Backlog of Writings

In the last little while I have written a few things but neglected to share them, as I have been far too caught up with reading Gibson's _Virtual Light_.

First up is a 'write a story in 50 words or less'.

Panic. My eyes snap open; sleep flees from my body as I awake.
“Where am I?” I ask to no one.

It’s a white room, the walls, the sheets, the furniture, everything is white here. There is a manicured lawn beyond the locked window.

“Where is my daughter?” I scream.

Next I wrote this after a tasty meal.

The little boy squealed with glee. A knife lay on the kitchen counter, cookbooks, and papers, bills, cups and plates all hastily shoved to one side. A hideous child's mess lay strew about half the counter, with a clear bath to the microwave. Inside a plate full of something cooking lay, the dull yellow light of the microwave was burnt out and cast no illumination on the mysterious meal.

With this horrible mess, where are the parents?

Two drops of a thick red blood from each of the boys dirty little hands. They droplets hit the white tile floor and created little liquid explosions, tiny little droplets flew away from their mother in a flash of energy to become a stain on the clean floor.

Why isn't anyone watching this child?

The little boy did a little dance. He shook his ears by his head, on different intervals, raising them up and down with an inhuman energy. A madness burned in the boys eyes, as they rolled in his head as he jumped around and golden locks orbiting his head. He jumped up and down to the clicking of the microwave as the plate rotated around, the numbers slowly dancing away, grinding to zero. A zit on the boys greasy forehead suddenly exploded, the filthy puss and blood flew as fast as it could, desperate to flew the boy.

Is this child alone? No one would leave such a child alone.

The microwaved had not the chance to sound its final tone, as the boy ripped open the door and carried the plate to a table. The boy hastily grab the food with his hands and filled his mouth in a barbaric fury. Primal grunts of pleasure thundered through the room. As he devoured the tender flesh, red blood flowing out of his mouth as he crewed, streams of crimson blood flowed down his cheeks dripping onto his white shirt.

The sound of a door opening echoed through the near silent home, the boy instantly stopping, listening to the intruder to his solitary meal. Footsteps came closer, shadows filled the doorway.

The little boy looked up at his mother. Blood covering his little smile, he gazed at his mother as she spoke to him. He wanted more.

"Oh my God Jonny! Where is your sister?"

And finally...

The aeroplane lay peacefully on the tarmac. It was fresh and new, full of fleshy lives, ready to see the world. It began with a crawl, and slowly rose into the air, taking off. It climbed and climbed, reaching new heights, higher into the sky. Aside from the occasional dip of turbulence it rose, and rose. Then a bump, a drop in altitude, a slight recovery, higher, almost reaching the previous high, then popping up above the clouds, higher than it ever had gone before. The sweet sunlight caressed the aeroplane, glimmering on the shiny aluminum, a bright light, above the gray ominous clouds below, and then the aeroplane began to drop. Gone was the brilliant light, replaced with a dull gray blur as the aeroplane dropped through the clouds, falling through the sky. The stark reality of the decent became clear as the aeroplane fell towards the earth, the details of smokestacks, factories, people toiling away, a new reality for the aeroplane that had once soared so high, high above the dreary reality. Then aeroplane fell and fell, until it was barely flying above the trees. Had the landing gear not been tucked into the belly of the aeroplane, it would have clipped a tree and sent the aeroplane plummeting into a fiery death. The aeroplane cleared the forest, and emerged over a tranquil lake. The aeroplane fell towards the still dark waters. Further towards them the aeroplane did fly until no longer was it soaring in the air, but slicing into the frigid waters, cutting a path into the depths. Lower did it plunge, as the turbines continued to turn forcing the aeroplane deeper and deeper, carrying with it the fragile fleshy cargo.

Enjoy. :)

Proposal: Secure Bookmarks

I am tired to not having bookmarks on some of my machines; because I do not want the obvious persistent indicators of what sites I visit frequently enough to warrant a bookmark.

I also want to be able to access these bookmarks across multiple systems and environments.

Thus I would like a portable and secure bookmark storage system.

