He's here! He's here!
Commotion spreads, the only word to describe the reaction being...excitement. Or reluctance. Or eagerness mixed with fear, joy with sadness. All these feelings suspended simutaneously with each other, flickering between the poles, never quite reaching a state of rest
Rest. Such a simple word. But how does one describe its opposite? Not quite non-existence, not quite shadow. Only the observer could bring it out of the endless, and into the real.
Color surged into being. Light, matter, gravity, these things came first. The observer was approaching. He had never come here before, lost in his own sphere of familiarity. But now, another sphere would be experienced. And thus, experience back.
The world condensed. Walls and tiles, lights as science gave birth to electricity. Shops flowered, smells swirled in the air. Air. That too was observed and thus existed now. Or rather, always had.
The lucky ones, they became the background shoppers, the throngs that filled every such hub of civilization. It savored the words, new concepts beyond the abstract mathematical potentials that were before. The observer walked about now, sampling the air, browsing the shops. More and more of them flowed into being, and so the world solidified. Yet there were still others left behind. "It" was left behind, now that it understood such things. But there was nothing one could do, until the observer-
The observer sat down.
And closed his eyes.
No! The world wavered. Too soon, too sudden. Light faded. The shoppers grew misty. Smell remained, as did sound. But the others, the left behind...the chance was slipping away.
It couldn't. So close. Just a glimpse...
The observer opened his eyes.
The world returned. Confirmation, acceptance. Nothing else remained.
The others faded away. There was nothing left to observe, and so, nothing remained.
And yet, in the corner of his eye, a tiny glance; a young girl, also sitting on the bench, quietly sipping her bottle of tea.
It was enough.
The observer- no, the boy yawned, got up, stretched his limbs. He kept glancing at his watch, occasionally smoothing his hand over what little hair remained on his head. A recruit perhaps, fresh out of camp.
She watched the boy walk away, old potentials fading while the real ones remained. A strange joy filled her, one she could find no explanation for. How strange.
A brief shrug of the shoulders, a small sip of the tea. Life went on, as it always had.
It felt wonderful.
Friday, August 19, 2011
Saturday, June 25, 2011
Snippets
A large dog, its fur the color of finely ground coffee, trotting merrily across a zebra crossing and then along a sidewalk, disappearing as the bus turns into the next junction.
Two teenagers sitting side by side upon the swings under the moonless sky, their long dark hair tinted orange by the dull glow of an aging streetlamps. I jog past.
In an MRT, a pair of girls communicate silently in rapid sign language while the world chatters noisily past. My stop arrives.
These are the snippets of life, the stories yet untold.
Always, I wonder: what if? What if I had?
Two teenagers sitting side by side upon the swings under the moonless sky, their long dark hair tinted orange by the dull glow of an aging streetlamps. I jog past.
In an MRT, a pair of girls communicate silently in rapid sign language while the world chatters noisily past. My stop arrives.
These are the snippets of life, the stories yet untold.
Always, I wonder: what if? What if I had?
Saturday, May 21, 2011
Drugssss
Magic, Magicka, Dungeons and Dragons
Cheesecake, Yogurt, Ice Cream
Dissidia, Torchlight, Left 4 Dead
Anime, Manga
Online Webfiction, Webcomics
Reality keeps trying to distract me from my imagination.
And...in other news:
Magic(TM) Rapture Procedure Guide
Effective May 21, 2011
Purpose of this document
As some of you may be aware, Harold Camping of Family Radio Worldwide
has, through intense study of the Scriptures, determined that May 21,
2011 will be the date of the Rapture, as foretold in 1 Thessalonians
4:17, when Christians will be "gathered together in the clouds" to
meet Christ. As this date coincides with a number of sanctioned events
around the world, including Grand Prix Prague, and is potentially
disruptive to those events, the DCI has developed the Magic Rapture
Procedure Guide (RPG) to outline policies and procedures for
minimizing the impact of the Rapture on the integrity of sanctioned
tournaments.
