After Gene R. Raaantogram had left, Monica walked over to one of the communication hubs she’d installed all over the facility. She input Giorgio’s extension.
“Come down for your upload,” she said.
“Is he gone?” Came the reply from Gio.
“Yeah, you were right. We’re going to have to use plan B.”
“Okay I’ll be right down to talk about it.”
Five minutes later Gio was plugged into the revosucker trying to acquire knowledge pertaining to the cannibalistic peoples of the world.
“So do you think we should start with his job or his family?” Giorgio giggled a little after his question as images and text about the horrific things the builders of Easter Island were forced to do after all the birds went extinct funneled through his brain stem and into his brain.
Monica sat cross-legged on the floor next to the device, head in hands, eyes closed.
“I still can’t believe our goodcop/badcop didn’t work on him. I thought we had that one down. I studied the full archive on police shows before he got here… You did make sure to threaten him didn’t you Gio?”
Giorgio was watching/feeling/learning how to shrink a human head.
“Of course I threatened him Moni! And I was sure we had him too, you should have seen the fear in his eyes…Right now we need to focus on getting Sal out, but I would imagine that if Gene loses everything while the world’s internet appears to be crashing, he’ll be in a better place to accept opportunities during his next interview.”
“That’s true,” said Monica, “but I say we take his job and family on the same day, after we re-proposition him.”
“I love it,” said Giorgio gaining all the knowledge required to put someone on a spit without losing the juicy organs.
Friday, November 20, 2009
Friday, November 13, 2009
Gene to AG: The (new) Assigner
http://nanotexts.blogspot.com/2009/11/waiting-room-day-four-results-1.html
This office and the lives ended here were not what typically came to mind when he was here. It was his first entry into this room that still haunted him. When things were different and so was he. Not yet Anagram Generator, but Gene R. Raaantogram. On that day he was running late, trying to get home to his wife and new son, Gene, Jr. The day had started out pleasant enough, but a dead battery stalled him in his tracks, fixing his tires to the pounded pavement. Thick cumulonimbi blocked any chance of charge from the sun.He cursed the rotten electro-swiper who most likely had used the power on some little suped-up hot mod to terrorize the pedestrians. Didn't they realize he had places to be?Just as he stepped out of the car, a junky looking Volvo pulled up beside him."Do you like the Violent Femmes?"The driver was wearing a battered brown jacket and a winning smile. Gene R. Raaantogram was confused. Who was this strange man with this strange internal combustion vehicle? Where did he come from? Where does he buy gasoline? He hesitated, but the driver gave him a reassuring nod and popped the passenger door."You're going home, right?""Ye-yes?""Thought so. This is Louise," he said, giving the dashboard a pat, "and I'll be your driver today. Sit back and relax and we'll have you there in no time. How's Gene Jr.?""Wha? How do you know all this?" Gene was instinctively reaching for the door handle. It was locked."It's my job to know," the driver says casually."But how? Why is this door locked?""That doesn't matter now, you've got a job interview to get to!""I thought you were taking me home, you said you were." Gene was getting scared."Easy there buddy. NO I'm not a kidnapper, NO there aren't any people on the way to yer house. I'm sorry man, but frankly noone is interested in your wife like that but you...Look you can just consider me an agent of a power that's higher than you are. NO I'm not talking about "god". Just calm down, yes I'm reading your mind. You need to stop asking questions, even if they aren't with yer mouth- Let's start at the beginning, You can call me Hank."Suddenly the smile vanishes. His eyes narrow and his right hand quickly goes to the inside of his brown jacket."He's my ride Viv." said the cabbie in a low clear voice. "Besides, I don't think he's your type."A soft laughter surrounds me. It's a woman's, but not one that I recognize. I spin around - but no one's there. The laugh grows louder, setting the hairs on the back of my neck on edge. I look back to the cabbie when suddenly I feel her next to me. Her hand is on my shoulder - nails gently raking my shirt collar. She leans in and I can smell lavender and bleach on her breath."Can you believe that he's still driving this piece of shit?" she whispers."Back off Viv," the cabbie warns, "I wouldn't want you to break a nail."She laughs again and moves in front of me, blocking my view of the Volvo. She's wearing a black cat suit and has a Glock holstered to her thigh."I must be going mad. This can't be happening to me. What is happening to...""I told you to stop asking questions, even if they're just in your head!" Hank spat at me.I am frightened. I am trying to not ask any more questions, but my mind is still racing. Racing down the wrong way of a one-way street. I need to regulate my breathing and keep a track of my heart rate. Don't ask any questions Gene, don't think any questions. Just turn everything off.I had lost the feeling in my feet. I can feel the nerves all shutting down in my body. I begin to panic, my mind begins to race. Don't ask any questions Gene, don't think any questions. It's okay, everything is just turning off."It helps if you sing along." Hank offered."Come again?""With the song, just listen to it for a bit and sing along--it is really hard to keep singing and thinking at the same time. At least it is for most people."We shoot off at excessive speeds. It strikes me that the Volvo runs surprisingly well for a POS. Smooth like this ride. I have this sense of not belonging. The World oblivious to our presence. Pedestrians whiz by, unknowing that a madman is at the wheel. So many stop lights avoided. Is he giving the road his full attention? And then I notice. A stoplight. It's yellow and far off."Single pointed attention ya know?""yeah-" was my only rebuttle, thoughtless paranoia- the unseen, unthought embrace by some vicious coniving heart..""Let it go mate, what do you feel about that music, beats running circles in your head. Could have a bit of generic conversation if you fancy that."The nerves once trusted were panicked and firing neurons all mixed up, stuttering thoughts somehow landed on a baseball-"Have you got money on Phillies for Yanks this year Gene?" uttered Hank."I...I..." was all that escaped my lips. Even though he could read my mind, it was all he could understand of me as well."What? Speak up!" Hank spat at me again."I...I..." was all that was in my head. I had stopped thinking. There were no songs to sing. No thoughts to think. Nothing. All I saw was that yellow light turn red as we raced toward it. I kept my eye on the light, nothing else.Hank became flustered, not able to understand anything I was saying or thinking. He turned to me and began shouting. I couldn't hear anything. All I could see was that red light as we raced beneath it.I started to scream wordlessly as our white blur flashed through the intersection causing cars that had just started to move to honk and screech to a halt. The acceleration was starting to get to me, the gees pulling me back against my seat. Hank, however seemed unaffected."Get a grip on yerself Gene, you'll want to be sharp for the interview- Viv, get him some better clothes!"As Hank addressed Viv again I realized that in my panic/confusion I'd not noticed that she'd disappeared again. Turning around towards the back seat my peripherals catch her rematerializing from translucent to solid. Now she's wearing a nurses outfit, clearly of the fetish variety as it appears to be some sort of latex. The glock has been replaced with an oversized a hunting knife strapped to her thigh. She uses a fist to whack the door panel and out pops a secret compartment that’s got a three piece suit hanging in it.“I’ve never guessed wrong on mens sizes, but you’ll have to embrace my fashion sense Gene, because our research indicates you’ve got none,” she says handing me a fresh blue buttondown oxford shirt.
