Showing posts with label Whofleck. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Whofleck. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Sunday, March 13, 2011
T-Rexes Aren't Known For Their Posture
This is moot.
He founded 4chan many years ago, and is currently championing a new site.
It is called canv.as and it is fun. It is essentially a real-time MSPaint session for editing images. He spoke about it during a keynote speech at a web-development conference below the Mason-Dixon Line, and I caught the whole thing in a stream. Unfortunately, infamous as he is, the presence of moot leaves something to be desired...he has terrible posture. Like, the worst posture ever. And he kept doing this shit with his hands as if he were rubbing them in malicious plotting or keeping the cold out like a rheumatic old woman. I thought he looked like a dinosaur.
So I captured a revealing screencap of him at his most T-Rex and posted it to canv.as...
He founded 4chan many years ago, and is currently championing a new site.
It is called canv.as and it is fun. It is essentially a real-time MSPaint session for editing images. He spoke about it during a keynote speech at a web-development conference below the Mason-Dixon Line, and I caught the whole thing in a stream. Unfortunately, infamous as he is, the presence of moot leaves something to be desired...he has terrible posture. Like, the worst posture ever. And he kept doing this shit with his hands as if he were rubbing them in malicious plotting or keeping the cold out like a rheumatic old woman. I thought he looked like a dinosaur.
So I captured a revealing screencap of him at his most T-Rex and posted it to canv.as...
The following edits came in a storm:
My post is now the most popular post on canv.as.
What I show you here is simply a taste of the 100+ edits that have since been born.
To put it lightly, friend:
I have reached my peak and been dethroned in a single sweep.
Just sign up for canv.as.
You don't need me anymore.
Friday, March 11, 2011
EBRBRBRBRBRBRBR!
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Silly Boys!
Hands off! Heeheehee!
I know what I like and what I DON'T like, okay? I'm strong and I don't need a bunch of icky NERDS ogling ME! I do what I want when I want, are you scared? You wouldn't even know how to handle someone like me...gosh!
Let's see...I love killing Jews, putting glass shards in the eye sockets of my raped and murdered victims, physically consuming famous works of art, tricking my brother into unleashing the Kraken, you know!
CUTE STUFF!
Well, boys, I should really be going to bed. /wink
Don't spend all night looking at pictures of me, that's gross and such a turn off! YUCK.
I should could use a massage, though...
/wink
/kiss
I know what I like and what I DON'T like, okay? I'm strong and I don't need a bunch of icky NERDS ogling ME! I do what I want when I want, are you scared? You wouldn't even know how to handle someone like me...gosh!
Let's see...I love killing Jews, putting glass shards in the eye sockets of my raped and murdered victims, physically consuming famous works of art, tricking my brother into unleashing the Kraken, you know!
CUTE STUFF!
Well, boys, I should really be going to bed. /wink
Don't spend all night looking at pictures of me, that's gross and such a turn off! YUCK.
I should could use a massage, though...
/wink
/kiss
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
What Is This I Don't Even
I am being sued.
I am behind on my reading.
I am disheveled.
But I feel grape. Fat Tuesday, bro...Doughnut Day.
But we've had this dance before, and stranger ones await.
Pause. Reflect. Do you even realize the magic of that image?
We've got a young girl, a fencer, as clever allusion to a scene in my fantasy book.
We've got a BP sponsor in the background. Wow, don't even need to go there.
And yes, we've got the Olympics. You know which one, with the logo that looks like Picasso's rendering of fellatio?
The sword bending slightly to the right? Think about it. I just made most of the men reading this blog feel funny.
I knew a kid in high school who fenced; real douche.
This is getting absurd, disjointed, and I should stop.
I should stop before this gets anything like Dave Legeno's biography: a must read.
I am behind on my reading.
I am disheveled.
But I feel grape. Fat Tuesday, bro...Doughnut Day.
But we've had this dance before, and stranger ones await.
Pause. Reflect. Do you even realize the magic of that image?
We've got a young girl, a fencer, as clever allusion to a scene in my fantasy book.
We've got a BP sponsor in the background. Wow, don't even need to go there.
And yes, we've got the Olympics. You know which one, with the logo that looks like Picasso's rendering of fellatio?
The sword bending slightly to the right? Think about it. I just made most of the men reading this blog feel funny.
I knew a kid in high school who fenced; real douche.
This is getting absurd, disjointed, and I should stop.
