MindPilot

“Step forward, specimen.” The great human curtain drew itself back, leaving him standing naked, alone in the spotlight's gaze. Electric blue light rippled around the iris of the orb that hung above him.“Name.” Staring straight ahead, he replied. “4558-762, Ma'am.” The orb twisted and whirred in its socket as it checked for the name in each productivity cell's manifesto. There was no escape. He'd been given up, probably for food. Of course, he'd have done the same. The whirring of the orb ceased. Its red working lights flicked back to blue, and he waited for judgement. “4558-762, you have been marked

By daybreak, the fog has become so dense that I must physically part it before stepping out of the cabin. The eerily-still surface of the water stares at me from below, stretching out like a vast sheet of blue paper which I could almost reach out and puncture. The voices, indistinct yet unmistakably menacing, drop violently to short, sharp whispers, stabbing so emphatically through the mist I can see the air swirl behind them. “You're too late”, “You mean nothing to her”, “You know she's already dead.” They increase in pitch and fervour, prying open my lips and sliding down my throat until I can barely brea

With each step, I feel her warmth grow until it burns against my skin. I near the top of the stairwell. Almost. Through the doorway ahead the light streams in and floods the corridors of my mind, stinging my eyes and wrapping itself around my body. The doorway opens out onto a platform. A belfry. Large brass bells hang above me, swaying gently. There she is. Her red hair draped over her right shoulder, sweeping her lower back as she twists delicately to the soft chiming of the bells. I can smell her perfume, and it lifts me up in its embrace, almost carrying me closer to her. Yet she doesn’t notice me. I’m staring right at her. Wh

Moonshine desert beats with the drums Falling atop the great beast’s beard His fingers caress the heart of all Burning, twitching, it ignites in horror Monotone flames lick the sky Dripping with salivation She turns to find herself, but He floats beneath the earth Growling and spluttering a foaming disease Lucidity falls as tears from his eye and crystal salt stings the wound Of all

You allowed me a glance inside of you, opened your ever-shut mouth so I could lean into it and look down. It was ugly. It was a total mess down there; it was all yellow with bitterness, and knotted with heartache. And I just wanted to climb down past your tonsils, down your larynx and into your chest to clean up the mess. I could untie you, or at least I could try to. You know I don't like cleaning much but I'd scrub your walls and fix you up and let in a little sunlight. Still you closed your mouth and when you opened it again it was all tongue and alcohol and hunger for mine. You never allow me inside, you never allow me past th

SURREALISM BY ANDRÉ BRETON (1924) So strong is the belief in life, in what is most fragile in life – real life, I mean – that in the end this belief is lost. Man, that inveterate dreamer, daily more discontent with his destiny, has trouble assessing the objects he has been led to use, objects that his nonchalance has brought his way, or that he has earned through his own efforts, almost always through his own efforts, for he has agreed to work, at least he has not refused to try his luck (or what he calls his luck!). At this point he feels extremely modest: he knows what women he has had, what silly affairs he has been involved in; he is