http://donyonda.blogspot.com/2009/11/day-6.html
As Viv hands me the shirt, I find myself trying to restrain the questions again. This is helped by my amazement that the shirt does indeed fit."Of course it fits," laughs Hank, "weren't ya listening to her?""He's still in shock Hank- be nice."I decide to test Hank's abilities to get inside my head. I need to ask a question, just one question. So I try to keep the Femmes singing in my head as I ask, "Can you tell me where we're going yet?"Hank turns around, taking his eyes completely off the road and completely into mine. "That trick doesn't work if you have to plan it out in your head, stupid. But I tell you what, since you've reduced your unnecessary questions down to only one and since I'm liking your rendition of that song--I'll let Viv explain, Viv.""You
have been summoned to have a meeting with a very powerful man who's getting close to retirement," she says. "Don't stop dressing, we're getting close." I was caught by surprise. Could Viv ream my mind as well, or did Hank project my thoughts into her mind? I'm nervous and I begin to fumble with my shirt. I haven't realized that the buttons are all messed up. I have one button too many on the bottom of the shirt, and one hole to many on the top. I'm getting frustrated. I'm getting nervous. There is so much going on and I need answers. I try to sing the song in my head but I've forgotten all of the words. I begin to cry. I see Hank turn around and say something to me, but I can't hear him. He knows what is going on in my mind, but now I don't know what he is trying to tell me. Viv undoes my shirt and begins to dress me appropriately. "Don't worry, you just need to calm down," she tells me. I can't help but feel overwhelmed by her touch. Her nails are long and red, like her lipstick, her hands are smooth and her touch is graceful. As she continues to button my shirt I feel the blood rushing down. She looks at me, I begin to blush. "Don't flatter yourself. You're just another man and I'm an expensive woman. If you don't calm down, I'll kill you." I'm not sure what she just said to me, But I can't help the urges I begin to feel. Her hands are now grasping my inner thigh. She pulls something from behind her ear. It is small and green. "Don't worry, these are just to help calm your mind." I'm not sure what she said, but she leans toward me, face first. She opens her lips and I open mine. Before our lips touch, she drops the thing she pulled from behind her ear, perhaps a pill or a drug, I'm not certain, into my mouth. She then kisses me, hard and fast, with her tongue down my throat. She was forcing this thing down my throat with her tongue. I know I should've stopped her, but I couldn't stop. I enjoyed the position I found myself in too much. I'm not sure when we got to our destination, or when Hand stopped driving. I'm not sure when Viv stopped kissing me either. All I know is that we were here and I had no questions left to ask. "Remember you have a wife and a kid waiting for you at home." If I ever get home. That was where I had been trying to get to before all this started happening to me."Typical man, thinks it is just happening to him--but that is always the case isn't it?" Viv added.Hank shot Viv a look. Their two sets of eyes locked as though a long painful history was being recounted silently. Viv's breathing quickened and she turned her head away."Well Gene, there's your door." Hank said, pointing at the building before us. The drugs were still slightly affecting me. I know this because the door in front of me should have been more terrifying, I know it was later.As I stared at it looking for a handle, there was the sound of an automated bolt sliding. A metallic voice said, "ENTER" as the door slid.Behind the door was a hallway going straight back at least fifty yards. The walls were lined with doors, each had a white blinking light above it.The metallic voice spoke again,from everywhere and nowhere."MR. RAAANTOGRAM, MR. JIMENEZ WILL SEE YOU IN THE GREEN ROOM." The lights above the doors start to blink in all colors of the rainbow, cycling. I spot a green light and begin to chase it down the hall.
http://donyonda.blogspot.com/2009/11/day-10-i-think.html
"Go get em!" Yells Hank with a sudden laugh. The green light stays a few doors ahead of me as the hallway gradually curves to the right and down. I pick up speed, hurtling downhill as the angle of the floor increases. If I can just go a little faster... but no, the light keeps pace with me, remaining a door or two beyond my reach. I glance back over my shoulder for a second to see how far I've come, and immediately run full speed into a door at the end of the hall. How the hell did that get there? There was nothing but hallway a second ago, and yet here it is, solid, a bright green light above it. I pick myself up off the floor and reach for the handle. As I open the door I am blinded by a white light. There seem to be spotlights all around the room that are trained on the door. Raising my hand to shade my face, I make out the silhouette of a man sitting behind one of them in a chair."Welcome Gene!" By this point I am not surprised, everyone knows my name and I will just be in the dark—whatever Viv pushed into me works well. “Allow me to introduce myself, I am Giorgio Jimenz.”The introduction was a pure formality. Everyone knew of the Jimenz family, with the brothers Salvatore and Giorgio, their sister Monica, and the grand patriarch of the family… Sebastiano. The Jimenz family were the exception to the changing times. While most people’s fortunes we radially altered by the crash they only became slowly and steadily more powerful and influential. “Nice to meet you, sir.” “I imagine you are wondering why you find yourself here? Let me explain for many years alongside my other business in the world in charge of the operation that you see here before you. I know it may not look like much but let me explain ...We are in the midst of a serious transistion Gene. As hard as it may seem to believe, the era of the Bearers is nearly at an end. I know this because my brother, Salvatore, the head of the Bearers, is sick--he doesn't have long. I have access to much... Well, let me rephrase that, I have access to ALL information. You could say it sort of...runs in the family. Regardless of my power the important thing for you to know is that I am in the process of my own retirement. Which brings us to why you're here.For some time now, Monica, my sister, and I have been putting the final touches on an organization that is to be more powerful then the Bearers ever were.You see Gene, the time for bearing has passed. What the world needs now is an assignment..."
http://donyonda.blogspot.com/2009/11/day-11-continuing-from-day-10.html
"And that is where you come in, Gene. What the Bearers failed to take advantage of is the assignment of knowledge. My brother (my whole family, for that matter) understands well the power associated with information. When the internet was first created, we realised it's potential for hoarding the collected knowledge. 'Bearing,' if you will. We also realised the potential for power this created. Anyone who wanted to know anything would have come to us. Governments, corporations, powerful people the world over would be beholden to us! Where my family and I disagreed is in the applicaion of knowledge. The Bearers locked it away, but then what? Does a sword in the sheath have any power? Yes, it can intimidate, pacify, that is true. But a sword to the throat can dominate, enslave, cower the strongest of foes. Gene, what they failed to understand is that knowledge is a weapon. I intend to use it."
[day 12 still from the above]
"Look, I don't mean to interrupt your maniacal monologue, but I've had a very confusing day. Can you just tell me why I was brought here? That cabbie Hank said it was some kind of job interview, but I'm already gainfully employed and I think I may still be under the influence of some drug given to me by a smoking hot ghost or something." "Excellent. All of our data on you suggested you were a man with a propensity for the direct." Giorgio smiled as he continued "What this position offers is well beyond gainful employment. Let's just say you won't ever have to worry about your car not charging in the morning.""You mean Hank and Viv are going to pick me up each day?" Gene asked."No the cabbie and Viv are only for special occasions. What I am offering you is the sort of position where money would be no object for you."
[day 13 still from the above]
"No object, you say? I assume that's to be followed with a list of creepy tasks or something...""Very good Gene," Giorgio was laughing. "I wouldn't exactly use the word evil, but what we do here does have a tendency to startle the weak minded. You see, this is a data consolidation factory, you may have heard of them before... Basically the problem with data is that the majority if it exists within people."Gene squintshrugged, "So what, you conduct alot of interviews or something?"Giorgio was laughing again. "It's not that simple Gene. Maybe it's best if I show you."
