Vogon Poetry, I

Vogon Poetry, I : Mystery My-Story



Back story: Mid September, 2012, I hadn't transferred yet and prof wanted "for example," which I only use if I think the reader slow, (sorry/notsorry) or primarily theoretical stuff, quacks am are ducks, for example, GO QUACK YOURSELF.

So I was in a job-success class mandated by state curriculum to graduate, it involves remembering what a resume is, and answering questions that arise when job hunting, then after the first week of questions, this happens. score 37/60:

Mr. Banks--You're almost finished with college. It is time to write and express yourself with that in mind. I want to see you use high-order thinking skills in your answers--not one-liners that simply touch the surface of the issue. Try to answer the Who, What, Where, When, Why, and How of the question wherever possible. THINK first, formulate your answer, then type it. 

Missed a comma or semicolon "yourself; with" and "think first," come now, words don't magically fill the page, I had to think to write those words. Not for nothing, I hadn't read that message. A week later, after round two of chapter-questions, this happens. score 18/30:

Again, I want to see evidence of your high-order thinking skills in these CIP questions. Answer the inherent questions of who, what, where, when, why, and how as you answer each one. Watch your spelling, grammar, and punctuation. You will soon graduate, so you need to be able to express yourself in writing. This is a big part of this class--seeing that you can express yourself in writing to prepare for the job market.

No need to put comma before 'so', all it does is show where the teacher had a mental lapse. Not for nothing, again, I didn't read the message. It, btw, is PROFOUNDLY inaccurate to the point where I died laughing and had to use a defibrillator. It is worth nothing that inherent questions may lead to assumption, the mother of all fuckups. A week later, without knowledge of what had transpired between the teacher and I, while I was unawares, after round three of chapter-questions this happens. score 35/50:

I need to see evidence of your high-order thinking skills.  In order to do this, your answers will probably be about 100 words long.  Answer the hidden questions of who, what, where, when, why, and how.  These questions will help you get to the depth I'm looking for.  Start at least one sentence with "For example, ..." which will clarify to the reader what you're explaining.

5W's, everybody says them in a different order. #caring. You meant, "to the depth, which I am seeking", fagamuffin. Not for nothing, save for curiosity, I (at this point) decided to check my grades. It is worth a jibe, "looking for", is a prepositional phrase, at the end of a sentence, leaving the reader queuing without inimical result. More importantly, the teacher put three times, "high-order thinking skills" leaving me to conclude, that if I were presumably receiving his/her messages, he/she was beating a dead horse. I THINK it's called, critical analysis, not "high-order" thinking skills. High order is nomenclature typically reserved for disciplines, and anyone who has devoted their lives to spirituality can tell you, discipline and activity are the same. 

When I had read that the teacher wants me to physically type "for example" I realized, that I should do as such, and ...perhaps I wrote too concisely.  I love the English language, I can write sarcasmisticalogitude and you all understand what I mean, or FOR EXAMPLE I can say, humans are dumb, FOR EXAMPLE, the political science majors who think they're English majors. Precision is key. It's why, when a socialist politician shouts to yell a lie that is obviously and overwhelmingly publicly disproved, I hate their souls, and the idiot liars are actually amazed that anyone knows they're lying, and, confused to how honest/logical people can be offended by lies.

(Note: Even I had to look up "high-order thinking skills" to realize it meant - Don't just answer the question, spend your fucking Saturday writing essay entries that belong in a bloody High School textbook called 'Critical Thinking: The Emotional Paradise.' then remit all your weapons to the police and survive eating the grass in your yard like people in the the third world, until you're hunted, let's hope it's not winter, yours truly, new and improved Soylent Green.)


Any fucking way, here's what I put as-is for assignment four in pure spite. There was an essay more-like-paragraph, which provided the precursory details of job seekers, which made imho it seem perfunctory. Notice the intentional errors and, Enjoy  :)

"1. How can a resume indicate whether an individual is organized, detailed, and professional?"

The resume is a burgeoning reflection of the individual who seeks employment in modern society, in previous cultures a number or societal rank later known as castes put strict parameters of what a person would professionally become, yet today a person venturing for a job must likely have a resume to provide a defining representation of the self which carries with it an aspect of aptitude and evidence. FOR EXAMPLE, if a prospective employer requires a resume than it is an absolute addition to professional development, but more so it must be presentable to give the proper inclination that the person providing the resume is also presentable. If the resume is nearly blank than it is perhaps possible that so is the applicant. If the contents of the resume are shown in humorous and difficult to read this absolutely creates an inference that the applicant is, though personable, much the same. Likewise, if the visual layout of the resume has no noticeable visual structure it portends disorganization; if the letter is physically damaged, dirty, wrinkled, etc., so that if seen on the sidewalk it would be deemed rubbish, so is the credibility of the job applicant.

A functional resume is curt and succinct, purposeful and exact, as to reveal more keenness with less encumbrance. When researching examples of resumes and seeking resume advice, common types to create are typically called; Chronological, Functional, Chrono-Functional, & Curriculum Vitae.

"2. How much weight should the appearance of a resume carry in the selection process?"

Prospective employers have time critical responsibilities as do the interviewers that will be viewing, a functioning resume allows the interviewer to spend a very brief period to ascertain the quality of the applicant, This allows the applicant's list of aptitudes and experiences to entice the employer into further examination and review, in other words, an interview, thus the relative "weight" is balanced. For example, a busy bodied hiring professional has been tasked to hire individuals within an uncontrollable time restriction, after researching the resumes of applicants and expunging vague and irrelevant applications, when the desired job seekers are filtered into the equation, interviews begin and the task of acquiring gainful employment is then shared with the job seeker. In this scenario, the resume can be compared to an item on a food menu, its information and description allows the employer/interviewer to choose which applicant will be interviewed, but the burden of approval is shared and relies on the presentation of the individual.

"3. Do you think Mike is being unfair to applicants who do not exhibit these skills through the appearances of their resumes?  Should Mike consider these individuals anyway?"

No; The skills Mike is attempting to cultivate from potential employees and theoretically utilize are in the purview of his expertise, if the specifics for employment requirements are known it is merely logical to use them as a delineating factor when filtering through resumes for desired worker replacements/additions. Ideally, Mike lives in a free market society where he is allowed to use discretion in the hiring process. If employee replacements are needed faster than they can be screened and hired it can be better to use an analytical sense of discretion to explore the potentials presented in the resumes of what seems to him the ideal candidates. It is possible that deeper examination and alleviated constraints of time allow a more thorough examination, and it is plausible that poor judgement and inept new employees may require him to do so. Also if he is interviewing people for high-demand position and there are few to take the job, the resume is as equally undervalued as it is relevant.

"4. If you have developed a resume, do you think your resume indicates that you are an organized, detailed, and professional individual?  If so, how?  If not, why not?"

A resume provides information as a microcosm of the individual submitting it. In the most simplistic discernment the resume reflects utmost to the person whom created it, but its relevance contains its relativity. For example. a person can submit an organized resume, but the information contained in it my not be, all the effort to put the tasks at a previous employer could be unprofessional or worse, irrelevant to a newly desired job. Providing full details of cigarette breaks and who was there may be organized and in chronological order yet completely irrelevant to an interview glossing over that person's resume.

This revolves around introspection, self-evaluation with evaluational skills obtained and designed in deference to culture and society, in other words, the ability to provide a good resume is based several factors of it's designer, primarily the objective opinion of their self and how it is presented to a prospective employer, in a fashion that is designed by personal knowledge attained by previous experiences in job seeking and resume submissions, and, plausible application of professional resume quality as learned from knowledge bases such as library books about writing resumes, previous and/or existing employers, HR staff members, and anyone who has successfully used a resume to attain gainful employment and can afford to tell you the truth. If I may resort to a political reference, in the professional market, it's not who you know, but what you know. Since the resume is the likely first method of how an employer interacts with a job seeker, whatever is applicable to providing credentials, if it's not on the resume, it doesn't apply.

The Names Have Been Changed To Protect The Innocent

Dialectic

Verily, it is what might not be the person strongest, neither the most valiant or the most decided. It can, which one equivocates many times, perhaps far too many, be that as it may, realize our wants when one has not, that our list of caprices be a large one, what one's paranoia augments day to day also. To the malice moments they are many, although the goodnesses supersedes. It may complicate how easy, what facilitates the difficult, and also may make any trip countless times on the same step, but have for surety that always one goes to rise.