A centralized bookmark file stored somewhere on the internet, encrypted to be accessible only to authorized users (simple username and password authentication), that can be downloaded and temporarily stored on a local machine, changed, and be able to upload the changes to the central server for access from other machines.

Cost Benefit Analysis
+ Convenient access to bookmarks anywhere
+ Secured bookmarks from people with local access to machines
+ Secure
+ Backup of your bookmarks

- Requires Authentication in a time when people already have enough usernames and passwords to remember
- Having such a file on a central server make a security breach very dangerous as your bookmarks shed much light on your person.

Process
Implement directly into a browser via plug-ins. Support for multiple browsers (FF, Opera, IE) to ensure usability across most systems people will use. Via plug-ins in the browser, point towards the server hosting the bookmarks, authenticate, then download and store temporarily the bookmarks. Save and submit changes to the server before the session is terminated.

Anyone know of a system like I have described that exists, or does anyone want to work on it?

Thoughts or comments on the topic?

Notes on my Generation

What will people remember of my time, my age, and my life?

I know what I am not. I am not a baby boomer, I do not belong to Generation X.

Born in the wake of the Macintosh, I am the product of two individuals of the Baby Boom.

I saw the Wall fall, I saw a man stop a tank. I am plugged in, I am connected, I was wired, but now I live without wires.

I grew up with the world fighting on TV. The failed war on drugs, African genocide, the First Gulf War, was the culture to grow up in. Later we would fight and die in the War on Terror, continue fighting the war on drugs, and witness more ceaseless conflict in Africa.

We are faced with a revolving door of new, change, evolution, and the next thing. We make slow steps up the stairs, with corporations and an ever powerful government setting up tolls, watching us on CCTV. Obsessed with incremental advancement towards materialistic goals, where is the revolution?

Do we have anything to say for our age?

We are the Orwellian children. We live in a world of fear, actors for the Watchers.

Fast. Instant. Now. Connection.

Computers, and the Internet have created for us a new reality. A world where physical limits are set aside, and our minds set the boundaries. We live in and for information. Fast computers, instant communication, media on demand playing now. We are connected to the global communication and information network everywhere. At home, in class, on our phone, to every faucet of our lives the data flows. We are connected to it all and each other.

Everything is jacked. Everything is connected. Everything is amped. Everything is fast.

With everything happening NOW, have we lost sight of the future?

Ghost Riding

Hahaha.

Using not driving a way to demonstration of your wealth.


Here we have a rich guy who has a chauffeur to drive him, because he is rich enough he doesn't have to drive.

YouTube Link to Ghost Ride It
Here we have a bunch of rappers dancing on their cars while they are in motion instead of driving them.
"when you get a new car [ uh huh uh huh ]
and ya feeling like a star [ ok ok ]
what you gon do [ what cha gon do, what cha gon do ]
GHOST RIDE IT"

CPL Announces a Video Game

Cyberathlete Professional League has just annonced that they are in the midst of developing a "videogame conceived from the ground up to ensure the growth
and appeal of multiplayer game competitions worldwide". And here is a PDF Press Release. Titled Severity its scheduled for a Public Demo release in December 2007 release, with a final release date in mid 2008.

CPL is taking steps to ensure that it has fresh new games to keep the Pro Circuit fresh, considering its main tournament games now are Quake 3 and CS 1.6, are both more than 7 years old. The game is to be developed for PC and console, and will feature Quake 3 network and graphics technology.

This could pump fresh blood through CPL in more ways than one.

50 Word Story

Panic. My eyes snap open; sleep flees from my body as I awake.
“Where am I?” I ask to no one.

It’s a white room, the walls, the sheets, the furniture, everything is white here. There is a manicured lawn beyond the locked window.

“Where is my daughter?” I scream.

