an elementary-school science fair or a nobel prize? Are we what's created in the wake of some unknowable craft? Maybe we're in the engine right now.

The big bang was caused by a piston shoving phsyics into a pocket until it ignited. Every stroke creates another one. Universes like cartoon gas clouds behind a car. You can track this car through the higher dimensions by the trail of dead universes.

We all need overlays. We all need filters. It's too bright to look at almost anything if you know enough. A cozy little standpoint helps. A cloister of prejudice. We're all living sorting hats, putting everything we see into a small number of houses.

Planning for the future is an art form. The sine wave and the particle. The sudden swerves and the trees in the way.


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skonen_blades: (Default)
2017-06-23 10:30 am
Entry tags:

choices

"Your weakness is actually your strength", said the shimmering cloud of dust in front of me. It gusted and whorled but managed to maintain an shape of sorts. It was a cloudless, calm day here so I don't know what wind it was reacting to.

It was late autumn. I'd just finished work at the petrol plant and was taking a shortcut home through the grove. I was looking forward to seeing Wendy and my little Charles. I'd bought meat from the butcher on the way home for dinner. That was when the cloud appeared to me.

It talked to me in what I thought was English but I wasn't sure if I was hearing air vibrations or actual thoughts. The sparkling patch of air in front of me warped. I could see through it but what I saw behind it didn't make any sense to me. The trees through the twinkling cloud appeared to be in a different season.

"You can only exist in linear time with no awareness of the future." said the cloud. "This should not be possible for intelligent life. As far as any being knows, you are unique."
I stood, perplexed. I seemed to lack the ability for panic or fear. It kept talking.
"We all see time from the outside. Christmas lights on a string, a flat circle, choose your metaphor. But we are outside of it. We see all that happened. We can zoom in an experience anything but we lack the ability to change anything. Every moment of time is fixed." it warbled to me.

"But you. You humans. You should exist on train tracks but you don't. Because you can't see the future, you can change it. You have a choice. You can manipulate outcomes. We are at a loss as to how that's possible. For the moment, you are celebrities across all of time and space." it sang.

"I just wanted to meet one of you." it said, and jangled sideways into infinity.

I stood alone in the grove. I wasn't sure what had just happened.

I hurried home to my family for dinner but I was now obsessed with the choices I made with every footstep home.



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skonen_blades: (Default)
2017-06-22 10:19 pm
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Karroway

Coming home to your planet is always such a bittersweet experience.

Visiting simpler locales always leaves me feeling thankful for Karroway, my home planet. Simpler systems leave me in wonder at how the locals can even function. I had just gotten back from a recent addition to the galactic council. The inhabitants referred to it as Earth. I hate to call them primitive but they only had one mind state with a small percentage capable of two. The current minimum for intelligent life was at least five mind states but an exception was being made in their case because of their accomplishments. These one-state mammals had created basic silicate life, broadcast technology and even brushed with higher math. And not only did they suffer from one mind state, they had finite life spans! The definitions of membership and the galactic definition of life were being revisited. Earth was currently a pretty big tourist destination as a result.

That's why I went. I needed a distraction. Life on Karroway could be boring just with sheer noise. I turned three of my minds towards the porthole.

Karroway's four-planet heliod system came up bold and backlit by its three differently coloured suns. A red giant, a blue dwarf, and a yellow star sparkled brilliantly through the 8 ring systems interacting with each other. Our orbit-locked planets stood out beautifully. The gas-giant fuel center Leptus, the turquoise cloud-covered Reena, the temperate volcano paradise Cheng, and the startlingly Earth-like Rhoodus. Together the four of them orbited tightly around each other in traffic controlled ellipses and all four in turn orbited as one around the three suns. Each planet had a moon system of at least thirty moons, all inhabited. The rings collided through each other on the ecliptics, throwing sparkling dust out in constant rainbow fantails. Borealis sparkled along the gravitational bridgepoints between the four-bulbed shared magnetosphere. Unsuited travel between the four planets was possible as their atmosphere was also shared.

3 suns, four planets, 128 moons, and 8 rings. Overpopulated with complicated eclipses, dawns, and sunsets.

You can imagine my boredom at seeing Earth. No rings, one moon, one planet, and one star. Hard to believe complex life evolved on that rock at all. But my time there was relaxing.

