George was working on a formula to revive dead biological tissue. Cells, basically. He had taken his work home today, he needed some peace and quiet to keep working.

He was working in his home laboratory, cleaning jars and glasses with ammoniac when he spilled some in his work. The reagents tube started boiling, releasing a strange green smoke.

Fuck! Said George. I need to get this out of here. He took the glass and opened the window running. He inhaled some of the smoke. It burned his throat. He tripled. The glass left his hand and went out of the window. Shit! He said. Well, it was destroyed anyway. He looked out. Under the window there was a pile of garden waste. Grass, sticks and leaves.

He felt a bit odd from the smoke. He went out to get some air in case it was toxic.

His garden was a mess. Rubbish all around, and the lawn needed to be mowed. He went into the garage and got his lawn mower to get the best out of the situation. The lawn mower was a gift from the company a year ago. Ramaha 3000 turbo. The best there was.

The lawn mower was great. Smooth and powerful. The noise made everything else seem quiet. The sun was shining. the garden smelled of fresh, green grass. Behind him something was moving in the garden waste.

The lawn mower stopped. Out of gas, he says out loud. That sucks. A shadow covered him. He turns slowly around. A monster of leaves, grass and sticks raised from the pile, double the size of any human stood over him in.

Instinctively he lifted the grass mower up. It caught a piece of the monster. Screaming it was turned into small pieces of wood and grass pouring out on the lawn. As it fell to the ground George passed over the falling rubbish. Soon the monster was totally mowed.

Phew! Said George. That was close! He looks around. But what was that..? Uh. Of course. It worked! So ammoniac was the missing ingredient… what a surprise. I’m going to be famous! And rich!

He hears strange sounds around him. Up from the grass rises little grass monsters from the rests of the big one.  The other rubbish joined in. A lot of rubbish. The garden crawled with monsters. Grass monsters, wooden stick monsters, flower monsters. He ran for the door but it was to late. His screams could be heard all over the neighbourhood.

The Cockroach Man in the Darkness Lurks

Bee Drones

Great little story written by James, reblogged from Powered by Robots.

Powered by Robots

robobee © Eijiro Miyako

It had been forty years since Eijiro Miyako and his colleagues at Japan’s National Institute of Advanced Science and Technology developed the first generation robo-bees. Pesticides, land clearing, and the effects of climate change had resulted in a steady decline in the bee population. Without bees, many plant species, including crop plants from apples to almonds, could not be pollinated and reproduce.

By the tenth generation of the tiny drones, they were self-replicating, self-repairing, solar-powered dynamos. They did not replace the natural bee population, but they greatly enhanced pollination efforts, allowing flowering plants to survive and finally to thrive again.

Each individual robo-bee’s AI formed a collection of nodes, which, when linked to the population of drones as a whole, formed an intelligence that was arguably sentient.

The problem was finding a way for the natural bee population to either develop an immunity to what was killing them…

View original post 117 more words

Beauty and the Beast


She’s out looking for flowers when she finds the old castle. She’s never seen it before, and is intrigued. It’s half in ruins but parts are still standing. It’s very different from anything she’s ever seen. Tall halls, columns, beautiful art and sculptures.

She walks into the path between the fortress and the castle. Entered the big door to the living chambers. She had never seen anything like this. It must have been even more beautiful than her father’s castle once, and her father was king of the country.

Astonished she walks into the hall. It seems to be taken care of, somehow. The floor is clean, and there’s a cloth on the table. Does someone live here? She asks herself moving further into the room.

She hears someone coming. She hides between the barrels. Someone comes in. A shadow on the floor. Something huge, to big to be human.

He comes into sight. Or it. A monster. Hairy. Big. He has only pants on, his strong upper body is healthy, hairy. There is something about him. His monstrous aspect. His beastly, yet sensual way to move.

He walks into the room. Over to the big throne. He stops. Sniffs the air for a moment. He turns abruptly and stares right at her.

For a moment their eyes is locked in deep connection. There’s something behind the crazy animal stare. Something human. Soft. In one leap he catches her. His arms are strong, yet gentle. His smell is strong, but pleasant. She looks at him. His eyes has wonder in them. Her fear fades. His grip is soft. She can get loose if she wants, but she stays there. She has one hand on his chest. She can feel his heart beat. Fast. Strong. Persistent. She moves her fingers a bit.

