5 09, 2016

Surrealize the Pipeline

By | September 5th, 2016|Games|0 Comments

Surrealist game in solidarity with the indigenous protectors and their allies at Standing Rock Sioux who are refusing the imposition of an environmentally catastrophic pipeline across their land. http://sacredstonecamp.org/


1. Instead of being built across Sioux land, where should the pipeline be rerouted?
2. Instead of oil, what should be pumped through the pipeline?
3. If there’s a spill, what effect will it have on the environment?

Jason Abdelhadi

1. It should be systematically rerouted to pass through every car dealership in North America.
2. It should pump scorpions.
3. If there’s a spill, shareholders and salesmen will be forced to pick out the scorpions as best they can from the showroom floor, but the glove compartments of all new cars will nonetheless become a deadly wager to open.

Casi Cline

1. It should be rerouted into the beak of a large orange and teal 20-tentacled, teleporting cephalopod visiting from a neighboring galaxy.
2. It should contain all manner of germs, viruses, and infections, of which Archidines (that is her name) is very fond.
3. It will not have a chance to leak because Archidines is a fast eater. After she is done, the pipeline will be segmented and reused as sleeping holes for Archidines’ many offspring.

Doug Campbell

It should be rerouted to power a vast phallic fountain spurting limestone-rich hard water irregularly but continuously over the faces at Mount Rushmore until these are totally obliterated by stalactites and stalagmites. The effects on the environment will be positive on numerous levels.

Maurizio Brancaleoni

1. It shouldn’t be built at all. Instead, even its mental representation/project/whole concept should be completely dismantled and destroyed. After the demise of this projectual epidemy, a vacuum cleaner should be employed to clear the minds of remnant shite. Architects and engineers are to be lined up to smoke a calumet pipe, write a pipe song, and put pipe rigate in their pipes and eat ’em together with the protesters. In other words, it may be pipe but ceci-n’est-pas-un-pipeline.
2. Nothing, because it shalt not bee built and woe betide you guys if it is.
3. No spill, no side effects, no pipeline, no political or polluting crap whatsoever.

Stuart Inman

It should be re-routed through Donald Trump.

Steven Cline

1. It should miniaturized and rerouted through the head of Ostrich, which will somehow boost its mental capacity
2. Orange Molasses
3. It will have the effect of choking to death all humans above a certain income bracket, the exact number to be chosen by Ostrich. Those under a certain income bracket will be able to transmute the molasses into sweet and feathery air.

Stephen Kirin

1. The pipeline will be rerouted to an infinitely expanding Ouroboros at the bottom of a granite filled oxbow lake.
2. The previous contents will be reversed.
3. Rubber faced moguls will be manipulated into a type of putty to fill in the gaps.

Maria Brothers

1. It should be rerouted and aligned in the deep ocean until it reaches the centered crater in the great red hall of lost city of Atlantis. It will then turn into a curvy extension heading downwards to Agartha (the core of Earth).
2.The tail end of the pipeline will emerge through the Arctic pumping a spectacle of a two direction fountain of swirly fire and furrow ice drawn from Agartha that eliminate each other.
3. While the fire and ice are peculiarly safe, the fumes from a spill would be an immense misfortune to whomever inhales them as all living creatures would turn into a crystallized rock and will forever be forsaken.

2 08, 2016

a storehouse full of athletes

By | August 2nd, 2016|Games|0 Comments

Collaborative game with Stephen Kirin, Karl Howeth, Jason Abdelhadi, Casi Cline, Maurizio Brancaleoni, Maria Brothers, Dale Houstman, and Craig S Wilson.

