Birds.

A male bird attempts to attract a female bird. He has spectacular emerald-blue feathers beneath his beak and atop his head. He puts his face directly before hers and fans out his feathers towards her. She is impressed. He goes behind her and begins to flap. A small pink wet penis comes out and he flaps his wings while falling onto/into her. The End.

Demon and creature/man/individual

A mobile home party. A rather large space. Still a mobile and still confined none the less. Cooked delicacies and sweet fruits all abound. Mead runs from one of the many taps. Beer is also widely available. Friends barbecue outside beneath the windows. There was much gaiety. Soon another friend shows up. It is Bey. When I look upon him though, he does not seem to be who he claims. At his side he carries a case. He calls every one's attention and begins to tell them to come and join him. Everyone is elated to do so. I am not. I hesitate and remain. Bey's skin rips apart and his true form is shown: an evil demon. He is a red cloud with a floating emoticon face. He looks a great deal like the red ghost from PAC-man. The demon expands his body, like a great balloon he grows and swallows up space all around. All who went near and close to him were overwhelmed by the red bomb. I run to the bathroom and lock the door. In through the mail slot in the center of the door, the red windbag pushes. I look for something to puncture him, grab a bobby pin, bend it, and force it into its stomach. Nothing happens. I push and push, but it is like pushing into a canvas sheet that already has holes through which small objects can pass. I am consumed and all becomes dark.

I wake up in the cabinet where the beer kegs and mead is held. I climb out and find everything as normal. The party still continues. People are enjoying themselves. I shake off the vision and go to cut a pineapple. As I turn around I see Bey enter carrying a small case at his side. This is not Bey. He calls everyone over as before, but this time he sets down the case. I walk up and peer in to it. There is a mahogany rectangular box with a black square hook coming out of one side. In side this box, there are a couple pieces of chalk. Beside the box are three playing cards, one of which is a face card (the other two merely numbers). A chalk outline has been drawn of the three cards as though they were to be found in a solitaire pile. And lastly, a 5X4 number board:

- 3 - - 4

- - 5 - -
9 - - - -

I refuse to stick around and I go out of the trailer and begin to walk up a hill and look on to the scene from a hill. Atop the hill I notice the sky darken a bit. I lie there for some time, but hear nothing come from the trailer. I then stand and begin to walk away. I feel tense. I turn and see Bey following me. This is not Bey. This time, his eyes are reddened, as though he had more veins running through the whites of his eye than was humanly necessary. I continue walking. The demon walks past, staring at me with a malevolent grin on his face. He continues on ahead. I am alone. I walk along the side of a road. I don't know how long it is before I see someone coming from the distance ahead. It is not-Bey. The demon stares at me as he walks, the same grin still on his face. When he nears me, he speaks some words to me. Persuasive conjectures and a held out hand. I am filled with dread and look for something to ward him off. I find a white wire in the sand. I grasp it firmly and give it a slight tug. It is attached to something, some distance away. I hold it firmly and show it to the demon. He frowns and says some words beneath his breathe, then walks calmly away. I follow the cord for some time, eventually coming to a small town. It goes in through a wall in a building and I circle around the complex to find an entrance. When I enter it is a seemingly small warehouse of sorts. The main "garage" seems to have been converted into a demonstration room. I spot on the far wall where from the cord enters. It runs a small distance on the ground and then attaches to an individual at his neck. His neck is not normal. It looks as though he tried to swallow a boombox whole, which just stuck there as a chicken bone...only quite noticeably. No matter the awkward site of this creature/man/individual, I was comforted by his presence. I walk up to him and he says hello. He is playing some sort of game with a stick pointed at a screen a short distance from us. He invites me to play after a moment and I happily accept. I search my pockets for change. He offers to pay as I sort but I politely decline. I eventually find enough for two or so continues. I set the reserve atop the change input and put my quarters in the machine. I have trouble seeing the screen. My vision feels cloudy. The creature/man/individual instructs me to focus and relax my eyes. He instructs me to stop squinting and blink slowly. Shapes begin to take form on the screen and I begin to make out the scape of the game, but before I can really begin to play, Bey passes by me--his eyes more red than ever. I am frozen with trepidation. I look at the creature/man/individual. He looks back reassuringly. Then, Bey appears grasping the three cards in his hand and reciting some sort of incantation. The creature/man/individual screams in pain and begins to liquidate and morph before me. He "melts" into a viscous silver purple form and then flows through the air to the top of the machine, which is only about chest level to me. The mass takes the form of a chalice full of silver blood. Within also lay a rounded piece of flat bread or cracker with a stain of the silver blood running from its center into the cup. The demon laughs and begins to bellow at me in harsh tones. He beckons to me, asking me to draw near. I am frightened. yet, despite the fear I see the chalice and grab the cracker quickly. I bite into the silver-blooded flat bread. I stare maniacally at the demon and yell "AMEN"! The demon cries out and spews forth in all directions like a thin red mist. I am left in a dark room. Empty. Alone.

