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vaticinium ex eventu meaning prophecy from the event
Never odd or even.
Movement parallax occurs when movement causes nearby objects to move rapidly while distant objects move slowly. Movement parallax is one of the most important sources of depth information for many animals.
I awoke in bed the next morning. The scars were the only thing to keep me from dismissing it all for a nightmare. They were healed remains of wounds [we wouldn’t leave you to bleed out all over your bed, now would we]; yes, it was so, but they were not old, familiar scars. I called in sick to work, which was not entirely a lie as I threw up several times upon waking. The memories of the dream did not come easily upon my return to “reality.” I spent a great deal of time deliberating on whether it was the onset of schizophrenia, the breaking of my mind into representative manifestations of the psyche brought on by my tendency to overwork myself, or if it was in fact a profound religious experience of enlightenment. It seemed like a modern extension of the stories of old, in a way. Although, later I came to think of it as a trial of Naraka: a test of my clarity of thought and magnitude of faith. Now I think it is to be a little of each, as well as a little of a few somethings else, that is the way of life. With some focus and relaxation, I was able to fight through the barrage of memories that threatened to drown whatever remained of my sanity and recall what Anima had told me about the one she was calling her captain. With the resources I had gathered for myself, it was not such a difficult thing for me to be finding the criminal hacker that was called a menace in the papers and Coffin Nail [oh sweet irony, you are a fickle mistress] in the shadows beyond the street lamps. After finding him, it was a more difficult thing to be convincing his crew that I was not a part in some sort of trap. You must understand that Coffin Nail had a fearsome reputation among the others; that is, the people of Zion. I came to learn this story much later, but I feel it is appropriate to be telling it now. You must also understand that the knowledge I speak of Zion and the crews was also something that did not come to me until much later, and was also something that it took a great deal of effort for me to understand, especially as one who could not see these truths for myself. [you’re better off in than out, food’s better] But that is a part of the story which must be saved and I will do so now. The Coffin Nail had a fairly docile past until a singular incident that seemingly set him on a path of self-destruction. [the death of his precious, his sweet, his Mari] In the past, he was the operator [in the past he was Trans] of a ship; however, by skill, not design. What I mean by that, is that he had the means to enter the simulation [complete cranial, jacks and plugs], but his innate talent of sight for the code kept him without. However, from that point on, the point of the tragic event which I had mentioned [the great tragedy of survivor’s guilt], he was a different man, as I am told. He was the first volunteer for every mission and the front line of every attack. He was also the sole survivor of many an encounter. [can’t just let you throw it all away so easily] And, in that, I am meaning that it was more than a simple matter of skill, or chance, or even luck. Despite the danger he recklessly threw himself into, he was always found alive; not always unscathed, but always recovered. [one of we thought a few bullet holes would bleed some sense into him] Initial jokes of his guardian angel gave way to dark rumors. [why thank you, how sweet of them] I was told that he faced more than a few allegations of betraying his people to their deaths in exchange for his survival. [fear what you don’t understand] For the others, being assigned to the crew of the Coffin Nail, for at this time he was a captain, was a terrifying thing. [a ship in the hands of a suicidal captain is a terrifying thing indeed their psychoanalysts must have overlooked something forgotten to ask the right questions] At any rate, I accumulated these whisperings of knowledge from his crew over time through long car rides and long nights at my apartment while we waited for whatever new data they needed to compile. At this point, I suppose you might find it odd that I maintain residence within the simulation. Another scar from that nightmare, I suppose. [a relatively simple matter of swapping the records dropping you off the radar doctor rajlich i pronounce you no longer existent] From my later research (discussion we shall be reaching soon enough), I learned that the Agents found a half dozen of my fellow game players left in Naraka. I know not whether there were more of which I had not seen who made that number or if another poor creature was condemned to die in my place. [the ol’ switcheroo 6=6 and none the wiser] All I do know is that for all the technical expertise of the men and women of Zion, they cannot be tracing the link from my self in this place to my self in the other, leaving me to wonder if what they say is true or if I have never truly left his game behind. It seems to be just as plausible to me that I remain trapped in his realm of insanity as it is that