tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-53816732011-06-08T05:09:10.141ZNot All Of What Follows Is TrueA recurring journal of mixed veracity.Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12380944119153438285noreply@blogger.comBlogger321100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5381673.post-67422188574357261392011-05-31T22:33:00.001Z2011-05-31T22:34:57.243ZANTHINTInstantly her thoughts linked back, reconstructing the past, creating memories which the circumstances of formation gave a certain high-definition quality to. The landscape was dry, giving up dust whenever foot or tyre disturbed it. There was a roughly-surfaced road, off which were a number of simple prefabricated buildings – mostly the usual fast-food chains. It always made her think of Stephenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03185607466557136654noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5381673.post-10400145456272610232009-04-24T05:35:00.000Z2009-04-24T05:36:43.046ZThis is that poem that I haven't written yetI've been wanting to write it for a whileBut it's a target hard to hit.I tried to take a photo onceof a courtyard at the Louvre.My camera couldn't fit it in.I got what I could into frameBut when people lookedThey'd say "Is that it?"and the palace seemed a let-down.You want to knowWhat I think ofWhen I think of you.Some things don't fit into the frameYouTomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12380944119153438285noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5381673.post-29725497657637437942007-09-14T03:17:00.000Z2007-09-14T03:39:07.221ZHispaniola chapter 2(part 1)Lucy da Silva was woken by the shrill beep-beep of her alarm clock, the generic moulded plastic number she’d never yet bothered to replace. It had been provided along with her room at the Radisson and she would only ever remembered how much she disliked it and its awful alarm tone at night right before she fell asleep, and then in the mornings when it woke her. The Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12380944119153438285noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5381673.post-64068746770969537882007-05-17T15:32:00.000Z2008-11-13T15:21:37.057ZConversations with MyselfThis is what happens when you're very, very bored and have a new program to play with. The program in this case is Comic Life...Click on the preview image for a legible version. Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12380944119153438285noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5381673.post-67187034268312569752007-04-17T09:13:00.000Z2007-04-17T09:17:42.517ZThe opening monologue to my non-existent Edinburgh Fringe show about Chinese historyThe main problem with doing a degree in Chinese is that it's very difficult to parlay into a career in stand-up comedy. People can manage bits of French or German - Eddie Izzard or Bill Bailey, for example - and I've even seen someone do a whole bit about using mathematical equations to deal with hecklers. But it Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12380944119153438285noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5381673.post-26148914949889586562007-02-18T01:10:00.000Z2007-02-18T01:12:00.909ZHello, Goodbye, LondonAbout quarter to four, Victoria station. Sat in the afterthought-space formed by the angles of W.H. Smiths, drinking expensive branded coffee and waiting.Something about the two girls stood a short distance to the right seems odd. Blue jeans, pink t-shirts and baseball caps. Furry boots. One is white, the other asian. Both appear lost and uncertain.Assistance would be Stephenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03185607466557136654noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5381673.post-1167356536901302632006-12-29T01:41:00.000Z2006-12-29T01:42:16.913ZThe Wit of the ProphetsPharaoh's wife spoke unto Moses, saying, "If you were my husband, Iwould release an asp into your bedchamber at night."Moses replied, "If you were my wife, I should clasp the serpent to my breast."--"I take my wife everywhere," said Abraham to the visitors. "Yet shekeeps coming back."--Then Daniel said to the king, "I am not afraid of death. I wish onlyto be elsewhere when Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12380944119153438285noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5381673.post-1160373593580252102006-10-09T05:59:00.000Z2006-10-09T05:59:53.590ZA conversation on the bus in Hong Kong"Oil Street. There are a few streets called things like that round here - Oil Street, Electric Road...""I used to live near Electric Avenue.""Really?""Yeah, the one in the song.""Did you ever rock on down there?""From time to time. When we wanted a cooked breakfast, for example.""And then you took it higher.""We did live up the hill, yes."Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12380944119153438285noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5381673.post-1158218606074926872006-09-14T07:19:00.000Z2006-09-14T07:24:01.583ZExcerpt from Hispaniola(a work in progress)Parker was perched on the prow of an elderly speedboat. The engine was off and the boat drifted gently on the waves. Despite it being at least twenty years old, the boat looked like it could shift when it needed to. It had a sleek, purposeful outline and an excessively macho name that Klein said was the same as some old movie Parker had never seen. From Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12380944119153438285noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5381673.post-1151476967627311542006-06-28T06:25:00.000Z2006-09-21T07:55:12.340ZObituaries From Other WorldsNo. 2Harateo Kallay, who has died in Heka aged 89, was private secretary to his father Juure Kallay, the Ro’akite prime minister during the two years before the Alliance of the Blue Flame seized control of Ro’aka in the Year of Ascendant Spirits.The Kurian ministry had been formed with the aim of drawing away from the ever more menacing Vurites, who demanded the Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12380944119153438285noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5381673.post-1144742526467417902006-04-11T08:01:00.000Z2006-04-11T08:02:06.483ZIncreasingly obscure variations on the "Jamaica?" joke- My sister went on holiday to the Caribbean last month.