“Immature poets imitate; mature poets steal; bad poets deface what they take, and good poets make it into something better, or at least something different.” – T.S. Eliot

“Immature poets imitate; mature poets steal; bad poets deface what they take, and good poets make it into something better, or at least something different.” – T.S. Eliot. 

At the very least we've stolen.
At the very least we’ve stolen from a long lineage.

When her finger left, it was no longer just a plastic, black ashtray. It was a golden ashtray.

The midas touch.
The midas touch.

“Listen, Odys, if I say you don’t need something, you don’t. I can’t lie to you. Let me show you why you don’t need a job.”

She retracted her hand and raised an inveigling forefinger. Her eyes searched around the room, pinpointing his hallowed ashtray. “Observe, please.” She gestured to the somewhat-filthy thing. She placed her finger on the dimpled rim and traced it. When her finger left, it was no longer just a plastic, black ashtray. It was a golden ashtray.

“Solid as can be,” she added, handing it to him for corroboration. He took it, his hand falling from the unexpected weight. His jaw dropped. He didn’t even care about the butts falling to his lap.

She shrugged it off as if to say, Meh, it pays the bills. “Every atom—molecule—whatever-the-hell—equivalently changed. Don’t ask me how it works. Moreover, don’t expect me to always be able to do it. I have to use energy for this sort of thing—like forming clothes. Just look at me, panting. Also, when we pawn it they’ll ask where you got it. If they don’t the first time, they will the second. I can turn things into any metal you like, but selling the stuff can get tricky. But don’t worry, we’ll find ways. Welders love my work.” She watched Odys place the tray back on the coffee table, as if it was an explosive device. “Just be thankful I didn’t turn the couch solid gold, Odys. Would’ve fallen through the floor.”

From THE AUTOMATION

[“BLA and GB Gabbler” (really just a pen name) are the Editor and Narrator behind THE AUTOMATION, vol. 1 of the Circo del Herrero series. They are on facebook, twitter, tumblr, and goodreads.]

On authors stalking and reviewers being afraid to speak #HaleNo

 

“The Disciple” — Oscar Wilde

Good old Oscar.

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“The Disciple”

by

Oscar Wilde

When Narcissus died the pool of his pleasure changed from a cup of sweet waters into a cup of salt tears, and the Oreads came weeping through the woodland that they might sing to the pool and give it comfort.

And when they saw that the pool had changed from a cup of sweet waters into a cup of salt tears, they loosened the green tresses of their hair and cried to the pool and said, ‘We do not wonder that you should mourn in this manner for Narcissus, so beautiful was he.’

‘But was Narcissus beautiful?’ said the pool.

‘Who should know that better than you?’ answered the Oreads.  ‘Us did he ever pass by, but you he sought for, and would lie on your banks and look down at you, and in the mirror of your waters he would mirror his own beauty.’

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Definition of Gabbler

gab

Need we give you a definition of what “BLA” means?
[“BLA and GB Gabbler” (really just a pen name) are the Editor and Narrator behind THE AUTOMATION, vol. 1 of the Circo del Herrero series. They are on facebook, twitter, tumblr, and goodreads.]