Concept Albums Explained: Frameworks, James Sizemore

January 10th, 2024

by Paul-Newell Reaves

Film composer James Sizemore– credited for work on the “Twilight” series and “the Hobbit”– released his Contemporary Classical album Frameworks in 2018.  The tracks are titled after concepts of geometry and mathematics, and his work becomes an elegant statement of meaning in Post-Post-Modernism.

The album insists that, as we consider the album as a text, we examine the tracks backwards, from last to first, in reverse of the arranged listening order.  Why?  There is no why in math!  It will all add up under analysis.

No graph paper will be necessary for our musical calculations.  But your mind will expand exponentially by the time we arrive at the beginning.
(read more)



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A Creative Approach to an A.I. POLICY:

January 7th, 2024

only on Defenestrationism.net
[if you take pride in writing, skip this section]

You can try out A.I. for our contests, if you truly worry your writing skills are too flimsy. But you should probably trust your own abilities more.

I trained LLMs in creative writing, so not only will I probably recognize their work, I’ll even give you some hints:
A.I. doesn’t generate original ideas– that’s the fundamental premise of the software, it rips off stuff that’s already been published– so you’d definitely better come up with your basic conceit by hand. As to the work itself, in order to make A.I.’s writing remotely interesting, stylistically, you must be very specific about which authors’ style you want the software to write in. Pick two or three writers you enjoy reading, and put their names in the box along with your concept. Most importantly, revise the automaton’s work– and I’m not talking about typos.

That’s almost the entirety of the writing process, really– creating your concept, reading your favorite authors for inspiration, then the extensive revision– if a bot will get you over your initial writing block, I guess that’s a good use for the tool.  Just don’t be satisfied with mediocrity. Your readers certainly won’t be. (And with that fun, little worm in your brain– the bit about mediocrity, you know, that the work could always be just a little bit better if you only change one thing more…– A.I. won’t save you all that much time, percentage wise.)

Writing is a joy– an outlet, a passion– and if you’re using A.I. on Defenestrationism.net contests only for our meager prizes, good luck with your life and the state of your soul…





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Submission for Lengthy Poem Contest is now closed

January 2nd, 2024


!Thank you to everyone who has already submitted!

Finalists will be announced on-site sometime in March.
Contest will publish in April,
with winners announced on May Day, which is May 1st.


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Mere hours left…

January 1st, 2024


You still have time to submit to the 2024 Lengthy Poem Contest.

We will accept submissions till it is no longer January 1st anywhere on Earth.
(That would be Kiribati time!)

Guidelines for the Lengthy Poem Contest

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January 1st, 2024

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Your favorites will need it.

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EIGHT AND SAND

December 31st, 2023

by Shannon Brady
[this is the third in the three part series–
read Final Stop from the beginning, here]


“It really is so lovely here.”

Was it the hundredth time she’d said so? Jack never minded. With the endless arrivals and departures around them, he liked being reminded it wasn’t wrong of him to enjoy this place. It wasn’t the Grand Central Station of his boyhood memories, but still…

“When I was young and it was bright out like this, I wished for it to last forever. It was always so beautiful.” Jack laughed in slight embarrassment. “I sound like a grandmother.”

“It’s nice.” Alice smiled. This was not unusual, but Jack sensed something new about it. “It’s good that you remember something so clear.”

“Come on now, I’m not a day over thirty.”

“I wonder a lot whether I ended up having grandchildren. I’d have liked some to talk to like that. I barely had any time with my daughter to — “

“Say!” Jack blurted, pointing to several people who had gathered together and were now bolting for one of the gates. Its time was set for twelve. “Where d’you suppose they’re going?”

“Maybe back into the city. The real one.”

“What, all of them?”

“Well, I don’t know about that.”

“Exactly. Who says they’ll end up in the same place, even if they do leave by the same train?”

“Scattered all over the world. Like dandelion puffs.”

“Doesn’t that scare you?”

