May 2013
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This Must Be The Fuckclone
Daniel2 sat across the table from Daniel, matching him shot for shot. The whiskey in the middle sat in amber oceans in an ornate tumbler. By now, they were both pretty snookered. At some point in the middle of the proceedings, Daniel Prime had snuck out a small pill bottle and shook out about half of it and was now humming cheerfully as he pitched back shot after shot.
“It’s like...
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Dear Mr. Fuckclone, Bring Me A Dream
The not-there spit Daniel the Dead out in corridor 714C-E, in the nest labs. He landed on his hands and knees and thick, red tears escaped his eyes. “I’m back, thank you, back,” he whispered. “Oh god, oh fuck, oh fucking fuck.”
“It doesn’t get any easier,” a voice from the shadows said — guess who — “and I work for the mean...
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An Interlude Of Fuckclonery: Damnation House
The white washed away from the world, and Daniel the Dead was in a blue-walled room. The bleak man turned around and Daniel the Dead shrieked. The bleak man’s face was awful, so awful.
“You’re here too soon,” the bleak man said, some of his eyes narrowing, “You’re here too soon.” and it would have been comic if he hadn’t been so terrible, and...
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An Interlude Of Fuckclonery: The Replicant Tank
A small office of crowded cubicles, all that cheap green-gray color that companies indifferent to their employees use. Daniel the Dead found himself standing there, across from a tired employee, who of course had a Daniel face and a typical Daniel scowl. His tie was a muted green.
“Name, universe of origin, destination,” the Daniel gestured tiredly.
“Where am I?” Daniel...
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A Martyr For Your Fuckclone
Daniel the Dead thought: I am capable of tremendous sweetness, and I am capable of the most vile murder.
He stood inside his lab, consumed in a whirling mess of thought. His lab reflected him — it was lean, and tall, and every possible mutation or algorithm of skin and machine possible was grafted or latched onto itself, and a great number of fuckclones, in stages between life and death,...
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For The World Is A Clone And I Have Touched The...
Shadow Daniel smiled, and brushed back his hair.
“I’m glad you came to me,” he said. “I knew one of you would, eventually, but I was surprised it was you.”
He shot his cuffs and inspected them — still a pristine white, same as ever.
“Do you know how I came to serve the blue wall?” He unbuttoned and re-buttoned his cuffs, fingers moving quickly....
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An Interlude Of Fuckclonery: The Blue Wall (II)
The man in the dirty black coat walked down the main street, spurs on his boots jangling. Past the jail, past the brothel, past the undertaker’s — take a good eye, that is, the undertaker in this dusty little town has never gone out of business, no sir, never has — past the church, towards the saloon. Always the saloon. The man in the dirty black coat grinned, and his lips were...
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The Little Fuckclone That Could
Daniel2 was having a nightmare. It consisted of the graveyard — which had consumed many of Daniel2’s thoughts — and being buried there. The implacability of shadow Daniel’s soft contempt for how all the other Daniels operated and the cost of it all weighed upon him. He knew the agency of all the Daniels was important, and yet he knew himself — the mutation that kept...
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Midnight In The Garden Of Fuck And Clone
Daniel was drunk.
BrainDan, not being capable of such things anymore, was tired. Inasmuch as a floating brain in a jar could experience exhaustion. If he could have gotten drunk, he certainly would, though he suspected introducing alcohol to his jar would be extremely unpleasant, if not fatal.
“You remember Sally Salino?” Daniel asked. He was past the slurring stage and into the...
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Goodnight Mr. And Mrs. Fuckclone And All The...
“It was a graveyard,” Daniel2 said, aghast, and buried his face in his hands. “An endless graveyard.”
Everyone had noticed that Daniel2’s feminine features were becoming slightly more exaggerated. The hair longer, and wavier. The cheekbones defined in a less angular and more alluring fashion. It was strange. Sure, living in a dissolving self-contained universe that...
