Urdu Camper van [textbooks lie]

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By the end of this unit, you’ll be able to say

Amir

undercuts Urdu with

ballots of concern, debris spilling lung shaped, five ditch down, round up Ismails + Fatima + Callie’s Tanith Lee [the darker death]

Fax left, stretch fur

Drench two heads, one higher than the other, debate John Hannah

with hidden numbers and

slippery oars

Contact SETA, if you have to

don’t fall for Cube

Hold onto Heinlein

Stretch more fur

attempt physic, call up

causative agent green

offer cheek

dry out the Romulan

slide along not down the fibreglass Continue reading →

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Winter Budapest

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Part 3

Two seventeen becomes

two eighteen becomes

27 districts of

Hungarian lonely

wanking to our layout plan

heroes scratched

waiting for cop name

Jesus, that sharp?

At least you didn’t roll off a cliff

Grace Park.

 

PART 2

Don’t tap, little shits they’ll

sotsugyo suru

eventually Continue reading →

Star Trek Discovery // A Poem

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Part 1

What’s that room, what’s that room, what’s that room, what’s that room, what’s that room do, what’s in there, what’s it do, what’s that room, what’s inside, what, what’s inside, whoopi g? what’s that room, what’s that room, what’s that room, what’s in there,

Captain?

 

Part 2

Sentient textbook, shave in space, don’t like talk

Put it in the slut net

cowardly shit

 

Part 3

you’re soldiers now, 12 ship war, where’s earth? Where’s Chiba, where’s Mish? Turn left, stick with me, I’m half Belize, D at science, fuck first, sob fight later, where’s Sally B, you stole my knees, mourn that fool, we turned left yet? I’m fine, nice shirt, don’t apologise for holo-suite fun stains, scare Tracy.

 

Part 4

Asian cameo, comfy chair

Man, that’s the canteen

don’t go there

O Brien’s remembering things Continue reading →

Gong Dung Wah

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Gong 2

Dung 1

Wah 2

 

In the man with 2 brains it only took two scenes before Doc Hfffrr found one whose brain he could replace, very fast, very efficient, and although Hong Kong wasn’t Austria, it was still human based and full of sleaze so I shadowed what Steve Martin did and went looking for a prostitute who a] wouldn’t be missed, b] was local and c] wouldn’t put up much of a fight when I drugged her and said, it’s okay, I’m not a perv, I just want to transfer your brain knowledge to my brain and, because you speak Cantonese and won’t be missed, it has to be you.

Sorry.

Mong Kok had lots of them, some Chinese, some Russian, all sitting on plastic bedsheets or killing time in the park.

How you could psyche yourself up to suck off those old guys from Yau Ma Tei, I had no idea, but I figured I wouldn’t need to worry about that even if I did have their brain.

I went up the stairwell with the pink neon sign and knocked on a door, hiding the syringe behind my back. I didn’t even know the Cantonese for ‘door’, that’s how bad it was, but never mind, I’d soon know it all, and the tones too.

The door opened and the woman spoke Mandarin, not Cantonese [I knew enough to know the difference], so I nodded and tried the next one. 8 doors on the whole floor and only one of them spoke Cantonese. I walked in and let her lead me to the shower and as soon as she turned her back I stabbed her with the syringe and went to work. It took 2 hours for the transfer, just like Avon said, and suddenly I could speak Cantonese, gutter Cantonese maybe, things like do you like it, do you really like it, are you sure you like it, time’s up etc. It was enough.

I leaned against the sink and stared at her thighs.

Then her face.

She was still out.

Then her neck.

Then her kneecaps.

Then her hai.

Everything seemed well-kept.

I pushed away from the sink and peered into the living/bed room.

There was a book on the floor, in Chinese, it said Pushkin ‘The Queen of Spades’, and, ah, god, not Pushkin, I knew what he wrote about, some of it, but my situation was different, she wasn’t rich, or lonely, or Russian, so it wasn’t the same at all, not even theme, not really. I would never pursue someone that coldly, look them in the eye, talk to them, watch veronica’s closet with them, stab them, I couldn’t, it was murder, mau sat, I’m no hong sao, I’ve got a syringe, had a syringe, he didn’t, he knew her, I didn’t, and mine’s still alive…maybe… Continue reading →

Zelda: A [tenuous] Link to the Past

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Hate my life, hate my life, fucking village, fucking villagers, fucking village square, fucking castle, fucking king, I hate it, hate it, hate my life, fuck you mum, fuck you

‘Dad?’

