Archive for the 'Podcasts' Category
Pseudopod 417: The Blistering

by Johnnie Alward.

“The Blistering” is original to Pseudopod!

JOHNNIE ALWARD hails from a small town in southern Ontario where he lives with his girlfriend, their cat Vincent Price and a vague but omnipresent sense of self-loathing.

Your reader – Matt Haynes – is the artistic director of The Pulp Stage Theatre company in Portland, Oregon. This January, the company will be premiering BOX: A Live Science Fiction Trilogy co-authored by Matt and acclaimed speculative fiction writer Tina Connolly. You can learn more about the show and its current fundraising campaign at The Pulp Stage.

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“‘Try to imagine the human brain as being analogous to the ocean.’

Sam Dillinger snapped his fingers and an enormous map of the world unfurled itself above him.

‘Like the ocean, the human brain is tangible in its theory and physicality. We can touch it, understand its general uses, even map its surface topographically – the Atlantic here, the Pacific there; cognitive processing in this corner, emotional reckoning in that. We’ve studied them – lived with them – since time immemorial, but we still have so much to learn. Man may have stripmined the mountains and scorched the green earth, but he still hasn’t conquered the depths.’

He snapped his fingers again and the map reconfigured itself into a large glass pane. Paul watched as folded in on itself like crystal origami until it had become the Epsilion Prism, a corporate emblem as fiercely lionized as the golden arches or Newton’s apple.

‘Here at Epsilion, we pride ourselves in possessing the most finely detailed cognitive maps that the world has ever seen. In fifteen short years, we’ve gone from a small, speech therapy start-up on 40th street to one of the largest and most relentlessly innovative companies ever founded on American soil. We’ve helped thousands of our clients to access long-forgotten memories, undo crippling mental illnesses, and learn new languages and mathematical skillsets in the space of a few scant minutes. And still, we’ve barely begun to skim the surface of a vast and unknowable space.’

He paused and stared into the crowd – 300-odd painters, writers and musicians who hung on his every syllable.

‘That is, until now.'”

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Pseudopod 416: Punksnotdead

by Eric Czuleger.

“Punksnotdead” was first published in Eric’s first novel Immortal L.A. which was inspired by listening to Pseudopod in the Albanian Alps for two years. “It makes me uncomfortable to share this story. It was supposed to be one thing and it took a dark turn on me. It was inspired by the nightly walks my best friend and I take by the ocean. We’ve been taking the same walks for years. The coastline never changes but we do. I guess that scares me. That a minute ago we were twelve, a second ago we were twenty, and the coastline never changes.”

ERIC CZULEGER is the author of the novels Immortal L.A. and Eternal L.A. He has collaborated with audio artist Joe Calarco on an audio prequel to this series entitled Ignited L.A. He lives in Los Angeles where he is the resident playwright of The Coeurage Theatre Company as well as a Media Journalist for TheWrap.com. He writes for screens both big and small as much as he possibly can. He finished Peace Corps service in Northern Albania in 2013 and tries to travel in and out of the states as much as he can. He tweets at @Eczuleger, and you can find his website at Eric Czuleger.com. If you liked this story, check out the full book, Immortal L.A., it’s sci fi sequel Eternal L.A., the audio prequel Ignited L.A. and the forth coming Farnoosh a stand alone novel about The Iranian Revolution, Genies, and reality television. All are available on Amazon or through his website Eric Czuleger.com where you can also purchase collections of Eric’s plays, read his blog, or drop him a line. He’d be happy to hear from you.

Your reader – Joe Calarco – is the associate artistic director of Coeurage Theatre Company in Los Angeles. He can be seen in the extension of Coeurage’s current show, Trey Parker’s “Cannibal! the Musical” mid December. He can also be seen in the West Coast Premiere of “The Pitchfork Disney”, opening late January. People can get tickets at The Coeurage Theatre Company.

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“”Punk is Dead. He has twenty-four hours Left.””

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Pseudopod 415: Night’s Foul Bird

by Orrin Grey.

“Night’s Foul Bird” was originally printed in the 14th issue of Innsmouth Magazine which was themed around “wings.” “I’m obviously a fan of the aesthetics of early horror films, and this story was all about that, especially the portrayal of vampire lore in early films, especially silent films, though saying that in the opening might be giving the game away a bit. It’s also one of a pair of stories I wrote back-to-back dealing with early portrayals of vampires in media–its companion is a very short piece called “The White Prince” that’s in Steve Berman’s anthology of incubi stories Handsome Devil out now from Prime books, which deals more with early vampire novels and specifically Dracula, instead of film.

