I have a feeling that if there wasn’t a place like Cambodia, we would have to create one. I’ve never been there; but I understand that any place capable of building Angkor Wat and nurturing Pol Pot (a unanimous first ballot inductee to the Evil Fucker Hall of Fame) is someplace one can still notice from a great distance.
Continue reading “Literally Reruns – Chicken Farm Blues by Alex Sinclair”
Welcome to the kick off of AI Week here at Literally Stories! And what better way to look into the future than by taking one look back at the past. Since the subject is Artificial Intelligence, we are happy to present a rerun of a tale written by long time site stalwart, David Henson. It’s called Ronda 12. As usual, David’s sense of humour and wit enhance the piece. And although she is a machine, attractive Ronda (think a “Seven of Nine” type of individual) is actually the most human person in this story.
Continue reading “AI Week – Literally Rerun – Ronda 12 by Dave Henson”
“I compare ‘Intelligence’ to the dubious garment ‘chaps.’ All intelligence is artificial as all chaps are assless. I see thinking itself as something that creates items like chaps then almost always describes them as ‘assless’ even though that is a redundant observation. No where else in the natural universe does the non-extant difference between chaps and assless chaps exist other than between human ears. And if chaps had asses then they would be sewed on via artificial means–Ergo the concept of all things related to chaps is artificial, and any mind that ponders such must also be fabricated.”
Continue reading “Week 390: The Week That Is and Old L.S. Has a Robot Farm, A.I., A.I., Oh-One-One-Oh!”
Space Opera Logdate LSMFT This is Captain James T. Pickard of the Starboat Entropy. I’m teaching starboat operations and culture to Ensign and captain in training Horace Green.
Green: I have so many questions. I don’t understand why we are not crushed into atoms when we accelerate at gorp or insane speed?
Continue reading “Space Opera by Doug Hawley”
Kanji’s shop is easy to spot, the name board is big and backlit, and it stands out amongst shabby establishments with dull yellow-red lighting. I shoulder my way through the late evening bazaar crowd to reach the store.
It’s getting dark and I don’t like the look of this neighborhood. Yet I set out to see ‘my uncle’ thanks to my innate sense of duty.
Continue reading “An Invite for Kanji”
I sit in the silence of the well-lit room. The lights hum above me in a constant gentle artificial song. A small squeak escapes from the guard’s shoes. The shoes, generic in form and cheap in manufacturing, hug the woman’s size ten feet. The guard, tall and muscled, must have terrible foot aches when she gets home at night. I wonder about her as my eyes drift over her imposing form. The straight line of her lips and knitted eyebrows add to the already impressive stature. Does she have a husband waiting? Kids? Do they see the angry straight line of her lips as she walks through the door? Or does her face lose the sharp edges when she is home? A soft mother who nestles her children to her large, albeit, hard breasts.
Continue reading “Orange Fish and Cigarettes “
Alice Lockland, wife of two-time sheriff in two Idaho towns, said to her husband, “Steve, today is the day you will become a father for the first time, and if justice is to be done, the child will be a boy.”
Continue reading “Born to be a Gunman by Tom Sheehan”
The weirdest five minutes of your life, October 17, 2001, Joe Strummer and the Mescaleros at the EMP Sky Church. The Wallflowers opening, Dylan’s kid the frontman.
Continue reading “Five Minutes with Joe by Marco Etheridge”
Today we visit a story from five years ago that still shines as though only five seconds have passed. Moving Day is a quiet thing that disturbs and asks unanswerable questions about the echoing hell of humankind’s worst action.
Continue reading “Literally Reruns – Moving Day by Mary J Breen”
Beginning
It’s hard for me to not be cynical; to not check every would be gift Horse’s bridgework; to not hold the suspicion that the evil that dwells in my heart must be in everyone else’s; to suspect myself for wanting the same evil in the hearts of others to license my own. Funny word cynical. As a belief system it prevents you from go-funding Phishy Royalty, yet in application it can aid you in successful phishing and lying in general. Thus you could say that cynical is a dubious, double-agent sort of concept.
Continue reading “Week 389: An Ode to Cynicism, Good Stories and Dubious Advice Dispensed by A Herbivore”
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