10 November 2019

UPDATE (2019/11/10)

  • Universe 7 added.
  • Universe 9 added.
  • Universe 14 added.
  • Universe 22 added.
  • Universe 85 revised.

08 November 2019

Dementia 6


On Adolf Hyla's painting, The Divine Mercy.

GHOST OF ROD SERLING: (V.O.) In the beginning was the word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God, all things were made through him, and without him was not everything made that was made.

The Divine Mercy is suddenly replaced with William Blake's etching, The Ancient of Days.

GHOST OF ROD SERLING: (V.O.; cont'd) But we aren't going to talk about that God today, for this tale is set in a universe created by an altogether different god.

A montage of paintings depicting the six Biblical days of creation plays out across the screen.

GHOST OF ROD SERLING: (V.O.): In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. The earth was without form and void, and darkness was upon the face of the deep; and the Spirit of God was moving over the face of the waters.


An image of Linda Blair's face from The Exorcist exploding.



On the interior of a living room. The living room — painted in various shades of brown — is very spartan, adorned only with a few bits of furniture, a single tall lamp, and a sepia-toned photograph of Vincent Price hung upon the wall.

In an uncomfortable-looking metal chair sits NAIAD, a pretty twenty-something redhead. She keeps her hands folded in her lap with her legs closed tightly together. Wearing a blue-&-white polka dot dress, white apron with lacy pink trim, and large unwholesome smile, Naiad is the picture of the typical '50s proletarian housewife.

NAIAD: (singing) Lollipop, lollipop. O lolli, lolli, lolli, lollipop!

Parting her legs, Naiad reaches under her dress, withdraws a purple popsicle, and proceeds to suck it.

RAZE'S VOICE: (O.C.) I hope you brought enough to share with the rest of the class, young lady!


To RAZE, Naiad's husband, who stands in the living room's open doorway. Wearing black suspenders, red flannel work shirt, brown bowler cap, and large unwholesome smile, Raze is the picture of the typical '50s proletarian drunkard.

NAIAD: (stuffs popsicle back under dress; jumps to feet) Ooh, Raze! My darling, darling, darling, darling husband!

RAZE: (takes off & tosses aside bowler; embraces Naiad) Naiad! My lovely, lovely, lovely, lovely bride! You're looking swell!

Naiad & Raze begin jitterbugging around the living room floor.

NAIAD: Did you pick up your cheque?

RAZE: No! That goof boss of mine didn't give it to me! He says I've been jacking off on the job!

NAIAD: But everyone jacks off on the job! It relieves tension!

RAZE: Yeah, but he's a real Kellogg.

NAIAD: Well, I don't care so long as you still love me.

BACKSTREET BOYS: (O.C.) As long as you love me....

RAZE: (annoyed) What's this beatnik noise I'm hearing‽

NAIAD: It's not beatnik noise, dear. It's from the '90s. There are no beatniks in the '90s.

RAZE: I don't care! It's horrid! Turn it off!

Crestfallen, Naiad stops jiggerbugging and crosses over to the Victrola. Taking the record off the turntable, she throws it against the wall, shattering it.

Suddenly, a villainous-looking black man in a white suit, white cape, white mustache, white monocle, and white top hat crashes through a wall. This is LORD FAWDOR, Naiad & Raze's landlord.

LORD FAWDOR: Rent! Rent! Non-circulating pennies, nickels, dimes — four loonies and a toonie!

RAZE: No rent.

NAIAD: No rent.

LORD FAWDOR: I'm the rent.

Fawdor collapses to his knees.



Fawdor sits in his director's chair, a cameraman beside him. Naiad & Raze are on the set, the REANIMATED CORPSES of JOHN HOLMES & SHYLA STYLEZ performing with them. Naiad is tied down to a mechanical bull, helpless as John force-feeds her blood sausage after blood sausage. Raze, chained to a pillar, is forced to watch while Shyla, crouched down between his spread legs, chugs down a 1-litre bottle of cream soda. Taking in more than she can swallow, she reels around and spews cream soda all over John and Naiad.

Fawdor grins with malevolent malice.


Naiad & Raze stand at the bus stop alone, clothes tattered and sticky with dried cream soda, eyes dark, haunted.

RAZE: Hon?

NAIAD: Yes, hon?

RAZE: How come you never drink my cream soda?

NAIAD: I'm allergic. Allergic to cream soda.


End titles



Fawdor is busy splitting and splicing reels of film when he hears a knock at the door. Leaving his equipment, he goes to answer it. On the other side stands NICOLAS CAGE in a black Superman costume.

SUPERCAGE: Up, up, and away!

Supercage sends a right hook into Fawdor's chin. Fawdor's head is punched clean off, sent crashing through the ceiling, leaving the raw neck stump to gush bright red blood.


Fawdor's head achieves escape velocity.

LORD FAWDOR: My God! It's full of stars!

Fawdor's head jumps to hyperspace.

07 November 2019

UPDATE (2019/11/07)

  • Universe 2 revised.
  • Universe 4 revised.
  • Universe 8 added.
  • Universe 14 removed.
  • Universe 51 added.
  • Universe 52 revised.