I should stop before this gets anything like Dave Legeno's biography: a must read.
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Saturday, March 5, 2011
The Beam
Kiela had no words to express the nightmare beyond.
Kethel breathed, swearing, the grip on his hot pistol loosened by shock. But even his reaction fell short of understanding.
They stood in the doorway of Dorn's chamber aboard the dreadnought Saber. There was a sucking vacuum, something orbital, that maintained a fractured perimeter of air and light. At the center of the room, floating and twisting in thin blackness, was Dorn: a mutated infant, the size of a grown man but soft and frail, crowned with a pulsating skull both grotesque and enormous.
His giggles echoed everywhere.
But before Kiela could scream, the shrieking emptiness converged on Dorn. And in that sudden silence, the levitating thing she once called friend dove into her mind and started speaking.
Welcome, welcome! Welcome, old flame! Don't be alarmed. This is just a change. I'm changing, you see, thanks to our red friends below! So much planned...we must be alone to speak. No more of your new friend, just you and me!
She turned in time to see Kethel raise his weapon. Dorn wasn't even in his sights when the General paused, gulping and belching. What could have been a cry of pain or surprise became gelatinous and buttery, like the bones in his face that Dorn was liquefying. General Rae collapsed, hands clawing to maintain the structure of his own head. His hands cupped and cradled and accidentally clawed into his brains, and when he hit the floor the entire mass popped and spread like a balloon full of soft pink cream.
Dorn laughed in Kiela's mind.
She turned back to him, willing herself away from Kethel's twitching stump of a body, mouth agape with sorrow and fear and confusion. She started running toward Dorn.
Stop, dear. Stop this. I've so much planned for us! You've no idea the things I've planned for us! Stop and let me tell you.
Kiela kept running.
Let me show you what I've built here, dear. I know the secrets of the star above! Use these secrets with me...we can remake so many worlds together!
She was close now, fists clenched in full sprint. The tears in her eyes did not keep her from reading his dark patterns. She knew where he was and what he was. Kiela knew what the freak wanted, and she would kill him.
Stop! Ha-ha! Stop now!
And as she leaped, the beam crushed and folded the outer hull of the ship. When she set her curled fingers for Dorn's eyes it pierced the chamber. And before she could dig into his weak, horrible flesh, it struck them both. Dorn was vaporized, every particle of his newly omniscient self razed and sliced by the mental laser. Kiela, however, was enveloped. The warm blue light showered upon her. Memory flooded every sense, every strand of hair, and swallowed her into sweet, immortal comfort. Then the beam plowed onward. On and on, so close to its unintended target. For years of flight, it had traversed the empty space with one unknown goal. Yet when it entered the heart of that local star, Finnis...when it stalled the sun's hot and mysterious clockwork...when the solar gears shifted and reversed, the beam simply faded. It felt peace, for the first time since it illumined the stratosphere of a world left to waste.
Finnis folded. It fell and bled into the surrounding space. When it had leaked most of its strength, there was a flush of crimson light in which the Nim'roh basked and prayed.
From the inner-galaxies, had they dark skies, there was a faint glow.
The news came quickly via Earth Forces Wire that a certain fringe system was lost.
Although being little danger to altering navigation, the various merchant guilds saw no gain in pillaging the exploded area.
And somewhere on Earth, the warm bones of a man and his friend were slowly turning to ash.
Kethel breathed, swearing, the grip on his hot pistol loosened by shock. But even his reaction fell short of understanding.
They stood in the doorway of Dorn's chamber aboard the dreadnought Saber. There was a sucking vacuum, something orbital, that maintained a fractured perimeter of air and light. At the center of the room, floating and twisting in thin blackness, was Dorn: a mutated infant, the size of a grown man but soft and frail, crowned with a pulsating skull both grotesque and enormous.
His giggles echoed everywhere.
But before Kiela could scream, the shrieking emptiness converged on Dorn. And in that sudden silence, the levitating thing she once called friend dove into her mind and started speaking.
Welcome, welcome! Welcome, old flame! Don't be alarmed. This is just a change. I'm changing, you see, thanks to our red friends below! So much planned...we must be alone to speak. No more of your new friend, just you and me!
