C. Knodel

@VisualInspiration@mas.to Wish You Were Here (Instead Of Me) My uncle left me a house full of things I couldn’t use, most of them I couldn’t even handle. Weird machines, magic items from all over the world, books about voodoo, Rübezahlism or Tibetan wisdom... There was even a collection of musical instruments in the attic: a piano, two guitars, a concertina, a viola, an alto recorder, and a clarinet. Remarkably normal, I thought and remebered the piano lessons I had as a boy and how later, I even practised a little, playing for myself. So I took seat at the keyboard and played “Ob-la-di-ob-la-da“ and – don’t ask how! – found myself still sitting at the piano, but amidst a large field of sunflowers. They swayed in the mild summer wind and seemingly liked what I was playing. I regretted not having taken a drink with me and tried the “Yankee Doodle“ and instantaneously was set into a dark future. Monstrous cyborgs walked around, acid rain fell down from the dirty sky, sirens were howling dissonantly… A classic tune I played then and obviously teleported myself into a meeting of business people discussing something like a marketing strategy. They, too, apparently aproved of my music, so I felt encouraged to perform the only piece I ever composed myself (before I turned to painting). The small piano concerto #1 in d minor, inspired by Satie, King Crimson and a cereal advertisment’s jingle. Ta-tadada-tuda-da-doom… This was strange! Seven reptiloid creatures in red robes stood around me. ‘So you have chosen to knorphumble our meetrach?‘, one of them asked. ‘Which would be good,‘ added another one, ‘for we zamphorously beshiwayl your malanquortz of wäng.‘ ‘And we can finally rupfe the last gigagolopp.‘ Thus having spoken they each produced a small sphere of glass from ther pockets and balanced them on their noses. I played “Ob-la-di-ob-la-da“ again... I resisted to test the other instruments and took all the stuff to nearest charity store the next weekend, except for the clarinet. My mother in law had played the clarinet in her younger days, she had said and threatened to re-start playing whenever she liked. Perfect for a birthday present, isn’t it? #microfiction #scifi #phantastic

@VisualInspiration@mas.to They just shook their heads, when she asked about Paul and the girls. A miracle that you survived the crash, they said. She’d rather not. Her right arm seemed the only part of her body that was left uninjured so when she needed something to do she started painting again: a portrait of herself in her younger days. Or better, like she had wanted to be, then. Now she didn’t mind. I like the naive style, said one of the doctors and, since she only needed a small part of the sheet, she crayoned herself painting the portrait, and then extended the picture with airbrush technique, making it photorealistic. Somebody talked about cross-style meta-postmodernism. She shrugged (with her right shoulder). After she left the hospital, she made a short film about therapeutic painting and then modeled clay figures of the film set, featuring herself as an director apparently annoyed by her unprofessional team. She was invited to festivals but refused. As a last step, she programmed a complete three dimensional animation of her shaping the making-of of the film showing her airbrushing a portrait of her crayoning herself painting ... The very moment before she was done, the screen froze, then went black. Frustrated she wanted to shut the laptop computer but her hand wouldn’t move. She heard a beeping noise and the display showed a flat green line. It’s time, said Paul. The girls are waiting. #microfiction

@VisualInspiration@mas.to

I’m not sure if the translator box was blaring so indistinctly because of the strange noises coming out of the Phocid’s throat or because my mission was (as always) underfunded and I had been equipped (as always) with second-class hardware. Nevertheless, I imagined the seal-like dweller of Epsilon Eridani II 3c sounding friendly.

• We are honored to have visitors from so far away… how far, did you say?

• Several light-years, I replied.

• From another world then? That did not happen before!

The Phocids have a quite high stage of development with a blind spot concerning chemistry. They invented combustion, elecricity, concrete buildings, simple computing machines, and radio waves – but no food chemicals, artificial preservatives, or synthetic fibres.

• We prefer natural resource. We take everything we can from nature, if possible.

He pointed at his overall.

• This, for example, is solely made out of sillut-skin.

I may have looked puzzled for he explained:

• Furless animals everywhere to be found on our, um, planet, as you call it. They pretty much look like… well, like you. They often live near our settlements and apparently expect that some of them are more or less regularly… taken out, you know…

• To be hunted? Shot?

• No. We slay them to preserve their skin.

• Don’t they feel pain then?

• To be honest, this is nothing we care about. They’re just animals. But we’re no savages. When their bones are broken and they cannot run away any more, they die within not more than, say, two days. And we use most of their bodies, not just their skin. The meat is edible and many of us prefer it even to fish. The guts and the bones are turned into soap and… ah, look, there is one of them! Just wait a moment, you can test a bite, if you want!