“Yes. But I want it all the same. When it’s been sunny for so long, you start wishing for some rain.” She sighed. “It’s been fun, Jack. But I think now it’s time to go find some.”

If Jack still had a heartbeat, that would have stopped it. After all the time they’d only had each other here, she was just going to…!

“Come with me?”

His legs wouldn’t move. “I..I can’t. Please, wait a bit longer.”

“I don’t think I can anymore. But I hope to see you then anyway. Maybe we’ll be siblings.”

“Or maybe I’ll be your grandchild.”

That got a rare laugh out of her. “Oh, Jack. Don’t wait that long, for your own sake.”

Jack stared as she disappeared into the gate too. He imagined her boarding the train, settling down into a comfortable seat, being carried away into the dark. Part of him yearned to race after her.

The rest of him looked around at the bright gold station interior that never wore down, the endless sunlight streaming from the windows, his own body that would never be hurt again, so long as he stayed here, and couldn’t. Not yet.

“Be safe, Alice,” he murmured.

The clock struck twelve.





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Outlawed

December 30th, 2023

by Shannon Brady
[this is the second in the three part series–
read Final Stop from the beginning, here]

His daughters always said he worked too hard, asked him again and again when he would retire. He always had the same answer for them: “When I’m good and ready.”

He knows he never did anything better in his life than father two wonderful kids, and he always misses them something fierce when the rails take him away from them. It was better after they were married with their own homes, no longer waiting around in Dad’s cramped city apartment. Still…he never exactly got Christmases and birthdays off.

Eric’s hands — stiff and always slightly sore nowadays —rest protectively on the control stand, meticulously kept free of dust and scratches. Even after everything, he can’t resent the old train. The presence of the levers and switches inches from his fingers feel as much like home as…well, home. And, oh…

He lifts his gaze to the very top of the windshield. If his eyes were going-going, like his older daughter worries, he would have sadly hung up his cap already. But he can still see the subtle undulations of the yellowing grass in the plains, the leaves blowing away from the trees, how crystal perfect blue the sky is over the mountains and forests. Never looked better, the thought occurs to him.

It’s almost disappointing when he finally pulls into the last station, the little rusty-red structure that some of the younger boys laugh at and call a shack when they think Eric can’t hear. Let them laugh, he supposes. They’re spoiled these days, these kids, but they’ll learn as they get older, just like he did.

Hell, he was born in a shack in the middle of nowhere, and look how far he’s managed to come: over peaks and down valleys and through the most vicious blizzards and storms to see every inch of this country.

“Um…sir?”

He hasn’t jumped since his first years driving the train, but he does let out a startled sort of cough from deep in his chest as he turns around. “Hrm…? Oh, excuse me, young lady. Can I help…ah.”

The politeness falls away as he gets the full picture of the woman in the doorway of the control car — red hair smartly tied back, blue eyes wide and alert, and brand new engineer’s uniform spotless from her cap to her shoes — and is replaced by genuine warmth. My, how times are changing, he thinks.

“I think I have an idea of what you’re here for, new kid.” He offers his hand to shake. “Eric Flange.”

“I know — everybody talks about you!” The woman has a firm handshake, the likes of which he hasn’t felt in a long time, and Eric smiles approvingly. “They told me I’d get to meet you when I took over this line, I didn’t quite believe it at first. No offense!”

“None taken. And your name?”

She snaps into a sharp salute, grinning in spite of herself. “Nea Wye, sir! It’s an honor to meet you.”

“Is it really? Little old me?”

“I heard you always did sell yourself short. From Joe back at headquarters, mostly. He said even after that crash, when you pulled all those people out of the fire, all you could say when the ambulance came was—”

Eric almost laughs. “It was my job, I said. And it was, all there was to it. How is Joe, anyway? He ever get promoted?”

“Retired now, actually. Traveling with his family, last I heard.”