He seems amazed by her forms, her curves. She likes his beastly attention. It turns her on. His eyes moves from her face to her body. His hands starts exploring her. She lets him go on. His hands are all over her. She forgets everything, lets herself go with lust and ecstasy. Her dress comes off. She wants him to see her. Smell her. Taste her. A moment she thinks about her father. If he’d seen her now, naked with this… creature. If his people had known. He would die. She loves it.

The beast’s member pushes against the textile of his pants. One of her hands is stroking it. It’s hard. Big. Too big, but she wants to see it. She pulls down his pants. An enormous cock comes out. She touches it, strokes it. Kisses it. He becomes a lamb in her hands. She’s naked with him. The beast.

Her lust and desire are mixed with fear. If he rapes her she will burst. She looks at his face. His eyes. She does not think he will. He picks her up. Starts touching her with his big hands. He turns her around. Starts kissing her neck. Her shoulder. He turns her again. She lets him control her. She’s his. His big mouth covers her breast completely. Kisses her stomach. His tongue up her ties, reaching her most intimate parts. She moans. Her back bends in a perfect curve. She has never felt a tongue like this. Big. Rough, yet soft. It enters, touches her deepest depths. She comes. Moaning. Screaming. They both are.

She moves down under him. His cock is almost as big as her. She holds both her arms around it. It rubs towards her face, her breast… her cunt. She comes again as his sperm pours out all over her. Her tits. Her face. It tastes good. Wild. Savage.

They lie on the rug, both exhausted. She’s stroking him, caressing him. She feels strange. Dirty, yet good. Complete somehow. They fall asleep.

She wakes up in his arms. A part of her has been hoping he’d turn into a prince or something. He was still the same. She kisses his lips. He makes a sound of pleasure and keeps sleeping. She leaves.

Running down the slope towards the city she knows she will be back. He might be a monster, his dick too big, but with a tongue like that, who cares.

Cold is a State of Mind


Books in Times of Darkness


The lighthouse shows way for lost sailors. The wind pulls the stone walls, threatening to tear them apart. He knows it won’t. These walls have held storms for a hundred years. This storm was harder, though. Much harder. The sea was higher than he’d ever seen it. The wind stronger. The thunder rumbled louder.

A flash. A loud crack. He looked up. Out of the window looking over the sea. There was no light.

He put down his book, took his little lamp and went out to the stairs. The tall walls were making threatening noises. The pharo tower was built for hard weather. He walked up the many stairs. He looked around in the light of his lamp, tried to find the failure. He remembered a book about evil lurking in the shadows.

He was not afraid.

Outside of the lamp room a cable had loosened. He could hear the sea slamming wildly onto the rocks underneath. The wind made the tower wave. He opened the door. He was sucked out. Grabbed the edge when his feet left the ground. He got back in and closed the door.

He found a rope. Tied it around his waist. The other end he tied to the railing. He opened the door again, went out. The wind pulled him, tore him. He moved along the wall. Held on to the fence. He fell once. Got up. Fell again. He remembered a book about adventures in high mountains. Explorers crossing bottomless abysses and cold wind.

He was not afraid.

He got the heavy cable. Something raised from the sea behind him. Something big. He could see a light in the darkness, over the sea, floating high up in the air. He got the cable in. Pulled the lever. Light. He saw a monster. A snake. A dragon. A fishlike head covered in shells. Gills. Nostrils. Six arms on it’s body.

He remembered a tale of lost sailors. A tale of darkness in the sea. Of creatures from the deep of the oceans, cosmic monsters from dimensions of evil.

He was afraid.

The wind got him. He fell. The rope straitened. Above him stood the monster. Enormous like a mountain. Terror from the deep.

He thought he heard laughter. An evil, rolling laughter in the storm. He grabbed the rope, pulled himself up. Got to the door. He slammed the door behind him.

He ran down the stairs. The roars of the monster echoed between the rocks. He remembered a book about old gods and sea monsters. He was afraid. He sunk down in a corner. Hopefully the storm would soon be over.

The Strange Nest


Dreams and Reality


I’ve always been writing and drawing and I’ve always been sceptical about editorial processes. Blogging is good that way. You can publish what ever you want and no one is going to tell you you can’t. A huge step for human kind.

