Enter; Dusk. Ashen shadows swirling under the rustling leaves. A ghost of shadow steps from the misty half-light and in it's visage all the dark things of the soul are known; longing, regret, desire, the calling of a sanguine night.
Wild violence pulls on the strings of the deeper mind like chords struck in a song of the subconscious, with no purpose but that of feeling alive, of hunting and chasing and consuming like a wild thing, a dark beast in a dark forest.
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Saturday, May 29, 2010
More record keeping.
I've got that feeling again, the one that comes every few months. I'm inclined to say it's a sort of detachment, but I think the truth is quite the opposite. I look into the stars and see the possibilities that await us, A luminescent moon casting it's ashen shadows through the leaves of the trees.
It seems to conjure up a sense of power, or at least the desire for it; in a way more spiritual than corporeal. I find myself longing to be something greater than what I am, to serve my purposes. Patience because a necessity and burden in equally increasing amounts.
Violence calls and is retained only by the lack of a meaningful outlet. My body and mind yearn to feel truly alive, as opposed to the mundane and passive survival that is everyday life.
Meanwhile I allow little of this to seep through; aside from a slight rise in my eccentricities I am silent. A sight growl of annoyance where none would have been before, restless eyes.
A stronger sense of the spirit than is usual, to remind me that there are still things left undone.
Going backpacking will help some. It always seems to relieve the restlessness and unease. Meanwhile the days pass in hopes of change.
It seems to conjure up a sense of power, or at least the desire for it; in a way more spiritual than corporeal. I find myself longing to be something greater than what I am, to serve my purposes. Patience because a necessity and burden in equally increasing amounts.
Violence calls and is retained only by the lack of a meaningful outlet. My body and mind yearn to feel truly alive, as opposed to the mundane and passive survival that is everyday life.
Meanwhile I allow little of this to seep through; aside from a slight rise in my eccentricities I am silent. A sight growl of annoyance where none would have been before, restless eyes.
A stronger sense of the spirit than is usual, to remind me that there are still things left undone.
Going backpacking will help some. It always seems to relieve the restlessness and unease. Meanwhile the days pass in hopes of change.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Carte Blanche: Chapter One
Carte Blanche
Chapter 1
It was my dog that woke me up; a stocky, goofy black lab named Bailey. I rubbed my eyes, a bit of grit grinding into the skin before falling out, and then was assailed by a cold, wet nose to my cheek. I groaned and looked to the obnoxious beast: he stared back and wagged his tail. A glance at the bright red numbers on the clock revealed it to be eight minutes past two.
Being unemployed could really play havoc with your sleeping schedule. I didn't mind working, especially mindless physical jobs, but working with or beside people, well, that was a different story. I still had about five-hundred bucks left in my bank account from last years tax return. One benefit to making under five-thousand dollars is that you get all your taxes back. I'd spend random parts of the day pondering how to turn that five-hundred dollars into more money, but nothing ever seemed plausible. It sucked.
With a scratch under the chin for Bailey, I arose and began my usual routine: put on pajamas, a packet of green tea in the miniature coffee machine, three cups of water from the sink and set to brew. As the coffee maker gurgled tea into it's small pot, I awoke the computer to let MSN and Yahoo messenger auto-log in for me and started up Firefox.
That's when things got complicated.
A window immediately appeared, stuck with various official symbols all over the top, stating that internet access was to be "Restricted for the purposes of the public well-being and control of disinformation, terrorist communication, treasonous, and/or seditious material." Of course, there was a bunch more to read: provisions of the patriotic act, presidential and court approvals. At the bottom of the page was a list of websites approved for visitation; mostly news sites such as CNN, a few .gov sites, and various email providers. There was one search engine listed, something I had never heard of with a .gov ending on it.
My initial thought was that I had gotten a virus. I closed Firefox to be greeted by a disturbing message from my MSN and Yahoo messenger windows, both stating approximately the same thing: Government told us to suspend service, so we're suspending service.
If this was a virus, it was a damned good one. I leaned back, rubbed my face, and poured tea into my big mug, sliding the baggy out of the filter and plopping it in the cup. Water vapor steamed up, assuring me that either this was a very realistic dream, or I was, in fact, awake and conscious. Bailey had padded off elsewhere, content that he had awoken me from my slumber. I stood and went to the window, pulling the curtain aside to peer down at the driveway. Both cars were gone, presumably meaning my parents were at work. With a resigned sigh, I dug into my pants laying on the floor and pulled an eight gig flash drive from the key chain, shutting down my computer and then popping it into a USB port.
