Jeremy Thompson's Blog, page 20
May 23, 2015
May 1, 2015
Secrets of the Phantom Cabinet
Here is a link to a recent interview that I did with A Slice of Horror, which covers my Necro Publications output, the origins of The Phantom Cabinet, and my bizarro story, The Fetus. Read it at:
http://www.asliceofhorror.com/news/au...
http://www.asliceofhorror.com/news/au...
April 5, 2015
January 6, 2015
What's That On The Horizon?
Imagine that you have wires attached to your every joint and extremity. Imagine that those wires stretch up into the horizon, into the undersides of great gleaming crystal saucers.
Imagine that your every movement is coordinated by controllers you've never seen. You speak and you think, and react to your actions, pretending that you are in charge.
How would you feel as months blossom into decades? Would you be able to love your wire-controlled spouse?
Perhaps with your eyes closed, you might hear it coming:
EARTH: PLANET OF THE PUPPETMEN
Dream? Memory? Wisp construct? Parallel universe? Reality? Virtual reality?
Discover the truth about the Planet of the Puppetmen in my forthcoming novel, "Let's Destroy Investutech." Release date: The future.
Imagine that your every movement is coordinated by controllers you've never seen. You speak and you think, and react to your actions, pretending that you are in charge.
How would you feel as months blossom into decades? Would you be able to love your wire-controlled spouse?
Perhaps with your eyes closed, you might hear it coming:
EARTH: PLANET OF THE PUPPETMEN
Dream? Memory? Wisp construct? Parallel universe? Reality? Virtual reality?
Discover the truth about the Planet of the Puppetmen in my forthcoming novel, "Let's Destroy Investutech." Release date: The future.
January 3, 2015
Let's Destroy Investutech
I have started a new novel, "Let's Destroy Investutech," combining two long-gestating outlines of mine (copyright 2013). Here is the beginning of the first draft:
I tried to kill myself once. I did it the old-fashioned way, with a belt around my neck, wrapped around a doorknob. Gripping it white-knuckled, I felt a tiny part of my brain die—the part that contained my self-doubt, I think. Like fireworks of euphoria, it was. My brain started generating spontaneous poetry, where the lines that made no sense were the most beautiful lines of all. I wish that I could remember them.
But that was a while ago. Today, I’m in the mood for some female company.
The problem is, with all of the wondrous tech available today, humanity is simultaneously more connected than ever and more isolated than before. Take FoldEstate, for example. Here we are, with dimensional distortion allowing us to inhabit the same residential spaces independently, constantly passing as ghosts through each other’s vibrationally-altered essences, and we barely interact with each other. In fact, with FoldEstate biofarms, the population has mushroomed to hundreds of trillions, intermingling to the point where to even claim race is to brand oneself an anachronism.
As we have pills so that people no longer have to eat or defecate, only the destitute use toilets. The rest of us have outgrown our bowels and urinary tracts, as we’re outgrowing the rest of our bodies. Soon, we’ll have to create new physiques to house our own designer intellects.
We have contact lens nanosystems that generate images directly upon a wearer’s retinas, creating a heads-up display that you can wear at all conscious hours. They are used for business, instantaneous information access, and recreation through hallucination—the latter of which is able to provide all of the visuals of LSD experience with none of the consciousness-expanding epiphanies.
We have Wisp World Constructs: three-dimensional gas holograms piped up from a vent situated four feet before the sofa, way better than those televisions that people used to watch. The gas comes in hundreds of scent shades, but a defect in my apartment’s line leaves everything smelling like lilacs—NASCAR, mobsters, whatever, everything smells flowery.
Nearly everything that we use is controlled by a Smart Sheet: a folded piece of technoseeded sensor paper. When unfolded, it works like a keyboard. But you already knew that, didn’t you?
I tried to kill myself once. I did it the old-fashioned way, with a belt around my neck, wrapped around a doorknob. Gripping it white-knuckled, I felt a tiny part of my brain die—the part that contained my self-doubt, I think. Like fireworks of euphoria, it was. My brain started generating spontaneous poetry, where the lines that made no sense were the most beautiful lines of all. I wish that I could remember them.
But that was a while ago. Today, I’m in the mood for some female company.
The problem is, with all of the wondrous tech available today, humanity is simultaneously more connected than ever and more isolated than before. Take FoldEstate, for example. Here we are, with dimensional distortion allowing us to inhabit the same residential spaces independently, constantly passing as ghosts through each other’s vibrationally-altered essences, and we barely interact with each other. In fact, with FoldEstate biofarms, the population has mushroomed to hundreds of trillions, intermingling to the point where to even claim race is to brand oneself an anachronism.
As we have pills so that people no longer have to eat or defecate, only the destitute use toilets. The rest of us have outgrown our bowels and urinary tracts, as we’re outgrowing the rest of our bodies. Soon, we’ll have to create new physiques to house our own designer intellects.
We have contact lens nanosystems that generate images directly upon a wearer’s retinas, creating a heads-up display that you can wear at all conscious hours. They are used for business, instantaneous information access, and recreation through hallucination—the latter of which is able to provide all of the visuals of LSD experience with none of the consciousness-expanding epiphanies.
We have Wisp World Constructs: three-dimensional gas holograms piped up from a vent situated four feet before the sofa, way better than those televisions that people used to watch. The gas comes in hundreds of scent shades, but a defect in my apartment’s line leaves everything smelling like lilacs—NASCAR, mobsters, whatever, everything smells flowery.
Nearly everything that we use is controlled by a Smart Sheet: a folded piece of technoseeded sensor paper. When unfolded, it works like a keyboard. But you already knew that, didn’t you?
November 28, 2014
November 23, 2014
The Phantom Cabinet on Ain't It Cool News
Here is a link to Mr. Pasty's Phantom Cabinet review, featured on one of my favorite web columns, AICN Horror.
Read it
"A well-written and expertly arranged novel that belongs up there with any big-name horror book currently shelved in bookstores."
Read it
"A well-written and expertly arranged novel that belongs up there with any big-name horror book currently shelved in bookstores."