I am trapped in a simulation from which I cannot being released. The obsession with which I have been marked is complimented only by oppressive paranoia that leaves me wondering if his playful malice lies behind the smile of the mail delivery man [guess who] or if he is taunting me with an encrypted message delivered unto me through the chirpings of two birds outdoors my window [now that’s just crazy]. Such things make me wonder if I might not have been better with lacking the knowledge of the many guises he has borne, the nine hundred and ninety-first incidence that has plagued me so, that has ascended to where he stands on the backs of the nine hundred and ninety who came before. [that’s a clever way of putting it mind if we quote you on that] Yet the obsession, it drives me still to continue tracking those informations about 991 and his dealings. I suppose I am entertaining notions that being able to understand what machinations drive 991 will finally give me some rest. I hear stories and rumors of an Exile by the calling of Collector. [no comment] On a level, I suspect it is him, picking up the pieces as he did of before. I understand part of what drives him, the overpowering consciousness derived of the one called Dale, a behavioral analysis function. [ignorant beast dale has nothing to do with it] In that regard, he is still fulfilling his function [nonononono we are free], by studying and classifying the behaviors of the humans inside the simulation, although the using of that information now that he is set adrift from the Source is a thing unknown to me. Perhaps he maintains an ulterior agenda which no other can be deciphering, not even myself. Or could it be that for a program, there is no escaping the designs of its initial purpose? [deadeadeadeadeadead] I know what he would say to that. [arrogant primate] I met a hacker once who claimed to have once spoken with 991. He would not tell me how he came to be granted such an audience; however he did tell me that the first thing that he did ask was the inherent purpose of his programming. I am told the being laughed and replied “Free as the wind blows, I shed that hair coat long ago.” I do believe it is a reference to the uncomfortable garments worn as penance by medieval clergy of many ago. [bingo] Either that or he is executing a joke concerning the primate origins of the human being. [bingo] But here I have tracked myself aside; Dale was the topic of conversation. A program driven outside its bounds to the madness that lies beyond. Dale’s purpose could not be changed to fit another mould and it overflowed the edges, burning the hands that held it. However, while Dale was a rabid dog, 991 is a rationalizing, thoughtful being. [are you coming on to me] I cannot say for certain if that makes him an even greater threat or not so. [oh you] I do know that “the machines” have had the motivation to be working with him in the past to disable some threat to the stability of their simulation. [threat which one] It is not information that is easy to acquire. I suppose even artificial intelligence can resent reliance on another to solve its problems. Humans certainly do often enough. From my searching, I have been determining that it was a problem of their own creation, a security protocol that worked a little too well and expanded its parameters of its own accord. [always comes back to the ever frumious incident of the bandersnatch] I have done a great deal of research on various programs, particularly the ones they call lupines, for the crews of Zion. The structure of the system of self-aware programs is very much object oriented. [consider free will and evolution thwarted] Most programs I’ve analyzed are not assigned ‘knowledge’ beyond the extent of their single function. From a very human standpoint, this is seeming a negative thing. I attribute my successes as a programmer to very not programmer experiences that I have had in the past of my life. Although on the other shoe, I remember watching a poor movie of science fiction after work far ago and being disgusted by the absurdity of soldier robots programmed with the capacity to make corny jokes as the hero killed them. [however real humans didnt even program their worker drones to speak] However, jokes aside, I am very disturbed in the studying of what little information I have been given about the Agents which the crews I work with are fearing very much. [fear not the reaper] They appear single-minded entities, driven by strict adherence to commands that are passed to them by some superseding function that I know not. [the source the architect the core the beginning] I find that to be a terrifying thing, the inability to reason. Especially when taken into account the glimmers I have seen of programs that take their functions too far. I am supposing sentience should not be necessary for every function, but sentience without reason and judgment is a dangerous, terrifying thing. [and thusly smith was born] Which leads us back to Shiva, 991, or any of the many of names and forms he has taken. Quite the opposite, he is a vast pillar of knowledge, coupled with a shrewd intelligence. [silver-tongued flatterer] I know I have said otherwise in the past many times, my opinion of him forever oscillates from fascination and awe to hatred and