The headlights flared, and the car—a small, silver sedan—glided down the highway, its lights cutting through the night with their invasive glow; this glow is the very same one that annoys other drivers going the opposite way when it’s left on. It was always turned off at the right times, but on the few times it wasn’t, the other drivers would angrily smash their horns. They were easy to turn on and off; just a flip of the switch. That was it. No more irritating glow; no more pervasive lights; no more stubborn shine.
Inside, was a sort of family. Four people: a man, a woman, a boy, and a girl. “This damned road is so long,” mumbled the man. The woman looked at him, and replied: “It’s a highway. They’re all like this.” The man shook his head, and took a look into the rearview mirror. In that mirror, he saw a boy and a girl. The boy was noticeably older than his female complement. The girl was breathing lightly, softly, and sleeping soundly. The belt was swathed around her, preventing unneeded movement. The boy—eyes low, arms crossed—was belted down too, just like the girl. But the boy was awake, unlike the girl; he was very much unable to sleep. The man’s gaze drifted from the mirror and onto the road ahead. The car passed a sign; and the man proceeded to read it aloud: “EXIT 12-A MORSBURG: KEEP RIGHT.”
Such an inconspicuous mode of transportation was the best choice for this family. As the exit came up, the man put his blinker on, flashing the turn signal. The woman solemnly stared out the window. The little girl rustled in her peaceful slumber. She wasn’t able to move much because of her seatbelt. The boy looked over at the girl and closed his eyes, shaking his head slowly. Nobody was talking. “Good grief! Glad we’re off that highway, huh?” exclaimed the man to the woman. She didn’t answer him. She just turned back, and looked at the two children. As the car swerved off the exit ramp, the weight from the trunk began to shift. The slide was felt until it reached the opposite side. The boy flinched as the weight collided with the trunk’s wall and making a dark thump. Now on the back roads, they continued their drive.
“How long until we get there?” asked the woman. It was late. Maybe even early. The man looked at her. “Gee, I dunno,” he said. “Probably another hour or so,” he said. The woman let out a disappointed sigh and turned back to the window. The man’s eyes shifted, once again, to the rearview mirror. The second his gaze met the boy’s, the latter averted his eyes. The man smiled to himself and looked ahead to the road. “We’re almost home,” he assured.
Lights, facing the car, could be seen in the distance. Someone was coming in the opposite direction. The man, quick as ever, flipped the switch and turned his high beams off. As the unknown car drove by, the man closed his eyes, shielding them from the blinding fact that the other driver forgot to turn their high beams off. The boy looked on with his elegiac gaze, watching the car as it flew by. He watched as if he was watching an old friend walk away, knowing they would never come back. “Bah!” the man exclaimed once it had passed, regaining his eyesight. “They left their beams on! People like that need to be put away.” He chuckled to himself, laughing at his own joke, while making sure the silence that filled the car never became too unbearably awkward. The woman turned, facing the man; she forced a smile, her eyes filled with all but happiness. There were no other vehicles, and so the man turned his high beams back on.
Before the switch was flipped, the car hit a pothole. The sedan, small as it was, jerked down, up, then out as the wheel slipped into the hole and hit the end. All the while, the weight in the trunk was violently wrenched around and, bouncing, it landed with a wet thud that caused the boy to cringe. “Fuck!” the man cursed out loud. “Fuckin’ potholes,” he cursed again. The woman, clearly shaken, looked around. The man, having regained his composure, said to her: “Ah! Awake now, aren’t ya?” He said this jokingly, of course, but she was visibly irritated. “Please,” she chided, “watch where you drive.” In the back seat, a new sound could be heard. The little girl had been awakened by the disturbances caused by the jerking and the loud talking. “Where am I?” she asked groggily. “Aw, look! She’s tired,” the man pointed out. He looked at the boy with sharp, piercing eyes. “Could you please put her back to sleep, please?” he asked. The boy looked at the girl with a tender but nervous smile and said: “Hush. Go back to sleep, okay?” His voice was gentler than the gentlest of lullabies, and softer than the softest of clouds. As he spoke, she closed her eyes and went back to sleep.
