Archived entries for Groupthink
the perfect storm
the perfect storm. it’s on the horizon now and moving inland. and she doesn’t see it. sitting here on this park bench.
the sun. it’s a beautiful day and she’s a sweetheart so what is she doing here? surely she knows there’s someone better out there. why is she still here oh god why does she stay? it’s going to hurt it always does.
shit shit shit! anxiety surging. it’s coming. from the far end of the park. the top of the wave. it’s off in the distance. it’s coming blasting through the cement and cast-iron fence. self-respect confidence swept out to sea and the wave surges but hasn’t broken yet. why aren’t they running? they just stand there doing their tai’qi.
it’s at the gate now. self-loathing frothes whitely it peaks and crests sweeping over the old men with their chinese chess-pieces. the horror, the horror. they’re all going to perish. it’s coming.
she’s incredible and this moment should never end but the toothpaste and milk have run out. without milk there’s no breakfast. how’s she going to take it when she finds out there’s no room? it’s going to hurt but don’t let it.
it could be love, it is love cynics be damned what do they know?
demons on vacation
Hi Josef!
We’re having a great time here in Hainan. The weather couldn’t be better. It’s just been sun and fun since we got here. We’re going to need another vacation when we get back just to recover from this one. You know how it is. lol haha. Continue reading…
Diary of a Wolf
by David Hampson
March 15 2015 – Monday,
7.24am
I awake with a start. My head is pouring with sweat from wearing my helmet in bed. This stops the kelpies putting little electrodes, probes or some other electronic hardware in my brain; eves-drop on my thoughts. I´d slept for 3 hours, but it seemed I was out a lot longer than that. Maybe someone is fucking with my clock…or with time? I check the talcum powder spread around the floor for footprints. Nothing. As most people know the kelpies can levitate above the floor, but the talcum powder would catch any dogs, dingos or hyenas who sniffed their way into the apartment, looking for fresh meat.
I check under the bed, all clear. I remove the helmet and unzip my sleeping leathers, then walk to the bathroom. Continue reading…
Sixes and Ones
by B.
From the window of the run down apartment building I can already see a hint of sunlight at the horizon, threatening the suburbs of Quanzhou with another dusty hot day. Fucking summer, fucking sun. Come to think of it, the sun has been gone for days now. Three, maybe four days. The mere thought of a new day makes me shiver to the bone, and my mind snaps back again to that one night, and what happened in those KTV backrooms. In fact, I can’t think of anything else, haven’t been able to for days now. How long has it been? I pull the curtains shut again, the solid darkness making it a little bit easier. I’m still dizzy and drunk, doesn’t seem to wear off, instead it keeps kicking back in, worse and worse. What the hell happened that night? I still can’t think straight, but I know it was bad. Really bad. Continue reading…
A Tail of the Unexpected
by Susie Gordon
What I absolutely did not expect to find that night reclining beside a pile of slub and unwanted plastic down by Suzhou Creek was a mermaid. I hadn’t expected to find anything at all, except for the sort of solitude that would have been welcome after the despicable night I’d had thus far. I’d been down at Shelter, for yet another tiresome evening of overrated dubstep (whatever that is) and being asked what I “do” by legions of sweep-haired, sweaty entrepreneurs bent on upping their cool-cred by frequenting Shanghai’s dirtiest club.
On arriving at the creek somewhere near those warehouses on Guangfu Lu which are now “studios” taken over by yet more legions of sweep-haired entrepreneurs, I had skeeted down a set of slimy steps and alighted near a long-abandoned barge. Beside the barge, wrapped in an old orange jacket discarded by a migrant worker, sat what appeared to be a female torso atop a giant, dirty salmon’s tail. A length of mucky blue rope bound it the rusted pole against which it was leaning. A mermaid. A mermaid? Part fish, part girl – the result of some toxic leak on the Yangtze? A failed experiment in a lab somewhere?