For the sage, the diversity of things and events contradictions to our environ they are justly those different manifestations of the all, the unchanging reality. Then, to those diverse aspects of the divine ones, giving in life antique distinct names of various questions that themselves are not more that reflections of a unique ultimate reality, which so to speak, the destructive and creative forces they are two manifestations of this reality same. 

Mōdraniht

There are a mass of people that like to prefer the notion that competition is bad, such a coiled thought strikes with despotism. There are even more people whom, with very few facts and even fewer recognitions of true success, these alarmists and fascists like to generalize by saying that trickle-down economics does not work, and for them I have a question. If such is true, then why give money to government?

Without adoration, the union forms the love of itself, confusion is itself habitual.

Existence flies extricate, and many times I see how it stops some without having the possibility to continue, nor apprehend those desires, what years and years expelled behind themselves. A truly chaos is that which I see from eccentricity. I see the perfect portrait, of the significance of the word perdition. All greys, all-so dark, and the daft multitudes belittle the import. I see waves that are smashing between thee, and strong torrents that nay cease, and simply, I see a photo, which securely never painter that can paint, nor ever painter dares to put his signature. The photo difficult of comprehension, a photo very antique, and that which will be guarded intact many eras more. I see a-many people between paintings of this image suffocating and drowning, searching for salvation of a life agonized. In this darkness is very difficult distinguishing between friend and enemy, between good and evil. In this darkness it is easy to be lost and confusion is itself habitual.

Cataplasm?

HAPPY SOLSTICE! 

When we steer the imagination of a world negative, the world is dark and shadowed, and when that we do then modes positive, the world returns more friendly and brilliant. In a depression it seems that you had stolen the control of your imaginations, of your thoughts. Nay it is sadness, nor is dwelling for a loss, it is different, you are in a tunnel and someone has taken the light, feel how the darkness penetrates in thy soul and hope that not its power advances. Afterwards, the personae of eternalness yours insist in what brightness the sun and your thoughts.  

How is it that many will not see when one is without light, how is it that many give no account that one cannot?

Go, I

Hello, incomplete post in the "drafts" folder from Monday of 8 November 2010, we meet again....
  
          The generation of prankster comedy viewers would easily be enticed by visual samples, logo, and voice-over, more as to why, people who would even watch TV, they who appreciate that movie, respect the genre and desire to revisit the vicarious experience slash/and emotional reward of a happy ending with the opportune environment - fun for all, had by all, without getting hurt, plus the whimsical yet traditional happy ending, as oppose to the macabre negative reinforcement accompanying vindication of gruesome crime-fighters or justice for their victims. in a happy ending even the supporting characters get vindication, and the villain get's rain on their parade, even if their loyalties are ambiguous until discovered at the end by the afore mentioned outcome for the antagonist or their actions throughout the play. traitors of protagonist often switch sides on the antagonist's victory.....

Instrucciones de vida:
Que se diviertan. No Violencia. No rendirse. ¡Esfuércese!

Sleeping Dogs and Politicians

Accept or retake, your future. Quite quiet smoking. (electrillos)

 "Conservation law - Wikipedia: In physics, a conservation law states that a particular measurable property of an isolated physical system does not change as the system evolves. One particularly important physical result concerning conservation laws is Noether's theorem, which states that there is a one-to-one correspondence between conservation laws and differentiable symmetries of physical systems. For example, the conservation of energy follows from the time-invariance of physical systems, and the fact that physical systems behave the same regardless of how they are oriented in space gives rise to the conservation of angular momentum."

I. Nothing comes from nothing.  II. Im partially hoping either this is a nice way to support capitalism, or that momentum is mass. III. It would explain a few questions of molecular stability, and for me illumine a few fictional and theoretical possibilities. IV. I've met a few fanatical people calling themselves this "liberal" thing, phonogram of labeler, BTW, which seems to me at best to mean libertine, qed (thus also) making it easier to see why I could use a few political point reproofs, points reproof, wtfe. V. If mass is momentum then the perpetual engine is powerfully close in the habit of all science-fiction precursors, in a manner proverbial minutes with advancements in energy radio interconnecting filtration and transmission... eRIFT... you're welcome... so below is another excerpt on that, considering it's a conservation of energy at an atomic level it might-could be called cold fusion, brainstorm finality. VI. I've resorted in the past to thinking dichotomously, not a good thing typically, but sufficed to say unlike a sane person, I 'ave morals to control my emotions and not repress. VII. I'm guessing, but it seems for about a century people have taken a liking to artificial intelligence, having stumbled across illusions in imaginations spawning machinations to spurn delusions, it is their way. VIII. Of all the things I've loved and lost, I'll never know, I get moral anachronisms, and it is no uncommon notion that the most vociferous and liturgically verbose are quite locuros, I believe the technical term is lost and in its most effulgent theme being apprised of ethics goes unnoticed, sadness or happiness, needing a lot of facts, and in dispassionate misfortune overlooks need to satisfy wants, 'the squeaky wheel gets the oil' sorta things, which is why a leader should flourish facts. IX. This country needs a good (conservative) female president or a crazy son of a bitch, not a liberal whose objectivity contains personal motives and delusions of grandeur. X. That's why generations will be told 'no tax cuts, some petty beta had to get his rocks off'. XI. A politician has seen all laws appear of thin air, and as thus, has taught nothing. XII. I know this bores you to no-end, I'm trying to keep the persona non grata, ten out of five readers hate this part. XIII. Methinks, maybe, per se, that a good thing to realize is that there are two types of politicians, the ones who want to ban everything, and the ones who want to ban nothing, which there must be some form of compromise. XIV. Whether or not this becomes a matter of the heart, there are two declared types of government, Unitarian, and Republican, any place claiming to be either both or neither, is the most dangerous place one can ever reside. XV. King Lear said, "nothing can come of nothing: speak again," in scene 1 of his eponymous play by Shakespeare. XVI. This could be my last column of the year so, those are the breaks. 

"New device harvests electricity from background radiation | Mail Online: Device captures microwaves and converts them into electricity. Future versions could harvest satellite, sound or Wi-Fi signals. Technology could be used to recharge phones without cables or beam electricity to mountaintops....exciting possibilities such as recharging a phone wirelessly and providing power to remote locations that can't access conventional electricity, and the researchers say that their inexpensive invention is remarkably versatile. It could be used to capture 'lost' energy from a range of sources such as satellite transmissions, sound signals, or Wi-Fi."

Ex nihilo nihil fit. Damnatio memoriæ.

Merlin 3:35 “Strings of Hypocrisy”

Merlin 3:35 “Strings of Hypocrisy” 
~ @mjbanks

Merlin lighting fires allows brightness, confusion, and power for Ana who recklessly yearns so close to connect with Nickolas and enters the chaos. The ground dries near her, but the extended drought drinks from the sky with undeniable thirst, lightning would be her ally in light alone too strong to purposefully wield. Downpour mixes mud with crestfallen corpses, when she realizes the empty town is full of terrors, Ana hides her unborn child in the only place she feels safest, a shop with a swinging fascia reading ‘Alchemy & Oils’, where fire fueled by apothecary wares will utmost protect her. More than half of the town vampiric clings to unholy existence, but are more than inadequate against Merlin, Scarlet, Malachi, and Nickolas, in their formations, and as a small group enters where she hides she must confront.

One of them tries to bite her, grabbing her by her collar and opening fangs she grabs its hands and begins defensive flames, walking it backward toward the door causing the others to run in fear of her fire. Outside they run into the phoenix with open wings of unrelenting fire, cawing and clawing them and their ashes unto death.

In the doorway, Ana stands until grabbed clawed hands by one of Matteus’ comrades and fatedly Nickolas comes to her rescue, running at her and her captor. The vampire wraps his arm around her, holding a blade to her throat, but seeing Nick moves quickly between her and his approach, putting arms outward one blade point to her. Holding two daggers, one two Ana’s throat as vampire stands closely against her and the wall, the other at Nick.

Inscius: “If either of you move, you cut the other’s throat, now get back!”

