Archive for July, 2011

Credit: ESA/NASA, ESO and Danny LaCrue


The stars swelled and bloated as if they were going to burst and take with them the entirety of the universe that surrounded them, a moment of luminous destruction to eat every rock and atom and bring it all back to the black that the stars had once liberated themselves from.  A horizon of several streams of light was left behind by the scattering stars. A gentle melancholy was quickly followed by a new hope of things left behind. The sinewy lights wove around each other creating a blanket of light with little bits of darkness spilling through. As she looked up at the canopy, she said, “This is life.” Blake had no idea what she meant by that, but it didn’t seem to matter. They still had a long way to go, it wouldn’t be long before he caught up them.


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It was a pleasure to burn

That old book said

before its pages curled a black coal curl

brittle, and scattered with embers dancing like fireflies in an otherwise empty world

It speaks now more than it ever did

It was a pleasure to burn


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It didn’t take long for James to come along and nudge him with his fat stump of an arm. As large as a mountain and twice as silent, James didn’t say anything when David staggered up and glared at him sharply. Indifferent to his glare of protest, James turned his attention to the rest of the cafeteria, scanning for any more stragglers.

Although James was barely 5’8” and exceeded 375 pounds, he was possibly the fastest thing on two legs. The gazelle can reach speeds of 50 mph, and, as anybody knows, the Cheetah beats this by at least 20 mph. In times of conflict, James could easily double this. There were many times when David witnessed a fight break out halfway across the ground floor of the school, and, in a breath, James was there strangling one guy with his left while holding another to the ground with his right. Watching James mediate conflicts was like watching a large beast overcome its prey on the Discovery Channel. It had the same magnificence and the same gore ridden climax that satisfied the savage bloodlust that all of men share.

One morning, David was unfortunate enough to feel his wrath. Walking past and courteously waving to James, which was returned with a smile, David passed him at a leisurely pace with a grin on his face from a more than satisfactory wake and bake session with true kine buds. Suddenly, he had something that could only be described as a giant orangutan on steroids on his back breathing hot breath into his ear molesting his ass. All the breath was pushed out of David and the substantial weight that was on his body wouldn’t allow any to come back in. Two hands scrambled around David’s ass, and his eyes went wide with the realization that the orangutan was trying to ass rape him. Afraid that if he screamed, it would only excite the beast more and entice it to donkey punch him in the back of the head while it vigorously pounded his ass. David tried to scream anyway, but all that came out was a whining whimper that sounded like it came out of twelve year old girl that had scraped her knee on the playground. The orangutan pulled something out of his pocket, and, before his cherry was popped, the weight lifted. At that moment, he knew how sailors who had been drowning must’ve felt when they finally found which way was up and found the surface. Taking in that first breath of cool air almost tears the lungs, but you’re not able to restrain yourself and you do so as if you may never be able to breath again. It was the breath of freedom without an ass rape.

James observed the black comb that was torn out of the young man’s back pocket with only a glimmer of regret. “Sorry, I thought it was a gun.” He held out the comb, handing it back to David in an unspoken gesture of peace, which David found unusual considering that James’ gesture was returning stolen property that had been obtained through fear and brute force.

David reached for the comb and took it without a word, gently nodding as he put it back into his pocket. There were no words for him to utter anyway. Some may say that he should’ve raised some voice of protest, stand on a soapbox and proclaim his tactics as abuses and demand reconciliation. David would submit that he was just happy to walk away with his cherry intact. Besides, David couldn’t help but respect such an animal in his natural environment, and when the animal nudges, you move.

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Minor thirds bring the head to sway, while a sixth swells the throat. Mere measurements, as the dying guitarist understands. Time is something that he will not know for long, and he relishes in his tones. A pulse driven by low resonance that pushes at the gut every time it’s plucked. And he dances with them. In spite of his willowed legs and arms, he still dances with those dancing notes. The sway of a knobby hip and a knotted shoulder. A dance of a dead thing that hasn’t left its time behind to finally get some rest. Still that dying thing plays. And he smiles.


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…shadow on shallow…

She felt the push and pull of the currents against her.

Weightless, her body shifted with the pull from the undertow. Serene, she flowed with its movement, twisting and turning. The currents caressed her young flesh, its sensual touch cradling every part. Not just her flesh, it went deeper. Inside of her, where nature could never penetrate, she felt a pulse in perfect harmony with the one that moved in her chest. As it pushed against her, her pulse pulled, and as her pulse pushed back, those currents lifted. She longed for nothing. She felt nothing. She knew nothing of…


Floating, senseless with nothing of suffering, some things still lingered, questions of things past, she struggled to find…


Was there life before this. Doesn’t really matter anyway. She had forgotten. There was something that she almost remembered, but she lost it again. She struggled for any thought, hazed and darkened, numbed and neglected. As quick as something came to her, it left. The only thing she could remember was that she yearned for whatever memory it was. She knew that she needed pain. She needed scars and the memory it would bring. The currents had carried her too far, and now she needed to try and find the lost pain that they had kept from her. Something else was kept from her, another sensation that had been long forgotten. Floating with those currents, she almost lost her thoughts again. Pleasure, she needed pain and pleasure. The currents had kept her from them both, suspended in their sway, pulsing with the current. They never left her.