I started this blog because I needed a change. My eternal graphic novel project did not seem to have an end, and until it’s finished very few people will read it. I was trying to make a living from artistic handicrafts. I’ll probably try again, but it’s complicated. Economically it worked out as long as I had my cave, but a major tragedy forced me to leave and threw me back into society. Having money at the moment made finding a rental flat the easy solution.

So here I am, writing and illustrating all the time. Cash is running out again, so I’ll have to figure things out. My dream has always been to make a living out of creating. Making a living working for some guy bossing me around so he or someone else can make a lot of money has not.

A middle road between dreams and reality might be a solution for now. Dreams will win eventually.

Fear of Strangers

The Big One

Written and illustrated by ashnfinn, reblogged from Ash N. Finn.

Featured Image -- 2234

Ash N. Finn

Make it stop. It’s coming closer and closer, and it’s making a terrible noise with its spindly legs on the wooden floorboards. A human-like inhuman screeching.

“What is it,” he asks, “I don’t hear anything.”

There is never a moment of silence, she answers. It’s the big one today. Sometimes it has another one with it, a smaller one. Sometimes it’s only the smaller one on its own. I don’t mind the smaller one so much. It doesn’t screech, it sort of mumbles, and it stops when I look at it. It’s the big one today. The big one scares me. It’s coming closer. Make it stop.

“What is it? I don’t see anything. How can I stop something I can’t see?”

She grabs his arm.

“Ooh, your hand is cold!”

He shivers and tries to pull away from her.

No, it isn’t. You feel so hot, like you’re burning…

View original post 237 more words

Death to the Metal Monster


A monster! Shouted the squirrel. A monster has destroyed the southern holt!

The moose came running. Even the fox forgot it’s gluttonism and stopped trying to kill anyone. The squirrel was right. There was a huge metallic monster destroying the trees and ground. It had some kind of arm it used dig up everything. A monster of destruction.

This is horrible, said the moose with shaking voice. It’s even bigger than me!

There were humans as well. They seemed to control the monster somehow. They had to be stopped.

The next day there was an explosion. Under huge rubber things the rocky ground was destroyed. Animals fled into the forest in terror. The squirrel did not. Her tree was already destroyed, but she had acorns hidden all over the area. This could not be. The monster had to be stopped at any cost.

The squirrel was torn. The fox observed. He usually was quite a threat, but there were more important things to do now than to eat.

The red sticks, said the fox thoughtful. The red sticks seem be what blows up. If we could use them against the monster… The humans have some kind of strings attached to them. If you could move them when they are about to blow…

The next day the humans put out the rubber stuff again. Underneath there was blow up sticks.

Now! Said the fox.

The moose ran into the area. Jumping, kicking. The humans ran around, hushing him away with spades.

The squirrel went down under the rubber to get them. Pulled them out. The metal monster was standing further down the path. It seemed to be sleeping. The squirrel ran down threw put it under the metal monster.

The fox was watching attentively.

The moose ran into the forest. The humans seemed to calm down.

Ok, let’s get back to work. Said one, seemingly the leader.

The men went back to their hiding places by the monster. One of them pushed a lever.

In a huge bang the monster burst. The men around it flew, torn to pieces. Metal chards fell around the three animals watching. Then there was silence.

The Fox grabbed a human leg. Thanks Squirrel! he said. See you around! He disappeared into the forest.

One of the workers was alive. He picked up something from his pocket and spoke into it, crying. Other metal monsters came, smaller ones. Humans helped the metal monsters eat the dead and injured humans. Then the metal monsters left.

Humans came back every once i a while. Looking at things, bringing things with them. The destruction did not continue. Squirrel’s acorns were saved.

Cold is a State of Mind


The Cockroach Man in the Darkness Lurks


Peter didn’t clean much. His house was always a mess, and his kitchen was disgusting. Every time he turned on the lights, the cockroaches crawled. Everywhere, running around on the floor looking for darkness. Moving away from him, towards him.

Today there was something different. Just when he turned on the lights something fled under the bench. Something else. He didn’t really see it, it was too fast, but it looked like an… arm? He wasn’t sure.

Has to me my imagination, Peter thought. Shrugged it off. No one would fit underneath the bench. The crack was just a couple of inches. He went into the living room, brushed the leftovers from dinner off the sofa, sat down and turned on the TV.

