Forge Netting 37: Cut Down

He did not look good hung upside down, drenched in blood, beaten to a pulp, but it didn’t strike any of them as an unusual position to find him in. The man who had been administering the treatment was definitely surprised to find them standing around him – to have them stood about the place yet not cowering or subservient to him because of a word.

They cut him down. Fielding had the bossman in her sights. Teschner was attending to Ensign or whatever the fuck his name was. Pinkerton was hacking into their security systems and trying to get as much information as he could.

‘I thought the pain he was feeling would be crippling you all.’

‘Yes, well, you never were as aware of the truth of the technology used to make us as you claim. There are nerve cell buffers which convert the energy created pain stimulation into something harmless. The system that we constitute allows no negative feedback.’

‘But it allows positive things to travel through us via morphic resonance.’

‘You’re healing him?’

‘Yes, how could you not know this was possible?’

‘I suppose I took more interest in your offensive capabilities rather than the repair functions used to keep you moving.’

‘So your school of thinking was the best form of defense is offense? Well, it works a lot of the time I suppose, when you have unlimited resources, but that isn’t the boat we are in, so we’ve needed to be able to recuperate and protect each other too. He was always a little stronger and a little more capable than any of us, and I suppose that was by design … having to lead the way by example and all that, but with a situation like this we actually get to help him. It’s a novel situation, and one I have to say I am enjoying.’

‘Good, glory in it as long as you can – it won’t last forever.’

‘Good God, you think I don’t know that? I’m not some fluffy airhead getting all touchy feely. I am a veteran soldier who is appreciating a chance to help out a fallen comrade. I can see that this might be an alien concept to you because you aren’t exactly surrounded by anyone that you consider an equal even let alone a friend.’

‘If you intend to kill me please get on with it and put me out of my misery. I am not someone who likes to malinger, even when the threat of death is upon me.’

‘We don’t intend to kill you; we intend to set you adrift.’

‘Set me adrift.’

‘Yes, plagued with the very thing you infected us with – the very thing you used Ensign to transmit into the world at large.’

‘You are very odd for soldiers. I will admit, I don’t exactly understand your thinking. I would have killed me a long time ago if I were you.’

‘But you’re not, and you’re not capable of being that. These thoughts would not occur to you. This strange mix of mercy and punishment isn’t in you, is it?’

‘So, why the delay? Inject me and have done with it.’

‘He has to be awake first. There are things he must understand; things you must understand. Things that those who watch us must understand.’

‘How very curious; how very caring of you – all this closure you are bringing to these creatures, who are little more than assets in an arena of conflict.’

Teschner stepped forward and kicked him in the teeth. Glad to knock him into unconsciousness for a moment. Glad to have a second to think and not have to do it out loud; not having to respond to someone who wasn’t really interested in hearing anything other than his own voice anyway.


empire cyst

random patterns
are for gods and slatterns
the dance of atoms
is a repeating fractal
and none has cracked all
the codes tumbling slowly
through orbits about our heads
those superstrings are strange threads
stitched into tapestries that tatter
when we try to reconcile energy and matter

that teleological argument attracts
but every theory eventually cracks
as the flaw becomes apparent in the testing
trying to identify the states in which we’re resting
like immovable objects awaiting some catalyst
some supercollider spark of genius erupting
you’re looking in one direction and all else is missed
do you wonder about the universe you’re corrupting?
the universe will passively resist
the inquiries of a scientist
like the self-blinded man of faith
he spends his life chasing a wraith


The pain of unreciprocated love
Is something that everyone knows once and
Fits this deep wounded soul just like a glove,
Holding the pierced heart in the bleeding hand.
In the end we all have to choose to die
Or find someone else we can crucify,
Forget your gender and render the sky
A new colour in your burgeoning eye —
You can live, just remember how to try,
Shrug off death and don’t ever eat the lie:
We must try to free the pigs from the sty,
Seek out and capture, and shoot down the spy.
We want to stop your pain but not to pry,
We try to understand but you ask, why?

Over The Disease

He swears to himself that he will
Not let the curse of a cancerous growth
Consume the power of a sacred oath:
Determination will defeat the hill,
Overcome the tumour that seeks to kill
Faculties, mental and physical, both,
His shortened span never allows for sloth
And he struggles on still though he is ill —
Certain others would throw him in the bin
All because if this ripening disease,
But does it free him from having to try
By blaming it on a carcinogen?
Or, just, when he fails it saves their unease,
They can’t help it as they watcha friend die.

14 Lines

Every single set of fourteen lines
In an eloquent form of verse enshrines
The message I’d wanted to put across:
That is why I truly love the sonnet —
I’d place the weight of my love upon it;
A structured form, the words, can truly emboss.
A successful sonnet defines
Its themes while following traditonal signs.
I write these lines for Shakespeare’s great ear,
Though he’s passed on from this sublunar sphere,
Held to the glowing breast of yesteryear —
His excellence is something all should steer
Towards if it is at all possible;
The attainment isn’t impossible.


A poured habitat
turned out of a tank,
a liquid blanket unfolded,
ripples of a creation

from a raindrop heart.

An aqueous physique,
a fountain-head.
Crystalline aspect of the trinity:
this world’s a tributary of him,
he is the water table.

A spring.


The moon tugs this lazy black tide,
feathers are made invalid.
A disaster empties the skies,
man’s construction spews fire.
Pollution is a dark cloud:
throats are stripped,
lungs peeled.
A foundation of ash,
Deep melanin vales —
a spillage of shadows.