creative writing, fiction, flash fiction, short fiction, short stories, strength, touch, Uncategorized, war, wildness, women, writing

A Bridge For The Furies:Inventory

alienabar

Cara rolled her eyes in dismay at Gloria.

Gloria picked up her drink and took a sip and shuddered with the strength of it.

‘So you don’t question intelligent gas clouds, but you question a simple hack?’

It’s false nails and a set of contact lenses. You’re talking about some fucking Galactus level event and I go up against it with haute couture?’

Cara sighed as Olivia shifted in her seat, added to her ever growing mental list of questions about what or who was a Galactus. Drea wanted to punch the air that something was said that she actually understood. She ached for John and consciousness with a pang of deep, palpable longing that normally ended up in John’s hands getting the good kind of mean with her. Here, she took another drink and listened to the reserved bitching that characterised the failure of womankind to dominate society. Especially smart, white women but she kept that to herself in favour of enjoying the free show.

Cara gestured to the box.

‘Pop them in and on.’

Gloria sneered again but picked out the index fingernail, pearlescent and when she pinched it between her fingertips, it hummed pleasantly like the vibrator that laid gathering dust, hollow without batteries, much like her heart. It changed consistency, a warm plasticity as it looped over and adhered to her fingertip. A low charge ran up her forearm. The other nails leapt from their casings, with a graceful glee and the symphony of purpose used her body as the orchestra. The lenses elongated as they left the casing and attached themselves to her eyes, plasticized tears in reverse.

Gloria, in the healthy spirit of youthful experimentation, had experimented with hallucinogenic drugs for recreational purposes and the earnest, slightly grim spiritual ramifications. Peyote, psilocybin and lysergic acid had formed the river of her consciousness raising. The combination of the lenses and nails made it look like baby aspirin or the candied gummy vitamins that had characterised her sickly childhood.

Gloria had been given access to the operating system of the universe, a drop down menu floated in her vision like sunspots and she sat back in her seat, dumbstruck with a quiet awe. Olivia was fascinated by the shifting spectrum of colours that overlaid Gloria’s eyes even as the trembling posture of reverence unnerved her.

Gloria clicked on a free floating icon marked ‘tutorial’. Cara chuckled and sat back, gestured towards her with her glass.

‘She’s going to be a while.’

Olivia grew pale and gestured to Gloria.

‘What did you do?’

Cara furrowed her forehead and rolled her glass between her palms.

‘She can change things.’

Olivia swallowed and glanced between Gloria and Cara, concerned at what she might be gifted. She liked her own mind, even the distasteful streaks of self loathing and guilt were hers, goddamn it. Cara touched her hand, Olivia experienced a moment of raw satori and smiled at her.

‘I get it. You’ve put us together with the right tools for the job.’

Drea recoiled in her seat. She had seen the gesture, reminded of when John would use the quasi-hypnosis, social engineering tricks that took nervous young men and divorcees back into the dating arena with the confidence of bull studs.

‘Don’t do that to me.’ she said.

Cara smiled at her, eyes glittering as she picked up her drink.

‘Again, you mean. After all, you’re still convinced you’re dreaming.’

Drea gritted her teeth and forced a stoic expression onto her face to hide her disquiet.

‘So, what do we get?’ Drea said.

Cara clapped her hands together.

‘You two get to do something really spectacular.’

Olivia and Drea had grins appear on their faces in perfect symmetry.

‘Damage.’

Gloria, meanwhile, studied the physics of a falling leaf, the beauty of a broken hip and the pressures of being a good girl with a god’s eye for the sheer gift of it all.

Part 1, Part 2 , Part 3 and Part 4

 

 

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Uncategorized

Science by Warren Ellis

SCIENCE

I can’t help but approach science and history from the standpoint of language.  Because I’m a writer, sure, but also because that’s where those things truly live.  Science can produce the greatest poetry of the age.  Even headline writing at otherwise sober institutions likephys.org take on mad poetry, just because that’s the way things are now.  Actual headline:  “Multifractals suggest the existence of an unknown physical mechanism on the Sun.”  An UNKNOWN PHYSICAL MECHANISM ON THE SUN.  Just let that sink in.  Because that bit alone is some demented Lovecraftian genius.  Which may only be topped by THIS actual headline about the NASA NuStar satellite: “NuStar captures possible ‘screams’ from zombie stars.”This is the real music.  “Cosmology in ghost-free bigravity theory with twin matter fluids: The origin of “dark matter”.”  And, a personal favourite:  “Crystals May Be Possible In Time As Well As Space.”Science is beautiful, and mysterious, and a source of constant wonder.  It is our new wilderness landscape, the new forest full of weird animals and spirits sliding in and out of view on the edge of the clearing and the pool.   Now we have, and here’s another headline: “NASA Funds Electricity-Harvesting Robotic Space Eel With Explosive Jet Thrusters and Electroluminescent Skin.” Once, that was all folklore, the stories we told ourselves in order to try and understand the world around us.The future isn’t happening in far-flung places.  It’s happening everywhere.  Right here.  You’re part of it.  It belongs to you to.   This is where we live.  This is our magic, here in the Science Fiction Condition, and we are damned good at it.And if, sometimes, we can only describe these things to each other as unknown physical mechanisms on the Sun, then that’s okay.  If we’re brought back to poetic license and the language of folklore to be able to talk about what’s happening… then maybe that’s only right and proper.  We can be both scientists and alchemists if we want.  It is, perhaps, a sign of common sense that we reach back into the past for language to decode the future for each other.Everything tells us that we should be overwhelmed by our accelerating future that’s happening faster than we can prepare for.  But Stewart Brand said “we are as gods and might as well get good at it,” and he said that forty-seven years ago, the year I was born.  And we are monsters, and might as well admit it: we’re pursuit predators who can heal almost any wound, show up just when you think we’ve gone away, and we’ll attempt to have sex with pretty much anything in the universe.  Don’t be afraid of the future.  We will never die, we can do everything we ever want, and we love stories more than anything.  Stories are magic, magic is science, and science is what makes us human.   Don’t be bored, and don’t be afraid. The future is coming, and we’re going to win.
Ellis has an ebook of his recent talks on Kindle.  It’s worthwhile for it’s passion, it’s black humour and oddly enough,  it’s passion for making the present WORK.

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ambition, blogging, creativity, inspiration

Behave like gods

We are as gods on our little rock in the vast bleak cosmos and it’s way past time we started getting good at that instead of just posing on Olympus and photoshopping our zits out. The future is more than an Instagram filter.
Warren Ellis.  Cunning Talks

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Star Trek

Do you ever watch the news and consider how Star Trek has that utopian future where we have collectively overcome division and difference to explore space together and then do you ever wonder:

How on earth do we get there?

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