Nickolas without blinking reaches to the vampire and pulls toward himself, cutting his own throat, but freeing Ana. Drawing the vampire closer he takes the other blade from him, but it is hot at touch and dropped as he takes the bloody dagger from his own chest. The vampire thirsting for the blood immortal to strengthen and conquer is denied by a cut throat and a pierced heart, even then Nickolas rages, taking the sheathed sword of the vampire and severing head on the ground. He tries to ask if Ana and child are safe, but cannot speak thru bloody cut throat, falling to his knees he struggles to be persistently pointing into the doorway, which Ana thru drags him to dauntless escape with blood trail. Ana throws a tiny bottle of oil at the featureless creature, and then with her magic makes it burn alive undead with fire’s pain unending. Before she can act, angered screams arise, in both parts from his resurrection and her of the vampires taking him for reclamation.

The phoenix forced to flight and fight elsewhere, Ana has not escape or ally, and uses her magic powers of fire on her closest foes to fend and follow Nick. Kept is she at bay protecting her child from attack, more so than considering herself deprived of an immortal, whom if even partially lucky, in due time, will find her again. She hides in shadows, fearing the light, maternally hiding her child. Using their strength in bloodlust, more vampires seek her for the blood of an unborn child, an evil and common desire of the undead, most imperial magistrate of sin. Again saved by Nick he escapes others and collides with the three hungering for her, as she escapes dragged he is into yet another fight.

Matteus, bound by puerile sensations, orders his dwindling amount of allies to spike Nickolas to the ground, as he and others prepare to find and attack Malachi when the blood warlock himself locks into eyes from distance, only to walk-out-of the picture down the street. Matteus thinks of himself near victorious, only to see Scarlet enter the street. Scarlet is winning his siege of two against now less than almost forty, and calls magnanimously into the night.

Lord Scarlet: “Kneel if you wish to live…”
Matteus: “Marcus, go around and throw something big, a table, at him, then I will kill him myself.”

Matteus in assumption begins to realize some of the other vampires, new and very old, have returned their allegiance to Scarlet in kneeling so.

Anders: “How says our danger that he come himself, we do not cross the elder.” (Kneels)
Matteus: “Damnedest fools, fight you must!”

Malachi has run via circle to behind them and stabs one in the throat from behind, then tearing the lifeless heart from vampire thru its back, the body falls and he holds it in his hand, forcing all but Matteus to suffocate and fall nearby. As a wrought black heart, woven for afterlife, becomes a heavy and course black ash.

Cloud cover thick soon the rain makes mud, Scarlet walks with the drops washing the blood, showing his face in the darkness of weather surrounding them. A long sword in his hand he watches less fearful allies of Matteus spearhead the isolation by tackling Malachi and allowing Matteus a chance at escape. Tho having skillfully used the weapons of enemies against themselves, this is the first that Malachi uses his own sword, throwing it into Matteus to slow his escape. The rebellion against the warlock, extricated by valiance into dying combatants, hack into Malachi, deep cuts like a bleeding tree he strains, desperate and striving in a pain of fear almost tiring. Lifting black magic ethereal as a highly contagious fire consumes his closest foe and soon others, and with so brightly makes anguish, they flee with Scarlet ever getting closer. Those who are not allegiant begin their escape from judgment, and Merlin watching from the shadows.

Matteus assumes reprieve, rebels resisting arrest come to battle, but they know not the new allegiances, too little, too late, before Matteus can enjoy his smile of pride, Scarlet stands beside him, hammering a knife into his chest, dragging it down thru raw bone and undead strength, enough to see his heart.

Scarlet: “A scene of death for traitor, lastly spoken, Matteus.”
Matteus: “I will submit again, you are my liege and law.”
Scarlet: “Am I to trust someone, whose proof of validity is pure bias?”
Matteus: “Healthy words for a sick man.”
Scarlet: “I hear your allies encircling us. Will they be able to save you?”
Scarlet reaches into Matteus’ chest.
Matteus: “We draw our hearts and only hope…vengeance is mine.”

Scarlet rips the heart from his chest, Matteus gasps and cringes taught contracting rigidly, as if his breath had been stolen, as he has owed death a life for ages, as his body begins to collapse the allies attack, Scarlet uses Matteus’ body as a shield and moves until he can run.

From rooftop, these late arrived allies watch in wait.

Dark energy from the warlock Malachi that burns the flying arrows that would harm him, the flash temporarily blinding the shooters, as the archers draw second arrows he sees their vantage and rushes toward their building, more arrowheads scatter at him running. Elsewhere archers trap Scarlet behind a wall, still holding the heart of Matteus. He takes a small jar and pours it onto the black heart, the heart begins to turn white and brittle, and as he crushes it in his hand, he inhales the white dust and black ash mixture. The archers watch Scarlet exit from hiding, shooting him with many arrows they watch each shatter and bounce from his skin or stick into his clothing.

Scarlet: “Wild hearts! I shall enjoy your macerations!”


















What's This....? 

Merlin 3:34 “Pyre & Procession"

Merlin 3:34 “Pyre & Procession”
~ @mjbanks

Outside the town, two riders approach a wall between the rocks from a trampled dry road among the dry landscape, wearing hoods and lying sick as they ride thrown on their horses, large leather cloaks mask them from the daylight. One of them lowers his leather gauntlet-glove along the side of the horse within shadow, to crumble a large crystalline salt stone, moments later the rolling clouds become a tolling thunder in the distance, the sky begins becoming evening and the men of bellum reveal themselves as Lord Scarlet and Malachi.

As the clouds solidify darkness they remove their hoods and dismount, antebellum magic stirs new thunder, inferred attack becomes when the evening scouts of the vampire encampment see Scarlet. He stands in the road checking his straps and passing his hands over his vestments counting his knives, they each cut their horses in the throats and cup a handful of blood and drink, a vampire rite of war, the horses seem almost calm and prepared for internecine.

Scarlet and Malachi dip clean fingers in bloody palm and adorn themselves with stripes of blood as war paint, they walk to the doors to hear them lock. Nickolas runs along the spines of rooftops, the growing shadows and coming storm begin to afford vampiric predators ever closer to him, his fortune runs short as he is struck by an arrow and eventually three more as others pass by him while he falls on pointed rooftop, pulling the arrows from his body while he falls. The hour of twilight is upon him as the sunset enraged burns a deeply acrimonious red submitting to the storm hour.

Scarlet: “Make me violence soon and loud, deferent parson, haste worth making, we’ve been made for the causes by these, our hopeful lost.”

Scarlet steps and Malachi approaches the doors of the wall between rocks, placing a diamond of jade on a lattice, waving his hand it begins to glow as he too removes, Scarlet shields only his eyes as the doors explode, the shrapnel wounds several within. They enter prepared, the crest divided still poises to fight until the end of time or the end of life divested.

Matteus: “Conquer them or die!”

A bow draws heavy and unleashes at Scarlet who grabs a makeshift shield to catch it, lowering to throw a blade into the archer’s throat with strong pitch, without pause, grabbing the sword from his back and begins to hack and hew and haw his insubordinates.

Pertinacity they see unequal combat from a great cold distance, the dark felons larger and arduously wit, Malachi seems to like the arrows piercing his armor, an explosive alchemy rune flies at the blood warlock, yet explosion bothers him little as he waves the nearing fire into subsiding. He approaches one of his brethren who attempts to summon black magic into a short sword, it burns rife with green fire, but before metal turns the black of ages, he must wield it against Malachi. He is unmatched as the warlock breaks weapons and arms to cut the vampiric throat, reaching around him to tear open the neck, with the other arm reaches into his ribs, and grabs his blackened dying heart to squeeze its final beats and blood, to drink from the fountain of its life.

Malachi: “Admonish a better introduction to death.”
Scarlet: “Look behind you!”

Malachi tosses the body with bloody hands and face and front, with such malice even Scarlet is set aback.

Eyes of whiteness darkened brightness higher sight of lower light ensorcell double visions for Merlin sensing proximity to Troy, and Ana, forthwith wit to the noise and the first fires in the fog, move closely toward the town as it begins to rain.

Merlin: “Ah, a city for these hills, as it rains it needs and I not. Lest are you partial to the rain, ought we to continue?”
Ana: “Better to be wet than wounded, but food for two of me and news from two of you.” (Looks at sky)
Merlin: “Can you make a battle in your midterm?”
Ana: “I will wait for greater fires or stay beyond the mist of war.”

Ana looks to the sky at Troy encircling, causing Merlin to notice, and phoenix-rider duo to land aside the forthcoming battle. Nickolas interned is giving into reincarnation, the lightning strikes and rain weakens as vampires hurry to climb slippery roof and breaking shingles beneath their clumsy haste. Between nearing thunders Nickolas flips to his back in some style of instinct, seeing phoenix above about to rescue him only to turn away as the arrows proliferate the free air space, so the newly resurrected slams a sword onto clay roof tiles and slides the other side of the roof away from his struggling pursuers.

