Aberration Labyrinth ISSN 2179-8805
The Fair-Haired Maiden Lauren Brooks
Where the water meets the rocky shore Of Orkney Bluff next to the ruins, There lies rubble of Selkie lore Where slept great Men, Faye, and Druins Upon the shore in wait; There I’ve hid my skin of fate, Under a distant rock And it shall never talk. My fair-haired maiden, come away with me! To the watery depths of the succulent sea With a Selkie, embraced arm in arm Your seven salty tears will bless our union -and keep you from any harm. Where moonlight dances upon the waves Our reflections gently glisten in glee, And into the night my heart craves The deep blue depths of the sea, Eyes of deep seeded coals Entwined bodies, entwined souls Onward in joyous jubilee; Bodies moving rhythmically Descending the depths of the night, While fleeing the humanly world in fright My eyes are anxious to see. My fair-haired maiden, come away with me! To the watery depths of the succulent sea With a Selkie, embraced arm in arm Your seven salty tears will bless our union -and keep you from any harm. Where the words of men whisper In an ancient Orcadian dialect, The frightful lore doeth stir Leaving men to suspect, Those Selkie men shed their skins And walk confidently upon the land Luring both woman and maiden To commit an unspeakable sin Leaving a scar upon heart and hand -Perpetuating the fear of men. My fair-haired maiden, come away with me! To the watery depths of the succulent sea With a Selkie, embraced arm in arm Your seven salty tears will bless our union
-and keep you from any harm. Reborn into the depths of lore, The fair-haired maiden comes: Nevermore to stand upon a human floor Upon her parent’s heart it grievously strums For, she is now lost to the deep blue sea Never to rejoin her bloody kin With the Selkie folk forever she’ll be -Never again to live among men. The fair-haired maiden, she comes with me! To the watery depths of the succulent sea With a Selkie, embraced arm in arm Your seven salty tears will bless our union -and keep you from any harm.
Author Bio: My name is Lauren Brooks, and I am a creature of the night when I write the succulent words thirsting for freedom. Each word is skillfully crafted in a fleeting moment of suspense and intrigue. Poetry, my one true vise beckons me from the warmth of my bed as my laptop screen illuminates the world of lore and fantasy. With my hot tea (with cream) steaming on one side of my desk, and my tasty Cheerios gracing the other side, I am free to write, expressing the words that cry out under the cloak of darkness.
We Are The Authors of Our Lives Ross Wilcox
Desmond is the cartoon character that recurs in the mad scientist’s life. Desmond will enter the room unannounced while the mad scientist is watching TV and crack a joke, scaring the shit out of him. The mad scientist doesn’t pay Desmond as much attention as he used to, but sometimes he still laughs. Desmond sort of looks like Dick Tracy. He’s very yellow. Sometimes the mad scientist and Desmond have pizza together. He always saves scraps for Derek. Derek is the ghost dog that comes at night when it’s dark and the mad scientist is jerking off. He can’t figure out why he sees the ghost of a dog while he’s jerking off. He worries that he might like the dog as more than a friend. He’s thought about mentioning it to his therapist. But that’ll get you locked up in the loony bin - so says Daisy. Daisy is the headless woman the mad scientist has sex with. He has to pay her, which technically makes her a headless hooker, though he likes to think of her more as someone he can share his subconscious with. Daisy is always nagging the mad scientist to find her a head. “I can’t suck your cock without a head,” she says. But the mad scientist likes putting his fist through the hole where her head should be. It fills him with the sensation of having his hand bitten off by a toothless monster, something he’s always fantasized about.
Brain in a Vat Ross Wilcox
One day, the mad scientist who controls the world suspects that his brain is in a vat, suspended in life-sustaining liquid and connected by wires to a supercomputer which sends electrical impulses identical to those the human brain normally receives. He concludes that it is impossible to tell, from the perspective of his own brain, whether it is actually in his skull or a vat. He decides to see the doctor. When the mad scientist tells the doctor his brain-in-a-vat dilemma, the doctor erupts in laughter. “Everyone’s brain is in a vat, silly,” the doctor says. “But if you really want, I can show you.” The doctor calls in the ultrasound technician. A woman appears and rubs clear goop all over the mad scientist’s head. Then she touches a device that looks like electric clippers to his scalp. A green, grainy image of a brain in a vat appears on the computer screen. The electrode wires attached to his brain look like nipples with spaghetti noodles growing out of them. “That’s you,” the doctor says, pointing to the brain. “You see, a long time ago, a mad scientist took everyone’s brains out of their heads and put them in vats. Now we just live in the world the supercomputer makes for us. We’re already dead! He just unplugs us from the supercomputer!” The doctor climbs on the counter and leaps. He plunges head first into the floor, snapping his neck. “See,” he says, as his eyes roll on the floor, “already dead.”
Author Bio: I'm Ross Wilcox. If there was a way to become immortal, I would sign up in a heartbeat, especially if it involved selling my soul because I don't think we have souls. I don't eat animals. I love basketball. In addition to being stupid, I think church is boring. I just got my MA in English from the University of South Dakota and moved to Fort Worth, Texas with my wife, Sarah.
Force of Nature
Numerology
Jeffry Park
Jeffry Park
Like some anthropomorphic titan of antiquity he laughs into the face of the hurricane, bends, buckles and twists his massive shoulders against the hammering force of the Coriolis-born wind. And he tracks the approach of the trembler and when it comes, meets it with bared teeth and fingers curled into scythes, barely aware of the fast-skittering tornadoes that lace along the ridge of his spine. And he casts himself, limbs spread wide, into the tsunami, battles against the suck and drag, waits for the water to exhaust itself at last and draw back from the sandy seabed beneath, leaving fish to flop around in distress. He grunts dismissively as droughts, famines, multiple plagues of rats, bats, lice and locusts scurry over his frame; spits defiance at greenhouse effects, pandemics, nuclear fallout, cosmic rays, chains of supernovae. Unstoppable, indestructible, hurling asteroids and planet-smashing comets lightly aside, he prowls on through great brooding clouds of dark matter and darker energies, leaving only a faint trail of distinctly masculine pheromones to mark the ferocity of his passage.
Into the Wind Jeffry Park
Spit into the wind and it’ll come right back and smack you in the face. Spit into the wind and the wind spits right in your eye. Suck down, draw back up, roll it, work it, knead it, feel the pressure build – Spit into the wind and you’ll end up coating your cheeks with your own saliva. So why is it exactly that people tell you not to do it?
Happened again when I wasn’t expecting it. Twice. And again this morning, a few minutes after I finished my breakfast while I was making myself another cup of decaffeinated coffee. And just now, and it’s only a bit past 11:00 a.m. Oh. And just now. And now. Jesus, Joseph and Mary, what… couldn’t I just… Whoa… Never mind. Could be worse. Could have happened while I was thinking of you.
Author Bio: Jeffrey Park was born in Baltimore, now lives in Munich, Germany. Within walking distance of a Biergarten, which is very convenient. Doesn't lend money, not to anyone, not ever. Writes poetry, in a lackadaisically intense sort of way. Links to published work at www.scribbles-and-dribbles.com.