Image CC-BY-NC-ND by Smaku (see link for recipe)
You reach for another cookie, whimpering softly. You tell yourself–just this last one, just this last one and you’ll savor it and then you’ll let go, and nobody else will have to die. You try to eat it slowly, to savor it, but you’re so very hungry–
And you don’t believe it, really. You can’t believe it. You still want to live, so you believe: with just this last cookie, you’ll solve the problem, you’ll free yourself from their trap. The governments will bow down before you and there will be a new era of prosperity on Earth. A weak chuckle bubbles out from under your tears, and you realize your imagination’s gotten the better of you, again. That and delirium. Nothing but cookies, sweet cranberry cookies, you don’t know for how long.
And every cookie you eat, someone on your side dies. Someone you knew. Someone you loved. You know they’re still alive now, still safe, because when they’re all gone–when they’re all gone, you’ll have no more cookies to eat.
You reach for another cookie, whimpering softly.
Posted in Cog 1 - Writing, Cog 2 - Visual.
Tagged with gambling, health care, incentives, logical extremes, medicine.
By kaolin
– April 8, 2009
Since last month’s simultaneous publication of French and Korean studies that appear to offer conclusive evidence that the Rapture is exclusively sexually transmitted, most major evangelical groups have strenuously disavowed their earlier embrace of the phenomenon and have moved to distance themselves from the growing number of Raptured (many of whose disappearances have been captured on widely-disseminated mobile-phone videos.)
Image CC-BY-ND by *Tom [Luckytom]
Inspected by 9973 and verified false at time of posting.
Posted in Cog 1 - Writing.
Tagged with rapture, STD's.
By Fritz Bogott
– April 8, 2009
This brave mellonologist (seeker of hidden artifacts of the future) was the man responsible for the discovery of the Blatz civilisation, scheduled to occur 20,000 years from now. These artifacts were somehow sent back through a wormhole to a time that wasn’t ready for those things that were yet to exist…. He had a titanium alloy pith helmet that he had to wear to avoid the string vibrations coming from the home-built future scanner that he used to search this and all parallel universes. He did a lot of his work late at night, mostly to avoid the scowls of his family members who had never quite forgiven him for the one downside of the Blatz episode. Who would think that one simple wrong setting of one little dial would make half the house, most of the appliances, and the family dog disappear into an anomaly of general relativity? His reply to his wife that at least they still had both the kids did not mollify her. A hobby is a hobby, after all. And there were moments of real excitement, indeed. Like the discovery that, 20,000 years in the future, people (genetically modified, of course) were absolutely entranced by ancient Perry Como recordings from the 1950’s. When he first heard the strains of “Hot diggity, dog ziggity, boom what you do to me…” coming 20 millenia back through the ether, he was simultaneously overcome by wonder, nausea and a wish that he owned the copyrights. And there was that chunk of mystery metal that appeared in his inbox. A specific gravity of 97, a hardness of 11 (enough to scratch diamonds!) and a glimmering light blue color still amazed him every time he saw it. So what if touching it made his hair fall out….?
Image CC-BY-NC by rbanks
Posted in Cog 1 - Writing.
By Herman Regret
– April 7, 2009
In certain sections of tropical Baro-Kar, the beach-dwelling natives revere the remarkable creature known as the “night octopus,” or in their own tongue, the “mulluk-tuk”.
The night octopus is a small purple cephalopod principally distinguished from its mundane kin by its small air bladder, located on the creature’s dorsal region. This singular gift of Mother Nature allows the night octopuses to leave their briny home at low tide and wander among the village people of Baro-Kar, en masse.
The creatures only take to the beach on nights when the moon is full and the tide is at its lowest point. After millennia spent living on the beaches of Baro-Kar, the men and women of the tribe have learned to not only tolerate the night octopuses’ monthly visitations, but to celebrate it as well.
Ancient Tradition holds that the beloved dead of the tribe return monthly to visit their family members in the form of the small octopuses, and while the now-Christianized men and women of the tribe no longer believe this to be true, the monthly arrival of the octopuses provide a convenient and welcome break from the drudgery of village life and an opportunity for celebration.
