Photo by Matheo JBT on Unsplash Oh, Down the dunes I roved; in tow The heady scent of petals, grow Under the steady sun; Below The sand wore ever on! … Continue reading A Wedding Song
Author: Jae
Hello! I'm a nonbinary genderqueer creative from Canada; my stories often incorporate gender and futurism, where I twist or eschew current concepts in favour of a more fluid, fantastical outlook. I write from a place of growth among weeds, and it is my hope that my writing can cut through to the heart of what I feel.
I am also a tabletop gaming enthusiast, and currently am featured on the Blackfeather Guild's channel on Tuesday evenings (7 PM MST) & Saturday at 1 PM MST (where I run a game) and 7 PM MST (where I play); the link is twitch.tv/ravvyn!
Sub-Merged
When you’ve been studying the ocean for so long, it’s hard to remember what it’s like above it.
One Last Journey
Photo by Kasey McCoy on Unsplash This is yet another prompt from the lovely Space Wrecks bot on Twitter. Its an automated bot that generates a short blurb inspired by … Continue reading One Last Journey
Shapeless
I want to curl up so hard my limbs stick together
Like dough, like clay
Squeeze me together until the seams disappear
Lose my shape in your palms
Knead me smooth
Turn me over, and over and over
I’m raw potential now
Waiting for a chance to be something new
Let me rise and stretch
Push out with no borders
Give me time to grow
Enough to be formed into something
Beautiful
Cut me apart, round me out
Now the work’s begun in earnest
Squish and squeeze me
Turn and roll me
Make me into something new
Parts of old and parts of earth
Warmed by hands and hunger
Kept in molds to guide my body
Further skyward, never falling
When all’s been made as stone and wood:
Solid, but for the wanton need.
Give me this new self so I can
Be savoured
Be coveted
Be consumed
Make me again, and again,
Infinitely many,
Shape me however you please
My skin is as putty
My soul’s never slowed
Until your desire my form will
Appease
Low Tide
Photo by Giovanni Arechavaleta on Unsplash This story was inspired by these images by Yun Ling. This story also contains the use of Fae/Faer for the character Din; here is … Continue reading Low Tide
The Pithian Gamble
Photo by John Fowler on Unsplash The first paragraph of this story was generated by Space Wrecks. Its an automated bot that generates snippets inspired by Stewart Cowley’s Terran Trade … Continue reading The Pithian Gamble
The Giants and the Pea
Floating. Always floating; bobbing along the interstellar currents, cold winds from nearby stars buffeting them, breezing over their skin like a hot wash of fire, a blast furnace’s bellowing voice in the infinite dark. It was deep and rumbling, playing the same three low notes over, and over and-
The low beeping dug through Hara’s cryostasis like a needle, a strange mechanical noise in that murky fluid void-dream. It made them think about gutting the console again, but they knew they’d have to fix it afterwards. They managed a raspy mutter, palming the comms panel clumsily as they sat up against the pod, trying to breathe fire through aching lungs.
Ferrence’s familiar voice buzzed through Hara’s skull. Too loud. They tooled down the volume and asked for a repeat, eyes struggling to refocus against the harsh screen light.
<Update on Destra-Hologasi system for you: 43 stellar bodies, multiple gas giants. Trinary star system.>
That last bit interested Hara. “And what’s the min/max distance for that trinary?”
<Calculating…>
(more…)Fucking Well.
Photo by Ben Hershey on Unsplash
Oh, I’ve got no room to let
Got no room to let you live
No room to let you live and die
Inside this heart of mine
There’s just no time to waste
No time to waste on you and I
When all I want’s a nice soft bed
And a roof to hide the sky
Herxes Station
They were all here for the same reason. Not just music; that was implied by the posters, the homemade shirts, the thin station hallway packed full of stitched-together styles and clashing hairdos. Most of these people were miners, haulers, maintenance workers – the ones that did the work so others could live. Even with the small boosts to pay last quarter, these were thankless tasks, and the crowd was clearly a sea of comrades in arms, all frustrated beyond a doubt and looking for an out.
Old Growth
Take a look around
Can you see through the trees?
They’re so big and overgrown;
The wind is howling, but there’s no breeze
They tell us to stop lighting fires
To clear away the weeds
To clear out all this old growth brush
But they’re the ones who tend the roots
To keep them healthy
Keep us crushed