After falling to the ground from roof edge, Nickolas wastes no time escaping the battle, sword in hand hiding behind shadows and slipping thru alleys, leaving many a foe to choose their fates, and when they cross him haste drives hate thrives waste to foe with blade thru major organs and throats to off again be.

Nick’s only way forward is to leave an alley and cross the open street, pausing and waiting and considering the noise, he runs into the lane only to be caught by Matteus in front of him and one lieutenant behind himself. Chaos anarchies twixt combined struggle and anent latched and grasping to kill each other, two against one, for at all times his blade is maim and striking foe one or both the other. Nick puts his sword thru the palm of the lieutenant and stabs it to Matteus’ chest, kicking the hilt into the first thus toppling both, yet they are without fail until Matteus, the rebel king, beheads the lieutenant with a misjudged swing.

An emasculated swathe and the latter become former, unfortunately thrown aside-upon his own blade, Matteus on knees with sword run-thru himself, staring at the blood and shoulders of his decapitated subordinate, as Nick continues to escape again. Fearing the result admixture of vampires and his own blood, Merlin also sneaks thru the blood war, as Matteus extracts the sword and rises again.

Malachi stalks the streets with fiery eyes until surrounded by several enemy kin, the blood of his blades burns until a magical red fog begins to fill the air as he ravages his pseudo betrayers, knifing seven one by one, the spell lifts as they fall poisoned by the red mist. Their open wounds, black edged and unsealing, only further contributing to their poisoning.

Malachi: “I grant thee disgust ye knew not in existence.”

The warlock Malachi walks into black smoke, of dire hatred contempt of joy and peace of these his brethren enemies.

Merlin finds Malachi in the street, Merlin puts a finger to his own lips to signify silence, he points to himself then to the left, he points to Malachi and to the right, and they nod their heads and follow those most separate paths.

  What's This     ?    

Merlin 3:33 "Sojourner"

Merlin 3:33 "Sojourner"
~ @mjbanks

A vast circle of dryness surrounding the site seen by Troy, master of a phoenix, Lugh of the white fire, flying on his firebird overhead eventually lands on nearby rocks, waiting and in watch before going to the abandoned and dry, vacant and desiccated city. Soon, eagerly, he climbs onto Alerion and flies to the town and lands on a flat patio roof, quick to dismount and both to crouch, looking down to the street he sees vendor carts with dried viands withered in the heat too quickly to rot, phoenix peeking with him closely sentient. He wanders the rooftops looking for trouble with his bow and arrow drawn. His boots brush rubble of a ledge as he climbs into a balcony above a lower jetty room, finding footprints in the dust he climbs the adjacent ledge and continues on further rooftop stealthily to seek Nickolas. He arrives outside where the vampires hold Nickolas at the time of his almost escape, peeking aside the small hole in the wall. The phoenix Alerion leaves its roost and lands in the street, scampering around the desolated thrufare and eating from the dried vegetables for seeds and the mounds of dried breads in piecemeal and crumbs. Troy turns to see the bird make a noise that echoes in the streets and ponders ploy, looking back to the hole and hearing the villains indoors. As they begin rebinding Nickolas, Troy notices his friend it is, and fires an arrow to phoenix.

The bright sunlight of rustic red atmosphere gloaming, a clouded day a third of fog overcasts, Troy hesitates before launching the arrow at his phoenix, his pale white fingers and leather bowman glove release an arrow, curving to aside it strikes a vendor cart to not hit Alerion. In much woe, he aligns and draws another arrow, the string stretches and arrow flies, this time hitting the phoenix in its hip. Silver arrowhead collides without damage, cut, or blood. However, the surprise startles the phoenix very much, making it angered and offended, it sees the first arrow lodged in wooden handcart, overturns it with a thrust of its beak then spreading its wings in umbrage butts, and dishevels things in great commotions. The noise a loud chaos enough to garner attention from the paranoid and intoxicated vampires, in an act of espionage they hurry down stairs into hallways to doorways near it, watching concernedly, plotting against it.

Back to the wall with the small opening Troy goes and puts his boot thru it, breaking it enough to enter, only one thereby vampire attacks and defenses delivered of combat, pulling Troy by his foot thru the wall, he begins kicking the undead fiend and releasing one of Nick's hands. He releases himself to rise again and fights with Troy against Custodius, kicking him into the sunset light. The vampire laughs in the light, not bursting to flames Nick takes a spear and pierces the vampire, holding the spike and running him to the wall, lodging him and the spearhead to the font of divine day, where the sunlight eventually begins to set the creature afire.

Nick: “We should go, now.”
Troy: “Together we can slay them all.”
Nick: “Ungraceful fie, siege I excel, and decidedly could not, we go, now.”

Two allies reunited, spiritually and tangibly, continently invigorate and brute vampires astray watch the phoenix take flight once sensing their presence, of evil it opens wings and rises from flowing orange flames that flush the doorway and dissipate quickly killing one, leaving the dryness drier and the warmth warmer. The shadows begin to grow in afternoon light, and one of them sees the hole in the upper building's wall, and the intruded face of Troy thru the dying flames and soulless embers of a phoenix counterpart. Watching vampires with hopes to fight them, Nick pulls Troy from the open wall. They rush returning, in duplicitous nature, which they are allied with roving chaste assigned duly, impure sensualists, harkening apace, wiry witnesses to fomenting familiar and inquisitive antagonists. The time is as they say in Midgard, an hour, until sunset. Troy hands Nickolas a small magic potion of power and one for himself they drink and embolden, readying themselves for combat.

Matteus and his inner circle of ally cadre run diligently, the shadows of the city cover more recesses as the other lesser caste of new vampires begins to wake, chosen by station to feed only when ordered they thirst for the immortal blood. As Matteus and the others reach the feeding chamber Troy is outside-on his phoenix, wings spread lifting into the air, seen thru the broken wall over the charred body, his arms spread reach for saddle horn as he leans forward, eyes certain and closing and looking to the sky.





  What's This     ? 

Merlin 3:32 “The Agony Scene”

Merlin 3:32 “The Agony Scene”
~ @mjbanks 

Afore a facetious fascinating society, shallows and quicksand alas withal the wells, as many strategically placed within the wall of the city already disastrously dry, a genuine drought in every shadowy quarter with dust between and covering every stone. At night, the vampires rattle carriages to bloodlust attack, so that both vampire and mercenary may drink, thrive, and share with their gypsy wives. Retribution, equivalent exchange effortlessly transpires of each rebirth of an immortal, by evil graces consumption drains life from the city’s people that their undying captive would defend. Having much strength from fresh blood they release Nick to toy with him, cats and mouse, when he kills one they laugh and chattel him to his new prison, to feed their heightened addiction he is drained again to death. The reincarnation consumes the land, poaching the water and life from the manna, heretofore causing the same malady that shuns tradesmen and tourists from a dying city haunted by leeches and rubes. If Nickolas is to escape, the clouds will need to once anew breathe air and pour tears of joy, but until such he proves and provides exquisite suffering, fear and frustration, ancient Nick would make by on dreams and damnation by those who prefer to wake in casket.

Dire desperate plants in the dust despite the first day of autumn, only the summer succulents growing, arid is the wasteland and tired are the clouds, a xeric fortified town now of clay and infernality. A town amid a terrible drought, where the surrounding forest begins to turn to first faintly of yellows, this town is earthen and dying as if noon has overstayed its import. Of it a large double doorway, a blood-drunk harvester of innocence named Matteus with infinite degrees of destruction, looking at Nickolas with the malaise of drug-addled miscomprehension, staring but not seeing, glaring but not being, rife with sate condemnation and wroth. Aside, the den of dealers of death, sentries reminiscing of remnant centuries, infamous savages less than noble aspiring to dash the hopes of daybreak and pollute the starry breeze with rare potent poisons and powers, of the rose vines crawling thru their hallucinations cavalierly assuaging thru the ether, discussing what the crafted markings mean on the dagger belonging to Nickolas.

Their leader, Matteus, disconnected from reality most of all, to slight every tempted ethos epic in shelter of vision and preciosity. Coarse and indifferent to temperance and purity, success and nature, simply staring at the immortal prisoner, a sacrificial room in a prison in a fort, its times of distresses a mental perception to the common precept.

