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Wednesday, September 30, 2009

the Golden Third Eye

by K.B. Updike, Jr.


of the united minds
of a medieval role playing environment
went about plotting the downfall of
*
blue panda |;p
*
There was a great man, in the sense of property,
by the seashore pondering times past.
Relaxing in old age, smoking a banana flavored cigar.
Recliner chair, waves tickling his feet, beer spattered
across his naked chest.

There was a great man, in the sense of experience,
pondering the usefulness of barbaric past lives
to the trials of the sweetness of the present.
Middle class, he fed on energy bars
and energy gum.
He was fat and black
and owned seven women
and one manservant.

The crackling Third Eye
of the legion of demons & angels,
ghosts, shape shifters, blood fetishists,
imaginary friends & beings,
an astral virus seeping
into the astral virus.

Gargoyles guarded the doors in the
chat room text-shooting thru:

[GregJeevzs] Was holding a glass of milk to his lips ponderously.
His energy detected the presence of a lycanthrope.
He hated the wolves. He was surrounded.

[Kryslar] Chugged whiskey. Chugged a lot of whiskey.

[AniseSouth] Tapped his foot, anticipating the dragon's entrance...

cartoon man
zipped into
comic book pages
gathering the
ninjas and samurai,
drawing the
cactus spikes
delivered to
murder plot

astral eyes,
he pulled
the divided
into astral paradise and read hindu scripture
arbitrarily pre-recorded hindu scripture

There was no great man, in the sense of spiritual attainment.
Medieval mountains bled into modern day living,
Jebediah had seen the past three seconds sustainably.

Memories of fictional characters meditated
within the folds of the psyche,
conjuring the energy to counter.

Fat Frank shook a flopping wad of soft potato
as his eyes became the plague flies.

His potato fell and he tranced out,
vision divided into three million insect perspectives.

It was his style of conjuring.

Diseases invented by the governments of the world
spread thru the plague flies.

The War to Conquer.

The language
unfolded
upon the pages of a book
unfolded the language of the desert sage who was
the forest bear dancer.

The man of property was
hit upon the head
by
a
soft
rock.

The man of experience committed sins too terrible for American consciences.

The unifying third eye of the city dwellers healed
the sickness inflicted by an enemy tribe.

They carried upon their backs,
The joyous tribesmen,
the weight of the whole
of the city.

Machinery calculated to eat holes into the spell
of binding inflicted by the radio,
virtual reality
& hacker kabbalah

Drin eldwich
and his rapist body double
entered my dreams
and jacked into a
yellow flow,
the urinary tract
of ultimate power.

A frequency had been unleashed
to awaken the madness of the frog people.

Anyone with moles on the body,
especially in great number,
was likely descended from
the human-frog people experiments.

It was wondered why the frog people
waged war on the humans,
the humans of little ill will,
who kept to themselves,
ate ice cream,
and drank beer.

There was a great man, in the sense of belly.
Santa
-Clause:
brought `round presents from
every corner of the planet,
carried he a sack o' toys,
jiggled his belly did.

A great man in merriment, in kindness, in magic.

The factory produced tulips

in great quantity.

The tulips were watered by piss,

a black heart of a sun nourished the tulips.

The tulip factory spit out baskets full

of

maggots.
They crawled upon their stomachs,
haunted by the shadow of the hellcrow

where they spit poison,

exploded into
noxious fumes
lungs withered to pieces

and terrorists pretending to be Christians killed everyone.






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Archive of Stories
and Authors

Callum Leckie's
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J.R. Torina's
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J.R. Torina's
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J.R. Torina was DJ for Sonic Slaughter-
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Slaughterhouse Records (metal record
label), and was proprietor of The Abyss
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behind Scapegoat (an ambient-tribal-
noise-experimental unit). THE HOUSE
IN THE PORT is his first publication.

Sean Padlo's
NINE TENTHS OF THE LAW

Sean Padlo's
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Sean Padlo's exact whereabouts
are never able to be fully
pinned down, but what we
do know about him is laced
with the echoes of legend.
He's already been known
to haunt certain areas of
the landscape, a trick said
to only be possible by being
able to manipulate it from
the future. His presence
among the rest of us here
at the freezine sends shivers
of wonder deep in our solar plexus.


Konstantine Paradias & Edward
Morris's HOW THE GODS KILL


Konstantine Paradias's
SACRI-FEES

Konstantine Paradias is a writer by
choice. At the moment, he's published
over 100 stories in English, Japanese,
Romanian, German, Dutch and
Portuguese and has worked in a free-
lancing capacity for videogames, screen-
plays and anthologies. People tell him
he's got a writing problem but he can,
like, quit whenever he wants, man.
His work has been nominated
for a Pushcart Prize.

Edward Morris's
ONE NIGHT IN MANHATTAN


Edward Morris's
MERCY STREET

Edward Morris is a 2011 nominee for
the Pushcart Prize in literature, has
also been nominated for the 2009
Rhysling Award and the 2005 British
Science Fiction Association Award.
His short stories have been published
over a hundred and twenty times in
four languages, most recently at
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SUPERPOW! anthology, and The
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and is also a regular guest author at
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Tim Fezz's
BURNT WEENY SANDWICH

Tim Fezz's
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waves and people's minds in the
underground with his band OLD
FEZZIWIG. He's been known to
dip his razor quill into his own
blood and pen a twisted tale
every now and again. We are
delighted to have him onboard
the FREEZINE and we hope
you are, too.