This office and the lives ended here were not what typically came to mind when he was here. It was his first entry into this room that still haunted him. When things were different and so was he. Not yet Anagram Generator, but Gene R. Raaantogram. On that day he was running late, trying to get home to his wife and new son, Gene, Jr. The day had started out pleasant enough, but a dead battery stalled him in his tracks, fixing his tires to the pounded pavement. Thick cumulonimbi blocked any chance of charge from the sun.He cursed the rotten electro-swiper who most likely had used the power on some little suped-up hot mod to terrorize the pedestrians. Didn't they realize he had places to be?Just as he stepped out of the car, a junky looking Volvo pulled up beside him."Do you like the Violent Femmes?"The driver was wearing a battered brown jacket and a winning smile. Gene R. Raaantogram was confused. Who was this strange man with this strange internal combustion vehicle? Where did he come from? Where does he buy gasoline? He hesitated, but the driver gave him a reassuring nod and popped the passenger door."You're going home, right?""Ye-yes?""Thought so. This is Louise," he said, giving the dashboard a pat, "and I'll be your driver today. Sit back and relax and we'll have you there in no time. How's Gene Jr.?""Wha? How do you know all this?" Gene was instinctively reaching for the door handle. It was locked."It's my job to know," the driver says casually."But how? Why is this door locked?""That doesn't matter now, you've got a job interview to get to!""I thought you were taking me home, you said you were." Gene was getting scared."Easy there buddy. NO I'm not a kidnapper, NO there aren't any people on the way to yer house. I'm sorry man, but frankly noone is interested in your wife like that but you...Look you can just consider me an agent of a power that's higher than you are. NO I'm not talking about "god". Just calm down, yes I'm reading your mind. You need to stop asking questions, even if they aren't with yer mouth- Let's start at the beginning, You can call me Hank."Suddenly the smile vanishes. His eyes narrow and his right hand quickly goes to the inside of his brown jacket."He's my ride Viv." said the cabbie in a low clear voice. "Besides, I don't think he's your type."A soft laughter surrounds me. It's a woman's, but not one that I recognize. I spin around - but no one's there. The laugh grows louder, setting the hairs on the back of my neck on edge. I look back to the cabbie when suddenly I feel her next to me. Her hand is on my shoulder - nails gently raking my shirt collar. She leans in and I can smell lavender and bleach on her breath."Can you believe that he's still driving this piece of shit?" she whispers."Back off Viv," the cabbie warns, "I wouldn't want you to break a nail."She laughs again and moves in front of me, blocking my view of the Volvo. She's wearing a black cat suit and has a Glock holstered to her thigh."I must be going mad. This can't be happening to me. What is happening to...""I told you to stop asking questions, even if they're just in your head!" Hank spat at me.I am frightened. I am trying to not ask any more questions, but my mind is still racing. Racing down the wrong way of a one-way street. I need to regulate my breathing and keep a track of my heart rate. Don't ask any questions Gene, don't think any questions. Just turn everything off.I had lost the feeling in my feet. I can feel the nerves all shutting down in my body. I begin to panic, my mind begins to race. Don't ask any questions Gene, don't think any questions. It's okay, everything is just turning off."It helps if you sing along." Hank offered."Come again?""With the song, just listen to it for a bit and sing along--it is really hard to keep singing and thinking at the same time. At least it is for most people."We shoot off at excessive speeds. It strikes me that the Volvo runs surprisingly well for a POS. Smooth like this ride. I have this sense of not belonging. The World oblivious to our presence. Pedestrians whiz by, unknowing that a madman is at the wheel. So many stop lights avoided. Is he giving the road his full attention? And then I notice. A stoplight. It's yellow and far off."Single pointed attention ya know?""yeah-" was my only rebuttle, thoughtless paranoia- the unseen, unthought embrace by some vicious coniving heart..""Let it go mate, what do you feel about that music, beats running circles in your head. Could have a bit of generic conversation if you fancy that."The nerves once trusted were panicked and firing neurons all mixed up, stuttering thoughts somehow landed on a baseball-"Have you got money on Phillies for Yanks this year Gene?" uttered Hank."I...I..." was all that escaped my lips. Even though he could read my mind, it was all he could understand of me as well."What? Speak up!" Hank spat at me again."I...I..." was all that was in my head. I had stopped thinking. There were no songs to sing. No thoughts to think. Nothing. All I saw was that yellow light turn red as we raced toward it. I kept my eye on the light, nothing else.Hank became flustered, not able to understand anything I was saying or thinking. He turned to me and began shouting. I couldn't hear anything. All I could see was that red light as we raced beneath it.I started to scream wordlessly as our white blur flashed through the intersection causing cars that had just started to move to honk and screech to a halt. The acceleration was starting to get to me, the gees pulling me back against my seat. Hank, however seemed unaffected."Get a grip on yerself Gene, you'll want to be sharp for the interview- Viv, get him some better clothes!"As Hank addressed Viv again I realized that in my panic/confusion I'd not noticed that she'd disappeared again. Turning around towards the back seat my peripherals catch her rematerializing from translucent to solid. Now she's wearing a nurses outfit, clearly of the fetish variety as it appears to be some sort of latex. The glock has been replaced with an oversized a hunting knife strapped to her thigh. She uses a fist to whack the door panel and out pops a secret compartment that’s got a three piece suit hanging in it.“I’ve never guessed wrong on mens sizes, but you’ll have to embrace my fashion sense Gene, because our research indicates you’ve got none,” she says handing me a fresh blue buttondown oxford shirt.
http://donyonda.blogspot.com/2009/11/day-6.html
As Viv hands me the shirt, I find myself trying to restrain the questions again. This is helped by my amazement that the shirt does indeed fit."Of course it fits," laughs Hank, "weren't ya listening to her?""He's still in shock Hank- be nice."I decide to test Hank's abilities to get inside my head. I need to ask a question, just one question. So I try to keep the Femmes singing in my head as I ask, "Can you tell me where we're going yet?"Hank turns around, taking his eyes completely off the road and completely into mine. "That trick doesn't work if you have to plan it out in your head, stupid. But I tell you what, since you've reduced your unnecessary questions down to only one and since I'm liking your rendition of that song--I'll let Viv explain, Viv.""You
have been summoned to have a meeting with a very powerful man who's getting close to retirement," she says. "Don't stop dressing, we're getting close." I was caught by surprise. Could Viv ream my mind as well, or did Hank project my thoughts into her mind? I'm nervous and I begin to fumble with my shirt. I haven't realized that the buttons are all messed up. I have one button too many on the bottom of the shirt, and one hole to many on the top. I'm getting frustrated. I'm getting nervous. There is so much going on and I need answers. I try to sing the song in my head but I've forgotten all of the words. I begin to cry. I see Hank turn around and say something to me, but I can't hear him. He knows what is going on in my mind, but now I don't know what he is trying to tell me. Viv undoes my shirt and begins to dress me appropriately. "Don't worry, you just need to calm down," she tells me. I can't help but feel overwhelmed by her touch. Her nails are long and red, like her lipstick, her hands are smooth and her touch is graceful. As she continues to button my shirt I feel the blood rushing down. She looks at me, I begin to blush. "Don't flatter yourself. You're just another man and I'm an expensive woman. If you don't calm down, I'll kill you." I'm not sure what she just said to me, But I can't help the urges I begin to feel. Her hands are now grasping my inner thigh. She pulls something from behind her ear. It is small and green. "Don't worry, these are just to help calm your mind." I'm not sure what she said, but she leans toward me, face first. She opens her lips and I open mine. Before our lips touch, she drops the thing she pulled from behind her ear, perhaps a pill or a drug, I'm not certain, into my mouth. She then kisses me, hard and fast, with her tongue down my throat. She was forcing this thing down my throat with her tongue. I know I should've stopped her, but I couldn't stop. I enjoyed the position I found myself in too much. I'm not sure when we got to our destination, or when Hand stopped driving. I'm not sure when Viv stopped kissing me either. All I know is that we were here and I had no questions left to ask. "Remember you have a wife and a kid waiting for you at home." If I ever get home. That was where I had been trying to get to before all this started happening to me."Typical man, thinks it is just happening to him--but that is always the case isn't it?" Viv added.Hank shot Viv a look. Their two sets of eyes locked as though a long painful history was being recounted silently. Viv's breathing quickened and she turned her head away."Well Gene, there's your door." Hank said, pointing at the building before us. The drugs were still slightly affecting me. I know this because the door in front of me should have been more terrifying, I know it was later.As I stared at it looking for a handle, there was the sound of an automated bolt sliding. A metallic voice said, "ENTER" as the door slid.Behind the door was a hallway going straight back at least fifty yards. The walls were lined with doors, each had a white blinking light above it.The metallic voice spoke again,from everywhere and nowhere."MR. RAAANTOGRAM, MR. JIMENEZ WILL SEE YOU IN THE GREEN ROOM." The lights above the doors start to blink in all colors of the rainbow, cycling. I spot a green light and begin to chase it down the hall.