Nickolas stares at a ray of sunlight shining thru dusty air into his dark confinement, a sign of light, a ray of hope, the vampire thereof does not squint from its presence, the guard walks skin temporarily thru the light, the flesh does not burn brightly with flames of all vampires’ curse. Though unbeknownst to Nick and his close pacing captor, the flesh without fire spotted unsurely by Matteus, desperate to escape, prisoner begins screaming wretchedly angrily horrible.

Nick: “Fine, take my soul, thee fiends of Hel! Break the covenant of decency, strafe me from the unbalanced war, these lives, harlots, and roamers, wanderers, and nomads, vagabonds and devils-you drink my blood from my wrists and put your throats in my grasp forevermore!”

The guard looks to Matteus, who in leaving the second room of ruffians affirms permission to drink in default from an immortal Nick once more. They drink from him his pain imbued by rank and file the likes arisen to his screams in discourse to leave them ever continually their fountain of life, and by time do they depart.

Custodius: “You may have part of your request.”

The vampire turns his fettered hand and drinks from wrist, a pain splashes Nick’s face, struggling as the teeth pierce, and pain turns to sorrow as he imagines imprisonment. The vampire leaves blood spilt on Nick’s arm and stands, only to nearly fall backwards into the wall, colliding with some force just enough to roll his eyes unfixed, inebriation from the blood desire given. Nickolas begins to tear into his own arm in pulling shackles and gyves, slow to hide his efforts from the noisy room at open doorway, tearing at his hidden hand giving new blood mixing with what that had spilled in camouflage of intoxicate haze and blood-scent hidden from whetted thirsts.

In the ignominious and pale light of shadows and secrecy Matteus moves to an area alone, among the unnatural and disturbed abandonment of a town, emptied by a warring plague of rogue vampires paired with drought that leaves an unattended commune and the lifeless bodies of the brave in every street. He approaches a doorway flooded with light, pausing to look out at one of those bodies, then again to the light itself, aversively approaching, terrified encroaching, on some effortless reproaching of the brightly day of light. He outstretches his hand to touch the warmth as he had seen his comrade brush, and the joy of the sun is his, to hold in his palm, a thousand joyful memories of fascinations from a millennium ago fill his heart and mind, the warmth embraces sensation to help ignore the disgrace of humanity lost. Convivial expression and jovially taken for granted, the prints of his fingers and hand begin to redden and melt with pain of insidious curse, however learning that Nick’s blood drives his thirst immeasurable. Pulling his hand into the shadow a fist, opening his grasp to watch wounds heal, to his comrades he returns to guard possession retreating in contempt from the fantasy of his ideology.

Nick frees his own hand, and in the guard’s neglect, his other hand and feet, with the iron shackle he cuts throat of guard to silence scream, then dashes thru the room passed vampires now in chase, but he is stopped by Matteus, grabbing Nick by the throat and lifting him, without smile. Nick stabs the palm of Matteus and takes the piercing blade, the blood spills and minions try to catch the blood to drink from their cupped hands, desperate for only a drop of their elder, to know his memories, his undead strength. Matteus tosses Nick to them to stop their stealing of his blood secrets.




...

Budding

[link]Thanksgiving is for sociopaths - Salon.com[/link]

The first line, it should be comma but; apparently okay with egregious grammar at the ole blowhard saloon. But for the occasional amusing asshattery, I'd never intentionally visit salon. 'Can't write good article. Must wait in line for depraved sentimental object from sterile warehouse, ugh. Me trample others and take from grasping hands for material possession while forsaking sustainability,' spake the leftlike Neanderthal columnist while hastily finishing the article. 

“I have come to the conclusions that politics are too serious a matter to be left to the politicians.” Charles de Gaulle

So, the 'pilgrims' were flippant, eating a lot of meat in the summer, and the indigenous people offered to help the pilgrims farm, but they rejected the offer. -- Stop me if you've heard this one. -- The indigenous had harvest and hunted the game, which they had rightful claim, and the pilgrims were left dumbfounded, the indigenous were generous and helped them not starve. It's more of an entitled socialist holiday, a bunch of wealthy and disconnected self-righteous puritans needed a bailout because they refused to prepare and screamed about being persecuted when in actuality they were merely blatantly pissed because no one would let them be fascists.

  “Under every stone lurks a politician.” Aristophanes

I'm thankful for capitalism. I think it strange, salon likes to say it's been in operation since the dawn of the digital era, and yet that's when things began getting steadily distant from reality, this reality that is. Every cool holiday the puritanical establishment likes to fashion into a something that is our tradition to one of a secular doctrine, so I'm also thankful the supreme chancellor is forever closer to being out of office. If my picture of the dinner plate doesn't load, try refreshing the page, it wouldn't load to the avian-named site, perhaps a bird on bird conflict of pinterests. LOLOCAUSTIC

"The politicians don't just want your money. They want your soul. They want you to be worn down by taxes until you are dependent and helpless. When you subsidize poverty and failure, you get more of both.” ~ James Dale Davidson

The U.S. can uselessly archive every goddam tweet in the Library of Congress, but they can't stop levying taxes, with monetized debt and devalued currency, on the unborn generations?

“The tree of liberty must be watered periodically with the blood of tyrants and patriots alike. It is its natural manure." Thomas Jefferson

Rock hen, 'ranch dressing' packet seasons (don't shake and bake, instead sprinkle), hoisted onto an open (tasted) beer can. Sweet potato, carrot, honey ginger maple curry sauce. Scrawny asparagus. Homemade rye beer-bread. H2O

Time: 45 minutes.

A conservative and a libertarian walk into a bar and have drinks. The conservative asks the libertarian, "What do you call a right wing conservative?" and the libertarian replies, "I don't know. What?" and the conservative answers, "a republican," and they both laugh. The libertarian decides to add a rejoinder by rhetoric, asking, "What do you call a left wing libertarian?" and the conservative replies, "I don't know. What?" and the libertarian answers, "a democrat," and they both laugh. 

"A statesman is a politician who places himself at the service of the nation. A politician is a statesman who places the nation at his service" ~ Georges Pompidou

I thought sociopath was a word reserved for pathological liars aka politicians, and/or people who generalize about anything up to and including that everyone who loves thanksgiving is a sociopath. I also take deep offense, some of the best voices in my head are sociopaths and we are the borg. It amazes me how much SOME of you all claim to be normal, yet leave the future in such a terrible mess. Also, I would like to think that I wouldn't pardon a turkey named Popcorn. The unemployment rate didn't shrink, the benefits expired, only 100 million people are working. Worst president ever. The next one better not suck so much ass. Pagan holidays, coincidentally were celebrating the same traditions, before taxes, yet none dare call it conspiracy.

“It does no harm just once in a while to acknowledge that the whole country isn't in flames, that there are people in the country besides politicians, entertainers, and criminals.” ~ Charles Kuralt

"Architectural Genetics"

Excerpted from, "Destruction Through Technological Progress" 

"...we must look at our origins, and find new ways to establish extropy, the genesis of our apotheosis will be our apotheogenesis, now is time for neolution, we must both join and become the singularity..."  ~ Drs. Walter Bishop and William Bell.

So you're on a deep-space transport from the Privada system to the Valor Prisma system and you need something new to read, maybe you should datagram something from the Technocracy Genre, because your fellow pilots have told you so much about it and now that you've been released from Picor (Pilot Corp) and have the free time, but you don't know what it is, well let me try to summarize it and let you on your way.   

Technocracy, is not cyberpunk, but a subset of the genre, told from the perspective of the cyborgs ("Intelligence" CBS), androids ("Almost Human" FOX), singularity-and-humans ("Person of Interest" CBS), [and in part, characters designated 'Observers' in one of my favorites "Fringe" FOX], etc. The prior defining adaption, thereof nature, and the latter defining adoption, thereof nurture.

Whereas cyberpunk often depicts humans coping within evolving technology as detectives and journalists in noire settings, complete with fascist governments or decaying corporate-commercial societies being destroyed/saved by entrepreneurs, instead the technocracy genre focuses on the survival of the technocrats in regard to society en masse, as opposed to its levy.

In other words, an antihero (tritagonist) aberration, not a rebellion, as necessity invokes invention, invention in this case necessitates a fear within the antagonist(s). Readers of this genre (and any other liberally applied fiction) should examine the consequences and apprehend how humanity is defined when it is abandoned in and of itself.

