Dog Love

Elevator Operator: It’s Janice’s going away party today. She got a better position upstate, and so tonight they’re having a get together after hours. I already wished her well on the way up. I’m the elevator operator.

Sith the ne Saith: I drop down into my swivel chair, spin to face my desk, blow a small amount of overnight dust off of my headset, and rest the cushioned cups of this aforementioned headset over my ears. Mentally, when the cans go on, the world of mechanical tapping and light conversation is gone, and I feel myself aware of this tape station as though it is a living, thinking creature, all of its parts talking to each other within itself.

Ghosts of Pluto: For outer space missions, each crew member needs to be safe, skilled, and a sociopath. A high regard for safety ensures that a crew will not botch the mission for foolish reasons. A high degree of skill ensures that a crew can accomplish their assignment and can rise to the occasion should other issues arise. Only a sociopath would eagerly strap themselves to a bomb with a chair on it and fly away from everyone and everything they have ever known. For these reasons, androids such as myself are often found among crews, because it is supposed that we are safe, skilled, and sociopathic. Humans are correct in all three of these suppositions. Where they have erred is in giving us a soul like their own in which to wrap these three traits.

Scent Became Flesh: Else leaned forward, her cheek resting between Tsen’s shoulder blades, her arms clasped around his waist, the couple rocking back and forth atop the stallion Rosh, who carried them onward through the windy chilled night. Clumps and ridges of snow remained on a ground that was otherwise composed of frozen mud, brown grass, frigid puddles.

The Tale of Erskine Faern: The Faerns’s cart, stacked tall with barrels of pine syrup, was drawn by a pair of mules. Thomas’s Ma and Da rode on the seat at the front of the cart. Thomas walked alongside. They had come from their farm at the break of dawn that day. As they neared Terreh’s riverport, it was getting into the evening. A woman in white robes with black holy symbols slowly moved from one side of the street to the other, lighting the streetlamps with a candle balanced atop a tall wooden rod.

Sister Shim and the Priestess Om: I sit in the frontmost pew beside Brother Elia, sharing a bottle of wine with him. He is filling my second glass. The sleidr have been groomed and fed, and there is little else to do until dinner. It’s an exceedingly pleasant Fall day. Orange and yellow leaves have blown in through the archway, and the smell of them fills the air. Brother Elia hands my glass back to me. I give it a little raise towards him before having a sip.

Gradient: “...Four, A, nine, nine, two, C, two, F, F, F, F.” There is radio silence for a moment, and then the flight controller’s voice responds: “Authorization code recognized. You are granted permission to approach, Grey Liger. Welcome to Nesoi 12.”

Aliyah, Madeline, Four Candles: The crowd hadn’t even gotten there yet. It was merely the act of setting up to play Radio City Music Hall that made me realize we were not just a successful band—already a miracle—but that we were a big-dick famous band. At first I had wondered whether the stage crew may have already had a long day prior to our arrival, or whether they really were just weirdly inexperienced for such a large venue, because as we worked, they seemed almost perplexed by our fairly normal desire to be a part of arranging the instruments on stage, and doubly perplexed by our fairly normal selection of instruments, and had very mixed reactions on Aliyah’s great dane, Lion, who was bounding around the stage and sniffing things.

Melvin, Lilly, Raspberry Whiskey: Last night I discovered that when I get severely drunk, I do not keep secrets. Previously this had never been a matter of consequence, as I had only ever been severely drunk alone.

Romeo & Juliet: There is beyond the Alps, a town of ancient fame, Whose bright renown yet shineth clear: Verona men it name.

Personal Ghosts: There’s about a mile of now-unused highway where the course of the highway is now directed somewhere else, and where Forager now likes to lead me when we go out on walks so that we have a wide, clear, long open space to play fetch. He’s a white lab, though only his height and the shape of his head give this away: his body and legs show off long white hair which always ripples backwards as though perpetually moving forward through water.

Two Knights: What is that man doing? one had asked in pre-dawn, and another had asked in the morning’s bright hours.

Blue Guitar: Mrs Michaels stepped into the pawn shop off the highway, and was greeted by a rush of air conditioning and the chime of a digital bell sounding over the door. Looking around the brightly-lit space, there were rows of DVDs, a bunch of power tools in the back, a wall of various VCRs and other TV accoutrements, and, hanging on the wall behind the glass counter full of jewelry, there was what she had come here for: a selection of electric guitars. As Mrs Michaels began making her way there, a clerk poked his head up from one of the DVD aisles. “Help you find anything?”

IGRA PRC: My name is Lyn. I like to go on walks. I’m working on learning how to do art, but, to say my doodles are uh, childish, would still be pretty generous, they’re still bad, I’m still learning. I chew on sticks. And, I am literally undead, although I don’t mention it to most people.

What Else Was There Had We Forsaken The Pleasure Of This Shared Life?: “Neeehehehehe,” Jeremy giggled, finishing making a continuous scissors cut all the way across the cushions of the couch in the center of the living room.

Chicks in Space! #101: “Pilot”: A jet-like space ship is flying through space. Hang on an establishing shot, showing the space ship, and ambient pressure clicks and creaks and air flowing as the craft maintains its atmosphere.

Wish Knots: Zadam squinted out of the mouth of the tunnel, looking at the cable which swung in the wind, suspended from this cliff face to the next across the vast canyon. The whitecap waves churned far below, and the clouds themselves were in a hurry. Once in a while, the wind cut around to face the mouth of the tunnel head-on, and Zadam’s loose-fitting garments all fanned out as though he were some exotic bird affronted. He was glad for the cap he had brought, with the flaps on the sides that drooped down to protect the ears, and the little knit ropes that he tied off under his chin.

Gondola: The city then was criss-crossed with canals like the wrinkles of skin on the back of a finger, and abundant in flooded plazas where canoes and swimmers paddled about.

C.O.A.S.T.: We woke up from a nap that evening, the kind of nap where you have plummeted into your deepest abandoning of consciousness, not a gallop over to sleeping and back without stopping, but sauntering over and staying, sniffing prolongedly at the clovers of dissociation, the saplings of demented all intense dream, and only pulled out back to the waking world as though we were a heavy tree being dragged by chains.

Basement Lounge Night: “She has no idea what she’s doing right now.”

Wicked Talents: I could be making it up. He should not trust me. But I am learning today that I exude a very trustworthy aura—more-so than is always warranted. He asks, “So, what the hell happened? What do they think you did?”

Treat, Jack, Halcateon: That week we stayed at a hotel, all paid for by the apartment while they were doing some ridiculous fumigating, stands out in my mind. I don’t know why. But at least once every day, when I am picturing her, that’s where I still see her.

Taste Became Bones: Juliet held Mistake’s collar in a fist as the two of them marched through the verdant woods.

Night Crew: Denver and Ana were the night crew at Portcullis 77 in The Grand Partition. A somewhat busy post during the summer, but now that the ice had well and solidly set in for the year, Portcullis 77 was just about the most desolate post in existence.

Glow 1998CE + lovedogs: It is hard to imagine that Marc Thal expected anything resembling commercial success with this album, but, in the wake of his co-songwriter’s death in a motor vehicle accident, Marc’s bandmates expressed that he often reached to places that had hitherto been unconventional. Never before, and rarely since, have we seen themes of romance in Thal’s work, let alone overt sexuality. Glow, from the year 1998, stands out as being candid as candid can be, not only for the band, but as far as musical statements in general.

Yeoman Kit Colony: Everything feels like dog. I’m in bed, in a perfectly dark room: my only available senses are smell, sound, touch, taste, gravity, and time.