Soup That Sings

She swirled her coffee with an air of disinterest- little streaming steamy seams rising into the upper rafters of the Cutwick. Now as much as there were many people at all in that place very few were like her. Not in terms of her appearance, she was a dishevelled Famee-Dramee writer sort like the rest, but because of her strange solipsistic attitude. We all had a great deal of admiration for her, in a very British reserved sort of way, but I was one of the few who had the time in the day to speak to her. As much as I’m ashamed to admit many fellow patrons actually still bothered with the sort of unimaginative nervousness many of their sort got around women. I didn’t really understand the hysteria. Sure she was mildly attractive but I spoke to her for her vision not her bilateral symmetry and hip to waist ratio.

Perhaps I should explain what made this woman so exceptional to us. She, like many of us, constantly grappled with the fact thaty we were atoms as much as any other matter and that our matter, in a way possibly unique in the universe, was arranged in ways capable of feeling things. I often struggled with the fact that the same atoms making up my brain, the carbon and hydrogen and whatever else, could be arranged in a carbon rich coal-like rock or a goopy soup and it would feel nothing. Somehow a particular swirl of atoms in the stew could sing and write poetry and contemplate calculus and whatever else. This was a common realization and not just amongst Famee-Dramee s and was not what made her exceptional. Instead it was her realization that the distinctions these thoughtful atomic stews made between separate objects and interactions were entirely arbitrary. There was nothing inherently better about pleasure over pain. It felt ‘better’ but that was arbitrary. What about pleasure made it better than pain? Well who knows but it most likely serves as nothing more than a sort of biological semaphore to make the soupy stews automatically contract from situations that may prevent them being able to think any further(as death was really just a transition from soup that thinks to soup that doesn’t. Matter ‘has’ thoughts and those thoughts, to ensure their survival, arrange the atoms to maintain the ability to create thoughts. As such this delightful lady had decided that instead whole new, equally arbitrary distinctions would be drawn. She was, as a result, entirely mad- and we all envied her for it. In an act of genius she’d began to fast herself since what made her state of thoughtfulness superior to other states had been questioned and the conclusion drawn as she needed instead of eating, to horde food and keep it from being disturbed. She tried to maintain pebbles in an identical pebblish state (as she had decided the way the atoms in pebbles that she found in her garden were arranged were the new thought-soup arrangement and needed to be maintained at all costs). She’d gone for days without sleep when she decided that death was sleep and sleep was death for thoughts ending meant lives ending- for life was an arbitrary distinction(if a fire spreads and changes and adapts to its environment ect…). She had also smeared herself in peanut butter and had yet to wipe most of it off since the continued survival of the bacteria on her skin was now deemed more important than maintaining her thought soups chemically similar container ‘healthy’- whatever that meant.

It goes without saying that I was smitten instantly and we were married later that year. None of our families survived the wedding.

Whatever that means.

A Very Long Afternoon In Hell

I’ve been in Hell for about ten million years. I measured this by how a small pebble in the corner of my room had been eroded by me pouring a cup of tea on it every other time I was passed one. Assuming it takes ten minutes to start each new cup of tea and given what I know of rocks then it should take roughly ten point three million years to erode the peddle down to half the size it was when I first arrived in Hell. Of course it’s hard to tell because, in Hell, it is always quarter past four on a Sunday and there is tea served every ten minutes. As such, if I’ve miscalculated the type of rock or if erosion simply works differently in Hell then it could have been a mere ten years or it could be many times the lifetime of the universe. It isn’t particularly important of course given the eternal nature of my current situation but the entire exercise was a desperate attempt to distract myself from the truly horrifying beyond imagining sentence I had been granted. For as I discovered roughly a three age-of-the-human-species ago Hell is not the fiery place of torture that had been advertised. It is not a fiery mutilating pit with demons and lava and the like. All of that may be physically painful but over the billions of years inhabitants would become accustomed to it and eventually build up a sort of spiritual resolve; a resolution to stick it in the face of whatever depraved entity sent them down. Instead of that Hell is something seemingly more innocuous but in fact very much more horrible.

