The Bullhorn of SILVER BROWN

Let Me Rub My Juices All Over You

A peculiar attribute of the technological zeitgeist of this decade (whatever we end up calling it in the end, which will likely be either the #MeToos or the Avocado Toasties) which sets it apart from the Nineties and Noughties is that people today are too lazy to actually surf the Internet. There’s no longer an incentive to do the gruntwork of visiting online forums or Usenet, when technology has evolved to a point where people no longer have to actually do anything to get their daily dose of memes. Now the Internet comes neatly packaged directly to the people, in the form of their Facebook timelines and Twitter feeds, to say nothing of the seemingly endless parade of smartphone notifications.

In recognition of Western civilization’s bold new devotion to intellectual sloth, I would like to remind everybody I have left behind the obligitory urine stain on both Facebook and Twitter. Not Instagram, though. Instagram is just one big digital high school. With a very impressive yearbook. Which is fine, except I graduated years ago.

As much as there is to dislike about social media as a whole, one of its useful aspects is as a supplementary energy to an organization’s already existing web presence. Like an appendage growing out of your website, reaching out to fondle people so it can coat their hair and clothing with its juices.

My twin social media appendages have indeed been doing a lot of fondling. I occasionally do this thing where I take an entire chapter from the book and post one page from that chapter a day, on one platform or the other. I don’t do it all the time, and which platform I end up posting it to depends on a complex schedule based on the time of year and the phase of the moon and the current coordinates of the magnetic north pole. But I do it occasionally, and love to drink the essence of the people’s reactions. The concept started on Twitter and gravitated towards Facebook a few months later. I have way more followers on Twitter †, so it’s a useful avenue for conducting grand sociological experiments. The Facebook page was more of an afterthought.

† I somehow gained a followership of over 1000 people on Twitter without being young, female or pretty. In this day and age, that’s an accomplishment.

 

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The Journey of SILVER BROWN

An Enzymatic Bitchslapping

One of the aspects unique to releasing a book in serial format is that the characters almost become actors, and you become this entity similar to Kermit the Frog who says encouraging supercalifragilistic things to them backstage in the waning seconds before they go out there to knock ’em dead. Except I wouldn’t be exactly Kermit. If I learned anything from meditating in Ojibwe tipis for three years, my Kermitic manitou would be something closer to the other guy from that other movie…


…but only because he brought up cheese. No other reason. Cross my heart.

Speaking of which, Kent Fairholt had to undergo a violent soul extraction and digestion in the 9,302nd stomach of my dark Kermitic essence to remove certain impurities that sullied his character. I am pleased to announce that he is now ready to take his war medicine. In the earlier drafts, he was just an asshole. But now he’s an asshole, and more.

The Journey of SILVER BROWN

The Colossal Esophagi of ₪EYONUGIISHI

The chapters I’m editing now see Florys being taken to the headquarters of Lodge No. 7712 of the Thirteenth Nation Sisterhood, located on the forest island of ₪EYONUGIISHI. There, she is to have a face-to-face discussion with the dreaded and ill-tempered Crocus Acadia, a senior cyberwitch and reigning Vizier-Queen of the Lodge, who (among other things) smokes her cigarettes through a big hole in her neck that she had surgically installed on purpose, and has the ability to rip a person’s head off (“like it was made of paper”, as Florys puts it) using nothing but a stare. I won’t elaborate too much on what the discussion is about. You’ll just have to wait until I eventually publish those chapters to learn more about that. I more so wanted to highlight ₪EYONUGIISHI itself and what a freakishly surreal place it is.

In addition to the myriad of booby traps on the island that were put there to deter outsiders (which include ravenous flesh-eating beetles that only experienced Sisters know how to tame and trees that excrete highly corrosive sap when touched), the entrance to the Lodge headquarters is located in an impossible-to-find spot, inside a tool shed in the middle of a meadow…


DSCN1750
Something like this one, except with different graffiti.

The meadow is a wandering meadow – a special type of program devised by the Sisterhood that alters its own coordinates daily. It could be on one side of the island one day and the other side the next day, the only constant being that it’s always on the island somewhere. Its outward appearance is merely a diversion; it’s not really a tool shed. It’s actually an elevator. A living elevator.


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From its walls it emits a substance closely resembling spider silk. This silk accumulates into a wad roughly the size of a small horse every two hours or so, which sits neatly atop an orifice in the dead centre of the floor. Once the Entity has scanned a Sister’s fingerprints and verified that she is worthy to enter the Lodge headquarters, the Sister gets inside the tool shed and puts the wad on, as if it was a fur coat. The Entity then swallows the wad whole down the orifice, with her inside.

The Entity has several other esophagi aside from the main one, as well as several anal openings that provide a way out of the Lodge headquarters. Some of the other esophagi are comparatively pleasant compared to the main one. But Florys doesn’t care about any of that. She hates all these elevators, and always complains to her Aunt Jennifer whenever she has to ride in one. She would prefer an elevator with an impeccably dressed attendant, a string quartet and a fully-stocked champagne bar.