She moved with them. As the currents moved, she ran her hand slowly across her body, feeling her firm flesh. As her palm grazed the peaks of her breasts, her blood warmed, and her muscles tensed slightly. The numb comfort of the pulsing currents held in contrast with the warmth of new blood moving through her flesh. Her fingers rose to her lips, caressing from one corner to the other. Her lips felt the slight heat from the tips. They gently parted, leaving way for one of her fingers to drop into the warmth of her mouth. Touching her tongue, she rolled it from side to side. The warmth swelled, spreading into her arms. She knew the currents felt it too and tried to keep their hold on her, trying to keep her numb. Pushing again against her body, the currents rolled her over.

She didn’t fight against them. She let them move her. Once again, the thoughts of her sensual touch were leaving her, and she struggled to bring them back. She kissed her fingertips, and, slowly, pulled them from her mouth and moved them down to her breasts. The heat from her fingertips had lost its subtlety and almost burned when touched her breasts. She moved the heat around her soft peaks, letting the warmth flow into her. She moved her hand farther down past her belly where she felt her greatest warmth.

Her other hand moved to her breasts, feeling more heat than had come with the former touch. The heat from her breasts moved down and met the heat that rose from between her thighs. Once they met, they flowed around each other and danced in her belly, flowing upward and outward, spreading through her entire body. She still moved with the current as she rolled over, head over foot and shoulder over shoulder, floating in the dark current and pulsing with it.

The hand between her thighs moved with the rhythm of the current, rubbing with its flowing movements. She caressed herself, breasts and belly, with one hand while she pushed the other harder and deeper inside. She pushed so hard that a sharp pain shook her from inside. She fell into herself as the pain shook her and took hold. More heat came with it. Her fingers warmed in her soft hot flesh that was swelling with blood. She threw her head back as the waves of heat moved up her body. She clutched tightly to her breast with one hand while the other moved deeper, feeling the pulse pushing strongly from inside. Still keeping with what was around her, she moved her hand in and out in a rhythm between the pulses of the currents. Somewhere between force and pulse, the heat came on strong again. Her fingers ground hard against the soft flesh inside of her, tearing it. Blood flowed from her and surrounded her with the warmth of life. It floated with her, bouncing from her skin and trying to return to the common body it once knew. As she moved, heat and pain flowed into each other in complement. She bit her lip until it bled, joining the rest of the blood in a dance of memory, sharing what was known and what was left behind. She pulled her legs together, still keeping the rhythm with her hand. In and out, soft flesh pulsated harder around her fingers. She pushed farther and harder, deeper and faster. She knew it was coming. It was almost there.

The heat reached its threshold and held her every. Push, feel the heat. Touch the warmth. Allow yourself to be engulfed by it, the pain, the catalyst, the heat, the means. It grew as her body turned and toppled out of control. The build was too much, and she couldn’t stop it.

Her hand clenched tightly around her breast as her fingers inside went rigid. Her legs pressed tightly against each other as her body erupted in a war of heat and power. She threw her head back and opened her green eyes. The…


…returned to her in a sudden burst of thought, a pulse strong enough to allow the rivers of thought to flow through. With the pulse, the fear for her brother came to her.

She saw him. She saw him falling away from her, falling into the darkest pits of the earth, to be left there until the earth turn to stone.

She looked on his face as he fell away from her into the depths, his eyes glowing green.

His mouth moved as if to speak, but she couldn’t hear anything, nothing at all.

Her hand reached out but touched nothing, finding nothing kind. His body was disappearing into dark, and being consumed by it. His eyes were crying, crying for her. Those eyes that were a reflection of hers battled the same forces that sought to swallow all.

He fell too fast, too far

She pushed to him

To save him

To save her

He pushed to her

She fell too fast, too far

Wretched and scarred, he saw the sway of the water carry her deeper and deeper into oblivion. He could not stop her from falling away from him, her body going dark and deep as he reached for her, her flowing hair swimming around her lovely pale face, moving in long waves, brushing her gentle cheek.

Her mouth moved as if to speak, but he couldn’t hear anything, nothing at all.

