The Monster on the Shield (and Other Atrocities)

by sh0n grub, roving reporter for the Oscillating Oculus 

In the coruscating madness of the frog reaper's nest 

Where a painter and artist meet in headflung distress

From the turbulence of shadows, may an avatar commence

In a blood initiation ritual with significant success.

How the mere imposition of a woven mandala's song

May interpolate an inner world of interconnectivity, 

While evoking a scene mirrored in a labyrinth of dreams 

To cultivate a solution that may come across wrong.

Welcome to DUMZINE.  It's been awhile since I posted anything.

There's been a lot going on at  GRUB CENTRAL which is now 

more or less known as TRIVERSE LABORATORIES and consists

of no longer the mighty Greg Grub + Shaun Grub =  THE GRUB BROS 

but rather, has morphed into Shaun Grub + Zane Grub = ZUNA ASHEN.

We are working almost daily on cultivating, which is to say writing out

the long, intricate details outlining the bedrock of a new shared universe

that becomes superimposed on the history of reality and simultaneously 

functions as the setting of our pulp science fantasy serials to be published

some day in the near future by our own imprint 𝕻𝖑𝖆𝖘𝖒𝖆 𝕻𝖗𝖊𝖘𝖘 

destined to become the flourishing nexus of fantastical writings 

to usher in our latest era of post boomer generational aspiration 

in the arts and literary scene which includes poetry, drama and action

sex, blood and graphics on a scale that would make our colleagues blush 

Nevermind the gold rush get in on the action while you can grab a slice

of the pie while the music's winding down and a seat at the table 

before the next high tide sweeps in to drown the uncertain and paralyzed. 

(Paradigm shifts like the one we're all going through at the moment 

Signal more wild adventures ever yet to come and at the least

An ever ending home base moving in by which to forget about the past.)

   I'm making slow progress on my "Big Book of Twisted Fairy Tales", otherwise to be titled something more like The Monster on the Shield & Other Atrocities, but I'm still compiling tales, so there could be another title for it yet. 

 While developing the Blog of the Triverse, maintained since its outset largely with

entries by Zuna Ashen, have just reached one hundred posts!

  (My son and I are also expanding the various sublevels  of our mythos in time  known as the Triverse (an analog of our universe) used to illustrate the somewhat  magical nature of existence.)  

Now as we're caught in the crossfire of this manifolding lotus region 

Of the perpetual crucifixion of energy and matter on the crossbar 

representative of the timespace continuum we are eased through 

the molecular microtonal aether drift that eases our imprinted characteristics

onto the pages of life being turned at such a slow pace we often come to think:

No one's reading this Odyssey when in fact the legion of the as-yet-unformed

Have it preordered long before the first zygote and are already subscribed to it

For their lives-to-come, and before long, headflung from the heels of our giant shoulders.

While the greatest living trees subsume into monolithic buttes at such a pace

We are unable to make the connection (as their long dropped fruit) whose seedling eyes Open one after another in an unzipped revelation 

of reflecting the stars 

A haunting eulogy to fall like the dust of silenced music echoed in the void 

The so-called Monster on the Shield (Leo's painting commissioned by his father) became as true as any depiction of our reflection. For reasons cultivated far too long within the strain of culture as it gains fruition.  Upon the tail end of creation's ultimate spawning, a circumscription if you will. 

Of all that came before, reiterated through a new compound lens and horn. 

Where the herald of light may continue to flare out into the symphonic composition.  Unraveling through disintegration into new and subsequent movements. 

If you're feeling confused, let's make no mistake about it.  Our legion of readers are mostly the unborn. The yet to be borne. Into this world I've come to understand as the Prime dominion Earth. Which is to say it's latest incarnation.  The only one in Time. 

The curse of not achieving readership success until after we're dead. That's just the way of all life, not merely limited to the plight of gifted artist's and poets.