She turned in time to see Kethel raise his weapon. Dorn wasn't even in his sights when the General paused, gulping and belching. What could have been a cry of pain or surprise became gelatinous and buttery, like the bones in his face that Dorn was liquefying. General Rae collapsed, hands clawing to maintain the structure of his own head. His hands cupped and cradled and accidentally clawed into his brains, and when he hit the floor the entire mass popped and spread like a balloon full of soft pink cream.
Dorn laughed in Kiela's mind.
She turned back to him, willing herself away from Kethel's twitching stump of a body, mouth agape with sorrow and fear and confusion. She started running toward Dorn.
Stop, dear. Stop this. I've so much planned for us! You've no idea the things I've planned for us! Stop and let me tell you.
Kiela kept running.
Let me show you what I've built here, dear. I know the secrets of the star above! Use these secrets with me...we can remake so many worlds together!
She was close now, fists clenched in full sprint. The tears in her eyes did not keep her from reading his dark patterns. She knew where he was and what he was. Kiela knew what the freak wanted, and she would kill him.
Stop! Ha-ha! Stop now!
And as she leaped, the beam crushed and folded the outer hull of the ship. When she set her curled fingers for Dorn's eyes it pierced the chamber. And before she could dig into his weak, horrible flesh, it struck them both. Dorn was vaporized, every particle of his newly omniscient self razed and sliced by the mental laser. Kiela, however, was enveloped. The warm blue light showered upon her. Memory flooded every sense, every strand of hair, and swallowed her into sweet, immortal comfort. Then the beam plowed onward. On and on, so close to its unintended target. For years of flight, it had traversed the empty space with one unknown goal. Yet when it entered the heart of that local star, Finnis...when it stalled the sun's hot and mysterious clockwork...when the solar gears shifted and reversed, the beam simply faded. It felt peace, for the first time since it illumined the stratosphere of a world left to waste.
Finnis folded. It fell and bled into the surrounding space. When it had leaked most of its strength, there was a flush of crimson light in which the Nim'roh basked and prayed.
From the inner-galaxies, had they dark skies, there was a faint glow.
The news came quickly via Earth Forces Wire that a certain fringe system was lost.
Although being little danger to altering navigation, the various merchant guilds saw no gain in pillaging the exploded area.
And somewhere on Earth, the warm bones of a man and his friend were slowly turning to ash.
Friday, March 4, 2011
I Don't Even Know How To Title This
I was recently given a book by a friend.
It is a book, so I am told, in which thrones cut men and wolves are dire and the numerous maps given are not just geographic but spiritual in nature. I am, needless to say, very aroused.
This will be my first adventure into high fantasy in quite some time.
Since my pimpled days of questing through literary landscapes of Northern jungles with mysterious histories and invented myths, most of my fantasy escapades have taken place in video games. I enjoy video games and their lore. I refuse your pity, and submit my sexual activity since puberty as evidence that I am doing okay regardless of my questionably basement-dwelling hobbies. These stories, accentuated by gameplay similar to that of ye olde tabletops, are engrossing...I am engorged by them. They feed me in equal doses of subtlety and extravagnce.
I make devils fall and gods ascend. How cool is that?
The game with the most spectacle in regard to story and universe must be Morrowind. It does not simply break the fourth-wall, you see; it hovers above it in cross-legged divinity. The cosmic and time-altering implications of this one pixelated romp alone are embarrassingly good. I have just linked an excellent study of the game's metaphysics, as well as a necessary short sermon by a divine character in Morrowind who, allow me to paraphrase, fucks the god of rape and then rapes that god and then fucks everyone and everything including time to death until he rapes the essence of rape so hard that he banishes rape from existence.
You stumble upon these short lessons and tomes while playing, completely out of context. They are like gentle slaps to the face by some inter-dimensional fantasy-fist, blessed and cursed, inviting and ruinous. The universe of this game is so frayed yet tangible, so broken yet magnetic, that the characters who inhabit it reference historic instances of time simply shifting and breaking down entirely. They believe that the stars above them are holes where the gods burst through when they accidentally made everything...and they are absolutely correct.
During rants like this, Jaybro is fond of telling me to "stop with the fucking dragons."
The irony, friends, is that...in some worlds...the dragons are fucking with you.
Boy I hope this book is good.
It is a book, so I am told, in which thrones cut men and wolves are dire and the numerous maps given are not just geographic but spiritual in nature. I am, needless to say, very aroused.
This will be my first adventure into high fantasy in quite some time.