http://donyonda.blogspot.com/2009/11/day-10-i-think.html
"Go get em!" Yells Hank with a sudden laugh. The green light stays a few doors ahead of me as the hallway gradually curves to the right and down. I pick up speed, hurtling downhill as the angle of the floor increases. If I can just go a little faster... but no, the light keeps pace with me, remaining a door or two beyond my reach. I glance back over my shoulder for a second to see how far I've come, and immediately run full speed into a door at the end of the hall. How the hell did that get there? There was nothing but hallway a second ago, and yet here it is, solid, a bright green light above it. I pick myself up off the floor and reach for the handle. As I open the door I am blinded by a white light. There seem to be spotlights all around the room that are trained on the door. Raising my hand to shade my face, I make out the silhouette of a man sitting behind one of them in a chair."Welcome Gene!" By this point I am not surprised, everyone knows my name and I will just be in the dark—whatever Viv pushed into me works well. “Allow me to introduce myself, I am Giorgio Jimenz.”The introduction was a pure formality. Everyone knew of the Jimenz family, with the brothers Salvatore and Giorgio, their sister Monica, and the grand patriarch of the family… Sebastiano. The Jimenz family were the exception to the changing times. While most people’s fortunes we radially altered by the crash they only became slowly and steadily more powerful and influential. “Nice to meet you, sir.” “I imagine you are wondering why you find yourself here? Let me explain for many years alongside my other business in the world in charge of the operation that you see here before you. I know it may not look like much but let me explain ...We are in the midst of a serious transistion Gene. As hard as it may seem to believe, the era of the Bearers is nearly at an end. I know this because my brother, Salvatore, the head of the Bearers, is sick--he doesn't have long. I have access to much... Well, let me rephrase that, I have access to ALL information. You could say it sort of...runs in the family. Regardless of my power the important thing for you to know is that I am in the process of my own retirement. Which brings us to why you're here.For some time now, Monica, my sister, and I have been putting the final touches on an organization that is to be more powerful then the Bearers ever were.You see Gene, the time for bearing has passed. What the world needs now is an assignment..."
http://donyonda.blogspot.com/2009/11/day-11-continuing-from-day-10.html
"And that is where you come in, Gene. What the Bearers failed to take advantage of is the assignment of knowledge. My brother (my whole family, for that matter) understands well the power associated with information. When the internet was first created, we realised it's potential for hoarding the collected knowledge. 'Bearing,' if you will. We also realised the potential for power this created. Anyone who wanted to know anything would have come to us. Governments, corporations, powerful people the world over would be beholden to us! Where my family and I disagreed is in the applicaion of knowledge. The Bearers locked it away, but then what? Does a sword in the sheath have any power? Yes, it can intimidate, pacify, that is true. But a sword to the throat can dominate, enslave, cower the strongest of foes. Gene, what they failed to understand is that knowledge is a weapon. I intend to use it."
[day 12 still from the above]
"Look, I don't mean to interrupt your maniacal monologue, but I've had a very confusing day. Can you just tell me why I was brought here? That cabbie Hank said it was some kind of job interview, but I'm already gainfully employed and I think I may still be under the influence of some drug given to me by a smoking hot ghost or something." "Excellent. All of our data on you suggested you were a man with a propensity for the direct." Giorgio smiled as he continued "What this position offers is well beyond gainful employment. Let's just say you won't ever have to worry about your car not charging in the morning.""You mean Hank and Viv are going to pick me up each day?" Gene asked."No the cabbie and Viv are only for special occasions. What I am offering you is the sort of position where money would be no object for you."
[day 13 still from the above]
"No object, you say? I assume that's to be followed with a list of creepy tasks or something...""Very good Gene," Giorgio was laughing. "I wouldn't exactly use the word evil, but what we do here does have a tendency to startle the weak minded. You see, this is a data consolidation factory, you may have heard of them before... Basically the problem with data is that the majority if it exists within people."Gene squintshrugged, "So what, you conduct alot of interviews or something?"Giorgio was laughing again. "It's not that simple Gene. Maybe it's best if I show you."
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Syt's Speech continued
["Esteemed council members, I am honored to be here before you today. In the history of the world, there have been sudden changes. The shift from hunter-gatherer societies to argriculture based ones is one that many refer when comparing to our own present situation. However what those periods lacked in comparison to today is a relationship to meaning and meaning making.
We constantly play at pretending to make meaning. This play has become more and more important over the past half century. But what has happened to meaning itself?
I urge the council to consider the problems that have already arisen just from people taking search engines as infallible-- We've already started to lose words from the various services providing scores of conflicting definitions.
And the printed reference has been shown to be in decline since the 2020s, if this amendment should pass & the remaining books are consolidated under this "Bearer" group, these conflicted definitions will be all we have until the words are totally extinct.]
...
Friday, November 6, 2009
The Waiting Room Day 6 Blog 3
(continuing from Day 5--Syt's UN speech, http://nanotexts.blogspot.com/2009/11/wating-room-day-5-year-is-2035.html)
Standing at the podium under the lights and cameras (and action) did nothing to shake Syt's confidence that this was the right thing to do. Evelyn's earlier attempts to stop him were already gone from his mind. But just as he's about to begin he spots Evelyn standing in the back of the room with Vivian. He almost chokes on his opening words under Viv's gaze...
Thursday, November 5, 2009
The Waiting Room Day 5 Blog 3
The Bearer's Failings
[2035--the eve of Syt Candella's speech to the UN]
Salvatore Jimenez had called a meeting with his secondincommand, Gustavo Rallinsocka. He was in his study waiting for Rallinsocka to arrive. The fire was blazing but still he felt a chill.
Salvatore was worried that this speech might sway the world. He knew that people looked up to Candella's values and took them as their own. He knew, even before it happened, that Candella would refuse his bribe. He knew all this, but still, he could taste the power that would be his if he had his way. As head of the Bearers, all the knowledge of the world could be under his control. Jimenez would literally drool at the idea that anything could be released as a payperview excerpt with commercial advertising imbedded. The idea that, if this went through, he would be the only one to know the actual truth.
Sitting in his chair he contemplated all the potential for rewriting Shakespeare to release to a select few scholars (who would be overjoyed just thinking they'd been given access to something), if only so that he could think of himself as the singular being to actually know what "old bill" had written so long ago...
There was a brief doubleknock at his chamber door as Rallinsocka entered.