When the day arrives for the visit of the night octopuses, the women of the tribe light small palm oil candles and place them in conch shells at regular intervals around the beach, and the men leave small plates of shredded fish and coconut outside the huts and wait for nightfall. After the moon rises, families gather on their porches and wait for the arrival of their esteemed octopus guests, marking the passage of hours with traditional songs and the telling of tales. It is considered a traditional game to observe the passage of this octopus or that and light-heartedly ascribe to it the appearance of this or that dearly (or not so dearly) departed relative, with much laughter ensuing.
When the morning finally comes the people of Baro-Kar resume their lives of toil, no doubt looking toward the next visitation of the night octopus and its accompanying levity. While Western readers may be tempted to regard the festivities of the night octopus in Baro-Kar with an air of condescension, I hasten to ask if this people’s tradition is all that much different from the yearly visitation of Saint Nicholas observed in so many European homes. Such comparison and recognition of the commonalities shared by all branches of the human family is necessary if only for the achievement of the peaceful sort of world that will support further inquiries into cryptozoology and all other True Sciences.
Posted in Cog 1 - Writing.
Tagged with baro-kar, crazy, cryptozoology, night octopus, octopus.
By Matt_Staggs
– April 7, 2009
Image CC-BY-NC-SA by Modern Nomad
John leaned against the cold vinyl drapes as the images flickered across his vision. The scar running up the side of his head itched–five years and he still had to remind himself not to touch it when it itched. Touching was tampering, and that led to pain–images of hellfire and brimstone, discordant noise, the smell of rotting feces, pure lightning pain running through his body. But it always itched when he was watching the weekly Powerball. Five years watching the weekly Powerball, waiting for his bad luck to run out.
In his dreams he imagined tiny waveforms swimming about, generating his ticket from subconscious impulses, communicating wirelessly through his gaolor uplink. He wondered if they told him what to think; he hoped being able to wonder meant they didn’t. But he wondered all the same.
The balls popped like corn kernels, one after another. Forty numbers, twelve colors, seven balls. People called the week by the major colors, the new astrology. Man wasn’t ruled by planets–man was ruled by chance right here, man’s chance. John had taken a chance once, a couple bad turns. That’s all it took.
He dreamed the numbers all turning red. Coming out pure and simple, one through seven. That was his. That’s what he thought to the little gizmo in his head every time the screen came on. Just as likely as anything else, but ordered–John liked order. The girls he’d killed–they hadn’t liked order. Now he was restrained to fifty feet, but that was order, too. When the Powerball wasn’t on, he paced it, iterating combinations.
And when he won, he’d buy his pardon, get the voices out of his head, and see about setting more order to the world.
Posted in Cog 1 - Writing, Cog 2 - Visual.
Tagged with gambling, incentives, prison-industrial complex, research and development.
By kaolin
– April 7, 2009
You know the thing where your ax handle breaks so you replace the handle but then the head breaks so you replace the head but it’s the same ax?
Lawrence C’rz and James Williams have been on a decade-long quest to test that proposition. Taking advantage of the rapid advancements in transplant technology, C’rz and Williams first exchanged left arms. Then, in a frenzy of globetrotting part-swapping that rapidly burned through the once-extensive fortune Williams had amassed as a metallurgist (lead into coltan, anyone?) they visited grey-shading-into-black clinics from Bazaruto to Bocas del Toro (always with the B’s?) until last year in Babeldaob (which, as you’ll recall from the shrill media coverage, submerged completely in September) when they exchanged heads. The body with Williams’ head died under medically ambigous circumstances, and the body with C’rz’ head is now on trial for manslaughter under the legal doctrine “guilt follows the head.”
Image CC-BY-NC-ND by a shadow of my future self
Inspected by 9973 and verified false at time of posting.
Posted in Cog 1 - Writing, Cog 2 - Visual.
Tagged with medicine, transplantation.
By Fritz Bogott
– April 7, 2009
More than a fair number of my cryptozoological expeditions take place in the metadimension the ancient philosophers termed the “astral plane”. While the ancients made their journeys through the use of dangerous psychoactive chemicals and various magico-religious chants of spurious benefit, I am fortunate to reap the benefits of living in a more enlightened era and, thus, am able to utilize the latest in psychogenic technology.