My finger was on the power button to start the machine back up when I paused, instead popping out the Plexiglas side panel and removing the cable connecting my internal SATA hard drive to the motherboard. If I really wanted to be sure this was a virus, it would be best to insure it couldn't mess with the Ubuntu installed on my USB drive. This accomplished, I booted up. Ubuntu did it's thing and in a minute I was on Firefox. Staring at the same screen that had greeted me when I had booted to Vista.
"Oh fuck me..." I breathed. Fingers shaking, I typed in the web address to 4chan, praying someone had merely hacked Google and set up a bogus page. No such luck: I was greeted with a bland message stating that 4chan was not on the approved list of visitable sites.
Cursing under my breath, I wished I had taken the time to get more than a basic familiarity with Linux. If I had the knowledge, I was sure I could circumvent this web-blockade. Since I didn't, I tried the one thing I did have: TOR, a routing program. No luck. This time, instead of a government message, it just gave me a 'Could not connect to server'.
With my means of internet communication effectively neutered, I gave in and clicked the link to CNN. The headline on the front page was simple and direct: "U.S., Europe Under Terrorist Attack"
The story was short, sweet, and to the point. Early this morning, hackers had broken into various Banking databases and started screwing with everything like kids in a candy store, or a bull in a china shop. Pick your metaphor. Shortly thereafter bombs had exploded at the sites of over a dozen server and database storage facilities, destroying any offline electronic backups.
The attacks had shut down any electronic transfer of funds, including various major stock markets. A few hours after that, similar electronic attacks began to occur. Cutting power to various sections of major cities, messing with traffic lights, government databases, DMV records, criminal records. There were even some instances of colleges and local schools being under electronic attack. The consensus seemed to be that the attacks on the banks were planned and organized; everything else was from people jumping in on the chaos.
In the end there was no real, hard info: just a tally of the damage done and vague assurances from the powers that be. There was no rioting, no trouble beyond the chaos of car crashes and planes crashing on the runways. The death toll was figured to be around seven-hundred. It was sad, but there'd been much worse in history.
At least for now. Most people were still at work or had been sent home. They might not be panicking now, but what about when they began to realize that their life savings had just been erased at the press of a key? More than that, all their debts had been erased as well? All their crimes, wiped from record. It was like everyone had been given a blank slate... for better or worse.
There was little more information to be had. I yearned to check something other than major news outlets, but it was impossible. Halfway through reading BBC's main story, the site 404'd. Someone had probably tried to shut it down. I gave up and headed to the shower.
As the hot water cascaded onto me, anger began to build into me. I'd always known it could happen, of course. And there'd been discussion on it, but still... locking down the internet! It felt so wrong; the last place for freedom had just been smashed. Infuriating. I wanted to slam my fist into the wall; instead, I slumped down into the tub.
What now, I thought. Would the world descend into an even more tyrannical state? Would things go back to the way they were? It seemed impossible. From all accounts, billions of files of information had been destroyed. Without information, data, without history, it was impossible to go back to the way we were. The logical, albeit depressing conclusion, was that the governments would take over. I shut off the water, toweled dry, put my pajamas back on and collapsed onto my inflatable mattress. What now?
The presidential address at eight brought even more bad news. I sat in quiet anticipation with my parents, glued to the T.V. He babbled on for a bit about how everything was going to be ok, and then the shitstorm started. Government takeover of banking, trade, fuel supplies and rationing, food distribution, and media. Law enforcement and military were to be stationed to ensure protection of valuable materials and prevent looting. Thousands of troops were being pulled from overseas to assist.
It was mind blowing. I had no idea what to do, how to fight back or how to stop this all from happening. It was like a darkness was enveloping the world, and I was powerless to stop it. That night, I laid in bed and stared at the ceiling, unable to sleep. One line ran through my head over and over: "Control of disinformation, terrorist communication, treasonous, and/or seditious material." Had the terrorists been trying to send an anti-government message?
Chapter 1
It was my dog that woke me up; a stocky, goofy black lab named Bailey. I rubbed my eyes, a bit of grit grinding into the skin before falling out, and then was assailed by a cold, wet nose to my cheek. I groaned and looked to the obnoxious beast: he stared back and wagged his tail. A glance at the bright red numbers on the clock revealed it to be eight minutes past two.
