To: Weezewob, poet laureate of the third moon, Krang, of the planet Shoopiwopp
From: Flightless bird publishing house
CC: Flightless bird publishing house legal dept.
Attch: The fable of Luck ammendments.doc 53Kb
Subject: Reluctant refusal
Im afraid I have to refuse your submission for our upcoming anthology of Universal Fables. You may not be away of this, but our primary market are the carbon based sentient life forms on the Boobies Planets of Ultimate DOOOM!1 lolz!. As they are a species of limited perspective and knowledge, a lot of the references and allusions you make will be beyond their comprehen
It was a quiet evening on Earth II.
Despite its name, Earth II was not settled by humans, it had been discovered by Grabulag of the Hrungg species even before human ancestors had lost their gills. Grabulag thought the name had a nice ring to it. However, this point was later ignored by the Human Empire who started a long and bitter legal confrontation with the Hrungg species that left several billion dead on each side. The conflict was finally resolved after the Human Empire shifted to internet polling for all their governmental referendum and the planet Earth, including all numerical derivitaves in the Human Empire, were renamed Boo
A boy of tender age
Had a very special friend.
When Herburt was down
And couldnt shake his blues,
who would appear?
except dear Casanova Smooth.
A magic yellow ferret
with seven green eyes
and three bushy tails.
He would dance and sing
being a very playful thing
until Hurbert was joyful again.
Caring Casanova Smooth.
Songs he would sing
of joyful and sorrowful things,
like castles built underground
and upside down!
Or stars with giant electric heads
combing their hair with mountains,
Made Hurbert ask,
Where are you from?
But his friend wo
Im selling out my soul.
You can have my life,
My spirit and my love.
You can have my whole God damn life.
Ill spend my time working
Ill buy your shit
And Ill never look at the sky.
Id like to blame you
And say it was all your fault.
This is the last moment
I can be honest with myself.
My soul can speak to me.
Im giving up and
And Im selling out.
Youve promised me no more pain.
All you want is my soul.
How can I say no?
Were living in Heaven.
You tell me so.
Happy smiles and healthy bodies.
Or sex and drugs and disease.
A world of
Life plays dirty and throws a few mean punches.
You gotta roll with the times.
It's a lot to expect if you expect nothing less than what you deserve.
Gotta move gotta dance
The punch line's coming fast,
Gotta get involved if you wanna understand.
Take my hand and see me through the dance.
Wind whispers secrets through the leaves
Tales of love and life age and make them drop.
The weight of laughter and tears floats them to the earth
And makes good the soil for Spring's lush awakening
And the telling of new tales.
Seven am blues! (Oh ah oh)
Sunrise hurts my eyes, honey it's no joke,
The night before, it isn't ev
Screams of the forsaken echoed down the stone corridors into th small admissions office. The single lightbulb, caked with grime, cast a weak light over the yellowing papers strewn about haphazardly. There was a small man behind an old oak desk, shuffling a few of the papers, moving them from one side of the desk to the other. His thin black hair was ineffectually combed over the top of his spotted head. After a moment he cleared his throat and looked up at the visitor in his admissions office. Behind thick glasses, his eyes were dull and bloodshot.
"Not often we get live souls in the Grave Yard," he said, with a thick, unschooled accent.
"There are no small victories. It doesn't matter how many battles you win if you lose the war." Spoke the captor.
"The war isn't over, there are more battles left to fight, more victories to be snatched from your choking fingers." Replied his prize.
"You have lost the war, can't you see that?" He pointed to the ropes that bound his prisoner.
"I'm not your final objective; others will take up my mantle – you can't crush free will." The captor laughed at this.
"What is this 'free will'? It's a fantasy, a delusion. A story you tell your children so they can sleep at night, and a story you tell yourself to achieve the same ends. So you can fu
A screen turned on. It showed a man running down a long, poorly lit, corridor. He looked about thirty; his tailored suit was torn and one of his shoes was missing. The walls of the corridor were steel, and badly rusted; red stains covered the cold surface like some expensive over-coat. Naked lights hung down from the ceiling and feebly threw their light against the dead walls, highlighting a network of intersecting channels and gullies that scarred the walls. The figure on screen was ghostly and distant, black and white. The light from the screen barely illuminated a small square room where the unobserved observer sat watching.
He was please
"Did you watch the football?" John asked. Dave was struck by the sheer idleness of the question.
"I don't care about football," he replied.
"I know that." A gleeful silence reinstated itself; only to be shattered moments later by John's high voice. "Just thought you might have watched it."
"Well I didn't."
"Had you have done, you would have seen a good match," Dave replied with a non-committal grunt.
"Yeah; good game. Seven yellow cards." A pause. The only sound in the room was the gentle shifting of ash. It was dark, and humid. Ventilation had been cut off, for fear of feeding the fire that previously burnt.
"One foul was particularly
These quotes come from the Good News Bible.