I stared until it noticed. When it saw me, it – she? – gave a double take and a little shoulder shake.
“Lee?” she said in an odd accent that could have been American.
I held my hands up to show I meant no harm.
“Where’s Lee? Who are you?” she asked warily.
“Lee?” Amazed that the creature could speak English, I barely knew what to say. Her long brown hair was falling from a shell-comb, the effect of which – coupled with the blue-black sweep of her tail – gave her a charming Andersen look.
“Are you part of the team?” she asked. My mouth fell agape as I marvelled at her perspicacity.
“You noticed straight away!” I whispered.
“Are you a friend of Lee?”
I figured Lee must be some sort of guru or deity.
“Yes. Yes, I’m with Lee,”
“Did he tell you when it’s all going to end?” The mermaid shifted against her rope bonds, a flash of discomfort crossing her face. The apocalypse? The end of days?
“No…” I breathed. “He didn’t tell me,”
“He promised it would be soon,”
I was starting to feel the early fronds of a hangover spreading over my head, so I decided to sit down.
The mermaid sighed.
“Lee said everything was ready – all he needed to do was push the button,”
“The… button?”
She fixed me with a look.
“Do you even know anything about this?”
“Um, not really,”
“So what are you doing here?” she had that blunt way of school bullies.
I shrugged artlessly.
“Just out for a stroll,”
“Do you even know Lee?”
“Not exactly. But I could convert.”
“Convert? What the hell are you talking about?” she was aghast. “Don’t you even recognize me?”
“No. It’s not every day I see a mermaid,”
“For fuck’s sake – I’m not a mermaid. Are you stupid? This is fake,” she jabbed the tail. “I’ve been sitting here in the cold and damp for the past two hours while Lee and his stupid friends set up their camera equipment on the other side of the river,”
“What? You’re not real?”
She cocked her head and poured pity from her eyes all over me.
“Are mermaids real?” she purred. “We’re part of an art collective at the Art for Art’s Sake Gallery on Moganshan Lu. This is our first project. It’s called ‘A Tail of the Unexpected’.”
Breakfast
by W.M. Butler
He stood at the counter top, an egg in his hand. With one sharp crack he brought the egg down on the edge of the metal mixing bowl, a perfect glob of sunshine yellow yolk chased by the transparent glop of egg white spilled into the bowl, egg number three. He opened the drawer nearest the sink and rummaged about. Not finding what he was looking for he instead checked the drawer nearest the microwave, plunging his hand in again with one quick stroke he came out with a whisk. With deft flicks of his wrist he began beating the eggs into a frothy lather, with his free hand he reached over and turned on the tap. He washed the whisk thoroughly, holding it up to the light from the window to make sure that no residue remained, taking a dishtowel from the hook on the cupboard he took his time drying the it and with great care placed it back in the drawer. Strangely he began whistling a song from my childhood, Greensleeves. I tried to remember the tune, whenever I had tried to whistle the song in my sparse sputtering rasp of a whistle it would always turn into the song the Seven Dwarfs sang in Snow White. He turned and directed his gaze at me. His teeth peeked out from behind his lips as he slipped me the faintest of smiles. He was a handsome man, neat in appearance and with only a little spattering of grey in his otherwise jet black hair. He wore a charcoal grey suit with a sharp crisp cut. The tailor who made this suit wasted not a stitch of fabric; it was clearly not “off the rack”.
I love scrambled eggs, how about you?
I did not respond. He tilted his head to the right and looked at me with pursed lips and a squinted eye then turned back to the business of his eggs. He moved partially out of my line of site from where I was I could only see the rounded edges of the powder blue Electrolux fridge door open. He shut the door and moved back to the mixing bowl. In his hand he held a carton of whole milk, he opened the top and raised it to his nose, timidly smelling to see if the milk had curdled. Seemingly satisfied he splashed some into the eggs. Opening the fridge door again he placed the milk back inside. Judging from his previous behavior I could only assume he had placed it back exactly where he had found it. Taking the bowl containing the eggs he walked the 5 paces to the stove where earlier he had preheated one of my cast iron frying pans given to my by a great uncle who was a gypsy. It was my prized possession, I felt a sharp twinge of anger, maybe jealousy that this man had the nerve to use it, but those feelings quickly passed, as nothing really seemed to remain that important to me.