  • Necropolis added under "Original Stories" (Unfinished)
  • "Thanksgiving" added under "The Last Son of Krypton" (Unfinished)
  • "The World of Krypton" added under "The Last Son of Krypton" (Unfinished)
  • Star Wars: Episode ΑΩ – A Certain Point of View added under "Star Wars" (Abandoned)

06 November 2019

Star Wars: Episode ΑΩ – A Certain Point of View (A Fragment)

So here I am again, submitting another Star Wars-related post.

I've tried my damnedest this past year to renounce Star Wars, sever all ties to the series, and move on. I gave away every SW-related item I owned — all novels, comics, and movies (even the the GOUT copy of TESB I spent $47 on). Yet even after all that, in spite of the pervading, persisting loathing I hold towards the vast majority of the franchise, I still love Star Wars. I still love the aesthetics; I love the music; I love Luke, Leia, Han, et al.; I love what Star Wars was; I love what Star Wars could've been. Despite all my efforts to kill it, Star Wars lives still inside me. (The deletion of most of my SW content looks even more foolhardy and regrettable now.)

But I can't love Star Wars as it is, and I can't be the Star Wars fan I used to be. Evolution is a fact of life; that which can't adapt dies. For this Star Wars fan and his version of Star Wars to survive, they must evolve in parallel.

Last month, I started working on a condensed, streamlined, nonlinear, 9-in-1 retelling of the ST/OT/PT told solely from the POV of Rey/Luke/Anakin. I first considered doing it in the form of a collage novel — editing excerpts from the film novelizations into a new whole, complete with isolated, altered panels taken from the comic adaptations. Since I no longer own any novelizations/comics and wasn't able to acquire digital copies of all of them, I resorted to the tried-and-true method of screenwriting, which is less ambitious but less difficult. In the end, my interest in the concept fizzled out and I put it to bed.

I've since decided I'm going to try again at an OT rewrite. Though it isn't going to be as radical as my original concept, it'll still be significantly different from Lucas' OT. Work on it is presently underway, though I'm taking my time with it and it'll be a while before I'm confident enough in what I've written to present any excerpts. 'Til that time arrives, here is Star Wars: Episode ΑΩ – A Certain Point of View in all its truncated glory.

* * *


TITLE CARD: The Milky Way Galaxy, a long time from now….

A vast sea of stars serves as the main backdrop for the main title, followed by a quote.




"What is, is without."

— The Corbet Dictum


To Jakku, a dingy rust-coloured planet wreathed in black smog.

Two small white starcraft — a pair of hammer-shaped Corellian corvettes — race through space towards the planet. In their wake follows a titanic wedge-shaped battlecruiser, a Resurgent-class Star Destroyer. As the three vessels emerge into full view, we see the Star Destroyer is a decommissioned wreck, scarred with grievous damage, carried in tow behind the corvettes by way of tractor beam.

As they near Jakku, the corvettes disengage their tractor beams and veer off, allowing the Star Destroyer to continue forward on its own momentum. As the corvettes slip away together into hyperspace, the Star Destroyer pierces the planet's atmosphere.


Tinted dark red behind the black pollution which keeps the planet in perpetual dusk, the sun of Jakku casts its maroon light upon the landscape. There are no natural landmarks in sight. From horizon to horizon, there are only hills and valleys of trash, streams and ponds of lubricants and coolants — the detritus of a dozen worlds and uncounted centuries. Despite this, life exists on this marginally habitable planet. Sparse pockets of hardy vegetation have sprung up amidst the debris; vermin call the innumerable crevices and hollows home; there are even people present — criminals, their offspring, their descendants — victims of a disproportionate justice which does not recognize acquittal or parole.

The Star Destroyer passes down through the sky. Red-hot from the uncontrolled entry, the pollution surrounding it has ignited, leaving a fiery trail in the sky which burns brighter than the shrouded sun. Those persons outside to witness this event shield their gaze, eyes unaccustomed to such brilliance. It is the last thing they will ever do in their benighted lives.

The Star Destroyer strikes the ground with the force of a nuclear weapon. With a white-hot flash, everything inside hundreds of kilometres is annihilated.


A metal sheet is pulled open to reveal the concealed face of a SCAVENGER.

In an upside-down, canted corridor, the scavenger is busy. Clad in a patched-together protective suit and opague filtration mask, a large pack and metal staff strapped to their back, a dim headlamp providing them the only illumination in this dark space, the scavenger is consumed with the task of removing mechanical components from inside a wall.

Finding a potentially valuable piece, the scavenger drops it in a satchel at hand. Slinging the bag over their shoulder, they shimmy down a cable, between treacherous walls of corroded machinery.


Alone and tiny in this massive, sideways wreck, the scavenger descends, climbing down a long cable. They land hard onto rusty metal.


Booty in tow, the scavenger climbs over enormous pipes in the vast space, heading through the dust toward a distant slit of lesser darkness.


The scavenger emerges. Sucking water from a feeding tube, they find their reservoir drained. Coaxing the final drops of moisture from the tube into their mouth, the scavenger looks to the horizon. Several kilometres into the distance but moving fast is a tremendous wall of wind-churned grit. It would not do to be caught in the open when that storm hits.