My younger self and My older self.

An exquisite museum made of dark mahogany. Outside it is dark. In a large room, a platform is set out before me. I am my older self. On the platform lies my younger self. With me is a middle-aged man, gray mustache and brown hair. He holds a scimitar. He instructs me to cut the feet off of my younger self. I am given a broadsword. I contemplate the situation. I refuse to cut the child. The mustachioed man grows angry. I threaten him as he threatens me. He runs out of the room hitting a switch that initiates traps. I grab my younger self from the table and wake him up. He runs to the locked door. On the platform also is a display case. Inside is a makeup of words and letter:

M Q Q () C P
- - - - - -
- - - - - -
- - - - - -
- - - - - -

(Only the first row can I remember). All of the letters are physical and have both size and girth. In the () spot lies a ring on it's side. It seems as though the letter Q were turned on it's side. I read what is there and the doors open. My younger self runs out into the halls and I follow. It is a labyrinth of rooms and I search for the way out of the museum. The boy runs into the exit and the door shuts behind him. I search the halls for another way. I see the mustachioed man run into a room and I follow, sword still in hand. In the room is an arrangement of furniture. The door seals behind me and objects begin to fold and rearrange themselves. The room is shrinking and I must figure the proper arrangement of furniture before I am crushed. I manage to open a drawer, which triggers a hidden door to open along the far wall. I run into it and find myself in a courtyard where there are several tables with umbrella shades and chairs; it is as though I were at a restaurant's outdoor seating area. I see my younger self at one of the tables sipping a milkshake at one of the tables. I approach him and sit down. I feel uneasy. I have a sip of his milkshake. I fall asleep.

I wake up with a start. My friend Lucas and an other are before me. They signal me to follow and I walk through a seedy area of a city I've never been to before, yet feels strangely familiar. Lucas runs into a club that is on the right a little distance from the walkway. I follow and sit outdoors in a lounge chair as he goes inside. He addresses some woman and then I hear a slap. He comes out rubbing his cheek and goes off with the other. I watch them leave. As I turn my head toward the entrance of the club I see a tall, thin woman in a white dress, which ties behind her neck. She comes out and sits in the lounge chair next to mine. I look at her for a moment. She is very beautiful. She has dark hair and smoothly soft tan skin. She smiles at me and then brings her right arm behind her neck to untie her dress. As she stands, the dress falls to the ground and she straddles me. I try to look into her face again, but some force keeps my head pointed at her stomach. I blink and all becomes black, yet I still feel her around me. I wake with this lingering sensation.

Stealing through the city and skateboards.

