Story words of the week: analysis | diamond | sky | pig | grocery | chair | holograph | armpit | watermelon | slippers | wheels | hay

Ever had one of those days where you’ve been submerged in a swamp of work, on repeat, till you’ve forgotten what to do with the day off that followed the emergency button your subconscious mind slam dunked.

My mind is rusty from the excessive autopilot mode. The fight or flight way of living grounded so deep into pits of my my canal I froze in the headlights of conscious self.

What was the point of food idolization? A pastel coloured instagram theme? A 70hr/week work schedule to escape to? A hot link to a movie site when you are just reluctant to start straight into the showers after work? A pathetic excuse of a non-attendance email to your daily duties? A sunday off to the mountains when you can’t even enjoy the scenery without understanding you have 2 hours to go till you need to drive back to the city?


“Toto, I have a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore.”

Toto shifted her ankles to the right side of her heavy oak chair and grunted halfheartedly. Pumped full with nicotine dreams, it did not mean much to her anymore whether or not the view from the back of her neck is a green screen of the local picturesque pond from or fuzzed out sheets on a broken mattress.

“Get the munchies before the munchies get to you.” she said, lost in the hologram pieced together by society and insecurities.

Only two nights ago did she experienced a nauseating episode from up the water tower after making the mistake of peering down into the dark petrol green sea of leather wrapped trees. She imagined being swallowed by the branches and yet at the same time, unwilling to walk out, in fear of the prosecution that awaits at the end of the lane. Like witnessing unrelenting snowflakes accumulating on a frozen lake, perhaps it was better to just stay submerged in the water on the other side of the glazed crystal.


Why, I wish that strife would vanish away from among gods and mortals,
and gall, which makes a man grow angry for all his great mind,
that gall of anger that swarms like smoke inside of a man’s heart
and becomes a thing sweeter to him by far than the dripping of honey.’

– Homer, The Illiad (18. 107-110)

In the depths of Achilleus’s dream space, it was known his hatred was too well hatred for himself. And the indifferent view I have of my window was nothing but grey and white noise of a path that inversed its existence after spring has left. I was told to surface at my own pace, but the abyss stared into my back and I’ve broke the water surface with my left ventricle plague by embolism. When will kindred spirits decode the cityscape through my window? When will one particular amalgam of universe dust decode the cityscape through my window?

What is glory if she chose to be happy, like diamonds in the sky?

“I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell’s fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan’s men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you’d return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)”

– Mad Girl’s Love Song, Sylvia Path

I think it all seeps through, like coming into the room soaked in summer thunder. I step through the wood boards as plant oils and the chemical compound geosmin vaporizes with my footsteps.

Cloud Speed

I think she has been hiding something all these years.

She has a twin, hauntingly real. She is warm when she is defensive, soft when she swallowed pain, but she is not young. She hopes like silent sun rays.

The faceless features she clutched between her palms in the dark, he was bright like her too. It was only her who can see his light. Where is your face?

The rays were not blinding but she smells the dew spreading down her eyes in the dark. Heart on cloud speed and he shimmers like an unstable star, far but close enough for you to witness his existence.

It is a thin gold band, there will be white laces. There will be no one in the room but one shimmering star.

But where is your face?

Press down

on and across

the arch

with her thumb.

The angle traced into memory. They shared one same trance, anytime and everywhere.

So there will be windows, garden, kitchen, little hers and little hims.

In vitro meat and cannibalism

A whole new level of air, and its grit.

Lagrangian Republican Association

As the regular reader will know, we of Republic of Lagrangia are quite enthusiastic about in vitro meat. For non-regular readers, in-vitro meat is meat cultured outside the body of an animal, mostly in a lab. In order to do this, scientists have to collect stem cells from, for instance, a cow, which can be done though a biopsy. Since this does not require to kill the donor, some people consider in vitro meat as a more ethical alternative for regular meat.

Theoretically there no restriction on what animals can be used as potential donor for stem cells for the production of in vitro meat. Even meat from exotic or endangered species could be produced cheaply in this way. Practical considerations as availability of donor animals, and the demand for certain types of meat, will determine which meat will be produced.

There is no inherent reason why human stem…

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