skonen_blades

We're all tuning forks.
Input pinging us every second we're awake
and sometimes even in dreams when we're asleep.

We resonate constantly,
causing what is like us
to hum in others.
This is the song of the world.

We can muffle our sound,
wrap ourselves in insulation.
But can we change our key?
Can our tune be altered?
Without being broken?

We sing when we're hit
and life hits us all every morning.

Listen.
Listen.
Listen to the world.





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And this is the way the world ends
Not with a squawk but a clatter

Born with a uranium spoon in my mouth
Tongue more fool’s gold than silver
I radiate confidence
In half-living words
From a reactor I can’t shut down

And this is the way the world ends
Not with a honk but a sizzle

“Yes, but what of the turquoise herring?” he asked
“The dreaded black herring?”
I tell him
You’ve always been the plaid sheep of the family
And the fish near the tailing pond
Have always been that color

And this is the way the world ends
Not with a squeak but a ding dong

As sure as that holster is holding a method actor
As sure as monsters are often more famous than their victims
As sure as leaders are sometimes caught green-handed and red with envy
As sure as honesty is becoming just a shade of paint
And the ones in charge have started charging

This is the way the world ends
Not with a boom but a sploosh



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In all of this world, in all of its places
There’s actually, truly, not that many faces
As I get older and get to see more
I see quite a few that I’ve witnessed before

It’s not that there’s only a handful here, no
But more that the billions of faces here flow
From a number of face archetypes somewhat few
Say maybe five thousand, three hundred and two

Give or take. I can’t say that I’ve whittled it down
To a number exact. No, my figures are round
But I’m seeing more noses I’ve already seen
More jawlines, I swear, that have already been

Like a composite sketch artist drew for police
Every person on earth just before their release
From the womb to the public with similar traits
From a limited number of facial templates

Like we’re all at a worldwide strange masquerade
And only a thousand unique masks were made
The rest are just copies with differing sizes
Of tiny details on our fleshly disguises

I know when it gets down to our DNA
We’re all individuals in special ways
But facial variety might have run dry
It might be we no longer diversify

And as I get older I notice it more
I see a face twice, then three times, and then four
And if I survived to a thousand and three
Would every face be familiar to me?

I’d mix up most faces. Mistakes would be made.
I’d see a whole jumble from every decade
We all forget names and remember the face
And sometimes it’s hard to remember, to place

That face combination of meat, skin, and bone
Imagine if most of the faces were cloned
Experience showing the same face refrain
Again and again and again and again

We’d become face-blind as centuries passed
As multitudes of those face patterns amassed
In brains filling up with identical looks
In our mental appendix of face-picture books

Uniqueness is only a product of time
Humanity’s face just a small paradigm
The young see uniqueness through naiveté
Uniqueness gets more common every day

It’s compounded daily until we can’t see
Until, at a point, theoretically
We wouldn’t see differences when we were old
We’d just see one human from one simple mold

I can’t say that one point of view is the best
Newness is life so I can’t here suggest
Peace lies with the old ‘cause that’s plainly not true
But that’s just what I’m thinking. What about you?


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An older piece I spruced up.

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Hitler’s daughter was ruling with a penchant for experimentation.

She talked of a future where Aryans were recognized by their deeds and initiative, not by the colour of their skin or hair.

Controversial and beautiful, Hitler’s daughter was short with the same dark hair as her father.

She administered the shot that killed him in his hospital bed. Grey-haired, drooling, and given to fits at the end, it was the ministry’s decree that he be put out of his misery by his then sixteen-year-old daughter. The photograph is famous. Her chin is tucked into her chest and her straight black hair is falling over her eyes as she depresses the plunger on the syringe. The resemblance to her father in that moment in unmistakable and is belied only by a twinkle in her eye. His hand is grasping at the front of her uniform. If one squints just right, the shadow from his clawed hand coupled with his bent fingers almost form a swastika.

Chancellor Hilda.

German medicine had come far. Top in the world when it came to longevity drugs, plastic surgery and prosthetic limbs. However she banned experimentation on the poor and homeless.

“There were still discoveries to be made”, she said, “but only by using the guilty”. The subtle accusation hidden in the statement by lumping the scientists in with the subjects was not lost on the scientific community. There was no doubt about how punishment would be meted out. The scientists would end up on their own bloody tables if they dared dismiss her rules in their dark laboratories.

She said that the future lay not in compassion but neither did it lie in brutality. She said in a historic speech that, “some things, while fragile, were still valuable to the empire. Even degenerates can see the beauty in the world of our new Empire”, she said. “Let them paint.”

