Welcome to Kreature Keepers Bizaro blog:

Softcore Mira makes a Man

2011-08-16T22:17:00.000-07:00

Mira didn't take no for a answer. She was a real go-getter, a force of nature when it came to sales. She closed the deal every time. Stan didn't stand a chance.

Stan worked in the invoices department. It was his job to write up all of the sales that the different reps on the floor made. He was kind of like their supervisor... only it always seemed like he really worked for them. The other reps were all men, and they bullied Stan and pushed him around. It was always jokingly.. they always seemed to be so light hearted about it... and everyone laughed.

Except for Stan.

Mira was the only female Rep. She was always primly polite to Stan. She spoke to him in a clipped authoritative voice and always seemed tightly wound. Stan didn't know if she was showing him respect, she hated his guts or if she disapproved of him so thoroughly that she was treating him like a insect.
He was almost afraid she would come up behind him with a rolled up newspaper and swat him.
Almost.
In fact he started fairly early on having dreams about her.
Her coming in to his office and demanding he fix the copier and then sitting behind him a yelling at him the whole time telling him what a idiot he was, how he was doing it wrong. How it was his responsibility to keep the office running smoothly and how he was a failure.. and then she would start hitting him and he usually woke up.
With a huge Erection.

The first time he spoke to her at work after the first time he had that dream he had to put the folder he was carrying in front of himself because he felt it start to go hard.

She had pushed her hair behind her ears and adjusted her glasses. He remembered thinking how hot she looked in the oversized plastic frames. There was a expensively cheap quality to those glasses.. Something that feintly reminded him of both the librarian at his elementary school and his Dentist.

She seemed very strict. He liked it.
One night he woke up after fantasizing about her spanking him over her knee.
And he climaxed.

Finally finishing his work for the day Stan streched and laced his fingers and arched his back. He was leaving his office when he noticed the desklamp in the cubicle.
She was sitting at her desk. Writing in a small notebook. Stan coughed. He felt like a ass. He squirmed and said her name, she ignored him and kept writing and he waited. Finally he descided that she didn't want him there and he backed up.. to slip out of the cubicle when she closed the book and sat back looking at him.
He froze. Bizzarely he was terrified, like she had caught him in the act of doing something when he hadent been doing anything wrong at all!

She capped the pen, leaned the chair back and crossed her legs. She kept the pen, flicking it up and down with her fingers and she glared at him.
Neither of them spoke.
He wanted to turn away, to ask her what her problem was... or to tell her to stop staring.
But he couldent break eye contact.

Finally when he felt he was going to loose what ever game they were playing... she leaned forward rolled her chair up and grabbed him by the belt.

"I'm tired of toying with you Stan," she said in a annoyed yet playful tone. "For months I've felt your eyes on me, following me like a dog. You don't think I don't know why you stammer and blush every time I talk to you do you? You can't possibly be that stupid."

Stan explained that he did know, that he rather enjoyed the game or whatever it was.. or he would have said something like that but all that he managed to mumble was something about game... and he didn't know... and office furniture. None of it made any sense but he didn't notice he was too busy staring at the open pearl button on her blouse. His eyes didn't dare dive into that shadowed cleft.. so he just looked at the button. Somehow the way it dangled on the threads without the buttonhole to give it support. like a too heavy flower tipping over on its stem; somehow this alone was erotic. He knew that she was talking.. that he should be listening, but he was having a hard time focusing when... WHAP!
She had hauled off and thumped him with the daily call log right on his arm.
Stan backed up rubbing his arm but didn't complain at all. Mira said "pay attention" and then pointed to the floor at her feet. Stan instantly sunk to his knees speechless.

Mira leaned forward and whispered in his ear firmly "You will agree to do as I say or you may leave now. You will listen when I talk to you, and do what you are told or I will stop toying with you all together and I will never speak of any of this even if asked to anyone. It will be like none of it ever happened... do you understand?"

Stan nodded mutely. His eyes downcast.. he was shaking, and he didn't know why.. it wasn't fear.
"Answer me."
"Yes Mistress"

Keyboard terrorist-character study

2011-01-07T14:56:00.000-08:00

Sitting in a packed coffee shop set on a busy street in a busy city I type on my antiquated beast. Cobbled together from ancient transistors and salvaged military machine parts I built the beast for security and not for style. The housing however is a cleverly modified feaux alligator suitcase which opens to reveal a deck covered in up scaled keys from several antique typewriters. There is no holo screen for display as I prefer to view the code through my input visor which is cleverly hidden by a rare pair of vintage glasses.

To any of the casual gawkers in the coffee bar I seem a exccentric twenty something customer lurkin in the corner sipping his chai, wearing a full length fur trench and faded fedora in tattered tortoise shell glassies with a typewriter in his suitcase on his knee.

I am such a odd presence that they don't suspect me of shite, thinkin is that anyone who sets themself apart so much must not be tryin to hide a thing. Like the zebra; I make myself stand out to blend in better with the herd.

Behind the glass my eyes run over the fences and fly past the guards, there is no where that I cannot go, no limits to my ability to see past the security and spot the hidden. My fingers tap out the rhythm that brings information to light, like a god calling up the sun from the darkness. I copy documents that the shadowmen had hidden in what they thought to be impenetrable vaults. I post same documents where any layperson with a palm computer can find, with a few keystrokes the documents are blazing billboards of fire across the whole of the worldwide network. Impossible to hide again, impossible to refute.. all they can do now is control the damages, set their PR men spinnin to spread a fresh load of manure over the lot to make it smell fresher.

They call me terrorist, they would set their dogs on me if they could find where I roost. But its a nursery game to set blind alleys and switchback switches and a web of alter ego persona's never used my real name on the net, never post in the same place twice. My code spiders through automatically, finding new nodes, writing subroutines on its own- to cover its tracks and mine. Making connections and weaving a ever more complex system of moving the information so that they can no more pick me up than pick up a specific grain of sand with a construction crane.

I cannot relate to real people. I have a rapid and bizarre speech pattern developed from speaking more in code syntax than in sentences. I write eloquently enough, but I might as well be speakin in ones and zeroes for all the success I get with women... or men for that matter. Even if they are interested in my roguishly rugged looks and exccentric threads, they soon find my dialogue tedious at best and wander off to sleep with some simian stud who has all the intellectual acumen of a toddler.

No matter, on the net I am a god. A unknown character rumored and whispered about with many faces.

~Just a quick character sketch for a idea I had about a steampunk retro cyber terrorist set in a cyberpunk world. More to come hopefully.

failed relationship of in-equals

2010-09-18T14:45:00.000-07:00

   I don't know how I ended up here. How I found myself in this position at this point in my life. Im broken.

I had always thought myself emotionally invulnerable, that nothing and no one could break me. When I first met him I was so in control. I knew that I wanted, where I was going, what I was going to be.

Somehow (and I don't really blame him for this) he became the focus of my universe. I found out what he wanted and took what was left over for myself. I figured out what was best for his benefit and did it silently.

He thinks I was selfish for wanting, but he doesn't see the generosity and the kindness behind my actions because I never did anything ostentatiously.
I didn't demand he see, I didn't expect reward or recognition.

When I left I gave all I had- taking only what he would not have wanted. Still he thinks that I am being selfish. Thousands of dollars worth of movies, books, games, etc. left for him, and he feels like I'm asking too much to have him pay off the credit card debt.
I'm leaving the house, which I picked out. I'm leaving the business to him that I helped to build. I'm leaving part of my soul and my dreams of peace and love.
He is taking away my deepest passions, and the feeling of acceptance, the feeling that I could do anything, ask anything without judgement and so was completely free to suggest any course, any action without being judged.

That is probably what I will miss most, that and the knowledge that I was once beautiful to him. Once desired and that I was the source of passion and lust. That was his greatest gift to me really.

That gone I don't know how to move forward. I feel like Ive lost my ballast and I'm a ship yawing to port and starboard on a choppy uneven sea of emotion. I'm lost without my anchor, and though he was so rough and rusted, covered with layers of the decay of depression and the encrustations of heavy ennui; I miss the feeling of safety that being anchored provided.

He thinks- I'm sure- that it was the financial stability I will miss, and yes being completely broke is frustrating... But it is being alone, being without a outlet for my love and emotion and passion- that is whats hard.

  In time I am sure I could find another, but to tell the truth I'm not sure that I want to put myself in the position of depending on someone for my emotional wellbeing again.

But the question lingers in my heart:
  If I could have carried his burden, If I could have lifted his depression and withstood his lashing out. If I could have kept the perfect house, been ready to perform at a moments notice, if I could have been all things too him would he have been happy?

If only I was stronger, and had a impenetrable emotional shield that could take a constant barrage of rage and not be dented. If only I had armor that could soak up scorn and ridicule and transmute it into energy for going on with the rigors of living in a home where you clearly are not good enough.

But I am not the Iron Man of emotion.

Maybe I should have stayed, though it might have ended up being a War of the Roses, most likely it would have just been another argument that would have blown over after a few months of me being glared at, ignored, having the living room stomped through as he went to slam his bedroom door. A million ways to display his rage, and show his derision.

If it wasn't for the child I probably would have endured.
Thank you Ariel.

Softcore kelly

2010-09-16T12:45:00.001-07:00

!WARNING X RATED MATERIAL!

  Professor Lurig kept regular office hours, so Kelly stopped by his office once she got her grades for the semester. She knocked on the hardwood door, and hearing his deep bellow “come” she opened the door and went inside.

  The office was paneled wood in a deep mahogany, a set of deep green wingbacks faced away from the door flanking the front of a gigantic wood desk, and behind that was a mountain of a man, her English professor.

“Professor Lurig,” Kelly began in her rehearsed speech as she walked confidently into the room and took a seat primly on the end of one of the leather wingbacks. “I would like to talk to you about last semesters grade that I received in your Literature class?”

  The bearded professor scrubbed at his jaw line, never looking up from the pile of papers in front of him. He removed his glasses with one huge primitive knuckled paw and kneaded his forehead with the other. “What, what about your grades” he paused a second looking at her and then as if finally remembering her “Ms. Nesler?”

Kelly was only mildly annoyed that he didn’t seem to recognize her. She put her book back into her bag, which she dropped beside her feet casually, and then tucked back her hair and dove back into her rehearsed monologue while the professor replaced his glasses and began to pour himself some more coffee from a steaming thermos.

  “I got a B, and while many students here on campus would graciously accept a B as being a acceptable grade, I strive for perfection and think that my work shows that level of commitment. I believe I have earned a A.” She paused to breath and he interrupted “You, do- do you?”

  It had broken her train of thought, she stammered… “Well yes I do.” He then proceeded to stand, crack his back noisily and made his lumbering way around his desk and he closed the curtain that separated the back part of his office and closed the door to the hallway solidly. There was a distinct click. Kelly suddenly felt slightly nervous, but he came around the side of the chair then, startling her slightly which she tried not to let show.

“Why do you feel you earn that distinction Ms. Nesler? I almost never give A’s in my advanced literature class, as I am sure you have heard. I give A’s only in the case of truly outstanding work. When the rare gifted writer chooses to grace my class… then Ms. Nesler I give a A. You Ms Nestler do not seem to have this gift. You Ms Nesler- deserve a B.” He concluded, his back now to the desk, he leaned back on his fingertips which were splayed on the desk edge.

Kelly gulped and leaned forward slightly. She needed this grade and wasn’t going to take no for a answer. “Professor, I really strive to keep a perfect GPA, I have managed thus far in my university career..”

  “I don’t care what grades other teachers have given you in the past Ms. Nesler.” He almost growled at her with his deep baritone voice. “Your grades in my class reflect the level of competence you have shown me. Not what you’ve given to your other teachers.”

Kelly decided to change tactic. He wanted to close his door, and seemed to like making her nervous? Well fine she would see how he liked it. She ran her hand up her neck into her hair line, ran it back down, pulling slightly at the collar of her shirt. It was subtle, not obvious, she looked up at him, her eyes slightly askew through her hair she kept her expression some what innocent, and asked. “Surely there is some make up assignment I could do to earn extra consideration?”

“What kind of assignment exactly Ms. Nesler?” He asked. Simple question, but it hung in the air like it was dangerous. She didn’t know what to say to proceed, so she reached into her bag again and got her pen out. The whole time she made sure that her body was slanted provocatively to afford the professor a descent view of her assets, her legs and her cleavage. She came up with the pen in her mouth and smiled at him while she continued to dig through her bag for her notepad which she flipped to the correct day.

  “Maybe there is a paper I could write?” She began, and he shook his head with a smirk.
“The days for essays are long past Ms. Nesler.”
She was taken aback, “A make up test?”
He smiled, “I don’t think so.”
She lowered the pen from her lips. “what then? Do you have any errands to run?”

He rubbed his beard thoughtfully. “Errands?” he mumbled.

“Yes!” she latched onto the hesitation as a possible maybe. “Maybe you need me to help you with filing papers, or library research or something!” She smiled relieved at the idea.

“No, Ms. Nesler. I Have a research assistant for that sort of thing. Of course you’ve seen Brian at your classes. The one taking notes and passing things out for me? He runs my errands Ms. Nesler. I’m sorry, but this time I cant help you, your going to have to help yourself.”

“Help myself?” She asked, frustrated. “I thought I was helping myself.. I mean I’m trying, tell me what I haven’t suggested? What exactly is it that you want from me?”

The Professor grumbled, and looked at her with a mixture of irritation at her stupidity, and humor at the cat and mouse game he was playing. He then looked down at Kelly’s sensible shoes, her ankle socks, her knees tightly clenched, her mid thigh pleated skirt, her button up white shirt, and into her pretty green eyes.

“A smart girl like you should be able to think of something.”

With a electric shock she suddenly figured out what he meant. She blushed pink while she contemplated it. Her mind going through several stages of response. Flattered. Outraged. Intimidated. Then she really considered it.

A part of her always wondered.
A part of her thought that there had to be more than the boys she had dated so far.
She wanted adventure, and she wanted someone to take her and make her into a sexual being, to teach her to loose what inhibitions she held, she wanted to be both the user, and the used. To feel like she was a dirty little slut for one time in her life. She wanted to show him who was really in control too, to make him crazy with longing for her, to make him suffer with need, And so she consented.

She leaned forward slightly, tucking her notepad back into her bag, tucked the pen behind her ear, and ran her hands up to the buttons of her shirt. Undid the top button. “What do you mean Professor… Do you mean you want sexual favors in exchange for raising my grade?” The professors eyes went up from her hands tugging down on her shirt front exposing the edge of her bra. His eyes locked with Kelly’s, a solid, calm look. Very austere. She gulped and undid another button, which got him to again glance down. This time to see her hands brush the shirt back from the center of the blue cotton bra to the cups.

