[x]

SomedayJane and Ellis floated parallel to one another across the vast canvas of space, eyeing the marble-like planets that slowly crept past them. Their skin reflected the starlight with a dull orange sheen. Ellis had called it 'planet gazing,' an activity he apparently thought suitable for a date.

"Do you see that one below us?" Ellis said, pointing to a round blue mass.

Jane shrugged.

"Isn't it beautiful?" he asked. "I'll bet it's beautiful on the surface, too. Like the way the dust begins to spiral when a star is forming."

"Something like that," Jane said. She didn't understand his excitement. Planets were nothing interesting. They were just

Conscious Stream From The Chemical PlantThe following is a non-fictional account of a conscious stream that took place during my exploration of a water treatment plant.

I was at the office, looking at the wall-sized whiteboard. Around 200 buildings stared back at me, numbered and color-coded. I've been to pretty much all of them, but one unfamiliar number stuck out to me. #41. What a boring number. MUD Platte West, that's a Metropolitain Utilities District. I look up the address and drive. Just to go see it. And by the way, this isn't even a slow day for me, this is mostly what I do.

I drive West for 35 minutes, which is forever in Omaha time. One road, Q St, hills, mead

Russian RouletteThey take her on her honeymoon.

The wedding was lovely, or as lovely as it could have been with a couple that were more polite acquaintances than anything else and two sets of in-laws as stuffy as a dusty pile of money. They grab her when she sneaks out for a walk one night, two men, beefy, not even bothered to arm themselves. Her last thought before the bag is shoved over her eyes is to wonder how much this would ruin her parents' plans.

She comes to in a small brick room on a sallow mattress, windowless and lit by a cool yellow lamp. There's a man there, standing just outside the barred door.

"Kelly Shale," he says, voice nasally, greasy

The Order of Sublime Simulacra Kamon woke to the sound of bells and saws. The ceremony must have started hours ago; there was invigorating yellow sunlight outside the gauzy curtains. Kamon's Self was intoning eight o'clock, eight o'clock with all the insistence of a song looping in his head.

Flesh brain, he thought, you should have caught that alarm. Sometimes the flesh was louder than the devices supposed to make it properly quiet. The flesh insisted on the persistence of the Real. This was exactly the type of lesson that the brothers were supposed to learn, and Kamon hoped that relaying to the abbot how thoroughly he had learned it might lighten the inevitable punishm

Whiskey Laden DreamsBitter eyes and tears might taint a drink, but sitting in this bar alone with your stool pulled out next to me, and the Martini poured regardless of your presence still brings a smile to my face; despite the taste. I'm having a whiskey myself; dry. Yes, I know I don't drink, but every once in a while you need whiskey to solve an intricate problem, and mine is the distinct lack of alcohol in my life.

There are people everywhere and it amazes me how none of them are you, from the woman in the black dress coming down the stairs to the signing couple in the corner, laughing silently. They're not you at all, and that's what's amazing – in an

the Chandler's Around the WayThe hose slipped out again. Chan cursed, and shoved it back into the incision he'd made, adjusted his mask, and bent over the pump. He yanked the cord, and the pump started to life with a cough of biodiesel. It bounced on the sand as it grumbled away. Chan kept one hand on it and held the hose in place with the other.
If fucking Fathers would spend the bone on a new one, I wouldn't be all night at this, Chan grumbled. He ached for a smoke, but didn't have the hands to spare. Plenty of hands here, he thought as he glanced at the riverbank. Some of them even had a pulse.
"Hey," he said to whoever was closest.
It was a sunbather. A walker who drew enough bone to slot time on the beach without having to fight for it. She had each arm draped around a man, both of them tattooed in the same place with the same sigil. Chan was jealous. Someday he'd have his own numbers, but they'd be women. All of them. He was old-fashioned like that.
The walker answered without raising her sungl

A Pocket Full of SkyWhen I was young, my father would take me to the highest tower of Notre Dame precisely once a year. It would be cold. Freezing. But we'd stand there, and take deep breaths of air, and peer down, towards the tiny ants of people below. Down, towards the sprawling city beneath us. It was always winter, when we'd go. Always cold. Freezing, freezing. But however cold it was, and however dull and bleary the weather, my father would ask one thing, and one thing only: that we adhered to tradition.