Rough Draft

Title: Deflowering Squad

Back in the 1930's a secret organization formed by a small group of forty year olds. They made a pact together as virgins that no one should live to be a virgin after the age of forty. Right then they went out, found some woman, and in one night they lost their virginity and founded one of the most elite secret societies. Its called "The super secret Anti-Virgin League", which is broken into a few groups. The high council, who run and fund the organization, they are the founders or the replacement for the founders of the organization, there is also the Intel unit whose job it is to track and monitor virgins, they basically function as a high tech Sanata, keeping a list of everybody that has not been naughty. There is also the regulars, who are simple people who support the cause and do there bit by having sex with a virgin, some of these people don't even know they are part of the League, despite there membership. Finally we have the Deflowering Squad. An elite unit of agents whose job is to identify and deflower virgins. Yes thats right, they are basically sex ninjas. They infiltrate the lives of virgins, seduce them and facilitate deflowering penetration for the target.

My name is Candy and I am a member of the Deflowering Squad.

"Good morning Tim," I cast a seductive grin at the Receptionist at the front desk.

"Mornin' Miss Candy," replies as his gaze follows me along the marble floor as I walk to the elevator. I ride it up alone and get into the office. I head to the kitchen. I see there is coffee made, perfect. I grab a cup and head to my desk. Time for work. Check the email, a few good jokes, and news of a Urgent Briefing. I finsh the coffee and head to the briefing room.

Looks like Intel turned up a emergency, and time was short, and they called in a specialist.

"Basically we need a miracle," declared Max, my boss giving me the briefing.
He continued, "We have two days before he turns 41, I dont want another failure, Jones was the last failure in '79 and I wont have that on my watch. How can we get this guy. He does nothing but play WoW all day long. He has no real life social contact outside his house. An absolute recluse."

Max was right, we were in a tight bind. But I figured a way out. "Look Max, its simple. This guy plays WoW all the time. He's gotta be on something. We find his hookup and get an intro that way. See what you can turn up I am gonna go get ready."

I went to the wardrobe section and picked out a new outfit, and did my makeup and when I returned we were in business.

The target is a teahead. His hookup is a fellow gamer and he comes over everyday to drop of some tea and chill for a bit. The hookup was the inn.

I walked into the arcade, and scanned the scene. Pimple faced teens driving, shooting, skiing. Sexy Asian girls playing DDR. Kids running around everywhere, high on caffeine and god knows what they picked up on the street, supercharged with rebellion and sex, riding the greatest wave of their lives.

I saw him in the back, with the old school machines. I walked up behind him, "Your not bad at Street Fighter."

He spun around, his blond hair spayed across his face obscuring his eyes, his faded Nirvana t shirt suggested a grunge flair, while the pressed Khaki's gave a neat casual look. His blue eyes emerged from his hair, searching me. The headphones around his neck now pointing towards me offered me the distinctive tune of Death From Above. He leaned back against the machine, resting on his backpack. His red lips moved, "I'm Mike, you any good?"

I stepped up to the challenge. "Lets find out."

I won. I had his attention now, well more so that when he first saw me.

We sat and chatted. I confirmed the Intel, that he would be heading to the targets house later and invited myself along. Without much protest, we past the time then headed for the mark.

We arrived, and introductions were made. James wore an AMD t shirt with a gruff exterior, and a lovable bear build, and despite being a Dorito munching WoW addict, his place was clean, adorned with action figures and Star Wars posters.

I sat next to the mark, and we smoked some pot, and started watching Hackers.

First I complained of cold and got a blanket. Then I insited on sharing it with the mark and snuggled up even closer. Mike clued in on cue, and excused himself from the apartment, and I homed in on the mark.

I figured he was too nervous to start anything, so I would lead. I slipped my glasses off, and leaned forwards to him, pressing my body on his starting the handshake.

Syn: I kissed him.
Syn: My tongue slipped in his mouth floating through it.
Syn: He kissed me.
Syn: His tongue charged forward, penetrating my mouth surging forward with exuberance.
Our lips locked and our tongues danced, and we swapped packets of love.
Ack: I moaned as pleasure surged through my body.
Ack: He pulled me closer, message received and understood.

Almost as if a surge of 50000 volts were flowing between us, did the passion flow in a steady stream. His hands moved from my hair to my body, his hands flowing across me.

My tight plain t shirt encapsulating my breasts flew off me, his flew off as well, along with a pair of shorts and a skirt, landing all over the room.

