Pulp Poetry

September 3, 2010

4 Haiku: Colorado Mountain Fortresses

Filed under: Poems — Tags: , , , , , — Eric Zimmerman @ 11:11 am

Inspired by a road trip from California to Colorado, these are some haiku from the post-apocalyptic environs of the American west. Even though these lands have become savage, dangerous, and civilization as we know it has been destroyed, there is still beauty here.

This is the last of four installments. If you missed them, you can ready the first installment from Friday, the second from Monday, and the third installment in any order you like.

Titanados form
Scour the plains of all life.
Calm are the canyons.

Giant bats swoop, glide
Graceful over foggy peaks
Dogfighting insects.

Thick trees over roads
Turn orange and drip red blood
Eating trespassers.

Soft snow falls quiet
Hiding the mountain hunters.
They come for us now.

September 1, 2010

4 Haiku: Megafauna Ranchers of Wyoming

Filed under: Poems — Tags: , , , , , — Eric Zimmerman @ 11:11 am

Inspired by a road trip from California to Colorado, these are some haiku from the post-apocalyptic environs of the American west. Even though these lands have become savage, dangerous, and civilization as we know it has been destroyed, there is still beauty here.

This is the third of four installments. The first was this past Friday and the second was on Monday. The last will be this Friday.

Beefullo herds roam
Two stories at the shoulder
Brought down by steel rope.

Lighting strikes The Spike
Deafening thunder burns bright
Power for the year.

Stampedes warn the ear,
Behind the crackling hooves
Come the bristlewolves.

Cleansing floods sweep
Large bones clear from the ravines
Unlucky homes too.

August 30, 2010

4 Haiku: The Sea of Utah

Filed under: Poems — Tags: , , , , , — Eric Zimmerman @ 1:01 pm

Inspired by a road trip from California to Colorado, these are some haiku from the post-apocalyptic environs of the American west. Even though these lands have become savage, dangerous, and civilization as we know it has been destroyed, there is still beauty here.

This is the second of four installments. The first was last Friday, and the next two will be on Wednesday and Friday.

Rain like fists, meets salt.
Wheels are set aside for sails.
A sea of bandits.

Crashing waves subside
No ripples on the mirror
But the distant barge.

Whale-frogs burp hello.
Finding love in briny mud
Ere the dry slumber.

The sun bakes the sea
Stranding unwise travelers.
The pirates’ bounty.

August 27, 2010

4 Haiku: Reno Hives

Filed under: Poems — Tags: , , , , , , — Eric Zimmerman @ 11:11 am

Inspired by a road trip from California to Colorado, these are some haiku from the post-apocalyptic environs of the American west. Even though these lands have become savage, dangerous, and civilization as we know it has been destroyed, there is still beauty here.

This is the first of four installments. The remaining installments will arrive Monday, Wednesday, and Friday of next week.

Casinos’ neon,
Keeping out the dust devils,
Sit broken and dark.

A bee tastes pollen
Carried from Tahoe forests
On legs like fence posts.

Golden Nevada
Breadbasket grows in your sun
Hives are your farmers.

Harrah’s births a queen.
She crushes old rusted cars.
What ruin is hers?

August 20, 2010

Pursuit from the Train Station

Thick angry smoke
Lurches above the train
And the engine wheezes
As it rests in the hot sun.

A woman slinks
From the passenger car.
She has no luggage
Except a small satchel
Held tightly to her side.
She has no one to greet her
Except strangers
Looking to make a buck.

This is a week earlier.
Before William Winter
Offers the job to Aki Monye.
Before Aki himself arrives in Lagos
And meets his friend Cittavata Nachiketa.

As Kaya Sabah arrives in Lagos,
William is just realizing she’s gone
And is looking for a trail.
Aki expects to be a rancher
Even though his land is hard and dry.
Cittavata has yet to run out of money
Building his latest invention.

As Kaya slips through the crowd
And the train terminal,
A coal brick of a man
Also steps off the train
Watching her with purpose
And rubs his chin with fingers
Like engine blocks.

