Button
But on the button was the words don’t put your butt on the button; it was on the button. You sometimes wonder at the idiocy of those in charge, especially when they charge over the ramparts into the face of enemy fire.…
Keep It Regular
But on the button was the words don’t put your butt on the button; it was on the button. You sometimes wonder at the idiocy of those in charge, especially when they charge over the ramparts into the face of enemy fire.…
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 plant that would visit him and try to spatter him him with the undifferentiated tissue of word…
Mull of Kintyre pricks are not offensive but fully erect pricks are, and don’t you dare bring a vagina near the TV screen. Did you know that there are Lesbians in the world, and Homosexuals? Did you know there are people spread…
Heat scatter. Atmosphere leak. They were being buffeted around; bodies being littered into the vacuum. Hunters in hot pursuit. Trying to fire up impromptu transit gates in an overly active theatre was a recipe for shrapnel spread. Hague punched the anchor-stutter button,…
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 you are born in a blackout. His mother’s friend-or-foe signal box failed to recognise him on several…
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 in one place, move themselves elsewhere, and get to reassembling. The Death Faced Boys are one of…
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 which direction the shot was fired. People tell you things about the country, about the county; people…
He is Haiku Division – rattling out fletchette words on the frontlines; mortar rounds. He can see the Long Prose Division a few hundred feet away and he is wondering what they are targetting. Poets are dangerous now. Slammed into the wall…
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 enough to penetrate and unseat the other player? Tom has a Burroughs-Gysin Cut-Up Machine appended to his…
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 blinded eyes, and was followed by the scent of burning. Naire lay there with her chest become…