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the abandonment of cruelty
the green children
the vicar of megatokyo | 1 | 2
thrice great hermes
bwhah @ fwc, portland
xenomorphs @ fwc, portland
katamari @ fwc, portland
tokyo art beat @ superdeluxe, tokyo
full of pryde @ fwc, portland
psychometry ii @ arratia beer, berlin
psychometry @ exile, berlin
found photos @ fwc, portland
rom spaceknight @ fwc, portland
caleb hildenbrandt, 2012
tokyo art beat, 2009
pete toms, 2006
by Stanley Lieber
Down in the silo, nobody really understood what was happening. Didn’t even know they were siloed. Each official’s subjective experience of the work day was mediated by convention, solidified by tradition, congealed into de facto law through their daily, nominal actions. Nobody had time to question minor irregularities, or to indulge in long-term thinking. This predictably affected the success rate of self-preservation. Life here was brief, and often metaphorically violent.
The senators were idiots.
Thomas had considered running for office, but was reminded at intervals of his longstanding prohibition against accumulating personal power by the clownish machinations of these elected officials, down in the hole. Working closely with this buffoonish collection of small-minded crooks kept him honest.
Besides, with his class 100 strength and other powers, hazing them was fun.
Piotr climbed up the step ladder to adjust the sign above the entrance of the senate chamber. "Let The Stress Begin," it read.
Legislating was stressful enough, Thomas knew. He couldn’t begin to imagine the pressure these brave men and women must be under, what with carrying out their duties during the present emergency.
"Stress is right," he heard one of them complain as they passed under Piotr’s sign.
Ralph lay spread eagle on the floor of the senate chamber, unconscious, nude.
"See if his dick’s cold," Piotr commanded.
Thomas touched the tip of his data glove to the bell-end of Ralph’s penis. It was cold. Instantly, his visor lit up with sensor data collected by the micro-probes in the finger of his glove.
"It’s like I always say," Piotr continued, "Where there’s smoke, there’s a phenomenon that induces the perception of smoke." Still worryingly chatty.
"Too true," Thomas agreed, scanning in several spectrums for a source of heat.
Ralph’s entire body was cold.
Why was Ralph here, now? Piotr had clammed up after the second day of questioning. Thomas figured the facade had taken its toll and his partner would need some downtime to recharge his batteries for additional bullshitting. This left Thomas to his own devices, which were conspicuously still functional, while also still failing self-tests.
It had been many years since any of them had seen Ralph. For all they knew he could have gone into politics. Thomas had always assumed he was dead. The evidence to hand was damning. First of all, Ralph’s approach had been all wrong. Anyone with his level of training should have realized the perimeter would detect him. The RAGNAROK, for fuck’s sake. But not Ralph. And he was wearing the uniform of a hostile force. Also ridiculous. Something about this whole scenario just wasn’t right.
Thomas paused. It was time for lunch.