Tag: prose

It is interesting when you sit down to tell your own story, because you realise that is has been out there for a while, delivered in snippets that you didn’t even recognise a news for anyone. I never thought, as a journalist,…

The fragments of a baby are scattered on the ground in a way that suggests it was dipped in liquid nitrogen before the perpetrator took a hammer to it. There is a cephalopod in a squeeze maze while Captain Beefheart plays. A…

How long to turn John into a Camera Head – walking existential trigger point? Finger snap. Camera snap. Shoot. Sniper. Photographer. He has people in his crosshairs always. John roaming around, subvocal binary spew infecting the electronics, and subliminal commands in the…

She orbits around him sometimes. He orbits around her at others. There are other satellites which move through the space. Broken bodies in the skies; shattered angels. Is this era alive? Is this a fallow period where the dreams are not planted?…

I remember the air on fire. A strange taste – something chemical. The flames. And something organic alight underneath. My clothes were flame resistant, and the filters in the mask kept a lot of it out. You get an idea that sticks…

In a Rewind Zone. Calais was designation Chanticleer One. It was funny to him that he could walk around in one of these causally screwed up regions and barely any of the denizens had a clue that time was rolling in the…

All the hypnotic sheeple rotated around the supermarket as the muzak seeped into them and turned their bones to jelly. They leaked a small amount of pee into their pants at every step, and that triggered an urge to buy some Frontlode…

He was hung upside down above this latest little poster he had designed, hanging by Grip-Tips fastened firmly into the concrete. There was an Own-Drone cycling around the building lower down, and he knew if it spotted him one of the Integrity…

I used to think of myself as an answer to the problems of the people that came to me, but I was wrong. They were answers that walked through my door to clue me in on things I was puzzled about. I…

He took no pictures. He collected other people’s pictures. He told a story with the fragmentary narrative of a magpie consciousness. Distributed network profundity. Turn on the hose and leave the hose. It is in a glass room with a child in…