Kaya moves quickly, but she avoids
Looking chased.
She has the misfortune to find
A quiet street near the terminal.
She knows there was a man on the train.
She knows he saw her get off.
But she doesn’t know,
Until those thick and hard hands
Grasp her shoulder in a crush,
That he’s right behind her.

His other hand moves to her satchel,
But she pulls it protectively
To her chest
Just as she deftly kicks backwards
And puts her foot deep
Into his guts.
Two of his fingers are about
All her hand can grab
As he doubles over.
Two fingers are enough to twist
And his hand
Then arm
Then torso go askew.
She uses the moment to move him off balance
And to lower his massive jaw.
It is just the right
Amount of time
For her to bring her foot back up
Into his face.

She runs free as he recovers
As two of his escorts
Turn the corner to see her.
She hears metal feet
Telling her he is not
Alone.
A quick glance confirms that
The humanoid figures
Are not human.

Where her assailant’s muscles
Are likened to iron,
Theirs is iron.
Where his joints are thick bone,
Theirs are steel bolts.
Where his eyes shine with wet malice,
Theirs shine an emotionless glow
Through crystal.
Mechanical men.
Humanoid apparatus.
Androphones.

She knows them well.
She helps build them.

She breaks into a busier street,
Though people won’t hold off a pair
Of metal predators,
An abandoned motivecycle might.

She hops on and fires up the Sterling
The time it takes
For the hydrogen to heat up
The water is
Agonizing.
Metal feet
Clang
Like a bell tolling
In Kaya’s ears.
And it’s too late
As one androphone reaches out
With a grasping hand
To squeeze her by the neck
Missing by a second.
The motivecycle has burst to life and
Propels her down the street.

The androphone stops
Seeing that it failed to grab her
And figuring that it can’t catch her.
The second,
However,
Bends its legs to kneel on the ground.
When Kaya glances back
She sees it has wheels
On its hips and knees.
Folding its legs,
Touching them to the ground,
It begins pursuit.

Kaya weaves through the crowded street
Around stands of food
People on bicycles
On horses
And carriages and motivecycles moving
At a more reasonable speed.
The androphone comes sailing out
In a wide turn
Trailing dust
Maneuvering deftly through the same traffic.
Kaya takes sharp turns.
Her two wheels afford her more agility
Than its four.

This almost makes up for the advantage the machine has
Over a human controlling another machine.
The machine also has allies.
Kaya sees them joining pursuit.
At one intersection,
Another androphone almost crashes into her
Trying to cut her off.
Instead, she turns towards it
And drives down the street it just came.
It is not able to turn around quickly.

There are three behind her as she leaves the heavy crowds
Of the residential and commercial markets
Into the sparser areas of warehouses
Where the huge cargo-tractors
Dominate the streets.

Only after diving deep towards the docks
Does Kaya see the disadvantage she’s given herself.
The tractors are easier to maneuver around.
The streets are broad and wide with few alleys.
In some cases the androphones, being only a torso on wheels,
Easily duck under the massive vehicles
And are gaining.

A horse screams
As Kaya almost runs into it
Along the waterfront.
She misses the ramp and drives off
A three foot drop
Landing hard on a large wooden dock.
The vibrations shake her teeth
Driving across the slatted dock.
The move was not gutsy enough.
Two androphones take the leap as well.
Now she’s committed to
A long drive
Off a short pier.

Of the two androphones, one sees what is coming
And accelerates
Rapidly catching up to her.
It is a few feet from her as the end of the pier approaches.
Kaya clutches her satchel
But makes no move to stop.
Her motivecycle flies off the end of the pier
And she pushes down with her feet.
Kaya separates from the bike,
And it crashes into the water
Only seconds before she does.

She skips off the water at first
Landing on her face,
Before the second hit causes her to slap against the water
And go under.
Concentrating so hard on keeping her satchel with her
She is failed to take a deep breath.
Disoriented and trying to bite down the
Excruciating pain along her chest and face
She’s already running out of breath
With no idea where the surface is
When the androphone grabs her ankle.