Amanda and I are stealing through the city. The night is ours. We go from building to building, into museums and through courtyards. In each place we order a drink, stay for a chat, then run out into the night. At one point we come across the Governor's Mansion, which is in the way of our escapades. There is a break in the fence and I show her along to sneak by. I slide through the plastic sheeting and see an entire family lounging on couches in the courtyard. They are staring intently into a glowing orboid of pure light. I interrupt them. I crawl over them. They are confused and angry. They yell at me. I do not know where Amanda is. I do not know if she followed me. I run through the gate and find a red Camaro parked nearby. Inside is a horse, and a mystery person, shrouded. I take off with a new crew and search for Amanda in the city. I drive like a demon, burning the roads to sludge behind me. I am speeding like a bat outta hell. I cannot find her anywhere. The city is on fire. The horses head is skewered on the antennae; the shrouded mystery person is no more save for the shroud, crumpled in the passenger seat. I fall to my knees and eat dirt.

I wake up and grab my skateboard. I'm in the middle of a desert. My sister is outside waiting. We take off. I shoot down the slopes. Go over jumps. I have durable wheels. I am fast. I jump and do tricks. I spin my self around. Ghosts chase me from the sides. It is difficult to escape them. Some are rose colored and make kissy noises while hearts float about them. Some of them are pale and spit while snot drips, drools, and bubbles out the nose. Some are little children crying on the side of the road, who turn to reveal the mouth of a lion and try to bite off one's head. I avoid them all by fractions. Soon I fly from an incline, over a deep, echoing chasm, into a hospital window. I lie down in the bed and attach the iv to my arm. I fall asleep pumping morphine into my system.

Musical Interlude>Sifting through closets of lost memories.

Brian and Drew and myself. In a room of 12x12. cluttered with instruments. Drew climbs into "the music box." Paint is dumped over him and as he spreads it over his body, notes ring forth in the guise of guitar, of piano, of synth, of horn, of his screaming voice. The Music Box is a cardboard box that looks like a low-grade robot outfit. It looks as though a child had drawn the design on with a crayon and pencil: a musing box of musicality. Brian is wrapped in c(h)ords and wires. I can not see him, I do not know what he looks like. I only know it is him. He holds a bugle and a french horn, both injected into his mouth, both spraying out black notes and spit. Some of the notes are covered in spit, making them seem like semen, squiggling around in the air, searching for an ear to penetrate and wet willy all at once. I am lost among the noise and motions. I cannot find an instrument which I know how to play. I see an old bass guitar leaning against the wall. I go to pick it up, but it is heavy. I pull harder and when it moves from the wall it falls apart before; it crumbles to dust. I scream, but no sound is made. I hit the walls and stamp the floor, but no beat sounds. Suddenly even Brian and Drew are quiet. They motion and play-on, but no noise emits. The notes in the air turn clear and pop like bubbles from a toy pipe. Drew's paints turn black and white and begin to flood the room. I scream and scream until my mouth fills with the paint. I swell with black and white. I vomit rain and clouds and fog.

I wake in a closet. Buried among cardboard boxes, stuffed animals, and intricate board games that put Mouse Trap to shame. I can hear low talking coming from another room. I stand up and walk through the mess. Clothes are thrown about, plastic toys are strewn about, Slinky's hang from the ceiling, computers glow underneath blankets, and walkie-talkies call out from underneath pillows "Delta 527 come in....Alpha-niner-zero what are your coordinates over...." I come into the next room and see a group going into another room. I get to the door as it closes and find it locked. I try another and go through it. I switch on the light. It is a black light. Moon rocks and scorpions glow about the room. My teeth feel like they are made of velvet. I feel like I have sun poisoning. I stumble backwards out of the room and fall into another room. Televisions line the walls and computers make-up the ceiling. Radios shuffle along the ground like crabs. An old fashioned receiver bumps into me and grumbles in AM snow. I step lightly towards a door in the corner. This door leads to the living room of my apartment from sophomore year in college. On the balcony, a deck of playing cards are acting out a revolution. The Numbers have the royal family lined along the railing, blindfolded. The Ace is trying to calm the crowd and mediate a peaceful resolution. The numbers carry pitchforks and flames; they shout surprisingly loud. One of the royal members, The Knave of hearts, is pierced in the back and falls off the railing, The King of clubs is next. The Queen of spades is about read to jump when a wind suddenly kicks up. A strong gust blows past the balcony and takes every single card into the air. I stand staring out into the distant sea for a moment, and then I hear a door slam and I turn and run to get to it. I open it onto a room of sofas and I jump into them, quickly falling asleep.