Since my pimpled days of questing through literary landscapes of Northern jungles with mysterious histories and invented myths, most of my fantasy escapades have taken place in video games. I enjoy video games and their lore. I refuse your pity, and submit my sexual activity since puberty as evidence that I am doing okay regardless of my questionably basement-dwelling hobbies. These stories, accentuated by gameplay similar to that of ye olde tabletops, are engrossing...I am engorged by them. They feed me in equal doses of subtlety and extravagnce.
I make devils fall and gods ascend. How cool is that?
The game with the most spectacle in regard to story and universe must be Morrowind. It does not simply break the fourth-wall, you see; it hovers above it in cross-legged divinity. The cosmic and time-altering implications of this one pixelated romp alone are embarrassingly good. I have just linked an excellent study of the game's metaphysics, as well as a necessary short sermon by a divine character in Morrowind who, allow me to paraphrase, fucks the god of rape and then rapes that god and then fucks everyone and everything including time to death until he rapes the essence of rape so hard that he banishes rape from existence.
You stumble upon these short lessons and tomes while playing, completely out of context. They are like gentle slaps to the face by some inter-dimensional fantasy-fist, blessed and cursed, inviting and ruinous. The universe of this game is so frayed yet tangible, so broken yet magnetic, that the characters who inhabit it reference historic instances of time simply shifting and breaking down entirely. They believe that the stars above them are holes where the gods burst through when they accidentally made everything...and they are absolutely correct.
During rants like this, Jaybro is fond of telling me to "stop with the fucking dragons."
The irony, friends, is that...in some worlds...the dragons are fucking with you.
Boy I hope this book is good.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Jesus Christ! Doc, You Disintegrated Whofleck!
Calm down, reader, I didn't disintegrate anything.
The molecular structure of both Whofleck and the blog are perfectly intact.
Where the hell are they, you ask?
The appropriate question is when the hell are they? You see, Whofleck has just become the world's first time-traveler. I sent him...into the past! Three days into the past to be exact.
And at precisely 11:59pm and 59 seconds, he shall catch up with us and the time-blog.
Seriously, now. I wish not for this to be a cool denial of yet another of my failings.
My founder and sponsor was kind enough to speak quietly on my behalf, but there is a new Whofleck in town. He is an educated man. He is a busy man. But he is not without regret, nor mistakes or short-comings.
This is no place for excuses, so consider this repentance:
I have sinned. I have put the blog behind myself, and in doing so raped any meaning my original oath may have held. I beg, and submit, that I shall live for your forgiveness. Fear not; I am no battering husband. I refuse second chances, just give me your open minds.
Things are going to get weird.
The molecular structure of both Whofleck and the blog are perfectly intact.
Where the hell are they, you ask?
The appropriate question is when the hell are they? You see, Whofleck has just become the world's first time-traveler. I sent him...into the past! Three days into the past to be exact.
And at precisely 11:59pm and 59 seconds, he shall catch up with us and the time-blog.
Seriously, now. I wish not for this to be a cool denial of yet another of my failings.
My founder and sponsor was kind enough to speak quietly on my behalf, but there is a new Whofleck in town. He is an educated man. He is a busy man. But he is not without regret, nor mistakes or short-comings.
This is no place for excuses, so consider this repentance:
I have sinned. I have put the blog behind myself, and in doing so raped any meaning my original oath may have held. I beg, and submit, that I shall live for your forgiveness. Fear not; I am no battering husband. I refuse second chances, just give me your open minds.
Things are going to get weird.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Forget Science Fiction:
I'M BUSY.
Awww yeaaa, that's it Ching-Li...
Get under the fungus.
Yesss.
Awww yeaaa, that's it Ching-Li...
Get under the fungus.
Yesss.
I SAID I'M BUSY GET OUT OF HERE!
Friday, February 25, 2011
Show Me Your Moves!
Big night tonight big night alright gotta get ready gotta focus an---
Hey there whoah there who you think you are huh pussy-face?
You know what I got planned I got a long night banging ladies;
Throwing bills around like a sultan so you better get out of my way mister---
What did you say your name was again?
Listen bro you better stop copying me like I says I got a lot of trim;
Tons of trim and I've got no time for little prim posies to slaughter.
So get on out of here shoo fly don't piss me off or else---
What? What did you say to me quit dancing around and I'll show you.
Let's dance okay you like to dance I can dance shit I need the practice;
For tonight you know oh yea you know take this!