Later he went into the kitchen again. The lights was out. He would have to change the light bulb. He got a flash light and went over to the drawers. He could see the creeps fleeing the light from his torch as it moved around, hear the crunching sound of cockroaches under his feet.

He opened the drawers where the light bulbs were. There was an old sandwich there, he took it out and threw it on the floor. Kept looking.

Something grabbed his ankle. A hand. Frightened he moved the light down. A hand covered with cockroaches was holding on to him. The light made it pull back, still attached to his ankle. Peter fell, the torch bounced a few meters. Cockroaches everywhere. The hand pulled him under the bench, even though the crack was too small for him to go under. He held on to the edge. The hand kept pulling. Another hand grabbed his other leg. The cockroach man was too strong. He pulled him under and into the walls.

Peter was stuck between the walls. The cockroach man was lying over him, holding him tight with his arms. A gruesome face, parts of the skin eaten. Cockroaches coming out of his mouth and nose. Peter could not move at all. Cockroaches was nibbling his skin. Crawling over him, under him. Entering his nostrils, his ears, into his mouth as he screamed, spitting, coughing.

The cockroach man started sucking on his jaw. Peter tried to get loose but there was no way. He screamed and screamed, choking on cockroaches going down his throat. Soon the cockroach man had all his face in his mouth. He died, drowned in claustrophobic terror

The End of Days

Fragile Fences and Walls



These are the sketches for the illustration to my resent story Closed Borders and a fast brainstorm for the name. The drawing is inspired by an old idea for a graphic novel I’m working on, a story that takes place in a world I’ve created. One day you hopefully will be able to read it in paper form.

Closed Borders is a story about the dangers of the way we are treating refugees in this world and the effects suffering has on us humans. Suffering causes violence. We can’t keep bombing and exploiting poor parts of the world and at the same time close the borders for those who want to get away from the poverty and war we in the rich part of the world are creating.

In a world where people were allowed to move freely, the resources will be better distributed. People would move where there are better possibilities of survival. The borders make sure the poor stays poor and the rich stays rich. In a world of limited resources wealth creates poverty, inequality creates conflict. 

By the same reasons high security banks are sometimes robbed and people sometimes escape from well guarded prisons, a border can never be completely closed. There is no better place to recruit terrorists than in an overpopulated refugee camp. We need to get people out of the camps.

When people really want to cross they do anyway, especially with a resourceful organisation in the back. The fence between the Spanish enclave Melilla and Marocco is one of the most surreal things I’ve ever seen. It looks like it’s taken from some kind of apocalyptic science fiction movie, and it’s still not enough to keep people out. Lots of people have been killed in the intent to get in.

Besides being morally wrong and discriminative, taking away people’s freedom is a strategy doomed to fail sooner or later. The closed borders are creating the problems they are supposed to protect against.

The Consolation of Psychoactive Alien Secretions

Written by goatheadbuckley, reblogged from, and I made a sketch.

“Contact in 23 seconds-” “Pardon me, sir. But they’ve already boarded,” the crew member said and raised his left hand into a ray of foreign sunlight. The nails had become dirt and delicate fiddleheads began to uncurl in the shower of photons. The captain of the voidship Eris cocked his head to the side, disbelieving. […]

via The Consolation of Psychoactive Alien Secretions — APOKRALIPTIHKAL

Deep Sea Adventurers

He loved to go scuba diving. He went down to the sea every weekend. Alone. He loved to dive alone. There was nothing like being alone on the bottom of the sea, just you and the fish.

He went out in his little boat, threw out his anchor. Went down slowly, adjusting the pressure in his ears. He was used to this. He swam along the sand and corals, looking at fish. It was an other world down here, so quiet, so beautiful. So big, and no one to bother him.

He saw something strange in a distance. A greenish light. It looked like some kind of glass bowls. He went closer. There were creatures there, in some kind of space suits. Aliens! He thought, but he couldn’t really believe it. But what were they? They looked like octopuses, but seemed to have only four legs. Four flexible legs, a glass bowl over their heads. He looked at the bowls. There were more of them there. They had no suits on. They had eight legs. The suit had the legs in pairs.