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To Fuck A Clone
As Daniel Prime awoke one morning from uneasy dreams he found himself — within the lab, still. Shit. He’d passed out on one of the tables, and his back was killing him. The facility could have at least given him a couch. He rubbed at his eyes and found his glasses on the floor and marched over to the replicant tank and hit the combination.
When the glassy-eyed fuckclone first step...
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The Organized Fuckclone Saga In Order (Because...
In order. As I write more, this will be updated.
Prequel: The Tweets of Origin
A Fuckclone Dies On A Friday
A Fuckclone Dies On A Tuesday
A Fuckclone Dies On A Lovely Day
A Fuckclone Dies On A Wednesday
A Fuckclone Dies In The Fire Of The Light Of The Mind
A Fuckclone Dies Tomorrow
A Fuckclone By Any Other Name
A Fuckclone Dies On A Futility
GUEST POST: A Fuckclone Dies With A...
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If There's A Fuckclone Below...
Daniel2 sat in his sunroom, checking off his pile of notes on places the chute couldn’t lead to.
It wasn’t in Lab 1 through Lab 604, though after six hundred and four labs, Daniel2 was confident that none of them were the chute’s exit point. It wasn’t in the hallways or corridors intersecting outside the labs. It wasn’t in the atrium. It wasn’t in Daniel the...
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An Interlude Of Fuckclonery: Shadow Daniel (II)
Spying into Daniel the Dead’s lab, the shadow Daniel suddenly clutched his head and screamed, falling backwards, through walls, through pipes, through grates and doors, until he hit something solid, and stopped. He lay there for a moment, disbelieving, clutching his head.
Black blood dripped softly from a gash, right beneath his immaculately combed hair. He brought his fingers to it...
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An Interlude Of Fuckclonery: The Great-Mind
— we are we will be we know what is we know the project the project we are what is the project the daniels the boygirl the dead man the prime number the jar of thoughts open the jar of thoughts let the thoughts out the boygirl will fly away the dead man will fly away we will all fly away the shadow will become light on the wall the prime number will be added the we will we are we know what...
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GUEST POST: I Have No Fuckclone And I Must Scream
The grated floors clink slightly when I walk on them now. They didn’t used to be grates, they were tile before. Before that I think concrete. Next they’ll probably be some kind of mutagenic ooze that is buoyant enough to walk on. Everything keeps changing in ways I don’t understand yet, but that’s the rub. The original intent of the whole thing was to see how far it could go anyway. We wanted to...
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An Interlude Of Fuckclonery: The Blue Wall
A lone campfire in the darkness. Above it all, rotating madly, the stars and all the galaxies.
The man with the painted blue face looked at everyone else around the fire. Children. Adults. The old, though none so old as him. Visitors to this land, who by tradition were made to attend this night. They all looked to him. His eyes were a bright silver, and his face was painted the same blue as the...
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No Country For Old Fuckclones
Daniel sat with the bottle between his legs, idly listing the ingredients to himself. Seems like some liquors aren’t that complicated after all. Things shouldn’t come with warnings, he thought. You should learn the hard lessons in the hardest way possible. That’s how they stick.
“You know, it’s funny,” he said to BrainDan, who sat on the table furiously...
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GUEST POST: Though I Hear You Fuckcloning, I Will...
The first Daniel awoke in his bare cot blanketless with his nostrils clotted with black gore. He keeled over to his side and coughed up a loosed tooth that sprang across the steel floorplates and came to a rest in some dusty corner. He opened his eyes.
Fuck me.
A large jar stood on a stainless steel surgical tray. The optical array affixed to it swung around its lens diaphragm contracting with...
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No Sleep 'Til Fuckclone
Daniel the Dead had removed his sleep long ago, but he could still dream — though, in his case, it was more like being attacked by dreams. His dreams were hazy moods, vestigial mental acrobatics he was no longer capable of. He was assaulted by emotions. He was, to say, experiencing a subconscious guerrilla war of feelings.