Being unemployed could really play havoc with your sleeping schedule. I didn't mind working, especially mindless physical jobs, but working with or beside people, well, that was a different story. I still had about five-hundred bucks left in my bank account from last years tax return. One benefit to making under five-thousand dollars is that you get all your taxes back. I'd spend random parts of the day pondering how to turn that five-hundred dollars into more money, but nothing ever seemed plausible. It sucked.
With a scratch under the chin for Bailey, I arose and began my usual routine: put on pajamas, a packet of green tea in the miniature coffee machine, three cups of water from the sink and set to brew. As the coffee maker gurgled tea into it's small pot, I awoke the computer to let MSN and Yahoo messenger auto-log in for me and started up Firefox.
That's when things got complicated.
A window immediately appeared, stuck with various official symbols all over the top, stating that internet access was to be "Restricted for the purposes of the public well-being and control of disinformation, terrorist communication, treasonous, and/or seditious material." Of course, there was a bunch more to read: provisions of the patriotic act, presidential and court approvals. At the bottom of the page was a list of websites approved for visitation; mostly news sites such as CNN, a few .gov sites, and various email providers. There was one search engine listed, something I had never heard of with a .gov ending on it.
My initial thought was that I had gotten a virus. I closed Firefox to be greeted by a disturbing message from my MSN and Yahoo messenger windows, both stating approximately the same thing: Government told us to suspend service, so we're suspending service.
If this was a virus, it was a damned good one. I leaned back, rubbed my face, and poured tea into my big mug, sliding the baggy out of the filter and plopping it in the cup. Water vapor steamed up, assuring me that either this was a very realistic dream, or I was, in fact, awake and conscious. Bailey had padded off elsewhere, content that he had awoken me from my slumber. I stood and went to the window, pulling the curtain aside to peer down at the driveway. Both cars were gone, presumably meaning my parents were at work. With a resigned sigh, I dug into my pants laying on the floor and pulled an eight gig flash drive from the key chain, shutting down my computer and then popping it into a USB port.
My finger was on the power button to start the machine back up when I paused, instead popping out the Plexiglas side panel and removing the cable connecting my internal SATA hard drive to the motherboard. If I really wanted to be sure this was a virus, it would be best to insure it couldn't mess with the Ubuntu installed on my USB drive. This accomplished, I booted up. Ubuntu did it's thing and in a minute I was on Firefox. Staring at the same screen that had greeted me when I had booted to Vista.
"Oh fuck me..." I breathed. Fingers shaking, I typed in the web address to 4chan, praying someone had merely hacked Google and set up a bogus page. No such luck: I was greeted with a bland message stating that 4chan was not on the approved list of visitable sites.
Cursing under my breath, I wished I had taken the time to get more than a basic familiarity with Linux. If I had the knowledge, I was sure I could circumvent this web-blockade. Since I didn't, I tried the one thing I did have: TOR, a routing program. No luck. This time, instead of a government message, it just gave me a 'Could not connect to server'.
With my means of internet communication effectively neutered, I gave in and clicked the link to CNN. The headline on the front page was simple and direct: "U.S., Europe Under Terrorist Attack"
The story was short, sweet, and to the point. Early this morning, hackers had broken into various Banking databases and started screwing with everything like kids in a candy store, or a bull in a china shop. Pick your metaphor. Shortly thereafter bombs had exploded at the sites of over a dozen server and database storage facilities, destroying any offline electronic backups.
The attacks had shut down any electronic transfer of funds, including various major stock markets. A few hours after that, similar electronic attacks began to occur. Cutting power to various sections of major cities, messing with traffic lights, government databases, DMV records, criminal records. There were even some instances of colleges and local schools being under electronic attack. The consensus seemed to be that the attacks on the banks were planned and organized; everything else was from people jumping in on the chaos.
In the end there was no real, hard info: just a tally of the damage done and vague assurances from the powers that be. There was no rioting, no trouble beyond the chaos of car crashes and planes crashing on the runways. The death toll was figured to be around seven-hundred. It was sad, but there'd been much worse in history.
At least for now. Most people were still at work or had been sent home. They might not be panicking now, but what about when they began to realize that their life savings had just been erased at the press of a key? More than that, all their debts had been erased as well? All their crimes, wiped from record. It was like everyone had been given a blank slate... for better or worse.
There was little more information to be had. I yearned to check something other than major news outlets, but it was impossible. Halfway through reading BBC's main story, the site 404'd. Someone had probably tried to shut it down. I gave up and headed to the shower.