The conquered Europeans had intermarried and mingled with the Japanese and Russians. Half-breeds were tolerated. The resulting beauties with their Slavic cheekbones and epicanthic folds had started to supercede the outdated Aryan ideal.

The first mixed-race officer of the SS had a medal pinned to his chest last week, for instance. The young ones, no matter their race, were anxious to serve for the glorious 4th Reich Europe, citing that their inner Aryan was probably more faithful and loyal than many of the meek and tender blue-eyed ghosts of German heritage. Such inflammatory rhetoric caused controversy but also brought attention to their fearless attitudes. It would be stupid to turn down manpower determined to help the empire and this was a new age, she said.

America’s economy was failing and while it was not economical to fight them conventionally, it was in everyone’s interests to wait and see how long it would take that country to starve. Some of the political commentary in today’s newspapers were calling it a Kalter Kreig or ‘cold war’.

She, herself, had a penchant for the folk music of the defeated Americas and allowed their import into the underground. American polkas and neo-jazz movements were sweeping through underground Europe. The Reich youth, like any youth, were embracing anything controversial that would anger their parents.

She is the face of The United Reich Territories. She is feared and loved.

She has charm greater than her father. She is patient.

Heil Hilda.





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Elephants track the soil of memory across the tundra of my mind. Wooly mammoths stumbling across the land bridge in a CBC cartoon in my memories, a child hood that might as well be millions of years ago.

They say that cavemen and dinosaurs never co-existed but how do you explain today’s office working environment?

I wish money could talk. I want to hear the colourful faces tell us of the shady agreements that our forefathers made as they stitched laws together into a blanket the size of a constitution to cover us and keep us warm while we sleep. They want us asleep. Go to sleep world. We’re on it. We’re taking care of things. Shhh. Shhh.

They get the money. We get the lullaby that makes no cents.

They don’t realize that a sleeping populace is dangerous because when we sleep, we dream. And dreaming leads to revolutions.

Of course the world is flat. It’s as big as a king-size bed.

The knowledge tree of Eden is on top and we’re hanging off the bottom, fingers tangled in the roots, feet dangling above an eternal fall, waiting until we no longer have the strength to hold on. Waiting until we all let go and do our own Lucifer dive.

In the garden of Eden, the serpent gave Eve and Adam the ability to love more than once. Our hearts can shed skins like snakes. They can swallow relationships that will keep them well-fed for years at a time and then they can move on. They can even love more than one at the same time. That was what got them punished.

Cat’s brains are puzzle pieces and Christmas mornings warring for control. Everyone with feet has two souls. Tears kill slugs.

And there’s no sense in buying unsweetened chocolate for Valentine’s Day.



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#120296 +(6112)- [X]
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Check out these others. All are allegedy real exchanges.


It would usually start with “the year is 2094” or something like that but no one knows what year it is. There are no humans to measure it. There are no humans to care. The mascots rule the world now. Or rather, they scuttle and scavenge over the remnants of what’s left.
They unlocked the last sequence of the human genome. They cloned people. They found ways around laws. Some countries cloned cheap labour. Some countries cloned cheap organs. Some countries cloned soldiers. All countries cloned whores.
The clones were designed. Designed to need less fuel. Designed to not think. Designed to be happy. Designed to not think. Designed to lift more weight. Designed to not think. Designed to sell. Designed to be cool with being put in storage. Designed to not complain. Designed to follow orders. Designed to not think.
In America, they cloned the mascots. Ronald McDonalds, Wimpys, A&W Bears, Jack in the Boxes, and Smokey the Bear. Mickey Mice, Goofys, Bugs Bunnies, and Muppets.
The plague hit quick. Humanity went down in three choking terror filled years. The virus had escaped from a lab. That was years and years ago.
The clones were not affected. Something in their manufactured genes protected them. Blind luck. Some of them were bred to die quickly if they weren’t given injections on a regular basis. They died after the humans were gone.
Other clones were given the life span of their donor. They could get old as long as they could find food.
Most clones are sterile. Some aren’t.
The sterile ones died.
The fertile ones found each other and nature took over.
Biology finds a way to reproduce.
This is the endgame of the earth. These are the bastard children of greed. This is capitalization’s short lived tombstone.
The originals are gone. There were more male mascots that female ones. There were more animal mascots than human ones. A lot of clones are technically brothers and sisters. This means that stillbirths are common. The population is in decline.
The population of the earth is now 6,457. None of them are human.
They scavenge for food and rape each other when they find each other if they can’t eat each other.
This is one of the Nightmare Futures.



This lovely picture is from here. She's awesome.

toe