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| << April13, 2008 - Dark Windows #15 - Apr 1, 2008 (approx.) |
May02, 2008 - Dark Windows #17 - May 1, 2008 >> |
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DARK WINDOWS #16 - Apr 15, 2008 ===== ===== ===================> INTRO South Park hit an interesting topic last night ... what would happen to society if the internet shut down? They turned it into a "Grapes of Wrath" adventure with all the yokels getting in their jalopies and heading to Californee (in black & white). Of course, they had to go overboard and add a disgusting bit about online porn, but that's just how they are, gross-out central. It's a real scare, though. We're almost absurdly dependent on the net for business, for news, and for personal contact. Some of the things we do online -- like getting flamed in forums and hunting for hours for anything of meaning -- we could learn to do without, and would gladly skip now if we had more willpower. But there are real services and billions of dollars of commerce online, and it's still growing. We rarely stop to question whether this is "good" or "healthy" or even sustainable. Computers have crept into everything, adding to the costs of living while dangling the carrot of "making our lives easier." It all seems so backwards ... more expenses, more time wasted, more tasks and less reality than ever before. As I'm a day or two late again, I wonder if we could exist without the net at all anymore. Or would we turn into brain-dead zombies? Or are we already zombies and just haven't figured it out yet? = scott ===================> POEM Palming --- I have a Dnieper River meandering across my palm: At least, I hope it's not a Ganges with bacteria dying and floating and bathing and scraping and getting married on its shores dying and floating away; And I hope it's not a Love Canal, under homes under grace in pipes in lives in minds in children dying crying from homemade graves ... I have these lines on my palms, they look not like rivers anymore. --- =4/87, published in Poetry Break v1n1 (1/89) ===================> ODD CLIPS: (clips from old "factual" sources) A man had been found dying of spear-wounds out in the bush, and carried to the Mission as he was breathing his last. [...] the natives crowding round, to my horror, fell upon the body of the dying man, and put their lips to his in a brutal eagerness to inhale the last breath. They believed that in so doing they were absorbing his strength and virtue, and his very vital spark, and all the warning of the 'white father' would not keep them from it. The man was of course dead when we extricated him, and it was a ghastly sight to see the lucky 'breath catcher' scoop in his cheeks as he swallowed the 'spirit breath' that gave him double hunting power. [1] Although the monks for some years had issued the dictum, 'No bath, no breakfast,' the natives preferred the lesser of two evils, and went hungry until the ban was lifted. [2] When the pearling ships were off-shore, practically every boy who had a woman took her down to trade with the Asiatics. These women returned dying and diseased, after the boats had resumed pearling. It was an iniquitous thing, but it could not be prevented. [3] 1. Daisy Bates, Passing Aborigines, ch.I 2,3. Same, ch.II ===================> STORY Worros (Part 1 of 2) ----- A stray nightmare wandered down the midnight street, then stopped in its tracks and realized that it had no past. All it could remember was walking down the road, though the road had changed with time: paved roads, before them dirt roads, before which it wandered footpaths, which once had been rustling grasses. It had no future. It wanted to do something, but did not know what. Maybe it wanted a home, a warm child's mind, to curl up within, if only for a few hours. Maybe it wanted to keep walking until the pavement became something new, or the sun swelled up to engulf the earth. Maybe it had no wants at all. It did have a name, and that name was Worros. It could feel the name in its mind, though the sound had no meaning. It should not have been worried about anything, so it knew something was wrong. Worros realized that it was awake. It now had thoughts, curiosities and feelings, where before awakening it had been a mindless thing awaiting a summons. It could feel the ground under itself, and it could see people react when they noticed it, though there were few people to experiment with. So: it now had a physical form, instead of whatever energy-form it had once had. Therefore, it had a metabolism, and the discomfort it felt could only be hunger. It approached a barking dog, which lunged forward and bit at it. When Worros crawled along the snarling snout and surrounded the dog's head, it knew nourishment as well as silence. A light went on in the nearest house, and a man came out to stand on the shadowy porch, calling a name uncertainly. Worros detached itself from the dead animal, and returned to the street, satisfied. After more wandering and self-inquiry, Worros became tired. The sensation was frightening at first, a sort of weakness for which there was no defense, but then it understood. It found a dark hole at the side of the road. It slipped inside, melted into a comfortable shape, and slept. It dreamed of beauty and love and moonlight kisses with other shapeless things. It discovered that it was not alone in its dreamworld, that there was kinship and understanding. It saw piercing lights and things of purity. It woke up screaming. On the road again, it rolled along and wondered about its dreams, shuddering occasionally at the mystifying recollections. Shortly after awakening the old man sleeping on the bench near the park, it felt a pleasant sensation, something vague and horrible. It felt that it was being followed, which was insane. Would a human follow it? Was there something out there that which Worros had not discovered yet? It turned