- Jamaica?- No, she wanted to go.- I went shopping in Indonesia with my aunt the other day.- Jakarta?- No, she walked on her own two feet.- Mandy came in to audition for the part of Oedipus' mother today.- Jocasta?- Yes, she seemed perfect for the part.- I was working as a cameraman in anTomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12380944119153438285noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5381673.post-1133453465062499092005-12-01T16:11:00.000Z2005-12-01T16:11:05.093ZNorthern Capital #2TomTomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12380944119153438285noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5381673.post-1130810088247574072005-11-01T01:54:00.000Z2005-11-01T01:54:48.283ZNorthern Capital #1TomTomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12380944119153438285noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5381673.post-1118331619803053192005-06-09T15:32:00.000Z2005-08-17T14:06:12.530ZUnhelig & The Nazi PlaywriteIf the internet is envisaged as an empty room, Tangency’s art has always been to start fights in that room. In this spirit, I bring you Unhelig & The Nazi Playwrite. Unhelig had been using the signature"Whenever I hear the word 'culture', I reach for my pistol" -HHFor several weeks. Whymme brought this to Tangency’s attention, noting that the quote is generally Stephenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03185607466557136654noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5381673.post-1111595745225047102005-03-23T16:32:00.000Z2005-03-23T16:35:45.226ZAlone In A Darkened Room - The Count...Today, over on RPG.net, a poster refering to himself as "Le Comte de Saint-Germain", made his fourth-ever post. It is reproduced here in it's entirity:"The state of Texas has declared that I don't have a penis(not true!) therefore I couldn't be the father of my five week old baby. My baby, Zen, was born in Albuquerque NM where his records have been purged Stephenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03185607466557136654noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5381673.post-1107874663733504482005-02-08T14:56:00.000Z2005-02-08T14:57:43.733ZThe Dash Curse
[Dashiell Hammett’s living room – 1925]
Hammett sits in an armchair, reading a newspaper and smoking a pipe. Suddenly the door opens, and a Professor, a deep-sea diver, a hobo, a gangster, and a baseball player walk in.
Hammett looks surprised.
HOBO: Are you Dashiell Hammett?
HAMMETT: Er...yes. What's going on?
PROFESSOR: There's an alien god called Cthulhu asleep under the Stephenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03185607466557136654noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5381673.post-1102171777564720332004-12-04T14:41:00.000Z2006-07-17T10:47:41.576ZSalt City[To a tune somewhere between "Surf City USA" and "Wouldn't It Be Nice"]It's got good vibes, you can do what you likeIt's fine little city in Osterreich.If you wanna get down, the hills are aliveWith the sound of music - it's the Salt City jive.The call it Salt City, or maybe they don't.You know you wanna come along, don't say you won't.Salzburg, Salzburg, Austria...(Ooooeeeooo)Many yearsStephenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03185607466557136654noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5381673.post-1100360551575983402004-11-13T15:41:00.000Z2004-11-16T11:29:16.143ZThe Median Words Of Stephen O'Brien
Really? His picture wasn't on that pack of cards...Another vote for "stay". Good to know. The Difference Engine. But, thinking about a previous thread, is she a rampant lesbian? Damn you! Damn you all to hell! Where do you recall it from? Known in some parts of the country as "a fine".
"Ur" is a shorthand for "primal". And I thought "What, they've given BruceStephenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03185607466557136654noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5381673.post-1091709145735592332004-08-05T12:31:00.000Z2004-08-05T12:34:00.943ZKouphovano Five Thousand
I lie on my back, facing the stars shuddering in the warm night air. Below me the terracotta-coloured tiles are cool against my back. Off to the right bats flit frantically over the surface of the swimming pool, drinking from its top layer. In my hand is a bottle of imported Heineken, but I don’t drink from it. From not far away, just over the other side of the pool, in Stephenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03185607466557136654noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5381673.post-1088679408900513372004-07-01T10:55:00.000Z2004-07-01T10:56:48.900ZWill No One Help The Widow's Son?
"What is this?"
"The pass-grip of a Master Mason."
"Has this a name?"
"It has."
"Will you give it to me?"
"I did not so receive it, neither will I so impart it."
"How will you dispose of it?"
"I will syllable it with you."
"Syllable it and begin."
"No, you begin."
"You must begin."
"Bal."
"Tu."
"Cain."
"Tubal."
"Tubal-Cain."
Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12380944119153438285noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5381673.post-1086885679983660852004-06-10T16:38:00.000Z2004-06-15T13:53:56.353ZObituaries From Other Worlds
No. 1
Queria D'Ache'essin
After being severely injured during the War Against the Southern Selenists in a mission with the Imperial Dragoons of the Five Perfections that went tragically wrong, Queria D'Ache'essin, who has died aged 84, was amused to learn that, having been captured by the Selenist hordes, he had to be returned to full health before being ritually Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12380944119153438285noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5381673.post-1080836523255288422004-04-01T16:22:00.000Z2004-04-01T16:33:21.450ZAw Heck, It's Full Of Stars
Star-reading psychic and three-time Wyoming state rodeo champion Jenning Xylem interprets what the heavens hold for you.
