The tiny sprite within the glass danced in emerald joy, sailing in and out of sight as the liquid poured. She beckoned to all at the table, enticing, enchanting. She was the gateway to inspiration, and music, or so the mortals believed. Her heart was wormwood, and her true gifts were madness and death. The icy water flowed over her, clouding her skin, as her power awakened. But the sweetness, the enticement…Was off. It burned her. Her louched countenance withered and shrieked in anguish.
“What on earth are you doing?!?”
“Splenda. Can’t have real sugar. Shouldn’t affect the taste much.”
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Monday, May 30, 2011
100/100 -8-
“So what went wrong?”
“Nothing! I swear! The doll was made from the finest porcelain, fired in the tradition of the great alchemists, painted with the wishes of little girls, and the tears of the women they would become. The glass of her eyes were made from the sands of time. Her hair was threaded gold. The mechanisms within formed the essences of the tree of life, the jewels fixing them in place were iterations of chakras. She would have been a living automaton. A perfect daughter.”
“And the winding mechanism?”
“Grenade timer. Do you think that was the problem?”
“Nothing! I swear! The doll was made from the finest porcelain, fired in the tradition of the great alchemists, painted with the wishes of little girls, and the tears of the women they would become. The glass of her eyes were made from the sands of time. Her hair was threaded gold. The mechanisms within formed the essences of the tree of life, the jewels fixing them in place were iterations of chakras. She would have been a living automaton. A perfect daughter.”
“And the winding mechanism?”
“Grenade timer. Do you think that was the problem?”
Sunday, May 29, 2011
100/100 -7-
“What’s on the menu?”
“All sorts of good things. Fox oden, Nine demon soup…”
The intern looked down at the menu, Trying to read the characters next to the prices. It didn’t help that they kept shifting on the page as he tried to read them.
“Isn’t this the Nine Demon Café?”
“Yep. Run by nine demons.”
“Are they…”
“Slow barbecued, coated in a sweet sauce, and served with noodles in broth? Oh yes. One of the benefits of being immortal. You can use your own body as ingredients.”
The intern paled.
“It’s rare that something really is magically delicious.”
“All sorts of good things. Fox oden, Nine demon soup…”
The intern looked down at the menu, Trying to read the characters next to the prices. It didn’t help that they kept shifting on the page as he tried to read them.
“Isn’t this the Nine Demon Café?”
“Yep. Run by nine demons.”
“Are they…”
“Slow barbecued, coated in a sweet sauce, and served with noodles in broth? Oh yes. One of the benefits of being immortal. You can use your own body as ingredients.”
The intern paled.
“It’s rare that something really is magically delicious.”
Saturday, May 28, 2011
100/100 -6-
“Lolita!”
“Been there.”
“Fairy Kei!”
“Too fluffy.”
“Guro!”
“Well…”
“What?”
“The hardest part of any fashion, especially when you put it out online, is finding a look you like, and getting enough pieces and practice to make that look your own. By the time you get it right, everyone’s doing something else. I remember spending months building a carousel top-hat, only for everyone think they were passé by the time I was done. So, rather than work on my own image, I thought I’d take one from someone established.”
“How?”
“With a scalpel.”
“Wow. How does she look on you?”
“Been there.”
“Fairy Kei!”
“Too fluffy.”
“Guro!”
“Well…”
“What?”
“The hardest part of any fashion, especially when you put it out online, is finding a look you like, and getting enough pieces and practice to make that look your own. By the time you get it right, everyone’s doing something else. I remember spending months building a carousel top-hat, only for everyone think they were passé by the time I was done. So, rather than work on my own image, I thought I’d take one from someone established.”
“How?”
“With a scalpel.”
“Wow. How does she look on you?”
Cult Fiction
This is the sort of moment you think only happens in stories.
There's a lame bar on the corner of Milwaukee and Western. The service is unpleasant, the food is overpriced, and it isn't worth thinking about the drinks. There's a room upstairs that's barely lit, with its own bar, and its own music, and everybody there is a wizard.
You think I'm kidding.
There's a guy with scars on his back that looks at stories like a conductor looks at sheet music. He can take it apart, knows how all the elements fall into place, and will look you straight in the eyes and ask you why your life is worth telling.
Another, the dreamer, will kiss his children on the forehead before he drags you screaming into a circus of blood and anguish. Worse, as you're chained into the madness, he'll wonder why you haven't thanked him for the privilege.
There's a sly latin man who has the wisdom of a thousand years of grandmothers, and whose sorrow you just want to kiss. Not to take away, but to steal for yourself.
These are powerful forces, gathered in a secret bar in a secret space, they could recreate the world if they wished.
And last night was open mike night.
The devil's factory was recited. God complained about the 10 plagues he -didn't- impose on the Egyptians. Refined ponies folded lace napkins.
And I was up.
I wasn't auditioning for them. I made my friends and proved myself years ago. I just need to know, as I began my path once more, if I could unlock it in myself.