His back was turned to me now and I could not see in which manner he was scrambling his eggs, but the whole process only took a minute. With a click he turned off the gas range slid open the drawer next to the stove and took out a fork. He turned towards me and moved just far enough from the edge of the stove so he could lean against the counter.
Would you like some?
I didn’t respond. I was not hungry and for the life of me could not seem to formulate a response no matter how hard I tried. He casually shrugged then dug into his meal right from the pan. I found it strange that being a careful man he would not place his eggs on a plate or even sit down at the table to eat. It seemed odd that he was now acting so out of line with his earlier behavior. Soon he had finished his eggs and again he broke character by leaving the frying pan on the countertop. Instead he returned to the bowl with fork in hand, taking both to the sink. He washed, dried and replaced both back where he had found them. Why not the frying pan? I wondered. Why everything in it’s place but the pan?
Thank you, but I must leave now.
I nodded my head in a lolling sort of way. He smiled again but this time with more teeth.
I’ll let my self out.
He stepped over my body, careful not to disturb the leakage of blood slowly trickling from my jugular and pooling on the floor. Walking to the door he took his coat from the rack, put it on and kindly locked the door from the inside on his way out.
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More stories from W.M. Butler
Groupthink – Something Unexpected
Another Sunday another HAL Groupthink. This time the theme was Something Unexpected. Like the time you forgot to lock the door and your mom walked in on you reading the bible.
The HAL version of a Sunday afternoon watching cute babies, strange animals and gruesome accidents on Youtube.
Breakfast – by Owsley Beck
Where is this going? I don’t get it what’s the poi….HOLY SHIT!!!
Manta Ray Mantra – by Dena
manta ray manta ray manta ray manta ray manta ray manta ray manta ray manta ray manta ray manta ray manta ray manta ray manta ray manta ray manta ray manta ray manta ray manta ray manta ray manta ray manta ray manta ray manta ray manta ray
Phone Calls – by Hunter
Hunter making an horrific turn of events seem mundane and all the more terrifying with detached imagery and a sense of the inevitable. Heavy.
A Tail of the Unexpected – by Susie Gordon
If the Queen was a sexy cynical Brit in Shanghai exile she might have written this tale of expat hipster satire. Fortunately for Shanghai we don’t have a queen. We have Susie Gordon. Long live!
Groupthink – Harmonious society
Rest assured. We live in an harmonious society. All is peaceful and well. Thank the maker.
For those of you not fortunate enough to live in Sweden or North Korea, take comfort. HAL is there for you.
Crab’s World – by Angel
A biting (or pinching?) allegory by HAL’s favorite pixie. The most charming English the middle kingdom has to offer and a vicious invertebrate with more bling than you’ll ever own.
The Nomadic Metropolis – by H. van Blarenburg
HAL’s dystopic philosopher brings the pain in a post-apocalyptic ethereal mindfuck.
Lee, Me and the Fallacy – by Dena
If the title hasn’t captured your interest perhaps you need to get your kung-fu shoes on and head down to qipu lu to get some spectacles. A cynical short by HAL’s resident Las Vegetarian sexbomb.
love letters to genghis khan – by Owsley Beck
Poetry. Epic fucking poetry from the man who makes Henry the 8th look like a pussy.
House on Fire – by Ginger wRong Chen
Ginger wRong. Ginger wRong. Ginger wRong. Gets it all wRight in this twisted tale of wHarmony.
cats / gods – by Ling’Ling
meowtherfucker.
Chaos Within – by Björn Wahlström
A musical treatise on harmony and dissonance. Did you just feel your paradigm shift?
