My Lady's Pain

"Do YOU renounce ALL your sins, Blake?"

The woman sat in front of me is quite the interrogator.

Making people talk is in her family's blood after all.

Like all true sadists, she uses her client's shame & grows more powerful from it.

She has a definite calling.

Her mission is a Holy One.

It started all the way back with the Thought Inquisition & the burning of heretics.

She is my sweet three-dimensional Torquemada.

*

And The Street Screamed Blue Murder!

The novella by PULP METAL MAGAZINE's Jason Michel, where l'il ole me makes an appearance.

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The Dirty - Part Two

"Would you pull a trigger to create Eden?" - Deryk Kokzynski

I have been out here a month now & the metallic weather continues to drone & howl. I cannot remember the last time I saw the bloody sun dripping in all its glory. Black sky mood. Not even a shaft of lightness filtered through stern clouds like those damned glow-trees in fog.

The Dirty - Part One

“There is great disorder under heaven ... the situation is excellent.” - Mao Zedong 

There is a right gale outside.

A veritable hurricane for this neck of The Somnambulopolis. The shimmering trees lining the street are bending & leaves spiral down into showers of fallen comets at the end of the world that block up gutters. I stare out through the small misshapen wooden framed windows of this ragged apartment

A Face In The Crowd

Old Lurk - It Was A Helluva Night

One Feral Night

 “That's another fine mess ...”

(Switch it on!)

I looked to the east over the smoke clouds billowing from the charred guts of once-mighty skyscrapers & habitation blocs. Various scattered blackened vehicles were strewn hither & yon, looking like beetles in the aftermath of a forest fire. Their drivers were long gone, if they knew what was good for them, sheltering from the feral storm that had driven through The Somnambulopolis. The sun rose stealthily, creeping wide-eyed & open-mouthed, itself shocked at the ferocity of the moon's vigil.

I knew how he felt.

Ragnarok N Roll

“ … 1, 0! … Geddit? “

Information. Goddamn'd information. That's what it's all about, me ol' china. Everything. Reality. Qubits. Zero & one, not standing defined, not staid, not solid but that holy whole hole zero being endlessly fucked (optimism) or raped (pessimism) by an erect & phallic one. A super-positional orgy.

Reality is the divine come-face.

A wanking divinity at war with itself. Atum endlessly tugging the multi-verse into being.

Well, we all have our quirks, don't we?

Our little foibles.

A Vulture's Requiem

“For those about to kill, we salute you”

It was a hottest day of the year when a trident burst out of tawny man's chest, sending an arc of gore & splintered bone out onto the dusty ground. A roar echoed up out of the baying crowd as the robo-cameras of Channel Lurk-1 whizzed & honed in on the deadly spectacle like wasps to jam jar. The kraken of the mob was awakening at the first kill & unfurling its tentacles of desire. Old Lurk Colosseum hissed with the malicious electricity of legalised termination & every thing began to smell heavy. In the centre of the ring the two

Chinese Whispers

“Who's there?”

As the wind mustered itself for another assault on the old IZ, Industrial Zone, of Old Lurk, I pulled my brown trench coat tighter around me & bravely marched, head down & gritted teeth, towards the agreed meeting place.

The roads were as deserted as the dawn before bombs drop. Production had long since stopped in most of the factories & warehouses around here. The death of industrial enlightenment had sucker punched Old Lurk as much as any other city in any other universe.

Old Lurk. The Somnambulopolis. The original ghost town.

I entered into an alley between two dark satanic factory walls. The roofs staggered upwards like giant teeth biting into the captured & unruly firmament. There was an

Seraphim Blues

“Angelina”

Spoken in a whisper.

Whistling through the sorrow stained alleyways of my memories on the wings of drunken white doves.

That name.

That girl.