Hell is a small room with me, the subject, in a chair of which nothing can really be said and an old woman in another equally non-descript chair. Now in all these ten million years I have been told the woman’s name was ‘Margery’ but it truly doesn’t matter one bit. Now perhaps Margery is the true manifestation of the devil or simply one of the devils demonic underlings. Perhaps she’s simply some manifestation of my deepest subconscious or a hallucination. But again, it doesn’t matter. Margery has spent ten million years talking to me and ever so slightly too loudly for me to drown her out even after all this time. She speaks so very clearly that I have not missed a single word she has said in ten million years. What makes this so torturous is that Margery is the most apocalyptically dull woman one could ever talk to. She drones on and on about the great deal she got for fucking bananas or how a man spoke to her in the street because he was confused with someone else, realized his mistake, and went on his way. She giggles in a monumentally hateful way at things she says that are very much not funny and will only stop talking if you start otherwise she will ask you about how you’re feeling today or mundane facts about your life(which I suppose should be my former life but her imaginations so tiny even that concept escapes her). It doesn’t matter if I desire silence or to think about something marginally more interesting than her utter drivel she will just keep talking and asking and giggling and talking. I cannot move my body except for my eyes to scan a room and my arms to sip tea meaning I cannot harm her(she’s too far away) and cannot look at anything outside of this blank windowless room and the stationary clock in the corner. Every effort to make Margery see how dull she’s being fails and she’s complacent and uninterested in anything of a larger scope than the crippling mundanity she blathers on about as to be basically impossible for any human being in real life. She asks me stupid questions and tells me irrelevant stories in that same bland otherwise silent fucking room forever.


It’s been a hundred million years now

She hasn’t stopped.

Nerds and Weirdos

It was raining- so we was all under whatever shelters we could find. It was far too late in the evening to go home so we all cowered under shopfronts (the shut ones of course to be polite) and beneath the thin bridges (the thick ones were left to the Homeless kids they needed ‘em more) and some of the weirder ones dwelt in the sewers. Now it’s important you understand Sir that we wasn’t most kids in London in those days just the wackos and weirdos and freaks and stab-a-lot sorts. I was waiting under a table umbrella left by mistake by a fancy restaurant with five other kids and we all appreciated having a nice table to sit round and chairs and that. We was all nervous coz you never knew if a pack o’ Normals out from the Pub might wander by and themselves quite fancy a nice spot like this. Lucky though it seemed they’d all preferred cabs and buses(what few cabs and buses still ran in those days o’ course) to get straight back to avoid gettin’ a nasty cold or som’ing.

Now I didn’t know most of the kids I was with by name as we all ran in diff’rent circles by ourselves an’ that and didn’t really bother each other. I knew of one of ‘em though only because he was so well known amongst our sorts and even more so with the Normals on account of what he’d done to some nice Normal lassies face a couple o’ days back. Now what he’d done ya see was quite horrible like and I daren’t discuss it in these more civilised times but the point was it was bad see and I didn’t much like the prospect of a Stab-a-lot like ‘im being with us more gentle sorts. I dunno really I just got a sort of bad feeling whenever a silhouette quietly ambled by in the sleet in the distance that they might turn and, sort of all bug eyed, go “oi it really does seem to me to be that stab-a-lot who gone done those horrible things to that young lassies face I really can’t be doing with those sorts I know I’ll go get my lovely friends” and before ya know it there’s a pack o’ Normals with those beady bloodthirsty eyes of there’s and I knew that most Weirdo Stab-a-Lots were actually quite gentle sorts and I couldn’t bear-with-big-claws to see that sort of violence on my dear fellow freak.

So I want you to understand that it was in this uncomfortable atmosphere that the very strange occurrence did indeed occur and I was not perhaps functioning as I should’a been.

What ‘appened was not clear at first, some sort’f really loud scraping down the road like metal was being dragged and lots of groanin’ and wheezin’ an’ that as well so we was all proper on edge and I could see some of the bashed-arounds were sorta nervous an’ so I looked around just as it stopped. I found out later the noise was some very-stabby-stab-a-lot who was very annoyed but also not particularly strong tryin’ ta open a manhole from within. We didn’t know this yet though so when a whole bunch of very-stabby-stab-a-lots came down the road all hootin’ and hollerin’ like a pack of drunk Normals would we was all very confused indeed. They were all holdin’ things that were on fire like sticks and lighters and candles and things and the one at the front was all yelly and that as ‘e tried to relight his bit of wood that kept bein’ put out by the rain. He was shouting all this-and-that about “death to normal” and “burn down the establishment” and “cleanse and confligiri-something or other” and it was all very fancy talk as they started to bang on the doors along the street. Now a bunch o’ Normals comin’ the other way(and us t’be fair) thought this was bad show and soon there was blood and teeth flyin’ everywhere. Then our unfortunately face-unpleasenting table guest was up an’ runnin’ for the fray and it was all very nasty indeed. All the Freaks were scared so we all fled to a sort of graveyard with a big tree to sit under. It was considerably less comfortable than our earlier spot but at least it was quiet.

