Posts tagged ‘stories’

Comte de Lautréamont

Last night I was a transsexual woman flying through
A new Houston, Texas
Brooklynites offset by rents had colonized portions
Of downtown
Panda graffiti Announced a transgender man bookshop
The city is over taken by lesbians
Hip little avenues sprung out and about
Alison Bechdel crew cuts rule the town
I am no longer a transsexual woman
Cyncerie runs a restaurant down town
I am talking to her when David Bowie’s wife walks in
She wants to thank her for the hospitality
I am so embarrassed
I squirm around trying to not be noticed
Is it David Bowie’s wife? It looks like him in drag
Just being normal

When I wake up a lady in my Facebook feed has posted this.
And so I learn the glam star’s 100 favorite books includes Comte de LautrĂ©amont.
I am sick in bed today kindling Bowie’s favorite books, the ones I haven’t read.
Once open a time a poet died uneventfully before his poems were read,
I suppose it will stay that way: The kindle edition of Maldoror ends unexpectedly after
The forward. Capitalism buries another corpse behind a paywall.

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October 2, 2013 at 4:28 am Leave a comment

Caves

Caves

Mark said we should start the ogre game, so we did. Rachel and Michael got the part out of the box and Alex opened the service tunnel, we ran through the hallways, down to the fixtures and found the valve in question, and then tag “you’re the ogre!” everyone took ten steps back, Rachel said, “oh no the ogre!” and ran to the wall and then I began the slow work of replacing the valve, wrenching slight shifts of pipe off and occasionally turning around, everyone froze, “Michael froze last,” screamed Rachel and so Michael went back to the wall, resisting against the sweet plastics condensing the impurities and humidity into something we can breath. Rachel began an eventual swoop to my left side while Marco pinced me on the right, all the time I was feeling back there for the right nut. Finally, I found it and wrench! Off came the piece and snap the replacement in place and then, “gotcha!” Someone had tagged me with my back turned. The lights flashed, Rachel was recorded as winner and the panels began to dim down into dullness. A flicker arouse in one of the vents and Marco ran into it, we all followed afterward.

On march first Mom got her first batch of passwords from the Doctorow act. She decrypted the keys and began siphoning through the scroll of passwords. 666morde666 DEathc4mp roger Williams, 414 oak dale drive, Missoula, Montana, directgib.com
666morde666 Deathc4mp, Jesuitacademy.com
666morde666, deAthc4mp, missesfeedies.org
What were these doing in Mom’s files while the first question she asked and then She clicked on Jesuitacademy and and logged in.

Rachel had given this day to making flowers in photo booth for grand ma. She started out with a series of portraits of them, and then she zoomed into little details, a skirt here, a teddy bear, grand pa’s ancient Mac book, and put them in fractals that scrolled out into floral arrangements that she bean to trim. After a few minutes she exported the whole thing to grand man’s funeral wall and recorded a short video of her saying good bye. I got the job of cleaning out old comments, archiving the pretty ones, and deleting any especially potential spam. When we were done grand man’s wall pristine with just one love filled message sitting there, almost instaneosly, like a hug capable of pulverizing a paparazzi, a hundred new comments came up, some text based, a few videos of grand ma in various games, one friend recounted the time they jumped through Koopa’s castle, another on the Doctorow act and how she didn’t need to know what it would reveal, and she loved her anyways.

June 8, 2012 at 3:10 am Leave a comment

The ogers

the maintaince game was the one the boys played in the walls between the compartments. these spaces had been designed for maximm game play, miniscule chutes chunneled the children down floors and into the spaces where the pipes lay. markus made it first and found the wrench his mother had pulled out of printer this morning. he eagerly went over to the pipes and sang, “I am an oger! I am an oger!” the other chlidren instintively group into sleath units, “I am an oger!”, he sang twisting the wrench onto the pipe and with a tug he suddenly flung it back, the other children all spun their back to him, but the wrench pointed directly at a yonger boy who sat their n silence, “and now so are you!”, he said and the other boy came towards as the two other children obeyed the rules and took two steps back. Marcus and the younger child took a moment to reattach the wrench and then, “we are ogers!” and the other boys began to wittle towards them slowly so as to interrupt their work.
marcus took out the elbow he had been given that morning and put it in place, they kept singing, he cold hear the footsteps, the other boy put the elbow n place and markus gave one big turn and then beep beep, marcus turned around and ran into one of the other boys, “that was close!” “we just let ya score,” said the other one, and then the lights went out and a single dot appeared in the distance, the boys made a dash for the next goal.

