Jeremy Schwach was born in 2029 in the sunny multicultural Revenants, an only child. His father, a member of the Praetorian Guard turned Masonric Corp engineer, wanted a better life for the family so he moved the family up the Messipi River to the very poor Port Town, in 2035; because Mid-Atlantic and Appalachian Mountain tectonic plate convergent zones caused subduction impossible to mitigate, or, in some cases, even to live with. Sea levels rose covering the Carolinas to the eastern city-states and inland to I-95.Â The east coast water is completely toxic with unknown quantities of sewage, fuel, and industrial chemicals, which have killed all sea life; vandals have lit the surface slicks on fire; Boston burned until 2016. Every coastal city-state suffered losses in the eighty to ninety percent range. The loss of 15% of its territory to the ocean, the loss of some of the most populated, symbolic, and valuable coastal city-states reduced the NAU to a loose collection of anarchist city-states. The government of the NAU relocated to Arapahoe, becoming buildings full of ineffective men and women, lacking a treasury, an organized military, a reliable communications system. Continue reading “Common Disaster”
I stood, dressed in a vintage 50/50 Merc-Tile shirt and Adidas track pants, in front of my leather lined full length mirror, holding both outfits critiquing for all flaws or compliments; examining and modifying for the best narrative. The first was J. Crew dark jeans, blue Gant Rugger cardigan, denim grey colored shirt by Band of Brothers, and Ralph Lauren shoes. The second outfit was all Sean John: a brown leather racing jacket, black crewneck sweater, dark vintage wash jeans, and white shelltop shoes.
It had been two years since Ian Jimenez; four years since ending with Jeremy Schwach. I believed they were different, but they weren’t. Both smiled to confuse, while I talked; they were egocentric, but I thought myself unique. They were cowards asking opinions like collecting pebbles, demanding emotional risks from others. I expected others to provide answers I was not willing to discover; I read greedily choosing pieces of others’ ideas to get through situations with a minimal guilt. To help with this delusion conversations and gestures were considered foreign languages to be deciphered. I had dated but remained perpetually single, only selecting those that were unavailable either emotionally, physically, or by lifestyle; there was no risk of fault or blame when everything went wrong; I only wanted the appearance of trying, that way people felt sympathy. “Dating is difficult,” they’d say and stop asking questions, so I could stay safe by not including anything that wasn’t previously established.
Pentapolis of the Valley’s number one vagabond dancehall is Etica, populated by the alienated, underweb-hackers, punks and clubbers equally.
The exterior of Etica is an uncomplicated warehouse, like any in Noex along Wuthering Canal. The area began as an extension of Parkfront, which had been a vacation spot until it was overtaken by the 1899 formation of Landing Alley, the Valley’s main shopping district.
Underneath the dancehall are large drainages, returning water from the end of the alley-canals. The mini-waterfalls were loud enough to be heard on the other side of the dancehall, where the line formed at the door of the once abandoned building. It was originally constructed between 1843 and 1846, acting as a distribution for dry goods, and turned into a taxi depot in the 1930s. It remained a depot until it was gutted by a fire in the 1960s. Afterwards, the space was occupied by a seafood restaurant, a movie theatre, a dance school, and a bagel shoppe before being foreclosed during the recession of 2011. Artistes and hackers made the warehouse their home and park during the years the building was foreclosed. The hackers decorated the main floor with neon graffiti espousing integration with the underweb. In 2014 the squatter groups worked together to collect technology, drugs, and experiences to create a 24/7/365 model of communal vagabond culture. The two social groups hybridized into a new caste of vagabonds, state identified as citizens lacking education, employment, or training – CLEET. They see the future as currency, founded in a belief in amalgamation leads to a better whole. Vagabonds believe the future belongs to them, that they do not have to adhere to a median standard life. Vagabonds spread their ideology by utilizing The Stream, further cultivating a sub-culture and style that capitalized in their outsider status. Then in 2043 FETCH magazine did a holiograph expose, “Harbingers of the Future,” on the original CLEET graffiti, bringing to attention of a capitalist who saw its appeal as a vagabond dancehall, a utopia of meaningful fun.
[For The Compete Short Story Click the PDF Below]
I first read Caitlin R. Kiernan’ Silk on a train ride returning to college freshman year. Her usage of words and compounding nouns to colors creating imagery pulled upon collective memory to produce emotion was angry, hurt, and younger version of the Southern Gothic Writers (Toni Morrison and Carson McCullers) I enjoyed. Her frustrated with life’s reality had reflected my own by this point. With that book, and all the followed, Caitlin R. Kiernan became a writer whose books I purchased, on the strength of previous work, on release day.
Like all the characters in Silk I wanted more from life, to achieve the dreams that I dreamt for my grown-up self. In my first reading, the weight of pain of characters’ life was lost upon me because I was still in the midst of my own and was unable to identify it. The pain that characters radiated bloomed from their queerness, their ability to perceive and reconfigure the world so that it reflects their identity. While Kiernan was able to infuse the characters with knowledge of their uniqueness, I was still constructing mine and so did not see that my lack of knowledge was the source of my repressed anger.
With the success of the first Huxian collection, Dorian found further success with an academic critique and over-view about C.R. Kiernan in 2057. That same year he signed a second contract with Tileal Publishing for more Babalon’s War collections. Dorian found it difficult to begin further fiction writing, and turned to additional article and essay writings. To distract himself, early the following year Dorian left for Huxia to collect inspiration and to begin work on a second coffee book he had decided to curate.