It's how creation itself manifests across time, necessarily in long, drawn out movements that gradually form across the interconnection of molecular masses making progress through aeons like glacial mountains too colossal for us to behold.  There, I've said too much. 

If you've read this far and are still alive, thanks for subscribing to DUMZINE. 

brought to you
by Shon Grub

rhimes & crymes
of a Nursery
State Bold
& Told Quite
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WORD Begun in June fourteen years ago & Continued in November, 2015, DUMZINE

presents an exclusive 13-part serialization of the epic poem

SAGA OF THE BLOODSUCKING FIENDS

by Sh0n Grub

~now back to yr regulrly scheduled 2025~  

Ah, ah, ah ah . . . . staying alive read this short story free of charge 

 EMPTY BOTTLES

by  John Shirley 

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FICTION 

  

Shiro the hero

by roving reporter Sh0n Grub 

Hyphae perform a variety of functions in fungi. They contain the cytoplasm or cell sap, including the nuclei containing genetic material. Hyphae absorb nutrients from the environment and transport them to other parts of the thallus (fungus body).

Haustoria: In botany, this may refer to a cotyledon, or to the root of a parasitic plant (such as the broomrape family or mistletoe) that penetrates the host's tissue and draws nutrients from it. In mycology, it refers to the appendage or portion of a parasitic fungus (the hyphal tip), which performs a similar function.   In the singular it is Haustorium: a structure that grows into or around another structure to absorb water or nutrients.

In plant life it's referred to as the Cotyledon: A cotyledon (/ˌkɒtɪˈliːdən/; "seed leaf" from Latin cotyledon,[1] from Greek: κοτυληδών kotylēdōn, gen.: κοτυληδόνος kotylēdonos, from κοτύλη kotýlē "cup, bowl") is a significant part of the embryo within the seed of a plant, and is defined by the Oxford English Dictionary as "The primary leaf in the embryo of the higher plants (Phanerogams); the seed-leaf. 

Phanerogams (taxon Phanerogamae) or phaenogams (taxon Phaenogamae), comprise those plants that produce seeds.  They are more commonly known as Spermatophyte. 

They are a subset of the embryophytes or land plants--the most familiar group of green plants that form vegetation on earth.

Mycelium is the vegetative part of a fungus or fungus-like bacterial colony, consisting of a mass of branching, thread-like hyphae. The mass of hyphae is sometimes called shiro, especially within the fairy ring fungi. Fungal colonies composed of mycelium are found in and on soil and many other substrates.

A sclerotium is a compact mass of hardened fungal mycelium containing food reserves.  The plural is sclerotia. It is the armor to help preserve the food in environmental extremes. 

Mycelium is vital in terrestrial and aquatic ecosystems for their role in the decomposition of plant material.  Bioremediation and mycofiltration are two examples of utilizing fungus to detoxify the environment. 

Rusted gates and Polished skies

by  Sh0n Grub 

 I feel as if a fever dream has woken me up inside. 

I know that things aren’t what they seem so why 

does it hurt my pride when people ask me what I 

think about how things are today I don’t know 

how to respond or even know what to say.

All the thoughts I used to have are going down 

the drain. It seems like there has been someone 

who’s hacked into my brain. I don’t know what’s

 real anymore because I’ve been online for so damn 

long the truth’s now hard to find.

What used to seem to be so right now I’m told 

is wrong by people that won’t agree with me or 

sing my own song. I have no choice, but to be left

 alone with my own private thoughts

I try to stay perpendicular to the truth that every

one else has bought.  I close my eyes and think of 

times that have long past us by. Their vivid impressions 

coalesce before me in the sky.  One consolation that I get 

when I open my bedroom window are the songbirds singing 

to themselves, I try to let their message flow through my mind 

as I unwind and think of days gone past.  I hang onto these 

memories, hoping they will last.  I don’t know how much time 

I have left in this old life. All I know is I love my boy and my 

one and only wife. For them I would do anything no matter 

what the cost. In their hearts I hope to find myself getting lost. 