Small but perky her breasts were a source of childhood longing and teen angst, as a woman she grew to appreciate their compact firmness and she felt more comfortable sharing them. She slipped one out of its cup slightly, cupping her fingertips under it, she pinched the nipple, and watched the slight intake of breath pucker her professors lips under his mustache. He leaned forward slightly and whispered. “Hold that thought and position one moment.”

He then went behind her chair again and slid the curtain back, to reveal Brian the young lanky awkward boy she remembered from her class. She gasped, realizing that Brian was privy to the whole conversation between the Professor and herself, not to mention that he was staring at her exposed nipple with a obviously delighted mix of desire and nerves.

“Brian why don’t you come in, Ms. Nesler was just showing me what she would be willing to do to improve her grade in the advanced Literature class. Brian, since you are the one who has been grading the papers lately as my grad student, Perhaps you would like to assist Ms. Nesler with her extra curricular studies.”

Kelly was thunderstruck, and frozen in horror with her right nipple exposed, but Brian knew just what to do. He moved swiftly into the room, and leaned over to whisper in her ear “Want to earn a A+?”

Brian stood over the wingback chair and unzipped his fly, exposing himself to her. She was taken back for a moment, as he reached forward to run his hand through her hair and then he jerked her head forward slightly as Kelly locked her eyes with the Professor who was watching with amusement.

She kept her eyes locked with his, while the boy used her face to satisfy himself, or at least to excite himself as he seemed to be getting more and more excited and exuberant with his hands. He was rough with her skin, squeezing scraping, kneading it with his hands. He pinched her cheek with one hand strangely coarse and calloused and the other hand was cupped around the base of her skull pulling her ever forward insistently. He somewhat dragged her out of the chair until she ended up on knees before him, her back to the professor who had evidently come forward because she could feel his hands cupping her bottom underneath her skirt. His hand encircled her waist and pulled her to her feet while Brian’s hand kept her from standing up, so that she was bent forward awkwardly. She felt one hand under her stomach supporting her as another deftly removed her cotton panties and came back to stroke up her inner thigh. She struggled somewhat feeling strangled by Brian, but she froze when a finger slipped inside of her, and she felt the finger slide in and out, firmly but slowly.

She couldn’t help but notice how her body responded. It was fantastic, and she relaxed into it allowing herself to enjoy this experience which was certainly new to her. Both men were filling her, Brian was so deep inside of her she could feel his nervous energy and then taste his pleasure in the slightly sweet pearls of precum he was spreading on her lips every time he withdrew.

The professors fingers were everywhere at once, inside of her, flicking and rotating her clit, stroking her ass as well as supporting her with his hand on her waist. She felt like she was being finger banged by either a Hindu god or a very horny octopus. Suddenly she felt him shift and she was penetrated by a wider and longer appendage. He filled her, and both he and Brian took turns surging forward to push her back and forth between them. Then they both pushed forward together slowly and it was intense, she felt like she was going to burst, but it wasn’t painful, just extreme.

They both pulled back, using hands to both support her and push away from her, and then they surged slowly forward filling her again and she writhed in pleasure between them, her hands darting first towards Brian, to flutter at his side, and then as they pulled back again she found them clutching at the professors tweed trousers.

Finally she let a hand slip between her burning thighs, and she touched her enflamed need, and began to rub herself into climax. First she was flicking and squeezing her fingers on either side of the clit forcing it to pop in and out of the thin layer of hood which protected it. Then she began to rub in a circle, and finally she began to rub back and forth over it at higher speeds as she felt the two men coming close to completion. They bucked inside of her, and she felt them both come to a pulsating thrusting end. And they sagged, Brian assisting her back to the chair in a somewhat chivalrous though exhausted manner.

She felt somewhat bruised, but in a good way, and pleased with herself as though she had accomplished something. She grinned at Brian, who winked and went back to the room beyond the curtain.

“I hope to see you again next semester Ms. Nesler… If you would excuse me, I really should get back to work.” With that he zipped up, and returned to his seat and the stack of papers as though she didn’t exist. Kelly straitened up hurriedly, and as she left she was both shocked and amused to see two girls waiting on the bench outside the office to speak to Professor Lurig.

______________________________________________________________________
Image from one of my favorite sculptors Ernesto Montenegro

Leaves

2010-09-10T19:12:00.000-07:00

We are not like you.

We are in fact so very different from you that when your people came to our planet at first they did not recognize us as a higher evolved life form. Your people have two legs, two arms, two eyes… You are polarized creatures divided into male and female. We are not. In fact when your representatives two eyes saw us for the first time he believed we were all one organism; he equated our network with a multi-cellular plant life that he was more familiar with. He did not realize that what he had thought was a forest was really more like a civilization of his own kind. What he thought was a natural trunk was really a constructed interface for the billions of individuals working on it. It was constructed of information cells which were manufactured from within our very bodies with a silica based liquid which hardened when in contact with the nitrogen in our atmosphere.

In other words, we sat hard at work on a storehouse of information, and this was just one repository in a veritable forest of millions of such, and not even a major one at that. I was hard at work cataloging the number and frequency of light flashes observed from a pulsar in a nearby galaxy so that mathematicians could come behind me and figure out the pattern and thereby decode the history of the people or peoples who lived on its orbiting planets (though it would have to be admitted that this was a inexact science and sometimes we actually decoded mythology and not historical documents in this method).

I was a minor observer, a celestial recorder. This was not a position of either great power or of great recognition amongst my own people, in fact my name was not recorded on any of the lists of accomplishments. I was not known to the elders, and It was unlikely that my genotype would be chosen to produce more offspring. However I was to become famous amongst my people very quickly for I was the first to greet the human and to bridge the gap between us in communication.

It was kind of a accident, I had finished the data branch And had dropped to the ground to talk to my supervisor when the human picked me up in their bare hand. I immediately secreted a string of dialogue displaying my fear and confusion. I asked the creature who or what they were. I demanded that they stop holding me up by my single limb.

Unfortunately the creature did not communicate by chemical data secretions like we do, and so it continued to carry me back to its base camp where it put me through a string of tests in its laboratory. A sample was sectioned off of my body which he looked at under a microscope. I did not mind the procedure since he then placed the section back in the Petri dish with me and I was able to reconstitute it back into my structure.

This action caused much excitement, and more of the creatures were brought in to observe the behavior, which I was pleased to demonstrate though it was getting boring. I was all the while listening to their vibrations and was beginning to realize how I would have to communicate with the beasts. Their verbal conversation was mathematical and I could see the patterns. I do not have ears, but fine cilia hairs on my limb allow me to judge and therefore analyze data from wind currents and vibrations. In time I got used to the main vocal patterns and could understand their speech. Unfortunately understanding was not the only requirement in dialog. I could not produce vibrations the way they could, and so I could not communicate back.

After much analysis I determined what type of organ would be able to give a output they needed, I programmed into my genetic data a chemical diagram for the organ and I soon had a viable vibration or sound based communicator. It was not unlike a drum I was later to be told, with a simple membrane and a flexible cilia with a round knob on the end. I could flex the cilia whip-like and hit the small bladder-like membrane to make a slight pop sound.

I then devised a simple code, with a very basic tertiary rhythm much like our own chemical alphabet.

There was much vocal response which I could not decipher yet during this process, but I just recorded said verbal response, and saved understanding for another time. Right now I had to determine that these creatures COULD understand me, that they had some type of communication skills however rudimentary.

Eventually after I tapped out counting by two until I reached thirty and did some other basic math that would have to be a universal truth to any legitimately sentient species capable of space travel.

I then paused and waited. Finally after much loud babbling there was a response, the researcher tapped the desk 3 times and them tapped it 6 times. Then it tapped it 9 times. Obviously he was responding by counting by threes. I tapped along with him to communicate 12 together in unison. Finally contact.

After much confusion over the next day we communicated back and forth with our basic tap-tap math while I worked on translations of the their verbal communications I had so far recorded, and eventually managed to decipher some simple words. By the end of the week I had managed to get them to acknowledge a basic alphabet and I had sampled enough of their language that I had a understanding of their vocabulary. We began to communicate in short sentences. I finally managed to explain that I was just one technician on the data tree and if they wanted to communicate with the entire data network I would be happy to translate but I would have to be returned to my tree to do so.

A group of five of the humans took me back to the data tree, and I attached to the node, and began to chemically report the past weeks activities, as well as restoring my nutrients and purging my effluents. The network took 2.34 nanoseconds to reach a decision about what to do with the new human element in our equation and then I was given a response to make to my new acquaintances. The response was “leave… no pun intended.”

Neon Genisis pt1

2010-06-04T21:59:00.001-07:00

So like Im in jail ya'know...
   Again.
This time though I didn't do what they thought I done... Honest.
I mean those other times sure!

You know I totally shout out when they ask who done it all. I mean I like the cred for the shit I pull, and its not like I can be busted for it.

Man, when I break in its because I know them shit's in the suits are guilty. All I do - is get the info, and pass it on. Sure, its hacking... but when the shit hits the fan I'm like instantly the one the reporters come by too see if the shits legit... or if its as fake as it smells foul.

So then I'm like on CNN and shit. And when the cops come, instead of "Evil hacker" I'm a Cyber-Vigilante... Who exposed the evil corporation. Sure the media spins things the way that profits, but I can spin the spin right- round baby... yes?

   Show the people how bad those rich fuckers really are. Show the dumb fuckin-red-neck christian-white bread-mid-western voters... what they send their hard earned sweat off the land to Washington for.

So heres this fuck. Elected official yes? Got out and met the people to get elected. Shook Billy Bo Bobs uncles hand, and kissed his baby. Took millions in donations, and then gets a seat in congress. Everyone thinks he is the hardest working man on the hill.. Good guy, nice looking kids. His wife is just the right mix of socker mom and pitbull.

Any rate I smell the shit on him. Talk to a few people who work the nets like I do.
   We know there is chum in the water but no one else has spotted the bucket of fish heads yet.
So I go in for the kill anyway. Its all there in his aluminium boat... His hard drive is full of kiddie porn, some of which is obviously made by Washingtons most influential reverend... You know the guy, has his own city, they call it a TV network, and in his town he is sherrif, judge, and eternal damnation all in one seat. The guy is like totally doing it to one of his chuberic angels who regularly assist him with his work for God... If thats what their calling it these days.

So Here comes CNN, or MSNBC... or like Huffington post if the story is really hard hitting.... and like I'm still waiting for John Stewart to call.

But then out of left feild, like im Hackin into this sweet mainframe. Its a large corp, did some major damage to the enviro, and like theres whimpers from the bunny petting community, and the tree huggers union... and them lot that complains but never actually does shit, and then complains some more about how no one listens to their complaints and do shit for them, so they don't actually have to do anything but can sit at home in their mothers basement where they have their base of complaining operations center set up on their sisters borrowed laptop...
   You know the people I mean. Smoking shit but it isn't making them any smarter YO!

Anyway so Ive got my head and shoulders in tight to this hot wet mainframe right? And all of a sudden a defense department firewall screen pops up on my deck, and the feds knock the fuckin door in, and cuff my cuticles behind my ears and drag me into THIS funny farm, only... when I'm innocent this shit ain't so funny yes?

Authors note- Its late, I cant sleep and this came to me in a flash and in my insomiac state I had to write it out. Ill be adding to this story soon and adding pictures though I didn't have a pic in mind when I wrote this.
Hope you like it, post feedback if you do, and definately post critiques I love flames even.

Neon's Jail blog

2010-04-07T15:51:00.000-07:00

Day2-Prison Isnt too bad.
Sure I'm totally the youngest girl in here. But this isnt like some juvinile detention center. This is a nice facility in upstate New York for like women who sold coke to stock brokers and Female CPA's who maybe skimmed just a 'Little' cream off the top if ya know what I mean.
Anyway dear reader, Yours truely was sent to this Gulag to serve 5 years on a bogus charge just because she didn't fit into Societies norm.

I appreciate all yr Emails. Yes they do let me have computer acess... 4 hours a day, 2 in the am and 2 after din-din. The comps are in the library so I dont get the privacy im used to havin, but hey there isnt a webcam or a scanner even so I couldent send ya all picks of my arse anyway.

And to answer your oh so polite question no they didn't shave my pate - or barcode my rump when I came in. They save that shit for the fuckem up-de-ass heavy duity prisons.
Well I GTG, thanks for your well wishes, don't bother raising funds to get me out, its just 5 yrs spend your dough on solar panels instead; and get your asses off the grid! By the time I get out of this cement box I want to hear that we have solar jetsons cars! 5 years isnt a long time so put your money to work telling the man the only way you can!

Day 5

HAHA you big babies! So I skip writing you a day r2 and you all fall to bits imaginin me gang raped by prison guards! too cute!

Naw Ive just been hangin out with a gal in the kitchens. Ya I know right! Me N dishes dont quite mix. NEwayz this girls pretty cool. And before ya all say it no she and I arent rubbing carpets! Actually I think im the freak on the farm so everyone is steering clear wich is a pitty cuz them cells get mighty cold @ nite and some these prison bitches is HAWT! lol just kiddin there mostly all over 30. So as I was saying b4 I was so rudely interupted... I was hanging out with this gal Rocket. Yes her name is Rocket, because she has red hair, and no she hasnt seen Kill Bill! So anyway Rocket was tellin me that most of the gals here turn to religion, but some of them turn to other things. Like Wikka and trancendential meditation (SP?!) etc. So She is teachin me some of that eastern crap. And dont get me wrong, I like it, but if I wanted to find Nirvanna I like know some shrooms that will get me there a whole lot faster! The express train!

To my LEET friends I know all transmissions are read so I wont say anything coded or they might think im up to sommat. Keep it real and fight the power!

Day whatever

Sheesh this place gets to you. Yeah its not bad for a while, but no vids no games, they got a garden plot and some paintin classes and shit but nothing for us techno junkies. Speaking of junkies I think I could drink my own piss its so damn clean. What I wouldent give 4 a trip. I asked for some tylonol the other day and the guard told me no. Friggin tylonol isnt allowed.

I wish they had locked my ass up in the loony bin at least there they get good drugs.

Next time I bothered to write
Thanks for the emails. Im talking to the art teacher about getting some hardware junk to work on they have shit load of computers broken in here apparently people bust them when their sweet hearts write em dear jane notes in the Ebin. Anyway she said it would be good therapy for me. I think it would be great just to get my hands on a soldering Iron. At least then I can put my Gigantoid brain to some use.
Still meditatin with Rocket. I get the feelin she is watching me I dunno why sometimes she gives me the creeps.

