With the advent of cheap, ubiquitous public teleportation, casual inebriation has reached an all time high. When there’s a perfectly preserved saved state of yourself waiting back at the home terminal, there is no such thing as heroin addiction. In the clubs, amputation is already yawn-inducing performance art. Only your grandmother knows anyone who has seen an abortion clinic, let alone visited one. Tokyo is only as far away as Starbucks.

But you still arrive two hours late to all of my parties.

“Poisoned!” cried Lord Sauding, hurling the bowl away. It arced through the room before getting caught in the sagging badminton net and sloshing its contents in orange glops. The net relaxed and the crockery shattered into jagged bits as it hit the floor. [read more… ]

“Boatswain, have you seen my Felix? He was just here.”

Bastian’s hand found some wooden protrusion and steadied himself, and he spat an oily wad of phlegm onto the deck. But he didn’t retch this time. He felt his atrophied skills most profoundly in his limbs, heavy and distant, like a stranger’s. Braced by the brittle sea air, he soon had command of his senses once more. A gull shrieked above him, its wings frozen by memory. Bastian wondered how long it would hang there. Until there is no one left to remember. Or longer.

He turned to face her. [read more… ]

I’m archiving some of my entries from a now defunct collaborative writing project, the entirety of which can be found here: http://collectiveinventioncontention.blogspot.com/

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Bondmistress Oubliette herself had come to find him. The sputtering bulb in the elevator shone through the wide moth eaten brim of her hat, dappling her pale face with sodium-colored light. Of all the caretakers, Bastian considered Oubliette’s face the most well maintained. [read more… ]

Somehow, no matter how long I read, the last centimeter or so of pages left in the book did not diminish. I guess I didn’t want it to end. I’ve been reading this story over the course of, what, ten years now?

I stopped just before the end. Between the epilogue and the coda was a warning from Stephen King saying that the story was over, but, for those who needed it, he had written an ending. I suddenly realized the distinction he was making and that he was speaking to me directly. So I closed the book and placed it on my shelf.

When Stephen King dies I will read the coda, making that day a little more or less sad.

Today Frayed ended. I decided to run it until the story came to an end or I was down to one player. I hadn’t heard from Dave’s player in about a month, so something must have happened to him. It was down to just Andy. The narratives were already too interwoven and it didn’t make sense to go on with just the one character, so I called it. It lasted a year and a half, which I think is a record for me. Some interesting story fodder there, perhaps. The world of the Aegis and John Hightower may appear again at some point.

I’ve accumulated quite a box of chocolates over the years: Neverworld, DreamPunk, P.A.W.N.S., and Frayed. Too bad I’m not a game designer or something…

You are standing in the center of a small white room, featureless except for a speaker grille mounted high in one corner and a single blue button in the center of one wall.

> I NEED TO TAKE A BREAK FROM USING MY X-RAY VISION DREY

Command not understood. Perhaps there is another way to phrase that.

> CANT TALK— BOMBARDMENT BY KRYPTONITE

Command not understood. Perhaps there is another way to phrase that.

> EXAMINE WALL

Which wall? Please specify the north, south, west or east wall.

> EXAMINE EAST WALL

The wall is a smooth and featureless white.

> PRESS BLUE BUTTON

Click.

A burst of static precedes a man’s voice, coming from the speaker.

“What is your second question?”

> ASK “WHAT WAS MY FIRST QUESTION?”

“Your first question was, and I quote, ‘IS MY DAUGHTER SAFE?’”

“You have used your two questions. Good luck.”

The static swells momentarily and is gone.

> LOOKS DOWN TO EXAMINE ONESELF

You appear as you remember. You are whole and unharmed.

> LOOKS TO SEE IF ANYONE ELSE IS IN THE ROOM

You are alone in the room.

> LOOKS TO SEE IF WE HAVE ANY ITEMS WITH US

[Inventory]

You are carrying a Black Magic marker.

> DRAWS A DOORWAY ON THE WALL

Which wall? Please specify the north, south, west or east wall.

> DRAWS DOORWAY ON THE NORTH WALL

There is now a door in the north wall.

> ATTEMPTS TO OPEN THE DOORWAY

The door is now open. You see a red hallway to the north.

>DRAWS A DOORWAY ON THE SOUTH WALL, THEN EAST AND WEST WALLS

There is now a door in the south wall.

The ink from the marker is getting fainter.

There is now a door in the east wall.

The marker has run out of ink.

There is no ink left in the marker.

>ATTEMPTS TO OPEN DOORS

The east door is now open. You see a blue hallway to the east.

The south door is now open. You see a yellow hallway to the south.

> EXITS THROUGH THE NORTH DOORWAY

You are in a red hallway which meets an intersection to the north.

Static echoes through the hall as a voice emanates from a hidden speaker.

“Subject has exited the white room and is now moving into the red hall.”

> _

The next post will make sense to the clever (and perhaps bored) reader. Use capital letters to indicate you understand. It will continue for as long as it has to.

I won the PSP! I am SO excited! Thank you, Jason at Insomniaradio.net for picking my story! Can’t wait to play Lumines again.

It occurred to me recently that my dreams happen almost exclusively indoors. Malls, hotels, houses, vehicles, etc. All interior scenes. I never dream of being in the desert or the jungle or flying through the sky (even my flying dreams take place indoors). The one dreamlike place I used to visit that wasn’t indoors was a green hill. Now there is just a fountain of light where a tower used to be.

My stories often have many outdoor scenes involving travel and expansive locales. It seems there are two types of subconscious forces at play here: one that presents when I am passively seeking it (asleep) and one I dip into actively. There may be a balance in this, as one subconcious is aware of the other, seeking to pull it outside of its confines.