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Saturday, October 24, 2009

armed to the teeth with LIPSTICK:24.

by Blag Dahlia


CHAPTER 24: ELEVEN YEARS DEAD





Ten jags of powdered coffee later, I'm back on my flophouse bed with a mad dagger in my soul. Perusal of the radio yielded nothing with a backbeat. The room smelled of spilled rum and synthetic coke, mildew and bat's piss. I'd paced the carpet until I'd left footprints.

Why had Suzy-Q and those two-bit punks vanished like dinosaurs in a tar-pit, and how could she have gone so wrong, so fast? And where did Natasha fit into the equation? I was sure she was dead. As dead as this planet I'd thought I could trip on, this extra-terrestrial void with a bad case of chicken malaise.

Polluted was Earth was though, my head was that much dirtier. I heard a sound like an Edsel hovercraft and a crash through the window brought my drunken reverie to a screeching halt.

A kid about eleven years dead was lying on my floor in a pool of blood and broken glass. He said from the speckled linoleum --

"Don't move or I'll blow your fukking gourd off! Gimme all your money."

"Money? I'm a cop."

"Then give me two tickets to the Policeman's Ball."

Every slacker's a comic on this godforsaken orb. I checked out his arms. He had track marks the size of golf tees and a homemade tattoo of E=mc2. The plot got so thick I could eat it on crackers.

"We're on the 99th floor, Pee-Wee. How come you're crashing my window party?"

"The Space-Lady gave me a shot."

"Space-Lady?"

"Yeah, she's really neat. She's got a pet midget and he made the whole Sunday School disappear!"

Faust, that little he-goat. I'd noticed when the kid had smashed through the window that something had fallen out of his pocket. I picked it up and peeped an ad for a show going on that night at Pederast's place, the Mars Bar. The poster showed a bunch of guys with pancake make-up and high heeled shoes on. I gathered that this was what they called rock 'n' roll now and it turned my stomach.

"You gonna make this freak scene, squirt?"

"Yeah, everybody's going. Everybody who's anti-body."

"Alright Tarzan, the stairs are out the door and to your left. Now scram."

"I'll take the elevator copper," he said dramatically, and dropped like a nickel balloon.

In space no one hears you scream. Of course, on Earth it's a little bit different. My mind drifted back to the end of the last chapter.

The Intercourse Barn? Be still my snaking hard.



Click here for
CHAPTER 25: THE INTERCOURSE BARN

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Archive of Stories
and Authors

Callum Leckie's
THE DIGITAL DECADENT


J.R. Torina's
ANTHROPOPHAGUS


J.R. Torina's
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Sean Padlo's
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Sean Padlo's
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Sean Padlo's exact whereabouts
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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
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to only be possible by being
able to manipulate it from
the future. His presence
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of wonder deep in our solar plexus.


Konstantine Paradias & Edward
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Konstantine Paradias's
SACRI-FEES

Konstantine Paradias is a writer by
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Romanian, German, Dutch and
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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
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Edward Morris's
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Edward Morris's
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Edward Morris is a 2011 nominee for
the Pushcart Prize in literature, has
also been nominated for the 2009
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His short stories have been published
over a hundred and twenty times in
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Tim Fezz's
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Tim Fezz's
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waves and people's minds in the
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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
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He also teaches online Literature
courses for Colorado Technical
University. His writing appears
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Other Worlds, Wrapped in Plastic
and The Daily Breeze. His work
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Daily Flash 2012, Daily Frights
2012, An Island of Egrets and
Timeless Voices. His collection
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Phoenix's
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Phoenix has enjoyed writing since he
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Phoenix has written over sixty books,
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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-
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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
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Adam Bolivar's
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Adam Bolivar is an expatriate Bostonian
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won the Rhysling Award for long-form
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Sanford Meschkow's
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We welcome him here on the FREE-
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Owen R. Powell's
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Gene Stewart
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Daniel José Older's
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Daniel José Older's
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Paul Stuart's
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Rain Grave's
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Blag Dahlia's
armed to the teeth
with LIPSTICK


BLAG DAHLIA is a Rock Legend.
Singer, Songwriter, producer &
founder of the notorious DWARVES.
He has written two novels, ‘NINA’ and
‘ARMED to the TEETH with LIPSTICK’.


G. Alden Davis's
THE FOLD


G. Alden Davis wrote his first short story
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writing scholarship for the effort. Soon
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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
25 published games to his credit. Mr. Davis
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
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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
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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
emanations. My grub brother always
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of this old world taught him. We
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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
led our way and the wilderness
transformed into a sanctuary.
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which continues being woven to
this very day. It's the same old
story about how we all were in
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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Nigel Strange's
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