project mobius

via vandals on the wall

~~~

The Truth Speaker appeared out of nowhere at the center of the village. The inviting crystal sphere, twice the size of a watermelon, was cold to the sight but warm to the touch and was suspended three feet from the ground.

Curious Mogo was its first "victim." As soon as he placed his hands on the floating ball the image of his hidden philandering deeds was projected into the minds of all of the tribes people. He was then gelded by those he has wronged.

<a href="http://loyaltydigitalcorp.bandcamp.com/album/an-ode-to-reasonable-doubt" data-mce-href="http://loyaltydigitalcorp.bandcamp.com/album/an-ode-to-reasonable-doubt">An Ode To Reasonable Doubt by Skyzoo & Antman Wonder</a>

via bandcamp

~~~

He realized that sleep is now alien to him when he speaks of it. It has been six months since they worked on him; the surgery took twenty seven hours in which he had to stay awake in order for the operation to take effect. The procedure eliminates the need for sleep by getting the fuel replenished by slumber via other sources, the bulk of which fall on eating. Well that’s the sweet and short and less confusing explanation of how it works.

Half a year later he hasn’t slept, not even a two second wink. Since then his food intake increased threefold, his girth and weight doubled and his empire grew exponentially.

via pitchfork

~~~

Lucy’s services are quite unique. She offers permanent vacations at a premium. In a world where suicides are outlawed and punishment of the crime is carried out on the next of kin, what she offers is a bargain. The price of course involves an enormous sum of cash and something that you’d never expect, the flash of memories you get when you’re about to die.

When you’re in the brink, instead of reliving the past in an extended blink dark empty limbo replaces it.

When you’re in the brink, Lucy feeds on you and uses your memories as a minute escape from her life.

Then you die and she momentarily forgets that she’s a mess.

Day 15: Speculative

via rollingstone

~~~

Charlie is a serial killer. His weapon of choice is a cold knife. His MO is to sneak behind his victims and ever so gently touch the hair on the back of their necks with his cold blade, passing a tingling chill in their spine. He then jumps on their back locking his legs on their torso, covering their mouths with his left hand, pressing the frosty steel on their throats with his right. He steadies himself before the kill.

He let's the knife do most of the work. He is a figure skater gliding across thin ice that breaks and gushes warm blood. He bathes in the gurgling moment, revels and savors it.

via stereogum

~~~

Through the looking glass her faceless doppelganger stares back at her. She unconsciously traces the handsome features of her face, as if to serve as a reminder of its presence.

The plan was perfect; everything was followed to the tee. After the target took a bite of the poisoned laced fruit, the crown as loveliest of them all was hers and hers alone.

But things turned awry, gradually. As time passed her face faded, or rather the reflection of her face faded. It irked her that the side effect affected only her perception.

She opted not to slay her in the off chance that the two-faced curse be permanent.

via vandals on the wall

~~~

Patience was not her strong suit. She wanted to tear trough the city to look for him the moment he told her to wait. She was not for sitting by idly for forty days.

And the briefcase, don’t let her begin with the briefcase. She knew that this was an instrument of spite he planted to test her tolerance for postponement. The fact that he deliberately stated that she shouldn’t open it would eat away at her.

<a href="http://music.monstercat.com/album/monstercat-015-outlook" data-mce-href="http://music.monstercat.com/album/monstercat-015-outlook">Monstercat 015 - Outlook by Rogue</a>

via bandcamp

~~~

The chirping chorus of crickets fills the night, emphasizing the pregnant pause in their conversation. As the last words float in to limbo never to return, they both feel a change. In the pale moonlight they can only see a fraction of their expressions, but just enough to understand the cause of the split second of hesitation. 

Smiles all around.

They gravitate towards each other, following their natural orbits, stopping just before the point of no return. This close, their vantage is a focused cropped frame of each other's face. They breach the invisible barrier of indecision deliberately in unison, ready and open to the possibility of being as one.

via pitchfork

~~~

She has waited for this moment all of her life. Beyond the opening double doors was her future.

She steps forward carefully, showing that she's new to this. The carpet takes the stab of her heel. In one motion, she tucks the hair that escaped her sister's clip behind her ear and wipes a tear peeking at the edge of her eye with her vintage kerchief. 

At the end of the aisle, a stranger stands in a black suite and periwinkle tie. Who is he?

Jamais vu.

She can't breathe. The bodice of her dress is constricting. She must get out of it.