The Russian Space Program. No. 381

England. Wait for a train on the quai. Many of us. We pack in. To the museum!

Photographs. Photographs of natural environment, but strange and oddly colored. A closeup of a creature--a bacteria, an amoeba...something of the sort. Neon yellow with ultraviolet lines running through. Looks like a splat. Like yellow ice cream fallen on the linoleum. Images flash of a cosmonaut crossing the terrain. A Russian. Climbs distant mountains, icy peaks. Strange glowing orbs appear, ghosts in space. The Red Planet.

An old man cries about the end. Perhaps for him. There is no end. Everything continues. Life after death...then we are already dead. dream is the battlefield of sleep.

Underwater. No. 380

I am Sigourney Weaver. I am confined to a lake. In the lake is a large cylindrical building. An apartment building of the future. I am doing research on the building. It has been overrun by Aliens. I am at the buildings base. I free dive. I can hold my breath over twenty minutes. I am Sigourney Weaver. My hologram map linked to the security center of the building is almost sychronized. Suddenly, Aliens appear out of some sewage piping. I am chased. I swim as fast as possible to the surface. I have no weapons. I manage to make it to safety and air.

I soon build a mech-suit. I am able to remote control it from outside. I gain entry to the building. It is overrun with people and Aliens. I throw mine shaped bombs. Aliens disentigrate. The machine breaks down. I have to go in physically. I take bombs. I am Sigourney Weaver.

Once inside I see many people. They run to me for safety. The Aliens disentigrate from my bombs. I tell the people how to get out. I must find my suit. I find it behind a nest of eggs. I jump inside a manually control it. The building begins to collapse, but only internally. The exoskeleton stays intact. I cling to the roofing. Aliens jump beneath me. Snap at my heels. The cylinder begins to fill with acidic blood. I boost the rocket jets. I burn some faces off. I burst out of the roof. I fall into cool lake water. I am safe. I am Sigourney Weaver.

Brief Bullet. No. 380

A group of people. Two women, a hefty man in a light-blue collar shirt, and myself. We discuss. The man is leaning against a pole towards one of the ladies. He laughs. "Aoh". He recoils. A look of pain. He stumbles back. A woman cries out. The one he was leaning towards puts out a hand to grasp him. This replays. The second time a small something enters his chest at his cry of pain. The third time red begins to spread across the point where a small something entered his chest at his cry of pain. The fourth time he collapses. The fifth time there is only a spotlight on his form on the floor. He wears a red and blue collar shirt.

Disturbing Addiction. No. 379

I'm sent to investigate a new gaming development: A full body suit to express virtual interactions. A beta version is cycling around. Mostly Upper class people and celebrities are in possession of the apparatus. First stop is the developer: Grammatix, a division of Noblesse Oblige. I arrive at a very opportune time for a journalist, inopportune for the developer. A test has revealed some disturbing facts. A subject had been in the actuality-suit for over three and a half hours. He began to show heightened aggression. He finally submit to the slowly rising temperature and fainted. A medical team transported him to a table to operate. I play doctor.

The suit had grafted to his body. Neuro-processors had extended and curled to hook into the subjects skin. The suit itself had sealed tightly and melded the clasps together. I took a saw and began to cut open the suit. At once the subject began to scream. His muscles tensed and he began to breath rapidly. I cut along the body up to the neck. Once I reached the suits sensory network, the hooks retracted and the patient seemed to calm down a bit. One other helped me remove the remaining pieces. When we got to the boots the subject, tired from screaming, could only let out a few stifled cries. His feet were sensitive and wrecked. The soles looked like raw hide, with blood revealed in a few cracks here and there. We took the other boot off as delicately as possible with the same result. I was through playing doctor.