An’ that’s all we saw Sir so really you ask someone else coz although we were there for the initial blood and guts sort of stuff I couldn’t tell you the names of half the sorts that was there.

But I tell you what, when I think back on what Normals did to us back in those days I aint surprised there were a few stab-and-stab-a-lots like that.

That’s how I lost my eye after all.

Burn All Sluts!

Chastity was the perfect Woman; no one could ask for anything more. In spite of her good looks and being 21 she was still a virgin- her parents were so proud! As the rest of the parents watched with dismay as their daughters became filthy whores they watched in shame as Chastity lived up to her name wonderfully. She got confused easily which was adorable and her older brothers would get poor little Chastity so wound up. She just liked to gossip with her friends about boys and have a good time with her girlfriends. She’d dropped out of university and that was just as well; it wasn’t in little Chastity’s nature to study such hard dry subjects like that. She was such a free spirit and it was lovely to see her being so wholesome and pure at her age. She’d go to parties and all the boys would chase her but our Chastity wouldn’t dare disgrace herself like that and remained Lady like. She was the sort of girl that all girls should struggle to be. So we should all pity poor innocent little Chastity when that filthiest of sluts, that Jessabelle, that fucking vile femi-nazi snake, that the devils named ‘Susan’ tried to attack our dear Chastity! Chastity was found by the police with a knife out for self-defence on the whore who’d tried to kill her. The worthless slut was insisting that Chastity, our dear innocent Chastity, had tried to hurt her! Chastity began to0 weep as the Police arrived and they promptly arrested the snake. She’s in prison now but it still boils my blood to think that our sweetie pie would be so slandered. It was probably an attack out of Jealousy of Chastity’s virtue. I would almost feel sorry for Susan: but then I remember how slutty she’d been dressed that night. Breasts hanging out and tight little ass in that dress. All the while my baby girl was inside enjoying herself in a moral way. They were all on their phones and gossiping about one of their slut friends they needed to exclude. Those were kids with sense! Susan though… I mean she was really asking for it.

Can you really blame me for what I did?

For Science!!!!

The Professor had slaved away at the machine for days and let his clothes rot off his back from the perspiration. That dark, damp, little lab dripped with the rain and faint smell of soil trickling in from the miles of countryside above. I had watched his work eagerly and did as I was told passing instruments and appliances and now at last I would see his grand intellects and labour bear there fruit. The stench of the blood and oil and steam all mixed to make a cocktail inside my light lifting little head made me only giddier as I anticipated the glorious machinations completion. The Professor was a master of science and had complete command of the forces of nature- by his hand the forces, the flesh, the world were all clay in his hands and he had power that a stupefied peasant would attribute to a god or demon. The Government had tried to shut down his work but that had only forced him to be creative on where he would work. With engines beyond their feeble imagining he shook the earth to dust to power the equipment and smuggled his research and progress underground where we hid. All the priests and the superstitious sorts and the bullshit philosophizers and the degenerate artists denounced him for advancing progress but I knew that, in that lab, he would advance a new age of prosperity the likes of which the world had never seen. He would be revered in the fantastic future as a saviour of the age and hailed as one of the greatest Men of all time. He would be the Einstein, the Tesla, The Socrates, the Great indomitable mind and mastery of the Sciences; reviled by the weak minded and revered by our wiser descendants who’d been touched by his intellects light.

The engine roared into life and the machines got to work as at last they completed. The Professor stood back and let the powers he’d set into motion complete their momumental task. Reality seemed to bubble as the physical borders of the slab and the flesh and the metal all roared and strained in protest. By the might of the Scientist could not be resisted and his efforts were rewarded as the engines died away and slowly the subject rose from the table.

It was beautiful and terrible. It was monstrous in size but even vaster in the scale of its mind which stretched beyond the physical constrains of the universe and allowed it to see all of Time and Space. It could see the eons past and hence like they were nothing and comprehended all that was and would be. A God had been created from scratch to fill the lack of one- and it was a Man who’d brought it into being. The Epic being turned to the trembling Professor and it outstretched its arm. Then, slow and sure like the waves of the sea, the Thing spoke.