around and scanned the street. A ragged newspaper outlined the wind, but all else was dark stillness. It looked at the sky, a peaceful expanse of stars, whose patterns were not disturbed by any unexplainable shadows. It turned again and resumed its travels, but the sensation returned with greater intensity. Again, Worros turned around, this time certain that danger was approaching. This time, its mysterious follower was visible, and Worros plunged on ahead at the sight of it. Fluttering ever-closer on her batlike wings, the naked demon/woman pursued Worros down the street. Worros moved as fast as it could, away from the damnable beauty of the thing behind it, but soon enough the creature had Worros trapped and exhausted. "Do not fear me," she said, landing near the stray nightmare who was panting on the sidewalk. She furled her coarse wings around her body, hiding some of her mysteries from the thing which feared her so. Worros stared at the dull, creased blackness of her wings and took pleasure in their ugliness, but avoided her depthful compelling eyes at all costs. It said nothing. The demon/woman spoke again. "You poor creature. You were created with no mouth. But you must have ears, or can detect the vibrations of my voice. Please listen to me." The voice of Worros registered in her mind like something cold grown on an old stone wall. "I don't want your companionship. I just want to ... be." "I'll let you be if you listen to me first. Something is happening in the world tonight. If you're waiting for the road to change, forget it. The road will never change, but everything else will. We are becoming real. Humanity is fading to a bad dream." Worros tried to slip past her, but she shuffled sideways to prevent it from escaping. With labored breaths Worros replied by staring. What she said could not be true. Had it been brought into reality solely to amuse this beast? "Don't you see?" she continued, "We are replacing them! Soon we will all be here, fully. Forever!" "That is terrible. What can I do to make you leave me alone?" (TO BE CONTINUED) ===================> NOW AVAILABLE: "Peripheral Visions" - my 2007 chapbook from Assume Nothing Press. Poems about the edge of reality. Home page (with excerpts): http://tales.scvs.com/bk_pvisions.php ===================> DARKVISION: (captured dreams) Family Street ::: We were trying to play a game. We tried her house, but her mom was asleep and didn't like company. We picked up the stuff and trekked across the street, down one house. She kicked a tennis ball into the kiddie pool out front and strode up to the door. I called out, but she said it was okay -- it was her brother's house. So we set up in the living room. Tom made some nasty comments and left to go to the bathroom, the other girl wanted a glass of water. They both went out the front door, and we knew they would not be back. The game got a bit more intense. There was talk over it of some story I'd given her mother to read, but that soon faded. Nobody ever came home -- she said her brother didn't live here anymore, but she still came over from time to time to play. I thoughts it was nuts, I wasn't going to sit in a total stranger's house and play marbles! I walked out into the backyard, and an elderly couple leaned over a fence to yell at me by name. She said it was okay, they knew everybody's name. Besides, they were her grandparents. They shook my hand over the fence and tried to talk to me about gardening. I thought it was nice to meet them, but I still didn't like the thought of standing in a complete stranger's backyard with a handful of marbles. So I slipped through the fence to have hot chocolate with her, the seniors and my story. --- (captured 1/22/86) ===================> MY NEWS: No news, which doesn't translate to good news. Then again my last news update was just 3 days ago, since that issue was comically late. ===================> POEM Pyramids --- This morning there was an emanation out from some of my wallcorners, forces building pyramids in my space, Hugging my uncertain laughter I watched them play, glimpsing a wet sliver, an eye of them now and again, Why pyramids Why here What were they? I moved forward slowly careful, fast they dissolved into white floor cement Their pyramid magic fading to garage sale garbage. --- =5/87, accepted by Midnight Zoo c1992, never used ===================> STORY BITES: (clips from old fictional sources) You've gone down some steps on the ladder of life since I saw you last. [1] I thought that a great maggot was working its way into my side between my ribs. [2] In fever one sees without eyes, and in every direction, and through all obstructions. [3] 1,2,3. Sabine Baring-Gould, A Dead Finger (story) ===================> POEM Phantoms --- Peripheral phantoms dance mockery around my axis, Running rings around my calm, Fleeting then falling from view; Until my world is shattered, oozing, Strewn with overflow from my darkest corners. --- =7/87, pub. in The Ultimate Hallucination (7/01) ===================> ABOUT THE AUTHOR Scott Virtes has had over 400 stories & poems published since 1986. Look for them in Analog, Space & Time, Ideomancer, Dreams & Nightmares, Cafe Irreal, Planet, and more ... My Home page: http://tales.scvs.com?inw=dkw Notice: Odd Clips and Story Bites all come from original sources in the public domain, or are brief clips in the spirit of fair use (a.k.a. free advertising for the source). All other sections of this newsletter are copyright (c)2008 Scott Virtes. All rights reserved. Please don't grab chunks of my work and post them all over the place. If you ask permission, you'll find that I'm pretty easygoing. ;-) ===== this issue: 1,880 words cumulative: 33,420 words |
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| << April13, 2008 - Dark Windows #15 - Apr 1, 2008 (approx.) |
May02, 2008 - Dark Windows #17 - May 1, 2008 >> |
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