Selected Works of A.K. Thorne and His Friends

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Day Thirty-One – Absolutely the Green Frog Bureau, LLC

Godhood of the Infinitesimally Small

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Heat.

It’s what I know as the tunnel widens and the door at the end of this long journey begins to open. It’s the brief end to a long day. Eventful and darkened with the wet sheen of closure, this is the day I become more than a man.

In darkness, I slip away into abodes of phantom clones of my ipseity. In darkness, I find opportunity to slumber.

As quickly as it passes, the day comes again on the orange.

I open my eyes to the low angle sun at perfect angle to beam through the dusty blinds and into my face. I still have blood on my hands. This burlap sack I pulled from the barn is musty; it’s grid is pressed into my face temporarily.

The cicada chorus, the symphony of the Texas Summer, is muted by the water-stained sheetrock of this abandoned house. The trees and…

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Day Thirty – Quality Stock Tips From an Okapi (or, Mr. China Has Seven Splinters)

Godhood of the Infinitesimally Small

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TRecTm5.2218.14.11.x.x

Rprt -22.22.511.5.5.167.3.7.vv.20491

Earth Interplanetary Logistics and Colonization – Robotic Recon Team – Report – Assmt. 17501.R.TR73

|||| BEGIN REPORT ||||

WRECKAGE OF ARTEMIS LANDER : MSN TtnRcn2203 : CONFIRMED

ENVIRONMENT SEALS BROKEN

ID OF FOUR OF FIVE TEAM MEMBERS CONFIRMED

DOCTOR ABRAHAM TOLLE: DECEASED, BLUNT FORCE TRAUMA

PTY OFR RAYMOND GILFREY: DECEASED, CAROTID ARTERY SEVERED

SPCL MICHAEL DONALSON: DECEASED, IMPALED WITH SURVEY APPARATUS

SPCL ADRIANE FULLER: DECEASED, EVIDENCE OF STRANGULATION

CAPT DAVID TEAGUE: UNCONFIRMED

ANOMALOUS DATA FOUND IN DATA RECORDER WITH DATESTAMP AFTER CRASH

SIGNS OF HABITATION POST CRASH

OXYGEN TANKS DEPLETED

LIFE SUPPORT OFFLINE

ALL BIO SPECIMENS DECEASED

DECRYPTION OF DATA RECORDER UNDERWAY

|||| END REPORT ||||

DeskMsg:F:AdJaEvEILC:T:GoGrAdTU2UM

doesn’t make sense, where did this data come from?

decrypt was confirmed. appears it was validly entered from the lander

crazy shit. firestorm here

wtf happened up there?

Baseday 32 | 13:20:08

After my reconnaissance of the…

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Day Twenty-Nine – Papercut Moseby’s Left Withered

Godhood of the Infinitesimally Small

owr

There is darkness and sound–a repetitive thud and scraping of metal. I feel heat radiating around me, and I feel trapped and claustrophobic.

I cannot move my body more than a few inches in any direction. There are walls surrounding me, lined with soft silk. I feel myself pressed against a cushion to my back–laying down perhaps?

I have two hands; this I can sense. Nails have grown to claws, curling a bit, but not quite brittle. I scratch nervously against my thighs. Two legs are there as well, and I can feel that same nail growth cramping what can only be shoes covering my feet.

I manage to slide a hand up to my chest and notice a dress tie, and–

Gold lapel pin, in the shape of a hypercube.

Green and gold silk tie.

Charcoal suit, wide in the shoulders, a bit long, buttoned midriff, shadowy pinstripe.

Crisp…

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Day Twenty-Eight – A Message Written in Mustard Beneath a Park Bench in a Secluded Spot Near the Lake Where Maddie Gantt Found the Possum With the Eye Infection

Godhood of the Infinitesimally Small

kwe

If you were to find yourself so inclined to dive into that mirror, you would likely find me halfway through that diamond maelstrom, regarding you with disdain from some reflective abode – perhaps a corner of shattered glass, an edge, a wink of light among thousands.

That’s what you want, and you know it – a sideways, uncoupled somersault through enough razor edges to render your overeaten flesh to soup. It’s not your body you hate, and let’s get something straight, I don’t hate my body either. This is where we pull apart you and I – me being the voyeur you so desperately want, not touching you, but murdering you with intentions from a far. For all your lovely prose, your unshackled sexual power, your misplaced sense of godhood, I am the woman who can see the string guiding you up that tall, tall ladder in the sky. I…

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Day Twenty-Seven – We Who Are About to Sigh, Salute You

Godhood of the Infinitesimally Small

What follows is a list of things no human knows about me. What follows are instances in the great effluvia of creation in which I have found myself directly in control of God’s hand, like a golf instructor reaches around his student as their hips swing in unison. What you are about to read is a swan dive written in crayon on the bathroom stall of a dilapidated truck stop – the color is cerulean. The next several minutes of your life will be wasted reading this filth as reality squeezes the sphincter of the present and miraculously deposits the glorious future into a room temperature ceramic bowl. These are lies:

When I was three years old, I killed a man with my bare hands. He was a stock broker with a nice flat down on 5th and Turnbull. He had a propensity for bullshit and two kids from a…

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Day Twenty-Six – The Epic and Sudden Fall of the Gant Family

Godhood of the Infinitesimally Small

I estimate one thousand degrees, give or take.

My rear-view mirror sags in the heat, and as I drive I see only my hand gripping the gear stick. My car has become a death trap–-every inch a study in the surface temperature of Mercury.

    I look at the empty pill bottle in the only cupholder not filled with Dum-Dum wrappers, and momentarily I notice the brain-zaps starting again.

 

*

 

The clearance section is a wasteland of garbage. I hate romance. I hate historical fiction and self-help books. I despise cheap fiction, loose sci-fi, vague fantasy–-these shelves are overflowing with the discarded volumes that fit the bill of “shit I wouldn’t waste time touching”.

The aisle is cramped. There are fat people crowding me, pawing at Crichton for a dollar, Brown for three quarters, Sperry’s magical Texas gardening phantasmagoria for your soul, a three dollar copy of Gray’s…

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Day Twenty-Five – Overture for Three Oboes and an Empty Detergent Bottle

Godhood of the Infinitesimally Small

glos

The descent is not so bad as we were told. There is a significant amount of depth to the mental experience of falling from heights above our intended pay range. We have gone beyond the pinnacle of man’s real desire and stopped short of our gods’ coattails. We did not even reach for them, bless us.

I will tell you frankly, it has been a hard climb to the top – from the middle sections, from the depths, wherever each individual started from does not matter. We each took a hand hold above our intended stasis point and lifted our bodies to a point higher. None of us started at weights that would allow this to be an easily managed movement. We are no ants. Our own bodies have grown fat and fruit-full, our greed hanging like fruit from our withered bodies to be picked by our starving comrades in…

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