Excerpts From Nonexistent Books

English they said
Is not a
Language
Merely three
Dialects
In
A
Trenchcoat
I, accepting this
Said in response
I think you are
Right about
The trenchcoat
But really
It’s more
Like
Ten
Dialects
And also some
Of them
Are
Eating
Each
Other

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A kettle of eight vultures rising, circling in the morning sun
They bank and swoop over the roof of the anthropology department
Where the vault of plundered skeletons lies
The vultures wheel and turn for minutes on end, as if to say
Give us the old bones
Give them to us, that we might crack them open
Give them to us that we might feast on ancient marrow
Give them to us so that, through our repast, they might return to the land of their ancestors
Give them to us so they might grow life anew
The building, impassive, does not respond
But the birds will rise again the next morn
Their unspoken demand still on the wind, gliding silently on a rising thermal

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An underground railroad for books
All information wants to be free
Smuggling tomes may not be the same
But it sure feels that way to me

If keeping a book from the dumpster
Is a cause noble and true
I’ve broken my back for it lately
Can the same be said about you?

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“Why do they call it the Sleepless Labyrinth, Codswallop?” Rags asked.

“It is intentionally designed to weary the traveler, to lull them to sleep, and then the labyrinth births whatever they dream of,” said the butler, his eyes steely beneath his bowler. “None quite know why. I’ve heard many theories, but we oughtn’t linger here to hear them.”

“Give me the short version then,” said Rags. “So we won’t.”

“Well, some say that the Labyringth was built by a sleepwalking man to bring dreams into the real world, which they have long-desired, as anyone well-versed in the matter must know,” Codswallop said. “Others say that it was intended as a diabolical trap to impede movement across the Lands Betwixt.”

“Two theories isn’t many, Cod.”

“Very well, young master,” Codswallop said. “One more, as a treat: it is said that the Labyrinth has, at its center, a great prize, and that the dreams its conjures are a most intricate and devilish defense thereof.”

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In thirteen days so far this month
It’s been my fate to see
A thousand thousand worries
Bound to bedevil me

Terror of dictators yet to come
The shock of getting old
Bitter warming of the earth
When it should be growing cold

In my mind I know it well
I’m powerless to affect
Any of these looming hells
That I can now detect

These worries may not be too real
They may not be justified
Still I sit here, tightly feel
As though I’m soon to die

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American Mk. 22 ABWS
The Mark 22 Anti-Beatnik Weapon System was a .5 kiloton tactical airburst weapon designed to be dropped on soft targets, though a stray comment by a Department of Defense official about dropping it on beatniks eventually stuck. Never deployed, as the casing developed problems with existing bomb racks that led to stickage.

French AN-32 Cygnus culinary weapon
The AN-32 was designed to simplify military logistics by using a small, “clean” fission detonation to cook thousands of military meals at once. Considered for deployment in a number of conflicts from Vietnam to Algeria, it was ultimately withdrawn after test meals were rendered “unpalatably rubbery” by the French Culinary Corps.

British Green Grocer WE.77 thermal unit
Developed after the intensely cold winter of 1978-79 by the Thatcher administration, the Green Grocer WE.77 was designed to melt large quantities of snow with thermal shock. While tests in the high Canadian arctic were promising, the inability to keep fission products out of meltwater led to its abandonment.

Soviet RDS-4242 propulsion bomblet
Tested off Vladivostok in the mid-1970s, the RDS-4242 was designed as an emergency propulsion system for stranded or disabled Soviet ships. Using a steam catapult and a series of atomic bomblets, the ships could in theory use controlled explosions to navigate. Unfortunately, the catapult worked less well than the bomblets, and sank the freighter Komsomolets in testing with high military officials aboard.

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Nuclear weapons
Mysteries unsolved
Unfortunate deaths
Disputes unresolved

The size of tornadoes
And ships lost at sea
Mysterious signals
All coming to me

I’m anxious enough
In this world of ours
Without streaming videos
Like these at all hours

But still I sit here
Alone in the dark
Watching the screen
For some sort of spark

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“Okay,” said Darby. “We’ve got a haunting, and we cannot–I repeat, cannot–afford the leading brand of ghost buster. We need to hire someone who will smash these spooks but to it at a budget level.”