July 16, 2011 at 3:22 am Leave a comment

Spammer

She began the hunt with a return address, which of course lead back to hotmail where she had first found the subject. She had tried e-mailing back, but the subject refused any solicitations from her. Additionally, the whole operation was operating on a shared web server, and she had no idea if the physical address Whois had given her would actually lead to anything, so instead she called. A creaky and weary voice answered the phone. She had been doing this long enough to know the man on the other line was not her target, but she talked to him anyway and he eventually mentioned renting out webspace to other users at steep discounts. She now knew she was dealing with an entirely different type of scum. She made tentative plans to host a site on the man’s web server and then she went down to the office and reported his address as a possible site. The other’s in the office gathered around and discussed their day, two found in an Indian pc bar, another waiting in line at customs in Cambodia. Her target had been located in Cuba.

The promenade around the house had worn down into the sea and low waves crashed over the beach. A group of kids out in the bay played with nurse sharks as she passed row after row of faded brick houses. Eventually she found the door, but as she expected someone else lived there. The couple at the house were quite nice, she sat down with a seven foot tall basketball star and her husband a smallish engineer at the local motorcycle repair place. The two had never seen or heard of the target, they did however know the former occupant and after a few coffees, she retreated to the street with a new address in hand.

The car the UN gave her broke down after a few days, she walked on foot and then waited at car share sites till she had trekked half the island. The house was instantly noticeable as a slum dwelling. Kids ran around outside while inside hundreds of children managed web servers. Kids poured out of closets, some at ten wasted with the onsets of HIV. She quietly spoke to a few kids around the house, they rushed up with trinkets, little island momentos, she bought a few. Inside the house she could see them sorting emails, working through excel sheets, and working on ad copy, at ten years old a few of the girls could speak English better than she could. Groups of children sat around typing on ancient keyboards, long since dilapidated, her own roll of smart phone sitting in her pocket began to beep. She pulled it out and answered a few calls, then she showed the boss where she was, the government would be by in a few days. She took a few of the ones that could speak English by the hand and led them out of the house. She told them to tell the others that their parents wouldn’t be coming home, but they needed to stay there until the UN people come. She also asked about the man, one of the kids managed to draw him, the usual suspect, she clicked a copy to hq.

July 13, 2011 at 7:29 am Leave a comment

Lipstick Fictions

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July 2, 2011 at 1:06 pm Leave a comment

Helix motherhood

At first it was like leaves stirring in her belly, then the soil accumulated, she began to swell. The belly was a blessing, she liked the idea of this soil churning into life. The dna test gave her thousand of snps to o through, the clinic had given her a small collection of medications to assist with the firstvfew days. An anihestimanine in case the slight autism lead to tantrums, an amyglda stimulant for the baby’s mild psyhopathy.

Kim met her in the park. Kim was famous for diaper grand pry, the toddler racing game that her husband had helped finance. The two walked by the moss covered trees and into the lake’s frosty complexion. Kim had two children, Magdalen and Amir, they spent their days with a maid who doubled as a house keeper. Monsieur was working on some soft bodies, their crocheted geometries taxing any video card Apple threw at them. Kim was skimping on ram and discussing the new game she was beginning, a photography romp through procedural cities. Monsie began to nod off when Kim returned to the same old subject, how much they lost on her blockbuster.

Of course she had diaper grand pree free of charge on an ancient sd card tucked away in the folds of a garnet. No one wanted to pay 39.99 then, no one did know. Increasingly software was like a party, she paid 5 or 6 bucks here or there to see a recommendation, but the big events, she coul not afford. She paid a small fee for an anonymous account that she torrented through, the Manitoba public net and her carrier’s network long since lost to monitors. She had no desire to

June 9, 2011 at 2:39 pm Leave a comment

Arks

“The water runs into the hull and then the ocean becomes cooler. The ark is ventilated by the sea water and returns to normal.” The announcer’s voice was sterile as if the boredom of the room he recorded in came out in the vocal cords. She sat there staring off into the catacomb of ventilated materials, the surf that was no surf, the voice consistently anesthetizing her thoughts, the clarity of it producing an unnaturalness, a calm no human being was supposed to have. His words rendered all the wonder of the ark into concise familiarity. The ark was a mystery, a huge vessel with the ability to produce seas, and the sea under them was no exception, but now, in this voice’s hands, she just wanted to get off and explore, when the headphones went silent a little Muzak hit her ears and she almost pulled the things off. To her right large spirals of the ark’s native plastics cut into the air, mysterious and yet their exact tuning was what churned the waters below, the voice cheerily noted this, but with out the awe she always saw in the cluster of ideas, the means of water the ark contained.

June 8, 2011 at 7:18 am Leave a comment

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