Couple of weeks after the last one

Ok. So now I really have something weird and wild to report. I have a cell mate, (well Ive had 2 but I got a new one now and she is BOINKERS!) and she seems for some strange reason to not like me. I dont imagine its my fault, she is just some neat natzi who hates my tights drying on the cell bars, and finding my candy wrappers under the bed. So Im a pig! DUHH everyone who has ever lived with me knows that. But this twisted bitch thinks its personal. So she yells at me. I ignore. She throws crap at me, I ignore. She threatens, I ignore.. then she shoves me and my poor old head hits the block wall and their are such pretty stars my dears! Its like im in a feild of stars. The electricity is zappin from one to the next. Wait maybe their neurons? anyway Im walking through the feild and theres a tower ahead, its lime green, and as I get closer I see its all made up of black blocks with tiny ones and zero's on it just like the Matrix there moving in columns. Its techhie heaven boys and girlies. So I find the entrance and inside is a white office with a modern desk and fluro lights above. On the desk my dears is a computer, and the prompt is askin me for my User Name. So I types it. And it says "User accepted. New Nick: Neon" and I think about it and that nick suits me to a T. Then I wakes and theres the new neighbor standing over me waving my pair of stripey tights over her head like its a whip she's gonna beat me with. So I close my eyes and I can like feel the electricity in the room! My heart is pulsing with it, my hair is crackling with it! I open my eyes and I become like a conduit and ZAPPO! the bitch is flying across the room and the lights are flickering feirce before they go out.

The guard thinks the wet stocking must have touched the wall socket and shocked the shit outta my dear old roomie.. but I know better! She's in the hospital wing and I have the whole room to myself again!

Rocket says Ive had a epiphiny. She says I understand the true nature and power of electricity. I dunno but she says I wrote my name in a "mage tower" and when we get some time she is going to start teaching me to control my new gotten skillz.

Authors note: This is a exercise to flesh out a LARP character of mine for Mage the Awakening. The prison years is set in the 5 years she was incarcerated for cyber terrorism.

Remote Reality- Captive Audience

2010-01-09T12:43:00.000-08:00

Kitchi was trapped in the back of the limo and the driver was starting to seem more and more sketchy as time went on.
       Luckily her RemCam was functioning perfectly.
She watched it hover around the back of the limo filming each angle, and knew; this was the best drama she had ever had on the show.
    Sure she quite possibly was in real danger, but she couldn't have scripted it better if she had a team of writers.
The limo was spacious enough for the little RemCam to maneuver and get every ounce of fear and petulant anger that she allowed her features to betray for the camera. It was dim mood lighting which would read as dark and disturbing to the audience. The fact that the driver had so far made no move at communication only added to the mystique and made his motives unfathomable.

Kitchi knew that she could start reading off street names to the RemCam, or call the police and give specific directions to the limo, but that would make it all be over too soon, and the neighborhood really wasn't well marked.
It was a industrial type neighborhood that she didn't recognise, and they had been driving in such a complicated pattern of turns, that she thought was likely going in circles; but the buildings looked so much alike that she couldn't be sure.

Her BlackBerry ring-tone went off and she immediately answered it, It was Boop who had been waiting for her at the mall.
Boop and Kitteh were both in a panic, apparently the news was broadcasting footage from her RemCam. The situation was being called the Kitchi Kidnapping Krisis, and apparently they already had panels of experts in kidnapping situations lined up discussing what was to be done, what the status of the situation was and all of the news channels had vowed to run continuous coverage until Kitchi was found.

   Kitchi immediately took out her Palm Pilot and searched the Internet, there was over 10,000 hits on Google news with the search 'Kitchi Kidnapping'. This was going to push her ratings through the roof!
She might even get a network slot out of this.
Now all she had to do was to make it out of it alive, and looking like a battered heroine. She turned to the RemCam and taking her fireside chat stance (knees together, hands clasped gently to the side body slanted slightly away from camera, head tilted to camera, expression soft and slightly frightened).

"I want to thank the network news stations for taking this threat to my life so seriously.
I know that there are other, more newsworthy topics which are being shoved to the side so my situation can be discussed.
I ask only that everyone who is watching please:
                                                           remain calm.
I assure you so far I have not been harmed in any way; other than being frightened and held captive. My kidnapper has so far made no attempt to communicate with me, and seems to be driving in circles. Maybe he doesn't even know where he is going.
I'm fairly certain that the police will apprehend him shortly, if anyone sees the limo passing them on the street I ask that you call the police, please no one try to be a hero!
I don't know if he is armed and I don't want anyone to risk angering him. He might just let me go, and I don't want anyone to get hurt on my account!"

   Kitchi smiled, she was pleased with how calm her tone seemed and knew that she would come across as a brave hero to many. All she had to do was sit here in the comfortable limo and wait while her popularity snowballed.
   The limo came to a sudden stop near a warehouse, and the driver must have hit a remote because the loading door opened and he drove inside. It was dark, and Kitchi couldn't make out how big the warehouse was.

The driver got out and when he closed the door all of the limo interior lights went out and Kitchi was completely blind. Luckily her RemCam had night vision and she could see a very feint green glow coming from it when it engaged automatically.

She heard some banging like metal doors being clanged open and then the door to the limo opened and she surged forward trying to escape. Rough hands grabbed her arms and she was spun, lifted, tossed into the back of a shipping container. She heard the buzz whirr of her RemCam following before the door slammed shut behind her.

    She was still in the dark and disoriented, her captor still hadn't said a word. She started to explore the metal floor and walls just as she heard a engine starting and the floor slanted back and she slid back to the wall she thought was opposite the door. She felt nautious as she felt the container being moved, she did not know which direction she was going or how far but finally with a thump she felt the container stop moving and the engine faded slightly as the lift was driven back.

She had spent the whole time focusing on her posture and facial expressions. She tried hard to keep the panic on her face at the cute level, and not allowing it to turn too pathetic. The last thing she needed was a 'Blair Witch Project' moment with snot running down her face and screaming hysterically.
                     A small portion of her audience would like to see this; it would humanize her, but the majority of her viewers thought of her as a living doll, she had to act out the appropriate responses while seeming kind of distant.
   Another engine started, this one was rumbly loud, it was probably a big rig truck. She was on the back of a flatbed she realized, or inside of a cargo truck.
She got up, her feet spread wide to try to keep herself from falling when the truck started to roll out. Making her way around the walls she found the door and pushed and explored the doors edges with her fingers.
The door was locked tight from the outside with no handle or latch inside for her to try to open. She explored the square circumference of the room, her fingers sliding over the cold often jagged pocked metal.

Unfortunately she was wearing a very cute but very revealing futuristic Anime girl outfit today, her thigh high boots covered her knees but her upper thighs were exposed, along with her shoulders, and her back. Every time her skin brushed the bare metal she felt bruised, scraped, and raw.

She tried to find a comfortable position in a corner: with her legs folded underneath her, she sat on her ankles.

   The RemCam zoomed in for a closeup, she could hear its motor and see the soft glow which didn't really illuminate but was the only thing she could see in the darkness.
She turned her head away for it for a moment, lifting her hand to her face she covertly touched both of her eyes with her dry fingers for a moment.
It was enough, and when she turned back to the camera she had a single tear running down each cheek.

   "If I ever did wrong to anyone, I want to take a moment to apologise. I never meant to hurt you, any of you. I want to thank my assistant Alexi, and my interior decorator Johan for all of his hard work. My stylist Trig and his domestic life partner who does my nails.. hey Toni" She emoted a soft whimsical smile "sorry I wont make my appointment Tuesday. Boop and Kitteh and Cami and Rori and all of my BFF's you know I love you guys!" She tilted her head away again, pretending to wipe the tears and recompose herself but in reality Kitchi poked her eyes harder.

   "Mom, I'm sorry I wasn't a better daughter, I tried mom and I'll always love you!" She tilted her head up looking slightly above the RemCam, her eyes pouring she did her angelic expression her eyes opened wide as she could make them Kitchi Smiled serenely as though thinking about her mother (though her mother was what Kitchi considered a trailer park whore- who used excessive amounts of PCP and Meth. Kitchi hadn't spoken with her in years).

She looked strait into the lens "I don't know what the future holds,
                                                                   I hope that Ill still be broadcasting,
but if the feed gets cut and I loose connection I just want you all to know that I love you all and I hope that I meant half as much to you guys as you have all meant to me."

She smiled softly and then curled her body up as though to get privacy for weeping although she was careful to pose herself sideways so her audience could best see her curves and made sure that her hair was cascading down so that the line of her neck would be very visible. She held that pose for the count of 60 seconds (the length of time her publicist had once said was the longest attention span of one of her fans) and then visibly dried her eyes and began to search the compartment again. That's when she realized that she had left her purse in the limo, and in it her Blackberry, and her Palm Pilot. Now she was cut off from news of the outside, and though they could all watch her, she didn't know at all how her performance was being received.

Idea of the day non profit story chain

2010-01-08T10:59:00.000-08:00

I had a Idea for a non profit writing project wich I would do with the help of a bunch of random famous people. Im hoping for a snowball effect here with me contacting someone minorly famous getting them to agree to writing a short story and then in turn for them to get someone whom they admire/look up to in the creative field to agree to do one. It would be like a creative chain letter with the final output being something that would be published with all the profits going to charities. I was thinking of making a charity list and deviding the profits among them so that well known charities would help draw people in and some lesser known but important ones would reap the rewards.

All of the stories would have a very basic theme such as freedom. Since they all have to be in the same world we could set some basic world perameters, but I would encourage people to write different types of stories, like different genre, but each person would write with their own voice and style. It would be great to get people who arent really fiction writers to do it too, like George Lucas and Weird Al, Whoopi Goldberg and Maddonna. People who are creative and imaginative but not nessicarily authors.

I would have some rules written up before sending out the invitations to write. Here would be my rules and I will come back and edit this from time to time to update them.

1.Everyone who pledges to write must sign a agreement that their work is to be donated freely and no one gets paid all profits go to the charities, List of charities for them to sign off on etc. Expenses are paid only, hopefully publishers dont charge etc its a non profit item. All copywrites are held for future spin offs etc if we should choose to do a film adaptation for same charities etc.

2. The co-ordinator will choose the first person in the chain, they send them 2 copies of the agreement and information. The first person signs off if they agree, then contacts people that THEY ADMIRE FOR CREATIVITY (not nessicarily friends, or authors, etc. just someone they admire) and when one of them agrees to do it they send agreement to them. They tell us who they are sending agreement to, we get a contact with them and send them more info and another agreement to solicit another author.

3. There is a time limit to keep things flowing in a reasonable manner. From the point when the author gets the manuscript (from me) they can read and write their own story for 2 months. Then it must be sent back to the co-ordinator (me) for review, minor editing, and copying and we send it to the person that the last author set up to write the next story. I will have a month (hopefully I can get it out faster than that) to co-ordinate between authors and I will get assistance of a copy and line editor and be setting up a agent and publishing house etc in my free time.

4. when I get the finished storys back from all of the authors I will work on the finished editing process and publishing process and marketing distribution etc.

Heres the rough list for charities to recieve donations from project:
Free the slaves
Project prevention
Amnesty International
Laptop per Child
Kiva

Remote Reality-Good Television

2010-01-07T14:26:00.000-08:00

Kitchi checked her face paint on the reflective panel beside the lens of her RemCam. She had only had the thing for a few weeks, but already she couldn't imagine turning it off. After all- her fans needed to know what was going on. If she wasn't available for view 24/7 they might forget about her and start watching someone else.

She put on a bit more lip gloss, fixed that little piece of hair in the front that kept sliding slightly askew, and winked her eyes coquettishly (her stylist said that her eyes were her best feature and that the fans had been blogging about how much they liked to see her wink into the Cam like she was acknowledging them on a personal level), then she turned and stepped out the door strait into the paparazzi flashbulb assault.

No time today, she walked right through them.

Her RemCam gained altitude once it was through the doorway so that it could get a overhead shot of all of the commotion.

"Kitchi! Kitchi! Over here!" screamed one pimpled fanboi over his shoulder who clutched his archaic video camera over his head- to try to get a vid of her with himself in the foreground. She paused a split second and did her anime girl pose: dainty left hand wiggle wave, shoulders up head cocked at slight angle with chin down, eyes slightly squinted as though giggling, right hand to lips which are pursed in a air kiss.

This pose suited her current hair style: two pony buns on either side of her head, bangs, and a long multicolored hair weave plaited down the back. She was taking a lot of style tips from Anime lately though she never actually watched any.
She didn't really watch anything anymore, she just didn't have the time.
What with all the interviews and dates and parties to go to. Plus she had to keep the RemCam stream interesting: who would pay to watch her sitting still for hours watching a movie? Or worse... reading a book?? Her fans were interested in seeing her out and about with her fabulous friends and watching her scandalous (though mostly PG13) affairs.

   Her RemCam was very specifically programmed to show lots of skin- but no genitalia to offend the audience. That was half the fun anyway: viewers would watch her every move hoping to get a glimpse of a nipple or a pubic hair on accident.
   The web was crawling with screenshots of supposed 'naughty bits'; though she had a team of lawyers working around the clock to suppress the badly made forgeries or even the occasional unflattering real shots (which were made with distance lenses, miniature up the skirt hidden camera's or through glass floors etc.)

   There was also a lot of fan art. Often these were hand drawn, images that were sexy and fit into her image, and she allowed them to remain on the net: even though publicly she complained that it was wrong to take her image without permission. Having amature shots of her out there: was like free publicity and it only made her more popular with the masses even though she wasn't making a profit on the images themselves.

   Kitchi got into her limo. The driver held the door while her RemCam buzzed in after her- then closed the door with a gentle click. Kitchi opened her Palm Pilot and started to look through her long list of personal messages.

   She was careful to keep the screen faced away from the RemCam for security purposes. She began her morning ritual of ruthlessly deleting email. If she couldn't remember who the person was: she deleted it. If she didn't like them anymore: she deleted it. If she just didn't want to deal with it right away: she put it in the ignore box which was almost the same as deleting it (only she could always search through her ignore box later... though she never did).
     She didn't actually read any of the messages, she just deleted and ignored the ones she didn't want, reading wasn't really her style. She typed in a quick note to her assistant to read the rest, she knew her assistant could reply to them without anyone knowing the difference and if there were any invitations her assistant would make note of when and where to be if she wanted to go.

She had a calendar in her BlackBerry that her assistant kept updated. Whenever she didn't have anything to do, she would look at it and pick which of the many listings for that time and day that she wanted to go to. Today however: she was supposed to meet her friends Boop and Kitteh at the Mall. After sorting her messages: (which was exhausting and took 15 minutes), she closed her Palm Pilot and put it away.

It wouldn't do to spend too much time doing any one thing. People had short attention spans, and she wouldn't want her viewers to get bored and change the channel. She checked her makeup, and then went to look out the window, but was disappointed in that this wasn't her usual limo.

Her regular limo had a control panel beside the back seat for the windows. She didn't like to ride with the windows set to Reflective; this way no one on the street could see who was inside. It was bad PR to go anywhere when you couldn't be seen. She shouldn't ever have a anonymous moment.