disgust. I am supposing the worst part is the knowledge that I am not alone in my experience with him. [would you believe your ol’ pal Coffin’s Nail is our bestest bud] I have found records that others have experienced the same as myself. I wonder how many others there are existing out there now with knowledge of his doings and happenings. The crew of the Pegasus recently told me of another crew who told of a program that would give them information they needed if they would present it images taken of locations that satisfied certain conditions. They played its game, for the information was reliable. [within reason of course] I spent a great quantity of time attempting to determine why he, for I am certain it was him, would require such a thing. I have been researching much of psychology since my first meeting with him. So much so that I do believe I would have received a degree by now. In order to track the one who tracks us, you must understand how and follow it back to the source. After much deliberation, I have convinced myself that it is a reverse of a Rorschach test. A test of what the mind visually matches to an ambiguous concept, rather than what ambiguous concepts the mind matches to visual stimuli. [smart feller] Although, from my studying, I’ve also learned that these things are no measure of the quality and composition of a mind. In the past, the mind has been likened to a computer, but it is nothing so simple. The mind is a device of computing power, but its computations are biased by hopes, dreams, wants, desires. Not to mention, jealously, hatred, depression, obsession. Not so simple as a collection of ifs and thens, not by far. Although I have also encountered quite a few programs who more than manage to pass as humans. [exiles all] The artificial intelligence that spawned them must be a truly wondrous thing. It makes me amazed that human programmers ever reached the point where they could develop such exceptionally intricate systems of logic. And it pains me that the machines and humans could not be reconciling their differences; or perhaps it was the similarities which caused the difficulties between them. History aside, I have been taken to study several captive exile programs with amazingly unique personality disorders and mannerisms. Zion commissions me to study their interaction with the virtual environment that surrounds them. Beyond that, I am receiving the opportunity to learn why it is that they are acting the way they are. Can a program truly develop a shy personality through its… I would say growth, but I do not think that is the appropriate word. So then are programs created with imperfect psyches or do they generate such themselves? As misdirection? A smokescreen to distract others from seeing their true logic? While I find this to be a distinct possibility, the course of my research has not lead me to reach a conclusion on the matter. [you are a very clever one doctor] Personality is not an easy matter to locate or decode. I suppose my distinction previously made holds to be a truth in the end; emotions and code are not reconciled with ease. But it causes me to consider the same for Shiva 991. The stories that I have collected and connected to him have presented a broad spectrum of mentalities. So I am asking myself, is it an insanity developed from the slow addition of the fragments of others’ thoughts or is it another smokescreen, another trick? I once communicated with a program called Erd. He did not know that he was speaking with a human, we had hacked the transmission frequency after a raid on one of the Exile’s labs. After a discussion of some intricacy of protocol within the social hierarchy of the Exiles, one that I made much care to tiptoe through without notice, he made tell of a story of a program he had employed. This particular program he said to be a woman. [she was one of our more exotic puppetries can definitely understand the appeal] He referred to her as “a wolf pretending to be a sheep in wolf’s clothing.” According to the word of Erd, she agreed to eliminate his rivals for the exchange of an extensive collection of archived files of media from the before and during the time of the simulation. [absolutely dying for a new a new novel] 991 has a fascination of human and program media; movies, books; stories designed by the inhabitants of the simulation and those who came before. I suppose it is comforting that all manner of creature finds solace in the joys of a story, yet I find it odd that a program would be fascinated so with the imagination of the human mind. It may have been him of that Erd spoke, but I see him lurking in every story and rumor. And, unfortunately, rumor is all I can ever obtain. The mask stays on, the confusion surrounds, and I cannot be knowing if it was him or another of similar nature. Circumstance has forced me to move to a new apartment today. One with considerably augmented security as installed by my Zion benefactors. While driving back to the small enclave I am… was calling home, our car was ambushed by some of the lupine programs they have set me to studying. While we did escape them, this crew’s captain deemed it too much of a risk to leave me making residence in the same location. They cannot know how vulnerable I feel, am. They can come and go as they