• ITWT, @mjbanks

-

Lyric Subtlety

"Le Madeyoulook"

Raining Blood Lyrics - Slayer:

Every time I hear "Raining Blood" by Slayer, "Trapped in purgatory, a lifeless object, alive, awaiting reprisal, death will be their acquisition."


Yes, this is another obsessive blogger entry. No, I cannot read your mind on demand when you are unfocused, and that would be cheating regardless.

What I hear the singer say, is, "death will be their quittance." If you're a grammar fiend, like me, you know the two words are different and still very similar, a remuneration is transferred in both, so kudos to the internet, or cloud, or technological singularity - resistance is futile. I recently heard English has the most words, passive or active, twice as many as the next language, maybe even after ignoring loan-words. So, worried, I would be, heretofore, in the damnedest with only a dearth of locutions, I will have had anon begun learning a second language, to learn the wroth and loth and ire and besot of poesy in another prose...

...si querer, tiene que recordar,
si di que si, queres tiene que entienda....

I thought y'all would find this interesting, I was looking for a Medieval English version of "quittance" when I found this. Very telling, ....the truth about the quitter.

Circa "1150AD to 1580AD," said the web addy for: 

Quitter, sb. filth that runs from a wound, HD: quytur, rottenness, HD; quytere, W2; quitture, DG. (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/10625/10625-h/dict2.html)

Oh look, here we go.... 1,000 A.D.

Quyten, v. to requite, repay, settle, satisfy, S2, C2, C3, PP, W, H; quiten, S2, PP; quitte, pt. s. G; qwit, H; quyt, pp., PP; y-quit, C2.—OF. quiter; Late Lat. quietare.

Perhaps you're a 1,200 A.D. kind of crowd...

quittance (n.)
c.1200, "payment, compensation;" c.1300, "discharge from an obligation," from Old French quitance (Modern French quittance), from quiter (see quit (v.)).

That of "take revenge; to answer, retort" and "to acquit oneself" are late 14c.

Quitter, above states is a filth that pays itself, successful people have been saying it, and I'm inclined to agree. Let's not forget this now gives new meaning to the computer term "Force Quit," considering this column began with a Slayer's Raining Blood, rederpless, I am quit of this.

For my longtime readers, the new modes of my madness:
M, magic, -twenty+ to Four
NT, main cast, alien invaders, maybe some accidental time travel
BH, iambic interstellar detective cop, rare (bored I changed the character to chick)
G, intentional time travel, first person
O/H+, new, not just for me, but new altogether, post-humanism intergalactic technocracy fiction, first chapter in coming weeks/months, I've seen it already, but I think you'll like it, spoilers, and an eventual crossover with others in reverse order. 


Requiem en pace. Godspeed. 

"All goes wrong when, starved for lack of anything good in their own lives, men turn to public affairs"  Plato

If Tech Were Tabloid

And Eng, by Nari

Anding is a simple elimination process in binary supernetting. (0/1=0, 1/1=1, 1/0=0, 0/0=0) Here is a shorthand And, and an accented Eng. It is also known by &&, used to delineate demarcation between Network and Host portions of address schema when filtering logical portions remanded by default gateway via L3 Network Layer, or that is making routing decisions based on subnet masks to separate sections of a network in similar fashion to a virtual lan port assignment/designation would, but without the physical limitations of switch/router/hybrid device physical topology or mandatory port logical configurations; which in VLANs occurs in the L2 Data Link layer that I wish they would just call it the Link Layer, because all of the other OSI layers only have one word names. 



Question 1,

Link Layer is ________,
A) Where the overlords attach our shackles to our bodies.
B) The docking port on a space station.
C) An OSI layer b/w L1 physical operations and L3 datagram length encapsulation/decapsulation. (*to L4 Transport Layer and before L4-L7 packet switching occurs, L4-L7 similar to the TCP/IP protocol layers/stack.)
D) An underground night club for tech gurus.
E) A bachelor hideaway for Princess Zelda's beau.
F) An internet forum and message board for international blackmarket trading.
G) An industrial machine used to create railroads. 

Question 2,

True or False.


Politicians shouldn't be allowed to make their own decisions. Now that everyone will have healthcare - except for the millions who just lost their plans, those who face the unfortunate experience of doctor shortages, and those who had their care rationed from them due to federal cost analysis that was originally the same exact fucking reason used to demonize health insurance companies - maybe the zealots on capitol hill could start trying to make it cheaper.

Awesome Sponsor

Review of
Shunryu Suzuki, the teachings of, "Zen Mind, Beginner's Mind." 
by @mjbanks 
for Diarrheal Anemic Liberal Economy 


I'd listened to the audiobook gazillions of times, and decided to give it a once-over, it's a book full of examinations of the pure practices involved in religion, the nameless religion, not the cults or the groups of angry mobs. It has a lot of truth that really helped me understand the world, not so much that the book matched something in me that I appreciated, but that it had a lot of truth to offer. The book is a collection of speeches that zen master Suzuki gave over the years that had been recorded in pieces, because going to hear a conservative lecture is by far not a new thing as much as it sadly has become a newly forgotten thing. Much are tales of events and traditions not unique to any one demographic, in that I mean, commonalities of goodly deeds that all can enjoy. For those of you wise to Buddhism know that zen, imho, is not the same as the 'Schools of Buddhism' cult, you probably know the book infamously. The teachings center on focus, practice, and ...well, centering oneself. Not an oppressive liturgy of guidelines it offers Suzuki's words complete without expectations. You can call it a self-help book, it is a book, it might help, I can only say that with it my understanding of my favorite tenets from the book, as I write this, are 'right practice' and 'dharma ridden' dharma being laxly translated as laws, and in turn has made be a better pseudo Catholic. If you're still lost, the bible teaches many of Buddha's teachings in a 'protestant' fashion (for lack of a better word) and Buddha is kinda like a Jesus, just without the same persecution. One of my favorite quotes from it is, "The teaching which is written on paper is not the true teaching," which sounds like the holy spirit now that I think  about it. Think "teach" the verb, not the noun, as in 'to teach" not 'a book'. Whatever it is, let it happen, selfless and ascetic (NOT AESTHETIC), I'm not making you read it, you're not making me not tell you about the book. It has some of the famous "Koans" or we might call them, 'deep questions', when I learned about free will, kinda, my review. There's one about a dog, apparently dogs didn't bark in the ancient world, and the question is, "do dogs have Buddha-nature?" or 'holy nature' and the answer is literally "Mu," or the teacher barks at the answer, and I thought to myself, 'does a dog have enlightenment?' and I answered myself, 'who cares, it's a fucking dog, that's what it really is,' be what you are, this is the right understanding.

It has a Twitter API "https://twitter.com/zenmind_"  @zenmind_

Merlin 3:31 “Diminished to Be”

Merlin 3:31 “Diminished to Be”
‡ @mjbanks

Outside as the rain becomes faint a rider charges to the checkpoint, trotting over the bridge wearing leather tarp over himself despite the subsiding weather, just in time to see the once dapper dude, drained of vital blood in torn clothes, tossed into the ravine that spans beneath it. In mode of joining the array of bones unseen in ages of rages, as creatures crawl beneath the bridge on ancient spun silk caves behind web-woven cages awaiting prey, watching the body fall, the approaching emissary comes to halt and speaks to a sentry.

Nuncios (rider): "What was the purpose of that?"
Floricus: (sentry): "Never have I seen our mad sisters shrike with such a lovely force, it is bothered by nothing and troubled by force, how nothing has its ways. An arbitrage of trader come traitor, unto a sin the king dare not forget."
Nuncios: "Ah, take me to our king, for I have cause that awaits not this storm to pass."

The sentry takes the horse’s reins and allows Nuncios to dismount and eventually handing the horse to another as they approach the door, near the tunnel entrance, a man soaked waits to dry with a sentry before escort to the doors and not a moment sooner. A common thing as vampires amicably part is now spoke.

Floricus: “Paint is black, my friend.”
Nuncios: “Paint it black, Floricus.”

Floricus opens the door saying nothing, which though allows Nuncios to enter the interior tunnel with permission. Passing the wagon the trader had brought, watching soldiers open and unload chests of precious metals, scoffing at their worth, to be taken and added to the dungeons filled with treasure unappreciated, Nuncios and armed escorts approach the king.

Lord Scarlet: "What news do you bring, old boy…?"
Nuncios: "It is a matter cursed, most delicate and secret. For your ear if I may, approach your lordship."
Lord Scarlet: "Approach me, Nuncios."

