The movie Us

Us!

From Apple iPhone Txts from me to Farbie:

OMG This Us movie from 2019 is one creepy shuddery movie! It’s a horrifying horror film, too, with underlying themes of racism, class war, privilege, zombies, shadows, the mirror universe, & demonizing the Other. It is well acted & Lupita Nyong’o is superb playing her dual roles. Scarier than those monster flicks! Continue reading

Maddy & Diddy

– a short snap of a tale –

She sighed as her iPhone buzzed hard enough on her desk to spin sideways. Maddy glanced at the time and just knew who texted her. Should’ve turned off all notifications, she grumbled. Diddy, her ex-husband, had texted her yet again. They’ve been divorced nearly 20 years now, remain friendly acquaintances even tho they live in different states and have two children between them. But why in hell did she ever married anyone named Diddy? What a stupid, fucking name! Of course, Diddy wasn’t his real name. Austin Willis Wallace was.

His mama used to play Bo Diddley records back when he was a little boy, however, and little Austin Willis would boogey around the house so much his daddy called him, “Diddy.” Name stuck. “Lookit Diddy go!” folks used to say. And when he grew up and married Maddy, he impregnated her. Two twin boys resulted, Dilbert and Data, named after two characters, one a cartoon and the other an android. Maddy rolled her eyes remembering her crazy youth and sighed with annoyed exasperation as her smartfone vibrated across her desk again. That goddamn Diddy!

Maddy worked as a nurse in neuro-oncology and had hoped to retire already, but having kids late in life plus the economic and financial upheavals of the pandemic, climate change, and the war in Ukraine made it imperative to keep chugging away RNing on people’s brains. She was busy, tired, had to help Dilbert pay the initial installment on his reactivated student loans, and just wanted to go home and soak in the bathtub and play with her waterproof vibrator.

OK, what the hell, Maddy decided. She reached out and picked up her iPhone. Yes, sure enough, a text had popped in from Diddy. That goddamn Diddy! What did her ex-hubby have to say this time? She clicked on the message. Continue reading

WandaVision-In-A-Gaddus-Da-Hexa-Marva-Hexa

Get Spoiled: Surfing the Excellence and the Hype of WandaVision

Oh, goddess, “In-A-Gaddus-Da-Hexa-Hexa” sounds SO STUPID, and, hey, I’m having fun, so I’m a gonna run-runna-run widdit. Certain scenes reminded me of Iron Butterfly’s trippy, psychedelic, early heavy metal hippie anthem, “In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida.” The more than a quarter-of-an-hour song spladdled with drunken, stoner spirit and mixed with mystical, psycho-religious romance and sexual innuendo was unleashed upon the planet back in 1968, tho. Some of WandaVision’s mindshows began even earlier, didn’t they? In old movies and even older comic books? At least in some minds…

Marvel’s WandaVision premiered on 15 January 2021 and concluded on the 5th of March. One can watch it on the Disney+ streaming service. For those new to the MCU, make sure you watch the mid-and-end credit scenes at the conclusion of each episode. And, wow, what a show! What a series! 

WandaVision is one of the most sophisticated, elegant, and trippy deep television shows ever created. Not only was the so-called Fourth Wall convention routinely broken and broken in quirky ways, but all of the barriers of illusion were perturbed with fiendish delight. One can imagine the actors and production staff giggling off-stage. The show is the equivalent of multiple shows nesting one inside the other like some bizarre blend of Russian dolls and Chinese boxes. With all of the dolls and boxes in motion as well. Aye, this rabbit hole burrows deeper and deeper yet into a warren of rabbit holes. Continue reading

Goddess of the Galaxy

~short prose thru a window~

The metro bus rumbled past below, squealing outside my windows as the driver braked to make the corner. Nash laid in bed against a stack of pillows as he listened to the bus and imagined its mix of passengers cringing from one another’s imaginary cooties and flu germs. Real ones, too, he wagered. Nash took another drag from his cigarette. Watched the smoke glide back out of his face to curl aimlessly up toward the ceiling. There he watched the smoke snake across the ceiling as ghosts of long-dead ivy. Outside above the city, bright blue sunshine hollowed out the sky to fill the man’s apartment.

Oblivious to the gargantuan maw beginning slurp at the icy cloud surrounding the solar system he dwelled within, the skies had poured rain for weeks and weeks, a damp, dreary rain. Started out romantic, tho, the kind of rain where lovers walk through the drizzle arm in arm murmuring over cups of gently sloshing hot coffee.

