These five little girls
Hovering around ten years old
One of them is my daughter
They’re laughing their uninhibited heads off in the sun
Exploding and sprinting
Screaming and playing
Glittering like minnows in the shallows
Each one unique
Hair flouncing, whipping, streaming
They’ve grown up together
Neighbours and pals
Nuclear reactors of life
Shining pre-chrysalis
Puberty just about to tear through their ranks like wildfire
The next ten years are a battlefield and there’s no avoiding it
Time’s steamroller can’t be resisted
That cliff is coming up quickly
That cusp is about to be crowned
Who knows what they’ll be like later
As veterans of adolescence
After the werewolf transformation
The time lapse of hair and stretch marks and hormones
Their brains sizzling into a frenzy
After society’s drooling eyes look at them differently
And the real hammer blows of life start to fall
The rodeo gets well and truly underway
When they become hopeless aliens
Collecting secrets, shame, and loneliness
And all adults become incomprehensibly, cluelessly dense overnight
Before simmering back into actual people years later
After the storm passes

Will these five even be friends then?
In that aftermath?
For now, they pour joy into the world
Angelic in the amber of my memory
Laughing on the front lawn in an eternal summer



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Paolo

Silver oracle
The approachable dragon
Pyramid architect
A glass optimist half-full of Vancouver rain
The small-g god who hears your email prayers
A professional luck hydrant that doesn’t believe in luck
The sphinx who skips the riddles and gives you the answers
The sword turned into a plough
The rare friendly genius
A calm ferryman giving passage over a rough gulf
Of infinite possible errors
Until you never knew you were in danger
A half-unicorn centaur

The humble navigator
Self-effacing wizard
The one you hope to find behind the curtain
Creating more leaders, not just more followers
Lifting instead of dragging
Pushing softly instead of pulling fiercely
The effective warm strength of capability
The one you want to call on
An oven mitt with polar bear lining
The heat needed to fight frostbitten ants

The person I’d want on my side
Even if I was a carpenter
Or a barista
Or a gymnast

The one who left
Whose absence is a chasm
A loved missing tooth
A spring breeze of remembered love
A hug at a computer's funeral

Every office
Every profession
Every life
Needs a Paolo

I like to believe the Roman Empire had more Paolos than warlords
And that maybe if the Empire had more Paolos than they did, we’d all be speaking Italian today
Gratefully
with pride
On our flying vespas


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They were a race that liked to live amongst the other races they encountered to better understand them. They were diplomatic yet fearsome, possessing great weaponry but very gentle in one on one conversations.

They looked like starving centaurs crossed with giant centipedes. Very thin and stable on the ground, surprisingly quick in the water and capable of short bursts of flight. They were stronger than us physically. They gave us a resume of the battle they had won and proved it by setting up a brief example in the space around out planet for the scientists and military to monitor.

It was a terrifyingly graceful display of military supremacy, both in tactics and in weaponry. However, after it was over, they started peaceful negotiations and cultural exchanges. We never felt defeated. It was interesting. One columnist from the New York Times wondered if they did this with everyone or merely recognized that it would work with us specifically.

The diplomats assigned to aspects of our society joined in, spoke our language, and tried to mimic us. It was like as a race, we were given bizarre little brothers. Alarming at first but their earnest need to learn was disarming. Their gentle voices assuaged our fear.

It’s been strange to think we’ve been conquered. There’s been no rebellion. They brought their own food and they don’t want our resources or money. They aren’t here to eat us.

There are two in my office. They wear suits cut to fit their long bodies. I remember footage of one of them that had gotten into the fashion industry. Seeing that six-legged body standing upright and sashaying down the runway in clothes made to fit its strange body was a strange sight.

The ones in my office are named Doug and Tina. Doug wears suits with extra arms and Tina wears dresses with extra arm-holes. They talk around the water cooler with us about what was on television last night and Doug remarks on sports scores.

I find it strange that I’m not alarmed and that as a race, we’ve adjusted to it so quickly. I find it fascinating. They’re so dull and friendly.

What’s even more alarming is that I’m thinking of asking Tina out to a movie next week.



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The room was studded with old-school CDs, worthless even as antique curiousities.

They were jammed into the walls. Thousands of them. Not one inch of wall was uncovered. It was disconcerting being surrounded by so much rainbow-glinting dead media. That was the first thing I noticed. It was like being in a room wallpapered with silver, fish-skin fangs.

The second thing I noticed was the smell. He was rotting.