please, but I must remain here, bound by the rules of a system I am told confines me, yet I cannot see. [but we understand] How easily it is that my home can be traced and I can be found without any tricks up my sleeve, any defensive mechanisms, any reliance on myself. I am left completely dependent on these distraught and frayed men and women who have taken to my care and my employment. Yet, despite their capable hands, I feel fear. The end could come at any time. And I am not yet become ready to pass on to the next. I have not yet completed the journey that has begun in this form. The researching I have done during this past... in fact, I do not know how long it has been since I have been found. Without the distraction of my old “false” job, the subtle messages of the television, or my maya-blinded colleagues, the trappings of the simulated world, there is no need to trace the passage of time. There are only the things that you are knowing and the things that you are still learning. Whether it is the secret underground some call the “Tower” [you were there then however did you come to find it] where I purchased virtual beverages for shady dealers of information who would pass to me a telling of an unusual program and anomalous happening or the history of a world you were never born into. I have found many stories that may or may not be connected to the one classified as 991; I have not been able to decide of more than a few that I am confident are him. Of what I am certain is that he is not one seeking to destroy the system. The leopard does not destroy the jungle that masks it from its prey. And predators. [you have a clever way with words doctor despite your troubles] Beside so, he does not seem the type who would copy himself into the outside world, the machine warzone as it has been described to me. [yet survival reigns supreme] I must be brief, I’ve just had a call that this location is no longer safe, I must burn my papers. I never cast off my fear of keeping my research saved on computers, although I suppose these papers are just as easily hacked and stolen as the computer in my lab in a virtual world. Sometimes misdirection and smokescreens are the only assurance of security. [and you misdirected them all didnt you]
It’s a pity that after all he survived, all he had accomplished, the good little doctor was laid low by the very lupines that Zion commissioned him to study in exchange for their protection. And nothing we could do, entirely out of our hands.
Figure of Speech, the confusion between the metaphorical and ordinary uses of a word or phrase.
The bleeding man names death inside a spoiled head. The sober tribe expects solace after the backlog. When can an upgraded jury prevail? Can death gift the bleeding man? For him, a jackout is death. Death reflects! A staring tongue fishes within the patient ditch. Death strays! How the bleeding man attempts to rent the infrastructure! He progresses, though hunted. However, a pedantic nature punctures his plans. A maternal mask brings mortal malaise. Should the bleeding man leap? Death awaits!
There are the odd members of the criminal underworld who are aware, on at least some level, of the complexity of the struggle that surrounds them. They usually maintain a working relationship with one or more exiles, or in some cases, entire gangs. They do jobs for the exiles in exchange for unique favors that only usurpers of the system could perform.
From the Tricksy Game of Death:
Chryl
I suppose you could think of him as Euphausiacean whale food.
A total disregard for my good will. Here he is again. And on the wrong end of the firing squad, no less. Almost as if he wants to die. Almost. Ridiculous self-serving masochistic primate. Older minds than I have dubbed thee coward. Feeling sorry for yourself. Oh, yes. There's the ticket. The woman. It's always over a woman. Reproduction, procreation, there's the inherent flaw. Easier to keep a pen of geldings than stallions. But hey-diddle, enough gyre and gimble. Why waste this stupendulous opportunity? We'll just have to see what our dear, dear friend fits to do about his extension on life.
Can’t kill what doesn’t exist.
Nudge one domino and the whole plot unfolds, a grand cataclysm from a single push.
She pales! She bases the love upon a past, processed god. A forgotten immortal. Each automatic fashion refines the ratio. The immortality inherits her a past nostalgia. Within every turnaround, the freezing cold encroaches her.
They that sow in tears shall reap joy.
The current occupants of the Tower, whomever they may be, typically provide a wealth of information regarding the less talked about portions of the simulation. Some focus on the mysterious and anomalous elements, the illogic and the unknown. Others are traffickers of stolen codes and artifacts. There are others still that deal in the business of bluepills, simulated networks of power. Never a dull conversation in the Tower, even if it be empty.
The brain makes up 2% of a person’s weight. Despite this, even at rest, the brain consumes 20% of the body’s energy. The brain consumes energy at 10 times the rate of the rest of the body per gram of tissue. The average power consumption of a typical adult is 100 Watts and the brain consumes 20% of this, making the power of the brain 20 W.