After one week, however, after just one lonesome week romance frayed into irritation. Another week later melancholia gripped even the cheeriest soul. Darkness more prehistoric than their sun grew closer and grew large as it sucked at tatters of soul. Many spurned lovers drank themselves dumb. Nash was glad to have quit all alcohol. Didn’t miss it much, well, maybe a little bit, yeah, the feel of a can in his hand, or a bottle, or a cup. Yeah, he knew he needed to quit these cigarettes, too. Loved his smokes, tho. Ghosts of many a death from old cancer wards swirled around the glowing end of his cigs reminding Nash of gravestones and mud and damp, musty magazines and libraries turned inside out of buildings with all their books facing into the rain. Aye, must quit those damn cigs. 

Soon people began to shoot and stab each other. A darkness greater than any moon obscured compelled them to violence and lunacy. Love became unrecognizable, as if one’s heart burst with lust and devotion but mutated swiftly into shattered glass jars of strawberry jam. Nash craved one more cigarette, just one more, but the round-the-clock news media flashed one horror after another. He felt as if they were all watching plague, pox, and parasites eating up the world on TV. So many people became so numb Nash thought they may as well have been watching a spooky, goofy old movie about an apocalypse on another planet far from the world of his ancestors. 

“Nash! Hey, G’Nash!” she called up to the man in the window. “Good morning!”

“Mornin’. What up?” Nash barked back thru the open windows into the big wide blue.

“Quick! Look at me!”

The man sighed a tired, lazy ass sigh, embarrassed at being caught behaving like a sloth in his own mind. He got up out of bed, snuffed out his cig, and stretched towards the ceiling. He quickly pulled down his shirt and walked over without anything else on to the window. Bathed in bright, blue sunshine, he stood in the large, open window and grinned down at the person commanding his attention.

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The Horrors of Neptune, or, really, the Void beyond the Vastness of Inner Space: A Belated Review of 2019’s Ad Astra

Science Fiction and the clash of myths & psychoanalysis amidst Deep Space

Felt like shooting one of Elon Musk’s “Giant Fucking Rockets” at every review I read of Ad Astra where the film critic moaned, groaned, and bitched about frickin’ “daddy issues.” C’mon, people, of COURSE there exist daddy issues. And son issues, too! At least this wasn’t some twisted, incest-addled blood, sand, & sandals Ancient Empires kinda flick set up top in Outer Space! But they did have space pirates on the Moon, and bloodthirsty, psychotic baboons took over a corporate spaceship lab. The cinematography was gorgeous.

Best of all, the movie captured the vast expanse of space with a lush, incandescent magnificence where we teeny tiny, itty bitty bipedal social primates from a small, rock and water planet were overwhelmed with a mix of dread and awe. Drama interplay between top actors including Brad Pitt, Donald Sutherland, and Tommy Lee Jones was accented by short, intense performances by a number of others among the cast including Ruth Negga, LisaGay Hamilton, Greg Bryk, and others. So many people played so many bit parts I was often left wondering more about these characters, wanting to see more, yet mildly irritated as to see more would be a tangle of tangential distractions. Seeing Natasha Lyonne, a star rising once more from later shows as diverse as, Orange is the New Black and Russian Dolls was both a surprise and a delight. She is so goofy, fun, and gnarly!

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Abducted by Space Aliens from Outer Space

A true lie that really happened just last week!

Got’dang’it all, I got abbyducted by Space Aliens from Outer Space last night! And impregnated! Impregnated aboard a UFO! All abbyduckyfied and impregnaciously messed up! Aboard a space ship shaped like a giant, flying zucchini squash. And I’m a man! A true human being! An Earthling! A Homo sapiens man! Got impregnated with a cluster of teeny-tiny baby octopus-crab hybrids plooped deep inside me bowels somewhere. Oh god. Goddess, too! Shit! What are we all gonna do? It’s worse than a face hugging chestbuster from Aliens. Yeah, remember Aliens? From 1986? Eeeewuh! And these Space Aliens who kidnapped me & my royal man nuggets had puppies & kitties, too! For breakfast! They feddem poor li’l ol’ cute puppies & kitties to each other, those hybrid octopuddy-crabby critters did! Tore those itty bitty mammals apart! Made me cringe! Then they impregnated me with a long, worm-like thang what looked like a, a, um, a giant squid pecker I guess!