1. Player responsibilities
1.1 Should the Rapture occur between rounds, players who find
themselves ascending bodily toward the heavens must notify the
Scorekeeper of their intention to drop from the
tournament. Players who fail to do so will incur the appropriate
penalties for Tardiness in the following round.
1.2 If the Rapture occurs during a round, however, players who rise
heavenward without first seeking the permission of a judge should
be issued Slow Play infractions, just as they would for getting up
from the table for any other purpose. Note that players may
concede as they begin rising toward the clouds, in which case no
penalty should be issued. If possible, ask such players to sign
the match result slip and place a check mark in the "Drop" column
before they leave.
1.3 If both players in a match are called heavenward, treat this as a
loop of mandatory actions (players cannot choose to disregared the
summons of the Lord); the result is a draw.
1.4 Treat all other infractions during the Rapture normally; though
unusual, this circumstance is not considered exceptional enough to
justify further deviation from the IPG.
2. Judge responsibilities
2.1 Judges who find themselves caught up in the Rapture should ask
permission of their team lead to go on break. Failure to do so may
result in loss of comp for the portion of the event worked thus
far.
2.2 Per the DCI uniform policy, judges who are called up by the Lord
must either remove or cover up the black DCI shirt when leaving
the tournament floor.
2.3 Should the Head Judge be taken in the Rapture, he or she should,
per MTR 1.7, transfer his or her duties to a judge who is not
visibly rising toward the skies.
2.4 If the Rapture results in no judges remaining on the tournament
floor, again refer to MTR 1.7: the Tournament Organizer may assume
the duties of the Head Judge and continue the tournament normally.
2.5 If the Rapture results in no tournament officials remaining, the
event cannot continue, and should be reported to the DCI as
"Cancelled".
3. Scorekeeper responsibilities
3.1 Due to the proficiency in dark arts required to effectively
scorekeep large events, the DCI considers it extremely unlikely
that any Scorekeeper will be unable to continue his or her normal
duties due to being caught up in the Rapture.
3.2 Do note, however, the following addition to the DCI's currently
suspended player list; the following player should not be
permitted to enroll in DCI-sanctioned events:
First Name Last Name DCI Number City Country Start Date End Date Reason
MYSTERY BABYLON THE GREAT, 6666666666 Pandemonium Sheol -4004-10-23 9999-12-31 Unsporting Conduct
THE MOTHER OF HARLOTS
AND ABOMINATIONS OF
THE EARTH
4. Handling abandoned property
4.1 It is possible that, in the confusion of mass ascension, some
players will leave their belongings in the tournament venue. Lost
or abandoned personal property should be handed in to the event's
Lost and Found desk. Players who engage in looting or theft shall
be disqualified without prize. Spectators who engage in such
behavior, but are not enrolled in the tournament, should be asked
to leave the venue by the Tournament Organizer.
5. Changes from previous versions
May 16, 2011
Removed Dark Confidant example because it was confusing.
Taken from: http://forums.mtgsalvation.com/showthread.php?t=325169
Cheesecake, Yogurt, Ice Cream
Dissidia, Torchlight, Left 4 Dead
Anime, Manga
Online Webfiction, Webcomics
Reality keeps trying to distract me from my imagination.
And...in other news:
Magic(TM) Rapture Procedure Guide
Effective May 21, 2011
Purpose of this document
As some of you may be aware, Harold Camping of Family Radio Worldwide
has, through intense study of the Scriptures, determined that May 21,
2011 will be the date of the Rapture, as foretold in 1 Thessalonians
4:17, when Christians will be "gathered together in the clouds" to
meet Christ. As this date coincides with a number of sanctioned events
around the world, including Grand Prix Prague, and is potentially
disruptive to those events, the DCI has developed the Magic Rapture
Procedure Guide (RPG) to outline policies and procedures for
minimizing the impact of the Rapture on the integrity of sanctioned
tournaments.