I wake up, pixeled vision, and see the woodchopper packing his stuff and heading out to the castle.

‘Wait up, I wanna come too.’

‘Cannot.’

‘But I wanna.’

‘Back to bed. It’s not your story.’

‘The hell it isn’t,’ mumbles Link, getting back under the blanket long enough for the front and only door to close and his dad to get out of earshot.

Five seconds in all.

‘I’ve got your back, pa,’ Link shouts, throwing off the duvet and quickly putting on his Lincoln green costume. Before leaving, he grabs the wooden sword too, just in case dad’s staging a coup.

***

Outside the castle, it’s dark and thunderous and polystyrene like a star trek set. Luckily there are only four guards and they have no peripheral vision so, after slashing leaves off a few bushes, Link slips through a hole in the wall and into the castle. There’s no one about so he wanders around a bit until a street performer appears, throws some cheap smoke and warns Link that he will take over the whole kingdom unless three items are found and connected and, even then, it won’t be over cos he’s got the dark world concept up his sleeve.

‘Do what?’

‘You’ve got as long as you need though. No rush.’ Continue reading →

DS9 Redux: His Way

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NOTE: This one’s quite long, quite sleazy and turns most Trek characters into pervs. Don’t read if the idea of Odo having sex upsets you.

——

Vic Fontaine stands on the same set used for Federation sex parties, singing slowly to a tedious beat. The musicians in the background look tired, as if they’ve been playing since Season 1.

Dax, Worf, Bashir, O’Brien, Kira, Odo, Worf, Dax, Worf, Bashir, Odo, Kira, Worf, O’Brien and Worf stand at the bar watching him.

Worf checks his watch, grimaces then leans over to Jadzia. ‘When does it end?’

Dax puts a finger to her mouth.

‘It’s been an hour already…’

‘Worf…quiet.’

‘How can one man sing for so long?’

Vic seems to notice the Klingon turning against him, and the song ends. He walks over and lets Bashir introduce him to everyone.

‘This is Dax and Worf…’

‘Hey…how long have you guys been married?’

Dax and Worf look surprised. ‘How did you know we were married?’ asks Worf.

‘Easy, when you’ve been around as long as I have, you notice things.’

Vic notices the Chief staring at a pretty extra nearby. ‘Hey, buddy, don’t worry…’

‘Huh?’

‘It’s okay to touch, just don’t let the wife catch you.’

The Chief nods. ‘I’ve waited so long for someone to say that…you know, I’ve been poking the same woman for eight seasons now.’ Continue reading →

Jin Yong invades heritage museum in Hong Kong

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The martial arts fiction author known by every Chinese person across the world, Jin Yong, is in the Heritage Museum in Tai Wai right now, a museum that is about half an hour down the road from my flat.

If you don’t know this guy, it’s not surprising. Only a few of his novels have been translated into English, though I saw at the exhibition some Spanish + French extracts of his work, so maybe French and Spanish people know about him.

It’s weird, one of the translated novels I read [The Book and the Sword] lost about 750 pages in the move from Chinese to English, and the only reason I can get from anyone for this loss is that Jin Yong’s work is very dense in terms of history and kung fu methodology.

i.e. just like Chinese food in the UK, they tried to adapt it for the market they were translating into, instead of keeping the parts that made it unique in the first place and trusting that people would still be able to follow despite not knowing any of the names. Or trusting them to look those names up. Strange plan overall, as I would’ve thought most people bothering to chase down translations would be doing it to read something different, not something that’s been altered to try and cater for their own culture.

People in HK seem okay with this as they believe Western people would be lost when reading Jin Yong. I asked them if they’d ever seen a Robin Hood film. Or a film about Ancient Egypt. Or Throne of Blood. Did they feel lost watching them? Continue reading →