“Ah.” The words put a weight in Eric’s heart, but he breathes slowly and carefully around it. It was always going to fall like this, wasn’t it? “I ought to get to that, shouldn’t I? I should have retired in ‘62.”

“That’s the age for it, according to the manual,” Nea says, in the same crisp tone. But she can’t quite hide the sorrow in her eyes that tells Eric she knows exactly what he meant. “You’ve done amazing, sir. Everyone says so. Now, though…may I?”

Eric takes one more deep breath, before stepping aside and gesturing welcomingly to the control stand. “You’ve read the manual. Good. But you’ve got to know that’s not enough as an engineer. Enough time behind these controls, you’ll develop instincts. When it counts, you’ve got to listen to them. Understand me?”

“Yes, sir. Thank you.” Nea steps up, and a shiver of excitement runs over her body when she lays hands on the controls. “My whole life, I’ve been waiting for this…!”

Eric lifts his head proudly. “It’ll be a good life. I promise you that. As for me, I’ve got to go see my daughters. But…would you allow me one last ride with the old girl?”

Nea smiles, patting the controls affectionately. “It’ll be my honor to drive you.”

Eric gives her one quick, encouraging squeeze to the shoulder — the kind he’d give his kids when they were young, running home from school with A’s on their test papers — before finally walking out of the control car to the passenger cars. The seats are a lot plusher than they used to be, and he has his pick of any of them from here to the caboose.

But he’s never been picky. He sits in the first row by the door, right at the window. It’s comfortable, but he’s only able to settle in when he feels the train growl and roar to life underneath him, same as always, and feel the rattling vibrations against his head leaning on the glass. He doesn’t focus on any particular thing, only on the colors of grass and sky and mountain all rushing together, impossibly beautiful.

Funny, he thinks, for the first time in a long time. I don’t think I remember that ambulance ride…

All at once, the train shoots into the tunnel through a cliff side, and everything goes pitch black.

The first she can, Nea turns to ask if Eric is finding everything alright. But his seat is as empty as the rest, and her shoulder is still cold.





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Final Stop

December 29th, 2023

by Shannon Brady

Bad Order
(publishing December 29th)
Outlawed
(publishing December 30th)
Eight and Sand
(publishing December 31st)


Bad Order

“Detective…”

Miles considered himself quite lucky when a young doll like this became his client. Rita Walker spoke in that smoky-sweet tone he adored, and the way she fluttered those doe eyes up at him definitely got him all hot and bothered. True, she was a Missus Walker instead of a Miss…but he could work his way around that.

“…I am just so thankful that you were the one who volunteered to take my case. All that time you spent trying to find my husband, and chasing such a clever hunch too! I never would have guessed any of it.”

“Don’t worry about it, ma’am. Nobody else in the office did, either, you know.”

“The lengths you went to! Why, you could have been killed by those dreadful kidnappers!”

“All in a day’s work for Miles Cowan.” He tipped his hat, to which Mrs. Walker — Rita, he ought to start thinking of her — giggled. There were plenty of couples among the crowd bustling around the train station: he imagined the pair of them didn’t look any different. “Now, I don’t want to make you late for your train home, ma’am, but could I interest you in a New Year’s Eve party at my home? No better way to ring in nineteen-forty.”

More lash-fluttering. “Oh, my, Detective…without my husband?”

“Well, if you see fit to leave him home…”

Music, wine, friends willing to look the other way, and Miles would be ringing in the new year just beautifully. As would Rita: the lady’s smile and eyes definitely knew the score.

“Yes…well, perhaps not home. I went to such pains to arrange his abduction, after all.”

So entranced was Miles by her voice that it took a good few seconds for her words to register. His smile froze on his face. “Wh…wha—?”

He first thought that a man had punched his spine. Before he could react at all, Rita was throwing her arms around him, holding him still with a hug as she whispered into his ear: “You’re many vulgar things, but more than anything you’re a nuisance. Thanks to you, we had to resort to murder instead to get my husband out of the picture. You are too talented for your own good, I didn’t lie about that, but that just means we can’t have you on our tails.”