The circus folk were lonely between the trees, and they leaned against the wall they had built from sloughed off skin, and argued about whether or not leaves were edible, and should they test it on their children.
We were famous for arranging a storehouse full of athletes so that it could produce exasperation.
One stood in the mauve and cursed the day she sent us back to the fridge; why did we submit to being cooked?
The jellyfish dreams that year shone off sepia and female on the photocopied evidence of my 3 lovers smiles.
Next door, the sacred cave contained the simulacra of decay and the inescapable chiasmus of time. but then the city decreed it condemned and the abandoned deities of dust and the boxes of the deceased had to move to the sewer with the thoughts of their once beloveds.
I still remember those days very well. The liquor, the luxury, the jewels, the women. The golden age we lived in was an amiable obituary, the ever-present asbestos of our passions constantly reimbursing our scarcities. My heart’s desires flowed beautifully like Tuscan fountains, always compelling, springing from the sands of bow ties and spiffy baldheads. In the picture above, a primeval turtle was chewing up my tendons magnificently.
In a thousand cycles her body carved the air with words shaking off the night dust and the eerie clouds. Such incantation of reverie lurked in the breeze – a hole of that memory sculpted lying on a naked fence throwing its shadow upon the prancing muse once lived within the frame of time.
He could carry them all away with his flying hat.
The joy of destruction overwhelmed our mercy. Winged knights welcomed us with unforgiving accessories of glee. My death fell in with bliss and glorious light.
A revered feather passes a broken tree branch twice a day. While a lover thinks like a cactus for an eternity.
“Connect A to B slowly with a flourish during the final rotation” she lisped.

I had to admit she was right and Though i couldn’t hide my admiration for her, something held me back from extolling her virtues as I shoved my empty drinks carton in the aperture while she flossed her teeth.

The thief concealed himself in a display of wax dummies until the authorities continued the search elsewhere. As he was headed away he heard a noise; all the wax dummies had melted down for reasons unknown.
17 06, 2016

BULB – Word Association Game

By | June 17th, 2016|Games|0 Comments

Maurizio Brancaleoni

BULB(E)’S GIRLFRIEND. Unfinished opening-ending one-chapter post-story (A could-have-been-a-novellette prose minipoemette ). These light bulbs had been prying into my viscera for an indefinite amount of time, heirs to a condition of slavery. He is intralatched onto mental representations of potential fiancées. This guy, Bulbe, a multi-talented lover’s spat colourist and indoor farmer, a coffeine-impassioned Hamlet-like rotting youth, loped down the streets of a relentless domotic Paris. Penniless, needin’ luv so bad. Bulbs have been planted into his kind jovial heart, alimony to the ones who will come after him. Chance encounter with young attractive woman and so on. Another scene. Anon came the graphic procurer whose nose was scheduled to grow into a throbbing TV-daimon. A severe bleeding thereafter etc. B. taken by surprise by pimp’s hair bulbs generating infinitely. B. declares, “A born strangler is thine hair, o bloody (BE) damned (AE) criminal” (monologue, improvisation). Smothering seas and oceans of hair’s breadths. Cut. Salvation of the starlette implemented. Two bulbs screwed in later. B.’s right leg capsizes consequently, a wedding ceremony lurking in his girlfriend’s passion-fuelled electric system. Happiness never seen before, deep-seated potatoes growing now. His nutritious soul. Final scene. She and her sorority friends in front of Fontana dell’Organo in Tivoli. French fries are thrown at them. We don’t see the faces. End.
Rik Lina
Jason Abdelhadi

Bulb – An Automatocrostic Poem

Bitumen ingenuity is the foreskin of dramatis personae insofar as they are precipitated by the heaps of untrammelled cheshire.

Ungrateful and Hungarian, the minister portrayed himself in the hat of the thirteenth coop insofar as this was founded by arachnids.

Lost in the stepladder of trepanning, I shone like a steed in a turnip with breakfast on diurnal popcorn serviettes.

Boswell, chin up! I cannot make due with your sausages.
Karl Howeth

The bulb is not so much formaldehyde as it is an egg.