Hey there whoah there who you think you are huh pussy-face?
You know what I got planned I got a long night banging ladies;
Throwing bills around like a sultan so you better get out of my way mister---
What did you say your name was again?
Listen bro you better stop copying me like I says I got a lot of trim;
Tons of trim and I've got no time for little prim posies to slaughter.
So get on out of here shoo fly don't piss me off or else---
What? What did you say to me quit dancing around and I'll show you.
Let's dance okay you like to dance I can dance shit I need the practice;
For tonight you know oh yea you know take this!
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Smile Through The Pain, Kids!
Alexander: Hey, Judy! Ever hear of Time Study?
Judy: Sure haven't, what's that!
Alexander: Well, Judy...with the invention of many of our fine electric appliances, modern engineering and sociology have combined into a utterly stupid examination of how our mechanical and industrial masturbation can be used to simplify and automate many of the daily chores that we used to consider the definition of character in industrial human civilization.
Judy: But Alex, won't that displace hundreds of thousands of jobs requiring skilled labor in the national workforce?
Alexander: Ha, well of course Judy! But thankfully, those jobs are all held by Negros, Orientals, and the more undesirable European immigrants. We swell, white, upper-class Americans with our double-standards and casual disregard of reality risk only the promise of easier living and the degradation of motherhood over the value of good, hard labor; none of which we do!
Judy: That all sounds dandy, Alex, but I can't say I understood any of it.
Alexander: Naturally, Judy, because you're a woman. Your smaller, weaker mind is too busy worrying about what's in the oven and how fertile and attractive you are. I, on the other hand, benefit from innumerable male-focused advantages our culture affords me, at the small cost of my soul and any critical thinking skills! That allows me to wander aimlessly into made up professions, like Time Study for example, to squander my years of steady and extravagant income in the pursuit of alcoholism and sexual repression.
Judy: I don't mean to seem like a tart, Alex, but you would be interested in heading to the dance with me? You could suggest going steady and then grope me against my will in that shiny new Cadillac of yours!
Alexander: Judy, you had me at "tart." But unfortunately I've got to run upstairs and give your big brother the fucking of his lifetime! If you hear his soft whimpers later on, don't be alarmed. It just means I decided to finish in his throat and then break his stupid nose.
Judy: That's a Strawberry Shortcake, isn't it?
Alexander: Oh, Judy! I would shut that smart mouth of yours unless you want to be deemed a lesbian and lynched!
Judy: Okay!
...
Judy: Sure haven't, what's that!
Alexander: Well, Judy...with the invention of many of our fine electric appliances, modern engineering and sociology have combined into a utterly stupid examination of how our mechanical and industrial masturbation can be used to simplify and automate many of the daily chores that we used to consider the definition of character in industrial human civilization.
Judy: But Alex, won't that displace hundreds of thousands of jobs requiring skilled labor in the national workforce?
Alexander: Ha, well of course Judy! But thankfully, those jobs are all held by Negros, Orientals, and the more undesirable European immigrants. We swell, white, upper-class Americans with our double-standards and casual disregard of reality risk only the promise of easier living and the degradation of motherhood over the value of good, hard labor; none of which we do!
Judy: That all sounds dandy, Alex, but I can't say I understood any of it.
Alexander: Naturally, Judy, because you're a woman. Your smaller, weaker mind is too busy worrying about what's in the oven and how fertile and attractive you are. I, on the other hand, benefit from innumerable male-focused advantages our culture affords me, at the small cost of my soul and any critical thinking skills! That allows me to wander aimlessly into made up professions, like Time Study for example, to squander my years of steady and extravagant income in the pursuit of alcoholism and sexual repression.
Judy: I don't mean to seem like a tart, Alex, but you would be interested in heading to the dance with me? You could suggest going steady and then grope me against my will in that shiny new Cadillac of yours!
Alexander: Judy, you had me at "tart." But unfortunately I've got to run upstairs and give your big brother the fucking of his lifetime! If you hear his soft whimpers later on, don't be alarmed. It just means I decided to finish in his throat and then break his stupid nose.
Judy: That's a Strawberry Shortcake, isn't it?
Alexander: Oh, Judy! I would shut that smart mouth of yours unless you want to be deemed a lesbian and lynched!
Judy: Okay!
...
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Monday, February 21, 2011
Jacob's Ladder
OY!