Nuncios: quietly, “There is confirmation at the loss and finding of Matteus, betrayal as warned, holed with the immortal and a gang now unlawfully doubling in the dozens, as you had supposed, master.”
Lord Scarlet: quietly, "Whence does my traitor turn new coven without license?”
Nuncios: "A drought and debauchery ensconcing hie twelve leagues from here. Then moved to a second of their locales, fiends of the lifeblood, easily forthwith confused not farther three leagues of thence that.”
Lord Scarlet: "Lie to me, and be purged.”
Nuncios: “Assuredly it is not.”
Lord Scarlet: “Then come with me directly…. The queen has the court!”

Directly the lord of Scarlet and Nuncios depart from the throne room, thru the ballroom to the foyer, thru a door in the antechamber, a narrowed stairwell to the lower catacombs and deeper recesses of the castle on hidden fortress. Deep into the dungeons, delving there as any commotion subsides with fear and respect, the guards stand at attention, the closest prisoners prostrate themselves with faces to the floor, farther it recedes where immortal deaths are kept until conceding defeat, the king overlords the dungeon scowling at the starving monsters of the deep, whose unlocked cages yet remain closed.

Lord Scarlet: “This moment, one of you, will be purposed at my will, your spirits in cages to be broken, which among, a blood warlock, will volunteer?”

A raggedy man, a tortured soul behind two closed metal doors hears the question, he strains and shouts to accept the deed, his cell sealed by cage and then again doors, eager to escape, most and more dangerous than most.

Malachi: “I accept this chore!”
Outside of the doors king and warden do stand.
Lord Scarlet: “What say you to his expertness in war?”
Warden: “Easily his kills are loyal to war, he revels in the waste of blood, indulgent in coven and covetousness, so in thus might ally betray.”
Lord Scarlet: “Taste your heated blood like water, and make him approach.”

The doors break thru creaking ages of dust and open to a golden cage, wherein the prisoner shackled to a leaden chair leaning forward and hung over a bed of knives, guards approach holding torches and whips, more with spears tautly grasped, the name Malachi etched to a small silver bar hangs around his neck.

Malachi: “Why do the lesser criminals not leave?”
Lord Scarlet: “Where would they wend? Where would they rather be? Being outcast, insanity allows our vestiges of humanity to rebirth them, tho it is different for you. You may have forgotten your felony, but your bonds in this world have not, and older than your guards your cage is older than this mountain itself. Release him.”

Once freed from shackles and chains he does not immediately kneel, so the guards buckle his knees with their boots. Scarlet cuts his own palm, it fills with blood, he makes Malachi drink, but soon pulls him by hair, to look Malachi in eyes and hold a knife to his white starved throat.

Lord Scarlet: “Where your scars become, I will know where. Now, as I shall breathe, the winds of the world gather for your arrest. If you are commanded on my mission, how will you behave?”
Malachi: “A great deal of attention, some salacious, much of it condemnatory, all of it destructive.”
Lord Scarlet: “And if you betray me I’ll find the birth of the next mountain and strangle you until buried under it, your personal enemy eternal, do you recognize this possibility?”
Malachi: “Yes, lord.”
Lord Scarlet: “...bring him.”

Lord Scarlet releases angrily and turns from him and walks, the guards grab Malachi's arms and then follow bringing him into the main hall as Scarlet waits for Malachi to choose. The condemned to madness cowering with the audible sounds of fears, each caged cell whose patron screams lone in protest chorus, they whom chosen are desperate to keep their cage securely closed and keep their precious little blood, the guards prying to open the gates of their hell for Malachi to regain strength insatiable by the taste of death.

Merlin 3:30 “Honorificabilitudinitatibus”

Merlin 3:30 “Honorificabilitudinitatibus”
~ @mjbanks

Dampness holds the air and layers the pastures unto the mountain oblivion cleped House Scarlet, the bleak and dark sky looming and occasionally thunderous, a general haze of cloud and soft dreich outside the altitude. The obfuscating shadows the veins of silence coursing over the jagged edges of grey mountainside, arteries of darkness to play illusion of the mind an imperial monastery for creatures of nightfall, where cliff and bluffs make rife an unforgiving clime a relentless treachery. The sign of existence daunting as a branch of lightning in the overcast stretches ever brightly and disappears, a thunder again over the countryside surrounding the mountain fortress.

Indoors almost forlorn, a scornful gaze of Lord Scarlet staring at the flames of candles on the long wall-side table draped in cloth, motionless in white beneath empty salvers and utensils of sup that never occurs, his elbow resting on the throne to hold a chalice of blood beside his eye. A modicum of dust drifts from the ceiling to his cup as a slowly pace subsidiary to the court patience, as he lifts to his lips drinks before it taints the blood chilled by the dank air and candlelight. All patrons silent and still like poised dead and ethereal, silent and stationary, even those not counting the dust that choose to walk handholding are in tantric pace with the slow speed of ages to each event. The sound of shared thought stationary, a heartbeat of the living would be in haste of the dead society.

Mortal, human, rider approaches the castle transporting ruggedly a wagon full of stolen jewelry plentiful in amount and pristine by the terms of its unlawful acquisition, and four box coffins, shoddy by assembly although strongly built enough for the imprisonment of live prisoners, whose wrists are bound and mouths wrapped. At the checkpoint hamlet, the driver attains permission and crosses the bridge to castle basin, the lightning clamoring and rain beginning to increase. Thru the interior tunnel and then the doors to one of the foyers, the human waits as herald announces him in vagueness.

Herald: “A trader…enters.”

The paucity of consortium begins, the denizens begin to move and speak more frequently, some blinking their eyelids the first of days, looking to others the first of weeks, whetting their voices the first of months, some asking where conversations had halted. Other small talk of reemerging sorts, lighting the lamps and feeding fires all in show as the doors open for the human, whom soon has audience with the bloodlust king.

Red Art: “I have brought the apothecary as you have asked.”
Lord Scarlet: “And you will be paid, this exchange will happen now and you will leave.”
Red Art: “I seek an alternative form of payment.”
Lady Scarlet: “What prey to tell, ulterior remuneration?”
Red Art: “I know what this place…is, what you are, and I wish to be, one with the night …immortal.”
Lord Scarlet: “Did you bring the alchemist?”
Red Art: “In many moons I traveled east to return with him west again, I have, Lord Scarlet.”
Lady Scarlet: “The transfusion requires many lives, many deaths that you are not afforded and are not worth. My lord, this is distasteful.”
Red Art: “No, I have brought to you four bodies, not one, and much treasures of gold and silver, even if but to only let me depart.”
Lord Scarlet: “Kill him and inspect the piecemeal.”
Red Art: “Dearly not oh wisest lord do please reconsider! I am a simple man, a simple man!”
Lord Scarlet: “There are many reasons you are not meant for this world.”
Red Art: “So be it, I will leave unabashed!”
Lord Scarlet: “This bores me ever so, Jester, sentence this worm fashionably.”

As guards catch the struggling trader by both arms as he tries to escape, where the wall meets the ceiling a red curtain hangs over no window, it waves aside to reveal a court jester smiling, who turns his back to all people of the room.

A jester’s dance begins as his hands reach upward and over his head to stretch back to the floor with his body arching. His knees rise and ankles drape and he soon puts his heels to the floor again still facing-away, he turns his body sideways and spins head over shoulder a slow cartwheel maneuver, again a second time paused to stand on only one hand, and looks cross at the trader upside-down. The acrobat puts his other hand down and falls like a hacked tree, his feet toward the trader he reaches into the air, his shoulders lift from the stone floor supernaturally, he does not stop standing upright as he leans forward and grasps the trader’s throat.

Holding and choking him and carrying him from the guard’s hold to the wall, dragging victim’s heels and knocking his skull on the wall, as the oxygen depletes a blue face of prey, the courtesan jester’s fangs begins to show.

Jester: “You have a grave ignorance, bleeder, breather, our existence is not immortality, we are all dead here. For crime of treason, bondage of betrayal, and greed of instinct, you have seen the face of death your final time.”

The jester lunges his jaws at the trader’s throat, every vampire within the walls of the nearby rooms stop talking and turns to face the kill, listening to death and taking deep scents of bliss and blood, the king and his courtesans begin clapping.

Lord Crimson: “Benevolent, simply benevolent, a fine jester indeed – search his carriage and bring me the bodies alive!”
Lady Crimson: “It is to laugh, buying his freedom.”