“I see all.” It said with a monstrous ring.

The Professor was shaking with excitement.

“Yes you can! I have made you with ultimate knowledge!”

Suddenly the thing grabbed its head and strained its face like a child in pain and it bawled the same.

“It hurts! Inside my head it hurts! Its too much! Please END IT!!!!”

The Professor shook its head as a storm began to crash far above and the engines powering the creature strained and roared louder than before till the ground shook like a forest in a storm. The Creature continued.

“So much death! Everything dies! Everything ends! All the stars going out and all the planets swallowed! An entire universe all futile! Even I had died! I had a name! I had a life! WHAT WAS MY NAME! OH GOD THE AGONY!!!!!!!”

The ground shook more and more and I and the professor were thrown to the ground. The creature stood and raised its hands above its head.


And the room began to collapse; rubble with the weight of the world above crushing all life into dust.

Coming Out To The Cold

It was a beautiful day – the storms lashing around the fringes of the sea and up across the grey sloping dome of sky. The rain lashed down on the deck as it heaved back and forward with the weight of the water around it. Cigarette smoke was filling the air in a candle flame of grey-blue smoke as quickly as the bottomless breaths of the wind could snuff them out but I tolerated it. It meant I exchanged the drunken roar of that most hateful of God’s creatures (that of course being Human Beings on public transportation of any sort) with gentle little chaotic wailings of the wild and restrained sea. I sat back on the empty bench and watched the sea roll past in a thundering streak of blue and white; left behind by the great stallions of fire in the ships bowels that strained to power the engines and gust that long column of steam from its tail. My friends were inside probably chatting about God-knows-what and that was fine. It was fine because, as great as friends and laughter and happiness are- and as much as all three of those waited for me in the rows of felt-and-misery airplane seats inside, sometimes you’ve just gotta watch the sea and let the deep melancholy moans of it wash through. This place was no Cutwick- but the smoking lounge of that ship would do; after days without.

That’s what I thought at least, until the sea-bitch, the Bloody Siren, the Gale Force wind with teeth, came shambling out of the sliding doors and onto the deck. It was tired looking and aged beyond its years by the strain of children; it was drained of life by the constant inanity and the wine to get to sleep and the fags to wake up; it was destroyed by the Mundane with a capital M. The lurching limping body was out for less than a minute to have a quick drag before the sound of some truly unbearable wail erupted from within: even through the thick metal doors. She sighed with the weight of a mountain and she turned and opened the door- not noticing the sea for a moment whilst she was out. She cried out to whatever snotty creature was making the wail and disappeared.

I thought of that woman- that poor tormented soul with a bite to take off a snakes head.

I thought of how she’d chosen to have kids and chosen to live the life she had.

I so desperately wanted that to be true.

But I knew, deep down, I would one day be what I beheld; the subject of the Horror I now felt.

I looked out at the sea, and the rain began to pour heavy on my cheeks, and I joined in the Wilderness’ tears.

Liberty I Sing To Thee…

Institutions are large; but the spirit of the individual is larger. I was armed to the teeth, I was high, and I was free as the door came crashing down to sawdust in front of me. BANGBANGBANGBANGBANGBANGBANG!!! Their bodies fell to sludge in front of me and I roared with adrenaline fuelled mega-roided explosive insanity and lust for liberty. No prison could hold my determination as the armies of the damned came charging in to be shot to bloody bits at my feet. They had numbers and they had stores to last months but I had the spirit of the revolutionary and that burned so bright not an army of mortal men could silence it. I killed so many to jam the gates of death and it was quite impossible for the bureaucrats of hell to squeeze in an appointment for me.

BOOM! A shotgun shell through my shoulder. I shrugged it off and sent ten in reply.

RATATATATATATAATATA! A line of bullets of the wall and a couple grazing my chest. Barely a breath of resistance to the furnace of freedom glowing inside me.

All their efforts were futile and soon I stood before the King of the Sewer of Red Tape himself. The fat weak little man lay on the ground begging for mercy. The door was barricaded so his lackeys could do nothing but listen in horror as I paced up and down explaining the meaning of freedom to their corporate master. It was all badass and I talked about how “the People will awaken and destroy you” and all that. The pathetic fuck looked terrified and I put a bullet between the eyes of oppression.  

The detective shut the diary and placed back in front of me.

“You wrote this?” He asked.

I nodded- struggling to hold back the tears. The detective slammed the desk.


Liberty I sing to thee

Land of the Free…