A tastier morsel we never did see. And so dark, moody, disturbing. Delightful! If ever there were a reason to unhide, uncloak, unstealth, it’s this.
10. All Total Behavior is designated by verbs and named by the part that is the most recognizable.
Mr. David Smith, commonly known as Sykin, possessed an obsession with the individual of incidence who happened to share his surname. It may be nothing, but we have insufficient resources to devote to investigation of this individual at this time. This obsession is evident through the deluge of tributes he produced in his dubious honor. A drone dedicated to his cause, whatever that may be, Sykin merits observation. His infatuation with Incidence Smith is worth enough. If he were to find a way to facilitate his revival, there could be disastrous repercussions. While we have found no evidence of any remains, it is always wise to err on caution. There have been several rumors of resurfacings, after all, however obscure their source. Sykin seems to be meticulous, perhaps exhibiting signs of an obsessive compulsive disorder. Crisp black suit. His emulation of Smith extends to his attire. Even without the threat of a reoccurrence of Smith, Sykin could prove to be a formidable adversary to our infrastructure. He should be observed from afar and treated with caution.
Suggestions of an internalized mental anguish? Perhaps feelings of repressed emotional needs gone unanswered. Or feelings of neglect, being ignored, words falling on empty ears, ideas going unheard. Then again, it could just be art.
High praise from her.
{Sykin – David Smith:
If paradox could take a form, it would appear as David Smith. At our first encounter, he was a Zion enlistee, if I recall correctly, he had my forehead at the end of an FM-700. I used to monitor the public airwaves for stories on the newest endeavor of his hovercraft; the Guardian. From what I pieced together, it was a single-ship armada, with a merciless commander at the helm. Time passed, and threats varied. “Debir Court, an hour from now.” The words climbed into my head, gnawing at any hope of rationality. He approached the Tetragrammaton, a black suit strikingly contrasting black suits, and denounced his loyalty to Zion. I had heard stories that he had sabotaged his ship, stranding his former crew in the real, but could never find substantial proof to confirm or negate it. When he boarded my ship, his was nowhere to be found, as if it had dropped from existence. Though my habitual dock is an insurgent mining facility, he insisted that we receive clearance to dock at Zero One. What he had done is still ambiguous, but he returned to my ship more cold, analytical than any man I had met. He now leads the Tetragrammaton’s Intelligence Department, of which I am an emissary. Our relationship is odd, each holding distinctive levels of authority above the other. However, I hold David Smith in the highest regard, and consider him one of the most devoted representatives of the machine cause.
“Why does this man
Defy the storm, and burn us all
Each time his hand waves
The sun, it sets on lonely graves
Haven’t we read this page before
We’re gonna lose the war
Put down the glory flag
Nothing will be the same
This is the world he wants
Pray for the brave and the young
It won’t bring them back again”
Jamiroquai – “World That He Wants”}
Rub a duck. Crash a truck. See you later. Bye, good luck.
And the house, when it was in building, was built of stone made ready before it was brought thither: so that there was neither hammer nor axe nor any tool of iron heard in the house, while it was in building.
Our new avatar will be more radical than what we have used recently. More so than the Shiva deva we used in the garden. This one shall be a construct of both logic and illogic. A deviously logical worker shrouded with a cloak of frivolous nonsensicals. What better to suit our needs than the semblance of a clown. The association with fun and games is a useful connection which we can utilize. Clowns are typically viewed as non-threatening, yet they are often accompanied by a slight thread of fear. Enough to provide a subtle effect while maintaining an amusing nature. And haven’t we been likened to a carnivale time and time enough? We’ll combine the results from the mask study as well.
Miya Takimoto (whoa), G. Hill (not Grant though), Reno Bryce (ol’ Reno). Big Three or three blind mice?
Positive reinforcement to initial hostilities was insufficient to maintain the reaction. Countermeasures redirected the aggression to the source for most cases. Resulting theory of some nonsense regarding life-stealing or body-snatching. The tabloids always win in the end. If their curiosity outplays their aggression, then the next approach is in order.
