The Very Matter Of Scattershot Is In My Bones

Gorilla Marketing

I am considiring merging all of Dreams Of Untrod Paths together, expanding it, and submitting it to this buggery place. How could I not? They're fucking Monkey Press. Monkey press.

Come on.

The Date Is Mentioned, Haircuts Are Measured With A Slide-Rule

It is Febuary 8. I am fine. I have a haircut. It is full of hair pointing upward; even the hair on the back of my head. Perhaps, then, it is more correct to say it is full of hair pointing at ninety degrees. I fully blame association with aoanla and mcmartin for actually making me use such arcane terms as "degrees". I will have you both shot come the revolution.

Barry B. Longyear, Who Is A Ninja

Have any of you heard of Barry B. Longyear? He has won the John W. Campbell award, the Hugo, the Nebula, and in all likelihood some other things. There is a huge budget movie based on one of his books. He is, frankly, a amazing author, who has been publishing well since the 80s if not earlier. Have any of you heard of Barry B. Longyear?

Of course you haven't. He's a ninja.

Writings Are Of The ESSENCE!?!?!?!

The following is the current beggining of something I have wanted to write for a while. Some of you may recognise the setting. Possibly.



The infinite darkness between the stars glittered in the way only utter darkness can.

Now, the thing about the infinite darkness between the stars (except, of course, for the aforementioned glittering, which is so pretty to watch it is recommended you bring a willing and nubile member of the opposite sex and a zero-g cage) is that it's infinite. And in this infinite space, well, what can't you find?

In a specific fraction of infinity, the darkness was but for a moment disturbed by a greater, more solid darkness before it was blown apart in glorious colours without name by the ignition of an antimatter drive.

The Breakfast Force Battleship Grave Sirloin carried the body of the 24th Tyrant, former undisputed ruler the Mealian Tyranny, back home.


Oh, the Mealian Tyranny. Introductions? Introductions are complex things, and devious. What shall you point out? Shall you point out the meaning of the name; The New Tasting People? Shall you note the interstellar empire those people rule, three hundred star systems and growing each day; or shall you instead talk on the geniality of these people, the love of life and pleasure with simple things? Shall you discuss the technology; the antimatter drive, the plasma lances, the shining lengths of military ships, the grand bulks of trade ships which travel to the lengths of three galactic arms? Shall you note the reason those humans who themselves travel the stars, under the monicker of the Terran Empire, have translated the name of these people to 'Mealian' – the predilection for enjoyment of all kinds, the social status of a complex term which we will call 'appetite', and the grand obsession with food? Shall you perhaps discuss the leadership – for after all, this is a story about leadership – and say that 'Tyranny' is not a false word, and that the Mealians have lived for centuries under an undisputed dictatorship - Shall we discuss Senators, Dioceses, planetary governments, trade routes, alliances, military structure, the other races which span the galaxy, marriage rights, starship speeds, the mathematics behind hyperspace, the legends, the stories, the hit holo shows? Introductions are complex things, and may require more time than you have.

Suffice to say that it is seven hundred and eighty years since the first Tyrant's ascension to the then merely one-world Tyranny. Suffice to say it is ten days since the twenty fourth Tyrant, labeled 'The Genial', collapsed in the midst of a diplomatic event, and two since he died under intensive care.

Suffice to say it is a time of turmoil.


The home-world of the Tyranny was called by humans 'Trout'. There is a story behind that name; one which we will avoid for now. It translates, roughly, as The Meat Of The Matter.

Trout wears black. The homes are draped with black cloth; the public buildings are painted black, the homes of the wealthy shimmer occasionally as the holofields which colour all inside black draw power, and everywhere there are black flags, there are black armbands, there are black dishes on black tables; the very ground seems black, the very air seems to cry.

And Jarian Va knows that the Tyrant was loved greatly; yet he also knows that this grand display is more for the loss of peace, and prosperity, and comfort. When the new Tyrant is elected, the black will be replaced by all colours of the rainbow, and the people will cheer as they are once more given purpose.

Sorrow will remain, Jarian Va knows, but the joy of being ruled will dull its edge.