Geof Darrow’s Shaolin Cowboy
rough colours on an Arctic Robo. I think the shield doubles as a snowboard, though it’s a bit too purple.
Dream 001: It’s me in that trench coat and trilby hat, worrying away at a wound on my hand. When did I receive this nick on the skin? I’d trudged into the store only to escape the dust storm outside, not out of any particular interest aroused by the dim neon sign. Was it a store? There were no shelves or registers, only some litter pushed into the corners by the wind under the door.
My hand. Skin shrinks and browns, sealing over bone. The small finger desiccates in an instant. The ring finger takes longer but is mummified just the same. I continue to work at the wound, sanding off dermis and tendon like ancient plaster. A dry click. A digit falls frame by frame onto the powdered floor.
christianmccrea: I Am Space Marine
I am Space Marine. I am a vampire hunter. I am a cyber-soldier of some kind. I am stealth, I am speed, I am murder. I begin strong and I become invincible. I have no particular reason to be here.
I can’t wait. I love games that are so ubiquitous I don’t even need to know anything about them. I…
The epiphanies. Empathy. A momentary sense of the immediate world, of glorious human praxis, the engine of cultures. Déjà vu as a rising subconscious recognition of patterns, of the cyclical and serial schema of life. Only connect. Then you overhear “Ever watch Extreme Couponing? It’s like Hoarders but not as creepy.” Then a blog post. Your tablet driver experiences an unexpected error, so you return to g.o.o.s. paper and pencils, just like in the old days. “It’s raining.”
I lock up a dark theatre most nights. No one is in the building. Sometimes this thing waits for me in the elevator. I’ve never been able to get a good look at it, but this is the closest approximation. It sits there until the door slides open and then vanishes.