Her pale skin faded too and all that was left were her glowing green eyes, and they too were fading. Her eyes faded gently into the dark depths, glowing darker and darker still with every passing moment. No. Not her. Leave her alone. He wanted it to be him instead. He would let his fate be the one of the fall and let hers be left to her. He would take it, one to take for the other. His end would be her deliverance.


The cold sway of the endless dark held him hard, holding him close to stone.

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I miss having real friends.

Well, not really. I never had any friends. But these Internet Intimates, Coded Companions, or Digi-Friends seem strange and unfamiliar by comparison even though I don’t have anything to compare them to. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to meet up with one of them. Not in any funky sexual kind of way. You sick pervs should wash your minds out with soap. No, wait. Bad idea. That will probably do some sort of irreparable damage. Just stop thinking dirty thoughts.

For the Digi-Friends that I have profound conversations with, would our conversations turn to mundane comments about the weather in the real world. Or would the insights into the depths of human understanding be retained and indeed expanded by our corporeal interaction. I fear that the most amazing conversations would quickly turn to silence. The quick wit and amazing wordplay would be lost to fumbling stutters or long breaks in-between trains of thought. Oh. Woe are those who converse through their fingers in 140 characters or less only to meet at another moment to find themselves still holding their breath but with no device through which to speak. Digi-Discourse? The clicks of keys replace the clicking of the tongue betwixt syllables. Radiant glow of liquid crystal replaces the visage of an interlocutor.

Digi-friends will never be bother by a stutter. True. But what is lost with the breath between friends. The crack of a smile that follows a sarcastic comment is left only to emoticons and the parenthetical. I can only show my excitement, anger, or frustration with CAPS LOCK AND EXCLAMATION!!!!!! Dialect is replaced with use of acronyms. Lol or lulz? Context is everything! LMAO, ITT, WIN, CTOP, PWNED, LEIK, OP. Why is OP always a fag? And if everyone is Anon, then I guess no one really knows anyone and therefore the “friends” in digi-friends is left with just digi. Which is somewhat of a relief if you ask me. Since I never had any friends, but remember  reading somewhere about what they’re supposed to be leik, the comparison between what could’ve been digi-friends and friends was  a country that I would’ve much rather left undiscovered for fear of what I could’ve missed out on.

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There’s going to be a war. This war is going to be fucking awesome. It’s going to decide the fate of the world and the gods that inhabit it. It’s going to be fucking choice! Blood, piss, guts, death raining down from above in splatters of matter and bone fragments. Never in the history of time, space, and everything has there been a battle like this. Not only that, there’ s a fucking mystery that needs to be solved too. This guy, Shadow, who just got out of prison, but it’s OK because he’s really a nice guy, is going to find out he’s the badest motherfucker in the world. Sure his wife died blowing his best friend, and her walking corpse is following his every motion, but that’s only adding to the fucking mystery, right?

For those of you whom may have read the book may know where I’m going to go with this.

Nothing happens.


Nothing at all.

Many will probably say something like, “but the characters are so rich and intricate!” To which I wholeheartedly agree. I’ll also respond with a “So what?” If an entire book is building up to this promise of hell on earth and death and destruction to decide the fate of the gods, it better have a damn good reason on not delivering on it. I understand that the gods, having become twisted from their original incarnations, were only seeking the war for their own selfish means, which could come from the desperation of being in a nation that has become so ethnically mixed that no god can claim power or dominance without destroying the rest, and/or could even be understood as the constant tension that lies within the nation itself. But, don’t be a dick tease with the blood and death.

I’m told that HBO has greenlit an adaptation of American Gods into a series ala True Blood and Game of Thrones. My only hope is that the first season doesn’t climax with Shadow eating a Pastie in a small town in the Central Midwest.

If I want to read a book with beautiful prose where nothing really happens, I’ll read some Cormac McCarthy. See, I loooveeee McCarthy, but I expect him to describe in minute detail every plate full of beans that his protagonists eat or cup of coffee that they drink. And I’m fine with that. I could listen to him illiterate beans, tortillas, and coffee in a myriad of settings. But Cormac doesn’t promise a war to end all wars. If anything, he down plays what’s going to happen, making it all the more shocking when it finally does.

All of this being said, I can’t say that American Gods sucks. It doesn’t. All of the characters are interesting and amazingly well-developed. There are plenty of notes of Neil Gaiman’s wonderous wordplay. The concept of Gods walking amongst us in a sort of melting pot of lost deities trying to find their place in the world is both exciting and carefully crafted, even if the main character is kind of a dud – I mean, the guy finds out he’s the son of a god and the coolest thing he can manage to do is ride a fucking bird.

American Gods is a beautifully written, intricately plotted novel with amazingly well developed characters. But it is also really fucking boring.


I was expecting this….







And I got this…

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