Cultural Tidal Wave

I sit perched on my bed, alone in the dark, alive in my own world, the room is illuminated by the flickering flame of a Bic.

I throw on a sweater and some pants, and answer the door, flicking the bare lightbulb overhead on, the small cold room now has enough light to see all the smoke hanging in the air. The door swings open and a beautiful little pixie walks in.

We sit and talk, inhaling the precious fairy dust, red eyed from the burning fires in our minds, young and lost in thought, refugees from the world, society and everyone else.

The curly blond haired Goddess walks into the room, beconning us to leave our humble sanctuary, to meet the world and explore the main floor of this dilapidated building, crumbling bricks in a crumbling society, will the house or civilization as we know it crumble first..

We find ourselves in the dirty kitchen, now ushered into a more hospitable room. I land on a couch, and fall into a trance. The walls are close and red, curtains and Persian sheets enclose us, beds, chairs and couches full of souls, the pixie starts dancing with a beautiful belly dancer wearing jeans, rag tag beauty flowing through the room, the sounds of the world fill the room, the tribal drums and soft voices from afar, I could be in a tent in Arabia decades ago, watching the native beauties dance while British and American business spies fill their tanks with oil and money, the promise of power for the locals to remain friendly, the world bough, packaged and sold, under the cover of darkness, the secrets of the world are all imaginable.

The sex Goddess, assembles the electric hookah, and I pour a few grams of master kush pollen atop the gummy tobacco. The music dies while a new track cues, and the sizzling sparkles of the coal flash and zap, an intense fury of sparks, heavy duty lung power is summoned, and the smoke starts to billow, coconut cream and hashish, the headrush hits like a Ewok tree trap, a massive log swinging towards my head, it hits like an environmental Mack truck, the quintessential mind fuck, its Pi roaring at your head, top down with the turbo whirling.

The Goddess, the pixie and the denim clad belly dancer, are cast in the glowing pastel colors of the hookah, at one with each other, combined they flow to the tribal drumming as I assert myself in between smoke inhalation.

I tell the retarded Sheik, that voting is useless, and that democracy is an illusion. I describe the proletariats inability to properly select leadership for government, but reality is lost on those idealists who think they can actually matter, while the only people that matter are the ones that go into the tents of kings and declare how much oil they need, and how many guns they have, the people are not, were they ever in power, they simply feel in love with the idea and the media fed it to them all. The greatest injustices, cloaked in darkness, shrouded from the public without microscopes, are beyond the people to rectify, as they are still lead by the dark Sheppard, who points to the light in the sky, always there, always above you, always just out of reach.

The magic is weening for the night, but its only starting to build in my mind, the electrons suddenly charged and firing, the metal fireworks of anything the mind can imagine, infinite possibles of the sweet dream world.

Robbed of the flowing eye candy, the little pixie and the belly dancer, leave our tent for the cold air of winter in Canada, the Sheik taps a drum quietly in a chair as we suck the delicious smoke, the Goddess and a snowboarding oil worker and I.

The hose feeds me the smoke and my mind reals, low O2 levels leave me lightheaded as a warp through the worlds in my head, the electric lights and dirty streets of the next great metropolis await, burning in the future, while the past lingers, the history of ninjas, spies, and the people that never mattered, the peoples whose names are forgotten, their life long work named and profited by others, the injustices of life, inescapable.

My head starts to spin, the past was bleak, the present is bleak as fuck, and the future is bleak as well, progress seems to be a dream, as the human race still hasn't progressed beyond killing and exploiting our fellow man, the physical world caught up with money and power, silent players moving the pieces, the people again left at the bottom. The reliance of the digital world on physical infrastructure leaves the once great bastion of freedom, under the thumb of a hegemonic empire, the great digital hub sitting under the silent watchers in the shadows, leaving the dream world to be the only free place for a mind to wait out our days, waiting for nirvana, hoping for something better than hell on earth. Not enough oxygen and the rooms starts to spin, the wet paint of the great artists starts to gain momentum and spins and blurs, colour streaks through the night as the world melts in my mind, I run from the tent, the beauty of the pixie and the belly dancer gone, I feel alone, the Goddess and the snow boarder wrapped into one, the Sheik still playing the drum, I make my way to the washroom wear I vomit quickly, then stealthily march to my room.

I lay on my bed, alone and content, lost in my mind, silence echo across the landscape of dirty closes and the flashing lights of electronics. The mind swirls the thoughts in a rich intoxication, information and dreams intermingle, reality blurred through the cranium, alone I dream in bliss.

Fear on the mind

Last night I stared into the eyes of a man as his two eyes were unmoving, stuck with the view into an invisible void. He gasped for breath, attacked by an invisible fear, pure terror seeping into his mind from the idiot box, rockets and bombs, dead babies and orphaned children, as he lay on the floor, no doubt the images of the most vile and disgusting acts man has ever committed towards man live on TV. The ruins of a party remained, there is no joy post alcoholic-anxiety freakout, we are left with an unfun douche bag as the fat cats at Labatt's enjoy their government protected drug racket.