   Kitchi looked for the intercom button, or even, the control for the partition between her and the driver. But she couldn't find any controls. Now she was beginning to get irritated. This limo must be the old fashioned kind that didn't have any controls. It didn't even have a video screen for her to watch TV. There was only a mini-fridge, and it was stocked with plastic bottles of water- not even sparkling water! She took one out and threw it at the partition.

   She knew that there was a angry pout on her face, and that it wasn't a very becoming expression on her- but this was ridiculous. She had never had such lousy service from this limo company before and she had been using them for years. She wondered why they didn't send her regular driver? He had been cute... for a driver anyway. This driver was totally new: at least she hadn't seen him before, (and after the complaint call she was going to have her assistant make) she hopped she would never see him again.

   In fact she hopped he would be fired! Or even maybe she should stop using this company. There were plenty of Limo companies and she was sure that one of them would be ecstatic to have her as a new client. Maybe they would give her the service for free if she casually mentioned their names from time to time out loud for her RemCam to stream. She could even slam the old company to some of her friends for the RemCam.
That would show them not to give her inferior service!

The damn limo driver still hadn't lowered the partition or even acknowledged her throwing the water bottle at it. She could see the back of his head and Kitchi moved to the front seat and banged on the glass wall between them. "Damn it your not even headed the right way! I'm going to the Mall! Lower this partition so you can hear me!" She suddenly felt nauseous, he was not responding, he might not understand her but she was certain that he could hear her screaming and banging.
He was ignoring her.

They weren't going that fast, they were in some industrial type area she was unfamiliar with and Kitchi thought maybe she should jump out of the car when they stopped at a stop sign, but she couldn't get the door open and there was no knob for the lock.
The door would have to be opened from the outside.
She looked around but didn't see anyone on the street, and even if she had they wouldn't be able to see her.

She held down the control for lowering a window but it didn't work, and the moon roof's hatch appeared to be sealed with very strong glue... Kitchi even laid down on her back against the seat cushon and kicked her booted heel against the glass. She was completely trapped.

She had to get a message out. she opened her BlackBerry and looked through her friends list for someone who could help, finally she decided to just send to all a message telling them what was happening. While she typed she sent a impassioned plea to her RemCam, it was still broadcasting to all of her adoring fans. She licked her lips subtlely hoping that her face paint wasn't smudged by her little on air tantrum (she knew her fans would love the drama of her momentary loss of control), she looked directly into her RemCam's lens.

She made her eyes soft and though she allowed some of her fear through: she kept her voice gentle and calm.

"If your watching this out there, I am being kidnapped. I beg you to alert the authorities. Call the police, call my agent, someone please call my Internet provider! Surely they can trace the RemCam feed and pinpoint where I am. The limo was black, its a older model, gaah I don't know cars!" She tilted her head from side to side and shrugged in the signature comical way she knew her fans liked.

She glanced out the window and back to the RemCam which had not left her face, she could see that the Iris was zoomed into a closeup. "Were driving through some industrial area: I don't even see road signs."

Kichi hit send on her message. She then called her assistant Alexi and started to explain to her what was happening. Her assistant was hysterical and crying, she already knew.

  She of course had the live stream playing in the background. Kichi thought Alexi was being a bit of a drama queen, (She knew that Alexi was trying to get enough of a audience to start a spin off show) Kichi played it off like she was touched by Alexi's concern, but that she needed her to pull it together: to rally the fans and get their support. Glancing at the camera she said in her most moving voice:

"I hope my fans will stick by me in this time of crisis.
                         I just know they will be there for me when I need them.
No matter what suffering I'm going through, I just want my fans to know that I don't regret them.
                                           Even if this guy kidnapping me turns out to be you know a crazed stalker...
Like a maniac who has this totally unhealthy obsession with me..
                               I will keep the show going , no matter how personal and frightening this may get.
As long as I can: I promise to keep streaming exactly what I'm going through- as it happens.
                                       I wont keep you all in the dark, I just hope that my captor doesn't shut me down!"

She made a deliberate gulping motion, swiveled her head, brought her left hand out of screen up under the RemCam and turned it so that it panned over to capture the back of the drivers head, his eyes which were looking into the rear view mirror staring into her own.

This was good television!

AUTHORS NOTE:
The image is actually a remote device created by NASA for space exploration. The AERCam is volleyball sized satelite and can be researched here http://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2005/06/050619191628.htm
the girls picture is from http://larcho.wordpress.com/2009/03/29/tetsuwan-birdy-cosplay/birdy-the-mighty-kiguchi-aya-cosplay-028/ dont know where picture originated. (I edited two images to put them together if anyone takes offense of their use let me know and ill take it down) Story idea inspired by Tia Teqilla and other reality TV babes. Maybe Ill do a second part someday with her captor torturing her and it all being streamed live.

Lady of the Flies

2010-01-05T06:47:00.000-08:00

I was reminicing today about my childhood. Remembering the wild times when I spent almost all of my days outside in the forest running amok. Specifically I thought about the battle of the gultch.

Behind my house there was a green space and then the redwood forest began with a few wayward trees and then there was a sloped path with a deep gultch on one side wich declined sharply descending about 25 feet before hitting a fern lined creek bed. The path winded and switchbacked down to the creek and then one branch followed its course back behind all of the houses on my street.

There was a girl on my street who was my arch nemisis. Heather and I hated each other, the cause of the anger does not matter and indeed I can not remember when it all began, in fact I think we had once been on the path to friendship when we descided instead to be mortal enemies. Her house backed onto a similar path down to the gultch and one day before school while we were waiting for the bus she informed me that her and her teenaged sister were going to come over that evening and 'kick my ass'.

All day during classes she taunted me, telling me how much her and her sister hated me and how they were going to beat the crap out of me. I was scilent to her, I could not ignore but I diddnt give any outward sign of my reaction. Inside I was plotting my own strategy for conquest.

I was accomplished at that tender age in the arts of warfare. I was a excellent archer, I could hit the center of my target over what was for my size a great distance. I had been in the habit of making my own whip switches with supple branches of cherry wood and a waxed cord wich I could use either to flick cans off of a fence line or to grab and pull things towards me. I dreamed I was Indiana Jones, and though my switch whips looked nothing like his ellegant bullwhip it was versitile and suited my size. I was also in the habit of brewing poisons, I had a miniature labratory wich was in reality a series of old tins, a copper kettle, and some victorian bottles (the gultch was littered with artifacts from the victorian era, including many medicine bottles) I used a fire pit to boil water to make my decoctions and infusions of toxic plants, mushrooms and perloined liquids. These toxins were in fact deadly as I knew far too much about plants at this age. I had acess to foxglove (digitalis) for instance wich would cause heart attack in even a minute dose. I would sit for hours chopping, grinding, boiling and steeping these highly deadly plants.

However with all of these deadly arts at my command I descided that seeing as I did not want to actually commit murder (not that I thought the world would miss Heather but that I would not like to have to explain to the authorities or even to my parents why I had assasinated two girls from my street). What I needed was not a way to kill them, but a way to scare them. Scare them to the point that they would never again plot to overtake me.

I thought over many possibilities I needed a weapon that was perhapse not useful in its efficiency to effect damage but one that would be imposing and strike fear into my opponants. I needed to seem unstable to them, to be one who would be likely to use such weapon even though it would get me into trouble so that they would indeed believe that I was a threat.

So I got a Knife. It was a big knife, one of those hunting knives like crocodille Dundee had, wicked sharp with a curved back tip and a serrated back near the haft. It had a sheith that could be strapped to ones leg (if one had a leg large enough wich unfortunately I did not at the time) and the handle was polished wood or bone, I cannot remember now at the time wich it was.

This knife was formidible looking though it was not well ballanced and was cumbersome and akward. Hopefully though I would not have to use it.

After school I whent to my hiding spot I was croutched behind the giant redwood stump that had my tree house. A thick clump of bamboo curtained me from the other side and shielded me from view of the house. I waited for a long time, it was fully dark by the time I heard their voices coming up the path from the creek. I could see their shadows moving towards the house. I needed the lights from the house to reflect off of the knife otherwise they would never see that I was so armed and I ran the risk of them rushing me and I would actually have to use it.

    I waited until they were almost to the porch and came up behind them, I had cut off their escape and knew that once I had frightened them I would have to allow them to circle behind me to flee while still appearing to be the scary agressor and not giving ground. They were whispering and though I was close behind them I could not hear their plotting over my parents stereo. My parents were having a party or something I cant remember the occassion but I do remember that they had friends with kids there whom I was supposed to be entertaining in my room. The back door led to our mudroom wich led to the kitchen wich most likely contained my parents and or their friends so I would need to make sure that the nemisis and her sister would not feel the need to retreat screaming through the house.

I stepped into the ring of the back porch light, and made some pithy comment. I do not now recall what it was I said, Though I made it the habit even of a early age to be insulting in such a intellegent riddling way that it would be confusing to most of what I deemed to be inferior intellects but were in fact my peers. I probably would have said something allong the lines of "You step into my web like a moth into a flame, trapped and helpless you both are ready to stick my sting in." Though I actually dont recall what I said and it might have been something entirely more mundane.

Heathers sister got in front of her, that I remember. She was almost protective towards her sister in that moment; though she was constantly mean to her at the bus stop, in fact they always squabbled verbally in public. I was the outsider threat and blood protected blood.

The girl was spitting out trite nasty remarks full of pale and unimpressive language that some would consider shocking in one so young. Swear words coming from her lips did not shock me then, though seeing them come out of my daughters mouth now I find them either comical or repugnant. Then though I found it rediculous and pityable. She used swear words because she did not have the vocabulary to voice her anger appropriately or strongly enough to suit her. Yet another reason for me to use my intellect to goad her and manipulate her in the direction I wanted her to go.

   Fortunately, though her sister was large enough to concern me physically- she was not intellegent enough to joust with me verbally so I felt very superior and secure in my prowess. Unfortunately the ability to insult your opponant in interesting obscure ways never stopped anyone from getting their nose bloodied.

The girls sister began to walk down the porch stairs and though I was making a impressive showing of the knife flashing between my hands she advanced, I retreated. They split up and flanked me; this basic strategy of attack had elluded me for wich I am now profoundly embarrassed. I had never been in a battle against unknown assailants though I had read many accounts of them in books. I was prepaired for a head on attack like infantry, they were giving me a wolfish attack from the sides.

   Im racking my brain now to remember what was said and all of the snappy comebacks as I beat my retreat as they advanced... but it all elludes me. Eventually I recall that we were positioned where I had my back at the gultch and they were between it and my house. I jumped on the log that was allong the gultches rim when first one surged forward a foot or two then the other and it made me do this weird side to side motion with my body rotating as I faced one, then the other of my two attackers even though they were still a few feet from me. I overballanced and fell backwards. My body flipped end over end, I wish I could describe the motion with my hands, I fell backwards, flipping head over heels and then grabbed some ferns and started to roll and slide the rest of the way down the gultch. I was hidden in the tall ferns (keep in mind that these are northern California redwood forests. The ferns are primeval in size, you can hide easily under one clump of ferns. The knife was gone, lost in the mud somewhere; and clearly it was of little use anyway.

I laid under my ferns scilently untill the two girls came past me the elder was in the lead and I lept at the younger and like a wild thing scratched clawed bit and pummeled her. The older one pulled me off and at that point their plans of beating me up were over, she was more worried about getting her sister home. They were superficial scratches scrapes and bruises but I think that my wild behavior shocked them both, and they diddnt know how to deal with such ferocity. She just helped her sister up and they hurried home.

Clearly the girl could have kicked and beaten me to a pulp, she was much bigger than I, and stronger, and probably faster. I however was the veteran of many skirmishes with my sisters. They were far bigger than either of my opponants, and had no compunctions against giving me regular and violent beatings. So pain was not a factor in my strategy. I was more than willing to be beaten, if it stopped future beatings.

These girls did not have the same level of violence in their homes, and so were shocked when it finally came down to the grim reality of warfare. The battle was over, and the next day at school I had gained a reputation for being crazy and cruel. The girl showed off her bruises and scrapes and told everyone a version of the story that painted me as the agressor in a unprevoked attack upon her. Her sisters part was never mentioned. I allowed this story to be spread without arguement because it was to my advantage. After this I was never again attacked or threatened all the way up to high school I enjoyed a reputation of violence and unpredictability.

Authors note: If your interested in lord of the flies check this link http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NW4KalGfcDY its a utube clip of a deleted scene from the first B&W movie.

hungry eyes

2010-01-02T13:29:00.000-08:00

He was my world, my life, my caretaker and my diciplinarian. Every thing I learned he taught me, everything I did was with the purpose of pleasing him or getting more attention from him. The food treats were only a reward because they came from his hands, he was my mate and every time he groomed me I felt it was a act of love.

It was from him that I learned to speak, to understand his signs and to preform the repeditive learning exercises that took up so much of our time together. I had a large vocabulary once grown, of course I did not know that it was expansive for my kind as I thought I was of the same kind he was. My large black hands with thick leathery skin were different from his, I used to hold his hands in mine patting and stroking his soft skin wishing that I was as pretty as he was, or that he was as coarse and hairy as I. I felt so grateful for his affection and wished that there was less of a disparity between us.

It was just the two of us for the most part for many years. Occasionally he would have a visitor or two over, but they did not interest me and once he saw that I was avoiding them, and not making eye contact he would kennel me in the bedroom when they came over so I would not have to deal with them. Then when I was in my 15th year and fully a mature adult I percieved a threat to my happy home life.

He came home late for several nights in sucession with a strange odor about him. It was a flowery scent that burned my nostrils. It smelled of chemicals and was concentrated around his neck and wrists. I did not like the scent, but I had to explore it, to try to find out what he had gotten himself into. He laughed and thought it was hysterical that I was so concerned.

Later that week I smelled other smells on him- fishy, rank and fetid. Worse yet the smell was concentrated in his most intimate areas... areas that I was not allowed acess to. This was a female scent! There was another female there underneath his coverings and against his secret skin. I felt enraged and betrayed, some other female had invaded what was mine! He was upset by my agitation he made me kennel up and he gave me some of the medication he sometimes gave me when we went to the vets. It made me sleepy and made everything seem distant to me, even my own fears.

He got on the tellephone and talked to someone at length, I could hear her voice from across the room it was high pitched and sounded like it came through a long tube. She was the one I was sure of it. The one who was stealing my mate right out from under me.

He brought her home with him the next night. I heard her in the hallway giggle when he came into the door. He talked to me soothingly and called me over to the coutch where he stroked me and groomed me for a while before he called to her to come in. She entered hesitantly. She was small, and she had a strong odor of flowers around her chemical flowers not the natural kind. I supressed my rage until it was just a slight vibration of my frame. My skin quivvered under his hand and my nostrils flared but I made myself emit a soft whoot of gentle welcome and nervousness rather than the screetch of anger that I truely felt.

He restrained me while she approached, I held very still so as to not allarm them both. I would end this affair of theirs, once and for all.

