frezak

''Get out of here or I'll have your bones in my stew!'' That is what the withered, warty, old harpy screeched at the boy. He grinned and scampered further up the tree, clutching the apples to his tiny chest as she whacked her walking-stick against the trunk. ''Get down this minute or I'll curse your toes to fall off and maggots to fill your ears!'' Though she could not straighten her her back to look up, she could feel him grinning down at her. She screeched again, out of habit. But while her eyes were cloudy, her back bent and her knees creaking, her ears worked fine. So when the boy dropped to the ground behind her, she screeched yet again

savage hour Fierce, brutal and uncivilized. The hour for brutality, or an hour that is wild? A wild hour? Untamed, uncontrolled. It comes when it wants, shoves the others aside and howls away, stealing the food and scaring the maids. Sorry, I could not come to dinner, I had a savage hour. A savage hour, festooned with ribbons from the other, more civilised, less brutal hours. They fear the savage hour. Whole afternoons will flee, and even the darkest hours will shy away from this one. Losing time to a single hour. Where do the frightened hours go? Perhaps, lost and  now unbound, they find a gap, where time is needed. An ecosystem

Fat is turned into energy. Therefore, energy can be turned to fat. That's what happens if you don't move. But could it be done actively? Turn energy into fat. Lightning STRIIIKE-splat. Ew. Fat from the skies. Food from the skies? I'm pretty sure that manna wasn't a burger. McDonalds is in Heaven. They expand EVERYWHERE. Like a fungus. That feeds you. For money. Rich mushrooms. Which makes them tasty. Foods that get nicer the more you eat? Evolution. Gastro-Darwinism? Eat naturalists. Or naturally, if you are so inclined.

I woke up, threw some clothes on, and stumbled into the kitchen. Grace was sat at a chair, holding a mug of something steaming, her eyes staring at nothing. I stopped in the doorway. "What the hell are you doing here?" She looked up, and her face broke into a smile. Her eyes, though, stayed the same, dead grey. "I was going to wait outside, but I hadn't realised that the cold was so uncomfortable." I stared at her. I had no idea what to say. Then I got myself some orange juice and sat at the table in front of her. "And you were waiting for me why, exactly?" She looked a bit surprised. "Because you gave me back life. If I leave you, then

Inter-ception To catch before arrival= between ceptions. Destinations. Con-ception. To trick out of destination. Babies stop you from finishing your travel? Life. Bringing a life into the world prevents you from terminating your own? Because creation does not exist. (only transformation and/or movement. It's SCIENCE) It's tearing a piece of your own life out. All pieces have to end at the same time. Or you're trapped. Go genocide. Or infanticide. Don't look at me. Blame the Jews. Everyone else did. Then they killed them. And helped them… Get to the end? If the universe is infinite, and creation does not exist, then:

Cut. Split. Seperate. Divide. Create more. A blade multiplies, without adding anything. But cut enough time, cut small enough... And again. And again. And then, there is nothing left. Pieces so small they don't exist. (The trees! The seeds!) I multiply, until there is nothing left. A blade destroys through nothing more than creation. It defies logic, while following it. The mobius twist in reality. Every single blade. Be it  knife, Torn metal, Paper edge, or the edge of wit. Oh yes. Beware my thoughts.

Dinosaur. Die no-saw. That (in german, or go di-de-the) not seen. That which was not seen. Un-seen. Removed from sight? Or is that de-seen? It was seen, then it had never been seen. Consider the following: They don't know (the brains, you know) whether they had scales, or feathers. The fools! Have they never seen a dinosaur? Indeed. They were never seen. They were never seen to live. They were never seen to DIE. Die unseen. If you can't see it, how do you know it was there? How do you know it died in the first place? Maybe they're still around. It's not like you could spot one for what it was. See something for what it is? N

-Couchée, attendant que la fatigue apporte le sceau du sommeil. Sceau. Sot. Saut. -De là, un moyen de terminer le temps restant. Unce chose à être gaspillée en attendant le bon, plutôt qu'utilisée. C'est un fait. Fée. -Qui viennent dans notre temps où ils en peuvent être, non régies par les lois du temps. Ou du sommeil. Elles se plantent dans les rêves en des temps interdits. Plantent la plante. -Qui pousse depuis la grained de l'imagination, clef pour ce temps perdu, mais pas gaspillée, retrouvable en grimpant sur le trône. Un temps plus gai. Guet. -Qui demande un prix