Genesis chapter 2 verse 9 "... the tree that gives knowledge of what is good and what is bad"
Genesis chapter 3 verse 7 "As soon as they had eaten it, they were given understanding."
If two identical men walk up to you and the first says 'Do not put your hand in a fire' and the second 'Put your hand in a fire' I think most people would follow the former's advice. We've experienced fire before, probably gotten burnt at least once, and so make a judgement based on past experience. This I will refer to as a value judgement.
We also, however, make a judgement on the action, ie. 'What do I have to ga
I walked along the street and was confronted by a wall. It was a low red brick wall, about twenty meters long. At each extremity there was a bookend, shaped like a man with a flat head and square feet, about one meter squared at both the base and the tip – perfect for standing on. The wall was split down the middle, by the weather. On the left percipitation was evident, rain drops as big as a man's fist were falling. On the right the sun was beaming down, illuminating every facet. After I had looked at the wall I noticed a man; he was standing on the left bookend, under an umbrella. I walked to him and asked:
"Why are you standing there?"
It was a day before I had to hand in my essay. It had kept me up the night before - I couldn't answer the question to the best of my ability no matter what I wrote; I needed to say something. This was the proper way to go about it, early and apologetically. After all, this was the only piece I couldn't have done with my categories (Sorry to disagree with you Kant, but I've been thinking on my own and my mind is not structured the same as yours). I knocked on the door before being asked to enter.
"Hello sir, I need to talk to you about my essay." I said politely to my teacher.
"Ah yes, what is it then? I trust everything's alright?"
What is your height?
What is your weight?
What colour are your eyes?
What colour are you father's eyes?
Do you drink? Do you smoke?
Do you lie?
Do you love? Do you feel?
Do you think? For yourself?
Have your own opinions, views and prejudices?
Or do you ignore what you don't understand;
And make a joke instead.
Red berries litter the floor
Reflecting the light with a bloody hue.
They are swollen; pregnant,
Life threatens to tear through their skin
To leave them empty and hollow.
We shroud our natures
With prepackaged, manufactured ideals.
We shrink to fit them -
But life threatens us;
It guarantees our end.
So I crushed the berries,
Welcoming my denial.
The nib lands gracefully and brushed the face of the page,
It glides like silk against skin;
Yet leaves its impression forever.
The ink is uniform, a perfect ghost of the movement.
Together they've changed, each stroke a progression.
Behind the pen my hand is practiced. It never stutters or stops.
My eyes scan.
My brain, assesses.
I just need to know what I think I'm, like, convaying...
Current Residence: Bracknell Favourite genre of music: Psychadellia Favourite style of art: Surrealism Skin of choice: Human Favourite cartoon character: Stan Marsh Personal Quote: 'Ugh.' For when words fail. 'I hope you choke and die.'
Favourite Visual Artist
Rocky Horror Picture Show
Favourite Bands / Musical Artists
Herman Melville, George Orwell, Jospeh Conrad and Franz Kafka.
Favourite Gaming Platform
Internet connected computer
Tools of the Trade
Intuition and careful observation.
Nihilism to a great extent, stoicism to a lesser one.
Title: The Exorcist
Author: William Peter Blattey
Catagorised as: Horror/Supernatural
Premise: A young girl shows signs of supernatural possession during an age of skepticism, it's up to a young priest to convice the church - and himself - that an exorcism will cure her.
I'd like to quickly mention the film, directed by William Friedkin, as one of my all-time-favourites.
Anyway, the novel is less hard hitting than the film - in my opinion - and certainly more ambiguous. This is due to the sheer uncertainty permeating every character and chapter. The novel offers no absolutes, yet every character craves them. The tone is uncompromisingly
Title: 'A Clockwork Orange'
Author: Anthony Burgess
Catagorised as: Sci-fi/Satire
Premise: The story follows Alex, the fifteen year old narrator, as he goes about his business; namely: drugs, women, 'lashings of ultra-violence', theft and other criminal activities.
Alex is finally captured by the 'rozz' and taken to prison. Here he volunteers for an experiment that reprograms him. He is unprogramed at the end.
Other: Also released as a film under the same title. This film was banned in UK cinemas, it has since been released.
Despite everything I'd heard, I wasn't prepared for this book. Perhaps the firs
Title: 'Battle Royale'
Author: Koushun Takami
Catagorised as: Fantasy/Sci-fi
Premise: Fifty two highschool students (aged fifteen) are taken to a deserted island and told that they must participate in a game, where the only rule is that there can only be one survivor. If they refuse to play, then they will all die.
Other: Also released as a film with the same title.
Don't read this book if you suffer from paranoia! The narritive dips into the thoughts and feelings of the, shall we say, comeptitors and weaves these accounts seamlessly into a third person narritave. The effect is excellent, making the action more immediate, and it makes th
well i'll add a comment just because i like seeing my signature etc.. its a vanity thing.. i got that social classification quiz on an email... seem to remember i got about half goth half geek... when i'm merely a morbid intellectual
yes your work is super awesome surfer duuuude... an eclectic mix of pieces