Category Archives: The ArtIC Circle

The Whore of Babylon

by

0

I had wanted to write canonical literature, which is as arrogant as it seems. I saw myself as a candidate for the Great American Novel. And then, after my confrontation with Warren, when it was obvious that a career as a novelist was out of the question (would, in fact, be dangerous), I thought I might simply write a glossy romance about the misadventures of some drugged-up, oversexed private school kids – “Five Go Mad on the CTA”, as it were – to wise up the squares about how dreary and desolate a rich kid’s life can be.

But how would I explain Trish to you? Trish, whose mind is broken in a way so similar to mine that we consider ourselves twins. I call her my Narci-Sis. For, you see, Trish is from a wealthy real estate family and her grandfather tried to break her mind. He did manage to use her sexually for several years until he was caught, and so she has the usual sexual issues, but the real damage was to imprison her for hours and torture her until she almost had a split personality, a “bad self” that would respond to him sexually on his command. She is incredibly talented and beautiful and like me she has a broken place in her mind where her personality simply quits and there’s nothing but an uncontrollable flood of images and emotions with no seeming center. But she’s the opposite of me in that in those circumstances I close down and become extremely cold and controlling, whereas she loses her mind and becomes extravagantly hysterical.

She looks like Christy Turlington, by the way. During the summer of 1988, when Christy was just getting famous, I tried to train Trish as my slave-assistant so I could complete the Abramelin working. We were living in her family’s villa in Ibiza, hopping back and forth to London to check out the dance scene. It was the Second Summer of Love, everyone was crazy on drugs, dancing all the time and talking crap about aliens and magic. Trish got mistaken for Christy all the time, and this caused some awkward rumors about both Trish and Christy that had to be quashed by the fashion industry because Christy was Catholic and Trish was channeling the Whore of Babylon.

Bye, Bye, Miss American Pie

by

0

(the words of Drake Marshall)

My father died from COVID, thank god. I can’t tell you what it means to me. He was out there in New York, an early case, for all I know he’s in one of those semi-trucks you see in news articles, overflowing with dead bodies. My mother, hapless dolt that she is, is taking care of everything, or their butler is, or who knows. She told me about it on the phone. “That’s terrible,” I said, knowing she wouldn’t expect any strong expressions of emotion. She informed me that she knew it would make me unhappy and I shouldn’t be too hard on myself. At some point there will be a funeral.

Meanwhile, here I am at the club, the Egyptian-themed spa that is still owned by the family of Alvin Albrecht, my childhood friend from school. When the lockdown started the spa closed so, so our old school set is using it as a secret base, preparing for the Mad Max Apocalypse that may be coming. The pools are working and our favorite saunas are still hot. Alvin’s family is being generous with their long-term employees, keeping them on as a skeleton crew. Everyone here knows the place so well we never interfere with each other.

I’m spending a lot of time crying and laughing, having strange feelings that should be about my father in some sense but can never truly because he was such a twisted fuck.

… That’s the point where my mind breaks. I can’t follow a train of thought when I think or talk or write about him because he beat me up so much when I was younger.

Text Generation API

by

0

Prompt: Drake and Graylyn managed to be cool even though all the rest of the 90s sucked


Despite the many cultural and societal challenges of the 1990s, Drake and Graylyn managed to maintain their cool factor. While grunge, frosted tips, and neon colors dominated the era, these two individuals rose above the fray with their effortless charisma and distinct style. Whether it was through their music, fashion, or simply their laid-back attitude, Drake and Graylyn served as beacons of coolness during a decade that desperately needed it.