"Have a seat Gustavo, we have much to discuss."
"Sure thing boss," said Rallinsocka taking a seat opposite Salvatore
"I've got a job for you."
"What kind of job ya thinking boss?"
"I want you to sneak TVs to the Luddite youth-- I need you to use Candella's speech to stir them up, get them angry."
"But I thought you didn't even want Candella's speech to happen?"
"That doesn't matter now. It's one thing I can't control... The new plan is to use his own speech against him, noone will see it coming, least of all him."
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
NaNoWriMo Posse: THINGS WE’VE ESTABLISHED:
Section 1 (Day 1 & 2) :
Underling of AG (Charles)
Starts @ 350th day post internet (Nano/AS)
Tech is breaking down, see CLOCK (Kilroy)
Our character is tired of superficial magazines. Metaphor for perfection? (Ace / Ceph)
Society has become stupid, see valuing of picturetexts (AS)
The Assigners possess most remaining knowledge (Prof)
AG is boss Assigner (nano)
Aside from crumbling city (AS), upheavals are still happening (Face)
Section 35= N. Perimeter of old city, Point Bachir, the "rogue" sector
Our character hates his/her boss/job
Sparse population density/contact, see garbage (prof)
There are directives that are meant to be followed (wriv)
Our character chews gum (kil/red)
STUFF/ENTITIES: Scions, Directives, Hydro-emissive generator (router), THE trophy (blue cube...)
Section 2 :
NEW CHARACTER (2ndfollowed) : [UNK] is programmed to have an anomaly on every 16th day of the month @ 10:52 (ceph)
the anomaly begins w/ physical convulsions & spasming (Ace)
The year is 2042 (AS)
Section 3:
Blog [Hank is driving "the data collector", a {UNK} woman searching for an anomaly in the pattern]
Day 4 :
Blog: [Gene R. Raaantogram is picked up by Hank for "job interview" (leading to "the office"); Viv is tagged along- uneasy relationship w/ Hank (work partners?). ...
Hank=mindreading cabbie / Viv=able to go inviso and/or dematerialize [potential former relationship w/ Syt... SHE MIGHT BE A GHOST]
Volvo is out of place yet phillies & yankies still around [HOW FAR PRE-CRASH IS THIS TIME PERIOD?]
Plurk: SYT CANDELLA (writing postcrash)
in opposistion to Assigners, trying to keep knowledge alive, secret library, tattooing key documents of human culture on self, guilty for his role in crash.
Day 5 (not thorough):
1. Syt's UN speech--2035 (7 years prior to anomaly character postcrash.... THE YEAR OF THE CRASH IS STILL UNQUANTIFIED)
2. Postcrash... name changes, back to [UNK] "data collector"
3. Syt's rivals the (pre) BEARERS--2035 plot against Syt's intentions //Salvatore Jimenez & Gustavo Rallinsocka
4. post crash... stimulator
5. AG's employee, Charles [original character 1?]
Monday, June 1, 2009
Business Improvement Survey
The answers to this survey will help us to fine tune aspects of our daily business to improve relations between employee and consumer. THANKS for taking the time to complete it!
1. Pick the least comfortable seat:
A. Cactus
B. Toilet plunger
C. Broken lightbulbs on a tarp
D. Hot coals
E. “None of the above are as bad as _________.”
2. Pick the worst waiting room music:
A. Aggressive Classical
B. A recording of Kenny G’s world record Eb
C. Thrash puke with gurgling
D. Pop hits of the 1970s remixed into instrumental muzak
E. “None of the above are as grating as _________.”
3. How many continents away is “too far” for a customer service call center?
A. 1
B. 3
C. 5
D. 7
E. “Antarctica doesn’t really bother me… Maybe the moon?”
4. How long will you stay on hold, without hanging up?
A. 12 minutes
B. 1/2 hour
C. 2 hours
D. 4 days
E. “Naw- I’d stick it out for _______ (circle one: days weeks months years).”
5. What type of worker is hardest to deal with as a customer?
A. Angry drunk
B. Boundariless exhibitionist
C. Inappropriate joker
D. 7 21/2 year olds
E. “Nope, I’m a people person-Well… Except for --________.”
6. How much of a physical threat does it require for you to empty your wallet?
A. A knife
B. A handful of ninjas
C. A cannon
D. A pack of rabid Boston Terrier attack dogs
E. “I only have one secret fear, and it’s __________."
7. How far can a company go without losing your trust?
A. Stealing
B. The above + Sexual harassment
C. The above + Confidential records publishing
D. The above+ Rape/Murder/Soul Plundering
E. “After I pick a brand, I stick with it.”
8. Which of the following items would be the perk most likely to increase sales?
A. Penny candy
B. A balloon
C. An “MS Publisher” made gift card
D. A 1/2 cent discount
E. “Probably ______ (please keep all suggestions under ¢.05)”
9. How dirty is too dirty?
A. 1 Rat
B. 5 Rats
C. 5 Rats in their traps
D. 72 Rats, Some in traps, others agitated
E. “I’m just a rat person… But nests of _______ disgust me!”
10. Select the most appropriate waiting room wall-hanging:
A. Poster sized blown-up images of unconstitutional torture
B. Poster sized blown-up images of consensual bestiality in clown makeup (all participants painted in family friendly colors)