It was contemplative. My multicolored body was of great interest to them. The fact that a good percentage of my biology inhabited the quantum was unbelievable to their scientists. There was a buzz of activity with every new alien that visited them. I was the first of my kind to be there, they said. My frilled tendrils blushed with the memory of how much I was fawned over.

I felt aggrandized and god-like, sure, but I was also humbled. These backwater rock-dwellers had accomplished so much. What had I done with all of my gifts? All of my insight, all of my dimensional awareness? All of my engineered biology? I had the ability to move single molecules with my tentacle tips and zoom in to watch it happen. I was immortal, having my choice of when to ascend. I had the capacity to speed or slow time, to access higher levels of energy life and talk to them.

For what? Idle fun. For all my complexity, all my afforded privelege and advancement, I was boring and lazy.

I felt invigorated.

When I got back to Karroway, I was going to write a book.



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skonen_blades: (Default)
2017-06-22 07:26 pm
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the ghost of halloween

With all the recent changes to the darkness that I've seen.
The edges that were sanded off, the dirty made pristine
The safety and awareness and the need to be serene
The growing sense of friendliness and shunning the obscene
The Brothers Grimm made not so bad, the fairy tales made fair
The social justice warriors enlightening the air
The value placed on human life returning bright and strong
The grey reduced, the right enlarged, the shrinking of the wrong
The outrage at authorities for murdering the poor
I think perhaps one holiday is losing it's allure
October's bachannalia. The costumed autumn fete.
Althought it's taken lots of hits it hasn't been killed yet.
And if it dies then that's okay 'cause it's the only one
That doesn't need to be alive to have it's season's fun
Because a zombie works just fine, a ghost works just as well
A vampire or a demon up vacationing from hell
It's my favorite holiday, the best one that I've seen
This year I think I'm dressing as the ghost of Halloween
The Halloween that's not allowed. The Halloween taboo.
The Halloween that moral, righteous, good people eschew
I'll dress up as a sexy, sexist, racist, ableist male
A twitter nazi holocaust denier. With a tail.
I'll wear some blackface and a head dress and a turban too.
I'll layer so much ignorance they won't know what to do
I'll work in sexy condiments and sexy flower bed
and sexy lamp and sexy tree and sexy severed head
Kimono, sari, big sombrero, khaftan, high heel shoes
I'll get thick glasses and some crutches to complete the ruse
Vocally my ignorance will match my outer gear
I'll drop the n-word casually for everyone to hear
And if you try to challenge me about my costume choice
You won't believe how loud I'll raise the volume of my voice
I'll talk about free speech and how our country is a free one
And how I hate the knee jerk left and wouldn't want to be one
I'll rail against political correctness run amuck
And loudly claim quite proudly that I do not give a fuck
You know what? Wait. Just wait. This is a really bad idea.
If this poem has offended you, it's culpa mea
I admit that even as a joke that this is dumb
That where we're going has to be improved from where we've come.
Perhaps the chunks we've protested against this time of year
Are actually good parts to lose. It's actually quite clear.
That Halloween should not be seen as opportunity
to be a racist, sexist ableist with impunity
I take it back. The holiday is not in need of saving.
Halloween could use some rules to help us in behaving.
The day is dead! Long live the day! Our Halloween lives on!
Just make sure to double check the costume that you don.
True monsters live beneath the masks of flesh we wear all year
We need a holiday that is a holiday from fear
So let's all try to make October safer than it's been.
So everyone can have a safe and happy Halloween.




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skonen_blades: (Default)
2017-06-22 10:38 am
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Mars

Looking at Mars is different now. Through the telescopes, you can see patches of green and purple where the algae is taking hold. New shapes are spreading. Year to year it changes. There's a patch at the moment that the kids are calling the green man, not unlike the man in the moon.

Some of the teens have had the inserts downloaded to their iEyes so that they can see Mars without telescopes. The macro and micro on the most recent patch is amazing. Cops can do fingerprint identification just by looking closely at crime scenes and cycling through the spectrums. Doctors can operate at a new level, fingers like tree trunks sewing up microscopic wounds.

But Mars. Twinkling up in the sky as a new atmosphere grows. It's a war up there. The algae is fighting each other to make sure the most dominant strain wins. The colours are fighting each other for supremacy.

They say in fifteen years that the first private construction modules will be ferried over and fifteen years after that, the commercial flights will begin. Homesteading on Mars will be a thing.
I can't wait.


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