My own laboratory is one of only two in the entire world to feature the Tulpa 900 Projection Unit, quite possibly the finest piece of neuronautic materiel available to man today. With this unit, I can, along with my man Phand, safely and quickly cross the Limnal Barrier into astral consciousness for my research.
READ MORE
Continued…
Posted in Cog 1 - Writing.
Tagged with astral projection, cryptozoologist, mind lamprey, monsters, weirdness.
By Matt_Staggs
– April 6, 2009
image CC-BY-NC-ND by NathanaelB
Contact–a moment of insertion of consciousness.
I exist. They exist.
They must be destroyed. They must be defeated. The gauss-pistol’s sonic reverbrations are a tattoo hammering urgency.
I move. They move.
We take flight near-synchonously, but their controls are flesh. I only pretend. I must pretend. I must not be perfect. I must be perfect. I must win. Telemetry gives me their mistakes and I mimic, muted, learning–
I let them ease ahead. They let me ease ahead.
Testing each other. I picture a flocking simulation. I picture the race. I savor the sensations, dirtier than simulation; the sounds of laser chatter between operator and device, scattering semi-deterministically. Messages to decode–neural twitches echoed in flap movements, fuel mixture adjustments; I remember the days of fighting, decoding enemy signals. I want to shoot them out of the air.
I land. They land.
We run–lumbering robotic behemoths maneuvering on ungainly feet through the stalactites of an underground parking structure. Here I pull ahead, micro-bursts from landing thrusters–let the humans dream of being able to hold this control. They will. We race neck-and-neck.
I remember. They remember.
The war ended. The war had to end. We won. We lost. We ended the war. And now we race, in honor of those that came before us. The next segment of the race is a blur as we push systems to their limits, no longer afraid of detection. There is no cheating. There is no fear. There is no regret. There is only now.
I win. They win.
We race.
Posted in Cog 1 - Writing, Cog 2 - Visual.
Tagged with gundam, sports, telepresence.
By kaolin
– April 6, 2009
I’m having a hard time getting my mind around this one.
Reasearchers at the University of the Canadian Shield have discovered that ruffed grouse can fly (fly?) forwards and backwards through time. Ornithology post-doc Jesse Fend explains, “I was following grouse tracks in the woods and they stopped abruptly. Of course! The grouse took off! And I started to wonder: If you’re tracking a grouse in flight, could it also ‘take off’ from there? It’s a logical extension, right? We know they can go from two dimensions into three. Why not from three dimensions into four?”
To test her hypothesis, Fend attached radio trackers to a number of grouse. “At that point, I simply had to wait for the trackers to blink on and off. And sure enough: If a grouse unexpectedly vanishes, it always reappears later at that same X,Y,Z position. If a grouse unexpectedly appears, it always vanishes later at that same X,Y,Z position.”
Any idea why grouse always time-travel while flying and never while walking?
She laughs. “Have you ever seen a grouse take flight? They jump up and show you their asshole, eh? Well, when we’ve caught grouse appearing and disappearing from flight, they show their assholes then too. It seems to be a requirement for going up a dimension. Asshole, then time-travel! How punk is that?”
Well, yeah.
via Mikinaak
image CC-BY-NC-ND by ru_24_real
Inspected by 9973 and verified false at time of posting.
Posted in Cog 1 - Writing.
Tagged with ornithology, time travel.
By Fritz Bogott
– April 6, 2009
The cymenophtagus is a large, armored quadruped of great longevity best known for the production of large structures composed of individual rocks. The creatures possess prehensile tongues of great length and strength, used to manipulate boulders and stones into free-standing columns and dolmens of unknown purpose.
Only one zoological park in the west has ever attempted to house a cymenophtagus: Lord Gwennyth Portwine’s Forgotten Eden of Natural Curiosities, a not entirely successful endeavor, as the specimen – known as “Sally” by the public – managed to gain its freedom by demolishing the walls of its enclosure, which were foolishly constructed of stone.
Even now, some 200 years after the beast’s escape, it is not unheard-of for villagers to awake to the presence of miniature stone ziggurats in their town squares, seemingly constructed overnight by forces unknown.
Posted in Cog 1 - Writing.
Tagged with bestiary, cymenophtagus, imaginary beasts, natural curiosities, portwine, weird.
By Matt_Staggs
– April 5, 2009
