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powerofwhy

Mr Why
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Fire Mass Zine!

1 min read
I have art published in issue 1 of Fire Mass Magazine! My work posted under the name Mr Why.  Order a copy to get some great art and literature and support shelter animals.

Order and preview Fire Mass here:  magcloud.com/browse/Issue/7714…


Facebook page:  www.facebook.com/pages/Fire-Ma…
FIRE MASS is an art/literature mag dealing primarily with magic (of various types) and horror. Some of the creators involved with the first issue are: CLIVE BARKER, CHET ZAR, DREW DAYWALT, JOHN U. ABRAHAMSON, FRATER PUCK and many more.  Proceeds are going to an animal shelter.
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Or are you just happy to see me?  I rested in a smoky haze on my static-colored couch when a sudden electricity surge flipped a thousand circuits and a crackly voice emerged in surround sound.  

"Attention!  Attention!  This is the voice of your creator" The voice said.  The pimply face of a red-headed teenager mouthed the words on my computer, televisions, and microwave.

"Hey, how's it hanging brother?  Do you have a name, or do you prefer the rather narcissistic moniker of "creator"?"  I replied.

"I am called Dennis.  And you are called John.  I created you on software called "Sim Person"."  He said.

"That's cool man, those Sim fellows know what they are doing.  So, how is it possible that I am 27 and you are in your teens?"

"You have only been alive for a week.  I used the speed-up feature in Sim Person to get you to 27 years, the rest of your life is implanted memories.  I wanted you to be a great musician who dies at 27, you see.  It's a classic early 21st century formula for lasting commercial success in the music industry, and I could sell your records under the Sim person License.  You see, modern times are complex.  We solved world hunger, globalized the economy, eliminated the bodies need for sleep, cured old age, and found that the human population exploded while there while more and more jobs were gobbled up by the automation our technological growth inevitably produced.  Unemployment was crippling, wages dropped as competition heated for the few jobs remaining - India competed with Australia which competed with Hong Kong, which competed with sweat shops in South Africa, which competed with slave farms on clone station 3, which competed with Soltech Solutions' latest robotic substitute, ad infinitum.  

The media projected a positive economic image, but consumer confidence continued to plummet fed by an underground communication network which called itself "The Truth".  Standard of living diminished, poverty spread through populations like a disease, governments starved under lack of taxes.  Fighter jets were sold on EBay and warlords began to raid cities for lack of anything better to do.  

Then one day a wonderful thing happened; the Entertainment Age began.

95% of the world's population is currently employed in the entertainment industry, and 99% of the world's population consists of avid entertainment consumers.  Those without physical ability to entertain can do so through virtual life created on software.  Sim person is quite lucrative.  I get creative rights to any work of art you produce and exclusive distribution rights to the sensory data for all of your activities for release as sense-flicks on the global couch potato networks.  Sexual activity and drug experiences sell the best.  Your trip to Chicago at 21 sold enough to buy me a holographic swimming pool.  Your romantic life was released to Napsternet as a drama series, but sales are flagging on it.  I should have known when test audiences found you cruel and self-involved.  

But I digress.  My reason for contacting you is that I need to ask for a favor.  As much as it pains my wallet, I need you to not have sex or masturbate for the next couple of days."

"Damn Dennis, You know that is asking a lot.  What is the story behind this sudden request?"  I asked.

"The year in the real world is 3023, media flows river-free and platform independent.  Your life displays on one of our walls.  And, well, my grandmother is coming over, you see.  I don't want to have to go into a long explanation that simulated life just like real life involves these sorts of icky, organic, sexual things."  he said.

"Cute.  What is in it for me if I comply?"  

"The knowledge that you have made an old lady happy."

"Hah!  You will have to do better than that, Dennis old boy.  I think I might just masturbate right now.  3032, huh?  I see they haven't cleared up acne yet.  It must be one of those unconquerable forces of nature.  When humanity reaches the end of it's treadmill existence and blows up the earth, there will be nothing left except acne, cockroaches, and herpes battling it out for planetary dominance.  My money is on the zits."

"I forgot that I made you such a petulant little nano-monkey.  Very well, there may be some mescaline in it for you."  said Dennis.

"Much better.  I will think about your request.  Now, can I have my television back?"

The Dennis faces blinked out with a pop.  

Days later a girl came home with me after a date.  When our visit progressed to indecency the glass in my televisions and computer monitor shattered.  So my dear homeowner insurance adjuster, these appliances were not broken by the boots of a drunken tantrum, not smashed by vandals, worn down by neglect, or busted by a scorned lover.  They were certainly not thrown from the balcony during a party to see how cool the fall would look as you suspect.  No, never.  These devices were broken by an act of God, or more appropriately an act of Dennis.  I implore you for payment accordingly, and I await your decision, and I thank you. Sincerely,

JS Why,

Durham, NC
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Sleep came in slow on an erotic gondola of wine and nitrous oxide. Sleep departed with the telephone's tinny mating call. I picked up the receiver in a groggy haze of irritation.

"This had better be good."