That afternoon I am to visit Louis Anderson's house. I am interviewing him about his experience with the actuality-suit.
"I love it. It allows me to experience the heat of battle. The suit even seems to compensate for my physical characteristics and boosts energy and performance. That's saying a lot for me."

Louis insists we play a round of war. I agree after much convincing. Of course he insists I use the suit while he uses the "guest suit", which is composed of a bracer gun-mount, a head band cum eye screen, and a status belt: a minimal experience compared with the suit. I am in the suit. It feels warm, almost like a second skin. Louis boots the system and I suddenly feel pin-pricks all over. The suit has integrated with my nervous system, my neural network. The helmet view screen displays the world before me. There is a digital map in the upper left corner with a wire frame spatial readout of my location. It emits a wave every two or three seconds: a radar I assume.

Louis screams a war cry and calls, "Let the hunt begin!" It was distant. I am in a new realm. An old warehouse gone to ruins. An old war zone probably composed of images from the warring states in the east. There is a gun in my hand. I can hear footsteps from behind. I am frightened. I forgot to ask what happens when you die. I've only the heard the pain from a stab or a shot is 25% of what one would feel in actuality, but this can be changed to as low as 2% and as high as 80% with safety measures that lower a a percentage if the infliction is severe (such as a decapitation or a limb removal). I run for cover behind a few industrial crates. Louis cries out in that damned whiny voice, "Where are you my little biscuit? Louis is hungry." I jump out as I hear him round the corner. I let out a few shots and manage to land one in his foot. Louis curses in pain, but lets off a shot of his own that lands me square in the shoulder. Excruciating.

"F***! Louis, what is my virtuality/actuality ratio?"
"50%. That's where you can begin to let imagination loose and the 'reality' to take over. That's the level where you're body begins to react, not just your mind." He laughs.

I run. I turn a corner as he lets some shots fly. I suspect they were meant to scare me. Louis is a decent shot. Then it hits me. I am running from Louis Anderson. My shoulder throbs. I grab at it. My hand feels wet and as I put it before me I see it glistening red.

"Don't worry. You're not actually bleeding, but the suit will keep track of blood loss and imitate the effects accordingly." I turn and face him. He raises his gun. "But I think you've had enough for today."

Bullet to the brain.

Short. No. 376

Vague images of a musical notes. Platform of a train station. A suit uses me to stay warm. The hat grumbles about the late train. I can only stand by, patiently. I check my watch. It's half past; the lacking scent of orchids stunts the air. The hour of the Cock and all I can say is don't face the west. Only the east quarter may be traveled, until the desert is hit. Either a sea of people, a sea of sand, or a sea of blue. Nothing as far as the eye can take me. Not very far says the necktie. It tightens until My face matches the train paint. We burn across the continent, and luckily I fall naked, into my bed.

I missed the bus.

Andrew Bird.

Secret Andrew Bird concert at a speakeasy converted house. I have a ticket, there is one more on sale. A friend, "Dylan" and I race to the locative-art box office. He drives. We pull into a hotel overhang. He gets out. I back out to park the car. Free parking just around the corner. When I switch off the engine and step out, the car turns to a solid white bike. I think "oh great, I don't have my bike lock. I'll have to put it in the trunk, but I don't think it will fit!" Conveniently, the back wheel disappears. So I carry the bike towards the B.O. Dylan has purchased his ticket and he looks at the bike confusedly. I think, "where's the car?" Then I realize the car is the bike is the car and it disappears completely. We make our way to the speakeasy converted house.