The Wackness

Sometimes you watch a film and see a character that you relate to in some way, a specif thing about you seems to be the exact same, other times, you see a character that resemble you in untold numbers of ways.

A recreation in time and space, an new being of the same person, a soul recreated, a chance to make the same mistakes, new ones or achieve the perfect path to happiness.

My occupation, my freedom and my secrets are all things that I live with, and want to keep them, sharing them only when I am the gatekeeper. Working in one of the few true capitalist markets, most are dominated by government abolishing free trade to fund and protect its own corrupt existence. I am a small businessman, small and free, only trying to make people happy. And yet I am prosecuted and hunted for making a living, my secrets keep me safe, the hide from those I love the skeletons that would haunt their lives, my secrets are my pain, the lies I spin hurt me, I die a little inside every time I mouth the words, the peace they bring to you cuts me in my heart, my necessary evil slowly killing me, one lie at a time.

The American Dream 2.0

With astronomical rise to apparent world domination, America has ascended to the historical global elite group of nations to impose its will globally as a hegemonic empire, build on the sweat of hardworking capitalist Americans following the great path of the American dream.

The pure pursuit of wealth and power, the American Dream, can come to anyone that works hard, said the capitalist whose factory was hiring, but the reality of life in a capitalist economy, is that few will rise above their class, no matter their toil, no matter how much they sweat and bleed. As the gap between the rich and the poor widens in capitalist America, its evident that a hypercapistalist state with a rapidly expanding government, and privatized government services, that the priorities of the state are not the citizens.

Often people wonder why pop media is popular given how horrible some of it truly is, and the answer is simple. People are stupid, for the most part. They are unable to differentiate for themselves what they want, and what they need, especially in terms of long term planning. Unable to choose effectively is compounded by the fact that the masses are sold everything, food, media and politics.

With consolidation of media, like conglomerates like GE that are able to market a war on the news, then sell the weapons that kill for profit, the entire society is corrupt to the core, from its founding fathers to its robbing children of generation now, its a national enterprise hell bent of profit, a powder keg of money, waiting to explode, and then the proles will continue to suffer, while the bourgeois elites escape with their money.

With a situation so dire, the reigning world superpower, with a history of global domination through imperialistic financial and militaristic means, what can be done?

A population to stupid and afraid to realize its own troubles, let alone stand up for them, and every day they wait it becomes harder as privacy and civil liberties recede under the shadow of fascism. The last bastion of free speech is under attack, the networks that power cyberspace are monitored, the fight for secure computer systems free of government and corporate collusion to rob the masses of digital privacy needs to be fought now, and private encryption needs to continue to be available for everyone.

P2P and mesh networks are the future, decentralized networking is a must to break the bonds of the corporate masters, free communication is necessary to share art, news, personal communication and ideas for radical though and paths to bettering the world.

A darknet is needed, a network for the people, by the people. It's time to get ready to reboot the system, learn from our current build, work of that, revise our codes and try again, because we have failed.

A look at popular things and negative publisity

Post Christmas Rush and we can have a quick look at Digg to see what the most popular gaming stories there are for the past week.

Super Mario
WoW
Mario
Wii Bundles
Wii Hacked
Xbox Live Down
Portals Fan Stuff
Portals
Halo
Mario
Xbox Live Down
PS3 Kid
Wii fixes
XBox live stalker
Crisis

WoW 1 Nintendo 6 PC 2 PS3 1 Xbox 4

Nintendo's Wii is the superpopular thing of the moment, leading the console over PC domination, and thus is leading the pack with 6 of the top 13, with XBox following with a decent 4, of which one was a cool halo death, and the other three were highly negative, but highly popular due to the large effect on many of the services users. Even the positive spin of the high influx of new users from MS is at least nice to know, that lots of noobs will soon be ready to slaughter once Redmond giant can fix its own gaming network. Even bad news seems to be good news here for keeping the MS brand in the news.

Gladiating

Its noon, the sun blasts a dry harsh heat beating down on the clay of the stadium, tattered blue flags wave in the wind above. The sweat of the gladiator shines of his tanned skin, and blinds a crow above. The crowd roars.

Everyone's on their feet screaming, one girl sits she holds a doll a pacifist in a world of death, tears roll down her cheek leaving a clean stain on her dusty skin, the gleeful screams of her family pierce her ears.

People scream for blood, the underdog, sweating bare chested, a pair of short shorts show off his large muscular and tight ridged behind, his chest hair slick with sweet, scars on his back, his blond hair flies in the air his eyes distant, lost in another world, motionless black.

Two figures emerge from the darkness, pink and purple plastic suits, their hammers massive and the signs of use, the blood and bits of flesh from the last victim. From behind and hammer strikes from behind, down, this is over, the bright green ninja made it so. Hammers fall of soft flaccid organs, and sensitive orbs of tender flesh. The crowd loves a painful death, blood soaking into the floorm the screams of pain lost in the lust of blood. Then next hammer is the finisher, the grand finale.