"Hello John, it's Lynn. Do you miss me?" said the receiver.

"The only Lynn I know shot herself years ago." I said.

"You really don't think that I would let that happen, do you? We never got together like I wanted."

Another awakening to the sickly scent of coconut suntan oil. A white figure stood at the foot of the iron bed with wearing only Lynn's face and a pair of handcuffs on one wrist. Lynn wore those for jewelry a lot in life, but I never asked why. Handy for an S&M quickie.

"Hey Ssssweetie, how are you?" S's buzzing like a thousand insect wings.

"Not bad. What brings you to the land of the restless living?"

"I have come to help you. Your spirit is trapped in a loop between worlds, you are living repeats, on the brink of breaking free then starting over. You know that De Ja Vu vibe, knowing you have done things before, have visited places before, have met the people you encounter? You get that because you have. You have eaten bullets, dropped from buildings, grown old and died young, built empires and destroyed them, saved lives and taken them, made it big and washed up, started the same way and pushed in a billion directions all in the struggle to break free. You are running against the walls of a circle, wearing down, yours is a soul going mad." she said.

"Bummer."

"There is a way out. You will be visited by 9 spirits. They will show you the door. Watch for them in the sound of neon space, in corner glances of terrors in the animal streets, in quick movement on the edge of reason. I believe in you. Everything will turn out alright, you'll see. Now I must be on my way. Give me a hug" she said.

We embraced, my hard-on went limp against her thigh when I saw brown cicadas oozing over the wet bald hole in the back of her head. Prickly legs ran down my back, clambouring against earlobes.

"Now, hold still." she said backing away. She pressed a pistol to my lips and fired.

Today the weather is pleasant blue and shifty like a god's indecision. Re-runs of law and order, same wars on the news, same microwaved food, same questions and answers, same salty flesh, same bread crumbs on the floor. However, I am content, and feel genuinely good. The open air brims with expectation. You know that feeling like you are dancing with the wind, when the first raindrops hit your shoulders as light waves through cracks in the sky? It's kind of like that.
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Open circuit

3 min read
Cable companies now allow you to pause and rewind live television through the miracles of digital technology. Seas part in amazement. The prototype of this device would also fast forward live television. The scientists brought this prototype before their ancient board of directors. The secretary rang the ceremonial buzz-in, directors climbed up from their dusty coffins.

"This is terrible", the dust-lipped network president said, "The audience could find out the winners of reality television and sporting events ahead of time. They could fast forward through commercials during the superbowl. This power is too great to lie in human hands. It must be destroyed. But who will do this without realizing the value this device holds to our competitors?"

An idea occurred to the president and he smiled a great grinchy smile. They hired the janetorial staff, 2 dwarves and a crackhead nudist to destroy it.

The three are given orders for the task by a wise old phone psychic. She saunters onto the phone line, swallowing a bite of ham sandwich and speaks in a voice like a gypsy orgasm, "Destiny is reflected in the television, the erratic handmaiden of time. There is great trouble in the land, a shadow spreads binary into the masses. Bloodstream of 0 and 1 cells soak starch-stripped clothing on the shower floor. Communication is magic, the controlling few present truth and dreams to the receptive many, flipping poker chip spectators through the casino of time. In the war over information, communication presents a map for the troops to follow. The device would allow a winner in this war, bringing about rigid enforcement of a single truth on all the world, plunging humankind into a thousand years of darkness. It can only be destroyed by hurling it into the smoldering files of Mount Hualalai beyond the untamed sea. You must destroy it! Destroy it before it kills us all! Time is up. A charge of $37.95 will be sent to your credit card by the end of the month. Talk to us again in ...the future, uter, ter, er, r, r, r."

The three set off with determination, cigarette cartons, and jars of change. They are beset on all sides by cockroaches and the henchman of the evil bearded man in aftershave shoes and alligator pockets. These foes are beaten with the help of a fellowship of seven old lady bingo players brandishing mean umbrellas. Finally, the three reached the island on a motorboat full of Alabaman refugees. They hitchhiked to the smoking volcano, climbed to the rim and looked over into the fate of the prototype. The three vanished then, vaporized by the rising heat. Silver box drops, orange from reflecting lava, falling like an angel from parental grace, twisting electric chair seizures, ticking, sinking with a sizzling plop.

The plop is heard by alligator wrestlers in a Florida roadside attraction. By gay makeup vendors, street veterans with change cups, rhino-people behind carnival bars, all the beautiful wet-eyed tragedies who look in the mirror and hate what they see, the nihilists in central park, parapalegic bus drivers, night air howlers, jazz cats pissing in alleys, red-light girls in the Asian night, tribal shamans, cheerleading monkeys, sweating programmers and big mac eating astronomers, bitter waitresses and liquor breath detectives. It is heard by all and all is quiet. Volcano stills. The future is safe. For now.


"The Possession of Anything Begins in the Mind" - Bruce Lee
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Finally returned, and I have a digital camera now.  Will be able to submit some new work, though I am still working on improving the quality of the photographs of it.  More to come soon.
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