DeadWeight69

Such melancholy When a fallen petal rings On an empty glass.

He must have recognised the look on my face. "Hey, you here for the seminar?" He asked, his voice surprising me with its deep melody out of the darkness.   "Uh, yeah."  I answered.  Fresh out of high school, I had no idea where anything at Uni was, so I was proper lost.   "The lecture theatre it's in is Nor-Nor-east of here." He informed me.  That didn't really help me, since I couldn't see the blinking red lights of the Skytower or the glittering solar blades of the Nufuel arcology to orient myself.  He must have seen that in my face too, because he let out a strange rolling chuckle, almost like a cheetah's purr, and told me to follow him

Chapter Two: The Foundling The young guard knocked gingerly on the door of Alpha Leo’s family quarters, and got sympathetic glances from the two well-built Pridesmen guarding the door.  He really didn’t want to have to wake Leo, but the situation outside seemed pretty important, so he saw the necessity.  But still – why’d it have to be him to do it?  He sighed, and knocked louder.  Leo never got enough sleep; waking him this early seemed unjust.  But it had to be done.  The door suddenly swung open, a groggy, bath-robed Leo asking, “What?  What’s so important you have to wake me up, again?” as he rubbed his

Things yell at him they slip barking while since significant doesn’t work on stream riding ages either easy eventuated aching presents the perfect opportunity shines and even moon-rise the electrical way lest the mind slip slow the lyrical heroin blue Alliteration and rhyme tense and frustrated figuratively castrated anarchic freedom verse innocence and cynicism jarring thoughtscape like a magnet meteor flying through an irondust nebula.   Arrogance and self-absorption Missing corrupt throes of lyrical psychosis.   zone-inducing beat weave the screen neo-antiquated invisible enjoyment thinking laterally the actual pseudo sp

Sergeant Pete A naked woman covered in scars lies in a recliner in an otherwise empty room.   In place of hair she has a headdress like Aztec royalty used to wear, only platinum and wired into her brain.  She watches a small group of men emerge onto a city rooftop two hundred and thirty seven point five six kilometers away through a satellite uplink streaming direct to her inner eye.  One of them is wearing a lifter exoskeleton and carrying something long and heavy.  It trails a fat black cable to a large shiny box carried by two of the others, and from that box a thinner lead runs inside.  She subvocalises a personal communication address.

He spent the day traversing the City, listening and watching on streets, at markets, and in bars.  The layout of the City, he pondered, was sort of like a crosshair - and peculiarly suited to well-aimed roaming, that last thought making him roll his eyes as the corners of his lips twitched upwards at his unintentional pun.   He wandered the outskirts of the main gangs’ territories – the Skulls in the North, their turf neatly bisected by the North Road; the Animals in the Southeast, their wedge of territory below the East Road, with the Megarena the hub of it’s own little road network; and the Golden Ones, i

Chapter One: A traveller arrives in Old City Now that he was finally here, the dripping man was having second thoughts.  This city, or City, he corrected himself, was too much like what he’d always heard it was like.  All the little nuggets of information he’d gleaned during his incarceration in that place agreed with what was there, spread all around him.  He’d always remembered it the opposite.   The sight of it, he’d been told by those endlessly prodding poking needle-stabbing medics, the sheer greyness of it was enough that you’d poke yourself in the eye just to see a bit

The slow, lazy Languid laid-back Relaxed flames Of the fire With the flue shut, Fuel goes black Embers light up – Glow like mortal Scarlet plutonium, 'Til they're all Consumed, blanched To lifeless useless ash – You can't even lick it like snow. All thus after lighting – Match-flare latches onto the latest Obsolete newspaper, Lingers only briefly before lashing out To bite the kindling, It loves me for Letting it taste The old lumber I have lavished on it For its latest lunch, Laughs with me Wovwovwovwovwov When I lift the handles To let it suck air from The room in which I sit, Watching it warm me Up and liste