Cap'n Firebeard at'chor service, me hearties! And how can a gentle man borne as me be worthy to such a fine crew? A story!? A tale uh some weathered sea dog to whet'chor Southern lust! So be it.
Sit thee down and listen well...
There was I, four feet to danglin' from the hempen halter! The hangman, a salty one-eyed son of a bitch, grinnin' gold and ready to brand me into Davy Jone's eternal service was all twas keepin' me neck from straightenin' out sum'pin fierce. Yars truly was starin' into the frothy yawns of a world about to pass, no schemes to spare. It was the end, lovelies!
The bastard's seaweed lips parted and sum'pin came stinkin' up. "Let's see ya hoist that rag now, pirate-slime!" he belched. Oh, I was done in! One off! So many songs unsung! Do ya hear it, chil'ren? The final desp'rit gasps uh yar beloved hero!? Ya're not alone, lil' lubbers.
Hornswaggled by Death 'imself, I cast off a final prayer...a bargain to whatever gods would take and warrant my pitiful soul!
"Spare yar humble servant!" I bellowed, "AND ALL ON MY ACCOUNT BE YOURS!" Sum'pin greater than we must've been listenin' that day, my babbies! Must've known all I'd stashed away in me years of freebootin' and plunder! 'Cause not a moment 'fore I was to come tumblin' back to the maker than did a 'orrible gust rise from the tidewaters. A gale blustered me would-be murd'rur off the gallows and he was dashed upon the rocks; his neck and not mine snapped on that sacrificial platter! The same magic wind sliced me free uh me grim collar, and sooner than you could seal a hogshead were I back with me duffle, jaw full'a steel and climbing that long ladder to me vessel and the oceans uh freedom beyond!
Since then, young lads, I hammer the drums uh thanks to that phantom in the winds. I beat on, bless'd immortal by sum'pin wit no name. And if ya listen good, ears high to the whistlin' dark, you just may hear me gamble repeated.
...And all on my account be yours...
Cap'n Firebeard at'chor service, me hearties! And how can a gentle man borne as me be worthy to such a fine crew? A story!? A tale uh some weathered sea dog to whet'chor Southern lust! So be it.
Sit thee down and listen well...
There was I, four feet to danglin' from the hempen halter! The hangman, a salty one-eyed son of a bitch, grinnin' gold and ready to brand me into Davy Jone's eternal service was all twas keepin' me neck from straightenin' out sum'pin fierce. Yars truly was starin' into the frothy yawns of a world about to pass, no schemes to spare. It was the end, lovelies!
The bastard's seaweed lips parted and sum'pin came stinkin' up. "Let's see ya hoist that rag now, pirate-slime!" he belched. Oh, I was done in! One off! So many songs unsung! Do ya hear it, chil'ren? The final desp'rit gasps uh yar beloved hero!? Ya're not alone, lil' lubbers.
Hornswaggled by Death 'imself, I cast off a final prayer...a bargain to whatever gods would take and warrant my pitiful soul!
"Spare yar humble servant!" I bellowed, "AND ALL ON MY ACCOUNT BE YOURS!" Sum'pin greater than we must've been listenin' that day, my babbies! Must've known all I'd stashed away in me years of freebootin' and plunder! 'Cause not a moment 'fore I was to come tumblin' back to the maker than did a 'orrible gust rise from the tidewaters. A gale blustered me would-be murd'rur off the gallows and he was dashed upon the rocks; his neck and not mine snapped on that sacrificial platter! The same magic wind sliced me free uh me grim collar, and sooner than you could seal a hogshead were I back with me duffle, jaw full'a steel and climbing that long ladder to me vessel and the oceans uh freedom beyond!
Since then, young lads, I hammer the drums uh thanks to that phantom in the winds. I beat on, bless'd immortal by sum'pin wit no name. And if ya listen good, ears high to the whistlin' dark, you just may hear me gamble repeated.
...And all on my account be yours...
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Saturday, February 19, 2011
Becoming
Dorn set the Amplifier back in its casing and reclined. It felt good removing its tight weight from his grotesquely enlarged skull. He stared at it fondly, smiling. He was proud.
Then he noticed the dead clumps of hair that had come off along with the device and the moment was spoiled. Then they were burning, in his mind and on the desk. With a controlled fit he extinguished his rage and waited as the ribbons of stinking smoke dissipated. Although visibly vanished, the matter that once was a part of the organism Dorn Ricker, something of them was hovering. Dorn recognized this remnant after a moment of study and reacted as swiftly as he had before. He removed the atmosphere from his office with a ear-shattering howl.
