beauty, love, lust, poetry, sex, women

A season

Soaking you up

Like sunlight,

Air shimmering

Like a halo

But the things I do

Will feel like falling,

Deliver yourself into

My hands

Do the things

Which are sacred and

Filthy at the same time

Laughing with lust,

These pocket collisions,

We survive every time

Delirious with it,

Beneath the masks of archetype,

Summoning all we’ve had

Stored away

The gleeful celebration mess,

I make of you,

The light you are

Has me growing taller

Thicker

Enough to drape you

In comforting shadows

Come close

Summers pass

But I’m more than a season

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comics, masculinity, poetry

‘I’m here to help.’

I was always

A Batman kind of kid,

Grateful for having a mother

And working out the

Endless beatings to be him,

But I liked the other guy

The sense of how when the world

Needed saving

He was all

‘I’m here to help.’

And there’s people who’d

Say I’m a villain,

But I liked the idea

Of goodness and strength

Sleeping in the same bed,

I’ve tried

I have,

Not always succeeded,

But if we make our own

Gods and monsters,

There’s something to be said

For making them float

From the sky

Offer a hand

And say

‘I’m here to help.’

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beauty, love, lust, poetry, sex, women

For A Moment

There are blossoms

On the trees

A heat which matches

The temperature of

Want which seethes within me,

And the hours fly like

Birds until I cross your

Path, and the languid ease

Becomes something else,

Urgent, almost anxious,

To get as deep as I can

And still find it wanting,

Until we are shining with sweat,

Cling to me,

Free to be wanton in your

Surrender,

And the things I’ve whispered

About doing to you,

Become tangible acts,

The sight of you,

Strips me of shame,

And I fuck without

Fear or self consciousness,

And in not holding back,

If I leave bruises on your

Beautiful skin,

Consider them marks of

Possession,

This heat within,

Maddening and wonderful,

Lends me a strength enough

To tear down

Buildings,

But you, you, you,

Make me gentle

For a moment.

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beauty, love, lust, poetry, sex, women

Origami

You made yourself

Dizzy trying to

Outrun the feelings

No drink

No drug

Could wash it down

Away

To one side

But I took

Your hand,

Listening to all

The things you’ve been

Led to believe,

About yourself

And when the rough

Warmth of my hand,

Fitted in yours

I came without agenda,

Taking care of you

Without burdening you

With the expectation

Of needing to save me

Someone who speaks

The languages you

Thought you’d need

To forget

But this languid fluency,

Makes you soft,

Slick and tingling

And as you fold

Origami perfection

Into my arms,

Speak your truth,

I find it all

Mesmerising

What you say to me

What you say to me

What

You

Say

To

Me

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love, short fiction, the transformation, women

Episode 31 – The Process of Becoming (The Transformation)

Previous episodes are here.

I can try to get away, but I’ve strapped myself in
I can try to scratch away the sound in my ears
I can see it killing away all of my bad parts
I don’t want to listen, but it’s all too clear

Nine Inch Nails, The Becoming.

1.

John stopped outside the facility. Kelly held onto his fur with enough force her fingers throbbed but when he lowered his shoulders to the ground, she slipped from his back. She trembled, eyes hot and wet with tears, disorientated and tasting something thick on her tongue.

The boy’s memories, she told herself.

She wrapped her arms around herself, revolted and frightened as John raised his muzzle to the door and barked twice. The door slid open with a hiss as the speakers crackled overhead. Kelly watched him pad inside, wreathed with ribbons of red and orange light as she saw the damage her thoughts had done.

The ribbons were receding as his body healed from the injuries she inflicted. She saw the twisting oceanic waves of his aura, their colours ranging from autumn to spring, and wondered if she was seeing John’s heart, even his soul.

Kelly wondered if she had wounded it.

‘Come in, Kelly.’ the AI said.

Its tone was flat and Kelly looked up at the speakers. A memory of confronting it, pulling on wires and feeding on information.

‘I did something to you. I’m sorry.’ she said.

A sigh came from the speakers.