"Lucie," he would say, with the fond smile and kind eyes I always remember. "Lucie, my peach. Whatever you become, and wherever your heart and mind leads

Across the Sea and Around the KotatsuSpring

Taco Rice

Mom starts with rice. Japanese rice, one, two, three Japanese cup-fulls of rice grains into the cooker, because Sis eats a lot of this stuff. It's one of her favorite dishes, taco rice, and Mom's always happy to make it for her because it's the only way Sis will eat her tomatoes. But back to the rice. "You want to rinse at least three or four times, until the water's kind of clear," Mom says as she cups her hand under the cooker pot, letting the cloudy water wash over her hand.

Rice cooking's easy though – just fill enough water to the point the rice's covered, punch in a time (or set it to "Quick Cook," which with our cre

Critic vs Writer: A Conversation of ReconciliationI am a book blogger.

Since not everyone is familiar with the term, I'll go ahead and lay it out for you. I read, analyze, and write about books. I give my opinion on characters, setting, genre, style, and sometimes even covers. I say what works, what doesn't, and what I'd like to see.

In short, I criticize.

Back - back foul demon! Burn the witch! Don't come anywhere near me!

Yeah, I know you're all thinking it. What gives me the right to rifle through someone's hard work and put its flaws on display? Who do I think I am, slandering authors with false interpretations and quotes made out of context?

I'm a writer.

Yeah, of nothing but muck

Forgiveness EconomicsGenesis

But for the small purple stain on its border, the banknote was non-descript.

It had a value but men value things in different ways and by different means. It had a value, but its value is not it's story.

It landed on the church plate face up, coming to rest softly on the flat silver base amongst the loose change like it was tossed to the cloth of a gambling table, soundless but with a small sense of resignation. A man paying for luck, a man asking his God for a favor.

It came from the wallet of a small sad man, who feared the Good Lord daily. The banknote was the weekly price of his penance, the bill of sale for those half-remembe

of the ground-

It was Sunday night when Geo climbed into my room from the fire escape. I was painting my toenails and listening to the sounds of the city: police sirens, pulsating bass, the kids in my tenement running guitar riffs back and forth with the street musicians on the sidewalk. That was the year I turned sixteen and took a two-month vow of silence to honor the death of autumn. A premature snow had robbed the season of its delicate warmth and color, forcing the maples to weep their leaves into the gutters. All that rainwater, all that decay. How could anyone create when October was dying outside their windows? Pete and Jake practiced acoustic th

PhilosoraptorOne of the most intriguing nuances of the Universe is that, time and again, it manages to outdo itself in terms of sheer oddity. One of these examples dwells on the validus humus* Gaia, north on the lateral plane of the galactic core of G2427626, known as the Milky Way galaxy in some ares of the Universe.

This creature, of primarily upright reptilian descent, is around the height of a larval valde vermis; it is omnivorous, with large claws and excellent vision, and can bring down a grown bupholant with little effort. It is perfectly adapted to its environment, and by every law of nature and evolution it should not have developed intelligence

The BenchThere's a bench in the park that I never sit on. It sits tucked away, separate from the rest, coddled by the arms of a great old oak tree. Or beech. Or chestnut. Or something. Behind the tree curves the grey concrete of a 1970s flowerbed. Filled with the wax yellow and red of begonias in the summer, the flimsy flickers of pansies in the winter.

I come to the park every day. Sometimes I sit and eat my lunch, freed from the mire of the joyless office box I inhabit for 40 hours a week. Sometimes I walk around, following the tarmac tracks without thought or hope or desire.

Today is no special day. Its grey. One of those British days of murk. It

The Substitution ParadigmThe Substitution Paradigm

Ramu came up to our table. Glaring at me, he said, “You either order something or get out.”
I glanced away from the threat, and turned to Raghav. A single drop of sweat was running down his brow. Ramu saw that too and identifying his prey, he sprung.

Swinging around, he faced Raghav, “Order something or get out.”

Then Ramu just stood there. It was not as if we had rehearsed it before hand, but he knew. He knew that my co-occupants generally folded in the first round. Only the stout made it to second level, but they too buckled under Ramu’s relentless gaze.

I always had a policy of n

All Falling in the EndYou start with yourself.

Before anything grand can happen, you have to make a decision. A vow of dedication to your cause. Your ideals. Your path to reforming the world. The one that won’t forget you to the last seconds of your life and far beyond in neither heaven nor hell. Now that you have picked your door in the corridor of choices, you walk in, and the door locks itself behind you. The exhilarating click of devout commitment.

You start with a person.