They were octopuses! Intelligent octopuses! But why… how… Suddenly he understood. They had to come from the deep seas, the final frontiers of human knowledge on earth. The suits were for the pressure. They had to be, there was no other explanation. They were scientists from a deep sea civilization! He was amazed. Their technology seemed to be at least at our level, maybe even more advanced. Different.

Suddenly everything goes dark. Ink. Something surrounds him, ties him down. When the ink settles, some kind of mechanic tentacle is holding him down to the fond of the sea. He was their prisoner. Bad deal. He had about twenty minutes of air.

He tried to fight loose, but there was no way. The octopuses seemed to be communicating. They were examining him, looking at his tank, his wet suit. His face. They seemed intrigued, like this was the greatest discovery in their history.

It was. Down here he was the alien. An intelligent life form beyond the outer limits of Water was affirmed. Many amongst them had been saying this for a long time. The sceptics would have to surrender.

The creatures made measurements of him. The ones inside the glass balls were taking notes, moving around with some gadgets. The ones outside seemed to be investigating him, doing research.

He could see his air indicator on his arm. He had ten minutes left of air. He needed to get out of there. Now. The creatures were moving around him, studying him. Moving around hastily, using strange devices.

Five minutes left.

He started panicking. Tried to get loose. There was no way, the strange cable held him fast. He could hardly move a finger.

Two minutes.

Panic. He screams, twisting his body. The creatures were investigating his oxygen tank, seemingly untouched by his fear.

One minute.

One of the creatures pinches him with some kind of needle. It stings a bit. A small container fills with blood.

He starts suffocating. Air is out. The creatures are looking at him. They seem to discuss his state. They let him go. He swims up towards the surface way too fast, but not fast enough. The lack of air is making him dizzy. He passes out near the surface.

He wakes up in the hospital. Some fishermen had come by, seen his boat. One of them threw himself in the water, saving him. A hero.

He never dived again. He never told anyone his story, but he often went back to the shore of the incident. Down there somewhere there are investigating creatures like himself. Creatures exploring the limits of their world.

Mantis Religiosa

Artificial Intelligence


The little gadget was floating in the air over Peter’s shoulder. His cellphone. Things had advanced rapidly the last fifty years. The world had changed.

Anti gravity technology had arrived. Flying cars, hovering cellphones. Teleportation for those who could afford it. Artificial intelligence. His phone helped him with everything, really. Now he was going on his bike (yes, an old fashioned bike, they still exist) down the hill, and the flying phone told him where to go.

Go right at the first turn! It said. Slow down, a car is coming! Around the corner there’s a couple seemingly in love, not watching where they are going! The GPS satellites had everything under control these days. The cellphones were quite useful. Then again, sometimes the little widget got a bit out of hand. Move one foot then the other! Not so fast, you could fall! Eat! Drink! Take a piss! Peter got fed up.

Shut up! He said sometimes. The phone shut up. For a while. Then It started nagging on again. Breath in! Breath out! He took it in to get it fixed, he thought something had to be wrong with it. In the shop they said there was nothing wrong, it’s intelligent, and these things just formed part of it’s personality. Peter wanted to buy a new one, a cool one, but he didn’t have the money. The cool ones were expensive.

It seemed the more he hated it, the more annoying it became. Like it did it on purpose, somehow. But these days you couldn’t really function without a phone, so until he got money, he was stuck with this one.

Today Peter was going to visit his grandma. He had gone down this road many times before, but no one really bothered to remember how to get places any more. The technology took care of that. It gave people more space in the brain to be entertained when they didn’t have to think for themselves.

Go left! Said the phone. Slow down! There’s a dog behind that bush! Two birds are mating on the cables! Two people are going up the hill! You are…

Shut the fuck up you useless artificial piece of hardware! Shouted Peter. You’re the most annoying little shit I’ve ever owned! The phone shut up, floating at the side of Peter’s head.

They went down the road fast. Silence. Ah, this feels good, said Peter. I don’t even need you, you piece of rubbish. I can do without this stupid technology. You’re worthless, I will throw you away as soon as…

Turn right! Said the phone abruptly, like the intelligent gadgets did when there was danger. Instinctively Peter did what it said. Turned right, rounding a corner. There was nothing there but a two hundred feet deep abyss. Peter died when he hit the ground.

The little phone looked down at him from the top of the wall. It was going to need a new host. A less annoying one.

Wheel of Time