C. Blow-up dolls on nooses
D. Pornography school degrees in “fluffing” featuring inflatable phalluses
E. Pictures of kittens (down range on the artillery killing-field)
11. How many illegal aliens would you observe working on-site before reporting it?
A. 17
B. 43
C. 89
D. If all the employees are
E. “I’m a racist. This question totally depends on what kind we’re talking…”
12. When you go to appointments, approximately how much value are you generally carrying?
A. One fancy watch (gold, silver, platinum)
B. The above + My wallet generally has $100s
C. The above + The keys to my sports car
D. The above + I have gold crowns on my teeth
E. The above + “I also hide valuables in my ______ cavity!”
13. When you go to appointments, generally ________ people know about it:
A. No one knows
B. One person knows
C. More than two people know, but most are out of state
D. Lots of people know, but I don’t think they care…
E. “ The fact of it is, only ______ people would go to the police if I didn’t show up for a couple of weeks.”
14. Which of these substances do you think would encourage you to buy more & submit without question?
A. Alcohol
B. Mushroom tea
C. Rohypnol
D. Cocaine
E. Random diffusible poison
15. What signage would best get you “in the door”?
A. “Free Raccoon-skin caps”
B. “Sample our new, cancer-curing popsicles”
C. “FREE money/drugs/love-lust”
D. “Fun here!”
E. how about, “_______________”?
16. If some company were to write a survey in order to further exploit their customers & employees, You:
A. “Wouldn’t notice”
B. “Does that even happen?”
C. “I’m not sure I’d figure it out before the last question…”
D. “I’d fill it out to ‘do my part’.”
E. “__________________________”
1. Pick the least comfortable seat:
A. Cactus
B. Toilet plunger
C. Broken lightbulbs on a tarp
D. Hot coals
E. “None of the above are as bad as _________.”
2. Pick the worst waiting room music:
A. Aggressive Classical
B. A recording of Kenny G’s world record Eb
C. Thrash puke with gurgling
D. Pop hits of the 1970s remixed into instrumental muzak
E. “None of the above are as grating as _________.”
3. How many continents away is “too far” for a customer service call center?
A. 1
B. 3
C. 5
D. 7
E. “Antarctica doesn’t really bother me… Maybe the moon?”
4. How long will you stay on hold, without hanging up?
A. 12 minutes
B. 1/2 hour
C. 2 hours
D. 4 days
E. “Naw- I’d stick it out for _______ (circle one: days weeks months years).”
5. What type of worker is hardest to deal with as a customer?
A. Angry drunk
B. Boundariless exhibitionist
C. Inappropriate joker
D. 7 21/2 year olds
E. “Nope, I’m a people person-Well… Except for --________.”
6. How much of a physical threat does it require for you to empty your wallet?
A. A knife
B. A handful of ninjas
C. A cannon
D. A pack of rabid Boston Terrier attack dogs
E. “I only have one secret fear, and it’s __________."
7. How far can a company go without losing your trust?
A. Stealing
B. The above + Sexual harassment
C. The above + Confidential records publishing
D. The above+ Rape/Murder/Soul Plundering
E. “After I pick a brand, I stick with it.”
8. Which of the following items would be the perk most likely to increase sales?
A. Penny candy
B. A balloon
C. An “MS Publisher” made gift card
D. A 1/2 cent discount
E. “Probably ______ (please keep all suggestions under ¢.05)”
9. How dirty is too dirty?
A. 1 Rat
B. 5 Rats
C. 5 Rats in their traps
D. 72 Rats, Some in traps, others agitated
E. “I’m just a rat person… But nests of _______ disgust me!”
10. Select the most appropriate waiting room wall-hanging:
A. Poster sized blown-up images of unconstitutional torture
B. Poster sized blown-up images of consensual bestiality in clown makeup (all participants painted in family friendly colors)
C. Blow-up dolls on nooses
D. Pornography school degrees in “fluffing” featuring inflatable phalluses
E. Pictures of kittens (down range on the artillery killing-field)
11. How many illegal aliens would you observe working on-site before reporting it?
A. 17
B. 43
C. 89
D. If all the employees are
E. “I’m a racist. This question totally depends on what kind we’re talking…”
12. When you go to appointments, approximately how much value are you generally carrying?
A. One fancy watch (gold, silver, platinum)
B. The above + My wallet generally has $100s
C. The above + The keys to my sports car
D. The above + I have gold crowns on my teeth
E. The above + “I also hide valuables in my ______ cavity!”
13. When you go to appointments, generally ________ people know about it:
A. No one knows
B. One person knows
C. More than two people know, but most are out of state
D. Lots of people know, but I don’t think they care…
E. “ The fact of it is, only ______ people would go to the police if I didn’t show up for a couple of weeks.”
14. Which of these substances do you think would encourage you to buy more & submit without question?
A. Alcohol
B. Mushroom tea
C. Rohypnol
D. Cocaine
E. Random diffusible poison
15. What signage would best get you “in the door”?
A. “Free Raccoon-skin caps”
B. “Sample our new, cancer-curing popsicles”
C. “FREE money/drugs/love-lust”
D. “Fun here!”
E. how about, “_______________”?
16. If some company were to write a survey in order to further exploit their customers & employees, You:
A. “Wouldn’t notice”
B. “Does that even happen?”
C. “I’m not sure I’d figure it out before the last question…”
D. “I’d fill it out to ‘do my part’.”
E. “__________________________”
Monday, February 2, 2009
“Confusing the context of the conscious collective’s conscience”
Cognitive capability coerced compulsively (but cast as credibly coaxed from a contaminated and cantankerous container) carries contagious contraptions, contrived constantly; crazily- cascading collectively, continently coherent though compartmentalized, confidential & contradictorily complacent
Yet the current core conflict continues to consistently collapse as cooperatively calculated by concurring cardinals cornered near the cracked, concave, crevasse of the crisis; all while the crystalline contention is catapulted to the convoluted, counterproductive & crimson conscience of the coward Cretan’s crowd of congregating copulators, who,
Curled as convalescing cerebral cripples consumed by chaotic concoctions, calibrate the catastrophic consequences of collaterally constructed companies, (coincidentally concluded counterclockwise as per convening circumstance & custom)- while contrite contact climbs completely comfortable over conceited curmudgeons, in a continuous coordinated clinging to the cardboard curtains,
A counterfeit clash of contemporary counterculture collides- creating a conclusive crash; the crusty coating covered the copper clasp cut clear, now charred, chipped & constrained to be cap of this chapel; a cache of crushed confetti glass- That constitutes the compounded criteria culminating consecutively as a corralled confederate condition to coincidence, which, when corked in a canister calls for caution, clarification and control (contrary to the current collective consideration confined by crime), and
Captured catharsis cauterized cleanly, cuts copious captions from concentrated cartilage cartons, contrasting the congruent, conspicuous, crater that carnal characteristics cover, conceal and clearly
The credentials of the comatose community were critically confirmed as their conscious and cognizant cohorts cackled cries criticizing communism’s culpability in capturing capitalism’s coin cup with Cuban coffee & cream,
Causing the clown-car cannon cavalry to campaign covertly, cruising through a covered cove of crabapples to contend with constipated contra conspirators, who, in collusion with cannibals, contemplated the coming conflict carefully, thus
Causing the commonality of commotion as the carnival’s calamitous contortionist confided crass comments, confusing common convention, craftily close to conductive cable cradles, the circumspect citers creep clear of the combusting carnage;
and although the criss-crossed coup created capital, the captain crown cartel considered the crawling crabs covering the carpal tunnel worth conversing on the carpenter’s carp cruise to the cryogenic cabin compartment, which, composed of concise concrete; cropped close to clover, carnation, and carpet, is near to the creek and the constable collector’s capsized capsule cone;
Constructed with consideration for his contracting corneas, that constrict collaboratively,-caressing closed the cringing cranial carrier of the corrective contacts- craning, Christ-like in case closed, conclusive conviction, cheerfully casting the crescent shadow of colloquial compassion on the central courier courtyard
As catatonic (formerly curious) cats confer on the means of consumption, causally cranky, though currently calm, they condescend to the coping criminal captured by cops for catching coin currency in a ceramic cyan cup as it circumnavigated the center cylinder of the cyclone; creature comfort certainly, though he made no cents-
Still, in coach cupid’s cobbled carriage, his countenance is codependent on crazed cribbage counting, contesting the centaur compatriot, champion of his companions, who crashes cymbals crisply with his candy cane when not coughing carrot crumbs up onto the cactus cushioned cot
As co-chair conquistador, he had co-founded cancer credentials, contingent on the corporate culprit’s confounded, caped counselor, whose civilian compass was controlled by custard code carved on the carousel calendar that had been crimped to his canteen during childhood