Daniel E. Lambert's
DEAD CLOWN AND MAGNET HEAD


Daniel E. Lambert teaches English
at California State University, Los
Angeles and East Los Angeles College.
He also teaches online Literature
courses for Colorado Technical
University. His writing appears
in Silver Apples, Easy Reader,
Other Worlds, Wrapped in Plastic
and The Daily Breeze. His work
also appears in the anthologies
When Words Collide, Flash It,
Daily Flash 2012, Daily Frights
2012, An Island of Egrets and
Timeless Voices. His collection
of poetry and prose, Love and
Other Diversions, is available
through Amazon. He lives in
Southern California with his
wife, poet and author Anhthao Bui.

Phoenix's
AGAIN AND AGAIN

Phoenix has enjoyed writing since he
was a little kid. He finds much import-
ance and truth in creative expression.
Phoenix has written over sixty books,
and has published everything from
novels, to poetry and philosophy.
He hopes to inspire people with his
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about our world and the universe.
Phoenix lives in Salt Lake City, Utah,
where he spends much of his time
reading books on science, philosophy,
and literature. He spends a good deal
of his free time writing and working
on new books. The Freezine of Fant-
asy and Science Fiction welcomes him
and his unique, intense vision.
Discover Phoenix's books at his author
page on Amazon. Also check out his blog.

Adam Bolivar's
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Adam Bolivar's
THE DEVIL & SIR
FRANCIS DRAKE



Adam Bolivar's
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Adam Bolivar is an expatriate Bostonian
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and currently resides in Portland, Oregon
with his beloved wife and fluffy gray cat
Dahlia. Adam wears round, antique glasses
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utilizing to great effect a traditional
poetic form that taps into the haunted
undercurrents of folklore seldom found
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His poetry has appeared on the pages
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REALMS and BLACK WINGS OF
CTHULHU, and a poem of his,
"The Rime of the Eldritch Mariner,"
won the Rhysling Award for long-form
poetry. His collection of weird balladry
and Jack tales, THE LAY OF OLD HEX,
was published by Hippocampus Press in 2017.


Sanford Meschkow's
INEVITABLE

Sanford Meschkow is a retired former
NYer who married a Philly suburban
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lished in a 1970s issue of AMAZING.
We welcome him here on the FREE-
ZINE of Fantasy and Science Fiction.


Owen R. Powell's
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Noetic Vacations marks his first
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Gene Stewart
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GROUND PORK


Gene Stewart's
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Gene Stewart is a writer and artist.
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Daniel JosΓ© Older's
GRAVEYARD WALTZ


Daniel JosΓ© Older's
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the collection Sunshine/Noir, and is
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Paul Stuart's
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Consider writing him at paul@twilightlane.com,
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Rain Grave's
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Blag Dahlia's
armed to the teeth
with LIPSTICK



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He has written two novels, ‘NINA’ and
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G. Alden Davis's
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G. Alden Davis wrote his first short story
in high school, and received a creative
writing scholarship for the effort. Soon
afterward he discovered that words were
not enough, and left for art school. He was
awarded the Emeritus Fellowship along
with his BFA from Memphis College of Art
in '94, and entered the videogame industry
as a team leader and 3D artist. He has over
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is a Burningman participant of 14 years,
and he swings a mean sword in the SCA.
He's also the best friend I ever had. He
was taken away from us last year on Jan
25 and I'll never be able to understand why.
Together we were a fantastic duo, the
legendary Grub Bros. Our secret base
exists on a cross-hatched nexus between
the Year of the Dragon and Dark City.
Somewhere along the tectonic fault
lines of our electromagnetic gathering,
shades of us peel off from the coruscating
pillars and are dropped back into the mix.
The phrase "rest in peace" just bugs me.
I'd rather think that Greg Grub's inimitable
spirit somehow continues evolving along
another manifestation of light itself, a
purple shift shall we say into another
phase of our expanding universe. I
ask myself, is it wishful thinking?
Will we really shed our human skin
like a discarded chrysalis and emerge
shimmering on another wavelength
altogether--or even manifest right
here among the rest without their
even beginning to suspect it? Well
people do believe in ghosts, but I
myself have long been suspicious
there can only be one single ghost
and that's all the stars in the universe
shrinking away into a withering heart
glittering and winking at us like
lost diamonds still echoing all their
sad and lonely songs fallen on deaf
eyes and ears blind to their colorful
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of our comfort zones to awaken
the terror in our minds and keep
us on our toes deep in the forest
in the middle of the night. The owls
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transformed into a sanctuary.
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which continues being woven to
this very day. It's the same old
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this together and how each and
every one of us is also going away
someday and though it will be the far-
thest we can manage to tell our own
tale we may rest assured it will be
continued like one of the old pulp
serials by all our friends which survive
us and manage to continue
the saga whispering in the wind.

Shae Sveniker's
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Shae is a poet/artist/student and former
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Nigel Strange's
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Nigel Strange lives with his wife and
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