Twas no fun! No, it was NOT! 

They probed me anus & said they be lookin’ for Uranus. I told ’em, hell, it ain’t down in there but way up yonder. I pointed up high to the sky. Pointed with a crooked, li’l ol’ pinky finger I did, cuz they had me belly down, knees scrunched, and all lashed up tight. They said, “Earth Dude, lookit, you fool. If we turn yo body inside out, then all we can’t see becomes revealed as everything outside becomes yo insides. See?”

¡¡¡Oh, NO!!!

You don’t rilly wanna know about the evolutionary consequences of intelligent, deliberate panspermia, do ya?

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Arrival Arrives

A review without spoilers and names of prominence.

Saw the film, Arrival. Wow, what a movie! Opens up, takes apart, and recreates language, time, and sensations of consciousness. And without blowing shit up, either. Relationships are the pathways to connection as well as the results of connection. No, not pathways, fields, as in fields of connection. This movie is both cerebral and emotional and thus deeply engaging. At the center of it all, of everything really, is presence. Presence. Awareness and self-awareness. One becomes present to what is deeply precious.

For those who think they really know whom & what Cthulhu is, well, y’alla in for all manner of surprises. Plus Arrival‘s another in a line of fictional films rich with symbolisms of soft disclosure. If it’s not your cup of tea, well don’t drink the damn tea then & go experience the movie.

The premises of the film as serious science fiction aren’t new. Messin’ with perceptions of what is time, explorations of consciousness, and their affect on what is reality and how we humans relate to each other and everything else are staples of so-called “serious” or “literary” syfy. Wordsmiths will love the story’s inquiry into language and the relationship between language and reality. This merges into inquiries regarding such in the relationships between ourselves and especially with those we love. One may be reminded as I was of the late ethnobotanist and psychedelic pioneer Terence McKenna’s observations of language and how the mind uses language to create and define what it perceives as reality.

A close friend, a mother with kids of her own, attended the show with me here in Seattle. She was blown away and moved to tears. Later she helped me fill in what I thought were gaps in my understanding due to my profound hearing impairment. My new hearing aids helped tremendously, and yet they don’t match the capacity of healthy ears and brain. What I discovered was there wasn’t anything to hear. I was so focused on hearing I missed the body language and the temporal-visual language of pictures moving at certain key points. In addition I was confronted with my own inner contradiction: I disliked nonlinear temporal constructs and prefer neatly organized compartmentalization of flow, yet by undoing all of those allows for breakthroughs in consciousness revealing deeper understandings of truth, reality, and ultimately my self.

Yeah, take someone by the hand and dive on into the Dreamtime. Thy minds shall open time.

 

William Dudley Bass
November 2016
Seattle, Washington
United States of America
Bioregion of Cascadia
Planet Earth
Sol Star

Note:
Adapted from my Facebook post of Tuesday 15 November 2016 & revised Friday 25 November 2016.

 

Copyright © 2016 by William Dudley Bass. All Rights Reserved until we Humans establish Wise Stewardship of and for our Earth and Solarian Commons. Thank you.

 

Coffee at the Bus Stop

Zoroaster or Zarathustra above the two fish-human hybrid gods called Dagon (or Dagan).

Zoroaster (Zarathustra) above the two fish-human hybrid gods called Dagon (Dagan).

Nommo the Fish God from the Sirius Solar System; sacred to the Dogon tribe of the Hothburi Mountains of Mali's Sahara Desert, near the Ancient city of Timbuktu.

Nommo the Fish God from the Sirius Solar System; sacred to the Dogon tribe of the Hothburi Mountains of Mali’s Sahara Desert, near the Ancient city of Timbuktu.

I love making coffee in the morning. Every morning. Every morning right here in Seattle! Oh, the gradual, sloppy slide of my naked skin over the edge of my bed after I axe my alarm, the
whump ass
WHUMP! WHUMP! WHUMP!
whump ass
pillow thumper dumper alarm
hearing folks sometimes think is a goddamn bomb.