[Aries, 21 March - 19 April]
You are in no position to make demands. But such difficulties haven't stopped you in the past and they won't now, you think. On the contrary, the police have the house surrounded.
[Taurus, 20 April - 20 May]
Over the Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12380944119153438285noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5381673.post-1078852925634849882004-03-09T17:12:00.000Z2007-10-04T12:18:48.951ZNOIR WORLD (By Peat)
By the day the city is normal. As normal as a city like London can get. The endless hum of traffic, the noise of a life too busy to slow down. The passing clouds above like a pixilated sheet sky from 'Quake'. But at least it's normal. When to sun goes down however, the street lights bathe the world in orange, the stone and concrete becomes cold as ice and the halogen Ramalamnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5381673.post-1078602179659666302004-03-06T19:42:00.000Z2004-03-06T19:46:23.373ZGreen Lanes Blues
Stephen O'Brien
I’d been here for several weeks now, living entirely on coffee and cheese sandwiches. Outside my window a van pulls up, deploys a satellite antenna, prepares to relay data on the death of Turks. It stands defiantly outside the green-yellow Dostlar Lokali, decaying since that whole shooting business back in March. The Dishevelled Man goes past – I recognise Stephenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03185607466557136654noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5381673.post-1077185005666388572004-02-19T10:03:00.000Z2004-02-19T10:05:21.670ZThis Is The Way – Step Inside
Stephen O'Brien
I found it all right – there was a map on the back of the flyer. The front of the flyer said "The Atrocity Exhibition" in narrow red letters. Underneath, italicised versions of the same spelled out the invitation "This Is The Way – Step Inside". How could I resist?
It was down a fashionably narrow, fashionably cobbled street. There were two Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12380944119153438285noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5381673.post-107486698830409772004-01-23T14:09:00.000Z2004-01-23T14:11:17.293ZBridget Jones: Vampire Slayer (by Steve Darlington)
Tuesday 22nd of Feb
8st 4 (must be post-angel stress), calories 12233 (post-angel-stress emergency snackage), cigarettes 7, vampires staked 3 (average), naughty thoughts about Angel coming back and sweeping me away 337 (v. bad), calls to Willow 14
Oh god. Saw Angel tonight while leaving bronze. Wanted desperately to kiss him and ask him to Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12380944119153438285noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5381673.post-1072625406423585302003-12-28T15:30:00.000Z2003-12-28T15:31:09.576ZSome of it is, though.
I took the train from Hitchin back down to King's Cross on the morning of the 27th. I hustled my baggage on to the train, weighed down with books and Christmas presents (and some books that were Christmas presents). Luckily there was space in one of those four-seat units, where I was able to put my bags on one seat and myself next to them. The woman opposite (dark hair, Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12380944119153438285noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5381673.post-1058641654197043232003-07-19T19:07:00.000Z2003-07-19T19:07:34.260ZDalton came round from half-stupor to the noise of the waves slapping at the hull. He'd been lying flat under sunshine for the better part of an hour, brain disengaged, his back heating up from the deck. Sprawled as if drunk. His left hand fumbled for his shades, but clumsily, and he swept them glasses from where they'd been on his forehead. The shades clattered onto the deck. Dalton rolled over Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12380944119153438285noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5381673.post-1054576255338995462003-06-02T17:50:00.001Z2003-06-02T17:53:17.096ZWhen I wake up, the TV's still on. Some Texan singer is spouting platitudes at a talking head with a Brylcreem endorsement, and the radio's telling me about exploding Japanese ships off the coast of Norway -- inflatable barriers have been erected -- all very spectacular, I hope there'll be some footage on TV later, as long as no one was hurt, obviously, I'm not a ghoul it's just I've never seen aTomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12380944119153438285noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5381673.post-1053555374975070462003-05-21T22:16:00.000Z2003-05-21T22:33:55.716Z"How would you like it cut, sir?"
"Well, normally I'd just go for a number three all over, you know. But I'm going to a wedding, so I think you should just, you know, trim the top. So I look a little bit respectable. No more than slightly respectable, though. I'm hoping to go for some of that hey-he-looks-slightly-dangerous charm with the bridesmaids. Know what I mean?"
"Not really, sir."
"NotTomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12380944119153438285noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5381673.post-1052667952433961052003-05-11T15:45:00.000Z2003-05-11T15:45:53.026ZI knew I shouldn't have said anything. When I came in I found him sitting there in front of the TV watching Countdown - thought I could smell something. Not a scent, but a sensation at the back of the throat. Sure enough, dark stains were drying into the rug - my rug - where blood had dripped down from his forearms. Tiger-stripes across the backs from the wrist to just below the elbow.
Looked Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12380944119153438285noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5381673.post-1052664608122052212003-05-11T14:50:00.000Z2003-05-11T14:54:01.080ZTime passes slowly; it's late in the spring. The echo of a slammed door wings around the courtyard walls with no direction. There's another sound when that dies down, no way to tell where it's coming from. Someone is playing the clarinet.
The breeze eddies and gasps through a second floor window. Inside the room a girl is lying in bed. Her eyes are shut but she isn't asleep. The sun strikes herTomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12380944119153438285noreply@blogger.com0