This one is kind of neat.

https://deepai.org/machine-learning-model/text-generator

GPT-2 text generator

by

0

And Drake and Graylyn managed to survive the 90s being very cool, even though America sucked miserably and all the entertainment was crap. They managed pretty well but, because the media was controlled by politicians, they got screwed on the details, which is why they were forced into obscurity later. Drake would be a popular example of the “good” politicians getting replaced by politicians who are even worse than them. Not so in the early 80s with Paul Weyrich in his role as the “conservative” president, who managed to take down Ronald Reagan through the influence of TV talking head talk-show star Neil Cavuto, a “conservative

http://212.3.126.104:8051/

ChatGPT #3: Write 1000 words of fiction about 7 high school students from Chicago who go to a Goth rock show.

by

0

The seven high school students from Chicago had always been outsiders. They were the kind of kids who didn’t quite fit in anywhere, who never felt like they belonged. But they had each other, and that was enough.

One night, they heard about a Goth rock show happening downtown. It was the kind of music that spoke to their souls, the kind of music that understood the darkness within them. So they decided to go, to let go of their inhibitions and embrace the night.

They arrived at the club, dressed in black and eyeliner, ready to lose themselves in the music. The air was thick with smoke and the smell of alcohol, and the sound of pounding drums and screaming guitars filled their ears. They felt alive, like they had finally found a place where they belonged.

As the night wore on, they began to make friends with other Goth kids who were there. They danced together, lost in the music and the energy of the crowd. They talked about their favorite bands, their favorite books, and the darkness that lurked within their hearts.

But then something strange happened. A group of jocks from their high school showed up, looking for trouble. They saw the Goth kids and started taunting them, calling them freaks and losers. The seven friends felt their stomachs clench with fear. They had always known that they were different, but they had never faced this kind of aggression before.

The jocks started to push their way through the crowd, getting closer and closer to the seven friends. They felt trapped, like they couldn’t escape. But then, something unexpected happened. One of the other Goth kids stepped forward and started shouting back at the jocks. He was tall and skinny, with jet black hair and a leather jacket. He looked like he belonged in a different world than the seven friends.

But then he turned to them and said, “You guys came here to escape the bullshit of the real world, right? Well, let’s not let those assholes ruin our night. Let’s show them that we’re not afraid.”

The seven friends looked at each other, and then back at the Goth kid. They felt a surge of courage and determination. They weren’t going to let the jocks ruin their night. They were going to stand up for themselves and for each other.

They started dancing again, more fiercely than before. The Goth kid joined them, his movements wild and free. The jocks tried to get closer, but they couldn’t break through the wall of bodies. They were outnumbered, outmatched.

And then the music stopped, and the lights came up. The seven friends looked around, disoriented. They had lost track of time, lost track of themselves. But then they saw the Goth kid, smiling at them.

“Hey, I’m Tyler,” he said, holding out his hand.

The seven friends introduced themselves, feeling a sense of camaraderie that they had never felt before. They had faced a challenge together, and they had come out on the other side stronger.

As they left the club and walked back to their cars, they felt like they were walking on air. They had found something new, something powerful. They had found a community of people who understood them, who accepted them for who they were.

And as they drove home, the music still ringing in their ears, they knew that they would never forget this night. They had found something that they had been searching for all their lives: a sense of belonging, a sense of purpose, a sense of hope.

Personal Boundaries With Serge Gainsbourg

by

0

I’ve been thinking about Serge Gainsbourg this week, and his struggles with personal boundaries, specifically his concerns about how the public perceived his daughter Charlotte, and vice versa. He did a lot of work about her and with her so it’s a very valuable perspective. There are a lot of things about his psychic presence that interest me; I feel his spirit is pushing me toward self-expression. Even as I write this I’m learning, and this morning I woke up with evidence that this psychic transformation is real: an idea for one of the characters in my novel The Artic Circle. \

Drake’s first completed work is a parody of the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy he writes for the entertainment of his friends, the Sicky Souse Club. Loosely based on the adventures of his friends Trixie Crown and Alvin Albrecht on the streets of Chicago in the 1980s, it’s called The Bitch Biker’s Guide to the Faggot Scene.

So this idea has come to me in a dream, after watching a performance of The Waste Land, accompanied by the ghosts of Serge and some others, listening to Rock Around the Bunker and some other things by him on the way home. This morning I am experimenting in order to find out what it means to record this fragment of the story.