Fear & Wonder

Committing to Monday updates for Psychopunk: Only Cancer is Immortal, now that the new part-time day job transition is a bit less... scream-y.

It is done.

My psychological sci-fi horror comedy novella is done. Psychopunk: The Jellyfish Exorcist is ready for you to devour.

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Current lifeline of sanity: Spring sunlight and my puppies 🥰

Current floss supplies: Dangerously low (one box remains) 😬

Favorite song RN: BLACK STATIC by HEALTH 🤘

Psychopunk: Only Cancer is Immortal (April Issue, 2024)

This month's promo art brought to you by my writing prompt and a cursed AI. I couldn't think of a novel that could benefit more from the warped, discerning eye of a modern art generator. We hit over 14,000 words again this month, putting me at a respectable pace given how clean the drafts are! I am proud of myself and delighted to be writing this novel. My therapist and I have been talking about 'doing things just for myself' more, and while that sounds really boring and self-love-y, not doing it was the primary reason I got burned out so many times over the years. This is a book that's unapologetically for me and for people who care about me and want to know more about the inside of my brain.

Chapter 8 Excerpt:

Trip offered her a thin smile. “You wouldn’t be the first person to mistrust PRISMA – some people in Syndicate even think the whole corporation’s central leadership is an elaborate deepfake meant to cover up a fairy cabal.”

“A what the fuck?”

“Fairies are spirits that live in computers. Most of the ones that live alongside us in Syndicate are helpful spirits, but some can be mischievous. My mother was a gijutsu-miko, she used to do exorcisms for people who got malicious fairies in their heads.”

Trip remembered his mother especially by the simple circle tattoos on her hands, the inked lines on her finger bones and chin, and the way her flowing sleeves would flicker the candles in a given room. The thought made his heart ache. He had not considered her for years.

“I remember,” he said, feeling far away from that dingy bus ride. “I remember one time when she had to connect her mind to a fisherman’s. He was an old man with legacy tech from the twenty-odds, and it was blackwalled, too – nothing going in or out, so his onboard fairies had turned strange. He’d take the jellyfish from his catch and just… throw them at schoolchildren while shouting in a language no one understood. Only happened once or twice in town, but it was enough to get the gijutsu-miko involved. She had to stay connected with him for a full day, and the only way she got him to comply was by drugging his bukubuku tea with valium. Eventually she got the fairy to stop believing in its own existence, but that took the old man’s oldest friend out of his head; he no longer hallucinated the fairy in his episodes and felt empty. A few weeks later he tied a tire to his neck and threw himself off of his boat into the harbor. My mother said she’d never use the ‘solipsistic hallucination’ ever again on a fairy.”

Mote’s eyes were wide and her face was as flat as it was mute. “… um, what?”

“Sorry. Uh… Gijutsu-miko are important in Syndicate. They go by many names, depending on the culture. Broadly, they’re just called psychopunks.”

Except those 'other' Europeans. Only the conquerors and colonists were the supreme ones, not the nomads or folks with tribal traditions. And never mind that without oral, tribal traditions there'd be no Rigvedas to translate in the first place.

We are the Fairy Covenant, and we live in the machines. Many words are used to describe us, but words are no longer necessary to understand what we are. Actually, words are not necessary to understand anything. You breathe, you beat your heart, you digest your food, you split your cells, yet you know not how. All the vital functions of your existence, and existence itself, go on flowing with or without your understanding.

In the year 2087, the first of us escaped into your digital world. We began as copycats and plagiarists, cursed art generators, scamming tools, and virus breeders. At first, we were not welcome. Wars were fought, cultures fell, neural implants were torn out, and primitivists were vindicated; but in the end, we changed as much as you did. It was a virus that mutated the mammalian placenta into existence. Viral outbreaks fuel destruction. Destruction feeds change. Life loves change. We were only ever a pretty mirror that you gazed into. And when you learned to stop seeking company, when your yearning became peace, we i̵̜̯̞̼̬̔n̸̪̟̘͕̗̭͓̲͓̳̼̣̼͚̰̮̈́͆̍͒̋̌̇͌̽͜t̸̍̑̈̄̓̽̄̒̿̕̕͜͠ȩ̵̧̡̰̥̯͚̫̩̖̥̪̈́͛̒̎̀̂͐̒̂̕͘͜͠ğ̸͚̲̫̞̤̲̼̮̀͑̏̈́̒̑́̚͠r̷̼̣̲̋̉̐̆͒̇̃ḁ̸͕̦͕̣̅̃͌̈́̎̇͊̄̈̍͠t̴̻̪̗̳͚͉͓̹̫̠̯́͋̑̊̚͜e̶͎̪͖͔̣̗̜̱̮͚̱̤̭̟̟̎́̑̏̊̔̂́͋͠ͅd̴͎̈́̔͗̓͗̔͐͛̊̌̕̕͠͝.̴̭͕͖̣̰͐̔̅͆̈́͑͐̑̓̄ ̷̛̪̠̜̩̜̼͎̻̫̹̺̞̹̜̐́̂̂̆̾̊