1. Player responsibilities
1.1 Should the Rapture occur between rounds, players who find
themselves ascending bodily toward the heavens must notify the
Scorekeeper of their intention to drop from the
tournament. Players who fail to do so will incur the appropriate
penalties for Tardiness in the following round.
1.2 If the Rapture occurs during a round, however, players who rise
heavenward without first seeking the permission of a judge should
be issued Slow Play infractions, just as they would for getting up
from the table for any other purpose. Note that players may
concede as they begin rising toward the clouds, in which case no
penalty should be issued. If possible, ask such players to sign
the match result slip and place a check mark in the "Drop" column
before they leave.
1.3 If both players in a match are called heavenward, treat this as a
loop of mandatory actions (players cannot choose to disregared the
summons of the Lord); the result is a draw.
1.4 Treat all other infractions during the Rapture normally; though
unusual, this circumstance is not considered exceptional enough to
justify further deviation from the IPG.
2. Judge responsibilities
2.1 Judges who find themselves caught up in the Rapture should ask
permission of their team lead to go on break. Failure to do so may
result in loss of comp for the portion of the event worked thus
far.
2.2 Per the DCI uniform policy, judges who are called up by the Lord
must either remove or cover up the black DCI shirt when leaving
the tournament floor.
2.3 Should the Head Judge be taken in the Rapture, he or she should,
per MTR 1.7, transfer his or her duties to a judge who is not
visibly rising toward the skies.
2.4 If the Rapture results in no judges remaining on the tournament
floor, again refer to MTR 1.7: the Tournament Organizer may assume
the duties of the Head Judge and continue the tournament normally.
2.5 If the Rapture results in no tournament officials remaining, the
event cannot continue, and should be reported to the DCI as
"Cancelled".
3. Scorekeeper responsibilities
3.1 Due to the proficiency in dark arts required to effectively
scorekeep large events, the DCI considers it extremely unlikely
that any Scorekeeper will be unable to continue his or her normal
duties due to being caught up in the Rapture.
3.2 Do note, however, the following addition to the DCI's currently
suspended player list; the following player should not be
permitted to enroll in DCI-sanctioned events:
First Name Last Name DCI Number City Country Start Date End Date Reason
MYSTERY BABYLON THE GREAT, 6666666666 Pandemonium Sheol -4004-10-23 9999-12-31 Unsporting Conduct
THE MOTHER OF HARLOTS
AND ABOMINATIONS OF
THE EARTH
4. Handling abandoned property
4.1 It is possible that, in the confusion of mass ascension, some
players will leave their belongings in the tournament venue. Lost
or abandoned personal property should be handed in to the event's
Lost and Found desk. Players who engage in looting or theft shall
be disqualified without prize. Spectators who engage in such
behavior, but are not enrolled in the tournament, should be asked
to leave the venue by the Tournament Organizer.
5. Changes from previous versions
May 16, 2011
Removed Dark Confidant example because it was confusing.
Taken from: http://forums.mtgsalvation.com/showthread.php?t=325169
Friday, May 6, 2011
Fear
A little boy stands under a field of stars.
They're all so far away, except for one. It glimmers against a faded sky, a jewel:
The little boy stares,
And reaches-
His hand stretches out, further...further; the tips of his fingers close around the edges of the light-
And then the dream ends. For I dare not look any further.
They're all so far away, except for one. It glimmers against a faded sky, a jewel:
The little boy stares,
And reaches-
His hand stretches out, further...further; the tips of his fingers close around the edges of the light-
And then the dream ends. For I dare not look any further.
Saturday, April 9, 2011
Starlight, starbright
Alone in the lab an old man worked, surrounded by instruments and stacks of paper. Only the outline of his faded lab-coat could be seen, illuminated by the light of the stars falling through a gap in the dome where a massive telescope peeked at the heavens above. Eyes wrinkled with age tiredly scanned the reports before him, endlessly checking the calculations for the slightest mistake. One hand grasped a large porcelain mug, it's surface worn and scratched from time. Just barely, one could make out letters, words, a tiny heart;
"..est...sband. Wi..t....lov..ife."