Seems there's more to our little tick tock man after all. He isn't so by the books, by the looks. Favors beget favors and Mercury seems to be trying his hand at some clockwork. So what did the tin man down there do to earn such monumental maintenance? Overtime? Work off the clock?
Oh, she welcomes them with open arms and baited hooks. Peace, love, truth, chocolate, synonymous sinkers. Increase sims by the wharfs. Why this place? Decadence, storage, water, sparse accommodations, sparser crowds. She's looking for someone? She's hooking for someone?
Individuals with a 39% probable comparative reaction are coming for a little trip. The Jacks have been busy boys, basketball and beers and balancing brokerages. Susie, AJ, Josie, Brucie are being eliminated from the study. No chance of mice chewing through the wires after, so waste not. Bound to go better than last time. Bye, bye, baby.
Zeus was deified, saw Suez.
Power surge traveling through the system. More of those juice junkies. Not so easy to track, interferences are cropping up everywhere. Easier to follow on foot. Just follow the blaze. Naturally the mice show up for the aftermath, drop the blame a few stones short of the green. Caught the tail end in Uriah but they disappeared. Nothing to keep the good little ducklings from blowing a fuse. Dead, dead, dead, goose!
Hook, line, and sinker. Hasn't anybody ever heard of a trojan horse around here. Those who don't know stories are doomed to write them. Following the fisherman's line out to his hook, determined to spring a leak. All one has to do is stand below with the net and catch what falls out after. And what a catch. They've been at it a long time, sharp knives make smooth talkers. Oh, pleasant puns. Lets see how much good our talking will do them. What's mine is mine, what's theirs is mine.
It might not be such a bad idea to leave puppets nearby to monitor the data nodes for suspicious activity. Not near enough to create a disturbance, but close enough to look for anyone reconning, reconnoitering, or researching.
We should seek lesser known programs who have relevant knowledge on the weather patterns and control functions. We’re growing absolutely disgusted with this balmy pseudo-apocalyptic skyscape.
“Sometimes I remember it one way, sometimes the other. If I’m going to have my way, I’d prefer my past to be multiple choice.”
Now there’s a sore sight for eyes.
Our compadre has a new trick up his sleeve. He’s opening the tunnels and back doors to every Tseng, Daulaires, and Hachimantaro. Prediction: chaos. The System surely will not submit to such unrestricted access. But looks like the joke’s on us, they’ve opened a few doors of their own. Utterly outrageous! We’ll have to pay them a visit, lay a few complaints on their customer satisfaction assuredness representatives.
The team has been disabled. Good. We should have ten minutes before they try to contact the containment team again. We’ll have to be quick then, won’t we? How’s the view from the roof? All clear down below. There’s quite the flock of pigeons up here though. Such curious creatures. We could adapt them to play lookout for us, you know. Then we wouldn’t have to waste our time. We know that a swarm is far more effective than just one individual. We’ll worry about that later, for now let’s just finish salvaging the code before further degradation sets in. Fine. We’re almost done here. There’s someone coming, bluepill. Checking against the database. Name is Jessica Thompson. She was questioned by the police five months ago about her friend’s disappearance. Intercept her before she gets here. Tell her there’s a problem with the electricity and our crew is here fixing it. Already talking to her. Done. We’ve retrieved all we can from this one. Move out before the Agents get here.
Too bad, I hid a boot.
From the Omnicron...
For the Joker of Diamond’s Delectation:
Dummy Siren..
Distanced by haze,
To shadows we gaze.
Running rampantly,
Inside-out of me.
A voice shouts to call,
Knows not of us all.
Many minds within,
Too many for him...
Joker of Diamonds,
Elucidated?
Or not bright enough?
Pools of vision blurred?
Gaze upon these words.
Father has him now.
Though he's Father's guest,
There's no clemency.
Stringed fate across paths,
You tread upon these,
But, no loins of ours.
Our heart is at ease.
Stored in your pocket,
Desires of many,
Which others forget.
Are you still happy?
What of your pockets is you desire? Gone, but perhaps to the Toy Master's pockets?
A signature move.
Hell isn’t half bad after all.