The car’s high beams were back on, piercing the night like the brightest of arrows. The light illuminated the world in view: the road in front and the forests on either side. This road was obviously not a major one. “Going this way isn’t very popular, is it?” the man stated. Nobody answered him and he probably never expected anyone to. “But, as they say,” he followed himself up with, “always take the road less travelled!” The woman rolled her eyes and continued to look out the window in silence, staring into the foreboding forest that surrounded everything. This road was perfect for such a family. The man once again took a look into the rearview mirror. The boy, like the woman, was looking out the window with painfully nervous eyes, and the little girl was fast asleep. The boy watched the trees pass by with a gaze full with such longing that the man had to ask him: “What are you looking at?” The boy never answered. He just stared. For the first time, the man accepted the silence, grasped the wheel, and looked ahead.
While the car rolled through the forested path, the night continued to darken, becoming deader than before with every second that passed. The speed limit on a road like this was probably around 45 miles per hour; the man made sure he was driving 45 miles per hour. Even given the fact that there were obviously no policemen for miles, getting pulled over would not fare well for such a family. “How much longer?” the woman whined. The man clicked his tongue. “Stop complaining.” He looked at the clock. “No more than 15 minutes.” The woman sighed loudly, crossed her arms, and looked out the window. The man smiled and laughed softly. “You can be such a little baby.”
A sharp turn came up, seemingly out of nowhere, and the man managed to take it as slow as he could. As the car was going a bit fast, the weight in the trunk once again shifted to the opposite side. The sliding noise could be heard once more and the boy flinched when he heard the dull sound of its complete shift. The man, looking at the boy through the rearview mirror, cocked his eyebrow and, without saying a word, turned the radio on. The music slowly began to permeate throughout the car, loud enough to hear but not loud enough as to wake up a sleeping child. The woman looked over to the driver’s side, puzzled. The man smiled and, without looking away from the road, said: “Ooh, I love this song!” He said this in a soft voice—at least, as soft a voice as he could. The boy looked to the front seat and slowly formed his mouth into what could be construed as an uncomfortable smile. The song was one of little novelty; one of those nameless, acoustic soft rock-esque songs. It played lightly, and penetrated the uncomfortable silence just as the light from the high beams penetrated the darkness outside. All of this, as the car wheeled its way down the old, back roads through the unliving night. The music was playing, and the little girl was still sleeping; rustling, smiling and softly speaking on occasion. “Mommy!” she would coo quietly. When she said this, the boy would look to the front of the car with sad eyes, and the woman would painfully look away, out the window and into the forest; into the woods. The song ended, and the man turned the radio off.
The car slowly turned into an alcove. “We’re here!” exclaimed the man as everything came to a complete stop. The boy looked around, but it was too dark to see anything. Everything was pitch; darkness surrounded, choking the air in a black silence. The sedan was no longer moving, and all of the lights were turned off. The man and the woman opened the doors. He looked back at the boy and, just before exiting the car, cautioned him: “Don’t you go anywhere, now. We’ll be right back.” The boy was unable to see, in the darkness, the man’s smile. As they shut the doors, a click could be heard, then the sound of the trunk opening. The vehicle tilted forward as the man and the woman, outside, emptied the trunk, relieving the beast of its burden. The girl, formerly in a state of restive slumber, was starting to wake up. Having unpacked the family’s luggage, the man and the woman began another trip. The bags over their shoulders, drooping, they set off, disappearing into the blackness. The boy slowly and quietly pulled the lever, but nothing happened.
The little girl was now awake, yawning quietly, and the boy stared at her with a gaze of hurt. Rubbing her eyes in a tired daze, she turned to him, sleepily, and asked: “Where are my mommy and daddy?” The second those words came out, the boy started to cry. Tears poured from his eyes like tap water. The little girl, surprised by them, looked at the boy. As she looked at him, she smiled a puzzling smile. And in the darkness of the night, the little girl reached out to the crying boy. “Hush,” she said to him, “everything’s ok. You can sleep now.” Her voice was softer than the wind, and gentler than the footsteps approaching the car.