Indeed! See, once a cloisterchuck of well-dressed, hotel staff came to make my bed after I left for breakfast with one of the humans I was mating with at the time. Oh, my, they saw this womp ass pillow whumper tucked under the pillow, saw the long electrical cord snaking out and down out of sight into an odd-shaped alarm clock. And don’t bombs having timing devices? And don’t terrorists like to attack hotels and swimming pools and tombstones and shit? They were so perturbed I thought the local police was going to cart my sweet ol’ scary alien monster ass away into a classified, black site laboratory so they could shackle me upside down and probe me with aromatherapy candles and colonoscopy scopes and whatnot. Or to the local human jail out behind the courthouse for hapless thugs and foolish, drug-addled tourists and hungover drunks with their britches all a slippy-slippity-twisty down around their ankles and hung up in yanked-up socks and shit. Took a deep breath, I did, took seven deep breaths in all. Explained the situation without rippling my man skin with ripples of sweat. The police rolled their eyes, looked studly for a bit, then turned and walked away. A bomb! Bombs, indeed! Well, Jeeezus Buddhie Socrateezie!

Yeah, pillow thumper alarm clock. My clock as a small, thick, flying saucer-shaped vibrator I slide inside my pillowcase. It bangs my brains awake. See, I’m beautifully deaf in both ears. I can’t hear, see. I can’t hear very well, not at all, so therefore I feel. Feel into the world. Feel into it all. Oh, yeah, where’s my Adderall? Where did I put my pill bottle? Oh, goodness, this crazy feeling! So much to know! So much to feel with this amazing body I wear! Just didn’t know I could do it, feeling these feelings, feeling this way and feeling that way, feeling at the unexpected moment I watched someone die. A human stranger jerked off this planet by The Powers That Do before she could even finish her coffee. She died horribly, too. Died right in front of me. Died drinking coffee. Or while I was drinking coffee. Bus stop coffee. It’s all a haze of red and brown mist now. As she passed on into the Afterlife, well, in the horrific screeching krunch of gravitational krush, I could feel it…I felt her life wrenched loose from her dying flesh. Scary at first. Almost…intoxicating. As intoxicating as the smell of fresh roasted coffee in the morning as I prepare the drink of Gods.

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All the Darkness in Space

Dedication

To all those dreamers who dare to write science fiction, fantasy, and horror and thumb their noses at the arty-farty literati. We can all have fun being serious.

All the Darkness in Space:

A Novella

1

Flames burned purple at the dawn of death. The skies droned with the color of moron flesh. Silent explosions flared upon the distant horizon beyond the lake. Gesele stood among the pines along the shore watching the dawn mists rise and float above still waters. She squatted, enjoyed the crunch of pine needles and pebbles under foot, ran her hand through the water feeling the almost creamy smoothness of calm water then jerked it away. The lake was ice cold. She watched droplets of water drip from her fingers. The skies grew lighter and lighter with a video dullness. A breeze began to stir through the trees and rippled the waters. Grey boulders jutted out of the metallic pond. A sun bleached log lay across the sand, its top half still in the water. Stark, skeletal branches cut through shadows of the dawn. The sun rose churning fire.

A whirlwind of sunlight crashed through the conifers, drove out all shadow and seared the forest floor. Gesele backed away, shielding her eyes with her hands, stumbling, tripping, falling down. She cursed the sun, her breasts heaving beneath her tight suit of flexible, breathable armor. The breeze whipped into a wind and gusted across the now choppy lake. The early morning fog blew alive and writhed with energy. The sun sucked mist into its maw. Straw-like reeds bent across the water toward the rising heat. It was her first morning in what used to be the old American state of Maine. Despite the terror of war she loved the Maine outdoors. Gesele relished the early-morning knife whip of sun-warmed wind.

Fighter planes pulsed overhead, screaming silently into the radio static. Gesele cussed again and ran deep into the woods, pushing through pines and firs to hide among giant red spruce. The earth was so soft yet cobbled with rock. More explosions. The sky flared with radiation. Gesele wiped sweat from her brow and stood there, ribs swelling and falling with each breath, her taut muscles flexing, curled fingers flicked open sharp as talons.

Goddammit where the Hell is Korbin?

She reached up behind her left ear and pushed. A microbutton, resting just under the skin, indented and clicked. She grumbled at the obsolescence of her augmentation for the newer ones didn’t need tiny buttons. All you need to do with the new ones was think the command. Her neurocomputer implant flashed behind her eyes as she mainlined into enhanced reality.