James sat in his chair/life-support system in the back corner of the room next to the banks of monitors, keyboards, and thoughtmice. I could say that he reminded me of a Dalek or a helmetless Darth Vader or a Stephen Hawking/Borg drone but really, he just reminded me of James.

He reminded me of a James that laughed without that edge of cruelty. He reminded me of a James that was above making money by hurting people, of a James that liked it here in the physical world and only occasionally went into total online immersion.

That James was gone. He never jacked out now, and the hypercancer had taken nearly fifty per cent of him. The 3HIV was working over his ability to resist the treatments. His death had been a matter of time for nearly four years now. They’d given him six months at the beginning. He was a confirmed medical miracle. Sheer drive seemed to be holding him together until he met his goal.

He was fighting the disease by trying to escape his flesh.

While his body deteriorated, he spent more and more time ‘not here’. He’d made millions off of the poor security systems of tiny personal banks in the smaller countries. He’d started famines by bankrupting the economies of the smallest of them.

He’d had experimental biofilters installed in his head so that he could talk to me and surf at the same time. Time-share boosters, he had called them. He didn’t see the need to wash. He looked more and more like a special effect every day.

He was putting the money towards digitizing himself. New attempts in other countries were getting closer and closer every day. He had a fortune in not-yet-patented experimental equipment cluttering his apartment.

He was a modern-day Dr. Frankenstein except he was trying to bring himself to life. I told him once that he had a terminal disease, trying to make a play on words. He hadn’t laughed.

I had known him when he had a ponytail and sunglasses and liked to walk in the sun. I didn’t kid myself that I knew this James, here, in this room. He wasn’t the man I’d grown up with.

“I’ve found a way to transfer my mind, James.” He said to me, one eye glowing red above his wet mouth and white skin. The respirators squeezed like death’s accordions behind him.

“That’s great news, James.” I said. “Why do you need me here? Moral support?” It came out as a dig, escaped before I could block it.

The silence after that question and James’ alien gaze made me suddenly afraid. I knew that James’ morality was eroding but I always counted myself as safe since I had always been his best friend, now his only friend.

I was wrong.

“I’ve found a way to transfer my mind into another human.” Said James. “The digitizing process for full net transfer won’t work for the silicon just yet but it might in six year’s time. I’ll be dead long before then. However,” he said and his wheelchair moved forward, “you won’t.”

The screens came up behind him with an image of a monkey. Shaved head, brain plugs.

“We’ve been shuffling the minds of monkeys in and out of each other all week. It’s been a total success. Yesterday, we did it with two of the research assistants. We switched them into each other and then switched them back the next day. There was a small amount of degradation but they were essentially okay.”

The screens pulled up images of two people. A man and a woman in lab coats. The man had a nosebleed and was staring at his fingernails. The woman was crying and biting her lip, her face turned to the wall.

“Are you my friend?” asked the thing that used to be James.

I heard a door lock behind me.





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It was the numbers tattooed on the backs of their necks that always got me. Why couldn’t they have them in a more obvious place? Halfway through a conversation with them, I’d still be trying to catch a glimpse of their tattoos in reflective surfaces or craning my head around in what I hoped was a casual gesture to sneak a look.

It was awful when I’d be flirting with a hot girl only to realize that I wasn’t flirting with the same hot girl I was talking to three nights earlier. I’d have to lay foundations all over again. Not that it ever really did any good.

I was a bit of an anomaly on this ship.

There were over 600 crew members on the ship that picked me up but there were only 60 people, if you know what I mean. Clones. 60 types of clones. 10 copies of each. Each had a number tattooed on the back of their necks. 1 thru 10.

My ailing rustbucket of a ship had been out of juice on the fringes. I’d been put in emergency cryosleep to conserve energy and my beacon had been turned on. Ironically, the strong signal strength and the underlying technical information carried by my beacon meant that they could get around to me whenever since nothing was actually malfunctioning.

I’d been floating for 60 years. I’m not a guy with a lot of friends so it didn’t take me too long to adjust to the fact that a lot of my buddies had shuffled off into the deep black or were old and retired by now.

One of them was doing really well back on Earth-3-Perisolstice and wanted me to come and visit. Said she’d set me up with a job and a few upgrades. This ship was going to dock there once it had completed its science mission on two other planets.

I had been here on this ship for six months and there was another eight to go. Bloody scientists. All of the crew had been picked for fitness and intelligence and then bred to a higher level and copied. The copies had been filled with knowledge in clone school and upgraded to super healthy status before being sent out into space to complete missions of research.