Our? Miles’ head was turning hazy. Pressure was steadily intensifying in his back. We?!

A lady’s shoes clacked up to their side. His eyes flicked over to see the lady they belonged to: honey-blonde hair gleaming in the sunlight, dark eyes gleaming with malice, and her bloodied knife gleaming silver as she slipped it into her purse.

“Well done, Brigid, my dear.” Rita let him go and took her hand. “Goodbye, Detective.”

Miles swayed, then pitched, and crashed to the floor. Between the legs of panicked bystanders now rushing to help him, he saw the lovers vanish into a departure gate, as his vision swirled into darkness.




Outlawed

His daughters always said he worked too hard, asked him again and again when he would retire. He always had the same answer for them: “When I’m good and ready.”

He knows he never did anything better in his life than father two wonderful kids, and he always misses them something fierce when the rails take him away from them. It was better after they were married with their own homes, no longer waiting around in Dad’s cramped city apartment. Still…he never exactly got Christmases and birthdays off.

Eric’s hands — stiff and always slightly sore nowadays —rest protectively on the control stand, meticulously kept free of dust and scratches. Even after everything, he can’t resent the old train. The presence of the levers and switches inches from his fingers feel as much like home as…well, home. And, oh…

He lifts his gaze to the very top of the windshield. If his eyes were going-going, like his older daughter worries, he would have sadly hung up his cap already. But he can still see the subtle undulations of the yellowing grass in the plains, the leaves blowing away from the trees, how crystal perfect blue the sky is over the mountains and forests. Never looked better, the thought occurs to him.

It’s almost disappointing when he finally pulls into the last station, the little rusty-red structure that some of the younger boys laugh at and call a shack when they think Eric can’t hear. Let them laugh, he supposes. They’re spoiled these days, these kids, but they’ll learn as they get older, just like he did.

Hell, he was born in a shack in the middle of nowhere, and look how far he’s managed to come: over peaks and down valleys and through the most vicious blizzards and storms to see every inch of this country.

“Um…sir?”

He hasn’t jumped since his first years driving the train, but he does let out a startled sort of cough from deep in his chest as he turns around. “Hrm…? Oh, excuse me, young lady. Can I help…ah.”

The politeness falls away as he gets the full picture of the woman in the doorway of the control car — red hair smartly tied back, blue eyes wide and alert, and brand new engineer’s uniform spotless from her cap to her shoes — and is replaced by genuine warmth. My, how times are changing, he thinks.

“I think I have an idea of what you’re here for, new kid.” He offers his hand to shake. “Eric Flange.”

“I know — everybody talks about you!” The woman has a firm handshake, the likes of which he hasn’t felt in a long time, and Eric smiles approvingly. “They told me I’d get to meet you when I took over this line, I didn’t quite believe it at first. No offense!”

“None taken. And your name?”

She snaps into a sharp salute, grinning in spite of herself. “Nea Wye, sir! It’s an honor to meet you.”

“Is it really? Little old me?”

“I heard you always did sell yourself short. From Joe back at headquarters, mostly. He said even after that crash, when you pulled all those people out of the fire, all you could say when the ambulance came was—”

Eric almost laughs. “It was my job, I said. And it was, all there was to it. How is Joe, anyway? He ever get promoted?”

“Retired now, actually. Traveling with his family, last I heard.”

“Ah.” The words put a weight in Eric’s heart, but he breathes slowly and carefully around it. It was always going to fall like this, wasn’t it? “I ought to get to that, shouldn’t I? I should have retired in ‘62.”

“That’s the age for it, according to the manual,” Nea says, in the same crisp tone. But she can’t quite hide the sorrow in her eyes that tells Eric she knows exactly what he meant. “You’ve done amazing, sir. Everyone says so. Now, though…may I?”