As the hot water cascaded onto me, anger began to build into me. I'd always known it could happen, of course. And there'd been discussion on it, but still... locking down the internet! It felt so wrong; the last place for freedom had just been smashed. Infuriating. I wanted to slam my fist into the wall; instead, I slumped down into the tub.
What now, I thought. Would the world descend into an even more tyrannical state? Would things go back to the way they were? It seemed impossible. From all accounts, billions of files of information had been destroyed. Without information, data, without history, it was impossible to go back to the way we were. The logical, albeit depressing conclusion, was that the governments would take over. I shut off the water, toweled dry, put my pajamas back on and collapsed onto my inflatable mattress. What now?
The presidential address at eight brought even more bad news. I sat in quiet anticipation with my parents, glued to the T.V. He babbled on for a bit about how everything was going to be ok, and then the shitstorm started. Government takeover of banking, trade, fuel supplies and rationing, food distribution, and media. Law enforcement and military were to be stationed to ensure protection of valuable materials and prevent looting. Thousands of troops were being pulled from overseas to assist.
It was mind blowing. I had no idea what to do, how to fight back or how to stop this all from happening. It was like a darkness was enveloping the world, and I was powerless to stop it. That night, I laid in bed and stared at the ceiling, unable to sleep. One line ran through my head over and over: "Control of disinformation, terrorist communication, treasonous, and/or seditious material." Had the terrorists been trying to send an anti-government message?
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
A random act of fiction.
What sickly-sweet nightmares the living breath brings. That our darkest hours should also be our greatest is perhaps the essence of what it is to be human; then again, perhaps not. My drug-addled brain rarely can distinguish what is truth and fact from falsehoods and lies. I look fondly back upon days when my brain was not the pickled and shriveled thing it now seems to be. At the same time, all I see is ignorance in those memories; it's certainly true that ignorance is bliss. It's also weakness, and the weak are crushed or used by the strong as the strong should see fit. Such are the facts of life, or possibly just more lies.
Like I said, it's hard for me to tell anymore.
People like to talk about the excellence of peace, but the simple truth is that warfare has done so much more for the human race. Peace is a malaise of progress, no better than the aformentioned bliss. And death? The inevetible bi-product of war? I'm not qualified to speak on death. Then again, I'm hardly qualified (If such qualifications can be achieved) to speak on the human condition; yet I do. With that in mind I will explain my opinions on death.
Common philosophies on death can be seperated, rather easily, into two camps: firstly, those who believe that death is the end of all things. The true antithesis of life. Nothing but nothingness. And consequently, it can be decided that there is no point to this life: for if, when we die, we cease to exist, then what purpose in furthering our mortal experience? Indeed; if there is nothing after life, then we should all commit suicide and be done with the entire thing. And yet! And yet we persist; we cling to life, whether or not we as individuals believe in an afterlife.
It is for this reason I believe there [i]is[/i] an afterlife; for if there was not, nothing would exist; for there would be no purpose to it's existence. To be fair, that which makes sense to me rarely is qualified in the thoughts of others; I expect that these words shall be recieved no differently. For the sake of this prose, let us suppose I am right. That because life exists, it must have a purpose. The key of course, is understanding what that purpose is. This I cannot answer, and it's quite possible that the answer should vary from person to person. I simply do not know.
They pound upon my door now; proclaiming their self-given titles. As if they mean something to me. Their authority means nothing here. Why do the bother with pretenses, I wonder? I think it is for their own consciouss'; they need to validate their own acts, even if nobody else believes it. Idiocy. No, more than that; insanity. If there is such a thing as evil in this world, it is them. The self-righteous protectors, who force people to do things for their own good. I ramble; but that is all I have done. It is all I can do.
The idiots; their greatest weaknes is their pride. They assume they are the elite, the ingenious- and that anyone who opposes them are idiots. The first of the booby traps has gone off; a simple device consisting of string, the contents shotgun shells, and some matches in a coffee can. If luck is on my side, I killed one or two; more likely their body armor protected them from the pellets. Still, it will give them pause. And now I must away, to write another day.
Like I said, it's hard for me to tell anymore.
People like to talk about the excellence of peace, but the simple truth is that warfare has done so much more for the human race. Peace is a malaise of progress, no better than the aformentioned bliss. And death? The inevetible bi-product of war? I'm not qualified to speak on death. Then again, I'm hardly qualified (If such qualifications can be achieved) to speak on the human condition; yet I do. With that in mind I will explain my opinions on death.
