Friday, April 20, 2018

'38 Rue Utopia ~ Ep.3

On branches fractal fragile sing a fluted refrain
All love’s tomorrows your perch to regain
~ Byrrdz ‘Catenary’ 2034

The Orator ~ Magnus Zeller

Saturday night is like any other night at the Carny since the working week ceased to exist - although some say that the Carny hasn’t changed much since the collapse, some say it was always full of people getting off their heads - no matter what the working week dictated.
Tonight, as usual, the bar is doing a rigorous trade in all manner of narcotic and rot-gut liquor; business, fiscal and carnal, is being conducted in the alcoves by people who know that morality only commands a small place in society; and from the small stage in the main hall Peye is reciting one of her Tall Tales to a silent but restless audience.
Her make-up glows; red lips on white face in the spotlight; her eyes black holes.
The first time Ellie saw Peye perform she wondered at the wisdom of standing up there with nothing between you and the crowd; she learned that first night that there is no nothing between Peye and the audience: the meathead muscle-boys on security are more than happy to expel troublemakers, a fact that has little to do with remuneration since their preferred currency is violence.
For the most part however, Peye holds the audience by force of will; the weirdness of her Tales seems to strike some long dormant curiosity in them with the result that security is seldom required to act, even if the audience is seldom impressed to any level above the nonplussed.
“And across the looming orange and, thus far, expressionless face of the moon there is drawn, for the benefit of those upturned faces below, faintly, but unmistakably, a smile" Peye concludes to a silence that lasts a heartbeat before the crowd offers up a slow clap to the accompaniment of a chorus of hisses, a response that has become customary in the Carny.
“Thank you, you’ve been a wonderful audience” Peye gives them her best in sarcasm before descending straight-backed from stage to floor and weaving her way through the crowd which now chooses to ignore her.




Wednesday, April 18, 2018

A Grotesque Animal

Horizons ~ Armando Veve

I’m done with walking through walls
On the promise of a warm reception
From the ghosts that live within

If I remember correctly we agreed
Never to stop listening to the music
To be true to the ideal
To bring about the new world

Yet here I am alone at the barricades
Staring at the fa├žade
Cultivating scar-tissue for these low days

And if anger is the enemy
Then I am my own enemy
Hiding behind a mask
No matter how much I protest the contrary

Monday, April 16, 2018

Friday, April 13, 2018

'38 Rue Utopia ~ Ep.2

Death needs time for what it kills to grow in
~ William Burroughs ‘Ah Pook Is Here’ 1970-ish

Laprisamata

Those old enough to have experienced direct sunlight tend to go all dreamy-eyed when the kids ask about it; describing the feeling of warmth against the skin as if it were a mystical experience. Ellie has vague memories of it from her infancy in the north, a place and time with memories of all the suppressed pain and anger of her formative years; the years before she became.
There is no record of the such mythology being attributed to those who remember seeing the moon in full bloom; perhaps since obstruction of the sun overshadows all whose beauty depends on reflected light.
Ellie doesn’t remember seeing the moon either, but both sun and moon occupy a special place in her mind and in her rituals, many of which rely on the associated cyclical forces that act unseen on the earth and its inhabitants.
Here at the crest of the hill the sky is so low and deep grey overhead that it seems she could reach up and touch it.
The mud that cakes her boots has made the long walk from the Clave more laborious, she trudges on with the aid of the stick that Daniel spent months elaborating with his own brand of magic; whittled-in shapes and figures and hand-me-down Celtic symbols that give credence to Ellie’s position in the Clave; that serve to reinforce the tenuous nature of coercion through belief.
Its tip now mud-caked, Ellie digs it in, a third leg to lean on, and gives thanks to Gaia that it’s stopped raining.








Wednesday, April 11, 2018

Contractual Obligations

[Extracted from the files of Mark Time P.I.]


“We no longer find it necessary to justify our actions to those in our employ,” she sniffs and holds the silk tissue to her nose; whether to keep herself in or to keep the smell of my office out I’m not sure, “This matter requires action Mr. Time and I will not be justifying the reasons to you. Suffice to say that political damage is likely to be inflicted on the Company from rather unpatriotic circles should this not be dealt with in a most immediate and direct manner.”
She had hired me a week previously to pinpoint the source of a leak within the family business.
“You can depend on my immediate action Mrs. Scmidt” I had assured her.
She seemed to have run out of patience and while I have no qualifications when it comes to patriotism and I’m certainly no arms expert, the black hole at the end of her other arm made it perfectly clear which way the weapon was pointed.
I hate political assignments.