The machine cannot swim.
It managed to fly out far enough to land near her
And as it sinks to the bottom
Of Lagos harbor,
It pulls her down with its grip.
Looking up, she can see the dim glow of the surface.
She kicks
And kicks,
And the surface gets dimmer
And dimmer.
As dark water envelopes
She desperately
Uses her other foot and one hand
To break the hold.
Wet skin and smooth metal fingers.
She manages to slip free.
The metal man sinks away too fast
To make another grab.
Her throat and face almost spasm in choking panic
But now she knows
In which direction the surface is.

Kaya pulls herself up
To a dock far down another part of the dock.
She swam away from the machines searching for her.
Her simple dress is soaked.
Her shoes are now gone.
One pulled off by the grasping metal man
The other kicked free to swim.
Her hat is long gone, she’s not sure when.
She looks like a mess but she’s alive and free.

In this area of the docks, there is little industrial trade.
Instead tourist areas dominate,
Including a temporary carnival.
She enters the fair,
Dripping wet
And catching her breath.
She stumbles to a cotton candy booth,
Hoping that her contact is there.
She knocks in a rapid and coded succession.
She looks around
Nervously.

The door opens quickly.

A metal hand reaches out,
And before she has time to react
It grabs her wrist
And pulls her quickly inside.

August 13, 2010

A Game of Wittage

Tendrils of smoke drift
Like mist in a swamp.
Four men sit straight
Like trees
They pay no mind to the flies
Buzzing.
Three of them just focus
On winning back the money
From the Indian foreigner at the table.

The man to the right of the Indian plays
An eight of hearts.
The Indian slides out a card
And lays it on the pile.

“Oh come on,” the man sputters.

“It looks like the trick is mine, my friends,” the Indian says
Taking back his ace of clubs,
Along with the rest of the pile.
“And that makes five for me,” he adds taking in the
Small pile of money
In the same open arm gesture.
The man gets up
Having lost enough.
He tries to say goodbye politely
But it’s tricky when you’ve just lost
Fifty pounds in an hour.

The man pushes past Aki Monye who steers himself
To the table. “This seat open?”
The three men nod
Sweating from the heat.

The Indian shuffles the two decks
And deals.
Bets and calls pile
In the center.
The man to his left opens
With a king of clubs.

Plays move clockwise around the table.
There is a new tension at the table.
The men feel it but can’t name it.
Two of the men don’t realize
This game isn’t about them.
They have no chance.
This game is now
About the Indian
And Aki.

This game is a duel.

Aki watches the faces.
There is no talking during a game of wittage
But he looks for what they are telling him
All the same.
He keeps his eyes moving ahead of the cards.
Looking for reactions.
When someone has to change a strategy
There are always reactions.
He knows he’s playing against the Indian
More than any other at the table.
But he keeps his attention spread.

The Indian watches the cards.
It’s difficult to count cards in a game of wittage
But he tracks which ones are being played
All the same.
He keeps his eyes moving ahead of the faces.
Knowing their moves before they do.
His cards. Aki’s cards. The cards of the other men.
He seems frustrated.
His brows furrowed.
But he plays cards casually.
Tosses them out as soon as he can.
He’s three steps ahead.
Only near the end of a play does he seem to relax.

Aki has him against the ropes.
The score is tied between them.
The Indian is out of suit.
And Aki still has an ace in the hole.
They both know this.
He lays down the ace
And breaks his stone faced look to give the Indian
A smug smile.
The Indian relaxes.
And grins.
And lays down a trump card
A ten of diamonds.

“Where the hell did you pull that from?” Aki breaks the silence.

“Are you calling me a cheat?” the Indian demands, collecting the winnings.

“As a matter of fact…” Aki says, rising from his seat.

The other two men decide it’s a good time to leave.
They’ve lost enough. No need to get in the middle of a fight too.

Aki raises his fists.
He towers
Nearly a foot over the other man.
The Indian bursts out laughing. “You call that a boxing stance?”

Aki grins and lowers his fists, “Good enough to whip your backside.”

They embrace and move to the bar.
The brass is streaked with dirt and scuffed.
The only shine left is in the nooks
And places polished again by wear.
“Beer,” the Indian says. “And a coffee for my friend.”
As the bartender gets the drinks, the Indian lays some money on the counter and says, “What brings you to Lagos? I thought you were headed east.”