And the crotchety crows crouched on crocodiles, chew cashews & complain about the chickens, camel, cow and cobra who give confident credence to the caffeinated coo coo clock; curtly cooing “cuatro horas”, which, combined with
Courtesy chimes (as credits collage), cajoles the cabbie (and his cabbage) from a comfortable cinema center chair- careening down the cliff into the cranium’s cramped canal, where a cornucopia of conjugated cochleas, quoting cliquey clichés, chant cryptic ciphers (like “cost capped casket”) concerning the “coconut colostomy cartridge & crappy cake comb” contracts that they chiefly keep in connected computers, cybernetically chained by charms,
While a comet’s coruscating contrail courageously cuts creases in the crosshatch of colored cosmic capillaries, convincing custodial crustaceans to clamber from the clam camps they claimed, to cosmopolitan cooking crocks in Croatia, where
Clavically-connected, clinical clerks (classic collators), coast coal powered coffin canoes through cold cola carbonation current, carefully noting the shape constituted by Copernicus’s classy coat, ‘cause concealed underneath is a cloth cleaned coccyx, cranked to correct coordinates, capacity and conditions by considerably cinched and constricting coils of climbing cord, clearly contributing to the chosen chap’s chaffing and
Cooked cranberry crepes with crumbled cheese are combined with a chemical circuit capacitor and displayed under cellophane on a composite compost column as
The charismatic commentators circle like carnivores craving cubed consonants, the consequence of compensating chronically cataracted customers who close co-paid claims, their charts calico and caged- confined to a conservative closet, while
The crest of the croissant cupped creamed candor, which the candidate clutched covetously, cultivating culture’s controversial control of citizen’s civil rights, though
The concierge catches his clues consecutively, colluding captivation by critiquing clients, whose coat-tails convert into cashed checks, later contributed to church charities for causing cured cases, yet
To cheer the Capricorn censors, a centuries-old chest containing Caesar’s cherished Chinese checkers, must be competently cavated to compliantly consolidate them from civilization’s corrosive crux and still
Chain choked corgies charge chipotle chimichangas, cheaply charred on a carbureted crank case, conjured up for
Climate changing chimps on a curfew, who canvas the countryside collecting carbon, on the weekend they visit claustrophobic caterpillar casinos to play craps, making complex clauses to their wagers, confirmed by callus calculus on cyberspace calculators, their cursors clicking on cursive, caligraphized clefs, as cigarettes and cigars cinder in chrome ashtrays convincingly, the smoke mingles as
The cheshire cougar consumes canaboid compilations, confining his character’s communication to corny charades; while on the cusp of conception, commencement concludes for the chastised chromosome’s cataclysmic chartered cruise, doomed to collide with the contraceptive container and
The cynical consultant contrarily contradicts the cursed curriculum of the college class’s bell curved credit canopy as the
Clandestine Caucasian curators contest the custody of the city’s concussed Cyclopes, who pushes compact carts of clothes competitively through compatible streets; he is often complimented and congratulated for never conceding a competition of chess-like challenge or cheating, but still,
The commando couple in the condo-castle, clump together like chlorophyll curds when they see him, for they chronicle chemistry as carousing cashiers and are usually cautious when not on their catamaran in the cove, they often visit
The cleaver cathedral which has its cleverly chalked cogs cloaked by the commissary, cunning construction considering the copyright conundrum countless contractors experienced at the county courthouse’s certification counter, waiting while
Cashmere caramel clocks chronologically count closed the California calendar year for nonchalant chariot chauffeurs; who chew the cinnamon chef’s cutting edge cuisine while suffering from choreomania during the calypso concert, but
The coniferous cervical cyst certainly stung as the citrus corraded the corium, still not enough to prevent the cosmologically inclined cosmetologist from kicking her coupe’s clutch, at home
A chopped-up credo, counterbalanced on the cedar credenza by the cozy cleavage of cumulus clouds in canning jars, curtailing the conservation of cutaneous cadaver carving in the catered cabinet cabaret club where
Calcium camera calories are banned for burning celestial cholesterol with camouflaged candelabras, and yet carbohydrate-based crayons continue to circulate through the careers of carefree caretakers and cartoon caricaturist whose
Complete catalogs are kept in the catacombs of the cavity fighting catholic council, catheterized by caviler caviar-consuming cavemen, a caveat requiring a constant commitment to celibacy, but also a rent free cavernous cloister compound, that has
Chattering chimney’s who chortle to the cockney cleaners eating chromatic cherries and chakra-tuned chai in the champagne chancellor’s chamber; they change channels and chat as they churn the citronella into clarifying class-action cocktails,
Cloned to clot the toughest clutter into a cocky coalition cocoon that the colossal colonel corporal’s cologne commands, comprehensively conditioning condolences thru conquered conniption while
Consumer constellations on a continually converging continuum, copy coral corrections that correlate to corrupt correspondents, who now spend time crocheting crutch cozies in cultish community college cabanas
Yet the current core conflict continues to consistently collapse as cooperatively calculated by concurring cardinals cornered near the cracked, concave, crevasse of the crisis; all while the crystalline contention is catapulted to the convoluted, counterproductive & crimson conscience of the coward Cretan’s crowd of congregating copulators, who,
Curled as convalescing cerebral cripples consumed by chaotic concoctions, calibrate the catastrophic consequences of collaterally constructed companies, (coincidentally concluded counterclockwise as per convening circumstance & custom)- while contrite contact climbs completely comfortable over conceited curmudgeons, in a continuous coordinated clinging to the cardboard curtains,
A counterfeit clash of contemporary counterculture collides- creating a conclusive crash; the crusty coating covered the copper clasp cut clear, now charred, chipped & constrained to be cap of this chapel; a cache of crushed confetti glass- That constitutes the compounded criteria culminating consecutively as a corralled confederate condition to coincidence, which, when corked in a canister calls for caution, clarification and control (contrary to the current collective consideration confined by crime), and
Captured catharsis cauterized cleanly, cuts copious captions from concentrated cartilage cartons, contrasting the congruent, conspicuous, crater that carnal characteristics cover, conceal and clearly
The credentials of the comatose community were critically confirmed as their conscious and cognizant cohorts cackled cries criticizing communism’s culpability in capturing capitalism’s coin cup with Cuban coffee & cream,
Causing the clown-car cannon cavalry to campaign covertly, cruising through a covered cove of crabapples to contend with constipated contra conspirators, who, in collusion with cannibals, contemplated the coming conflict carefully, thus
Causing the commonality of commotion as the carnival’s calamitous contortionist confided crass comments, confusing common convention, craftily close to conductive cable cradles, the circumspect citers creep clear of the combusting carnage;
and although the criss-crossed coup created capital, the captain crown cartel considered the crawling crabs covering the carpal tunnel worth conversing on the carpenter’s carp cruise to the cryogenic cabin compartment, which, composed of concise concrete; cropped close to clover, carnation, and carpet, is near to the creek and the constable collector’s capsized capsule cone;
Constructed with consideration for his contracting corneas, that constrict collaboratively,-caressing closed the cringing cranial carrier of the corrective contacts- craning, Christ-like in case closed, conclusive conviction, cheerfully casting the crescent shadow of colloquial compassion on the central courier courtyard
As catatonic (formerly curious) cats confer on the means of consumption, causally cranky, though currently calm, they condescend to the coping criminal captured by cops for catching coin currency in a ceramic cyan cup as it circumnavigated the center cylinder of the cyclone; creature comfort certainly, though he made no cents-
Still, in coach cupid’s cobbled carriage, his countenance is codependent on crazed cribbage counting, contesting the centaur compatriot, champion of his companions, who crashes cymbals crisply with his candy cane when not coughing carrot crumbs up onto the cactus cushioned cot
As co-chair conquistador, he had co-founded cancer credentials, contingent on the corporate culprit’s confounded, caped counselor, whose civilian compass was controlled by custard code carved on the carousel calendar that had been crimped to his canteen during childhood
And the crotchety crows crouched on crocodiles, chew cashews & complain about the chickens, camel, cow and cobra who give confident credence to the caffeinated coo coo clock; curtly cooing “cuatro horas”, which, combined with