John laid on the floor and put his head between his paws, growled as Kelly stepped into the facility. The door closed behind her as she watched the ribbons fade away whilst his muscles moved underneath his fur. There were wet, tearing sounds and muted cracks of motion as he breathed through his transformation. John slipped out from the fur, glistening and trembling. He stood up and stared at Kelly, his eyes dark with concern before they rolled up in his head and he fell backwards like a puppet with the strings cut.

Kelly rushed over to him. Her stomach ached as she pulled him into her arms.

She wondered if she could do something good with what lived inside her.

Kelly closed her eyes, went inside herself, a motion which felt somewhere between flight and diving, into the vast clouds of knowledge she held. A library of stolen truths, and each book opened its pages all at once, a cool wave of emotion washed over her as she searched for something she could use.

Kelly had no formal medical knowledge so what passed between thought and action was more art than science. His mind was a riot of raging neural activity, and she found the path of where her thoughts had wounded him.

Knowing what to do and understanding it were two different things, so she did something over understanding it. If it were something she had to live with, then she had time on her side.

There was a care in her investigation, a need to serve and heal him which gave her a surge of crude power. She shook with the force as she pressed her palm to his forehead and closed her eyes.

A transfer of energy between them. The memory of his weight on her in bed, the last good, warm memory they shared before she turned into a monster which fed on memories, used them to wound the people she loved. It was easier to reach into herself and find good things to help him.

Perhaps, she thought, the virus knew her a little too well. She had done it before, to wake him, and she did it again. John stiffened up, but his fingers were gentle when they touched her cheek. His eyes were wide as he stared into her eyes.

‘What have we done to each other?’ he said.

2.

The car swam like a shark down the freeway. Olivia found the smooth hiss of the air conditioning soothing as she looked through the windshield. There was an edge to her thoughts which looked at the occupants of the other cars and weighed up their value to her as meat. It was playful, without malice or real need, but she looked at the young, tattooed man with the trucker cap and faded tattoos on his forearms, and imagined his blood trickling down her throat. She smiled at him and he turned away.

She hummed with a delighted energy. Her senses made everything a playground, sweet and bitter, soft and hard, all the details of the world in perfect clarity as her thoughts swam around her head.

There was a screech of tyres and the percussive crash of metal brought her back to the moment as she looked through the windshield.

An SUV and a Mercedes Benz. The SUV had mounted the smaller car, and Olivia watched as a man got out of the driver’s seat. She watched him pull the brim of his cap down and her eyes fell to the gun in his hand. She stopped the car and undid her seatbelt.

The smart thing would have been to move on, but Olivia needed to test herself before she got to the real work. This, she decided was exercise.

The man in the cap staggered after a few steps. Olivia got out of the car, caught the blood in the air, different flavours mingled with gasoline and brake fluid.

‘You don’t have to do that.’ she said.

He stopped and wiped the blood from his chin.

‘Fuck off, lady. This asshole’s been on my case for miles.’ he said.

Olivia walked towards the man. She looked into his eyes and lifted her hands. Olivia had left the gun in the car because she didn’t need it.

‘Well, you’ve got them now, haven’t you?’

He looked towards the Prius. Olivia heard the sounds of panic from inside. She could smell the weed inside the car, the thin stink of panic and the artless scrambling for their phone. They could record it, she thought, and it decided for her.

‘Put the gun away. The police will come, I’ll Say I helped you out of the truck and we can all get to where we’re going to.’ she said.

She kept her voice soft and hid the flush of victory as the man stopped and looked at the gun in his hand.

He shook his head like he was trying to shake something out before he racked the slide on the gun and walked over to the Benz, lifted the gun and Olivia moved. The instinct snapped her forwards, and the tips of her fingers burst as her claws protruded and she had her hands out.

She dug her fingers into the meat of his neck, corded with muscle and squeezed as she tugged away ragged divots of skin and tissue. His blood was hot on her fingers and she watched it splash down his front, black in the sodium lights. She stepped back and looked at the Mercedes, saw the flashing light of his phone, held at an angle through the window.

