Quavering wavelengths

It was oddly bright for how dark everything
was, the contrast was set too high for a dimlit scene;
strange halos glowed from behind each
outline of a shape or motion
or person or physical theme.
Her eyes couldn't seem
to focus and her locus
of control was out of balance
as she bobbed and weaved
like a drunken high sea.
Each surface and corner
in the large room sheened
white and bluegreen,
technical and alien,
shamanwave glitchhouse,
otherworldly in a sense which
was disembodying and dispiriting.

Darkwave

"Latest victim in a string of occultic murders that have left a community desperate for answers.."

"The young man was reportedly a musician with a significant online following, who performed in last year's summerfest.."

"Authorities now saying there is no doubt these incidents are connected and are seeking any information the public may have.."

"'I just don't get it, is this a religious thing? Is it a hate crime? Is it terrorism?'"

"Citizens here understandably shaken by the third gruesome murder in as many days in this normally peaceful area.."

"Members of the FBI, Homeland Security, and other Federal agencies were observed this morning on the scene of last night's grisly killing, marking a change in jurisdiction following public outcry and community leaders leveling claims of incompetence at local law enforcement's failure to gain control of the situation.."

"Please be advised, the following images are graphic, and may not be suitable for some viewers.."

"Officials are still seeking a clear motive in what one law enforcement spokesman described as 'an apparent ritual sacrifice', while the connection between the three victims remains unclear; however, channel 9 does note that all of the victims appear to have been active in the electronic music scene.."

ashwork

snowsurf dampers and maple straw

silten grasp of mossy stone

crackling bone, marrow void

slick to stab of rotten wood

Weird Specters

The narrow mountain road twists uphill between a wooded mountainside and a large lake.  I steady the tires against the rough gravel with my knee as I spit on my sunglasses.  Maybe the odd, splintery light glinting in the outskirts of my eyesight was an effect of the shifting sun passing through tinted glass.  The vaguely colorful specters disappeared momentarily when I put my spit-shined shades back on, only to flare up again a second later, somehow more active and more fleeting, dancing along the perimeters of my vision and consciousness alike in shadowy electric currents.

Light often plays tricks on vision, I said outloud to myself.  I rolled all four of the truck’s windows down hoping a breeze would shake me out of it.  The rush of air filling my truck’s cabin brought in the smell of the lake and my only thought was of turquoise.  In an intoxicating instant the crystalline water grew from inhabiting only part of my attention in the corner of my eye out of the passenger side window, to suddenly being the whole of everything I felt.  The coarse hairs in my nasal cavity and ear canals were suddenly geodic, mineralized, encrusted; tasting deep earth roots.  I knew I wasn’t dying because I wasn’t watching myself from above.  In fact it was the opposite of an out of body experience, because I was completely and timelessly within an iteration of my own stream of consciousness.  I watched soberly as my neurology melted into incoherence, some small shard of my mind struggling to wrest meaning from the experience, the dissolution and rendering of my entire sensory palette, laid at my feet in an inside-out ocean of light.

And the whole time my body just kept driving the truck up the mountain.  The golden dust from my tires was suspended in the air wherever the dappled afternoon sun trickled through the forest canopy.

The radio had always been on, but I wasn’t hearing music.  I was hearing other things I had said, at other times, or in other places, or not at all, just said ‘em inside my head.

la petite fille à Tanger

Please hand over the weapon, Sir.  It's evidence now.

Yeah, of course, here.

You okay?

Yeah I'm fine.  Just need a drink

You got adrenaline pumping.

Yeah.

You know, you're lucky, this knife is just within the parameters of legality.

I know, I specifically bought it for that reason.

Well if it had been a switchblade or a butterfly knife or even a centimeter longer, I'd have to put you in cuffs right now.  I wouldn't have a choice.

Yeah, I know assisted opening knives are illegal here, that's why I had a regular pocketknife.

You know alot about knives, eh?

I was a boy scout.

They teach you how to stab a guy in boy scouts?

Well I was in the army too.

Alright.  I have your information, Sir.  We'll be in touch.

Thanks.

which ccr songs didn't fogerty write?

I can do one hundred things in an hour, or I can do nothing in a day.

midnight at broadway and myrtle

His hand was already grasping the small knife within his right coat pocket. As he pulled it out his thumb and middle finger popped the blade wide with a cold snick.
His right arm half-outstretched between the attacker and himself, his left arm swooped out behind him placing himself between his woman and the threat.

The glint of the mugger's pupils were visible from within the depths of his hood as his eyes shot from the woman over to the knife then back up to its wielder's face with panic. He pivoted and darted away at a full sprint from those he had underestimated.

Once the mugger was lost to the darkness and din, the man turned around toward his woman with a grin.

"Damn, what a rush, uh?"

The woman felt the adrenaline too.

"Yes," she said "that was crazy."