“I was,” Aki says.
“But I got a job. I want your help.”

“I’m not sure I’ve forgiven you for the last one. But, if you are going to beg.”

“There’s something odd about this one, Citta.”
And Aki explains. The woman that Winter wants.
How Winter isn’t concerned about the stolen property.
Crystals, unborn machine minds.
He explains his confusion.
Why would Winter come to him.
Ask for him by name. Come to Nigeria just for a half-hour meeting.
Instead of involving a Marshal. Or company agents.
Surely they had resources to track her down.
What did they want to keep quiet?

“A fine puzzle,” Cittavata says,
Rubbing his bearded chin. “But straight forward.
“We find the woman. Bring her to Ian. Collect a check.”

“William,” Aki corrects. “This came from the son.
“And I doubt it will be that straight forward.”

Cittavata Nichiketa drinks his beer.
Aki Monye drinks his coffee.
Together the think
In each his own way
Where in the hell
They start.

Just like the old days.

August 6, 2010

Keeping It Unreal

Filed under: Blog Info — Tags: , , , , — Eric Zimmerman @ 10:24 am

Posting every day was fun, and a good challenge. But the time for that challenge is past.

I’d rather spend more time on crafting fiction and less on keeping up with the treadmill of posts. In order to keep the pace I had been doing, there was little time to review and redraft. The result was typos and turns of phrase that could have been better. I was okay with that, but it’s not fair to you.

And you’ve got plenty to read, right? You deserve my best.

To accomplish that, I’ll have one post a week. Expect story posts to be a regular Monday occurrence. However, I won’t limit myself to just once a week. That’s just the minimum I’m setting. I fully expect, with the increased time to work on stories, that I’ll build up a backlog. Those will have to come out somewhere. I won’t just be presenting stories in the form of serial posts. You’ll see my pages grow with full stories going up all at once.

I’ll also be working to have my writing appear elsewhere, and I’ll post links when that happens. And on top of that, when the time is right, I will still have thoughts and non-fiction posts too. In addition to my thoughts on creativity and happenings in the world, I’ll throw in some behind the scenes world building notes, too.

If you were hoping for some more Iron Hearts, Diamond Minds – fear not, more is coming. As well as Warwolves, Sunborn, and some new stuff too.

August 5, 2010

Mirrored Sands

Filed under: Blog Info,Stories,Sunborn — Tags: , , , , , — Eric Zimmerman @ 10:10 am

Yesterday’s post was the final installment of the Mirrored Sands short story. So, I thought I would assemble the posts and put them in one place. Yes, you can use the tags to get them all, but it lists them in reverse order. I thought this might be more convenient. Also, I’ll be able to link to this post later.

Things are just getting started in the Sunborn universe.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

August 4, 2010

Mirrored Sands, Part 10

Jrak looked at his hand and then at the ground. “Just don’t tell my family what I’ve become.”
“I won’t,”
Martek agreed as they clasped hands.

Jrak looked tired and worn. Martek walked with a limp, letting Jrak lead the way.

In a smooth motion, Martek leapt onto Pritcard Jrak and grabbed the back of his head with one hand, and his jaw with the other. Snaps of energy sounded as the blue veins of his implants fired back to life.
Jrak too began to glow in panic, but it flickered and sputtered. A young god unable to fully fly.
Martek twisted and pulled, his muscles strengthened far beyond any sapient beings strength. Jrak’s strength was still considerable, and his head twisted slowly as he grimaced and spit to keep Martek from snapping his neck.
Grunting, Martek told him, “My order was founded when we destroyed your kind. We vowed never to let your evil enter the universe again.”
Jrak’s head slowly twisted and he muttered something incoherent that Martek ignored.
“You are nothing less than a destructive force of nature,” Martek’s voice was rising.
“I am sworn to uphold a code.”
One of Jrak’s vertebrae snapped.
“Life above all else.”
Another snapped, and then two and then as the light faded completely from Jrak’s eyes, several more cracks and he fell limp under Martek.

