1. Beginning

You have a civilization! It doesn’t matter which one—let’s say it’s modern Western civilization. It’s got fast food and sporting events, which is all you really need. Western technology gives you great military power—you have fantastic unstoppable tanks, and heat-seeking missiles to keep you safe. It’s a good place to start.

You could also have chosen a remote aboriginal tribe in the center of Australia—one with nuts and berries, and spears and ropes. Or you could have chosen Communist China, or that group of scientists living in Antarctica. … MORE »

We’re mixing punch when he asks us about scars.

“Everyone has at least one,” our guest says.  “They’re always good stories, too.”

I look at my wife, who shrugs.  She adds spoonfuls of orange sherbet to the crystal bowl of cranberry-champagne.  The party has splintered into different rooms, a handful of people in each, talking of unusual weather and accomplished children.  My wife ladles the punch into faceted glasses.  I envy her sleeveless gown; I’m sweating in my dress shirt, even in our drafty Victorian home.  Neither of us knows this guest.  He came with someone else, we’re sure, but we don’t remember who.  He’s of medium height and wears a well-tailored suit.  He might be a decade younger than I, or older.  He looks like someone we ought to know, or have forgotten.… MORE »

It’s a jungle in the office here, with all the administrators in heat.  They’re mating with the photocopiers and producing children born for office work.  Dull, duplicate grayfaces attached to each other–they know the horrors of office work, but they were bred to it.  Their fathers raised them suckling on espresso in plastic-nippled bottles.  Softly the photocopiers whisper a legend:  Espresso Nipples are a popular drink at the strip club.  You pay a stripper twenty bucks and she shoots espresso from her nipples into your mouth.… MORE »

Hi, and welcome to Sessumian Consensual Chef, the cooking show for spiritual purists! I’m your host, Safassi, and this is my lovely assistant, Suratha. We’ll show you the best in Sessumian cuisine—and as always, we guarantee that our recipes are chemical-free. No biting. No fighting. No hypno-enzymes injected into the prey what-so-ev-er—and that’s a promise.… MORE »

Oh, the watercooler jug? Yeah, I get some questions about that. Not a lot of visitors here in my office, but most people notice it right away. It reminds me how important plumbing skills are. Never know when they’ll save Halloween. Or your life.

It happened last year. I’d come into the office early, because I was on deadline—and a month behind on bills. To make things worse, my girlfriend had the flu, and I’d promised to be there by 5 to take her boys trick-or-treating. So here I was in the men’s restroom, at 7:30 on Halloween morning. I shook out a few drops, zipped my pants, and went to the sink. It’s one of those two-faucet deals with handles on each side and a wide central spigot. I turned the cold water tap.… MORE »

The problem is that I’ve been here long enough to start dying. I lost two fingers last week. They fell off while I was sleeping. I found them next to my pillow in the morning, and put them in a shoebox with my big toe.
—in Heliotrope (2007)

Because it’s not every day you experience death. Only every three months.
—in Helix (2007), also Transcriptase (2008)

Emotion crept into my voice. “I want to meet the Om. I want to know what they look like, and how they think. Are they like us, or unimaginably different? I want to know.”
—in COSMOS (2007)