In Huxia, and its island territories, Dorian became interested in the neo-esoteric movement, Rejenys, which had gained momentum following the Man from Megalith’s arrival. Dorian detailed his conversion to the growing fringe religion through a series of bi-weekly essays for Ego’s Own, which renewed his fictional inspiration.
Upon returning home Dorian was met with a large protest of Malthusians, who decried his conversion to Rejenys. As a reaction to his persecution and malignment, Dorian’s bi-weekly essays began dangerously critiquing the Malthusian based governing laws. While Dorian’s essays and articles had brought political inquiry to his citizenship, his openly espousing an opposing religious doctrine brought Dorian harassment from The Watch, the Malthusian Commission’ public security force. To escape government surveillance Dorian took sanctuary in the nearest Holy Garden, The Magnolia Orchard.
Dorian dated DJ Jeremy Schwach, while having an affair with noted painter Ian Jimenez. While dating Jeremy, Dorian’s Langham apartment became a Saturday evening gathering place for vanguards in arts and letters. Admittance into Dorian’s salon was a sought-after validation, and became combination mentor, critic, and guru to those who gathered around him.
After Jeremy learned about Dorian’s affair, he moved on and began dating Ian. Shortly afterward Dorian’s name came out as a former associate of the underground social club Blithedale. Dorian turned his time with Blithedale into the novel Vagabond’s Ways, which was met by critical acclaim. The novel presented readers with the outre challenge of piecing together the history of an unconventional polygamous experience, far removed from social and political expectations. Despite detailing experiences outside of readers’ experiences Vagabond’s Ways’ popularity caught Tilael Publishing unprepared. Dorian’s success overshadowed Ian Jimenez’s painting career that to had sputtered due to political controversy. Eventually the stress of divergent career trajectories led to their break-up, which Dorian responded to by throwing himself into work at Ego’s Own. For the next two years Dorian curated a collection of autobio-graphic fiction by Huxia artists, which detailed the effects of the Genesis Revolution on them and their culture.
Occupation: Writer, Junior Editor
Dorian Iacchus was born in the City of Flowers to creative parents. His father was an architect who owned the third largest architecture firm; his mother was a classically trained dancer and teacher. Dorian spent his childhood and early life in Vargaria and Huxia, where his parents converted to Anthrosophiscal Society. At 17 he began working as an artist’s model. While attending Aerynd University he appeared in final project student films. At the Waterfront Annex’s graduating show Dorian Iacchus’ critical short story cycle, Snow, yielded a publishing contract with Tilael Publishing.
Rather than go home after graduation, Dorian moved into the Langham building, amongst vagabonds, ecchi, socialists, and anarchists who encouraged playing with sexuality and sexual roles.
In 2053 Dorian met Edna Millay, editor-in-chief of e-periodical Ego’s Own, at philo-café Freethought, who introduced him to a circle of writers and thinkers; often times meeting at dancehall, occupying a table all evening. As a free-lancer for Ego’s Own, Dorian turned down assignments, earning a reputation for being difficult. Yet, for what was accept he received notoriety, earning a junior editorial position. There he edited, become friends with, and in some cases lover to leading literary and artistic figures
Pentapolis of the Valley thrust upward, a giant needle in the landscape seeming inspired by the ancient secrets of the Acadian Mountains to the east and west. Its buildings looked thrown together, chance addresses and materials amassed in one place and called a city; a shame that the city hadn’t been more planned out in its growth; there were some provisions for modernity. Several choice main roads that formed a grid across the city were paved over for car usage, the rest remained cobblestone; a monstrous ribcage across the city. The most drastic changes to architecture ended about a century and a half ago, back with the Great Depression’s onslaught.
It was originally founded in November 8, 1803, on a one-hundred-acre tract of land between the Anapos River and MacLir River, in the Acadian Mountains. The site was chosen because of three cataracts on the left half of the Anapos River, offering great potential for water power. As well they could utilize the Anapos and MacLir River, and built Wuthering Canal to connect the two rivers – preparing to build a shipping titan. In 1817, the Masonric brothers, of Masonric Corps., and other landowners joined with the Hundred Acre Tract to form the Hamlet of Gamoyra. Also in 1823, the Wuthering Canal between Anapos River and MacLir River was completed, and the North Exchange linking east to the Atlantic Ocean was opened. By 1830, Sidume population was 9,200 and in 1834, it was re-chartered as a city.
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Soon there will be many things not seen today, but appear as though they are.
There once was a golden two-tailed kitsune with cranberry eyes, which came across a Pylur temple and its young farmer-monk. She watched him from atop a nearby cliff, behind a fallen tree, her two tails rustling the fallen leaves behind her. The cranberry-eyed kitsune waited until a few evenings had passed, and it was raining, before approaching the ancient Pylur temple. She approached as a beautiful young woman, her hair of an unusual blonde with cranberry eyes. Her kimono was dove white and darkened to ebony at the bottom, with gold thread for trim. She knocked on the temple’s undecorated wooden doors, and the monk answered. The Pylur monk indeed was attractive with an even open face and his hair chignon. His robes were green in honor of Tǖf.
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6989 – The Sunshine Kimono