It’s surprisingly hard to wield a knife properly, but your palms aren’t sweating. Cool and clenched and excited. Confident, too, that you can achieve what you set out to

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No Assumptions

You know what it's like
When you feel like
Something's right in front of you
And you can't find it?

I swear, my shoes must be
Around here somewhere.
They were only dangling above
The wood chipper for a moment.

Have you seen my cat?
Last I checked, she was floating
Off to sea in a small boat.
She'll probably turn up.

My wallet's gone!
You don't suppose
The mugger took it,
Do you?

Holy cow, my books!
My whole library, up in flames!
And I was almost finished
Welding the bookshelf!

I wonder why my friends
Don't talk to me anymore?
I haven't been in
The asylum THAT long!

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Mr. Abbine Speaks

by ~jackgunski, Jun 22, 2012, 8:55:04 PM
Literature / Prose / Fiction / Philosophy & Perspectives / Introductions & Chapters

Mr. Abbine, I'm going to show you a few pictures. I want you to identify the people for me.

"I'll do what I can."

Can you tell me who this is?

"That's my good for nothing neighbor. He sits around his deck and smokes all day. Then he goes inside and probably gets high from pot or something stupid like that. I'll bet that guy is living off Welfare, the scumbag. Don't even get me started on the whore he keeps around-"

Mr. Abbine, please try to keep your answers focused on the subject. Can you identify this woman for me?

"That's my mother. She calls me three times a day to complain about how something 'isn't as great as it used to be.' I once told her she sounded old, and she started crying. Then she started calling me more often. Even though I've moved out twenty years ago, that woman continues to be a drain on my life."

Very good. This younger gentleman, tell me about him.

"That's Gary. He's a needy pain-in-the-ass. I swear, he follows me around work all day. Every day, with this guy. I try my best to ignore him, but I suppose something's wrong with my generation."

And this group of people?

"Co-workers. They're either incompetent, or they're kissing the boss's ass, or both. I went to a party with a bunch of them, all I could manage was to sit in the corner. There was lousy music, lousy food… lousy people, the lot of them."

How about this group?

"Some old friends from college. I go bowling with them every week. They seem to think that college never ended, you know? I never really liked hanging out with them, but I did anyway. I just… felt like being a part of a group, I didn't care about what group that was. I swear, I outgrew them as soon as I met them."

Ok, this is the last one.

"…Him. He's… no good. He sets himself above the rest of the world, and uses that as an excuse to isolate himself. He's alone. He's… really alone. He'll die alone, too. Every woman he sees, he asks himself if she's smart enough, if she's good enough for him. She'll never be good enough by those standards. His friends see him as a human being. He sees his friends as tools to fill some "social meter" that exists only in his mind. In reality, the people around him are just… better than he is. They're happier, more successful, and he's just a petty bastard."

Mr. Abbine, I want to thank you for doing this interview with me. Goodbye.

Mr. Abbine Speaksby ~jackgunski

Literature / Prose / Fiction / Philosophy & Perspectives / Introductions & Chapters

I am not Mr. Abbine.

Daily Deviation

Given 2012-10-29

~jackgunski offers us a great way to study a specific character in Mr. Abbine Speaks. ( Suggested by *AlexanderPaupoff and Featured by ^neurotype )

~~mad 0 0~~

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~HeyCicada Nov 25, 2012 Hobbyist

The picture at the top worked.
A very good commentary.

~MistySensation Nov 16, 2012 Hobbyist Digital Artist

Is it just me, or does Mr. Abbine resemble Holden Caulfield?

~Mango-Gato Nov 1, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

when i read gary's i thought i was reading about pokemon...

~BluestarzStrike Oct 30, 2012 Hobbyist Digital Artist

The last one must be Mr. Abbine describing himself

~Vane401 Oct 30, 2012 Hobbyist Artist

Very interesting!!
hmmm I will just think that last person might be the reader or Mr. Abbine himself.

~WhIppIng-b0y Oct 30, 2012

It's really good, but I'm a little confused. Is there a deep underlying message that I'm supposed to get here, or something that I'm meant to think about after reading this, or...what?

=MissPinks Oct 29, 2012 Student General Artist

sounds like my sister ha ha

~ProtanopicAcid Oct 29, 2012 Hobbyist Traditional Artist

Ha, brilliant.

~SilencedMi6 Oct 29, 2012

Wake up call if I've ever seen one.

~Katashi-Okenuth Oct 29, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

very true.

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