I just started getting interested in literature with the amount of free time I have now. I just finished the book Ishmael and looking for a book that discusses the idea of Resistance and its philosophies. Or really, just a book that is at a writing level of daniel quinn that is mind-blowing or philosophical where I could engage and attack the text . The idea of life, death and war also interests me

Plus tard dans la nuit...

La cuisine est au sous sol, je descends. Je ne sais pas quelle heure il peut bien être exactement,  peut être trois heure...ou quatre. Il fait sombre dans la maison, les fenêtres ouvertes ne laissent plus échapper le bruit de la musique et du dîner des voisins. Je me sens pâteux, presque malade. Le lit grattait partout mon corps et des cauchemars saccadés en rafales putrides remplissaient de liquide les plis de mon oreiller lymphatique. Un bourdonnement lancinant semblait asphyxier mes oreilles et retenir les bruissement de mon environnement dans une forme instable. Accablé d'un effort intense, je saisi la perche d'un instant de réalité pour me lever et atteindre avec faiblesse l'interrupteur de la chambre. Je dois être éveillé à présent bien qu'aucune indication sensorielle ne me l'assure. Je hume mon corps lourd, une odeur aigre de transpiration, la moiteur des murs sur mes mains en avant. Les escaliers crissent, il fait plus sombre encore. Je devine tout en bas le renfoncement qui mène à la cuisine. L'humidité se fait plus pénétrante. Un goût amer me rempli la gorge de salive. Est-ce la dernière marche? Je tâtonne. Sous mon pied je sens le carrelage froid et livide qui tranche avec la tiédeur de l'escalier en bois. J'ai l'impression qu'un temps immense s'est écoulé, tous les cauchemars ont repris place en mon esprit épuisé comme si je ne m'en étais jamais extirpé. La réalité semble évanouie. Plus profond que la conscience, rien d'un monde connu ne subsiste. Je pose le second pied sur le carrelage où ricoche la lune en linceul échouée par le puits de verre. Là, à quelques centimètres, se fige dans sa course folle vers la cave une immense araignée marron velours. Son corps est dense et cartilagineux. On peut distinguer un motif en forme de jarre sur son dos puissant. Ses pattes sont si épaisses qu'on les croirait presque animées par un squelette osseux. Je me stoppe pétrifié. Mes pieds nus ressentent le contact avec la bête. Je ne peux l'écraser en nature. Nos deux présences se télescopent dans cette pièce fraiche et trouble comme l'eau d'un étang. La forme cramponnées ne fait plus un mouvement. Elle enserre son existence tout entière en de puissants crochets. Je n'ose plus avancer. Un frisson, de dégoût vient me parcourir la colonne et se fige dans ma nuque. Elle peut prendre le dessus, elle le sait. La contourner devient un acte suicidaire. Tous les carreaux blancs sont infectés par sa présence malsaine. Le chemin vers le réfrigérateur est piégé. Je comprends en un instant qu'à ce moment de la nuit et du temps la pièce ne m'appartient plus. Elle est le théâtre de combats immondes entre rampants et volants, insectes sadiques et larves informes. Les étages de l'univers humains sont loin. La lymphe de mon oreiller a coulé par les fissures jusqu'au sous sol et vient m'emprisonner à nouveau les tempes. La bête est toujours là. Elle m'observe en mille facettes plus intensément que mes facultés ne le peuvent. Elle se délecte déjà de la faiblesse de mes pieds nus dont le souffle et les vibrations charnelles excitent sa soif de morsure. Dans un élan de folie ou de désespoir je me jette à l'abri d'un torchon posé sur une chaise comme une cachette dérisoire pour mes sens. Un mouvement de patte et elle peut faire exploser mon esprit. J'atteins haletant le frigo et l'ouvre en suppliant la lumière de m'éveiller. Je saisi une bouteille, prend une petite gorgée de thé glacé, qui s'évapore sou mon palais. Je reprends en suffoquant à moitié ma respiration, puis je souffle et inspire profondément de nouveau. Je jette un coup d'œil autour de moi. Une limace longue glisse par bulles obscènes sur le mur blanc au dessus de l'évier.
Lorsque je me retourne la grosse tâche sombre est partie. La voie est libre, mais il est trop tard. Une mousse vert de gris s'est développée au bord de mes lèvres et mes orteils se sont enracinés en jeunes pousses dans le carrelage submergé par une terre meuble. En tentant de retirer ma main, j'observe avec effroi qu'un champignon du frigo a digéré une petite tranche de jambon qui restait là pour établir son nid le long de mon bras. La bête se tient cabrée sur mon épaule et siffle calmement sa présence au creux de mon oreille. Elle fixe une grosse mouche tente de s'extirper des mes cheveux blanchis. D'un coup sec elle se jette sur sa proie et  la saisi entre ses mandibules lui enfonçant en un instant son dard puissant comme un pieux dans la chair. Les deux insectes ne font plus qu'un dans une danse morbide et nerveuse. Les sucs expulsés par la bête gonflent le corps de la mouche et débordent de la scène comme pour m'y inviter et me mêler au supplice. Cette bille atroce coule le long de mon front et commence à ronger mes paupières. Avant de perdre connaissance, je comprends avec horreur que toutes les parties molles de mon corps sont en train d'être reprises lentement par la nature. La maison sans bruit est montée d'un cran. Plus personne ne me trouvera couché dans le lit au matin.

/book/ what do you think is the best Jonathon Franzen piece to begin with?

Read the inside of my butt.   >:\



Long Live SFBE!!!

Anonymous Your time has come to pay the price for your crimes!!!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8f7DO1T7PvA

Two different series, the first series was about a woman in the human empire/federation's space military. She trained to be able to release adrenaline on command, among other monkish techniques. I think in the third book she wakes up from cryosleep and meets her granddaughter, possibly great granddaughter. There are aliens, the only ones I can remember were named something like Wern? They could shapeshift and their natural form was sort of like an amoeba blob of killing stuff (if you've read them you know what I'm talking about)

The second series was also set in space, and humans had split themselves into a few factions. One faction against human augmentation, another faction infusing themselves with nanomachines. The main character was one of those with nanomachines in her, increasing perception and thinking times by a ridiculous amount. A race of semi-intelligent machines travels the galaxy destroying life when it becomes too intelligent (to help prevent a larger disaster later). I remember there being some humans that had been spliced with pigs? They weren't the brightest.

Any help would be appreciated