Her closest friends of the court laugh with her as she takes a drink from a chalice of gold and glass diamonds glittering, as a guard points to two under-ranking soldiers and they depart, returning with the humans, arriving shocked and awed, one of which almost collapses before forced to stand, weak and fearing bloody thorn-like smiles. The king stands and approaches, gesturing the guards to lift the weak one into stance.

Lord Crimson: “Take this one to the atelier. Which of you three whom wishes to be vampire will kneel in this moment, stand and you may leave this room.”

He gives them ample pause, strutting-away then toward and across pacing side, first and third kneels to both knees with lachrymose heads hung, and the intermediary remains standing.

Lord Crimson: “Drink and throw him into the ravine.”
Dude: “Nooooooo!”
Lord Crimson: “You two will be dead inside your hearts before you know it.”

Lord Crimson pushes him to hungry princesses who feed at every available place amongst themselves above his belt, struggling without avail and soon gasping silence. Crimson grabs the collars of the other two and drags them to the doors, where at the larger hall holds them for the many thirsty vampires resuming stillness and patience, in respect to their king tossing as he names them.

Lord Crimson: “Turn these two, this will be Tiberius, and this will be Cornelius, make music and rejoice!”

The many vampires rush and mirth to the frightened men, only to hoist and carry them on their shoulders into another room, drinks and dancing and violins.

Post-Structuralism, I

Tennessee State Senator Brian Kelsey's Gift to HHS Secretary Kathleen Sebelius - "Websites for Dummies"

Classic. HHS Sec gets "Websites for Dummies," it's times like these that renew my hope. 
Get it?
The 630 million dollar website that is either broke or breaking people's wallets/purses, which the US government is paying the same company to fix, all to sell insurance at a federal level, which is against the law b/c the US constitutional system is not allowed to profit from its public. Well that site is broken, because it was a government closed-market interpretation that doesn't make healthcare any cheaper, not even cheaper by the rates of its own site. Kill the Commiesaurus. We should all agree that humans and dinosaurs need not coexist. She looks like she doesn't get it, why the book, why ppl are ungrateful for the income assault, for the minimum wage underemployed clusterfuck, for the people who want empirical evidence and not a bureaucratic sob story, for a govt that makes costs increase and problems persist only to sell the problem as the solution, for a disconnected elitist pseudo-intellectual arrogant view of solutions as attacks on their liberal sensibilities. She glares of flippancy and arrogance, as if to wonder her purpose, from what I know she doesn't get, nor do her comrades in perpetual egocentric soul-devouring envy.

The word that is to fittingly describe the dangers of split infinitives.

Tao? Yesterday.
Zen? Today.
Love? Tomorrow.
Sex? Health.
Music?

I found this blurb yesterday, as follows,

Wikipedia, "Antipositivism (also known as interpretivism or interpretive sociology) is the view in social science that the social realm may not be subject to the same methods of investigation as the natural world; that academics must reject empiricism and the scientific method in the conduct of social research. Antipositivists hold that researchers should focus on understanding the interpretations that social actions have for the people being studied. Antipositivism relates to various historical debates in the philosophy and sociology of science. In modern practice, however, interpretivism may be equated with qualitative research methods, while positivist research is more quantitative. Positivists typically use research methods such as experiments and statistical surveys, while antipositivists use research methods which rely more on ethnographic fieldwork, conversation/discourse analysis or open-ended interviews. Positivist and antipositivist methods are sometimes combined."



I would add, also known as revisionism, or, lacking object permanence. Interpretists, seem like they could be called just plain lazy, I wouldn't call them pessimists, but I might call them protectionists or alarmists. It could be called liberalism because its an opinion before facts, sometimes never reaching point of fact, which is okay in some cases, but smacks of pessimism. A pessimist might say, even in theory, if the sky were to fall, we're all together fucked now, if not, probably still are. The interpretist says the sky IS falling, flakes, hosers, politicians, poseurs, fakes, jerks, dbags, etc., and despite proof they become revisionists and again insist the sky is falling. Antipositivists become parasites and destroyers. The current US mandated/imposition healthcare model is based on Switzerland's, they survived the socialists collapse of the global economy because they refuse to let people devalue their standard of living, not because they made everyone wear brown shirts.

...the quote above says 'for the people being studied' and 'rely on fieldwork', yet you and I know the behavior of the someone being observed instantly and forever changes when the person being watched learns they are being watched; that subject itself is called "Reactivity", and is the center of my fictional forays and in both my understanding and plight of this reality.

Wikipedia, "It [Reactivity] is a significant threat to a research study's Internal Validity and is typically Controlled when using Blind Experiment designs."


It brings one question, so I'll ask it.
Rhetorical Section:
In the state of gratification being that of materialism and the renunciation of emotional pain being directly corollary to acceptance of impermanence, the adoption of ascetics, and the renewal of focus in one's own life, there is peace in understanding and value in all honesty. If then such is so, are medical services a need of mind or body, in such a way that free will would prevent premature illness in the way that autocracy cannot, or are needs of the mind and body by a governing forced will (on others) a medical service, or if else is atonement and/or vindication and/or retribution the proper penance for not doing so properly in either case?

#Samhain
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Demonic Reliquary

Somethings you have for long periods forgotten because of the strange genetic indifference. This I've had for a decade and I forgot it existed, all things considered, I'd like to know what it says. Neither my phone browser nor the language app can scan it for decoding. As I assume its purpose I'd guess that its not that old and the writing is 10th century Japanese (or more likely 20th century imperial army defector). I'll never know without help because I don't speak calligraphy, my clan stopped drawing on cave walls at least a year ago, it is relatively for a predicative measure to protect my insanity and grey matter, at least enough to remember that being unemployed its in fashion and appropriate to call myself a writer and an artist, which I thought was high time to do here in an entry and not in my sentry day by dailies. Ultimately I'm hoping that it is either the gaffer's name, which I add, I will take care of your bottle; or that it be something of a more fantastical element. I more wish earnestly that it is a demons' prison or a soul catcher or something. It could be how the slaves of vampires transport blood to their dark masters, some may say that it isn't even empty and that concerns me enough to warrant knowing what the sigil means, I've already opened the cork so......; There are any number of things it can do, perhaps it will save the souls of the dying, to be released at the sacred garden, or perhaps it captures souls for vile sanctimonious spells of incarnate wrath, were it to open may hap the souls of warlocks be drawn within it, so that those wicked casters of disaster spells be held captive and in contempt of court, or contempt of courtesans in parlor trick stealing people's shadows at parties to disillusion paranoid tyrants and amaze children who are as cynical because of young age; or even worse, the souls of the innocent stolen for martyr spells;

I don't know if it is cursed containing the world's most dangerous demons in current existence, and perhaps a few misguided Simonians, or not, and like some bad pelicula an international imports company just happened to sell to someone downtown a reliquary that becomes the demise of daylight, and I now have it, it would be disconcerting in the least. So yeah, I'm going to ask my buddy on darknet to translate it for me. It may have some Valkyrie use, holy oil, to transport or ferment the most dangerous poisons from the serpents of the depths of hell, or better yet could instantly bless water, or turn it into wine; I'd really like it to catch demons, but wouldn't we all - if it even caught ghosts or jinn, that'd be cool, and i think glass doesn't hold deities, it might've likely come from someone who bought dragon breath and the symbols kept it from melting; in any case it's served its purpose shared and now I can fill it with the five elements and break it on top of a mountain so that the world be covered in magic and the good be given greater strength to defend themselves from bureaucracy and other crazy acts of inadequate folly overcompensation. Bound to a soul so that the moment it breaks I die, intensely, or a secret society that prays to bottles, hoping an alchemy spirit is summoned within it, thousands of children around the world looking at an empty bottle hoping for a genie to do their bidding. It's probably easier to walk the line between fantasy and reality when on the ground between the two, the tightrope seems more suitable for creatures with wings. I knew a dude who thought he hunted demons and died during an illegal search and seizure, but failed to survive in his understanding of the world when he couldn't think outside of the box, and by that I mean, because after he couldn't trap them in a box, so he tried to stop them with it.

If you have outlawed fiction because you are leftists, or have done so because you are rightists, there are worse things than monsters....

Īṣa Upaniṣad, The Inner Ruler, Isha 3, "There are demon-haunted worlds, regions of utter darkness. Whoever in life denies the Spirit falls into that darkness of death."