ORRIN GREY is a writer, editor, amateur film scholar, and monster expert who was born on the night before Halloween. He mostly writes short, spooky stories of the macabre and supernatural, and he watches a lot of movies about the same, and sometimes gets to write about them. He has a regular column on vintage horror cinema for Innsmouth Free Press and has had a couple of previous stories at Pseudopod, and some other recent or forthcoming publications include a story in Tales of Jack the Ripper and Children of Old Leech, both from Word Horde. His first collection, Never Bet the Devil & Other Warnings, came out in 2012, and his newest collection, Painted Monsters will come out from Word Horde in October, 2015. It includes this story and previous pseudopod episode “The Worm That Gnaws”, as well as 11 other stories, including 3 that are original to the collection. Updates for his writing happen regularly on his website at Who killed Orrin Grey?

Your reader – Cunning Minx – is the sultry-voiced producer and host of the Polyamory Weekly podcast, now with over 400 episodes in production. The podcast shares tales from the front of responsible non-monogamy from a pansexual, kink-friendly point of view. A kinky boobiesexual, Minx founded the show as a resource for the poly and poly-curious to form a community, share experiences and help guide each other on their journeys of poly and kinky exploration. A marketer by day, Minx spends most of her vacation days teaching about polyamory throughout the US but leaves a few for snorkeling about the Caribbean with her poly family. Her New ebook is, Eight Things I Wish I’d Known About Polyamory.

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“Last week, a man moved into the building. He lives in the same rooms as us but on the fourth floor rather than the sixth. On the floor between is a plump-cheeked lady whose two sons both died in the War. I call her the “Widow Flowers,” because she is always drying flowers in the kitchen above her sink. She gives them out to everyone as gifts at every relevant occasion. I wonder if she loves them because they’re beautiful but already dead, unchanging, like a photograph, but Mother says I mustn’t ask people such questions.

The new man is strange, pallid and sunken, and his head seems to taper from top to bottom, as though his chin is forming like a stalactite from his face. His eyes are very pale and he has an odd way of staring at you as if he’s actually looking at whatever’s just behind you, instead. Mother says that he’s sweet and that I mustn’t judge. That many of the young men who came back from the War came back just like him. I don’t think he seems young, but Mother says that he’s not much older than me. She blames the War for that, too.

He says his name is ‘Milton,’ but in my mind, I’m already calling him “Mr. Chaney,” because there’s something about him that reminds me of Lon Chaney’s faux-vampire in London After Midnight, which I loved up ‘til the end. Maybe it’s his long coat, which he wears always draped over his shoulders, his arms not through the sleeves. Maybe it’s his shadow, which seems to cling too close to him, to hunch at his back when he stands near walls, as though it’s whispering secrets in his ears.

Mother says that I’m sensitive, but that I should keep it to myself, and that I mustn’t judge people until they’ve given me a reason to, as it says in the Bible. I don’t think that is what it says in the Bible, but I don’t contradict her.”

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Pseudopod 414: The Photographer’s Tale

by Daniel Mills.

“The Photographer’s Tale” was first published in Theaker’s Quarterly Fiction #36 in 2011 and later reprinted in The Mammoth Book of Best New Horror 23. It currently appears in the author’s 2014 collection The Lord Came at Twilight.

DANIEL MILLS is the author of Revenants: A Dream of New England (Chomu Press, 2011) and The Lord Came at Twilight (Dark Renaissance Books, 2014). His short fiction has appeared in various journals and anthologies including Black Static and Shadows & Tall Trees. He lives in Vermont. His website can be found at Daniel Mills.net.

Your reader is George Cleveland, who previously read Cell Call for PSEUDOPOD.

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“‘Shall we proceed?’ asked Arthur.

‘Of course,’ said Lowell, nodding. He had already prepared the collodion mixture and adjusted the lens. All that remained was to open the shutter. Taking up the flash box, he slipped his head under the cover and placed his eye against the viewfinder.

The powder vanished from Mrs. Whateley’s brow. In its place he noted the swelling of an under-skin bruise. As Lowell watched, horrified, the colors deepened and spread, leaching through flesh and tissue to collect in a series of purple bruises down the woman’s neck, creating the imprint of a man’s hand around her throat.

Lowell’s stomach clenched. The air left his lungs, and he gasped for breath that would not come. She looked up at him then — perhaps only to wonder what was taking so long — and in her eyes he saw a silent suffering, such as he had once glimpsed in the eyes of another, and all at once, he understood everything.

Whateley had come to him seeking concealment. Like many clients, he wanted an image of false happiness, another mask for the violence and cruelty they both strove to hide — he with his airs and false benevolence and she with her daubs and powders. Mrs. Whateley gazed back at Lowell through the viewfinder, her eyes bloodshot, sightless.

He swallowed. ‘I’m—sorry,’ he said and withdrew from the hood. He stepped backward from the camera. ‘But I cannot go through with it.'”

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