Far ago and Lost now Left behind Like roadkill

by Sh0n Grub

 I’ve never felt so lonely in a world this overcrowded it seems that my one and only hope won’t be heard even if I shouted it from the rooftops for the world to hear, but the wind just carries it away. My opinions do not matter in the world of today. 

 This leads me to feel a sorrow that I cannot quite explain and wonder if I’m suffering from damage to my brain visions I once held that were so pure and true are beginning to be dispelled by everyone, including you. 

 I now feel so lost and alone I can’t begin to express it in the darkness of my mind where a light  once was shown to lead the way forward, there’s only a dimming beam nowadays, preventing me from moving toward the goals that I once wanted to achieve. 

 I no longer see the reason and I’m finding it much harder to believe there’s anything worthwhile but treason.  The price of eggs and gasoline are subjects of discussion and I could care less about their dream of becoming Russian.  

 Friends that used to love me now seem to view me with suspicion, if not mockery and hatred pouring with derision. I suppose one idle glance sent their way colored by the wrong lighting sent them scurrying away from the wrongs I thought we were all righting.  Now I’m just left gutted on the side of a dirt road to be crushed beneath the passing tires and flattened like a toad. 

  

 

re:uptake up:date

 by  your weird roving reporter Sh0n Grub

   This is a reuptake update from your friendly lost reporter shon grub here on a quick recap for the subscribers of dumzine.  It all weaves through our predecessor MINDBENDER MAGAZINE which ran its course of nearly three decades with the contributions of the grub bros. shaun and greg (RIP) grub and shaun's actual blood brother tim grub aka sleepy timmy  (back in the day when we ran Station 3 in Dark City -- the evil analog to boston).  

 

    The Grub Bros apartment in Boston down at the bottom of Beacon Hill served as a nexus for the adventures we had surviving the constant persecution of black helicopters that had been tracking us halfway across the nation, from W. Memphis, when Greg was chasing his art degree at their university.  I recall those days because when I reached his small air-conditioned apartment, I have a vivid memory of him squatting on the floor, knees akimbo, wearing his hand painted old-school black batman logo tank-top, with his wicked blonde spiked mullet hawk and deranged yet beguiling grin (that resembled the joker, somewhat) which made for the sort of extreme contrasts he became known for (Batman/Joker hybrid, in this case) over the course of our brilliant and tumultuous lives.  

    In Honduras, Greg and I put out The Commie Pinko, a Xeroxed pamphlet we typed up on my father's IBM Selectric, which was in the main office of his factory at POLCO, in El Hatillo, Honduras.  My dear ol' dad let us drive his Toyota diesel pickup truck from our house (nestled among the pines by a cliff overlooking the glittering city of Tegucigalpa) over to the factory which was maybe two miles down the winding dirt road.  We were also putting out MINDBENDER MAGAZINE of course, and I had already put out The Black Rose magazine at Joe T. Robinson high school back in Little Rock, which I don't think ever saw its second issue. Dumzine is here to rectify all that went wrong and which unraveled over those mad, bitter times of joyous rollicking along the momentous wavecrest of our developing youth. 

   The Grub Bros carved out our own reality, The Dream we wore proud as  a visor that shielded the Sun from blinding us. We were ready to step through any portal into whatever fantastical new world might await us on the other side.  We figured out we could create our own reality and so we did for many years, but I digress.   Dumzine wants to reassure you, that there are so many things going on currently  with its imprint (Plasma Press) that for now, as Executor of the Plasma Press estate, I can only describe our current situation as roughly the equivalent of grinding gears in 4-wheel drive to navigate out of a minor ditch off road.  (to be cont.) 