Olivia coiled with disgust. She leapt forwards, swiped with her right hand and punched her claws through the back of his hand. Her fingers drew inwards as she pulled him through, reaching through the open window to swipe at his face. He was so young, she thought, before she stabbed her claws into his eyes and he screamed in a high pitch which only came from agony.

It was a mess, but it was quick.

She found the phone, saw it was recording, not streaming and slipped it into her pocket. The traffic was light but someone would see if they hadn’t already. She took the gun from the man’s body, opened the fuel tank on the SUV and went back to her car.

Olivia licked her fingers like a cat, murmured soothing noises of comfort to herself before she drove off. She drove past the cars with care, looked at the mess she had made and decided it was better not to mention this. A field test, a game gone wrong, it was all relative to her. Before dawn, she stopped at a motel, checked in and showered. The phone had no security, so she went in, deleted everything and reset it all to factory settings before popping out the memory card and the SIM, cut them up with nail scissors and flushed them down the toilet..

There was nothing to fear, nothing to doubt. Olivia sat up in her seat, flush with confidence as she saw the turning for the offices.

3.

A party in the kitchen. Loud, boorish noises and someone had good coke, so there was an energetic pace to the volume which reaches her as she’s sat there, trying to write.

No, it was not working.

The violence was too close to drown out or use. The Editor tried to make the scene work, but it did not come to her. She heard a bone crack and someone cries out before the boom of a shotgun made her ears ring as she shuffled forwards. She breathed in, went back to the draft and focused in on the Adam itself.

It was a seething hive of necrotic flesh and electricity, stitched together with sigils and black science. It had been a story in her world, rewritten and deployed to patrol the contested territory.

No one had considered what happened in the long term. Adam had transcended the limits of its narrative and became something else. It had turned on its authors and editors in a display of hubris she wanted to find ironic.

She used the search engine on the quantum keyboard to locate any cars outside. A coincidence in the second line of the moment told her which car had the keys in the ignition.

The Golem roared before something crashed to the ground. She wrote a terse internal narrative which held hypothetical instructions for a set of moves which would stop Adam and sent it.

She heard a hard, compact thump and a gush of fluid before a louder, more complete impact shook the ground beneath her.

The Editor turned as The Golem’s scarred, bald head rolled towards her. Adam’s hands were down by his side as he reached for the knives on his belt. He grinned at her as he stepped forwards. She blinked twice, activated the plot twist.

She started the car and drove out of the grounds. Adam took out the rear windshield with a shot but she got away and it was dawn before she stopped. She pulled over by the side of the road, fished out the lenses and realised she left the case back at the house. Her eyes burned and the tears stung as she put on her glasses and looked around her.

Her phone had been in the bedroom.

The slow trickle of dismal facts pinned her down before she took a deep breath, started up the car and carried on driving. She wanted to go home and feeling sorry for herself was third rate hackery to her mind, so she kept moving until a development came to her.

She called Editorial from a payphone.

‘This is a Corrigendum.’ she said.

‘Where are you?’ Editorial said. It was a different voice each time, and she listened to one of the male voices, gruff from cigarettes and scotch but kind and professional.

‘I drove east from the safe house. I need whatever you have around.’ she said.

Editorial sighed.

‘That was it. Politics, my dear, are the greatest enemies of our art. There’s a safe house on the coast, I can get you back to the Library. There’s no sense in staying until we establish our response.’

The Editor squeezed her eyes shut.

‘No, I’m not leaving. I need support down here. Adam is not stopping and it’s a narrative we can’t have loose.’ she said.

Editorial sighed and she heard the snap of a lighter.

‘A Corrigendum? OK, go to the safe house, wait for further instructions. I’m inclined to pull you out but -‘

‘No.’ she said.

She wanted to go home. The fragile life she was building where the weight of things didn’t rest on her shoulders so much and there was someone with her at night who made her feel safe. The corrigendum warranted a response but her reasons ran deep and she let them anchor her to her decision.