Leaving the wreck, the scavenger descends a slope of debris, taking care to maintain balance as loose bits shift under their weight. Reaching the bottom, the scavenger jogs over to their rusted ATV. Jumping atop, they fire the sputtery engine and head off.


The scavenger speeds along the trash floor, through a graveyard of discarded starships.


The scavenger's ATV passes us, heading for a grimy shanty town. Originally a series of connected prefab shelters, expanded with the addition of jury-rigged spacecraft sections, the hermetically sealed outpost serves as a place for refuelling and small trade.


ATV parked, the scavenger unfastens the large sack of heavy found objects from the back. With the vigor of a tough seaman, the scavenger hauls the sack from their ATV to the front gate.


The inner airlock door slides open, admitting the scavenger inside. Sheltered from the toxic and caustic chemicals in the air outside, the scavenger pulls off the filtration mask, revealing the grimy, gaunt face of an otherwise beautiful young brunette. This is nineteen-year-old REY.


At one of the many cleaning tables, Rey scrubs clean her day's salvage. Glancing up, she looks at an old woman, also cleaning salvage. Rey watches her, and for a moment is lost in pensive thought. A passing dwarf underling barks something to her. She returns to work.


Rey looks up to a service window. Two feet above her, behind a protective screen, is her boss, UNKAR PLUTT. Hideously bloated and disfigured by severe allergic reactions and infections, he's barely recognizable as human. He examines her pieces.

UNKAR PLUTT: What you've brought me today is worth ... hmmm ... one quarter portion.

Though disappointed, Rey barely shows it. She nods thanks. Plutt pushes through his transfer drawer a sealed packet: dried green meat in one section, beige powder in another. Swallowing her resentment, she takes it and heads off.


Rey's one-room domicile, "generously" provided her on-site by her boss. Everything she owns is reclaimed. She cooks for one. Does everything for one.

She opens the powder and moves to the makeshift wok where the green meat sizzles. She pours the powder into milky water in a tin and stirs it; it grows into a loaf as she puts the meat on an old plate. She grabs the loaf.


Rey eating voraciously.

Every last drop consumed, the metal plate licked clean, Rey wipes her mouth. Reclining atop her cot, she gazes upon the opposing wall. Applied directly to the surface is a painting of her own creation. It is rough, limited to a palette of browns and yellows, yet surprisingly craftsmanlike. It depicts a desert vista from a planet Rey has never seen, the butterscotch sky supporting a pair of suns brighter in colour than the dull disc she has only known.

03 November 2019

UPDATE (2019/11/03)

  • Universe 4 revised.
  • Universe 11 revised.
  • Universe 13 added.
  • Universe 43 removed.
  • Universe 47 revised.
  • Universe 48 revised.
  • Universe 49 removed.
  • Universe 52 added.
  • Universe 63 removed.
  • Universe 64 removed.
  • Universe 91 removed.
  • Universe 149 removed.
  • Universe 158 removed.
  • Universe 162 removed.
  • Universe 206 added.
  • Universe 235 removed.
  • Universe 300 removed.
  • Universe 417 removed.
  • Universe 423 removed.
  • Universe 58470 added.
  • Universe 58732 added.
  • Universe 68070 removed.
  • Universe 78792 removed.
  • Universe 94000 added.
  • Universe 96283 added.
  • Universe 120703 revised.
  • Universe 121347 added.
  • Universe 121698 added.
  • Universe 700029 added.
  • Universe 730911 added.
  • Universe 1584229 removed.
  • Universe 3441046 removed.

18 October 2019

Bartman vs. the Destroyer

What follows is the earliest surviving piece of fanfiction that I still have with me. I wrote it in the 5th Grade for a class assignment.  It originally came with a prologue explaining the origin of the story's antagonist, but the teacher made me discard it for some reason. 😕

The spelling mistakes, grammatical errors, and batshittery are strong with this one. For those reasons, I'm sharing its beauty with the world. 😽

* * *

Bart simpson was at home lisenting to the radio he was lisenting to the rocking rock then a newsflash came.

we interupt this program for a newsflash wow said bart.

I heard on the radio a monster was on the loose then i heard a crunch and a scream and i turned into bartman.

And he flew to the rescuse springfield look more like hell every building was crused there was seven dead people 172 injured and a giant

Who are you?!

i am the destroyer then bartman shoot a tranguilizer dart it broke to 500 pieces

and then he got his turbo laser cannon and shot the destroyer in the head. Then the destroyer shoot acid out of his mouth and burned his costume then bartman flew to the place where he was hit by the comet. And grabbed a peace flew back. And threw it at the destroyer and the street blew up up. And he was back to normal. But then something moved through the trees first no one saw then the edge came out then the spaceship landed an alien came out and said hes wanted in the galaxy

meanwhile in a galaxy far far far away a living bubblee named bubble head was wathing and he said.

What next darth vader giveing you a kiss good night in realty porky pig or garfield but not today so t.thats all folks.