And the monster came out. Dreaming of murder and torture, and the taste of flesh. Of assault made sacred.
And I came back.
Tuesdays are going to be a lot more fun. I know a place.
There's a lame bar on the corner of Milwaukee and Western. The service is unpleasant, the food is overpriced, and it isn't worth thinking about the drinks. There's a room upstairs that's barely lit, with its own bar, and its own music, and everybody there is a wizard.
You think I'm kidding.
There's a guy with scars on his back that looks at stories like a conductor looks at sheet music. He can take it apart, knows how all the elements fall into place, and will look you straight in the eyes and ask you why your life is worth telling.
Another, the dreamer, will kiss his children on the forehead before he drags you screaming into a circus of blood and anguish. Worse, as you're chained into the madness, he'll wonder why you haven't thanked him for the privilege.
There's a sly latin man who has the wisdom of a thousand years of grandmothers, and whose sorrow you just want to kiss. Not to take away, but to steal for yourself.
These are powerful forces, gathered in a secret bar in a secret space, they could recreate the world if they wished.
And last night was open mike night.
The devil's factory was recited. God complained about the 10 plagues he -didn't- impose on the Egyptians. Refined ponies folded lace napkins.
And I was up.
I wasn't auditioning for them. I made my friends and proved myself years ago. I just need to know, as I began my path once more, if I could unlock it in myself.
And the monster came out. Dreaming of murder and torture, and the taste of flesh. Of assault made sacred.
And I came back.
Tuesdays are going to be a lot more fun. I know a place.
Friday, May 27, 2011
100/100 -5-
The queen of the sparkleponies worked on her scrapbook as her fairy assistants fluttered, glistening under the glass of the sacred moon chamber. She examined the pages, containing hundreds of images of sparkleponies, each one more darling and dimpled than the next. She took her time, affixing new pictures in the tome, as she recited their names in loving memory. Beauty was the currency of the sparkleponies, and each of these lovelies represented wealth nearly as great as the Queen’s. She smiled admiringly at them all, noting that the glittering glue made from their boiled hooves formed the ideal adhesive.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
100/100 -4-
She knelt reverently in the basement of 2nd Hand Tunes. Surrounding her were theosophic seances, throat music, and the chantings of Siberian Khlysty pressed in vinyl. She gathered the records into a pile, and climbed the stairs. The cashier smiled as she gathered her funds.
“Interesting mix.”
“We’ll see once I get them on the tables.”
“Bringing something special to the party, dear?”
She winked as she touched the plaque on the door, matching a tattoo on her arm.
‘The sword cuts the barrier. The torch lights the way. And the break is the voice of God in the Song.’
“Interesting mix.”
“We’ll see once I get them on the tables.”
“Bringing something special to the party, dear?”
She winked as she touched the plaque on the door, matching a tattoo on her arm.
‘The sword cuts the barrier. The torch lights the way. And the break is the voice of God in the Song.’
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
100/100 -3-
The cyclist gazed up at the bag being attached to the IV, watching the deep dark fill into his arm.
“What’s it this time?”
“Something special. This will do the trick.”
The coach gave him the thumbs up. The cyclist sighed. Transfusions rarely did much, but were illegal enough to get you banned from racing. As he rested, however, his heart picked up speed. The room was so painfully bright, and the blood in the bag…wasn’t nearly enough. He was going to need so much more. The coach smiled, his canines lengthening.
“Thank goodness the race is at night, eh?”
“What’s it this time?”
“Something special. This will do the trick.”
The coach gave him the thumbs up. The cyclist sighed. Transfusions rarely did much, but were illegal enough to get you banned from racing. As he rested, however, his heart picked up speed. The room was so painfully bright, and the blood in the bag…wasn’t nearly enough. He was going to need so much more. The coach smiled, his canines lengthening.
“Thank goodness the race is at night, eh?”
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
100/100 -2-
“It’s all math,” said the sorcerer, as he tapped on his ipad. “Prayers, incantations, all rely on set forms of mathematics. Did you know Sir Gawain and The Green Knight had a prayer encoded into the meter of the poem? Incredibly complex pattern. Formed a seal of Solomon when it was decoded. No one knows what it was for. But, when you know the patterns, and can grasp the math. It can be put to all sorts of purposes.” He finished and pressed ‘send’.
“Hello! Good Friend I am the Director of Economics for Nigeria. Ten Million is locked away…”
“Hello! Good Friend I am the Director of Economics for Nigeria. Ten Million is locked away…”
Monday, May 23, 2011
100/100 -1-
“The soul isn’t energy,” said the necromancer as his intern assembled the contents of his instructor’s bag. “It’s kind of a story. You start as a blank slate. And then your senses kick in. You imprint on things. And as you do, a thread forms in your mind that puts those imprints together, and forms a core. Memories make new threads, and it all weaves together, forming…You.” The intern held a box, winding with magnetic tape, affixed to a hose, which the intern forced down the throat of the injured child, strapped to a dirty chair. “Now, what’s your story?”
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