Saturday, March 07, 2020

The civilised cannibals - or invitation only!

"A feast by invitation only"
Which only the best ghouls attend
It starts with what's called 'minestrone'
But actually, is someone's friend.
For it is quite a ghoulish coup,
To serve a soup that's known to you!

For "taste in friends, is taste in flesh"
At least ghouls say so, and they'd know.
I find the idea makes me nesh,
I'm in two minds if I should go.
But then they serve delightful pottage,
Of fresh-caught tourists from "the cottage".

And mixed into a rustic stew
Vegans and flash-fried vegetarians
So ghouls who take a greener view,
Of beast-killers as mere barbarians,
May avoid nature's cruel plan
And dine on a more ethical man.

And really, have I so few friends
There isn't even one to spare?
A critic (say) for gastric ends,
May well increase the savoir faire!
But oh, a sudden thought has struck me -
I'll need a suit to bib and tuck me!

That's an expense I well could skip
We meagre poets aren't enriched.
If there's a cost to such a trip
The idea may have to be ditched.
What's that? - they say they'll pay my fare
Why that is handsome, I declare!

***

So thus he mused, and in his book
Recorded the grand invitation.
He should have had a second look,
Read the small print of celebration!
For his best friend was honoured by it,
And 'meagre poet soup'? Just try it!






Saturday, February 15, 2020

Teeth


The Teeth meet in my throat
I long to feel
Through pain, that transformation I desire,
Let me no longer walk the world a man,
I would be indistinct
Shed human skin
Fall back into the beast-life
Underneath, for being called a beast
For having loved, against the mores
Of my tribe and kith, what else is left?
What pain on two legs lifted to the sky,
That is not better held aloft by four.

I was no man of note
I had to steal
To get my little bread, my meagre fire
It will be easier not to need to plan
To feel instead the instinct
Of wolf kin
For though a weaking runt, in pack the least
The one who lopes to rear, in any fories
I would have love again, not be bereft
The Teeth meet at my throat - I mean to die
And hope to rise again, nearer the floor.

Well, let who will now gloat,
And boast their zeal
Who hounded me with all their human ire.
They would not own me as a living man
They thought me better driven hence, extinct
And now a different life it can begin
In which I fear not them, and howling feast
I slave not any longer, and my chores
Are set by natures' hidden weave and weft
My teeth will meet in those who did deny
That I was worth as much as they or more.


 

Saturday, February 08, 2020

Choices


In the sky, it is making a horrible sound
But if I block my ears and just look down
The Black Sun has not birthed yet evil rays
The day has yet no awful aftermath.

Then again, the ground,
Is heaving with the rising of the town
Of bones, and with the buried murmured lays
The former dead are raised to awful wrath.

And fingers in ears: blocks from all around
The cries of warnings now insistent grown
As nature's self her green cursed fruit displays
To turn me from the left or right-hand path.

Perhaps by sea, oh no that's now icebound
The coming back of aeons once long known,
Half hiding things released as ice-shelf frays
From each a horror's glacial holograph.

And they are everywhere, as hare to hound
Am I to them, they wear the dreadful crown,
One crown on many heads, as the Play says
Many and singular both, defying math.

Unless of course, just in my mind the sound
The bones beneath my feet my fear alone,
The warnings, frozen sea, the dreadful gaze
All just my own subjective epitaph




Friday, February 07, 2020

Joke told today

An apprentice chimney sweep was tired out after his first day - and although his Master had told him to lug the bags of soot to back to their gaff and be sure not to put them down the sewers - he was very tempted to do just that and get shot of it quickly.

He came to the first grid, which was shallow, and remembered his Master saying that a shallow sewer would be blocked.

He came to a second one which was deeper, but covered by a heavy cover that he couldn't lift.  He remembered his Master warning that heavy covers get dropped on foolish peoples' feet.

He came to a third grid, and this was uncovered and deep, and it sloped sheerly down with a high incline which ought - he thought - to make the soot easy to pour down into the sewer.  He wracked his brains but he couldn't remember what the Master Sweep had said about set-ups like that.

So he tipped all the soot in, but it flew up in a cloud and it got in his hair and up his nose and in his
mouth, and he found by the time he staggered back to the gaff he was farting out soot with dreadful noises like a trumpet or some other brass instrument.

His Master took one look at him and said: "You forgot my warning about STEEP DRAIN TROMBOSIS didn't you?"


The Hanging Tree

No bodies on the hanging tree?
The village folk all shake their heads
It's bad luck there's no shape to see
To keep the things under the beds.

They will creep out and seize a child
If nothing shows them there's a cost,
And if they - daring - get too wild
It's all too likely someone's lost.

Old Mother Danae knows it well
In youth she lost her first-born son
To something creeping out of hell,
She knows that something must be done.