Our bodies connected, in a moment of bliss, objective completed. The television cast a faint glow through the smoke in the air onto our gleaming bodies into the night.

From /.

"Warner Music CEO Edgar Bronfman admitted that he was fairly certain that one or more of his children had downloaded music illegally, but despite this direct admission of guilt, no lawsuits are pending. Surprised? Bronfman insists that, after a stern talking-to, his children have suffered the full consequences of their actions. 'I explained to them what I believe is right, that the principle is that stealing music is stealing music. Frankly, right is right and wrong is wrong, particularly when a parent is talking to a child. A bright line around moral responsibility is very important. I can assure you they no longer do that.' I wonder if all of the people currently being sued/extorted can now just claim that they 'no longer do that.'"

/. Link
Original post

I was just about to play a CD I own after reading this I changed my mind. Instead I am going to go download something new and listen to it, so the RIAA can add one more album stolen and $20 dollars they never will see (not that they would have seen it anyway), but ya know a little fuck you to my Corprate Overlords.
Infact I think I will download 1 album every time I see an article about the RIAA on /. or digg. And when I see articles about the MPAA or when I see the annoying MPAA ads in theaters about stealing movies is like stealing cars, I will also steal a movie.

Anyways I am off to fire up the good old http://thepiratebay.org/top/101 and snag some tunes.

I will report back with a appreciation post of my soniCivil Disobedience.

11811

The Wii Power Glove

This morning (at 3:40PM) I was reading the Games section on Digg.com and saw what I thought to be the most exciting thing to happen to a Next Gen console.

It wasn't HD-DVD disks, or even Blu-Ray, fast processors or even a "Killer App" game.

It was a glove. Yes, I was excited about a glove.

I started reading the Digg article's title Wii Glove Coming Forget Sweaty Palms WiiMote Broken TV and stopped after reading Wii Glove. Two words and I was hooked. I clicked the link and was directed to the Engadget article is found Here.

I was sorely disappointed however. I had envisioned an updated version of the Nintendo Power Glove made for the Wii. Yes, the Power Glove featured in the 1989 commercial/film The Wizard starring Fred Savage that featured the classic "I love the Power Glove...it's so bad" line.

I still hope for a Wii Power Glove, and I await reading the announcement for it.


For the Wii, we can only hope.

Cyberpunk Laptop

Grab your decks, and jack into this Cyberpunk Laptop mod.

This apparently is a fully functioning computer.

Awesome.

Greenday and U2 "The Saints are Coming" Music Video

I am a huge fan of music videos, I think they are an incredible medium, that done properly can enhance the message of a song. They can be tell a story, they can wow the viewer, they can be cool, or they can be a vehicle to broadcast a message.

However one new video has me baffled.

Check out the video on youtube HERE.

The song is inconsequential to my confusion. The selected imagery is what blows my mind.

They video shows "fake" media coverage of New Orleans, as well as footage of New Orleans during the Katrina Flooding, the band in concert in New Orleans and in studio.

The interesting shots are those of the fake media coverage, complete with CNN esque marque bar on the bottom of the video with statements such as "US Iraq Troops Redeployed to New Orleans". Complimented with videos of Attack Planes, Attack Helicopters and even what appears to be B-2 Stealth Bombers, deployed to New Orleans to rescue civilians and drop aid packages.

This provides me with two very mixed messages.

On one hand I see the Propaganda machine showing love and caring for the people of New Orleans in this video. This is shown threw the obviously fictitious use of US military assets for Katrina Aid.

On the other hand I see a subtle jab at the use of the Military. A video that asks, "Where was the military to help our own people in need?". To that question the video answers are found in the text. In Iraq.

The final frames of this video explain the artists stance. As the camera pans past a sign that says, "NOT AS SEEN ON TV", one gets the impression that the artist is conveying the message, that the imagery of the video is not true, and what should have happened, did not. And that is the tragedy.

Welcome to my new Weblog

Just a nice introductory post.

I am interested in a variety of topics, many of which I may discuss. I simply want a centralized location to publish my creative and subjectively intellectual thoughts.