January 26th, 2011

Good Omens

A little bit of fiction

Free-writing, why not? This came out of me:

**

    The newspapers started to crawl.
    "Shuffle-scrape-scruff-scripp," the bundles scraped along the table, then it *fwump*ed to the floor. The papers sat there for a moment, top pages flapping and waving in what should be a breeze, but no breeze was causing the papers to move.
    Which they did again.
    INCHING, then: scrunching worm-style, the newsprint rearing up thickly and agitating like tendrils (the world's bulkiest, flattest, and stacked tendrils), quick-glimpsed photos and columns and ads and public notices doing what none of those are supposed to do, which is MOVE moving, which none of those are supposed to do. "Shhff, shhhhhhff, shhhhhff" came the sound, more regularly now, and no other noise.
    I imagined the sheets rearing up in an arch, and from the arch maybe then there'd be screaming. A grey-ish black-ish white-ish horrified mouth.
    Newspapers have no voicebox, I thought. That's an insane thought, I thought.
    The crawling continued. Slow enough for me to keep well ahead of it, and to look at it. Glossy coupon inserts had started to slide out the back. They lay in the papers' wake, like ridiculously high-fiber bread crumbs. Also flat glossy bread crumbs.
    You really just decided they're "flat glossy bread crumbs"?, I thought.
    Still inching. And then, somehow, turning, the folded part of the paper moving to face me, a print-inch at a time. Wrinkled words in a headline on the fold told me that RATS, WASTE IN NEWEST BUILDING DOWNTOWN, which didn't seem like the whole story and which probably wasn't. The the top of the paper reared up once more and told me PROJECT AUDIT REVEALS RATS, WASTE IN NEWEST BUILDING DOWNTOWN, and that made more sense. I hadn't read the paper yet. I wasn't going to stick around to read beyond the headline.
    Then the newspaper roared.
    How the hell it made a noise, I didn't wait to find out. 8/30/2016 Edit: Slight revision to it, after I found this story in my records. Slightly fewer words.
Scorpio

(no subject)

Written by me on my Twitter feed just now, in response to even more sad news for friends of mine:
The deeply sad and the funny rub shoulders on Twitter. Welcome to the future, where we cope.
Lately life's been a storm of difficulties for too many people I'm close to. Still a little jarring to see news of it (no, I'm not going to say what it was; not my news to share) alongside the ongoing open-mic hilarity of so much of Twitter, Facebook and blogs.

It's a way of dealing, I guess. And I hope it helps.

Keeping friends in my thoughts, wishing that much less crap was happening to them. And, thankfully, I have more energy to do so than I had, say, a week ago...
  • Current Music
    Tom Waits, "Step Right Up"
Admiral Ackbar

THAT'S why it took over 15 years!

The construction of the original Death Star had one hell of a detour.

From the website advertised thusly: "Sure, the Death Star is a giant superlaser that can blow up planets. But over 1,000,000 of our employees just like to call it 'home.' Welcome to the Death Star's Public Relations Division."

(The same service gave 10 reasons to hate Luke and reminds us of the true source of the power of the Dark Side.)