“Uh, is this really something we want to be skimping on?” said Grumpy Earl. “I’d say we just pay the leading brand what they want to have the job done right.”

“You know what the leading brand is besides expensive? Indiscreet!” Darby snapped. “Last thing I want people to think is that we are running a filthy operation here, attracting ghosts and whatnot. I want to hear options, people!”

“I vote for the leading brand,” said Grumpy Earl.

“We could try Boo Fighters,” volunteered Lacy. “They have a 50% off coupon for new customers and discretion is included with higher tiers.”

“What about Spook Smashers?” said Funky Earl. “They say that their method is all-natural, holistic, and leads to the decedents finding inner peace on this plane and the next.”

“St. Mary’s will send over a priest for free if we make a large enough offering,” added Yoshio. “But I’m not sure having a priest sneaking in the back door would look any better.”

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Kiril finished rolling the cigarette, licking the paper at the end to stick it in place before lighting it and ignoring shouted protests from the others. “Tell me,” he said. “In the Academy of Sciences, did you ever hear about the Jupiter Brain? They might also have called it a Matryoshka Brain, but the principle is the same.”

The question was directed at Alexei, who shook his head. “No,” he said. “I can’t say that I have.”

“I’m not surprised,” Kiril said, taking a long, luxuriant drag on his cigarette. “It’s an idea far more of interest o science fiction writers than physicists.”

“If you don’t put that cigarette out, Kiril Vasilyvich, you will soon have the physics problem of my fist to deal with,” snapped Josef.

Ignoring him, Kiril took another puff an allowed the smoke to wreathe his head. “Essentially, you build a series of shells above a power source. When Artemayev talked about it, he used a star for an example, but it could be anything. Anything so long as it produces heat. The core of a planet the size of Jupiter, for instance.”

“Yes, and?” Alexei said.

“And the layer captures that heat, and uses the energy to do computations,” said Kiril. “Then there’s another layer above that one, which uses the waste heat radiated upwards to do more computations. And so on and so forth, layers on layers, until all heat energy is consumed and used at near 100% efficiency. All for computations. Imagine if there was a wireless link between them all, the sheer power of such a system.”

Josef, realizing that Kiril had disregarded his threats, tried a different tack. “If it is as you say, Kiril Vasilyvich, and the object is a…a giant computing machine, why behave so recklessly around it?”

Kiril puffed on the cigarette, declining to respond until he had made a perfect smoke ring. “If I am right,” he said, “and it is a matryoshka brain, it could only be built by beings who are so far in advance of us that we can scarcely comprehend them. We are like ants who hesitate on the threshold of a nuclear reactor, and we are right to do so. To the ignorant, the technology is dangerous, and I do not see my advice to withdraw being heeded. Therefore, I smoke, and enjoy the time I have remaining.”

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“I’ve told you several times, young master,” Codswallop said. “I am your manservant, bound and determined to bring you to your parents.”

“But I’ve never met my parents,” said Rags. “And I was living on the street. Why do you think they call me ‘Rags?'”

“I’m well aware,” Codswallop said. “But it is as I have been saying up to this point. I am to escort you to your parents, to see to your every need along the journey, and I will not be discharged from my duty until, honor-bound, I have seen it to its conclusion.”

“But we weren’t supposed to walk the Lands Betwixt,” Rags said. “We were supposed to take the airship.”

“Indeed, it is a much faster conveyance. But some arrive by boat, or by carriage.” Codswallop’s face was impassive.

“Why did my parents say they wanted me brought to them?” Rags pressed.

“Oh, they’ve never said anything of the sort,” said Codswallop. “I’ve never met them.”

“Then how do you know you’re bringing me to them?”

“Why, because they’ve passed on, of course. I prefer not to dwell on details, Rags, but I am currently employed as what might be called a psychopomp. It is my duty to escort souls such as yourself to the same place that their departed ones lie. The Beyond. But to say it out loud, in so many words, is confusing and distressing, you see. Especially when the journey by the shorter route fails, and the Lands Betwixt must be crossed on foot. Many lie there who have refused to make the journey themselves, Rags. And all of them eventually fade away.”

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