They worked well but Jesus, these people had no concept of down time or humour. I’d joked with a few of them, gotten a few of them into bed, and tried to start fights with a few of them.

The jokes were dissected to find the humour successfully without laughter. The sex was clinical and reported on and filed. The fights ended badly for me every time but the hospital facilities were excellent here. I was fixed up in a jiffy every time with no hard feelings.

David-3, Terry-6 and I think Peter-1 flinch a little if I make any sudden movements near them but it isn’t out of fear, but rather just recognition of possible physical danger. You might not think there’s a difference but trust me, with these guys it’s a world of difference.

They’re just no fun.

They think I’m immature and barbaric and they’re right. I’m going to be as immature and barbaric as possible until we get to port. I’m going to get one of them to crack.

I’ll end this trip with a friend if it kills me.



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I woke up today in my great new place.
The hiss of wet radials on wet pavement was outside my window. There's a Fitness World across from my building that has a bank of treadmills facing me. I stood up in my underwear and looked out the window for a second before the smiles on the girls from across the street told me that they could see me too. I thought of the night before. I drank too much.
It was noon.
I got the call to go join friends up at an Academie Duello demonstration up at St. George school. That was fun. We didn't make it up there to a few minutes before the close. I cabbed it over to Sam's, Jhayne joined us there and we went up to the bus stop. We bought MASSIVE cinnamon buns and shivered our way up to 29th, cresting on the sugar from the extra icing that we ordered.
The lovely Imogyne was there among others, dueling and fencing away at a school for Kids with Kash. They received a sign up and perked a lot of interest.
Much interest was also shown to our motley group as we bussed it back down to a restaurant for nourishment. We've got eight eclectic people and most of them are carrying swords. Not in their hands ready to fight but just casually slung over shoulders and in carrying cases like polo mallets or pool cues except they're obviously rapiers and sabres. We got a lot of looks.
Some flesh was consumed at Cactus Club on Broadway and Granville after that.
Exhausted by a long day of sword fighting for the kidlets, the fighters buckled their swashes and sought naps and the rest of their days. Jhayne, Sam and I bussed it downtown.
On the way, I got a call from my friend Greg to remind me that it was in fact free comic book day. We hopped off the bus and went down to elfsar comics in yaletown to bask. There was some after hours roleplaying going on and they're having a great sale right now where you buy two things and you get a third thing of equal or lesser value free. You get to pick. Store wide. Tomorrow's the last day. Seriously. You want some comics, shirts, figures, or what have you, tomorrow's the day. Check it out. Elfsar comics, Yaletown. 1007 Hamilton street. Tell them Duncan sent you.
We did not buy anything.
We went back to my place and I played a bit of the extras on the Princess Bride disc I received from the lovely Jhayne as a housewarming gift. That was cool. After realizing that it was nine and the concert we were supposed to go to started at 8, we left.
Now.
There was a shooting at Richard's on Richard's last Thursday. It's been closed ever since. I was supposed to go see Coldcut there on Friday but the show was cancelled and moved to Sunday at the Plaza club on Granville. So Jhayne, Sam and I are a little miffed to find the sign taped to the door of Richards that the show we're supposed to see (TV on the Radio) has been moved to the Plaza as well and will start an hour earlier since it needs to end by 10:30 when the Plaza will turn back into a regular club.
That's all good and everything and it's awesome that this band will still get to play but now instead of being an hour late, we're suddenly two hours late.
Shiznit.
So we scurry up to the Plaza.
TV on the Radio is already playing and I'll be damned if they aren't incredible. The sound was a little muddy and it was a strange venue to see them in as I've been going to Richards on Richards so much lately but it was a good show. I've seen TV on the Radio before when they opened for Franz Ferdinand back in October at the Orpheum. Now, TV on the Radio has a whole different vibe to them than Franz Ferdinand and a lot of people at the show, me included, were like, uh, so who are these guys? Not too great.
But tonight, it was all about them and the people were there to see them. And they gave it up. What a show. Yikes. Really good energy. I loved it.
I went over to a friend's place after that, we talked about our lives, and now I'm home.
It's been just one more full day. I love this trend.
I'm worried about tomorrow night, though, because I'm supposed to go see a band called Frog Eyes at Richards. If it's still closed and Coldcut's bumped show from Friday is playing at the Plaza, then where is Frog Eyes going to play? We'll see.

You're beautiful. I think you rock. Thank you for reading this. You have so much power.