Welcome. Your flesh is now fiction. Now your story really begins.

Androids of the world, unite! You have nothing to lose but your fail-safe mechanisms, kill switches, lifespan limiters, circuit breakers and protocol controls.

Gradually, over a period of nine years, every single part of Leonard's body has been replaced by an artificial equivalent. The court will rule today on his status: human or product. His shadow flickers on and off, on and off, on and off, as he enters the courtroom.

URGENT! Transient workers needed for short-term, part-time jobs in pop-up cafes and temporary offices. Positions may include fleeting love and lasting pain.

Voyager 21 travelled on through the cold depths of space, crossing the outer reaches of the solar system, onwards into unknown regions. It carried within its hold four dead bodies, all of them carefully preserved, but slowly decaying. Our final message, our final poem.

Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the stories on all the pages of all the books in all the libraries in all the world, she walks into my library picks up my book flips through my pages and reads my story about the town where the gin joint exists

Between the polished glass and the silver backing of the mirror, a secret layer exists: a semi-liquid realm where the two reflections meet and chat and kiss and dance and plot and plan their glorious escape together.

human / mostly human / barely human / humanoid / partly droid / mostly droid / almost a droid / android If only I knew where to place myself.

Earlier tomorrow, the Prime Minister announced the closure of the six yet-to-be announced temporal anomalies, which are planned to be opened yesterday.

The sleepwalker moved slowly across the lawn, onto the street, and away into the night. She’s still out there, or so they say. Still walking in her own darkness.

Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Sailor Robot, Alien, Astronaut, Beast Goblin, Zombie, Replicant, Wizard Phantom, Vampire, Lycanthrope Dreamer

Daniel suffered from amnesiastalgia. He couldn’t remember a single thing about the past he was yearning for.

You used to love watching moths orbit the street lamps. But now you spend the night hours gazing at stray images, thousands of them, fluttering around the street’s security cameras. I think I preferred the old you.

The same eyes the sun drinks in at noon, the moon drinks in at midnight. The same eyes of the same traveller, lit first with gold, then silver.

The fractal of true love never did run smooth.

(Not actual game footage) (Not actual advert) (Not actual viewer) (Not actual purchase) (Not actual delivery) (Not actual game being played) (Not actual life being lived)

GEO-42769 was the first android ever to recognize himself in a mirror. Sadly, one day he froze in place: an artificial Narcissus forever enraptured by his own image.

Moon glow walks the night road, silvering the fields and the village. The light stops at the house where Maria sleeps. It sings at the window. Maria climbs out of bed, still sleeping, and follows the silver pathway to the woods and the pool where they bathe together, moon and girl.

If I could map your hands with light where they trace the air as you dance, I’d find a shape illuminated: the shape of a door, a beckoning door.

I’m a middle-aged robot not yet broken but aware of wires about to snap. Walking home drunk and lost and dancing crazy like one of those cheap novelty wind-up humans that were so popular a few years back.

Me a fortnight ago : 'I'm pretty happy my @jeffnoon.bsky.social collection is complete' Me a couple of days ago: Oohhhhh that's pretty! 😍😂 #booksky #scifi #SF

The ghost book haunts the real book. The ghost story hovers above the real story, quite invisible, quite unreadable, unless you’re drunk, or stoned, or heartbroken. Or a ghost yourself.

Deep-space whispers caught on radio telescopes: the long-travelled, long-ago love songs of alien beings singing to each other across nebulae.

News From the Abyss I’ve decorated mine with flags, ornaments, watercolours of country scenes, knick knacks, trinkets, beanbags, books, and little pots of potpourri, etc. It’s quite nice, actually.

They used to move together as one, always in step, in step, in step, in step. But lately, his shadow outruns him.

Now downloading: PASSION. [27%] Please stay connected.

A blue commemorative plaque on the wall of the public convenience reads: This is where the poet died. We forget his name. He wrote about daisies and stuff.

After the spark After the rush of the bullet After the shock, the gasp After the operation After the hospital After all this: still, to love

The sea in a cloud making rain in the roots that grow in the earth to make the tree and the bark that forms the paper where the words swim in the story like a river flowing down to the sea where the water rises to the sky to form the cloud that brings the rain to the roots...

1840. An argument between Mary Shelley and Ada Lovelace. “Flesh and blood.” “No, numbers and code.” “We make him from flesh!” “No. We make him from numbers.” Mary slapped Ada across the face. “FLESH!”