When we arrive, there are very few people there. No Andrew Bird sighted yet. The main performance chamber is littered with a few couches and chairs. There is futurist art hanging on the walls, alongside classical distortion images of the International Pantheon. "Our seats are not here." We trek out the back patio, across some train tracks to a couch-table set up. Dylan heads in for a drink while I watch trains go by. I wait, and decide to head inside. NO one is in the main performance hall. I hear noise emanating from the "living room". I head in. Food, Drink, Hookah! The room is hot and smoky. Alcohol seems to flow like a river in the air. Dylan is talking with Andrew Bird. I join in. We bullshit and talk about the times. Then Bird decides it's time to perform. The lights go down to blue. A cool white washes into it. "Fits and Dizzyspells". When the song ends, the world fades to black.

Red lights aglow. Large columns surrounding. I follow the row of red. They curve around corners and corridors. An old theatre. In each viewing room is an empty space. Nothing of which to note. The roof peels back. The sky is cloud and blue. I fall and I fall.

No. 247 with No. 378

A war-field. There are turret set ups everywhere. It is a decoy. The three which make up my unit hide in the high tower. The enemy arrives, landing in ships, driving-up in vehicles. Wait til the whites in the eyes, then we fire. Purple gun waste, red-plasma sprays. Explosions spread the masses. No longer can we hold out. Jumps through the temporal shift----------- Clad in white, stormtrooper-esque. Equipped with a digital hammer with tea leaf extract in a ball soaked club. Astral pictographic planes wire frame the establishment. The Tron-scape lays out behind the alabaster halls. Every window diving into anothers mind, every door an escape into my own. Shouts from behind...I go flush with a walled corner. I fall back into the shadow-port. I fall. I land. I roll. I smell a sour stench. Flip the light switch. A whir. Wrong switch. Walls fall. Glowing figures in the dark. A scorpions nest. I dodge and roll. The glowing Delilah prances my way, a tangle of unshaven legs and manicured points. She embraces with a snap, thuds with her club. I side step and return the favor. I run for fractal land. I fall------------------------- I dream: "The 400 left for dead with nothing but the sea and Ark. There will be a day when a new hundred will join them. Rising from the sea, guided by the Frogfish . The lost of Atlantis. The ghosts of the sea, given flesh. Fire. Shouts and cries. Cold. Rumblings from the sky. Laughter of the first-class. Shapes and forms in the water. Shadows in the deep. Sinking. There is no blessed silence. There are the screaming images of words--bubbles rising from familia." I wake: Sirens. Night. Rumblings from the upper decks. I race to the door. The halls are wet with slime. A demon stands at the foot of the stairs. Painted face, bones and teeth decorating his skin. I slide to meet him and butt his head with my tridents side. I climb to the upper deck. Cool air wails in my ears, while cries spray me in the face. The wind angers the blazing fire. The water stained with pale forms. The numbers halved. The weak ousted. Demons everywhere. I fight as many off as possible. The safety bar splinters from the side and knocks me into the water. We are lost. My people. Places switched by demons. But, the sea is merciful. There is an island. We make camp. Food and shelter. For a month we live peacefully. Then the demons arrive. They come "peacefully" ask us to submit or die. They wish for everything we worked for. I refuse. I speak to their leader. Pale blue skin. Veins wrapped about his body like jungle vines. They seem to suck the very life out of him, feeding his strength with his own. A self-propelling beast. He carries an elongated heretics fork. He challenges me. We fight. I dash him with my Trident. He swings and stabs at air. Sluggish and full of meat. I am too quick for him. I catch him at his throat. He smiles a smile. I push the tines deeper into his pulsating throat. Blood black as tar oozes down the pole. He speaks to me in spurts and burbles. I twitch and jostle the weapon. He stabs. Above my stomach, below my sternum. Pinches my ribs together, twisting the his prongs. Both weapons retract and retreat on both sides occurs. They will return. In the night: my love is poisoned. She births a child in my dreams and when I wake she is dead on the rocks near the camp of Demons. I kiss my child and then place it on her mothers cheeks. Rose-tones return to her flesh, the baby is cold, but alive. A mark on her cheek: A red Gothic print A.  I do not know what this means.