An alarm sounded, piercing the silence for a number of seconds as the old man stood up. The gap in the dome widened, the celestial glow of the night spilling in. More reports could be seen, red block letters spelling out various titles:
GENETIC RECONSTR-
CRYOGENETICS: STATIS AND REVI-
HUMAN DIGITALIZATION: A RE-
All these had been strewn all over the floor, gathering dust and footprints.
The old man hobbled over to the telescope, ignoring the shuffling of papers underneath his feet. The necessary data had already been collected. The calculations: perfect. The starlight illuminated some of the more recent reports, pieces of them also scattered on the ground. Many contained graphs and tables, collected from countless people from all over the world for this project.
Briefly a second alarm sounded, one the old man swiftly quashed. He ignored the dozens of messages asking the CEO if he could show up for one pointless meeting after the other. Meetings that became pointless fifteen years ago.
Enquires on his health, investigations into his projects...he couldn't afford such distractions now. The computers indicated the prime moment was but ten minutes away. He had to focus.
The stars above him seemed to form an endless sheet of light. Bathed in thier glow, he could only gaze in wonder, fear and hope. A foolish hope- but if it brought them together back then, perhaps it could work once more. There was an old rhyme...how did it go again?
Starlight, starbright, fir-
A third alarm. Three more minutes.
He waited.
A brief flicker of doubt. He quashed it.
Statistically, this was the best chance he had.
It was the only chance he had.
Especially when all the other routes had failed.
The final alarm. He closed his eyes.
Above, the shooting star streaked through the night sky vanishing into the horizon-
"Did it work?" asked a voice he hadn't heard in fifteen years.
Yes, he thought as he turned around to hug her,
Yes it did.
"..est...sband. Wi..t....lov..ife."
An alarm sounded, piercing the silence for a number of seconds as the old man stood up. The gap in the dome widened, the celestial glow of the night spilling in. More reports could be seen, red block letters spelling out various titles:
GENETIC RECONSTR-
CRYOGENETICS: STATIS AND REVI-
HUMAN DIGITALIZATION: A RE-
All these had been strewn all over the floor, gathering dust and footprints.
The old man hobbled over to the telescope, ignoring the shuffling of papers underneath his feet. The necessary data had already been collected. The calculations: perfect. The starlight illuminated some of the more recent reports, pieces of them also scattered on the ground. Many contained graphs and tables, collected from countless people from all over the world for this project.
Briefly a second alarm sounded, one the old man swiftly quashed. He ignored the dozens of messages asking the CEO if he could show up for one pointless meeting after the other. Meetings that became pointless fifteen years ago.
Enquires on his health, investigations into his projects...he couldn't afford such distractions now. The computers indicated the prime moment was but ten minutes away. He had to focus.
The stars above him seemed to form an endless sheet of light. Bathed in thier glow, he could only gaze in wonder, fear and hope. A foolish hope- but if it brought them together back then, perhaps it could work once more. There was an old rhyme...how did it go again?
Starlight, starbright, fir-
A third alarm. Three more minutes.
He waited.
A brief flicker of doubt. He quashed it.
Statistically, this was the best chance he had.
It was the only chance he had.
Especially when all the other routes had failed.
The final alarm. He closed his eyes.
Above, the shooting star streaked through the night sky vanishing into the horizon-
"Did it work?" asked a voice he hadn't heard in fifteen years.
Yes, he thought as he turned around to hug her,
Yes it did.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Euthanasia
Morning.
Beeps stop. Throw off the sheets. Hands over head, legs over left of the bed. Get up.
