Edited Out
His room was a disintegrated metaphor. His skin crawled with bookish text, trying to worm in at the tattoo load level. There was a Tourettes
Category: Prose
A Simple Man
A simple man born into a time where people are not the same. Technology snakes its way through the umbilical and implants, unless like him
Mother To Other
Mothers stood in the train station, on the train platform. Who is moving away from whom? What is moving away from what? Stories dismantle themselves
Convenient
A gunshot in a crowd is a different thing to a gunshot in the country. The acoustics out here baffled your ability to determine in
Haiku Division
He is Haiku Division – rattling out fletchette words on the frontlines; mortar rounds. He can see the Long Prose Division a few hundred feet
Layered Reality Players
Layered Reality Players. Platformational Reality Wars. One hack-rig is trying to work at your space, while you work at theirs. Who can write code fast
Hot Flowers
A hot flower bloomed from Reality Establishment Central Office. Glass shards like windblown seeds carried out on a sudden gust of air stung skin and
Cross Bones
The Jolly Roger unpacked in anyone’s head that crossed the geo-tagged spot. It unfurled like a warning. Carlos had hijacked this Hakim Bey Station a