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Dead Tree Scrapbook- Inquisition

Apr. 9th, 2008 | 06:01 pm

        There's a dying room where an old cage is bleeding red rust all over, and the old meat-hooks keep swinging back and forth with no wind to help them. What were once cream-colored tiles have given way to years of grime, and all but one flickering light stopped illuminating them long ago. There's a chair, or part of one, and it sits in front of the cage, keeping watch in case the inside comes out. And it will come out. It's been waiting since before the room was made, before it was even in the cage. It remembers who put it there. It remembers the ones who condemned it to Hell.

        The bars of the cage crumble away easily with their age, and something emerges...

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Dead Tree Scrapbook - Vacation

Apr. 2nd, 2008 | 04:00 pm

        ...So, overall, it was a good vacation. But then, I've only told you about the good parts. You know I went to the dark places, right? You ever been? Oh. What did you hear about that, then? That's all wrong. It's much worse. The photos are accurate, though, the rust and blood seeping through all the life. The plants and the buildings and the people are red outside and in. You should feel for them, but they're just like animals now, so it's okay. For a few hundred you can buy one from a breeder, then you kick at it until the hard bits give way and drink up what's left.

        You know how they get rid of the criminals now? Yes, they have criminals. They need them, after all, the crops won't grow without them. So they have these big silos, like for grain, except there's this big fan inside. They bring the new ones to the top, and they push them in, and then the meat is held in the bottom. Then they drain it to grow the crops and the tourists buy the leftovers. I still have some, if you'd like to try it.

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5/5/25 - Fields

Feb. 5th, 2008 | 12:29 am

       The neverending green is a beautiful thing to see first thing in the morning, but then I remember what it means. Same as yesterday, same as last month, there's no one for miles and all I've got is a flask of water and a few uneaten bits of freeze-dried junk food. I'm not really sure when I last saw a town. A real one, anyway. A couple days back I passed another "burn." I looked around, but not much survived other than this powdered space man shit that I've been living on since.
       All told, though, I should be okay on food for awhile. The burns come up every now and then, and when they don't, I have enough bullets to catch about three months worth. Most of the livestock didn't fare so well, but there's plenty of rabbits in the open fields.
       It's not like I'm mad at my situation, either. I made this mess. Sure, I could blame it on that other green- the green that chimes, the green that feeds, the green that controlled everything. Maybe that was a little bit of it. Or maybe it was the idea that the world would be a better place. Maybe it is.

       Mostly, though, I think it was all because of that ham sandwich.

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Dead Tree Scrapbook - Jesus Loves Guns

Jan. 25th, 2008 | 02:03 am

Shoot kids shoot
Guns don't kill people
People just soot
People kill people
That makes it okay
So come on people
Let's kill today!

Jesus loves guns
Thank you NRA
Make the people of this nation all stand up and say
Jesus loves guns
And bombs and knives
C'mon now, let's kill our wives!

So they all talk about violence in the home
The divorce rate is first-rate
And all the people everywhere using a phone
"My hubby is a psychopath cheapskate!"
But we turn a blind eye to her time alone
Her planning is protected in hate.

Jesus loves guns
Hats off to Dubya
The moronic bastard will watch as they plug ya
Jesus loves guns
And fragmentation grenades
All thanks to the idiot brigade

So the religious folks all prayed for war
We got it.
You happy?
What's it all for?
North Korea has nukes and Iran has their guns
And we're in Iraq
Get ready for fun.

Jesus loves guns
And now we're all dead
Sitting in an office with a hole in our head
Jesus loves guns
Kamikaze mission for oil
That's useless when it begins to boil
Jesus loves guns
Jesus <3's guns.

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The Things They Took

Dec. 29th, 2007 | 03:32 am

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Lifey stuff

Dec. 9th, 2007 | 02:41 am

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Coke Bunny

Nov. 26th, 2007 | 03:14 am

        On set. Click black and white cardboard, the director tells the actors to act. Eighty-five takes today. But the coke helps. The little cocaine kid, the pied piper of the now, leading a generation of children to nosebleeds and brain damage. It's just like powdered sugar for your brain.

        So what if I took the money? The work is hard, but they showed me something fun, and it got more and more fun until they stopped paying me. And so now I'm backstage, shivering, trying to get a hold over the shakes before the next scene starts shooting. The one where I hug my parents goodbye, the one that happened for real. I'm going to make it, mom. Don't worry. I'll be fine.

        What'll I have to send home to them now? Their tiny farm will dry up, and I'll just have this powder. They could sell it, but that would just ruin them like me.

        The other actors, the big ones, all think it's funny the way I shake before I start. They call me the little stage bunny, afraid to go on. I'm not afraid. Not with the stuff in me, anyway.

        And action, and another scene, don't stop, hug your daddy and cry, you'll be back someday. Write whenever you can. Stay out of trouble. And then the talent agent brings you into his limo, but what they don't show is when he pulled the white bags out of the suitcase. He just wanted a distraction, anyway. I didn't feel pure when I started remembering things again.

        And the scene is over, the director is telling everyone that it's all done, meet us at the after party. I don't show up. I find the place with the big letters, the big white sign on the hill that everyone dreams about, and I start screaming at them. I don't stop for a long time.

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[electric bubble pop]

Oct. 18th, 2007 | 12:38 am

        You could be there and you could be her, or are you both at the same time? This was the first thing said to me at the academy. I didn't know what it meant then, and I do know what it means now, but does it make any sense? Things never made sense then, it was all a kaleidescope of jumbled plastic images swirly through my ears and eyes and mind. They taught me all of it, and I remembered none of it, or rather I thought that I had put the toys outside the door when they were really still in the toy box all along. Something would happen, and I'd find what I'd need, waiting there somewhere under the firetruck and the cowboy hat. Bubbles coming to the surface immediately, instant reaction, reflex, pull the trigger and you're home free.

       The drugs just made sense of the mess.

       They told me it was all still an experimental process, but that I'd never be able to stop after I took the first one. Nanomachines. They would reorganize things some how, send electrical impulses left and right, ping-ponging across my insides. The feeling was amazing. Still is. The bubbles don't just rise to the surface now, they go beyond, becoming something more, becoming something heavenly. Perfect translucent spheres of memory any time I need them, and so much more, telling me what to do before I think it, bending my limbs all over to new places I hadn't even imagined.

       [So what happened then?]

       Then I left.

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Yeah, another one of those annoying "life" things.

Oct. 8th, 2007 | 11:27 pm

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Thoughts of a Dissedent

Sep. 29th, 2007 | 01:51 am

        It's the new millennium and nothing is new. Society is slowly slipping slopping down into the primordial soup, and the old goo rises and consumes us again. Backwards and forwards, doing the fucking moonwalk. So I have to do something about it, right? It's my future, your future, and the children are the future, but not if they're as brain dead as we are. We might as well just lobotomize them in the womb. So I'll dive in front of the ice pick, take the hit, and that'll be that- revolution zero. Snuffed out, over, to save the children? No, something bigger. What do people do when they want change? Dynamite and C4 and gunpowder tick tock tick tock boom. Goodbye, Mr. Government, you've served us poorly all these years. The my new nation won't rise, it'll descend from the heavens, like I've hailed God's cab. 'Follow that dream!"
       And then I woke up, and there's no revolution, and I'm still in my pajamas.

       I think the hunting shop sells gunpowder.

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