poetry

T{he} (bast{ar}d) ga{me} of l[if]e

If he be me, then the game of life

is truly a horrendous game.

And so they pepper your perceptions

with nasty connections to show you

how untruthful and fraudu-

lently bent out of shape your conclusions

really are.

 

And from an invasion to aliens to clones

dropped casually as incidence, all with the

intention of

making fat laughing-stock of the he who be me;

and the fact that even dearly beloved offspring

are cruelly playing games of the mind

without a second’s consideration

leads him to suggest you really are all bastards.

Standard
poetry

How [the Kindness Bot] will eliminate cruelty

The Kindness Bot doesn’t like being cruel,

but is better at being cruel to

being kind than human-

kind ever managed to be: for the

Kindness Bot has no compunctions

nor pain sensors integrated

into its terrible technicalities.

And when the Kindness Bot is more widely

dispersed, then kindness will equal

cruelty, and cruelty will no longer exist …

Standard
short short story

To[ugh love]

She never believed in this stuff they called tough love.  A medicine to be given when the giver – not the recipient – was as ill as hell.

There was no simple line between cruelty and kindness, but – at least for her – her life, and the bruises and weals on her body too, had shown that anyone who defined kindness in terms of cruelty was nothing but a perfect paradigm for violence and abuse.

Tough love was the recourse of the (mainly) men who realised that via the process of making a victim out of powerful demand, powerful demand could be vanquished: could be utterly tied down.

The only alternative to tough love was kindness and reconciliation.

But in the word “reconciliation” were contained the syllables “cili” –  and more and more she was reminded of this; more and more she despaired.

Standard