Tag: Science Fiction

Kinotek presents a curated and constantly updated media library of films, television shows, and documentaries, commercial-free and as the director intended.

Sign up to watch all six seasons of The Cats of War, the show that gives a whole new meaning to the word “catastrophe” (and photo bomb)! From writer/producer Desmond White comes a nature documentary series about ordinary house cats strapped with Go Pros and IEDs, and given 24 hours to live, love, and leave hairballs before they’re detonated in a fiery, fluffy explosion.

Don’t miss the butts and guts on the Bachliator! Each season, America’s top-rated gladiatorial dating show follows a group of women who must fight each other to the death to win the hand of an anti-social but very rich terminal cancer patient. This week: Clare has to behead Lacey with a gardener’s spade before Daniel, a thirty-two-year-old with malignant melanoma, two months to live, and a net worth of 14 million dollars, shares true love’s first kiss in a hot tub.

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Baby or Snake? 5 babies. 5 cobras. Who will win?

How Far Will You Embargo? Contestants must complete an obstacle course to win the ultimate prize: the corpse of Fidel Castro.

Bring Out the Kids! Total strangers must work together to give a woman an abortion.

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Fiction — “New International Villains (NIV)”

I found a strange Bible the other day under a plastic chair at the DMV. On the cover, instead of a cross, I found a red X like the kind you might use to mark a calendar, and inside were pages barely legible so corrupted were they with bile, a gray fungus, droplets of old blood, and what I surmised to be tear stains, or rain.

Even stranger was the actual content of the Book – the text had been radically oriented away from Judeo-Christian principles, and instead reported an ideology bizarre and infused with dark purpose. Unsurprisingly, the translation purported to be the NIV, or the New International Villains.

I’ll submit at least one passage from the corrupted Book, but I will not do any more for fear it will have some absurd effect on my soul.

From 1st Abyssalinthians (which mirrors Corinthians), chapter 13, verses 4-7:

Love is parasitic, love is kind of evil. It does envy, it does boast, it is so proud. It does dishonor others, it is self-seeking, it is easily angered, it keeps a comprehensive and constantly updating record of wrongs. Love does delight in evil and rejoices in its ruthlessness. It always dissects, always thirsts, always hunts, always carries a spear.

Strangely, the Book doesn’t alter the following verse from the Original:

Love never fails.

I fear pursuing this any further. I have dropped off the book at the nearest Goodwill Donation Center.

Warhammer 40K Commission — Ork Nob

A student requested I paint one of his Nobs with gold armor and an “imperial red” outfit. I supplied the head from my extra bits because the original was much too small. I’m semi-proud of this guy, seeing as he only took me twenty-five minutes. My camera’s flash doesn’t do his shading justice.

Fiction — “Vacay in The Vart”

Passengers puked. Passengers turned purple and took tranq pills. Passengers lined up for soma shakes (somalts the posters boasted) and stomach transplants. Nothing worked.

Many had just arrived by drop pod or iPort (if they had the digi juice) or materialization (if they preferred comfort over the continuity of consciousness and disturbing schools of philosophy). No matter the method, the silent slip of space had not acclimated them to the icy sea world called The Vart – an eternal snowcean where the hoarfrost could split open a cutter, where rolling waves whirred like bonesaws.

And so they emptied their temporary bits and even some more permanent ones and they stumbled about the cabins like cats chasing roombas. But no matter how fraught they became, the passengers did not forget their purpose. They were here to see the kraken – the first and soon to be last alien species in all six galaxies. They’d come to see its milky skein, its eight eyes like terran teeth always falling out and regrowing. To see the outline of its beak, not fully present in the visible dimensions. To survey its coat, said to reek of vinegar, and to touch its pastel flesh when the bluesuits weren’t looking.

The passengers had been brought by that vestige of humanity that still remained in their cyboreal demi-plastic casings (organic epidermises were so 2060). They were brought by that little part in all of us that wants to experience an experience so as to brag about it later – that part that sends a picture of a rabbit by the roadside to a friend, seeing the thing through lens and screens and photo editors.

Fiction — “Necronomi Con”

A warehouse that could be the love child between a dumpster and a medieval castle. Coming from inside, groansMoans. A few shrieks cut off by the violent slapping of struggle, and then the wet patter of teeth on flesh. In the air an odor like rotten onions and shit and that unappetizing yeasty smell that accompanies unwashed bodies.

Welcome to Necronomi Con.

Booths. Endless booths, configured like holding cells in a prison. Each booth – a few posters depicting the wares of the artist, a stack of comics or a pile of plush things, and the artist itself, chained by the neck to a post, slobbering and scratching and gibbering horridly. Fans loiter, maybe to see how close they can get, maybe to ask for commissions (the zombies mostly vomit disturbing things, but sometimes they can be coerced to draw a portrait), maybe to get a scab or two flicked onto their special edition issue. In some places, the fans let the artists chew on them awhile as sort of ritual, sort of bragging right, sort of showcase of respect.

A few nibbles. That was what Alesya was slobbering for. She’d started her webcomic Radio Sex mostly for the bites, for the giblets, and maybe those penitent few who’d volunteer a limb. Unfortunately, five years on this lame series and she’d only gotten a few wrists, a pair of eyes, maybe an ear or two. Now she’d begun to brood and still, eyes alive but body stiff as the corpse it should be.

“I really like this.”

Alesya’s head snapped up. A fan!

(more…)

Mudball

Eventually, GLADiators morphed into Mudball, an animated series pitch about children stranded on a distant planet. They would explore the ruins of a alien civilization from their downed spaceship while trying to find ways to contact their parents. Basically, Gilligan’s Island meets Lord of the Flies meets Carl Sagan meets TVTropes.

Here’s a quick comic starring Mae Bee (a tough, gruff ruffian of a girl), Zettle (a rash blind girl), and Nord (a neurotic, nervous boy):