Fifteen steps to the washroom. Brush, clean, freshen up. Bit of makeup, nothing too striking, sensible highlights. The wardrobe has a choice of six different suits, and a dress. Quick decisions, quickly decide...
That one.
Her heart rate speeds up. Not good. Gotta keep vital signs undercontrol. Already toeing the line, what with the increasing bills and lousy pay. One more deficiency and that'll be it. But today she has a chance. Clinch this deal, and a promotion along the way. She'd be able to wear that dress this Sunday, entertainment night. Like everyone else, have a good time...
The walkway teams with people. Tiles glow occasionally with arrows or directions, pointing the way. Phones with built in maps, easy to follow, managing human traffic for maximum efficiency and a minimum of clogging. She steps into her own walkway of arrowed tiles. Five hundred and thirty-six steps to the workplace..
Her shoes clip off the chrome floors. The sound is echoed all around, by hundreds of other identical units. Punctuating this, a series of scutters. Tiny claws, pattering over metal sheets, hidden in the shadows between the smooth layered buildings and walls.
Her breath grows heavy. Irrational fear. They can't touch you, not yet. Just need this contract-
Stress. Fear.
Paranoia builds. The scuttering seems louder. She increases her pace for about sixty-two steps, then forces herself to slow down. No, they might intepret that as a sign of distress. True as it was, she couldn't show it.
Calm nerves. Calm breathing. The scuttering grows louder. No, softer. Softer the scuttering, louder the clip of her shoes. Focus on that, focus on the contract. Dress on Sunday. Rooms with drips and green glowing lights. Focus.
One hundred and twenty-four steps to go.
Twenty-three,
Twenty-two
Twent-
She trips.
Pain. Pain explodes around her eyes. It hurts. Twisted ankle. Teeth clenched. She cannot scream. Not even a whimper. She can't, she mustn't, she-
She does.
A slight sound is all it takes. Then they were here, here with their scuttering. Profile pictures scanning through their tiny processors, high-tech vision cams examining the injury, evaluating the pain.
Doesn't hurt. Doesn't hurt. There is no pain. Stand up. Stand up! She was too close, too close to either side. Dress on Sunday...
A red light blinks. The evaluation was done. Subject found struggling to support herself. Signs indicate mental and physical distress. No next-of-kin. No husband. Previous evaluations have indicated possibly need for Relief. Weighing current input...
Panic flood. Muscles tensed, seized. Crawling, crawl...
Crawl away!
Stress levels exceeding safety boundaries...
Too late, too late. Failure, guilty, condemned. So close, and yet...
Additional factors considered. Subject cleared for relief.
Red light...red light...green. Green. Oh God. Oh Go-
A single claw pierces her skin. And then...nothing. Whiteness. Peace.
Subject is at rest. Proceeding with cleanup. HRM (Human Relief Maintenence) report #213-413A complete.
Dress on Sunday...
Beeps stop. Throw off the sheets. Hands over head, legs over left of the bed. Get up.
Fifteen steps to the washroom. Brush, clean, freshen up. Bit of makeup, nothing too striking, sensible highlights. The wardrobe has a choice of six different suits, and a dress. Quick decisions, quickly decide...
That one.
Her heart rate speeds up. Not good. Gotta keep vital signs undercontrol. Already toeing the line, what with the increasing bills and lousy pay. One more deficiency and that'll be it. But today she has a chance. Clinch this deal, and a promotion along the way. She'd be able to wear that dress this Sunday, entertainment night. Like everyone else, have a good time...
The walkway teams with people. Tiles glow occasionally with arrows or directions, pointing the way. Phones with built in maps, easy to follow, managing human traffic for maximum efficiency and a minimum of clogging. She steps into her own walkway of arrowed tiles. Five hundred and thirty-six steps to the workplace..
Her shoes clip off the chrome floors. The sound is echoed all around, by hundreds of other identical units. Punctuating this, a series of scutters. Tiny claws, pattering over metal sheets, hidden in the shadows between the smooth layered buildings and walls.
