Gradient by Elaine Mullen Gradient is a piece that I've been developing, in one form or another, for the past year or so. I stumbled upon its central idea while trying to make my own version of Mutable Instruments's incredible Eurorack module Marbles, and it sort
1. When K—— didn't show up for class one day we visited after school to (jokingly) heckle them, and knocked on their door, tapped the windows. Not even K——'s homebody grandmother answered, although we could see lights on through the shaded windows. 2. None of the
You may rely on it. One night Nell lets drop to Jordan she might've found where The Horse keeps his supply. She's sure, says she got the tip-off from a dude who worked for The Horse once. "Who works for him and then lives after
How to keep her from leaving: buy daisies, hide them behind your back, wait for the upturned lips that according to her is something called a smile. How to make up for it: drive her to pick up what's-his-name from school, and then go straight to the toy
I once came across an old man in my building's dumpster, who quivered with shallow breath. I asked if he needed help, and he shook his head. He explained he was a farmer who had no need to sell his crop anymore, which also happened to be himself.
For the last month, I've been following the titular idea from Anne-Laure Le Cunff's wonderful book Tiny Experiments and set a writing exercise for myself. The act of writing has as of late become a bit of a chore—the joy of trying new things and
seasonal affective disorder by Elaine Mullen
Simple Machines by Elaine Mullen Simple Machines is a noise album, and an experiment in making complex things from simple beginnings. It uses only VCV Rack, and only its initial Fundamental modules, with the goal of trying to patch in new, interesting ways. All patches are available on PatchStorage: Fulcrum
1. Nestled in the hollow of the dead tree is a bad man who watches and waits. One can only see his eyes, blue and bloodshot and hardly blinking, amidst the tree's insides. The fear I hold doesn't concern myself, but my children. They don'
We all dug through the baker’s basement, and then dug some more. The handyman drove his backhoe in by smashing through the cement foundation and devised a pulley system to get the used appliances, mattresses, life-detritus, and ever-growing mounds of dirt and cement and rocks out of the basement.
The cow says moo. The bird says tweet. The pig says oink. The kitten with one mangled paw says meow. The sheep says baaa. Before you shoot it, the rabies-infested dog says woof. The turkey says gobble gobble. The frog—when squished and sacrificed—says splat-sizzle. The horse says neigh.
Her darkness blooms red from her finger’s muzzle. Led only by the intimations that no coincidences exist in this interpenetrating universe and the flips of a battered quarter she found on the street the previous day, S. has traveled fifty blocks to this penthouse lousy with romanesque porticos and