Sunday, February 21, 2010

The Hunter's Recruit

I began my journey by writing how it all began:

Uncle Lee had these magic forms which he passed to me; neither were yellow or green, mostly red and white. The moment I touched them I knew what fate had in store for me. Within weeks I was transported into this strange place, filled with many poo- companies. Some were dying, some were still full, while others seemed to be small, but deep with possibilities.

We explored the strange worlds, looked upon the halls of old, and spoke the Pledgeful Words. With that, our fate was sealed, and we were brought before by the great Lion Officer to the new company, where he roared life into the recruits gathered there. And from the trucks and loading bays erupted a multitude of equipment and field packs, enough for everyone.

And between the recruits he divided them into platoons, and each platoon he divided into sections. And some of the recruits he appointed as ICs, that they may govern over the other recruits.

Many days later the recruits were taken upon to the sacred garden, where a mighty apple was presented to them. Powerful was this apple, and only with the right words and training could one possess it so, for the guardians of the garden were vigilant in their watching, and nary an unsqueezed apple would bring doom upon the entire platoon. Tempting it was, to sleep or simply steal the apple, but the recruits knew their Officer would not be pleased, and bore it weight all the way back to their company, rightfully and honorably.

And the recruits took back the apples and buried them in their lockers, to keep them safe from the prying hands of the sergeants. And though the recruits did return amidst a shower of fireworks and red packets, they knew that in four days they would return once more to the company. And though the apple was returned to the garden, in the times to come they would pick it up and march through the jungles with them.

And the leaves of the apple, which were green like the greenest grass, splotched with pixels of black and brown, were worn by the recruits both forward and back, that they may journey to each adventure in the days ahead.

Still in my possession do I have a green card, and the leaves of the apple tree made into a shirt. Today I return to Orien to chronicle my adventures there once more.

Thursday, February 4, 2010


I would say that by nature I am a proud man, in that I am often too proud to lie.

It is very difficult for me to say something I do not mean. False praise for example.

It is disgusting to praise someone and then demand they do the same to you. Disgusting, and pathetic.

Yes I am a proud person in this regard. My opinions of people, my respect for people. I will respect those I want to respect, and praise those I want to praise. And if you or anyone tries making me write or say what my heart and mind do not mean then God forgive me for what I shall say or do to you.

Pride is a great sin, but in this regard I would say it is a sin only in the face of sin. For the humble would never ask to be lauded in attention. Perhaps there might be a fall I am not aware of for this notion, but if there is it is one I would gladly learn from.

You, and sometimes the censor inside me can control my actions, disguise my words or restrict my impulses.

But my opinions shall forever remain mine and mine alone. Beyond all mortal power. For only God may change the hearts of man. And you, my friend, are most definitely not He.

Wednesday, February 3, 2010

Head in the Clouds

Elaynor Green stood silently before the massive canvas, staring at its clean, white surface as if by doing so the images in his mind could be projected onto the wall. Three more minutes before he could access the Cloud. Until then, there was nothing, nothing comparable at least, that he could do.

It was such an obvious innovation he was surprised they had not thought of it sooner. The average human uses less than ten percent of his brainpower each day. This number fluctuates constantly throughout the day, depending on what the said person is doing. Extrapolating the results of an experiment using calculus took much more brain power than lets say, having lunch. And since every brain was connected directly to the internet these days…well, the rest was obvious.

Two more minutes.

The Cloud allowed those who needed just that little bit more mental processing power to access it. It optimized thinking. It made it efficient. Of course, there were problems at first, ethical issues, teething troubles- Hacking, order of priority, waste data clogging up the neruo-streams…things like that. Powerful controls were put into place, a set of very, very strict laws established and a rationing system created. Your average gardener certainly did not need access to five hundred gigabytes of neuro-space every hour, did he?

As an artist he was allowed a much higher amount of Cloud Access, though this fluctuated depending on who he was working for and what they wanted him to paint. Creativity was the most data-heavy of the many types of thought processes. Which was why he had accepted this offer in the first place: it was a political piece. Propaganda.

One more minute.

The current mayor had decided, using (quite literally) the minds of fifty-three different sociologists and psychologists from around the world, that the current “anti-cloud” sentiments that certain writers and activists were championing could be curbed through precise application of various propaganda tools. In his case, it was a depiction of the power, potential and beauty the Cloud could offer. To excite the minds of the populace, to capture their imagination!

Well, the amount imagination was allocated to them at least.

Thirty more seconds…

If he was successful, the anti-cloud activists would lose public support, and hence, processing power. Less processing power meant less dangerous speeches and words.

Elaynor didn’t really care. The chance to use virtually unlimited brainpower to create anything…anything he wanted…that alone was worth the risk. He imagined himself dancing through the sky, his mind soaring high and above, expanding across the heavens, capturing just a brief glimpse of perfection...


At last, he was fre-

Outside the museum, in the gardens filled with trees, a lone gardener stood sweeping the leaves. He thought not of beauty or splendor, nor of ethics or words. Indeed, all he could think about was the sweep-sweep motion of his hands and the color of leaves in fall.