Stephen Kirin



3 06, 2015

Weekly Question

By | June 3rd, 2015|Games|0 Comments

Time Travelers’ Potlatch

In Time-Travelers’ Potlatch, each player indicates the gift that she/he would present to various historical, mythical, or fictional figures on the occasion of their meeting.

Marquis de Sade:
Leonora Carrington:
Winston Churchill:
Franz Kafka:
Elvis Presley:
Al Capone:

Ashley Deflaminis:

Marquis de Sade: A shredded corn dish.
Leonora Carrington: Lemons in a shimmery spoon.
Winston Churchill: Donkeys and Elephants soaring through the island breeze.
Franz Kafka: A hawaiian tiki on a shoe tread.
Elvis Preseley: 3 oranges, 2 sponges, and 5 wishes in steamy pot.
Al Capone: Flexible bricks holding fossilized eels.

Steven Cline:

Marquis de Sade: Five strokes of luck
Leonora Carrington: A golden elixir, or two drops of bread
Winston Churchill: A tall white hat
Franz Kafka: A shadow to follow him around
Elvis Presley: Flaming guitar
Al Capone: A tall black hat

Casi Cline

Marquis de Sade: A Mud Mask
Leonora Carrington: A Sphinx
Winston Churchill: Toupée
Franz Kafka: A friend
Elvis Presley: A banana
Al Capone: A Chisel

Angel Dionne:

Marquis de Sade: Reticulated laughter in a bowl
Leonora Carrington: Seared pineapple cubes
Winston Churchill: A box of screams
Franz Kafka: Spherical genitalia
Elvis Presley: Bedazzled onion blossom
Al Capone: A pine tree with an unpredictable temper

17 05, 2015

Weekly Question

By | May 17th, 2015|Games|0 Comments

Write a 25-word short story that incorporates all of the following words (answers will be posted on website blog):


Casi Cline:

The cream-filled scorched dough epiphanies were the only delight of the pastry chefs doomed to a lifetime of panicked flailing in the Raven’s infernal kitchen.

Steven Cline:

The scorched earth policy of ravens created a bubbling of dough and a flailing of cream-covered pudding,which became disturbed by the thought of ovulating.

Andrew Mendez:

Scorched by dough boys as they come out of foxholes spreading cream over the raven’s soft spot while flailing the clock into minutes.

26 04, 2015

Weekly Question

By | April 26th, 2015|Games|0 Comments

Make your own surrealist superstitions or proverbs.

Casi Cline:

To ensure a female child will be marriageable, the father must smear her forehead with the milk of the largest bull in the county during every new moon until the first menstrus cycle is successfully completed.

Steven Cline:

Counting backwards from 17 can be dangerous, often leading to reality breakdown and cottage cheese growths.

Angel Dionne:

Consume extra Sahara Desert for crispy dreams.

18 04, 2015

Weekly Question

By | April 18th, 2015|Games|0 Comments

Weekly Question

1) What does surrealism taste like?
2) What is its texture?

David Nadeau –

1) Surrealism tastes like aromatical herbs unknown to mankind since the Paleolithic.
2) Its texture is made of furs and claws.

Steven Cline –

1) Strawberries covered in melted white cheese.

2) A sharp metal mesh

Casi Cline –

1) Surrealism tastes like strawberries dipped in brine.

2) Its texture is that of blood two hours absent from the vein.

Barney Schauer –

1) Surrealism has no taste, it is void of all flavor, spice, and has zero trans fat and preservatives. Also it tastes like watermelon.

2) Its texture is placebo.

Ashley DeFlaminis –

1) Surrealism tastes like the juicy crust of the earth.

2) The texture of surrealism has the same feel in your mouth as when a jellyfish scratches the side of your foot.

Angel Dionne –

1) Surrealism tastes of stone peacocks.

2) Its texture is that of thick rice pudding.

Ian Pyper –

1) It tastes like the tongues of dead black swans

2) It has the texture of astral dust that has melted too close to the sun.