‘I won’t leave.’ she said.

Editorial sighed and she heard him pull on a cigarette.

‘What about the Golem?’ he said.

The Editor looked out at the street, cautious for signs of Adam’s approach.

‘He’s gone. I put in a deus ex machina but it didn’t take.’ she said.

Editorial chuckled.

‘Good girl. Get out of the street.’ he said.

He gave the address and she put the phone back in the cradle and ran to the car. She wanted to call home, but she wasn’t sure about hearing his voice, what it would do to her. The Editor missed it all the time, and the feeling kept her awake as she drove towards the coast.

https://ko-fi.com/mbblissett if you enjoyed this and want to donate, you’re most welcome.

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beauty, love, lust, poetry, sex, women

Close

To be close,

Slow in the taking,

A thorough,gentle

Possession with my arms

Around you,

Limited motion but

Rough in the actions

I take,

All the birds silent,

Against the quiet tension,

I cannot get deep

Close enough,

A desire which tests

My limits of expression,

But look into my eyes,

Hear my voice,

Struggle against the strength

I take with a hunger past,

Anything you know,

Speaking to the primal

Beauty of you,

In a language made from

Kisses and bruises.

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beauty, love, short fiction, women

Clouds

Ellie had missed four calls from Jenny. The afternoon had been a gauntlet of customers, each armed with their own set of complaints, which Ellie handled with a grim politeness. The efforts to maintain it drained her, and she still had the kids to deal with, let alone Jenny. She let each call drift into voicemail, but a small dagger of guilt dug into the lining of her stomach with each one.

 

The showroom door opened and the Cloud floated in, three bubbles floating atop one another, filled with sparkling liquid which flashed and exploded in patterns of light.

 

‘Hi, I’m Mrs Underwood.’ it said.

 

Ellie looked down at the laptop, took a deep breath and raised her eyes as the thing floated towards her. She had seen the first Clouds on television and the internet, but this was the first one she’d seen in person.

 

‘Yes, come on through.’ she said.

 

Oscar came out of his office. He wasn’t sure what to do with his hands. Mrs Underwood emitted a field of blue light and Oscar waved his hand through it. The air sparkled where they touched and Oscar gulped with surprise before he gestured for it to join him in the office. Ellie watched it float inside, fighting the rapture which burst like lightning inside her chest.

 

Your consciousness was a net of neural electricity. They scanned it, put it into a frame of molecular robots which left you in a body of light and chemicals, without the weight and failures of the flesh. The liquids were bacteria, providing a source of nutrients which could generate sensory fields of an exquisite variety. Immortal and insubstantial, being a Cloud was a way to cheat death. They were seldom seen because the technology had gone through the normal process of testing – from animals to ill people then athletes and the wealthy. You could generate forms of utility and beauty with the molecules in the air around you in whatever materials you could imagine.

 

So many people depended on their illnesses and burdens to define them. You couldn’t reproduce, or at least no one had figured out how to hack the matter of post human reproduction. Ellie wanted more time with the kids as her, despite the weight which never seemed to shift off her hips and stomach, and the twinges in her back when she was in the car too long.

 

She wanted to remain human, but then she would see Helen, her grandmother. Ellie would watch the pulse of her veins and the translucent, yellowing parchment skin which fell in dewlap folds around her jawline. Her hair, which had been strawberry-blonde curls had thinned and bleached out to kinky wisps on her scalp. Ellie loved her and knew she insisted on going out human but she had spoken to her about it.

 

Ellie was talking to herself about it. She checked her phone and rang Jenny back.

 

Ellie, I’m so glad you called.

 

Jenny’s phone had been incapable of holding a conversation for long. Ellie would make affirmative noise without getting all the details because Jenny would tell her again later, but now the signal was crisp and clear enough to make her wince.

 

‘It’s ok, saw you called. Are you okay?’ she said.

 

Jenny giggled.

 

‘It’s amazing. Listen, I will try something. Hold your phone away from your ear.’ Jenny said.