Courtesy chimes (as credits collage), cajoles the cabbie (and his cabbage) from a comfortable cinema center chair- careening down the cliff into the cranium’s cramped canal, where a cornucopia of conjugated cochleas, quoting cliquey clichés, chant cryptic ciphers (like “cost capped casket”) concerning the “coconut colostomy cartridge & crappy cake comb” contracts that they chiefly keep in connected computers, cybernetically chained by charms,
While a comet’s coruscating contrail courageously cuts creases in the crosshatch of colored cosmic capillaries, convincing custodial crustaceans to clamber from the clam camps they claimed, to cosmopolitan cooking crocks in Croatia, where
Clavically-connected, clinical clerks (classic collators), coast coal powered coffin canoes through cold cola carbonation current, carefully noting the shape constituted by Copernicus’s classy coat, ‘cause concealed underneath is a cloth cleaned coccyx, cranked to correct coordinates, capacity and conditions by considerably cinched and constricting coils of climbing cord, clearly contributing to the chosen chap’s chaffing and
Cooked cranberry crepes with crumbled cheese are combined with a chemical circuit capacitor and displayed under cellophane on a composite compost column as
The charismatic commentators circle like carnivores craving cubed consonants, the consequence of compensating chronically cataracted customers who close co-paid claims, their charts calico and caged- confined to a conservative closet, while
The crest of the croissant cupped creamed candor, which the candidate clutched covetously, cultivating culture’s controversial control of citizen’s civil rights, though
The concierge catches his clues consecutively, colluding captivation by critiquing clients, whose coat-tails convert into cashed checks, later contributed to church charities for causing cured cases, yet
To cheer the Capricorn censors, a centuries-old chest containing Caesar’s cherished Chinese checkers, must be competently cavated to compliantly consolidate them from civilization’s corrosive crux and still
Chain choked corgies charge chipotle chimichangas, cheaply charred on a carbureted crank case, conjured up for
Climate changing chimps on a curfew, who canvas the countryside collecting carbon, on the weekend they visit claustrophobic caterpillar casinos to play craps, making complex clauses to their wagers, confirmed by callus calculus on cyberspace calculators, their cursors clicking on cursive, caligraphized clefs, as cigarettes and cigars cinder in chrome ashtrays convincingly, the smoke mingles as
The cheshire cougar consumes canaboid compilations, confining his character’s communication to corny charades; while on the cusp of conception, commencement concludes for the chastised chromosome’s cataclysmic chartered cruise, doomed to collide with the contraceptive container and
The cynical consultant contrarily contradicts the cursed curriculum of the college class’s bell curved credit canopy as the
Clandestine Caucasian curators contest the custody of the city’s concussed Cyclopes, who pushes compact carts of clothes competitively through compatible streets; he is often complimented and congratulated for never conceding a competition of chess-like challenge or cheating, but still,
The commando couple in the condo-castle, clump together like chlorophyll curds when they see him, for they chronicle chemistry as carousing cashiers and are usually cautious when not on their catamaran in the cove, they often visit
The cleaver cathedral which has its cleverly chalked cogs cloaked by the commissary, cunning construction considering the copyright conundrum countless contractors experienced at the county courthouse’s certification counter, waiting while
Cashmere caramel clocks chronologically count closed the California calendar year for nonchalant chariot chauffeurs; who chew the cinnamon chef’s cutting edge cuisine while suffering from choreomania during the calypso concert, but
The coniferous cervical cyst certainly stung as the citrus corraded the corium, still not enough to prevent the cosmologically inclined cosmetologist from kicking her coupe’s clutch, at home
A chopped-up credo, counterbalanced on the cedar credenza by the cozy cleavage of cumulus clouds in canning jars, curtailing the conservation of cutaneous cadaver carving in the catered cabinet cabaret club where
Calcium camera calories are banned for burning celestial cholesterol with camouflaged candelabras, and yet carbohydrate-based crayons continue to circulate through the careers of carefree caretakers and cartoon caricaturist whose
Complete catalogs are kept in the catacombs of the cavity fighting catholic council, catheterized by caviler caviar-consuming cavemen, a caveat requiring a constant commitment to celibacy, but also a rent free cavernous cloister compound, that has
Chattering chimney’s who chortle to the cockney cleaners eating chromatic cherries and chakra-tuned chai in the champagne chancellor’s chamber; they change channels and chat as they churn the citronella into clarifying class-action cocktails,
Cloned to clot the toughest clutter into a cocky coalition cocoon that the colossal colonel corporal’s cologne commands, comprehensively conditioning condolences thru conquered conniption while
Consumer constellations on a continually converging continuum, copy coral corrections that correlate to corrupt correspondents, who now spend time crocheting crutch cozies in cultish community college cabanas
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
versions of the self
So there’s 1. The “actual” (physical) version of myself (at work)
2. The version that is observed by nearby spectators (at work- patients, nurses, bosses, etc.)
3. The version that is perceived by spectators (at work- patients, nurses, bosses, etc. however, “perceived” also applies to those who aren’t available to observe and who only happen to be considering me for some reason)
4. The version that only I know
5. The version that only you know
6. The version that only they know
7. The version no one knows
8. As a son (only mom & dad would know)
9-15 (other versions only specific people know) As: Grandson, brother, cousin, nephew, spouse, employee, patron, and the list goes on
16. There’s also the version I tell you about and
17. The version you hear and
18. The version you accept
19. There’s the majority’s interpretation and
20. The minority’s interpretation
21. There’s the exsistential version (by which I mean that the sum of the parts cannot be defined until after the all parts have all been determined, which is to say, the version determined after a full life was experienced/lived)
2. The version that is observed by nearby spectators (at work- patients, nurses, bosses, etc.)
3. The version that is perceived by spectators (at work- patients, nurses, bosses, etc. however, “perceived” also applies to those who aren’t available to observe and who only happen to be considering me for some reason)
4. The version that only I know
5. The version that only you know
6. The version that only they know
7. The version no one knows
8. As a son (only mom & dad would know)
9-15 (other versions only specific people know) As: Grandson, brother, cousin, nephew, spouse, employee, patron, and the list goes on
16. There’s also the version I tell you about and
17. The version you hear and
18. The version you accept
19. There’s the majority’s interpretation and
20. The minority’s interpretation
21. There’s the exsistential version (by which I mean that the sum of the parts cannot be defined until after the all parts have all been determined, which is to say, the version determined after a full life was experienced/lived)
Monday, January 12, 2009
Dialogue between 1 & 2 (2's a liar)
1: "Value is only what we perceive it to be."
2: "You're left. We sell into a notion that there is some set price for nothing."
1:"But I'm not just talking about the prices- I'm talking about value. One man throws a stone into the pond, one uses it as a doorstop or paperweight, while the last man tries to trademark the stone so that he can have the rights to all of it."
2: "Who doesn't make a distinction between a stone and a chess piece? Noone, they're all conditioned to see something natural, like a chess piece, as superior to an unnatural form like a stone. So they play with the piece, if they'd really deevolved, they would unlearn the distinction and play with whatever is near..."
1:"You're right, the world would be a better place if we realized that the natural stone can be of equal value to the manufactured chessman, if only we were playing chess."
2: "You're left. We sell into a notion that there is some set price for nothing."
1:"But I'm not just talking about the prices- I'm talking about value. One man throws a stone into the pond, one uses it as a doorstop or paperweight, while the last man tries to trademark the stone so that he can have the rights to all of it."
2: "Who doesn't make a distinction between a stone and a chess piece? Noone, they're all conditioned to see something natural, like a chess piece, as superior to an unnatural form like a stone. So they play with the piece, if they'd really deevolved, they would unlearn the distinction and play with whatever is near..."
1:"You're right, the world would be a better place if we realized that the natural stone can be of equal value to the manufactured chessman, if only we were playing chess."
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