Day 10: Drag Bones

~~~

"Dragon stew?! Are we really having dragon stew," the boy asked eagerly.

"Why of course lad! But not your average dragon stew. This one is special."

"Oh boy! I haven't had this since," the boy trails off, his voice weakening as he moves closer to the pot.

"Atatata! Not too close chap," Arthur cautions while adding ingredients in the mixture. Coriander and tarragon. He grabs the closest bottle of white wine and generously showers the simmer. The aroma of the slow cook fills the room.

The boy breathes in a big whiff. His expression turns from delight to grim.

via stereogum

~~~

Xxxxxxxxx,

Who would've thought we would end up like this? Surely not us. After all we tried our darndest to make this work. But we are in the now, and in the now there is no us.

I want all my records back. All of it. All the OPM, EDM, and indie records should be returned to me. You can keep the limited UDD Bipolar release which I gave to you. I'll keep the signed Sting Sacred Love that you gave to me. You keep all the jazz records.

Now that the problem is solved please stop contacting me. We are done.

Goodbye.

via vandals on the wall

~~~

Literature

The skeptic in him always thought that writing about her would’ve made no difference at all. He was no writer. He was not a wordsmith. But he needed help and something to make him cope. So it was a forced courage that made him pick up a pen to write. It still stung him remembering as the ink escaped and found its way home on the paper.

Suffer

He was at a loss. He was lost. The pain surged inside him and took over his being. He too would expire if this continued. She would’ve disliked that.

Love

<a href="http://davidmaximmicic.bandcamp.com/album/bilo-30" data-mce-href="http://davidmaximmicic.bandcamp.com/album/bilo-30">Bilo 3.0 by David Maxim Micic</a>

~~~

"You know what sucks with vampirism?"

"Besides the puns?"

"Humor at a time like this? Seriously? You should know better."

"I just want to keep things light."

"Haven't I told you that there is always a proper time and place for everything?"

"Countless of times"

"But apparently not enough. I'll be passing on soon. Very soon."

"..."

"What irks me is that society has romanticized us. We are not beautiful. We are not resilient. We are not immortal."

"You shouldn't strain yourself too much."

"There will come a time when we will freely walk among them. I will not see that in my lifetime. But I foresee it in yours."

"You should rest. Get some sleep."

via pitchfork

~~~

He is an epidemic of conviction. He is the sure footed mountain goat of the treacherous cliff of relationship. He is king of the castle of desire and his iron fist reign is paramount. He is boldness incarnate

---

She is a contagion of tranquility. She is a light drizzle, the demise of years of solitude's drought. She is spring's first growth of hope from the long cruel winter. She is faith personified.

---

Day 05: Hedonic Treadmill

via rollingstone

~~~

"You do realize that it's a misconception that bunnies live on carrots," he muttered. Stripped of his waistcoat, white fur a mess, he's the perfect picture of a domesticated pet. Well except that he speaks.

"Stop dangling that vegetable on my face," he squeaked. "I'll run on this contraption of yours to sweat out this drug induced neurosis even without that 'motivation.' How foolish of me to think that the Duchess was sincerely concerned for my well-being."

At full throttle the heat from his sprinting escapes from his pink paws and erect ears.

via stereogum

~~~

"Cobalt, that stoned faced mean mother fucker," Memo exhales his words along with the fumes of his Camels. "You know what he did to this poor boob who had the cajones to say that he looks like a dame when he wears a stocking mask to jobs?"

Tom already knows how this infamous story ends. He lets Memo trail off on his inebriated account and concentrates on his drink instead.

"Animal print choker"

Tom takes a swig and glances at Memo.

"Symmetrical slitting"

Tom smirks, imagining the lean machine Cobalt working his magic.

"Cabbage dump patch"

Tom nods. Memo always tells this best intoxicated.

"Medium rare rear entry"

Tom sneers, Cobalt does resemble Hellen Mirren on roids.

via vandals on the wall

~~~

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via bandcamp

~~~

The previously exciting and unpredictable life of the ever-living villain has morphed into a flat boring death decay when he defeated the humanoid feline squad. Pitiful that the once proud race of Thundera fell so easily on his simple yet devious ploy to acquire the immense force that resides within the Sword of Omens. Supersaturated with limitless power, all it took was just one swift swoop of the blade and everyone who opposed him crumbled unceremoniously to the ground. Oh sweet destruction, why did you have to be so fleeting?

He now spends immortality trying to recapture the certain uncertainty of exhilaration, to no avail. His home, black pyramid, is the black hole of emptiness.