Gesele scanned the forests. Every object shimmered with auras of electromagnetic radiation yet registered with amplified digital clarity. She focused her electronically amped vision and expanded her own aura. Pseudo-psychic sparks erupted as tongues of bioplasmic energy rubbered out through the woods, searching. More planes zoomed across the face of the rising sun, blasting the rebel forces dug into the mountainside.

ZEEEMmnn . . . a sensation of iced razorblades slit her consciousness. She cried out, surprised by the intensity. There. A kaleidoscope of glitter pinwheeled her into a vortex, and she went with it. As the wind coursed over the lake she flowed through the morning quicksilver and then she was there. Gesele reached up behind her ear and dropped out into the real world.

Ahh, the real world, she thought as she took off her cap and ran a hand through black, spiky locks. One had to be careful not to wander too long among the planes of enhanced reality. It was the outer space of the mind fused with electronic synth tissue. It was nowhere yet everywhere far beyond the borders of the ancient Internet and things virtual. There were people who never came back, leaving their bodies catatonic while they wandered lost in an illusion. But the illusion could be so sensuous, the sheer erotic power of it, the showering sparks, the multilayered colors of a billion auras, the wild, still unexplained mystery of computer-enhanced extrasensory perception.

There were even some, it was whispered, who deliberately sought to lose themselves. Many among the super wealthy had the resources to keep their bodies plugged in and fed, some longer than others. Some claimed the world of illusion was just as real, if not more so, than the mundane. It was beyond dreams and out of the mind. They were out there searching for the perfect astral orgasm, the melding with nirvana, to electronically escape from the mundane world into the seduction of the unknown. Cyberghosts, they called themselves, and in some weird way their sacred scripture were yellowed paper copies of Walt Whitman’s poem “I Sing the Body Electric.” Most failed to break out, many went insane, but a fabled few never returned. Where they went no one knows.

Ahh, it was so beautiful here amid the pine and maple trees clustered around old ice age boulders and primeval lakes of cold, cold water. Combat ships howled across pale blue skies and worn-down mountains as a cool morning breeze caressed her unwashed face. She could settle down and live here…almost…maybe…just maybe…

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Blood is Messy

Some kids dress up as superheroes and monsters from Outer Space. I dreamed of being a serial killer. And as Richmond sat surrounded by Civil War battlefields, there were many grownups that dressed up in butternut and gray to play war among trashy shopping malls and picnic tables. Ever notice they’d rather shoulder rifle-muskets and fire cannons than play at being saw-wielding surgeons surrounded by piles of amputated mannequin limbs?

Me? Well, I was different. I am a serial killer. But, I ask, who killed and maimed more people? Soldiers, of course. I was far more selective. Yes, indeed, I am a serial killer. Yea, I imagined I lived in a comic book and was born for death.

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Willy Ain’t Got No Brains

Lookit that damn fool Willy standin’ there under the giant ass end of General Robert E. Lee’s monstrous horse waving the axed-off head of a rooster up in the air for all the world to see. Scaring all of Richmond, Virginia down into the James River and out to sea. Folks driving down Monument Avenue jump up outa their seats, point like little kids, and almost wreck their cars going the wrong way down North Allen. By the time they popped outa their trance they laid on the horn and shout everything but hymns. Willy didn’t care one wit. He’d already seen the beginning of civilization and the end of the world. And so he scattered droplets of blood everywhere while dancing 65-70 some feet below the end of a bronze horse.

Red against the pale granite of the monument base was a large, square cloth. It was half as big as a picnic table and more crimson than a pool of fresh slaughterhouse blood in sunlight. Rocks held down the corners and the sides, rough chunks of granite and quartz dug out of red Virginia clay. Crushed slices of silvery-glass mica and yellow fool’s gold lay scattered across the square of the cloth. In the center, bound up in orange red twine, was a headless rooster with his chest cut open. Off to the side was a fifth of whiskey. Good whiskey, too. Not great liquor, but souvenir spirits. A black and tan bottle of 1964 George Dickle Tennessee Whisky strapped with a worn leather choker. With a file-sharpened felling axe layin’ right up next to it. There was, however, not a candle in sight.

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Lipwood and the End of America

imagesdrone_1_thumbUnknown Free Clip Art

A Next Generation Drone Just For You & Yours

Once upon a time not all that long ago somewhere over there in the Land of Barely There and Right Here Now, a group of men and women from across different religions and races gathered together in the city. They were fed up. They were fed up with frakkin’ ass local politicians, bureaucrats, and bankers hobfoggin’ all together to hire those guys from Way Over There to come way over here to install those robotic spy cameras all over town.

