Excerpts from the Published Works of D G Jones

(From Facility 61)

 

There are four of them dragging me down the corridors now, I am strong and powerful, a big man, they are afraid and show it with their batons drawn. I struggle and scream in their grip but they keep on pulling me along through the stark white halls and walkways. So much screaming going on around me, and soon it will be my turn, and with that fear I tremble and sweat, fighting for every inch of floor until one of them hits me hard. It is an upward open palm slamming into my jaw, my nose, enough to compress the breath out of me, loud like thunder as blood squirts between my teeth. It is a stun blow, sends me reeling back, hitting my head on the wall and down I go, collapsing at his feet.

I feel everything sway dizzy for a second, the four harsh gazes through the masks scowl down on me, the ceiling and its ugly strip lights. I am grovelling, crawling, trying to press myself into the wall, further from their grasp but to no avail. A door opens up in front and one of the Meds comes through, behind him, just for a glimpse, I see a woman with her legs apart and they are working between them as she screams and screams, cutting the hot thick air and sawing on my bones, I don’t know what they are doing but feel sick to hear those cries, as she writhes and shrieks in the dissecting room. It is one fleeting glimpse of atrocity then snapped off to silence as the door clicks shut, cutting off her contact with us, and sealing her with her captors.

(From Desolate)

 

  

“What's the deal with his eyes?” Roberts
asked as they crowded over the remains of Haddon. They had followed the trail
of tile splinters and blood up the drive to the garage where underneath the
strip light, Haddon lay dead in his own blood and excrement.

 

   “It looks to me,“ Christ muttered softly,
“like someone has pulled them out and then put them in backwards.” He waved
vaguely at the sticky mess of blood on each side of the face. “Those are his
optic nerves hanging out. It’s part of a pattern – someone has done this all
very deliberately, but not like Keller, this was not as premeditated, and
looking at it, it was done with their hands.”

 

(From Newly Street)

 

   It was close now; she could feel it building
inside her, waves of sensation, as if her pussy were receiving all the pleasure
of the world at once and she went on still wanking Caleb, not forgetting him in
her pleasure. The trick was in the timing; it could be so beautiful. The razor
slipped from her fingers, falling bloody to the floorboards as they rocked back
and forth, the rhythm a tide; her legs wide around him, clutching desperately
at his own. She felt herself almost dying from bliss and together they went on
working towards the finale, oblivious to all else – the flicker of candles, the
cold outside, and the gentle clattering sound coming from the roof above.

(From THE MACHINE)

 

 
i know that at any moment a grey might appear and throw me over the side for fun,
but with that air in my lungs, with that light flooding my eyes and lighting my
brain i have no fear. not for now at least. until i look over the side, down
the never ending face of THE MACHINE and see here and there, from all walkways,
above and below, corpses hang in the breeze. there are hundreds, maybe
thousands, THE MACHINE goes on forever and is decorated with the dead, left as
warning and marker to its superiority. it is terrible that under such beautiful
sunshine, people go on killing and maiming each other for the smallest and
strangest of reasons. another sigh, this time despair, directly above a body
hangs from the next level, with that broken neck dance it writhes the breeze,
its not just the smell of the shit pile below, but from the corpses, i shake my
head and walk away, slow at first then into a run...

(From Politically Motivated)

 

 

"But not all people are
interested in a person's looks, you know. A profound relationship is built on
mutual trust and love, which are far more important than any physical
qualities."

"And do you see such a person
in this courtroom?" the prosecutor asked.

"No, you've executed them
all." I replied. I looked around the sea of shining healthy faces and row
upon row of perfect white teeth. "Also, you're all a bunch of superficial
air-headed wankers. Your opinion doesn't count for fuck all." I knew I was
running the risk of alienating myself from the jury but I didn't care.