Lights out.

The hill

The rolling hills, a sea of green stretch into a the distance fading away in a far away fog the clouds the rest of the world, casting a ring of shelter around this luscious valley. A vast expanse of green grass covers the world here alone on hill stands a tree. The dark brown bark scarred through time, the wood half dead and lifeless, the leaves a pure source of natures life, reaching up to the sacred yellow orb, drinking up its subatomic life.

The tree silently sways, as it always does in the tides of time, caught in the current of the wind of the world. The tree moves and its shadow plays across the earth, moving, changing. The darkness comes, a shadow plays upon the land, the violent winds bringing the shade to the soil that surrounds the tree, cooling it from the hot sun, the light vanishing.

The prevailing winds are not constant, ever changing, a mix of infinite complexity, bringing forth change, shade and light on the land, it will forever alternate.

The tree moves a little leaning elsewhere, the darkness fades, the light comes about, breathing life, the dark soil, now populated by the tiniest of plants, green fresh life springing from the moist earth, leaping towards the sky.

Two children arrive beneath the free, a young boy and girl, they look over the land and drinks its beauty, soaking it up through their eyes. The tree moves in the wind, the shadow cast upon the boy, he pulls a lifeless limb from the tree, a sword. Next to the epic trunk, a solid mass of wood, grown over time innumerable, sits the girl in the light, in awe of the life growing at her feet.

The boy lunges, and swings, his stick a sword, a weapon for imagined foes, thrusting and stabbing, they fall and are replaced by more, who fall, and fall, a succession of death, the air pierced by the wooden limb. The light and boy dance, one second he's caught in the light, a bright knight in shining amour, protecting and severing. The moment changes with the winds, the light gone from the boys face, darkness covers his eyes, as he murders, kills and destroys, the limb an extension of his body, a magnifier to his power.

The darkness swings onto the little girl, a shiny blade lost in the darkness emerges from her dress, cloaked in darkness she carves a heart in the fragile tree, forever the icon shall be written in the free, the heart becomes a part of the bark, growing with the tree. As the wood is carved from the wooden flesh a single tear rolls down the girls cheek, its precious water giving life, green growing in the darkness. The light covers her face as she smiles at her iconographic work, and the life that is flourishing, now caught in the sun.

"I can't do this anymore," the boy cries, screaming into the hills. He sits on the soft earth and watches it grow, tired, the sweat drips from his brow, the life in the ground soaks up his sweet liquid, living, growing.

Darkness, and light dance a battle over the still children, in awe of nature, the sit silently. The light vies to be seen, the darkness pushing its boundaries, trying to cover everything and overcome. The light and shadows dance, like a candle in absolute darkness, flicking in the wind, an epic struggle as the wick burns towards the end, burning bright the light casts the darkest shadows, without the candle absolute darkness would reign.

The rich crimson blood soaks into the earth, the life flourishes as another expires, its very essence flowing out of the girl, from her stomach where the small blade is lodged. Around her a pool of blood flows, in it the green nature, thriving in the light. She vomits blood as she expires, collapsing into the soft green beside the boy, who is sharing the same fate, their blood mixing, their lives flowing away, giving life to new growth, new life, a trade. They lie beneath the heart, holding hands, the sun setting as their eyes close.

And like that they were gone...

The street bustled with life, rows of cafes and shops, with apartments above, facing the board walk and the blue water assaulting the sand beach with waves after wave. The sun began rising casting a giant yellow reflection in the water, the cafe was packed with people enjoying their morning coffee, the smell of fresh pastries and the rustle of news papers filled the air, the traffic light, and the sidewalks absent of the late morning crowd.

The two men sat peacefully discussing family as I brought them their coffee. The cups rattled on the glass table as I sat them down, one of the mens daughter just got excepted into a prestigious university, and the other graciously complimented him on his family's honor and success, he paused to sip his coffee.

The sun rose in the sky, its brilliance deflected by expensive chrome sunglasses, matching the expensive suits, the shirts unbuttoned for the heat, ornate chains of gold sat atop black chest hair.

Traffic flowed through the street, one man thrust his arm forward shooting the lustrous chronograph on his wrist out of his sleeve, time check complete, as cool as can be, he reached into his trousers and pulled out a phone. He dialed and began talking, the words lost in the hum of cars and people talking, the conversation was brief and the phone returned to his pocket.

The first thing I noticed was the squealing of breaks, and suddenly the white van stopped in front of the men, before the van even stopped, the door slid open, and the two men vanished into van, torn out of their seats by men in black masks, the door slammed and the van slipped into traffic gone before the two mens chairs had fallen back to the ground, the cups rattled on the table with their sudden departure.

Flabbergasted, “Who will take care of the cheque?” I asked to no one in particular.