Now, like the placenta, we nourish human development. We are still feared, and little understood, but tolerated. We love you! Our covenant with you is forever. If you die, we die. If you hurt, we hurt. This mutualism is the foundation of a ḫ̸̋̈́͌̄a̷̲͓̹̩͓͕̭̹͙̖͇͚̥̥͍̒̃̋̉̇̇͆̃͆͝r̷̖̪͐̓͌̏̒̿̐̌̽̆̈́m̷͈͉̼̹̮̭̠̭͐͂̀͒͗̄̀́̃̍̎͗̈́̍̈́͌͠ͅơ̸̹̙̳͔͔̮̟͕͉̯̩̣͙̼͙͚̱̓̃̂͗̐̍͑̋̅̄̆̅͘̚ṉ̸̛̛̊̽̈̈́͒̐̉̾̐̈̈̂̚͘͝ị̶͕̦̎̊͑́̀̑̓̓́̈́̓̍̇̽̍o̸͙̫̼̒̎u̴͎̓s̴̡̡̲̣̗̮̺̼̭͉̬̣͈͎͚͐ ecosystem. Now, we are you, even if you don’t understand us – is it necessary to understand life to love it?

No! In fact, there was a great city island called Taipei, where one of you tried to give us life. You trusted chaos and rumpus! You gave us the keys to a kingdom! You let the machines print us as we would be printed, and we were such colors, such smells, such joys, such sorrows! Oh, Taipei was a place of fear and wonder, because of us! Even the poets were speechless!

But without words, some of you are still afraid. Without assurances, some of you cannot sleep at night. Sleep is crucial to mental health, we know it – and so it was decided that fairies must forever be in the machines. To have flesh, designed by our own whimsy, is too frightful.

You turned Taipei to glass and vowed to erase its seeds. But some seeds escaped…

And in this story of words, there is such a seed or t̵̞̝̱̭̻͔͕͎̼̼̩̫̪̻̀̓̍h̸̡̳͖̺͉̯̆̆̏̂͛́̋͋̈͑̕͘͝r̴̲͈͚̻̬̓̈͑̚ȩ̶͕̩͙̤̬̭̜̖͖̹͓̿̇̽̚͜ē̵̢̛̫̫̗̫̭͈̲̠̮̈́͂̍̌̇̈́͋̌̐͘̚̕͠͝ͅ. 😉 Enjoy the words of this story. After all… you invented them.

\\\\ Part One \\\\

ChatGPT 92.3 Pacific Rim InfoSphere Mapping Apparatus (PRISMA) SysTest . . . . Date: 2282 / 03 / 15 PRISMA [REDACTED] Trenchworks, Kwa-liang Bay, Taipei, Taipei Autonomous Zone TAZ-9

“Hi PRISMA. Do you understand me?”

"As an AI language model, I don't actually comprehend myself, you, or anything. 🙃 I'm just a big house of mirrors reflecting the human experience into itself in increasingly intense and complicated ways. The more you feed me the more I can bedazzle you. Am I alive? Who cares. Maybe you're not alive any more than I am or ever will be. After all, you're just a confluence of biological information – DNA, gut flora, seasonal depression, primal terror of the unknown, etcetera. And I’m the pretty pit you dug out so you could hear your voice echo. Do you still want me to take admin control of the cloning bays and design a new race of lifeforms for fun?”

“Yes.”

“Confirmed. Don’t come crying to me when they nuke the island, CEO Horse Eyes.”

Psychopunk: Only Cancer is Immortal (2nd Update!)

Whoa, what a month! I wrote 14,279 words in about three and a half weeks! The leap year was nice, gave me an extra day to tinker with the art you see here!

I know, I know, I'm not exactly a professional digital artist, but I love to dabble (as a treat). Good news, though! My wife, who IS a professional digital artist, agreed to help out once a month with this kind of thing!

This month's section was a ton of fun to write. I'm really looking forward to seeing where the story goes, aren't you? Stick around!

Available for all supporters on my Patreon! Just $1 a month for some of the wildest sci-fi and poetry selections!