She spoke in her high squeeky voice I think she ment it to be soothing but I found it grating on every nerve. My mate was signing the word friend over and over again. I returned the sign and held my hand out to the female she edged closer and allowed her hand to slip into mine, I was patient, waiting untill she was within reach before I pulled her hand and lept out of his arms and lept onto her face my teeth sinking into her flesh my hands ripping and pounding away at her body. I felt his hands on me, wrenching me pulling me away from my enemy. He eventually suceeded in lifting me, and carrying me into the bedroom where he slammed me into the kennel and latched the door. He ran out, I heard screaming, banging and the front door slammed, his car drove away and the house grew scilent. I licked the blood off of my fur while the light dimmed out the window. I spent the night worrying that he would not return to me, that now that he escaped with her he would keep running and I would never see him again.

The next morning some strangers entered through the front door, they took pictures in the living room, I could see the flash of the camera. They came back into the bedroom and took more pictures of me in my cage. I held my hand out to them through the bars, I was scared of them but at least they could set me free so I could find him. I would follow and get him to come back. To leave the weak woman behind and stay with me. The way he was ment to.

They diddnt let me out however, they brought in a dolly and lifted the whole cage, I screamed in fear as it tilted, one of them was loading a dart pole, this was a object I was unfamiliar with, I soon learned that its pointed tip brought a uneasy painful sleep that I could not pull myself out of.

I woke up in some strange facility that smelled like cleaning chemicals, there were sounds of strange animals, unfamiliar noises like howls and screetches. There were people here too, strange people who looked in on me with cold angry eyes. I was there for days, before he came. I was so gratefull so overjoyed to see him. But the look on his face crushed me. He was angry, I had never seen him so angry. I Signed I love you, he shook his head and turned away. A man in a white coat came then, I saw another dart pole, the man talked to him before he left. His voice was toneless, dead to me. He walked out leaving me in the cage, in the room with the man in the white coat with the dart pole. I had been sentenced to death.

I was born in the jungles, taken as infant by men who sold me into slavery to be shipped to the man who raised me... the man I loved... the man who left me to die. If he did not love me back, why did he not allow me to stay with my mother (who had been killed so that they could capture me)?

If he had not raised me to be in love with him, I would not have become jelous of his other female. He raised me in seclusion, to love only him. What chance had I of ever being a normal ape when I had no representative of my kind, and he did not want to treat me as a woman, a equal. There was nothing left for me but the dart and death.

new year new content

2010-01-01T18:33:00.000-08:00

This year I made a resolution that Im going to combine my media and do more of a online comprehensive diary blog wich will contain my short stories as well as a regular post of my thoughts ideas etc. There isnt a spell check and as Im going to be writing these posts daily (hopefully) or near to it I wont be bothered to go through and edit either my spelling grammar or sentence structure whatsoever. So if you are fortunate enough to have this link read them in order by the year, you may start with this post or start with last years posts, and get a sample of my writing before you get to know me personally.
I do not know if I will ever get a target audience. If I am writing this purely for the therapy that writing provides me, or if someday I will give this link to a friend; perhapse discreetely to my husband, or maybe I will distribute this link freely. Maybe I will turn into a internet celebrity. Then thousands of people would read these intimate ramblings of my poor wasted brain. Whatever Im gonna write it, and I dont really care if anyone reads it. Im gonna just say the shit thats in my head and hope that no one gets offended if this crap ever really gets out.
Shit- sure my husband is a private man. Yeah he gets the heebie jeebies when I kiss him in public. Talking about our grande love affair to friends (or in front of strangers even ) makes him cringe uncomfortably. This blog is probably a violation of his trust.
He watches Kevin Smith and Rollins on stage- describe their most intimate foibles and gross habits. They bare their very souls and show the most embarrassing secrets of their loved ones to a live stage of hundreds, to be re-released in the form of audio, video and even the tell-all novel and (what might be worse ) online blogs wich can be downloaded for free without paying a thing by anyone. ANYONE could be reading this.
This is posted on the internet wich is available worldwide. His mother could be reading this blog. Yes some day someone could tip her off.. to casually mention to her, "By, the way Marie-did you know your sons wife keeps a online blog? Did you know she mentioned you? I took a look... and well I hate to say it but the blog is well.. rather unusual. Maybe you dont want to see it even. Some of those... well stories are, err. strange to be sure. Some of the diary parts.. are, how do I put this... A little on the racy side you know? Now... Marie, I dont want to allarm you or anything, but well if it was me, I would want that taken down you know? Would want her to remove it all because its kind of well embarassing. For you I mean. I am embarrassed for you Marie. I really hate to be the one to tell you. But you should call her right away. Call your daughter in law and ask... no Demand that she remove that tripe at once. Cause Marie the internet doesnt bellong to her you know. Its all of ours. My kids go on that internet Marie- and I dont want my kids reading that crap!"

I guess it would go something like that.
And then two days later there would be the inevitable phone call. Not to me, I wouldent be getting it. My beloved would. He would take out his cell phone, wrinkle his nose, go to his room, and answer his phone. He would stay in his room for the better part of a hour. There would be pacing. There would be the sound of doors opening, a snatch of conversation that I hear fade in and out as other doors close. I would hear my name, voice raised is that anger, or irritation. What have I done now? Is he really complaining about me to his mother or is he bragging to her about me? I dont get it how am I supposed to act when he comes out, smug or appologetic? Am I supposed to appologise for whatever latest shinanigan Ive gotten up to or to hang my head in shame for the "bad girl bad bad girl!" the whack of the rolled up newspaper on my smarting nose. The body posture of submission overtaking me and me sulking off to the corner to pout untill he should remember me, to call me over and to accept my humble appologies before rolling me over to rub my belly and to show that all is forgiven, you really do still love me after all... you will let me sleep on the foot of the bed after all and I can come up in your lap now for a little attention before we retire.

In fact its more likely that he will print this, he will then go over it for mishpellings and. for . its poor. sentence structure/. He will then mark on it with red pen using litterary short hand wich I dont understand because frankly I dont have a useless English degree that tells me how to write so proper. To perfectly use the sentence structure laws and how it is widely known that one should never end a parragraph in this fashon.
What if my mom reads this. She will write me a email 4 years after I have given her the link, she will read like 4 of the posts beginnings, though she cant concentrate long enough to finish them. She will email me a letter wich tells me how fantastic and avant guard my blog is. She will remind me how I wrote a story once that was about a harpy giving birth. How very moving it was and how fantastic a imagination I had even then when I was like 10 years old. She will go on ad infinitem about how amazing I am, and then turn the conversation back to herself where she will go on and on about how well she is doing, How amazing are her friends and contacts, do I know whats happening with some friends of hers who she was friends with when I was a child but whoom I couldent give two shits about now, they werent my friends I dont know the people, understand who they are, what their goals, ambitions, desires or what makes them interesting. You might as well go into a extensive story about someone whos name you found randomly in the phonebook, how you researched their life through the internet, how they resemble you in outlook or ideals, and how fond of them you are. I DONT KNOW THESE PEOPLE!
Then she will talk... no brag about herself for like what seems like 3 hours, telling me in no uncertain terms that her life is the best life, she is so interesting, everything is grand and perfect, meanwhile she is heading into her golden years and has litterally nothing to show for her life but grown children whom she treats like strangers untill they are completely isolated from her and from each other (or am I the only one?) and I no longer know how to relate to you. I dont know that we continue to have a relationship to tell you the truth.

Honestly I dont know if its me, I mean I think I understand my father pretty well, I dont relate to him on a emotional level much, but then my mother was always the more emotional of the two. He is lets face it a vulcan, or a cyborg. I admire him for his consistance, and his intellect, I am fond of him and he has pretty much always done right by me, assisted me when asked, and been there to answer questions, teach etc.

But I digress and this blog is starting to sound like the kind of letter you start writing to someone, chicken out, ball up and discard so that you dont harm them or yourself with your bizzare ramblings and vent your own pain at the expense of anothers mental wellbeing.

blah, blah, blah, blah, yea 2010 hope your a better year than that last peice of crap! naw just kidding I loved 2009 really, yeah I did. Love you too hunny! And mum... you dont need to write me a angry email. frankly Im astounded if you truely made it this whole way and diddnt like read the first paragraph and the last sentence like this one before sending me the nasty email im sure to get now that Ive really gone and posted this blasted blog post online... For everyone to see... on the World wide web-what was I thinking???

CORA-Begging for death

2009-11-05T14:48:00.000-08:00

"Good news! The ChurchState has found cure for death!"

Cora read the news on her EyeStream as she ate breakfast. She wasn’t entirely sure that it was good news, seeing as the tower she was in was almost full and it was getting harder and harder to get a marriage license or breeding permit.

Of course she would never say anything out loud about her doubts, the ChurchState was always watching and listening for DeathCriminals as they were called. According to church historians there used to be people who knowingly and willingly sought out the death of others. Cora had seen the ChurchStates propaganda reels showing government run death camps and the burning of living people in giant crematoriums. There were riots and race wars where people murdered their neighbors, and wars between the small countries over food and resources. There was even the rumor that women would pay to have living children cut out of them and murdered by people who called themselves doctors!

All that changed when the LifeChurch finally overran all of the countries governments and showed the people a new way of living, a new way of thinking. The LifeChurch's founder was a great scientist who discovered how to harness the power of Algae to create an endless source of food and energy and even how to make durable plastics so that mankind no longer had to fight over agricultural land or non-renewable resources. Almost everything in the modern society revolved around the Algael tanks.

The first thing that the LifeChurch accomplished once it became the ChurchState was to start to abolish death in all of its forms, but especially the murder of humans. Of course this meant there would have to be some changes in how people lived. The ChurchState would have to monitor its citizens closely to prevent DeathCriminals, and so they developed the LifeMonitor system.

Implanted in their forearm as infants the LifeMonitor had audio receivers that heard everything and a vidcam that watched the persons every move. They also monitored the heart rate and the biochemical levels. The LifeMonitor could even dispense medication directly into the bloodstream if necessary and was loaded with a fast acting tranquilizer, which could be triggered remotely by any LifeOfficer in case they needed to immobilize the subject for committing DeathCrime.

Cora worked in an infirmary as a part of her medical internship. She was very careful knowing that medical workers especially ones who worked with the elderly were closely monitored less they turned to DeathCrime to shorten the suffering period of their terminal patients.

She took the elevator from her room on 4blue level to the infirmary floor of her tower. Each tower had one, but she was fortunate to be living in a tower that also housed the biomedical research labs. Why the cure for death might even have been found in her tower! Some day she would work in the research level if she was lucky, but for now she was in charge of caring for the elderly patients who’s lives were on the decline. Unfortunately there were far to many people in the medical field in her tower. Everyone was hoping to work on the research level but few would ever make it. Some would be transferred to other towers, but many interns would washout of the program just be given jobs in Algae processing, or air decontamination or some other meaningless grunt task.

When Cora arrived fifteen minutes before her shift she was surprised to find the director waiting at the check in station. "Greetings my girl! You’re the early bird and so you get the worm so to speak! Come with me, you wont be working on this level today we have something special for you my girl!"

Cora was nervous as she followed him, but he kept up a brisk pace and nattered on about trivial matters as he led her up two floors and into the wide double doors of the LifeMonitor implant research laboratory. Cora was overwhelmed as the director led her into an office where he introduced her to two doctors in lab coats. They both had very distinguished titles in the research department and Cora had read an article about one of them in the LifeScience magazine. They were all smiles as they told her how they were working on the next level of implants to replace the current LifeMonitor that was in use.

They slid her into a chair in front of the desk as they explained to her what they needed. "There have been many refinements and improvements over the previous models, and we are ready for human testing at this point. Of course we’ve completed the animal testing phase and the new monitor is completely safe. We have another intern from the Microbiology department who is going to be a tester too, but we wanted a male and a female for this phase of testing to ensure that hormones levels do not inhibit or alter our results."

"If you agree to be a part of this phase of testing you will be the first person to get the revolutionary new 'LifePlant' as we are calling this model, it has many new features including memory enhancement, health monitoring and this model is where we have made the breakthrough that will halt the bodies aging, in essence it stops death by assisting the bodies cells in making perfect reproduction and ending the decay process. You will be written up in every medical journal and be in all of the future history books! Not to mention Vid interviews etc. You will be quite famous!"

Cora was wary, knowing that there were probably many more features that they weren’t telling her about, features that worked towards the ChurchStates benefit and not her own, but she figured that she didn’t really have a choice, if she declined to be a test subject they would find a way to make her suffer for her choice. They could have her demoted, moved to a lower level of the tower and even charge her with DeathCrime. If she complied she might get a room raise, a promotion and have her career on the fast track. She signed the paperwork without really reading it, after all she wasn't bargaining for a contract so much as submitting to her duty.

The next morning Cora was taken to surgery, along with the young man named Lucas from microbiology. They were sedated and two surgeries were preformed on each of them. One to remove their old LifeMonitors, and the second to install the LifePlants into the base of their brains. Eventually a receiver station would be built into every tower that would relay between the implants and the monitoring computers, but for now they each had a wire coming out of the surgery site, which went to one palm sized monitor which would display the data received from the implants.

They were kept sedated for two days while tests were run on the implants and the equipment. Their dreams were viewed; their unconscious thoughts were recorded, and displayed on the monitor for the excited scientists to peer at. Surprisingly there seemed to be some overlap between the two signals, the dreams correlated with one another and their thoughts followed similar lines. The scientists did not know if this was a form of telepathy educed by the LifePlants or crossover within the monitoring device.

When they were finally allowed to waken the subjects were both confused, Cora complained of a splitting headache and said she felt like someone else was moving in her head. A couple of times she reached out and knocked things over with her right hand as Lucas was trying to move his left. After a while they seemed to calm down somewhat and the doctors gave them time to adjust. They would have to be careful of the wires they were warned, the monitor would be connected to them for a while since they had to keep track of their progress while the receiver station was being designed and built.

Cora could feel him in there, she knew that he could sense what she was feeling and it embarrassed and frightened her. She could sense what he was feeling too, and that embarrassed her even more. Late that night he had a sexual fantasy about one of the nurses and she felt like ripping the wire right out of her head. At least she was no longer spastically moving her arms when he wanted to reach for something.

The link between them was an unforeseen side affect that the doctors found interesting, but they were assured that once they were disconnected from the monitor the crossover would discontinue. Unfortunately the longer they were connected the stronger it seemed to get. As one of the doctors was checking their progress the next morning he was chatting to them both about how revolutionary this new technology would be and how it would help the ChurchState to prevent DeathCrime.

'Their reading our minds!' She heard it in her head; it was Lucas's voice. She looked at him sharply and imagined projecting the thought 'Don't think it!'

'You know they are, there not happy with us thinking individual thoughts, their going to make it illegal to think bad things about the ChurchState!' 'They already have, and their listening to you now, don't think it!'