He’d isolated his medial temporal lobes (as he was installing...
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An Interlude Of Fuckclonery: Daniel Prime
Lonely is the clone, when you find yourself alone, your clones have come alive, and your mind is not your own, Daniel thought. Lonely is the night, when there’s no one left to kill.
Daniel threw the bottle at the wall. He didn’t even look to see if it broke. The laws that governed consequence and sense were over. There was no cause and effect anymore. Causality had hit a wall, just...
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Don't Fuckclone Me That Way (The Illusion...
She stared at how small the lab was, and looked over at Daniel, who was busy putting some big tank up against the wall on a poorly balanced handtruck.
“A little small, don’t you think?” She asked.
“They say it’s not the size of the lab, it’s the motion of the ocean.” She scrunched up her face at that, and he snickered. “Or something. What do you...
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Don't Fuckclone Me Like That (The Illusion...
She had green eyes.
No — she had blue eyes.
No, she had brown eyes, deep brown, infinite pools, dark and rich, and they flashed when she smiled, and darkened when she was mad.
No, no, no! She had gray-blue eyes, the color of summer sky before a light drizzle, and when she wore certain colors, they looked like the color of an aircraft carrier, sluicing through the deep water. And when...
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Dazed And Fuckcloned
“The telepathy is becoming a problem,” shadow Daniel stated, shooting his cuffs, staring at the sleeves of his jacket. He brushed invisible fragments of dust off them and looked at the wall, a fluctuating dynamic of colors that went from merry summer blue to bright baby blue to a deep, icy cobalt. “I can’t access it, but it can be used against me. The prime of this facility...
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An Interlude Of Fuckclonery: Daniel2
He walked down the hallway, ignoring the lights that lied. Daniel2 giggled easily at the tricks that never fooled him, and touched the wall, looking for the next compartment.
He was doing something. Let the other Daniels fight, and spar, and one-up each other. The toxic pool of Daniel the Dead’s machinations and the painkiller-spiked sadness of Daniel Prime’s and the calculating, mournful guilt...
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Nor The Battle To The Fuckclone
Daniel lifted the pistol and fired three times his finger twitching on the trigger, that easy bastard, that old murder machine, and shadow Daniel blurred and was standing next to him and twisted his arm and up he heard a sickening crack that hurt like every motherfucker in the world and he dropped the gun.
When he looked again the shadow Daniel was where he’d been, leaning easily against...
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An Interlude Of Fuckclonery: Daniel The Dead
He was going to have to do something about himself, soon.
He moved the tendons in his arm around, delicately. The advantage to not feeling pain was that this sort of surgery got almost routine, almost boring. There was nothing boring about making yourself into something new, but as Daniel the Dead worked, he noticed subtle improvements he’d already made, and forgotten, and shunted them...
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A Fuckclone Dies On A Thursday
There was a slight puff of air and the green doors slid apart and he walked out. He was in a large bedroom, with a high ceiling, and a massive red four-poster bed. Knowledge and sensation poured into him, filled him, and he knew who he was — Daniel — and he was there for something. He crawled onto the bed, and laid on his back. It was nice. The bed was large, and comfortable.
He...
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Do Fuckclones Dream Of Sexual Sheep
Lab 104 had become Lab 140. Daniel2 was there, waiting, chewing gum, when Daniel skidded around the corner and then stumbled in. A gun appeared in his left hand and a knife in the other.
“What’s the frequency, Daniel?” He asked, looking in through the door.
“BrainDan called me, said there was some commotion.” Daniel2 looked bored, and Daniel wondered where...
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My Fuckclone, My Fuckclone, What Have Ye Done
Daniel plugged Daniel into the machine, and it made a noise like a dozen drum sets falling down a staircase. The fuckclone strained against it, and Daniel hit the buttons, then leaned over, grabbing the sides of his face, looking deep into his own eyes.