Raim came to as engines powered up. Martek was running through system checks. They were back on the transport.
“I’m glad you survived, Lieutenant,” Martek said without looking back.
“What happened? Did you retreat?” Raim asked, sitting up too fast and almost passing out again.
“We have a lot of work ahead. The Corruptors are returning, Lieutenant. We need to prepare. If the Sunborn are not stopped again, it will be the death of us all.”

End.

August 3, 2010

Conspiracy Threatens the California State Fair

Filed under: Secret History — Tags: , , , — Eric Zimmerman @ 11:11 am

Someone was waging an information war against the California State Fair.

I went to the state fair for the first time in 11 years. It was the first time my wife had been to the California State Fair, and the first time for any fair since when she was very little. It was a lot of fun, though I was reminded of going as a kid. With such a large gap, many of my memories are entrenched by going there as a kid, year after year.

It provoked an introspective state into aging.

I certainly did not feel the same energy level of running from exhibit to exhibit and not really worrying about the heat. I was looking forward to indulging in some fair food, but didn’t really feel the call. It was too hot for many of the sweet treats that, as a kid, I would have been begging to get even a taste of. By midday I was worn out and needed some time to rest. I was definitely more sympathetic to what my parents had to put up with.

I was there with more purpose and plan. We were there to see Weird Al in the evening, and before then we had animals and exhibits to see. I had my camera, and was on the look for photo opportunities. And I had my writing process in my head, so I was on the look for writing topics. I did not come back with any other than what you are reading, but that’s just fine. I was there mainly to have fun, and in doing so I’m sure there were more seeds planting that will bloom later.

But there was a conspiracy, as I mentioned.

I’m filing this under secret history instead of current events because this is just rumor and conjecture. I don’t want to muddy the waters of my current events category if this proves to be wrong.

One of my friends that I went with got an email talking about possible gang violence at the Fair. The notorious gangs, Crips and Bloods, were potentially going to use the Fair for a showdown. Beware Fair goers, if you are in red or blue, you might be unwittingly declaring allegiance to the wrong side and end up in the crossfire.

There are a few problems with this.

The main one is the idea of the Crips and the Bloods. Infamous for gang violence in LA in the 1980′s, the original gangs no longer exist. While there are many gangs around the world that have adopted the names (or names based off them) they do it for the same reason kids wearing t-shirts of sports heroes or have posters of singers on the wall. Respect, admiration, words and images becoming symbols of power.

The other problem is that, even if the threat is from gangs that have adopted these names, there’s the idea that they’re somehow triggered by colors. Crips must be like bulls, the sight of red sends them into an uncontrollable rage. We can call back to elements of dehumanization to see why that idea has caught on, gang members are scary and undesirable elements of society. The fact is, unless you look like a gang member along with your colors, you won’t be mistaken for one.

So, what sparked the origin of this email? It seems somewhat random. That’s where the conspiracy comes in. Who could benefit from such a rumor? If it caught on, it could hurt fair attendance, so the Fair organization has nothing to gain. And it’s unlikely they’d want to draw in gangsters to take part in the showdown.

But here’s the thing. The State Fair changed its dates. It ran from mid-July to the end of the month. In every year past, it started in mid-August and ran until Labor Day, the traditional start of school. But more schools are starting in August, and since the main audience for the fair is kids and families, the reacted.

In doing so, they may have stepped on the toes of a few county fairs. The biggest is possibly the Orange County Fair, and it runs from Mid-July to Mid-August. There may be other counties who usually have their fairs during the time that state fair moved into.

Perhaps one of these fairs, or more likely one of their agents operating on their own, started this email. Frightening emails posing as security alerts spread like wildfire. Perhaps they hoped to build up a myth about pending gang violence in the hopes of driving people away from the state fair and have them stay closer to home and choose a county fair instead. This gift may keep on giving. Chain emails go around and around and get edited long after the original intent has passed (for example, I’ve gotten emails criticizing Obama that I recall getting four years ago when they were aimed at Bush).

Is it true? I don’t know. It seems like a stretch. As I’ve said before, words are excellent tools of war. Whether or not this is true, campaigns like it are being waged regularly. Reading this, you might be worried, wary, and fearful of what you have have gotten that’s true or untrue. That’s exactly the type of feelings they tend to prey on.

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