So these men and women from a number of ethnic groups and of varying religious convictions took up arms, as was their right, and blew the FRAK out of all those damn traffic surveillance cameras in Lipwood, George, the once-new state named after the first American president’s first name. Yes, George was a composite of counties that once bordered two states. Could be what used to be the Washington – Idaho border. With a corner of Oregon? Or Colorado-Nebraska with a corner of Kansas? I suppose it doesn’t matter because the once-famous State of George doesn’t exist anymore. In the beginning, however, their clamors for secession were so loud and cantankerous the rest of the states hollered, “Truck ’em away, goddammit! To Hell with ‘em then!”

Oh, it was a wild, righteous joy to pump slugs from a shotgun into those damn spy cameras. Never mind one or two shooters themselves had a couple of tiny little surveillance devices discreetly tucked away on their persons to record such destructive indignation. In the shouts of revolt all justifications arose and no one would remember the lessons of violence throughout time. Something just had to be done…NOW! People were beyond feeling FED up! Aye, We the People felt frakkin’ FED up with the flipass FEDS!!!

Oh, it felt good. Real good. They weren’t terrorists. Who the hell were they terrorizing? Even the cops felt waves of relief. Yes, these good men and women considered themselves patriots and reclaimed their privacy from corporate-dominated government gone amok with schemes to get rich by privatizing domestic spying. F*ck*rs.

Yes, these rowdy citizens considered it their solemn duty to get out yonder and blow shit up. Especially when they found out their own shit was looking back spying on them. So out came bags of nitrogen fertilizer and cans of diesel fuel, yeah man. Freedom loving democratic socialist vanguard redneck libertarian green goo anarchists coffee tea whiskey mixing neo-communist muhfukkahs LOVE to … blow shit up.

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When Machines marry Humans for Love

If some folks can’t handle the vast variety of marriages expressed around the world, wait till humans start marrying sentient machines.

(Saturday 12 May 2012 via Twitter to Facebook)

—-
Response to Facebook Friend Liz T.: Liz, I’m honored. My comments were inspired by a convergence of 4 thoughts: Romney’s recent address at Liberty University where he collapsed his opinion & wants with a definition of marriage, and I sought to respond by not being one of many autokneejerk reactions, and of studies of marriages taking many forms including but not limited to polyandry, polygamy, polyamory, group marriage, open marriage, gay marriage, intersexed, etc., without extolling nor condemning any one choice. Ethics, not morals.

(13 May at 8:46am via mobile to Facebook)
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Yellow jacket punches thru a spider web as a humming bird dips into petite, purple flowers. Green stalks quiver above the grass as I brush my teeth this side of windows.

(Mother’s Day Sunday Morning 13 May)
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Sol slips behind the Olympics across the Salish. Sometimes those mountains rise above the water. Tonight they cut open the sky as it bleeds down into the sea.

(Monday night 14 May just after sunset.)
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Once upon a time a long, long time ago in some faraway place much like home, an epidemic of broken hearts raged thru a land afflicted with romance and delusion. The realm’s healers were quite perplexed to discover a broken heart does not bleed but turns to stone. And when they chipped away and cracked these broken hearts open out spilled the most sparkling diamonds. From every one.

(Tuesday 15 May 2012)
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Overcome with emotion, the first healer scooped up handfuls of diamonds from the cavity of a broken heart turned to stone, the one he cracked open eight minutes ago, to discern any clues to the current epidemic. For a moment, for one, infinite moment they sparkled with the Eye of God. Blinded into madness by such health, he danced with the Joy of Oneness as he knew nothing else no longer mattered.

Jealous and dismayed, his associate broke open another broken heart turned to stone, snatched up 6 diamonds only to feel them dissolve into liquid and penetrate his skin. His glee turned to surprise then fear then horror.

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Six Words Make A Story Short

Here Are Six Very Short Stories:

It’s all true, and a lie.

Got fat. Lost weight. Drank beer.

Climbed mountain, lost pants, took nap.

Clouds ripple in moonlight. She screams.

“Hey, you! What time will it…?”

Pink escalators spun candy to heaven.

 

More Tall Tales for Tight Whales

Corpses wash up in surf. Crabs!

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