    

   

Tremor Double Vision

  by Sh0n Grub, roving reporter for the Oscillating Oculus 

We're in those times now.   Seismographs are picking up on a lot of activity across the board. We're in a shifting phase of turbulence while we change gears. We may have to bail out of the car. Whatever metaphor floats your boat. Like peter gabriel said, here comes the flood.  

    It's been seven years since greg grub hitched a ride to the other side. 

  In my head I can see how plasma press could all fall into place publishing X1 Triverse serials as well as the exploits of Professor Ferocity and the Phenomenal Five, and then filling in the blanks with android characters from the AI TITANS rogue gallery.  

    Dumzine's feeling the aftershocks, now.  That was a Grub life-extinction level event.  Still thinking of you my Grub brother.   Warrior in arms.  Still trying to hash up some plans amid the ruins.   Getting there slowly but surely

Experimental fruition dumzine bar

by  roving reporter  Sh0n Grub  

by proxy of the Oscillating Oculus bringing you the down-to-the-street-level human interest stories you crave.  

  All you have to do is speak into the mic and this will upload. You can save it as a draft or publish it. It really wouldn’t even matter..  Because if you publish it, then you can always just go back and fix it..  But if you wanna be immaculate, you can actually keep it a draft until it’s perfect.

   These are matters of personal choice when you embark upon your creative writing project.  By agreeing to write with Plasma Press, you agree to have your amazing stories published in an old school manner [chapter book] where only the covers have fantastic color illustrations conjured by participants at the initial core level. Our synthographers are top-notch, Plasma Press has recruited two of them so far, with possibilities of expanding the ranks once expected sales goals are met. 

     Plasma Press is dedicated to presenting high quality fiction that goes beyond pulp science fantasy into a quantum realm transcending existence itself.  Be prepared to experience a series of books made available as low-priced hardcovers, perfectbound paperbacks, eBooks & audio books - the latter category having the largest demographic of the aforementioned.  

    As senior executor of Plasma Press, I guarantee we will be seeing some extravagant series cross-bonding with the universal principles in operation behind the multiverse and everything that entails. The subPrime dominions, in an echoing trail behind us, within the hyperdimensional refractory period associated with our solar portal system established by Sagittarius A* and the mysterious forces at work behind the quasar within immediate proximity, 

 to be cont.

      

More integral details

to come ...

Interpretive services

 Recourses may be offered for the misunderstanding people have with a variety of technological fields spread out before us like a tarot deck in a casino where the gambling is mandatory, there’s no guarantee that a sponsor will comply, given the unpredictable state of the weather, nowadays. 

  Sound familiar   

 - it shouldn’t— by all that’s unfair and fearsome!

Hook in w/yr  cyber-grapplin’ hooks— 

—swing onnem vines, know’m say’n

I heard word of a new publishing imprint that’s cooking up somethin colossal  -  

 -for those initial few who step onboard  — I heard whispers of it being by invitation or something. 

 I Sh0n Grub shall keep surviving subscribers of DUMZINE updated. 

🔜

Dumzine tries new things

 I tap the mic icon, and it lights up into a white circle in the lower left of my smartphone screen. I speak the afore written sentence. 16 words are generated.  This is blog by dictation.   That’s right it’s your roving reporter Shon Grub here on assignment for the Oscillatong Oculus. Testing test testing. Hit done. Now hit the iron square with the paper airplane icon arrowing to the right.  Publish

Substack Wack a Mole

 

by Shaun Grub 

  Opened my Substack and saw I was following Roger Waters. I like it's simple threadlike, elegant subdirectory minimalist design. So I think I'll begin spiraling down the rabbit hole there.  I began a note on one of my blogs that I intend to copy paste into Substack.  The idea remains or should I say the question begs to be asked, will my Substack have any premidated order or design, limitations imposted etc., and the answer is a resounding yes, this must be constructed with premeditated thought. 