Eric takes one more deep breath, before stepping aside and gesturing welcomingly to the control stand. “You’ve read the manual. Good. But you’ve got to know that’s not enough as an engineer. Enough time behind these controls, you’ll develop instincts. When it counts, you’ve got to listen to them. Understand me?”

“Yes, sir. Thank you.” Nea steps up, and a shiver of excitement runs over her body when she lays hands on the controls. “My whole life, I’ve been waiting for this…!”

Eric lifts his head proudly. “It’ll be a good life. I promise you that. As for me, I’ve got to go see my daughters. But…would you allow me one last ride with the old girl?”

Nea smiles, patting the controls affectionately. “It’ll be my honor to drive you.”

Eric gives her one quick, encouraging squeeze to the shoulder — the kind he’d give his kids when they were young, running home from school with A’s on their test papers — before finally walking out of the control car to the passenger cars. The seats are a lot plusher than they used to be, and he has his pick of any of them from here to the caboose.

But he’s never been picky. He sits in the first row by the door, right at the window. It’s comfortable, but he’s only able to settle in when he feels the train growl and roar to life underneath him, same as always, and feel the rattling vibrations against his head leaning on the glass. He doesn’t focus on any particular thing, only on the colors of grass and sky and mountain all rushing together, impossibly beautiful.

Funny, he thinks, for the first time in a long time. I don’t think I remember that ambulance ride…

All at once, the train shoots into the tunnel through a cliff side, and everything goes pitch black.

The first she can, Nea turns to ask if Eric is finding everything alright. But his seat is as empty as the rest, and her shoulder is still cold.




Eight and Sand

“It really is so lovely here.”

Was it the hundredth time she’d said so? Jack never minded. With the endless arrivals and departures around them, he liked being reminded it wasn’t wrong of him to enjoy this place. It wasn’t the Grand Central Station of his boyhood memories, but still…

“When I was young and it was bright out like this, I wished for it to last forever. It was always so beautiful.” Jack laughed in slight embarrassment. “I sound like a grandmother.”

“It’s nice.” Alice smiled. This was not unusual, but Jack sensed something new about it. “It’s good that you remember something so clear.”

“Come on now, I’m not a day over thirty.”

“I wonder a lot whether I ended up having grandchildren. I’d have liked some to talk to like that. I barely had any time with my daughter to — “

“Say!” Jack blurted, pointing to several people who had gathered together and were now bolting for one of the gates. Its time was set for twelve. “Where d’you suppose they’re going?”

“Maybe back into the city. The real one.”

“What, all of them?”

“Well, I don’t know about that.”

“Exactly. Who says they’ll end up in the same place, even if they do leave by the same train?”

“Scattered all over the world. Like dandelion puffs.”

“Doesn’t that scare you?”

“Yes. But I want it all the same. When it’s been sunny for so long, you start wishing for some rain.” She sighed. “It’s been fun, Jack. But I think now it’s time to go find some.”

If Jack still had a heartbeat, that would have stopped it. After all the time they’d only had each other here, she was just going to…!

“Come with me?”

His legs wouldn’t move. “I..I can’t. Please, wait a bit longer.”

“I don’t think I can anymore. But I hope to see you then anyway. Maybe we’ll be siblings.”

“Or maybe I’ll be your grandchild.”

That got a rare laugh out of her. “Oh, Jack. Don’t wait that long, for your own sake.”

Jack stared as she disappeared into the gate too. He imagined her boarding the train, settling down into a comfortable seat, being carried away into the dark. Part of him yearned to race after her.

The rest of him looked around at the bright gold station interior that never wore down, the endless sunlight streaming from the windows, his own body that would never be hurt again, so long as he stayed here, and couldn’t. Not yet.

“Be safe, Alice,” he murmured.

The clock struck twelve.





