The worst writer in the whole wide world.
The Story of a Psycho
Project Scorpio Maze was the last experiment by the Military-Industrial Complex, the god of our world, sometimes gossiped about in its era (for even among the proletariat today persists a healthy skepticism) in whispers on our regulated and wild Internet that has finally subsumed reality. Half of what we know about this experiment originates from a mysterious package that was delivered by a drone to a Mr. Oleg Ceksin. All we are willing to publish now regarding this Oleg (we like to refer to him by his first name, although none of us ever truly related to him on a first-name basis) is that he was a traitor, a category not entirely atypical, nevertheless he wasn't just subversive and abnormal but lost as well, a type of subversive whose confusion and disorientation made him wonder if his nation and empire weren't actually in the right and thus, at least occasionally, compelled him to identify with his side instead of with the enemy. Project Scorpio Maze, likewise, began by questioning everything about our empire and its (supposedly imperialist) actions; the most marginalized of top-secret departments, it had to resort to wining and dining and imploring sundry millionaires for favors, and it shamelessly adopted the role of parasite, yet when the experiment was finally dissolved, its value to our empire turned out to be priceless. But throughout its lifetime, of course, Project Scorpio Maze had been considered the most eccentric experiment in our empire. Allow us to emphasize that this project was not an example of subversion--the majority of traitors are self-destructive and incompetent--but of guilty self-analysis, and of a unique, stereotypically Western style.
FATHERLESS IMPOTENT RAGE
In a small one-bedroom apartment, I usually sleep in the same bed as my mom. One of my fears is that I'm just another pathetic loser who lacked a strong father figure. Is it because of the father I never had that I look for "father figures" in all the wrong places? Is it because I never had my father's love that I feel like I need attention, friendship, solace, intimacy, salvation, and redemption from men, yet ultimately feel like I never really get any of that, or that it was always missing from the beginning? Am I still desperate to trust a man or men who can fill the void you left because you were never there for me?
“There weren't always dragons in the Valley.” The dissonant squawking of seagulls fighting for food drowns out his mother’s voice emanating from his cellular phone. Zavier Mahler knows Hope wants to meet him here today at Leviathan River Valley, yet isn’t really sure why. He’s sitting on a log on the river bank. The air is pleasantly cool on this early June morning. A dark green dragon with a wingspan of forty-one feet flies through the bright light blue sky as Zavier breathes in the summer breeze, feels his lungs expand, and heaves a melancholy sigh. He remembers how his father, Lucien, used to take him here on weekends back when no real dragons were ever seen.