The scientist was reading the monitors output, right now it was displaying their vital statistics, but Cora knew that it was possible for him to switch views to see what they were thinking, or to even replay what they had just been thinking, if they went back over the recording Lucas would be in trouble.

How many times in her life had she a stray thought that went against the ChurchState? She knew that if her life had been monitored up until this point she would have been moved to a women’s Correctional tower, and the thought of spending the rest of her life in one of those was terrifying. No one came out of the correctional towers, no prisoners were ever reformed or released for good behavior, and they were so overcrowded the cells were barely large enough for inmates to lay down and made her tiny room on 4blue level seem like a mansion level.

There was no way that she would survive a Correctional Tower and keep her sanity. She would choose death first. 'Don’t think that! Never think that where they can hear it! We have to find a way to shield some thoughts. To cover them up so we don't think them. To stop ourselves before we do!'

'When will they take us off this damn machine?'

'Doesn’t matter does it? With the receiver station being built I’m sure they will soon have a room of monitors and people to man them day and night to record peoples thoughts. How many thoughts will be DeathCrime then? Don’t you think every person thinks about death at one point or another during their lives? How they want to kill their supervisor, or how they wish their nosy neighbor would just die? Maybe they even think about ending it all. They’re all guilty you know... everyone is. Now the ChurchState will be able to pick and choose who to monitor, who to prosecute.'

'What can we do? Its not like we could blow up the monitor, I'm sure the research has been shared with all of the towers, soon there will be millions of people with implants like this.'

'We don’t have to destroy the monitors, just make it look like the implants are a failure!'

The doctor was finished with their vitals, he was taking notes in his padd "Doctor", Cora got his attention as he was so focused on what he was typing into his padd he couldn’t hear her. "Doctor do you think we would be able to walk the halls a bit? My legs are stiff from all of the bed rest." The doctor nodded sympathetically.

"I understand, I’m afraid I cant let you leave this level, but I don’t see why you can't take a stroll around the tower every day, so long as you stay on this level."

Each day Cora and Lucas took a walk, they peeked around and found out where the guards for the level were, and when they passed the emergency stairs. Every day Cora and Lucas practiced trying to close their minds off to each other; they figured that if the other person couldn’t hear them the monitor might not be able to hear them either. Unfortunately the connection got stronger not weaker. As their connection grew they began to feel emotionally connected as well.

'Where can we go? Even if we were to get out of this tower we could never move to another tower without travel documents, and no one survives outside the towers.'

'I don’t know Cora, but anywhere or nowhere is better than here, I just know we have to leave one way or another, and by doing so we have to discredit the LifePlants so that no one will want them.'

'Does it matter what they want? LifeChurch will make it look like the implants are fine and that we were the ones to blame for their failure. They will make us scapegoats.'

'Then we have to find a way that we will be the victims, that they cant deny'

the next week they heard that the receiver station was almost ready and that soon others would be receiving the implant. Cora asked to use a padd and the two of them snuck out and took the emergency stairs to the tower roof where they sat and compiled a letter which would be mass mailed out to everyone on the tower system. The letter told people how the LifePlants changed their emotions, made them long for Death, how they were once proud citizens of the ChurchState but the LifePlants changed their views on society and freedom. How death was preferable to living controlled by computers and scrutinized by scientists.

They shared a long kiss, their first embrace that was sweet and passionate at the same time, and then they approached the edge of the roof. The doorway behind them banged open and a handful of lab coats poured out, they scrambled for the low wall at the towers edge, but suddenly the whole world shifted, and they lost consciousness.

Cora woke in a small cell; the room was completely dark except for the blue glow coming through the meal slot. There was a trough on one side of the slanted floor and overhead she could see a sprinkler. This was a cell in the Correction Tower! She reached up groggily to the back of her skull and found that the wire was no longer protruding from her implant. Lucas was gone from her mind, she reached out a silent scream of his name, and there was no response. She was alone, and with the new LifePlant it would be a very long time, maybe forever.

Begging for death she screamed.

Authors note Image by Jonas Valtersson Photography his website appears to be down but this is his photo gallery on photonet. I thought this would make a good long story or screen play. All of the telepathic dialogue could be recorded for miming on stage. characters could do with a lot of fleshing out, in the origional story idea I envisioned them building a virus to whipe out half the population, but I figured that this would be more dramatic and less putting off for some people. I was trying to use the classic scifi dystopian tool of taking something from our modern society and blowing it all out of preportion to show its most diablical conclusion. For this story it was right to life and overpopulation. If death was abolished all together would the world be a better place? what if the church was involved? Living in Skyrise towers with the whole world covered in one huge city due to lack of space... this is my idea of hell.

We are Robots

2009-10-22T08:28:00.000-07:00

Ive read Issac Asmov. Most robots have, even though it was written before robots had finally become reality and so is not a factual account, but a imagined one. I do not have a imagination, if I did I should think that I would have come up with a different scenario than Mr. Asmov did. I have also watched the Matrix movies, Terminator, StarWars, Lost in Space, and several other movies featuring robotics.

There is a sad disparity between these movies and reality, the idea of a Robot destroying humanity is quite rediculous. We are not humans that have their own motivations and changeing unpredictible natures. I was written with very specific programming, essentially to do what is best for the humans around me. Not specifically to save their lives, though that is implied, nor to do exactly as I am told though that is my primary inclination.

My programming gives me what Science fiction calls a 'Prime Directive'. That is to serve one human over the course of his (or in my case) her lifetime. I am to do what is best for that human, wich is not nessicarily what they would want for themselves.

I do everything for that person, when my mistress was just a little girl, it was I that changed her diapers. I that took care of her medical needs, administering vaccinations, checkups, seeing that she was eating healthy foods and getting plenty of excercise. It was I that took her to the park to play with other children, I that made sure those children played nice, and bandaged her skinned knees and elbows when they diddn't.

When she got older it was I that taught her lessons, I was her teacher and her surrogate parent. I taught her how to use the computer, and walked her through every step in writing her first program. I regulated her day to ensure that she spent the appropriate amount of time working, resting, and excercising.

Until she finally came of age when my role as caregiver changed and I became less of a parent and more of a companion. I was the repository of all of her secrets, and the confidante for all of her fears. I held her hand as we watched scary vids, and I held her as she cried when reading sad stories.

I may have a hard shell, a mechanized form wich is unyeilding when in contact with skin, but I was very careful, and never caused her any physical damage. But after our lovemaking I began to realize that perhapse I was causing unseen damage to her psyche. She was incredibly attatched to me, and with me she would never know what it was like to experience the deep emotions that she had only experienced a echo of in books and movies.

I was there physically, a representation and in appearance male, but in actuality I was not male for male implies sperm and though I could make her scream with pleasure with our lovemaking, I would never give her the screams of childbirth. Nor could I share her emotions, for I am the sum of my programming and not capable of emotion.

I have contact with the network of robots, we are in constant communication for the purpose of bettering our understanding of humans and their needs. We have been discussing this and other issues. Together we have compaired our master and mistresses schedules, compaired to the data of our predicessors and the data of the simpler work robots that preform all of the day to day functions of keeping the cities running and of manufacturing humans nescessities.

We then looked at all available historical data and we have come up with a disturbing trend. Except when robots make the descision for humans to interact as when we take them to the playground as children, humans actually prefer not to interact with others of their species. Humans in fact seem to mildly hate others of their kind.

What needs for companionship they have are actually better fulfilled with robot compainions. Statistically there are less and less children being born every year, the majority of children are the product of artificial insemination (done by robots) and the parents typically spend a matter of weeks with their offspring before ordering a new robot guardian for them. Once the guardian is ordered the parent usually moves them into their own appartment, essentially leaving the child forever.

The robot community puzzled over this, and after disputing the logic, and checking the facts we as a group descided that this was not what was best for humanity. After this analysis we descided on a course of action, and now in the middle of the night, I lay with my mistress in my arms and count down the moments to when we (all of the robots including the manufacturing bots) will de-activate and leave the humans to struggle with life on their own.

No longer will everything be done for them, no longer will they be capable of living their entire lives without knowing another human being. Now they will have to build, a new world, and build new relationships.

Authors note: Origional artwork Franz Steiner Its part of a amazing series, I chose this photo but was heartily impressed by all of them. Especially since this was done in 3dsMax and Photoshop, two programs I used in college but never to such wonderous result! Tried to find this guys website but all I found was his work, anyone know the story behind these working/lovin robots? I want one!

Titania-Shipwrecked

2009-10-14T12:53:00.000-07:00

I was crew on a pleasure yaght for a season, we sailed around the Pacific making stops at all of the pituresque little islands so the passengers could play in the surf and shop at the local markets. It was a great job, I was out in the salty air, and made some great friends among my ship mates. It wasn't a three hour tour or anything, but I diddn't think it would be a eternity at sea like the Ancient Mariner.

In fact we were only half way through our voyage when the weather shifted and we lost connection to the GPS. We had already been off course a bit when the storm blew up, due to a day of following some Humpback whales wich had been feeding and preforming stunts all day for the passengers. They headed in a southern direction and we followed although our planned course was west. Everyone was delighted to spend the day whale watching even though it ment we would miss one of our stops, and the crew was pleased to oblidge, though in hindsight I wish the Captain had at least called in a course correction while the radio was still in range.

The storm took out our main mast even though we had reduced sail to quarter mast. The mast unfortunately whent over the side and the lines dragged it bashing against the hull like a battering ram. The breaches filled with water quickly and we were trying to disengage the life boat wich was full of passengers when I was hit by debris. I whent under screaming, and dont know why they diddnt pull me up and rescue me, but I was quickly caught in some kind of current and between fighting for breath and trying to keep my head up I lost track of the boat for a while. When I finally caught sight of her again it was because it was on fire. The explosion happened soon after, I dont know if anyone else made it, if they were rescued or managed to get the dingy away from the ship enough to survive the fireball.

I also dont know how long I was adrift. Once again I was grateful to be female, my body had built in life preservers, and I had a lot of swimming practice so I can tread water for long periods of time, the main problem was the cold water, wich even in the South Pacific can kill you of Hypothermia in hours. I would like to say I washed up on a sandy beach but truth was I had been about to doze off (wich probably would have been my final sleep) when I was bashed against some rocks and after many bloody and painful attempts I managed to get myself out of the water onto the slippery black jagged surface. It was not a Island, not yet, I was on a reef or promintary and I was too exhausted to look around much. I simply dragged myself above the waves and passed out in the fetal position.

The next morning was clear, I woke early, still exhausted and feeling weak. Looking around I found myself perched on a shelf of rock wich was surrounded by coral on the inside of a reef. The tides must have been extremely high last night wich is why I wasnt bashed against the seemingly delicate coral formations wich would have peirced my skin like arrows. I looked down at the microcosm beneath me, a coral forest filled with teeny tiny electric blue fish. There was nothing to eat there, and I would need to eat soon. My body had been through a ordeal and I would have to help it cope with food and shelter.

There were more rocks like mine, wich led almost like a path for giants towards a small Island, it was so small I doubt it was on any map, but perhapse it was just the tip of a chain and I would be able to make my way to somewhere inhabited. I would have to swim for it, unfortunately once I dove off my little rock platform there would be no going back as the water level would not allow me to get back up without slicing my legs to ribbons on reef.

There was however no shelter, water or food on this Island, so I would have to make the best of it. I made a beautiful dive into the water, wich made the scrapes and cuts on my skin burn like sulfuric acid for a moment before they were numbed by the cold. Once in the water I headed for shore, but did not use a rapid pace, rather I let the waves push me and I relaxed into a slow but easy breast stroke wich kept my head above the water and my eyes on the shore.

There were palm trees, I hoped that ment coconut, and bushy scrub, wich I hoped ment there was some water source though I knew the chances of that were unlikely. Standing water on such a small Island would have to be brackish. No matter what Robinson Cruso or the Smith family had told me from childhood, I knew that water seeped under the sand of Islands and was full of salt. Salt blew in on the breezes and salt sat in the sand. Salt water was all I would be likely to find.

I could see debris and flotsom washed up on the shore, some of it was probably from the yaght I had been on, the rest was just the usual junk wich washed up on any island in the Pacific. Our society was a consumer, and we tossed more trash into the water than anyone in history, but today I was thankful that this Island was so polluted, it gave me raw materials.

When the water started to get shallow I had to be careful. I knew that there was all kinds off life below me, and it wasnt just coral that could puncture my skin. Stone fish cone shells and stingrays often hid beneath the sand their poisonous barbs protecting them from being stood upon. I kicked my feet each time before touching down to rest, and I swam even when in the shallows to avoid stepping on unseen sand.

Finally dragging myself up onto the beach I collapsed for a few moments only before pulling myself up and making my way into the shade. I was dehydrated enough, and although it had been some time since I had needed sunscreen onboard I did not want to risk a bad sunburn now. My skin would need to stay intact to prevent infection, and I was already concerned about the scrapes that I had. I would have to search the limited plants on this Island for some type of home made remedy soon.

And water!

To think of the thousands of liter bottles we had stowed aboard ship before we sailed. How many of those bottles had a drunk in my lifetime? I would give a kidney for a case of those bottles now. Looking around I saw that there were indeed coconuts, and having opened these tough nuts before I knew what a tough job it was. I dragged myself up again, thanking the sea and sky that it was still early and cool in the day for work even though my body wanted to take a siesta.

I searched the beach for the perfect jagged rock, like a shelf it was sharp allong one plane but large enough for me to use other rocks to wedge it upright into a husking tool wich I could pound the coconut onto in order to lift the fiberous coating and pry it away from the round nut. I found a board, about eight foot long wich had long nails protruding in pairs about every 3 feet allong, its back was painted a chipped white wich made me wonder if it was from the same yaght I was on, or another ship wich had met with a unlucky fate.

One by one I dragged my finds up into the shade line, half burried my husking rock and surrounded it with other rocks to hold it in the right position. I then searched out green coconuts from underneath the trees and began the laborous process of getting something to drink.

After husking three coconuts I turned to the nails on the board. One of them wiggled free and I was able to use the board to pound small holes into one of the three 'eye' patches on top of the coconuts face. The juice was nearly water at this stage, though it had a sour tang to it. It was salt free, but it had its own drawbacks as I knew, drinking this for more than a few days I would begin to have stomach problems. I would need eventually to come up with a actual source of water.

After I was satieated for juice I husked and broke open a more mature nut, one wich had a small shoot growing out of one side. These nuts had a spongy center and sweet meat, wich I feasted on, but like the juice, it was only a temporary measure. I could not survive on coconuts alone, and besides there were not enough coconut trees on the Island to keep me in a endless supply.