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#3 The Rapture

December 28th, 2023

by E.E. King
[this is the third in the three part series–
read Three Tales of Rapture from the beginning, here]


Priscilla sat next to her husband Hewn. The road on either side of them stretched ahead endless, flat and arid. They had a long drive before them. It was hundreds of miles, from their home in Lynchburg Tennessee to Salvation Oklahoma. There she and Hewn would join hands and hearts with 100,000 or more brethren under the big white tent. There they would raise their voices in prayer, giving thanks together, under the watchful eyes of God and Jesus.

The wind blew, dusting the trees and flowers grey. The land was colorless. Priscilla’s hands moved back and forth knitting a pair of blue wool booties for Hewn. He already had over twenty pair, but she liked to keep occupied.

“Idle hands are the devil’s playthings,” she muttered.

The view ahead was blocked by the doors of a huge semi. “Jesus bless this journey,” Priscilla, muttered. “Jesus bless the loneliness of the long-distance trucker and keep him company.”

Suddenly as if by supplication, the doors flew open. A dozen figures rose out of the truck, up, up, up, lighter than prayer, higher than the notes of Sister Jessie Fargo’s soprano solos.

“It’s the Rapture!” cried Priscilla, “Jesus take me too. Jesus don’t leave me here, poor miserable sinner though I am.”

She fumbled with the door handle, struggling to release her seat belt and unlock the door. The bodies soared above her disappearing like lost hope. It seemed forever before she managed to get the door open. She cast herself out. The pavement rose to meet her, harder than disbelief. She never knew that the truck ahead of her was a blow-up doll manufacturer who had forgotten to latch his door.


*





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#2 An Explanation

December 27th, 2023

by E.E. King
[this is the second in the three part series–
read Three Tales of Rapture from the beginning, here]

Dear Humans,

I know you will be sending prayers our way. You may have noticed some disappearances lately; this letter is by way of an explanation.

You came up with the idea of rapture long before we realized that one species, among the many we’d created, was suicidal. Who could’ve imagined that any species would have such a disregard for life, in all its myriad forms, including its own, that it would destroy the planet that was its home?

We’d created a world that could and would evolve, each new leaf or branch creating its own pollinator. Every pond spanning new variations.  We’d never expected one species to become dominant, and if we had, humans are not the species we would’ve picked. You’re not the oldest species, nor the most competent.

Although we’ve tried to be impartial, we could not help but realize superiority and skill when it was apparent: the amazing eyesight of the mantis shrimp, the maneuverability of the hummingbird, the compassion of wolf and wombat, and most of all, the ability to turn sunlight into food, but we did not play favorites. We let things develop as they would, to our surprise and disappointment.

There were those who argued that we should’ve stepped in again. We could’ve sent a messenger, an Angel, a son of God, a daughter of the Goddess. But we tried that before. Although the Messiah was recognized, as soon as he’d been killed his message was perverted by mad men, would be saints and emperors.

At first, we thought to remove the problem, but you had worked quickly and done so much damage it hardly seemed fair to burden the innocents with cleaning up the mess.

One of our angels, Anthropogenic, first proposed the idea. I’ll never forget the look on God’s face when Anthropogenic described the rapture.

“When all the pure would be lifted up to God to join God and his son in heaven.”

It was a fierce undertaking. We had to prepare an empty but fertile planet. A half-filled sea, ready to be crammed with life.

We argued about the violence of chimps and ducks, about murders of crows and raping dolphins.  Some wanted only to take plants and fungi. Others desired herbivores, and many thought we should take everyone but the problem species.

Once again it was Anthropogenic who came up with a solution based on your history.

“The Christian rapture” Anthropogenic explained, “doesn’t take place all at once, first the dead rise, and then the pure.”

So, on the first day we rapture the dead, emptying slaughterhouse and freezer.

We noted an increase of prayer, but thankfully no burnt offerings. 

On the second day we too the purest: plants and fungi. On the third: prokaryotes, Bacteria, and virus’. On the third we took fish, birds, reptiles and most mammals.

We are watching the new planet with interest. Good Luck and God Bless.

*





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