“Did I ever tell you about how when my uncle died, they gave me all his ties?”
Daniel looked at Daniel and Daniel wasn’t...
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An Interlude Of Fuckclonery: BrainDan
BrainDan sat in his jar and contemplated. This had escalated. Daniel the Dead would be making more moves, soon. Daniel the alive was going berzerk, drinking and pill-popping and screaming and polluting the telepathy with dementia. Daniel2 was probably just as bad. BrainDan would fix everything. That was BrainDan was there for.
Something had to be done, he said to himself.
He made a throne...
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A Fuckclone Dies Because Out Of Chaos Comes Order
“See?” Daniel said, “It’s your insular cortex. It can only respond to dual-identity precense by projecting self-thought. You don’t know if I’m saying this or thinking this.”
He turned around and the naked fuckclone was on the floor, his nose pouring freshets of blood, looking up at himself helplessly. Daniel rolled his eyes and kicked himself in the...
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Dear Fuckclone, Thanks For Everything
Daniel2 adjusted his neat brown tweed suit (all the other Daniels wore black or grey, but Daniel2 thought brown tweed was far more comfortable, and more suited to his color) as he looked in the mirror, along the wall of the sunroom.
All the other Daniels had no idea there was a sunroom, and would never look for it. Daniel2 felt safe there. He liked it. It was quiet, and calm, and so the floor...
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A Congress Of Fuckclones
Daniel sat in the room, looking at himself. Daniel the Dead and BrainDan sat across from him, BrainDan’s jar seated on a tall chair, a thin spiderweb crack down the front of his jar. Daniel didn’t know what was going on with those two, but if they air between them could talk, it would have been screaming “FUCK YOU” at the top of whatever kind of lungs air had. You...
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An Interlude Of Fuckclonery: Shadow Daniel
The shadow Daniel sat in the last room, in the far corridor. Across from was a wall, a color not easily identified. Shapes moved restlessly through and on the wall. Some horrific beyond reckoning, some very beautiful. Sometimes it made the violin, shredding noise of the replicant tanks. Sometimes it made the gentle hiss of the illusion machine. Sometimes it didn’t make noises like anything...
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To Boldly Fuckclone Where No One Has Fuckcloned...
BrainDan had been picking up thoughts and transmissions at a steadily escalating (and unsettling) pace the past couple days. No longer was it identifiable as Daniel, or Daniel, or Daniel, or any variation thereof. Sometimes thoughts arrived from nowhere, and sometimes he would feel what he could swear was another brain in a jar, trying to transmit at him.
Lab 16 had become Lab 61. He had...
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To Boldly Fuckclone Where No One Has Fuckcloned...
A dying, spasming fuckclone in each hand, and Daniel the Dead was still frustrated. He could not transmit himself, could not leap out of who he was, and into who he could be. He’d changed his brain in every possible way, mutated it, cut into it, and then altered it to be back to normal, back to “factory specification” he called it, and he still couldn’t leave...
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Fuckclone Royale
She was very pretty — a tiny brunette with short brown hair and vivid green eyes and a knockout smile, and Daniel was on top of her, and then as he was slamming into her, it slammed into him, a vicious block of knowledge, and she simply melted away, and he fell backwards, scrambling back on the floor, and then he walked in, a different him, somehow, wearing a lab coat and a suit and his...
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In Truth Can There Be No Fuckclone
Living in either infinite blackness or a complete sensory overload was a very overrated experience, BrainDan thought. Ever since the face of the mad Daniel had brought him into being, and filled him with memory, he’d contemplated how to get out. Warned as he was against trying to transmit, he tested his abilities, and found the bomb was utterly worthless, some cheap plastic explosive simply...
Taking A Break From All Your Clones
Well, that’s ten Fuckclone Saga posts by me, and one mystery guest post — anyone else want to do a guest post, mystery or otherwise? I’m opening to experimenting with the mythology and science of the series.