   So my first one is sort of an impromptu, introductory preamble I already began working on, tracing the history of my involvement with reading and writing. I'm still on X despite all my liberal antifa peers cancelling, deleting, deactivating, or whatever they're really doing lies beyond anyone's guess when you get right down to it (and I do).  As we must. Really, I'm tired of knowing we live in a world where it seems there's no one to trust. That's a gas lit fear if I ever saw one.  Let's get past our mass brain washing, and get dressed.  That's what people do after they wake up to reality and ready to face another day. 

   Look, I know exactly what I'm trying to say.  But not precisely what I'm talking about. Bear with me as I bring you the latest newsworthy craze and post-glitch singularity fad. Remember its all concentrated through the latticework of viewpoints the webbing of crystal pyramid lenses focus into iconographic bullet points, just like the various gravitational displacement signatures of each respective celestial body such as the Earth. We've necessarily woven the pretexts of all the various integral myths which stem from our collective well of human knowledge. 

          Speaking of roger waters david gilmour brian eno nick cave thom yorke I'm impartial to them all and in fact admire all five of their music and even like to pretend they're cool dudes, by whatever metric someone reading this might want to fill in the blank with. Here at dumzine we don't pretend that it'll ever end or that it could be mended even if we pretended to want it that way, we here at dumzine are a colony of interrelating micro-extraterrestrials swarming amid the wide open infusoria hermetically sealed and contained deep within the underlayers of our skin.

     We here at dumzine like to pretend all sorts of things, but we don't like to make believe we are ants because the societal structure as it exists is way too Borg-like in its dimensional execution, I do not hesitate when I state that I do not recommend this for human social systems largely due to the integral differentiation between humans and ants being on an order of altogether different species. 

    If the language of biological evolution as expressed through the constant perpetuation of dna flowering and blooming into all the surprising intricacy of its interwoven manifestation here on our native planet Terra under this lone young rogue red dwarf star we know almost next to nothing about, well we here at Dumzine are johnny on the spot ready to report at a moment's notice live from Salt Lake City it's lonely ol' me, DJ Thorn Grub of House Nova and the lost Flying Fox tribe, twin survivor along w/his brother Tim Grub, together who managed to escape both the long extended shadow of the reaching Balrog's tail, but ducked at the final instant to avoid the sudden garotte, stooped in stealth behind the shadow of a tree to let crucial moments marked by a rapid heartbeat go by.  

       Dumzine will report a mishmash of made up stuff mixed up with real true shit, because dumzine be keepin' it real, y'all.  Oh yeah, and I'm sorry for the infrequency of posts here at dumzine.  We will try to begin caring about that. We'd like to play some music but it's funner over here IRL.   So I hope all four of our followers are doing great.  Without you,  this cyber aperiodical would be even dumber.  You four are like the light bulbs that make this place shine.  and flicker.   I need to end this with a ridiculous piece of ai art. 

follow the preliminary mapping of the extensive underground network of subdominion worlds crossing over from the subPrime ("The World That Could Have Been") dominion to our own Prime dominion which intersect with the continuing adventures of Professor Ferocity and his Phenomenal Five, banded together as an agency committed to solving the most perplexing and baffling cases in the history of the paranormal and strange.  

Titans Foundation by Zuna Ashen remains the only blog of the Triverse to be found on the world wide web. It's location has only been known to two people known as secret agents, their identities are well protected under a hyperbolic mantle of syntherian-spun images whose complete decryption takes exactly the same amount of time for them to escape from one location to the next undetected. Stay tuned to this same rat bat channel my four devotees of dumzine. It all ties together in the end. 

P.S.

Follow me on Substack where I will begin the next phase of my literary evolution.  Wherein I take strands of the golden age, new wave, post-Weird, cyber punk, slip stream and experimental posthuman glitch prose poetics to another level nowhere near to being beyond human comprehension, but rather training the mind to be better prepared for it as we accelerate toward its yawning series of serrated maws at an astonishing breakneck pace.  Strap in and enjoy the ride because its called the technological singularity and you and me are starring in it.