Ommatidia » Uncategorized

$420 / 112ft² – HUGE room in rad group home

Brendan — Fri, 25 Nov 2011 15:10:16 +0000

Seeking a rad, drama-free fifth housemate to complete us! Your room is 28′x4′ at the top of a rad 1989 triplex at Foster and 621st. We share the kitchen, dining/meditation area and 0.5 rad bathrooms. 420 friendly ;) (get it) (pot)

About us: Gennifer’s 22, not not funemployed and an amazing paintist. DK, 34, is a former coolhound. Flora (age unknown) is a yoga instructor/outpatient who skated here from Burning Man! Beyond is 58 and MCs for White Funk Nation. Unity is our wise, passionate chicken cooplective.

Open house from 3:35-4:20 ;) am Tuesday. Hope to love you there!!!

Bolognese Machiavelli

Brendan — Wed, 19 Oct 2011 15:00:11 +0000

Arrange to have garlic and onions cast into hot oil.
The carrot and celery you must divide against themselves. Ground beef, too, shall turn upon the burner; crush any coherent resistance with a spoon of wood. Sautee until no hint of blood remains to stain your hands.
Perhaps, in a dark place without witnesses, the tomato shall meet with the knife.
The basil and parsley you may use without consequence. For long minutes, all shall be muddled and roil on the surface of the flame.
If it is most advantageous, store cold for the proper day.

Kitsunegari

Brendan — Wed, 22 Jun 2011 18:11:09 +0000

His steps (so precise) break the thin crust of ice in the grove of dark, bare cherry trees. It’s silent and cold. His father once told him the hunter must move like the breeze.

His hands have gone numb; he carries no gun, but a warped, unreliable bow. He’s searching for tracks, but the matter of fact is that some paws leave no mark on snow.

His quarry’s aground, curled up warm and sound in a burrow deep under the frost. He’s a fool to give chase. Yet he does, with the pace of a man who denies that he’s lost.

Epilogue

Brendan — Sat, 04 Jun 2011 15:00:40 +0000

Brought to you by Ben Wray

“Okay, what about exceptions?”

“I need your exceptiona-” but then Kay’s rudely interrupted.

“Notimetoexplain!” Mario grabs her and spacetime rearranges itself in a flash of light. They’re just in time for the closing words.

“Omnia mutantur, nihil interit,” solmenly quotes Toe. “Death is but a door, time is but a window…”

“Is he quoting Ghostbusters 2 or 8-bit theater?” asks Jake, but Dylan kicks him, hard, and he shuts up.

Everybody’s there. Zach, Rob, Asuka’s doctor, Zaganza, Shelly, your favorite character not already mentioned… everybody.

Then Millicent’s paw thrusts triumphantly out of the ground suck it Brendan I win forever.

Marty

Brendan — Fri, 03 Jun 2011 15:00:18 +0000

A story by John Dixon

“Sarge is hit!”

“Where’s the medic?”

“He’s dead, sir.”

“Push forward, men! Take that outpost with grenades!”

Clusters of green and tan collide with grim finality.

The guns are silent. Not a single figure moves.

The man shifts a faltering lad to the nearby couch and gently pulls a sheet halfway up his small form. Marty slides the remaining distance into slumber within a minute. Surveying a random terrain of wadded blankets and shattered wood-block fortifications, his grandfather leaves the door ajar. Battle’s aftermath in the raking shafts of dawn will provide a more satisfying morning picture than tidied carpet.