Common philosophies on death can be seperated, rather easily, into two camps: firstly, those who believe that death is the end of all things. The true antithesis of life. Nothing but nothingness. And consequently, it can be decided that there is no point to this life: for if, when we die, we cease to exist, then what purpose in furthering our mortal experience? Indeed; if there is nothing after life, then we should all commit suicide and be done with the entire thing. And yet! And yet we persist; we cling to life, whether or not we as individuals believe in an afterlife.
It is for this reason I believe there [i]is[/i] an afterlife; for if there was not, nothing would exist; for there would be no purpose to it's existence. To be fair, that which makes sense to me rarely is qualified in the thoughts of others; I expect that these words shall be recieved no differently. For the sake of this prose, let us suppose I am right. That because life exists, it must have a purpose. The key of course, is understanding what that purpose is. This I cannot answer, and it's quite possible that the answer should vary from person to person. I simply do not know.
They pound upon my door now; proclaiming their self-given titles. As if they mean something to me. Their authority means nothing here. Why do the bother with pretenses, I wonder? I think it is for their own consciouss'; they need to validate their own acts, even if nobody else believes it. Idiocy. No, more than that; insanity. If there is such a thing as evil in this world, it is them. The self-righteous protectors, who force people to do things for their own good. I ramble; but that is all I have done. It is all I can do.
The idiots; their greatest weaknes is their pride. They assume they are the elite, the ingenious- and that anyone who opposes them are idiots. The first of the booby traps has gone off; a simple device consisting of string, the contents shotgun shells, and some matches in a coffee can. If luck is on my side, I killed one or two; more likely their body armor protected them from the pellets. Still, it will give them pause. And now I must away, to write another day.
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Christmas :3
Dunno why the pics came out so blurry, prolly jacked some setting up on my phone.
Bailey sleeping on his stuffed santa ^.^
Friday, December 4, 2009
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Further musings.
I sit here, listening to trance and drinking vodka and OJ, I attempt to forget the things that I have missed in my life and instead attempt to focus on the things that I have learned. Oddly enough I'm much more of an optimist than I once was, I suppose that learning you can be depressed as hell on day and then sleep it off, and be fine the next can do that to you.
As the famed film goes, 'There's always tomorrow' or something like that. I'm terrible with references. Regardless...
I find that I lack clear purpose; I suppose this is an ailment common to modern man. Maybe it's foolhardy to put all your hopes in one thing; being a masterful musician only to be one upped, an amazing writer only to be shot down. I've put all my hopes into one thing before, had it crushed, and paid a dear price for the folly. Shattered dreams are not easily healed, or rebuilt.
As I was saying, purpose. Without it we are lost. What is my purpose? I feel as if it's in some sort of strife, a chaos of frantic beat where there is not time for the slow, pondering thought of idle time but only for life or death choices made in fractions of seconds.
Yet where could one find that? I must wait, I tell myself. I want to do things that will inspire free men to greater heights, to inspire humanity to freedom and liberty...
What grand plans for such a small soul. Despite my wishes I do not think that is my destiny; to be any sort of saviour or hero. Indeed, I do not even wish for such things; I wish only for contentment, the peace of mind that comes from knowing one has served their purpose in this life, whatever it may be.
Perhaps the gods know my way, and I must strive to be patient in their service, and pray that what must be, shall be.
As the famed film goes, 'There's always tomorrow' or something like that. I'm terrible with references. Regardless...
I find that I lack clear purpose; I suppose this is an ailment common to modern man. Maybe it's foolhardy to put all your hopes in one thing; being a masterful musician only to be one upped, an amazing writer only to be shot down. I've put all my hopes into one thing before, had it crushed, and paid a dear price for the folly. Shattered dreams are not easily healed, or rebuilt.
As I was saying, purpose. Without it we are lost. What is my purpose? I feel as if it's in some sort of strife, a chaos of frantic beat where there is not time for the slow, pondering thought of idle time but only for life or death choices made in fractions of seconds.
Yet where could one find that? I must wait, I tell myself. I want to do things that will inspire free men to greater heights, to inspire humanity to freedom and liberty...
What grand plans for such a small soul. Despite my wishes I do not think that is my destiny; to be any sort of saviour or hero. Indeed, I do not even wish for such things; I wish only for contentment, the peace of mind that comes from knowing one has served their purpose in this life, whatever it may be.
Perhaps the gods know my way, and I must strive to be patient in their service, and pray that what must be, shall be.
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