That having spoken, he picked up a large stone and turned around to hunt the skillut which indeed very much resembled a human being. Too much for my taste. While my contact officer ran after the animal, I headed back to my ship.

#microfiction #scifi

@VisualInspiration Every time the rain stops, it’s like waking up from a dream. A dream where I walk along the street, mostly empty. Everybody I meet hides behind an umbrella, cars rush past me, never intended to stop anywhere. There is light in only a few windows. When I look into them I cannot recognize anything behind the glass. The raindrops blur my sight. Most of the windows are dark anyway. Does anybody live there at all? I feel like going home, waiting for the rain to stop. But going outside has become harder day by day. I fear that if I stay in I will never be able to leave the house again – like the people behind the windows. They don’t get out. So I stay alone on the street. Alone in the rain. Alone until the rain stops or darkness covers the city, until we all fall asleep, never to wake up again. #microfiction #dream

@VisualInspiration@mas.to “Thank you for receiving me, my Lady! I am honored because your wisdom and knowledge are praised all over the country. Every nobleman and every...“ “I am honored myself, Mr Phroggs. What kind of help can I be to you?“ “I need counseling, my Lady. I am the master of the gunmakers’ guild and I have heard of an improved composition of the ingredients that make gunpoweder even dealier a weapon.“ “Oh well, you must surely speak of potassium chlorate. Mix this with phosphor, a full pound each, and then add it to another two pounds of conventional black powder. This will remarkably increase the range of muskets and cannons. But be sure to work only on Wednesdays or on Saturdays. Tomorrow is Thursday, so better commence your work today.“ “Thank you very much, my Lady! I will start at once! And when my Lord, Baron de Courville, returns from his – undoubtedly victorious – exedition against the Borussians, he will be pleased to find a new set of weapons…“ “Undoubtedly, Mr Phroggs.“ The gunsmith bowed and left the organgerie. She nodded and returned to a rare kind of orchid she was growing in a mosaicked garden-pottery. Undoubtedly, she said to herself and half smiled, half scoffed. She very well knew the chances of Courville’s campaign. After all, the Baron himself had asked for advice the very day before his departure, calling it ‘discussing strategical options’. On the other hand – this knight Gniedelbert of Wolperting had asked her to bless his sword for a fight against the last dragon on the northern hemisphere. She had cast an Elven spell on the blade, and just to be sure, added a Catholic prayer to it. Whispering ‘Do not tell the king – and come back unharmed’, she’d blown a kiss over the sword. These were funny times at the dawn of the modern age. Even funnier were men and their sports… Not too far from the borders of the Borussian empire, the king’s army was defeated, the Baron’s throat pierced by a dagger. Poor Gniedelbert was eaten by the dragon, obviously unable to unsheathe his sword, while his squires fled in panic. Somewhere in the city, the gunshop exploded. She smiled again. #microfiction #fantasy

@ixtlidekami @VisualInspiration Can I walk on the surface then?

@ozzelot@mstdn.social @nclm@mastodon.social @sheepfilms@mastodon.social Maybe it was because of a longish data bus resembling the long vehicle with its windows?

@kuestenjan@norden.social Ist doch toll, dass so gut auf uns aufgepasst wird.

@oe_simon @jensclasen @derpostillon Das war auch meine erste Idee.

@hiker@akk.fedcast.ch @sixtus@mastodon.social @hart@norden.social Die Kritik lässt eine auf technische Aspekte reduzierte Sichtweise vermuten. Aber ohne das Individuum näher zu kennen, halte ich mich mit Behauptungen dieser Art zurück.

@mitten@social.lol Signed C. Columbus?

@ngons Beautiful!

@ErikUden@mastodon.de Thanks to you and your team and merry christmas, a happy new year, peace and love and best regards from Kiel.

@Rudolf @voltbw Da fühlte sich wohl jemand angesprochen und beleidigt, ähnlich wie bei "Kein Bier für Nazis". Vielleicht sogar dieselben...

@lowqualityfacts Who says it's for coffee? I'd use it for Flaming Mai Tai. The best way to wait for things to come.

@Ultraverified @gbargoud @Space_Burger_Steve @txtechnician @gabrielesvelto Count me out then.

@hiker@akk.fedcast.ch Unbedingt, zum Beispiel um sie zu verbreiten, etwa über dieses schöne Medium.

@DieFurie@mastodon.social Ich trink mehr Kaffee, fang aber nach jeder zweiten Tasse neu an zu zählen.