Much better, he thought.
This minor holocaust reminded him of his efforts upon the demons in the caves. Oh, the mental gymnastics employed to make them turn upon the hiveminders! The irony of uniting broken minds in unity against an entity that sought the very same! His earlier pleasures regained, Dorn searched to enjoy this moment more thoroughly and removed the gravity.
Sweet weightlessness...his blood flowed in steady bursts with a heart long robbed of unconscious function; it was in Dorn's control now, like as nearly everything else. And, in time, just everything.
He was above his desk, floating near the ceiling in peaceful reflection. These breaks were still necessary, but less so than in cycles past when all of this was first set into motion. Total Awareness is exhausting, he thought, upside-down three feet in the air. I deserve this.
But then the Earth-lights caught his tiny eye and the halos of fuzzy light upset him so he shut them off. He vanquished all light in his office and wallowed in its absence. Back, he thought, back back back. Dorn spun himself in such a way that the top of his head became the centrifugal focus. He was rotating upon his enormous mind, the room around him; the ship, the stars, etc. And with things just the way they would be, Dorn was very happy.
He would not need reading or even the promise of writing. His Amplifier was just a crutch, part of the rehabilitation for his changed mind. His work now required no deciphering of exterior minds or cramping them under the will of his own. Dorn needed only feel what things become, and that would make them so.
"Great-Father, praises be." A grin showed.
"Ha-ha ha! And blessings in the red sun see!"
His hysterical laughter set Dorn spinning faster and faster. The blackness created began to swirl and spill into the whirlpool of glee. Light bled in.
He heard a strange pop but hesitated, too enthralled to prematurely cancel his joy. Instead he succumbed to it. He savored it like a fine orgasm. He let himself last there, a mutated and fleshy simulacrum of all black holes, his pleasure forever corralled in his own event horizon. Dorn ignored the seeping light for his own indulgence.
And it was all the time they needed.
Then he noticed the dead clumps of hair that had come off along with the device and the moment was spoiled. Then they were burning, in his mind and on the desk. With a controlled fit he extinguished his rage and waited as the ribbons of stinking smoke dissipated. Although visibly vanished, the matter that once was a part of the organism Dorn Ricker, something of them was hovering. Dorn recognized this remnant after a moment of study and reacted as swiftly as he had before. He removed the atmosphere from his office with a ear-shattering howl.
Much better, he thought.
This minor holocaust reminded him of his efforts upon the demons in the caves. Oh, the mental gymnastics employed to make them turn upon the hiveminders! The irony of uniting broken minds in unity against an entity that sought the very same! His earlier pleasures regained, Dorn searched to enjoy this moment more thoroughly and removed the gravity.
Sweet weightlessness...his blood flowed in steady bursts with a heart long robbed of unconscious function; it was in Dorn's control now, like as nearly everything else. And, in time, just everything.
He was above his desk, floating near the ceiling in peaceful reflection. These breaks were still necessary, but less so than in cycles past when all of this was first set into motion. Total Awareness is exhausting, he thought, upside-down three feet in the air. I deserve this.
But then the Earth-lights caught his tiny eye and the halos of fuzzy light upset him so he shut them off. He vanquished all light in his office and wallowed in its absence. Back, he thought, back back back. Dorn spun himself in such a way that the top of his head became the centrifugal focus. He was rotating upon his enormous mind, the room around him; the ship, the stars, etc. And with things just the way they would be, Dorn was very happy.
He would not need reading or even the promise of writing. His Amplifier was just a crutch, part of the rehabilitation for his changed mind. His work now required no deciphering of exterior minds or cramping them under the will of his own. Dorn needed only feel what things become, and that would make them so.
"Great-Father, praises be." A grin showed.
"Ha-ha ha! And blessings in the red sun see!"
His hysterical laughter set Dorn spinning faster and faster. The blackness created began to swirl and spill into the whirlpool of glee. Light bled in.
He heard a strange pop but hesitated, too enthralled to prematurely cancel his joy. Instead he succumbed to it. He savored it like a fine orgasm. He let himself last there, a mutated and fleshy simulacrum of all black holes, his pleasure forever corralled in his own event horizon. Dorn ignored the seeping light for his own indulgence.
And it was all the time they needed.
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