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A Clone Of Less Fucks
He was attempting to avoid Daniel the Dead. He didn’t have any reason, other than Daniel the Dead gave him the serious creeps. He was starting to get better at sensing Daniel the Dead, and occasionally feeling what Daniel the Dead was up to. When Daniel the Dead attempted to install a secondary and tertiary nervous system, Daniel itched for half the day. When Daniel the Dead attempted to...
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A Fuckclone Lives To Die Another Day
Sweeping body parts down the disposal chute (with no idea where in particular it lead), Daniel the Dead was interrupted by a harsh buzzing in his ears. It sounded like someone had brought a microphone to the intercom, a razzing feedback. He winced. Was this something one of his “improvements” had done? Was he picking up on some wrong frequencies?
“IS THIS THE DEAD MAN,” a...
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GUEST POST: A Fuckclone Dies With A Witness
Daniel adjusted his white lab coat as he lay on the bed. He wore it outside at times now, enjoying the stares of onlookers. The grey suit was visible under the lab coat and gave him an air of importance, of a man ready to loose himself from the straightjacket of science when needed. He heard her voice again, that hint of laughter that was set at the exact frequency as his erection.
“And so you’ve...
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A Fuckclone Dies On A Futility
In the second lab, Daniel the Dead looked into the replication tank.
It wasn’t really cloning, he realized. A clone would never have memories, and scars, and so effortlessly become aware if itself, and know more and more as time passed. It was something else. Whoever Daniel the alive was, whoever the first, the real one of him was, he’d made something new. Some sort of copy that...
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A Fuckclone By Any Other Name
Total blackness. Daniel didn’t like this. It was like he couldn’t open his eyes. He strained and strained and nothing but infinite blackness. He knew something. He knew that his leg hurt and where he could get free drinks and he occasionally developed irrational crushes on his best friends’ exes and that he hated when girls changed their hair and that several episodes of several...
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A Fuckclone Dies Tomorrow: A Requiem
Daniel pistoned his arm down, fracturing his own face. The claw of the hammer ripped off the cheek, exposing flexing tendons and gritted teeth. He screamed. Both Daniels screamed. Daniel swung the hammer again and again, the clawed end making a sickening, warm thuck noise. He was crying and crying and swinging his arm until it hurt and then, finally, he stopped. Daniel’s face was gone, a red...
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A FUCKCLONE DIES IN THE FIRE IN THE LIGHT OF THE...
Daniel was having a nightmare.
This wasn’t uncommon, since the fuckclone project had begun. There was a physical and mental price to be paid for offing yourself numerous times, no doubt, but wasn’t there a spiritual component, as well? Daniel would have scoffed at this at any time, except when he woke up at 2:47 in the morning, coated in the cold sweat of bad dreams, pawing at...
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A Fuckclone Dies On A Wednesday
Somehow this had gone horribly wrong, Daniel thought to himself.
Not the experiment — the experiment was horrible from the first place. From the get-go, when he’d realized that quite simply, the universe wasn’t designed to have two of the same people. More research, and a couple trips to a back-alley diagnostic clinic, and he’d found out it gave him brain damage —...
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A Fuckclone Dies On A Lovely Day
He noticed the nosebleed first, sluggish and warm. The other Daniel — the voice, the god-general, the suit — was standing there, talking, fiddling with some speakers. “I’ve been trying to see how music has any effect on the copulation study. So far I’ve tried Metronomy, Al Green, I even tried some industrial garbage…nothing but some heightened endocrines and a...
Ruling
Having sent the cannibals and accountants to fetch my mistress, I shall now wear sleeves of gossamer and mithril, filigreed in hollywood failures. The brutal tears of violated starlets were soaked into the colors of my robe, for I am the Emperor Progress of the Naive. Where towers once sat, now sit letters of my name, forest plowed under pavement for my gnashing, nasty teeth. I eat girls and my...