 

Ellie’s head throbbed with a surprising burst of tension but she pointed the phone away. She had stopped using the hologram feature on her phone because it ate into her data, but she indulged Jenny with the same patience as she did her children.

 

The air sparkled into a column of light, ribbons of colour which burst into blooms of differing textures.

 

‘God, I can’t believe it worked. I followed the signal and here I am.’ she said.

 

Ellie shivered with a horrible awe as she folded her arms across her chest.

 

‘Jenny, what have you done?’ she said.

 

Jenny giggled as she formed the bubble tanks, which floated in perfect orbit. It was a tango of jellyfish, wreathed in clouds of energy and Ellie thought it was wasted on her.

 

‘I’m a Cloud, Ellie.’ she said.

 

2.

 

Jenny floated into the passenger seat and formed a version of herself, stretching the tanks out into limbs and a torso. Ellie struggled not to cry as she sat there.

 

‘How could you be so selfish?’ she said.

 

Jenny frowned and put a field of light out towards her friend. Ellie cried out at the static snap against her skin.

 

‘It was that or kill myself?’ Jenny said.

 

Ellie brought her hands up to her face and shook her head.

 

‘You can’t hold your kids, Jenny.’ she said.

 

Jenny laughed and shook her head.

 

‘I can see every electrical impulse and molecule in the air. I’m sure I can figure out a way to hold my children when I can see them on an atomic level.’ she said.

 

Ellie looked away and gripped the steering wheel.

 

‘What about Gerry?’ she said

 

Jenny turned into a stack of bubbles and sighed.

 

‘We’ve been separated for a year. Plus, I’m dead now, so he can remarry.’ she said.

 

Ellie closed her eyes and shook her head.

 

‘I can’t believe you’ve been so irresponsible, Jenny.’

 

Jenny’s bubbles glowed red and orange.

 

‘What was I giving up?’

 

Ellie turned and looked at her, eyes narrowed against the growing tension in her head. Jenny changed colours to a mahogany river of colour and bursts of buttercup yellow which danced through each one.

 

‘I don’t have to worry about my IBS or menstrual cramps. No more checking for lumps. I don’t have to take a shit again, Ellie, tell me what I’ve lost out on.’ she said.

 

Ellie lifted her chin and pouted.

 

‘Orgasms.’ she said.

 

Jenny laughed, turned into a column of cerulean and emerald.

 

‘I can have them on demand. The chemicals and electricity in the tanks come together and I go all smooshy.’ she said.

 

Ellie sighed and sat back in the driver seat.

 

‘What about a job?’ she said.

 

She knew the answer. Jenny could generate her own personal possessions, nutrition and entertainment. Money could not compete with divinity, which was what frightened Ellie. She wiped her eyes and shook her head.

 

‘Ellie, I love you but this is the best thing for me. I have you to thank.’ she said.

 

Ellie sat up in her seat and sniffed before she asked her what she meant.

 

Jenny asked when she last saw her grandmother.

 

Ellie dialled her from the car.

 

‘Grandma?’ she said.

 

She heard the chuckle, girlish and clear in her ear. Most of their conversations had been shouted and repeated, small phrases which exhausted them both.

 

Listen, I will try something. Hold your phone away from your ear.’ her grandmother said.

 

There was a glow from the backseat as Ellie turned and looked at the cloud of sparkling light which grew, blushes of pink and gold.

 

She got out of the car and winced as she walked down the path. Henry was crying and Lucy was singing along to something on the television. She wondered where Greg was, and why he wasn’t watching them. Ellie needed to pee and wondered if he had retreated to the bathroom which would mean having to deal with the kids, get him out then have the bathroom to herself. She hoped her pelvic floor would be kind to her this evening.

 

Ellie wondered where Helen and Jenny were. The front door opened and Greg stood there, smiled at her until he saw the soft, thoughtful expression his wife wore and asked her if she was okay.

 

‘I could use a hug.’ she said.

 

He limped over, put his arms around her and she rested her cheek on his shoulder as he put his hands on her hips and let her give a sigh of muted relief.

 

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