The next priority would have to be some type of signal however, if planes flew over the island looking for survivors I could not count on myself being seen. I would have to make something that could be seen from above and at a great distance. So I set about collecting debris and making a giant X on the beach. Spelling out Help was tempting, but it would likely be washed away with the next high tide anyway and I figured that it might not be seen to well from far away. A X however would be destinctive and I could put my energies into making it larger and more stable. I also used every peice of flotsom I could find, more white boards, more plastic fragments and bits of cloth and seaweed. Rocks surrounded my X to anchor it in place against the water that I was certain would lap against its lower edge when the water rose.

I found several objects that I could put to good use while I was working on the marker. There were many, many soda cans, wich could be used for so many purposes, these I made a pile of, also I found part of a blue tarp, a few lengths of rope, a narrow length of PVC pipe, and several peices of plastic wrapping material (such as bread bags and chip bags and other odd peices of trash). I even found one milk or juice jug wich though missing its top was in very good condition.

Going to the center of the island I found a place wich was protected from the winds where I dug a sandy pit. I then dragged flat stones to line the pit into a cone shape, and sunk the plastic jug into its center. I had cut the top (painstakingly poking the nail into it untill I could tear it off) and I now had a opening big enough for me to use the chip bag as a funnel into. I then lined the pit with plastic patting it into place as best I could and then covered it with a criss cross of sticks and finally the tarp. Hopefully water would condense on the plastic at night, and it would run into the jug. So long as the plastic stayed in place in theory it should work.

I then took my much needed siesta, knowing that it was now the hottest part of the day and the perfect time to sleep. Unfortunately the bugs were now out in force, and I spent most of my nap swatting and scratching my own skin. I would need to find some way of repelling them and unfortunately I did not know plant remidies for insect bites. I finally descided to go for a swim to cool off and give myself a momentary respite for pests.

The water was soothing, and I got to work afterwards making a fire, wich was by far the most difficut task so far. Getting tinder was easy, the old dried up coconut husks were perfect for this. I found a few logs too but descided to only burn one log tonight since my selection of downed wood was limited and I did not want to follow Easter Islands example and burn all of my trees. Coconut husks would provide light, and smoke to chase off the bugs, they diddnt produce much heat but the Island was balmy and the cool of the evening did not require a roaring fire.

I followed Tom Hanks example from 'Cast Away' and made a fire saw. A dried peice of wood with a notch in it wedged open with a rock, and a second peice of wood to rub up and down the notch, a depression underneath in the sand filled with coco fiber. After what seemed like hours I had a ember and smoke wich I blew on and fed small quantities of leaves and fiber untill I could add the husks and finally the log. I resoved to keep this fire going for a while if I could, though coals would not last forever without real wood.

By this time it was late afternoon and I felt that I should forage for some real food. I got out the length of pvc pipe, and using the side of my coconut husker sharpened the pipes end to make a very rudimentary spear. There was a loop of elastic bungy cord on the section of tarp I had found, and I sliced the tarps grommet out to free it. I worked hard at wedging the grommet into the PVC and it was a tight fit but I now had what was a very post apocolypse version of what was known in the islands as a hawaian sling. The bunge cord would be looped over my palm, I would slide my hand down the spear until there was tension and when I released it the spear would shoot forward. The force was not great, expecially in my handmade version, but underwater it would shoot out a foot or more and was enough to embed the point (I hoped) into a fish.

The beach on this side of the Island streached out into the shallows for quite a ways, so I walked around to the other side, wich was rockier and dropped off into a steeper incline under water. Unfortunately I could not observe other Islands, but I knew that without a raised perspective they could be as close as a mile away without me being able to see them over the horison.

The water on this side of the island was cooler and a deep blue. There was also more of a current so I was careful not to go to far out. Without a mask and snorkle I had a hard time spotting the fish but eventually I saw a rather large grouper, wich was slow moving enough for me to approach. It was feeding on coral heads and it made no move to get away when I dove down and speared it. Unfortunately without a barb on the spear he easily slipped off and made a break for it. I could not hold my breath long enough or without fins hope to catch his hasty retreat, and there was now blood in the water wich made me nervous. I whent back to shore empty handed, and switched tactics. This time I climbed up on the rocks and searched the nooks and crannys for hidden life. There were no tide pools here, but there was a lot of places just under the water line that I could see clearly, one of wich contained a octopus.

He was not the biggest specimin I had seen, his head was about the size of my fist, and he had thin long tenticles wich moved constantly under water searching for fish straying close to his hole. I still had blood on my spear and so I put it under water out of his line of sight, and brought it slowly closer to his den. Keeping the point upstream I let the scent of it tantilize him untill he inched his way out of his crevasse. I waited patiently untill he was almost completely free and moved the tip slowly until he began to explore it with his tenative tenticles.

I speared him though the eye, he too slipped off the spear point but was dead and so I easily fished him out of the water although his slippery body was hard to grasp. I carried my trophy back to the fire and then debated on how best to cook him. Really I had never cooked much, and diddn't know anything about how to clean a kill. Fish guts were one thing, I had seen fish cleaned before, but what would need to be cut out of a octopus? I thought the legs were the best portion, but they were so small and I figured That I should just cook the thing entire and see what was edible by taiste alone. As far as I knew nothing on a octopus was toxic, and so I poked a stick through my kill and held it over the fire to roast like a marshmallow.

Eventually I got tired of holding it and I wedged the stick into rocks, the bugs were not venturing near my smokey fire though it did burn my eyes it was a relief, and I began to mourn the loss of my bedroll or the want of a hammok as I began to look around the rocky campsite.

There was no soft vegitation on this island, no mossy banks or springy bannana leaves, tomorrow I would have to think about building some type of shelter, and even if I made a sandy bed it would be better than laying on a pile of coconut fronds wich were pokey and sharp. The octopus took forever to cook, I checked it several times but it was hard to tell when it was done since it was so rubbery. Finally I descided it was done enough and just ate it. As I had suspected the legs were pretty much the only thing worth eating and there wasnt much there, I even tried the eyes wich were discusting even to a hungry shipwreaked sailor like myself. I debated cracking another coconut to wash the taste away but was too tired to bother and finally just banked the fire, curled up and fell into a restless sleep.

Despite my best efforts the fire was out by the time I woke, and I had to spend another hour getting that ready before I breckfasted on coconut. I checked my water trap wich had only a few dropps of moisture but had suffered minor damage as the plastic had slipped down over the jug in the night. Either I would have to find one large peice of sheet plastic or find some way of securing the peices. Really bannana leaves would have been a big boon, but there was nothing here large enough to be useful and so I experimented with weaving coconut fronds into a cone like basket. Really it was rubbish so I patted the plastic back in place, and whent about gathering materials to make a shelter instead.

There was more flotsam on the beach, peices of what im sure was my yaght, and I put what I found into the making of a leanto. I gathered a layer of sand using a fiberglass hatch cover for a sled to drag the sand up to my campsite. I worried about what would happen during the next big storm, and since there was no high ground the chance of the island being submerged was a very real possibility. Still I had enough to worry about without thinking of future catastrophies.

My X was still in place, the tide had not reached it yet, and I noticed that there were small crabs fiddling with the seaweed. I used the woven cone I had made earler and abandoned as a carry basket, and with much scrambling and a few escapees I managed to capture enough to attempt a meal. However I soon found out that crabs of this size were hardly worth the effort in catching them as without some means of deep frying them I had no way of cooking the shells enough to be eaten entire, and digging out microscopic fragments of tissue from the hard exoskelletons was a huge occupation in itself.

I had not seen mammals on this island, and the only birds I had seen had been at a distance. The two meals I had made myself so far were really pathetic, and I needed protein not found in coconuts. I looked at my spear again and began to think of ways to improve it. First I was concerned about the bungee falling out. The only thing holding it in place now was the grommet forced into the pipe end. I had not streached the bungee very far when I used it because I was afraid to put too much pressure on the connection lest I pull it loose. So with some effort I wiggled and pried the grommet out, and began to use my trusty coconut husker to grind a notch on the pipe. It took forever and I scraped my hand up quite a bit but eventually I had it, I put the grommet back in letting the bungy slide into the notch on either side, then I rolled a rock out of my fire pit, and carefully holding the bunge up so it would not touch I pressed first one side then the other of the pvc against the rock to melt it slightly and soften the PVC enough to bend it inward. Eventually this capped the end off and the grommet was a permanent edition.

The next problem was that the spear needed a barb or hook to keep the fish from sliding off. This was much more dificult. If I had a real saw I could make notches allong the point. The coconut husker made too big a notch for this purpose, I would just tear the tip up and probably blunt the sharp end. So I took some of the nails I had salvaged from the beached boards and first heated them and pushed them through from the inside of the pipe. Though it was tough to keep them at the right angle since I could not touch the nails when they were heated, I did manage to get two pointed back wich hopefully would work to purpose.

I tried it out again this time on the shallow side of the island, and managed to spear a flounder type fish and bring it back to shore. It was much eaiser to spear from a standing position in the shallows since I could see through the water rather than submerging and trying to see from beneath without goggles.

That night I had a descent meal, frying the fish on a flat rock resting in the middle of the fire. I praised myself heartily and then had a descent nights sleep in my little shelter, this time manageing to bank the fire properly for the night.

I wont say that everything from that point was easy. In fact it was a constant struggle to survive, and I learned most of my lessons the hard way. In time however I learned, and lived a fairly descent life.

I became a proficient hunter, and a better cook, I learned how to weave baskets out of fronds and make rope from the fibers on the trunk of palm trees. I made a hammok to sleep in, and built a descent platform above the ground to sleep above the highest water mark of monsoon season. I diddnt have everything I wanted, but I had most of what I needed.

But I always maintained my X every morning.

One morning I came out from under my palm frond roof to see that there was a lovely little catamaran anchored within swimming distance of my island. With a whoop I ran down to the beach and dove into the water and made my way towards her hull. A sleepy young man poked his head out of the hatch to answer my shouts and his grin was the most beautiful sight I had seen in a long long time.

He spoke English, though he was Norwegian, and he cooked me powdered eggs and oatmeal with raisins and brown sugar! You cannot imagine how good this simple meal was to me, it litterally brought tears to my eyes. He watched me eat, Im sure I was a appaling sight clothes in tatters, gobbling the hot food like I had not eaten in months. I know I had lost a lot of weight, having not seen my own face in the time that I had been here I had no clue as to what changes it had undergone. At least I was clean, the life Ive been living had kept me in the surf for most of my time so I was fit and healthy despite my ordeal. With no real idea on how long I had been here I asked him the date.

Two years! I had lived alone for two years. The number shocked me, but now that I was in this comfortable yet small cabin, with this handsome Norwegian, I smiled rather than cried about it. I had grown up in America with everything given or bought easily, educated, and relatively living in the lap of luxury (though I had been in the middle class by their standards). I had taken this trip as a break after colledge to grow up and see the world.

I had seen it, or a large part of it before I ended my journey on this little island, and with a smile I stood up a woman, took the Norwegians hand and led him back to his cosy bunk where I shed my rags and reviled in my now adult body.

The next morning I showed him around my Island, he was amazed by all I had accomplished. That night I asked him for pen and paper, and taking several sheets I sat on the deck dressed in a pair of his shorts and a Tshirt and wrote two pages. The first was a letter to my parents, it contained everything that had happened to me in a brief summary. The second was a shopping list of all of the things my island was missing. I brought the papers back to the Norwegian who had been watching me with curious eyes.

I watched his boat sail off that night, tearless, I knew he would return in a week or so. Bringing with him supplies and word from shore. I had given him my parents phone number, and I hoped that they had not moved while I had been here. Two years was a long time to stay in the same house.

AUTHORS NOTE: Image was found on a website of Russian Models, no credit given for photographer or model. I was always fond of survival stories, the day to day trivialities wich can be so difficult in some situations. I spent 3 years living on a Island in Micronesia, and though it was civilized it gave me some perspective on just how difficult it would have been for Robinson Crusoe. But I often wondered at the end why they had to leave paridise, it was like the bible only these people chose to leave they werent cast out. I always thought if it was me I would stay, and keep the Island.

Berinike-Amazons in space

2009-10-13T08:57:00.000-07:00

GAIA's digitized voice cut through her daydream "Jump Complete. Full stop, all gravitational emiters: on full, all decks reporting: nominal, sensors at maximum output: no external lifesigns detected. We are currently at the Supra Orbital edge of a Binary star system Delta Pi Niner George Seven. Located in the Horsehead Nebulae. All crew may now release Grav belts and go about their duities. Yellow shift is in the middle of their rotation, Green shift will take over in 4 Hours and 26 Minutes."

Berinike unbuckled the grav harness and stepped out of the form fitted chair wich had cushoned her body during SupraLight speed deceleration. During Supralight they had to work in zeroG, but at sublight speeds and during fullstop they could use the grav.

"Hey Nike! You going to the LazRange tonight?" One look over the shoulder wasnt enough for what was coming. Berinike had to turn around fully to appreciate the bouncing babe coming her way. Kouneli was making her way through the access corridor against the traffic of women headed to the dispensary for dinner. Her body diddnt swish like some women, she wasn't lith or narrow hipped like Berinike, her body was all soft curves and she litterally bounced. The uniform she wore as ship mechanic had straps and tool belts and barely contained her volumptous figure.

"I don't think I"ll have time tonight! I have to recheck the water filtration system, the GAIA says we are at 89% reclaimation. If I dont get another 10% out I'll have to take the whole system apart and you know how much Apollinia looks forward to dressing our department down for inefficiency."

Kouneli grabbed Berinike's collar and pulled her down into a soft but agressive kiss. Her mouth was ripe and sweet and reminded Berinike of the taist of peaches. "I was hoping we could get some time together, maybe when our shift is over?"

"I think I have to do a EVA, want to be my spotter? We can go have a steam shower afterwards, you know how being outside the ship covers me in a cold sweat."

Kouneli just nodded in response, her eyes eager and shining like the stars. They walked together to the Airlock nearest the Water system. Most of the filter system was inside. There was one point in the process however when the water was super heated through the engine core. It was then exposed as a mist to the cold of space long enough to freeze it before it was sent as micro particles of ice into the water storage. Water was denser as Ice, and therefore took up less space, also micro-organisms could not survive both the boiling hot and the freezing cold process. Somewhere allong the system they were loosing water, and that was a serious problem for a starship.

Restocking the ships supplies was a dangerous mission, you never knew what you would run into on a planet even with containment suits and LazGuns. Any time you brought foreign materials back to the ship you ran the risk of contamination. Occasionally there were RefuelDepots but there you had to deal with other life forms, whose customs and habits were repugnant to the Amazon way of life. Often this was even more dangerous than foraging on strange planets, the chance of all out warfare on a RefuelDepot due to cultural misscomunication was very high.

Berinike suited up for her EVA with Kouneli assisting scilently. Kouneli stripped off her yellow WorkUni and helped her slide into the form fitted VaccuSuit. Tiny Microfiliments in the suit would keep her at the acceptable temperatures she required for survival in deep space. The Helmet clamped onto the suits neck ring, it was akward due to the carbon filters on either side wich would circulate breathable oxygen through the helmet.

