March 7, 2015

Cut Copy Paste (Official Announcement)

Remove the element of change and life would become something dystopian, something from the mind of Orwell or Huxley. Maybe even Collins. (Not that they belong in the same category.) Either way, human progressiveness would surely plateau; and societal evolution as it is currently understood would be nonexistent. Yes, the world would be a lot different.

Life thrives on change. It keeps the universe going. It keeps the plants watered and plastics recycled.

As all things, literature changes too. Just look. Diaries turned into Tumblrs. Books became Kindles. Newspapers have transformed into apps accessible to attention spans of the digital age.

The zine is no different. The zine has died. Well, maybe not exactly; rather the zine found change. While nothing will ever replace the feel of one in your hands (both reading and crafting), the form in which it takes life is different.

Cut Copy Paste is a step in that direction. It is some sort of weird Frankenstein-zombie experiment that combines the two technologies. It is crossover; some horrible brainstorming back from the dead to eat brains and find love.

Keep your self-defenses alert.

Among the regular virtual updates, various print volumes will be birthed. These twins will cause commotion (and maybe confusion) in an inter-generational free-for-all of things written; some new, some old, some extremely strange. Some written with surprisingly poor grammar for an English teacher (don't worry - most of it is intentional).

As I begin to compile (cut, copy, and paste) Volume 1, please enjoy the first few pieces written for the project over at Wattpad.

Thank you for existing, Wattpad. Without you, this project would still be an idea yet to be discovered by my consciousness.


February 13, 2015

Sorry, I Think

Our bones are tied together by electromagnetic pulse. The lines of binary code string between my eyelids in a 1600 frame rate. Heavy breathing comes from my lungs and it is organic. My pores feed on the oxygen. I am bigger than the Earth. The moon and stars are but a side step in the universe of time. Transcriptions float, nearly invisible, across my eyes, swimming in fluids that I forgot existed.

“I’m not mad,” you say.  

“But you’re scowling,” I reply.

And then our bones separate as you walk into the other room. Our eyes melt in solitary confinement and thumps echo off the wall with each gasp for air. My bones pulse in a dimming flame, all FPS dwindling to below 1000. Oxygen atoms fight to become improbable calculations among radio waves and WiFi. Even souls woven with electromagnetic string tend to stretch after use. We're still organic and it still fits.