Seeing Dead, part I: Abomination in the Attic. "You're not going to eat that, are you?" I looked up from the sandwich I had retrieved. The dead girl, my dead girl, was sat on the counter-top, looking at me distastefully. "Five-second rule." I grinned at her, and took a bite. "You have no idea of all the germs and stuff covering that mouthful." "I doubt very much that any harm shall befall me, and even then it would likely be mere digestive troubles." She huffed, and dropped off her perch, sinking through the floor. I shrugged, and attacked my lunch again. Sometimes she was like that. They'd suddenly death and danger everywhere, and forg

The child walked along the warm sand, feeling the grains sift between it's toes. When it saw the Thing, though, it stopped. It was, from where the child stood, a grey lump. It had never seen anything like it before. It was the colour of a raincloud, or a stone. But the Thing was not a cloud, it was too solid. The setting sun stretching the child's shadow over the Thing, it gave it a careful prod. It was cold, like a stone, but gave slightly to it's touch. It was not a stone, or a cloud. But what was it? This close, the child could see that it was not really grey. It had a sheen (though the child did not know the words) of many other colou

Arctic Whispers The ravens whisper to me. They are often around when I walk through the village with it's small wooden buildings, they perch on the solid roofs. People in Tasiq have begun to notice. Eelaga I hear the ravens call as I lift my feet high in the snow, and I turn to look at them. My mother grabs my wrist which is beneath my thick blue parka that hides most of me in the winter, and tells me not to encourage them. They make her nervous.   Ravens are not the only animals that seem to be around where I am. Some of the village's hunters have realized the large white bears have come closer to the village ever since I was born. My mo

It's a fine May morning when Reg climbs into the coffin and pulls the lid over himself like a blanket. The sound of turf falling on the wood, shoveled with vim if not grace by Nobby and Colon, is oddly comforting. Once he's comfortably settled, Reg crosses his hands (briefly, his ankles as well, then uncrosses them when one starts to itch) and closes his eyes. He doesn't let himself get worked up over mortality, or the lack of it. He doesn't feel claustrophobic and panic. He doesn't even wonder whether the beetles will get in through that crack in the corner again. Instead he doesn't quite dream, but remembers. - X X X X - A dark room,

Puppets make great props for historians. Remove bullets, insert improvised cotton blood and stitch up four years too late. Boy. He slides down rooftops, with lost precision lost his footing; lands on skulls. Card readings, dealer hearts slit his throat and kicked him in the gut. Boy. He vessels maps to the underground. His foundation, the catacombs of genocide. He teaches his disciples to wear masks for safety. You lied to me, told me you were king, Father. I asked for white ribbons on someone else's Christmas.

Omnelle was experiencing a new emotion. The name of this feeling was not at all as delicious to say as the word 'curious'.  It was not something as clear as 'certain'.  It was not something as silly as 'amused'.  It was a very, very ugly word – with an even uglier, more horrible, terrible, terrible meaning. It sounded like 'born'.  The word was 'bored'. The silly man with the big ears had had to leave.  He couldn't tell her why, because he couldn't tell her why, because he couldn't tell her why, because he – Well, so on. And it was frustrating.  That was another new em

I don't believe in heaven, But I do believe in Hell. Lips pressed tight against bone. Teeth. Bone. Teeth. Not so innocent. I'm afraid. Like smears on a windshield. Lips. Bones. Teeth. And Hell hurt like heaven, Like heaven never knew how. Teeth on bones, Lips on teeth. And there shall be. Shall be. BE In the last days. ---- Terrible. Gnashing of teeth. Teeth on bones. Bones on teeth.

grey lights of an early morning I am a conveyer belt music is sounding too thin for us to hear set deep in a withered face, your eyes break shores of no footprints but the sun's I only hope the white-washed horizon can forgive me, somehow blanketed by painted mirrors, the vacuum air is seeping, it's seep-- blood swims and cuts through sharp cobblestone droplets of defiance sewn into my skin like threads of a fabric the ends are frayed and the pages are yellow and the story won't FUCKING end and justice It's much too cold up there, but I've never seen anything more beautiful. sheets of glass-water your breath, hard

A lone figure crept up the barren hillside. Gray walls shadowed his approach from every direction, and signs directed him back from whence he had come. The signs failed in their task, as the man trudged onward, barely pausing to verbally rebuke the signs with blandishments and cursing. From behind he seemed an ordinary man, walking boots hitched up, traveling cloak on to protect against the slick, impersonal northern winds... The good impression began to go horribly wrong as the sentinel, gripping both hands quickly to his halberd still thick with the blood of the last border-crosser, saw the man's hat - tilted too far to the right to be beli