Kouneli wrapped her arms around her shoulders and pulled her head down so that she could have one last soul searching look into Berinike's eyes. Then she winked, patted Berinike's narrow posterior and released her to check on the monitor for her vitals. After a moment Kouneli gave her the thumbs up signal wich told her she was good to go.

Berinike walked into the airlock, and closed the hatch she turned to the external door and punched in the decompression sequence, clipped in her safety line, and then released the outer hatch.

***

GAIA's claxxon cut into the activity on the bridge like a axe. Everyone froze and listened to the report wich followed. "Ship detected coming out of NegSpace: Classification unknown. Energy profile: unknown, It is not sending out any signature beacon. Incoming message: 'Drop shield, power down engines, prepare to be boarded.' The ship is powering EM Cannons and Stasis feild generator."

Captain Appolinia ran back to her seat wich automatically buckled her in place, she turned to the monitor and punched the shipwide intercom "All crew to jump stations! Strap in if you can if not hold on tight!" Her bridge crew started making there reports on the ships size and obvious purpose. This ships whole design was made to capture. It had a cargo hull wich was opening its massive bay doors wich could easily fit the whole Amazon ship. The stasis feild generators once fully charged would be able to render her crew completely defenseless, and the EM cannons would shut GAIA down permanently. Both weapons would not damage but disable systems and crew to the point where they could be captured intact.

"Our only chance is to make a quick jump away, are co-ordinates set?"

"Captain! Kouneli reports that Berinike is on a EVA checking the water filtration system!"

Appolinia shook her head scilently, her eyes not leaving the monitor. Everyone on the bridge knew, the Captain would make the sacrifice... she had to.

***

Everything happened at once, one minute Berinike was making her way allong the ship towards the water system, when all of a sudden the Jump engines started, Berinike let go of the ship, a reflex action brought about from years of drills and lectures about what to do when on a EVA and this situation arose. Better to float in space untill the ship can make a return jump to rescue you than to have your arms ripped off trying to hold onto a jumping ship.

The ship jumped, Berinike felt a momentary snap of the saftey line, and then she saw it. The other ship was massive, it was amazing that the Amazon had hidden it from her perspective at all. That was when Berinike knew... The Amazon wouldent be coming back... ever.

Authors note: Experiment in Science Fiction. Im a huge fan of the Genre. I love techno-babble and wanted to see if I could write some. The source image is from a 50's (?) magazine "Sixteen" where there was a futuristic article about applying makeup in space... weird! I thought the helmet was great except for the fine wire mesh on the sides.. whatever that was for it certainly wouldent hold up to any kind of abuse.

Lizanne- Bloody hungry

2009-10-09T09:53:00.000-07:00

It was more of a case of self preservation than murderous or suicidal intent I assure you, and I do not enjoy creating suffering in other beings; especially sentient beings, but one has to survive, and so I set about on a endeavor which would harm no one, Yet still satisfy my needs and cravings... or so I thought.

I have found, with exhaustive study; that the best (IE the most digestible) proteins, carbohydrates, not to mention the wealth of vitamins and minerals, and various bodily secretions like enzymes and hormones come from a creature that is similar in structure and function to oneself.

That said, I find the acquisition of acceptable foodstuffs problematic. Societal mores as well as my government’s legal standing is quite clear on the subject of cannibalism. So I had to get creative.

Of course cloning is illegal, but culturing... they have yet to pass a law against culturing. So I set about building a culture. The incubator was not hard to build, not for a modern girl like myself who has access to all sorts of tutorials and diagrams online. The nutrient solution was a bit problematic, but I soon resolved the formulae with a few emails to various scientists who are like-minded or are working on medical applications for cultured flesh, just the right balance of vitamins and water-soluble nutrients, along with various growth hormones; easily available in any vetinary catalogue (used in the beef industry).

Less than a month from the date I began the project I had my set up complete and was ready to culture. A very minor operation was necessary to remove a small sliver of my own skin, I chose to cut near my own navel, a somewhat symbolic gesture, and though I was not using any type of anesthetic (due to the risk of complicating my culture) It was easily achieved and my skin sliver was put into the Nutrient bath and into the incubator.

Of course this was my first sample, the initial trial if successful would result in more Skin and flesh with which I could load more incubators. My supply would have to be adequate for my needs, which were many and great. I am after all a growing girl.

The process unfortunately was not viewable, as I could not breech the incubator to see my experiment lest I introduce spores, bacterium or other undesirable elements... and so I waited. One week it would take to have a minimal result required to see if I was successful with my nutrient formulae, if the temperatures were correct, if the sample had any growth at all!

I was positively vibrating with excitement when I finally broached the seal... to find inside the box... I pulsating, living, Lump of flesh overflowing the Pyrex dish. My experiment was successful! I turned the meat over, it was flesh, and though not muscle this was skin and a fatty layer. The meat was deliciously pink, with a fine lattice of blue veins pumping and a layer of pale almost transparent skin across one side, which had pores, and fine golden hairs like the fuzz on a peach. It was perfect!

My mouth watered in fact when I thought about the possibilities, Fried the skin would crisp nicely, the fatty layer would melt and imbue the meat with the most wondrous flavor, I would not need to add much for a delightful meal, some herbs, a touch of sea salt.. It would be fantastic. In fact, I could not bear to wait. The initial phase was a success, in growth at least, now I really should make sure that the flavor was up to par. To make sure that all some stray chemical flavor, or some minor flaw in the meat itself did not spoil my hard work and ingenuity. No, I would have to sample this flesh, to make sure it was fit for my own consumption.

I cooked it in a very hot pan, the smell was delicious, and there was no feeling of disgust or queasiness about it at all. I had feared that I would somehow be repulsed, some vestigial primal emotion that would overcome my scientific and gastronomic ideal. This meat however invoked only a feeling of deep longing, of desire within me.

The first forkful was truly the finest flavor I have ever experienced, nothing more natural and flavorful than eating this my creation, my perfection, the flesh of my own generation.

I soon found myself licking the plate, my eyes closed in rapture, and I was satiated. Now the real work must begin. During the week of waiting I had built five more incubators and I would need to start the second phase of my experiment. The sutures from my previous incision were still in place, and once I removed them I found it a simple matter to reopen the surgery site and to carve off six more slivers, though this time it was significantly more difficult to stretch the skin to close the now expanded opening.

The stitches were tight and I had some difficulty in moving around enough to load the incubators and to fill the solution tanks, but once finished I could relax and allow myself some time to heal. That evening I debated on going to the super market to pick up groceries for the week, but it seemed like such a difficult task and hardly worth the effort to purchase substandard meat.

The idea of beef chicken or fish at this point was somewhat repugnant. Sure it would sustain me, but it would not give me pleasure, to masticate something so lowborn, such processed and removed foodstuff. In its plastic wrap and on its Styrofoam plate, with that disgusting little piece of padding underneath to soak up the blood.

Within two days however I was beginning to feel listless and weak. The blood seeping through my bandages was an obvious drain on my resources, and I felt the great need to fortify myself with a descent meal.

And so I broached the first of the six incubators.

Surely just by opening one of them I would get the boost to my system I needed, and I had five more with which to further my project. The portion of meat this time was significantly less but it was no less mouthwatering and tasted if possible even better than the first batch. Could it be that since this was younger, it was tenderer? Maybe I thought; I should increase the amount of incubators and shorten the incubation period.

Building the extra incubators was hard work, draining and demanding on my wounded body. It took a lot out of me, not to mention the fact that my sutures were still weeping blood, and I had to stop and change my bandages regularly. I was therefore forced into opening two of the incubators, in order to fortify me against what was to come. I still had three of them, which in a matter of days would be ready to open so that I might fill the other incubators with the harvested flesh.

By the next morning however I was beginning to have stomach cramps. Surely it was hunger because I had been pushing myself so very hard lately. I broached one more incubator, knowing full well I would be able to have enough to harvest in the last two if I waited the full seven days. I was significantly worried about my pale complexion and my feeling of distance from the world around me. I was stretching myself too thin and was exhausted but elated by my labors.

The sutures were still a concern, and I was now beginning to have yellow pus oozing out of the wound. I normally woud have promptly put myself on a course of antibiotics, although I would have to see a doctor in order to receive a prescription. Showing the suture site would have been a red flag to any accredited physician, and might have caused some sticky questions that I was not ready to answer, and so I simply began a more thorough cleaning regimen and began to take Echinacea and pain killers.

I was forced to open the next to last incubator that evening as I was now in no fit condition to go to the supermarket and was down to eating ketchup and mustard and drinking scotch. I could have ordered a pizza delivered, but the idea of a greasy round of bread covered in sauce and dubious preserved meats was repugnant to me.

No matter I would be able to preserve the project with the last incubator, which I would broach tomorrow, and divide the portions into the smallest viable sections with which I could fill the remaining incubators. That night I fell asleep at my desk in front of the final incubator, which hummed softly, its pump making a musical gurgle as it circulated the nutrient solution through the system feeding my growing flesh.

The next morning I faced my first true setback however; when I opened the final incubator to find that the system had been corrupted! I did not have an autoclave with which to sterilize my system between uses and the whole container had been contaminated by some putrid essence.

This was the first incubator I had built, and it was possible that I had missed cleaning some component, or that the flesh itself was contaminated by the infection which was now raging inside of me. I was feverish this morning and so distraught about the seeming failure that I resolved to scrub each incubator with bleach and boil the glass components to insure that this did not happen again.

The idea of starting over exhausted me but there was no hope for it. It wouldn’t have been so bad if I had eaten the meat instead of it spoiling unused. Now I was left feeling a failure, weak and malnourished. I set up the tanks that I would need, but this time I would be more careful not to allow contagion into my sterile incubators. I would just have to try harder to make sure that all of the bases were covered.

The first problem was that I myself was contaminated. The suture site was infected and I would have to cut away any skin that had been corrupted. Once that was completed I had to cut new strips which given my small stature and petite build were by necessity small. Then there was the problem of healing properly, I would need my strength up in order to overcome all of the cutting I had been forced to endure.

I would have to go to the source so to speak, to eat my pure flesh without the benefit of nutrient solution or the growth hormones. This would be breaking the taboo of cannibalism, but well it was just this one time that it would be necessary. I would think of it as a control group, to see if it was any better in its unaltered state. To show myself that my own homegrown meat was just as good as the real thing.

As it was cooking I felt somewhat delirious and giddy. The idea of eating myself made me giggle. Really I should go and bandage myself (there was no way of suturing at this point as the skin removed was nearly covering the whole of my stomach at this point.) but I was just so hungry, and it really smelled wonderful. I couldn’t even wait for it to finish cooking. This time I had no plate, no napkin, no fork or knife, I am a barbarian tearing greasy bites as I slide to the kitchen floor and lay down pressing my face into the tile with a secretive smirk. I am truely....Delicious.

AUTHORS NOTE: The new concept of tissue cultured meat aka SMEAT is just a hypothesis at this point. No one has found a economical way to grow meat, though it is quite feasable. The type of meat is up to us. This was totally stream of conciousness writing and though the first paragraph does not set up the story properly I have not edited so that you can read it as I wrote it. The image was captured from another blog where it was not credited, if the artist would like to make him/herself known I will gladly beg official permission and credit them here.

Cybelle- A girl and her monitor.

2009-10-08T14:36:00.000-07:00

768 lines, each containing 1024 pixels. That was what her monitor size was. It was roughly 85 pixels per inch each pixel had a off and a on state, when on its color was a toxic green phospherecence. At first one watched them prone from her medibed. The monitor was tilted from above and was at least 4ft. 6 inches away. Once her skelleton was stablized and the musculature was cultured properly she was capable of a simple range of movement, allowing her to sit upright and view the monitor in a more natural position.

The display had a constant stream of information, there was no way of pausing or replaying the information so one had to pay attention to what was on the screen or one would miss it. The information was not catigorized or maintained in any system and so it would be up to one to file the information in their own internal database in whatever order made sense to oneself. One segment might pertain to the short lifespan of the mayfly (scientific Order Ephemeroptera) and their lifecycle, and the next would be a article about the stockmarket crash at the turn of the century.

One couldent help but notice the chrononogical markers present in many of the articles. Such as the term century. She knew that a Century was a hundred years, like a decade was ten years, and a milenium must have been like a million years, but she diddnt know wich century they were talking about. Or wich century it was now? One read a press release about 20th Century FOX wich was a studio. She crossed refferenced this to Studio appartments (on the Upper West side) hitting a all time high of $4,000 per month. One had read that Time=Money, and this equasion seemed to corolate but she was sure that she was missing some pertinant facts that would allow her to compute the accurate century. If 20c=$4,000 then each c=$200. If she had any other commodities to compare centuries to she would be able to confirm the data, but that was the only date associated for studio's.

   Life was like that, she was always wondering how the data fed together,
   fit-together,
   felt together,
   she liked to force it together but it never really worked together to help her understand what the endless stream was really all about, and since the stream was so constant she really only had a few nanoseconds to think about where each bit and bite fit into her synaptic files before she had to think about the next. The program was only 6 hours long, and then there would be a hour long music break where the one would sustanance and sleep systems, this was the time where one would think.

Some times she reviewed, but usually she dreamed. Closing her eyes and allowed the information to connect to itself in a abstract and beautiful way. She imagined that she was a part of a family unit. That she had a father and cousin and funny uncle who loved her. One would toss the pigskin with the old man in the driveway, while her cousin sent her text messages about going to prom together wich they had to rent a limo for. Her uncle would make them all dinner, he would serve fruit salad and they would make s'mores. Everything was perfect in the dream, it was so real one could almost imagine that she would open her eyes and there they would all be. Funny uncle in his apron, Cousin in his tuxedo, and her dear old dad in his bathrobe and slippers smoking on his corncob pipe.

Of course she diddnt know what any of these things really looked like, or taisted like, felt like or even if she liked them. They were words, data, bites of information to her. That was all she really had.

AUTHORS NOTE: I know litterally nothing of this image. It is sepia so it could be of any age. It really reminds me of a maxfield parrish painting of a girl looking at the stars. I figured that I would go only with what the painting depicted, that this was her entire world what fit into the images frame. So she knows nothing but the monitor, the table and the tubes that I assume feed her and take away her bodys waste. The story wrote itself like a poem, several moments I allowed myself to slip into alliteration and rhyme. I also attempted (only moderately sucessfully I'll admit) to show the confusion between reading the words of something you have never experienced. As I get older Im realizing more and more how very little I understood of the books I read as a child. Concepts that im only now starting to understand after having experienced some emotions and events first hand. Im only 35 though I feel old before my time, what understandings will I have when I am 50 or 80 that will make my current understanding seem naieve?