But they've grown shadowy and sere
Cunning and canny, hard to catch
Their laughter now is cruel, and fear
Creaks with each rattling bolt and latch.

The answer is debated hard
Although not long when all is said
It hardly matters who's on't yard
If they've a red-cap on't their head.

For fay folk they squint hard at noon
Just see 'cap swing 'neath the tree
And tourists? They were leaving soon
And easier now to catch, they be.




Monday, February 03, 2020

Auton-nomics


Action plan:

1: Goal, to defuse galaxy wide threat of praxeus viral to Nestene planets.

2: Problem: suborning higher technology, expertise to task thereby ensuring
survival of Nestene colony worlds.

2b: Sub-problem : other species suspicious of Nestene long term goals

2c: Sub-problem : association of Praxeus threat with Nestene may prompt weaponisation of same by species at 2b.

3: Suggested solution: create set of high level autons with memories of 'humanoid race suffering from plastic penetration and follow-on praxeus disruption of eco-system."

3b: Introduce same to ecosystem of world presently protected by higher level intelligence and or technology.

3c: Observe methodology of cure.

3d: Permit evidence to be destroyed after cure data absorbed by Nestene Hive-mind.


Tuesday, January 07, 2020

Kassavin Planning 1.01




Our entry into the other universe has determined that it's one having the property of TIME.
For those of you unfamiliar with this, it means that complex entropy states are not perpetually accessible but rather cascade in a sequencial array in which certain states are accessible only from certain other states. This is deeply non-intuitive for our species but may be seen to have certain consequences.

1) This means that part of the necessary pattern for our normal operations will be in effect unguardable as it will lie in a PAST, time vector from our maximal operational state.
To deal with this we have contacted a local specialist in TIME who will give us access to PAST entropy states complexes. Microtweaks to these complexes will we believe give us a far greater population penetration for our App at the leading edge of the complexes we can reach (cf PRESENT).

It is unlikely that the above change will impede our normal success.

2) Aside from this small change resulting from the TIME-like nature of this operation, all else is as normal. A willing local operative has been reformated at 7% and consequently is now functioning as an effective meat-puppet. It is as you will know from the manual entirely about which 7% you choose.




Friday, December 20, 2019

Hubble-Bubble Inc.

The vat contains the mixture for the brew
Scaled up since our three founders set their stall
We use three thousand newt's eyes, that we do.
And, advertising proudly states it's true,
The toes of thirty, and nine hundred dogs in all.
The vat contains the mixture for the brew
Bats really bear no wool but fine hairs grew
And colonies are shorn, both large and small
We use three thousand newt's eyes, that we do.
And thick and slab we make it, thick as glue
And sell it in the market and the mall
The vat contains the mixture for the brew
We make no claim that it will make Kings of you
You are not ruddy, bold nor strong and tall
We use three thousand newt's eyes, that we do.
So Macbeth's Beer will show what fates may flow
What triumphs will come, and what disasters fall
The vat contains the mixture for the brew
We use three thousand newt's eyes, that we do.

Monday, December 02, 2019

The windy-wail


On the bitter wind of the bleak north
Rides the windy-wail, the air's own skeleton
The ghosts of all the birds whose wings froze stiff
And fell to earth as hail-sparrows, storm-chickens.

In the bitter hours of winter it comes forth
Demon of the ice host, wicked weather's son
The daughter of the glacier, the coldest riff
The windy-wail, it sounds as the storm thickens.

Blow's death, chills life, the windy-wail is frost
Firethief, wings of crystal-air ringing,
Colourless ice rainbows, halo it,
It is wind thin, wind visible, it stings.

It freezes joy, into the bones it settles most,
Dulls love, throttles fervor, ends singing.
Under doors through sashes, swallow-fit
Bone-bird the windy-wails' mistings.

Dreaming Spell

I did not find it deep in hallowed ground
But found it in the surface forest loam.
I stumbled on its sharpness, felt the edge,
That still was honed to wetstone severance.
Untouched by time, a wedge of ancient bone.
It had been made a thousand years before
Or even more, ten thousand years maybe.
Its surface bore the scratched deep marks
That might be runes or other antique signs.

And placing it beneath my pillow I, made
little rhymes to see what I might spy.

Old tool, cold tool,
Bone formed thing
Found in the forest loam
Bring dreams into my home
So they may sing.

Old stone, cold stone,
Ancient edged flint
Found neath the barrow
Give dreams by the morrow
And do not stint.

Old axe, cold axe
Meet to my fist
Found neath the earth
Give dreams without dearth
I will not resist.

Old soul, cold soul
That once spilled blood
Found neath the sacred ground
Give dreams as stars go round
Evil or good.

Take me, make me
All I have been
Free from the silt of me
The ancient ecstasy
The roots of green.

Break me, remake me
Age upon age
Whirl round the wheel of night
Dreams on my soul alight
Muse fill my page.