Miss Fellaheen's Broken Machine
by
Nibru Zoor
















all characters and events in 'Miss Fellaheen's Broken Machine' are fictional and any resemblance to actual places, events or persons living or dead, is purely coincidental.




...see a whisp of grey smoke arise ' I was experimenting with electronic escalation of levels of subsumation. The reality slips and cartoon metaphysics of the cosmos is one vast entity that thinks. You have to consider that we're only made out of dust, that entity is organic, an elastic organism, techgnostic, fundamentally analogous. Deluding drugs and psychosis, hallucinated worlds, intoxicating in a world defined by entropy and decay. If the future had a slogan, see it weep and bleed fake humans, electronic opera, the trash stratum, what constitutes the authentic human being immersed in words.

...and showed how little truth there lies in the fact that for a man to live an exceedingly unfinished voyage entails a thoughtful look at the rest of humanity as cruel and cold as a pebble smoothed by the sea. The moment of connection.

The connected universes and the coloratura background, the dark sprawling city.
Superior drones, artificial intelligence; metal pipes and human limbs.

Space.
The brooding brick revolution, architectural idealism, love, quirks and surprises. Expansive sweeps of mandarin light, flood the wasteland. The wasteland, strange ' in some ways more strange. Archimandrite Luseferous, 7,500 square miles and Vishnu, reporting Sir.

Hassan-I-Sabbath never left Earth the paradox is in the river.

Space.

The average American phraseology, pipe work thicker than a man in ganglia. The ketchup-red shelter above the cavernous Substation Project. A young, American beauty exhibits a cluttered kitchen, charred loaves of bread, orange chicken fat.

Remember him as a writer. Man changed his name and re-invented himself as Environment. The living and their ephemeral activities, freezing the passage of time. One woman wears the arms of her murdered fiction. A pumping demented electronic devotion. Leaving only the ghost of a man, a charismatic General amid the funeral marble of a New York museum.

A beautifully poised photograph taken after Earth, culminates with a dark classical ballet full of gods. Renegades have a prophet, inspiring Golems and demonic beings which rise out of 'Contemporary gallery', the Mother of literacy.

We went thoroughly through Act three today: I prepared my shoes before our constant islands. She knew perfectly well that He was a deeply generous, funny, intelligent, profoundly isolated man who wrote. Humans, on the whole, dust themselves, pretending the Play is more finished than it is. Mankind, or the part of it stranded on a lilting pathos, a final unfinished voyage with seething disorder, politely put the money in the slot. Arcades flicker and wink. A green, neon haze transforms the human figures into phantoms. The British coast is a siren's song. Technological dei ex machina that describes a swamp creature it holds emancipated.

Many die in a bad land beyond brilliant creation. The books work like the Israelites who escaped slavery in Egypt.

These days any man with a social conscience should be asking himself: sleep tomorrow, all men are not equal. Are Yoko's women, still the niggers of the world?

The most bland of domestic settings ' four hours a day in front of a television.

...One of the most horrifying scenes in his f(r)iction, Environment carves intricate voodou figures as to become a kind of psychological devastatingly poignant truth in the wind.

Use of disinformation.

...Being alone, being detached and being. Remembering Herbert Hunke 'guilty of everything!'�. On a small banana-wood table, two closed books: Tezuka's Buddha vol: 2 and Joseph Conrad's 'The Nigger of Narcissicus', one open Leg Fetish magazine displaying a voluptuous American blonde wearing blue-seamed fishnet tights and white strappy heels. A dark-haired Japanese, hand-cuffed beauty, kneels ripping the fishnet crotch with her diamond teeth.

Ah, now Nathaniel don't you go making a cheap bed or buying cheap shoes ' for sure, if you ain't in one your in the other! (somebody else's advise).

Want to comment on this Short Stories? Sign up to Edit Red and you will be able to comment on Short Stories and get access to: Upload your own stories and poems, get readers and their feedback, promote your work...