Her breath grows heavy. Irrational fear. They can't touch you, not yet. Just need this contract-
Stress. Fear.
Paranoia builds. The scuttering seems louder. She increases her pace for about sixty-two steps, then forces herself to slow down. No, they might intepret that as a sign of distress. True as it was, she couldn't show it.
Calm nerves. Calm breathing. The scuttering grows louder. No, softer. Softer the scuttering, louder the clip of her shoes. Focus on that, focus on the contract. Dress on Sunday. Rooms with drips and green glowing lights. Focus.
One hundred and twenty-four steps to go.
Twenty-three,
Twenty-two
Twent-
She trips.
Pain. Pain explodes around her eyes. It hurts. Twisted ankle. Teeth clenched. She cannot scream. Not even a whimper. She can't, she mustn't, she-
She does.
A slight sound is all it takes. Then they were here, here with their scuttering. Profile pictures scanning through their tiny processors, high-tech vision cams examining the injury, evaluating the pain.
Doesn't hurt. Doesn't hurt. There is no pain. Stand up. Stand up! She was too close, too close to either side. Dress on Sunday...
A red light blinks. The evaluation was done. Subject found struggling to support herself. Signs indicate mental and physical distress. No next-of-kin. No husband. Previous evaluations have indicated possibly need for Relief. Weighing current input...
Panic flood. Muscles tensed, seized. Crawling, crawl...
Crawl away!
Stress levels exceeding safety boundaries...
Too late, too late. Failure, guilty, condemned. So close, and yet...
Additional factors considered. Subject cleared for relief.
Red light...red light...green. Green. Oh God. Oh Go-
A single claw pierces her skin. And then...nothing. Whiteness. Peace.
Subject is at rest. Proceeding with cleanup. HRM (Human Relief Maintenence) report #213-413A complete.
Dress on Sunday...
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Special
High on stage the newly elected president smiled at the cheering crowd with tears in his eyes. All those months of hard campaigning, of late night meetings and careful palm greasing had paid off. Not bad for a small town kid who first arrived at the Big Apple with nothing but a straw hat on his head. Not bad for an open homosexual.
As Derick West, the country's first gay president, took the mic among the flashes of dozens of cameras to begin his speech, a small part of him recalled that single quiet night when his old pa had sat next to his bed, still partly in shock at the revealation, repeating over and over that they would always love him, no matter what he did with his life. Because he was their son.
Because he was special.
Half a street and ten stories away, Gerald Nicole downed another glass of 1910, glaring through the tinted windows at the parade below as his rival achieved everything he had dreamed of. Since childhood he had aced every test, excelled through every sport, had specialized tutors and expensive courses, all to groom him for the inevitable day when he would lead his nation to glory. But now? All the fund raisers, expert panels, midnight consultations, all for naught. He had a tested IQ of 250 and an equally strong EQ. Nothing could have gone wrong.
Except now here he stood watching some under-qualified country boy bag the presidency. Gerald finished the bottle and slammed it onto the rosewood desk. It just wasnt fair. He deserved that position more than anybody. Because all the tests told him he did. Because he did not have to rely on some cheap campaigning trick to win.
Because he was special.
Patterson watched from within the throngs of the media ad the new president walked on stage. The cheers of the ignorant masses around him were sickening, but Patterson endured as he always did. In his childhood he had watched as these perfect machine-line boys and girls walked on stage to receive thier prizes. He had endured the beatings and scoldings for refusing to follow the flock. Even as an adult his employers were biased against him, his projects were shut down without reason, his voice censored over the web. He was doomed by society to remain forever mediocre for not being one of the sheep. The irony was not lost on him. For years he thought himself alone. But someone had spoke to him, found in him a kindred spirit, showed what he had to do to break the chains of his fellow man.
The president began his speech. Patterson smiled and opened his coat, revealing a single detonator. He laughed as his body blazed in simultaneous detonation, his heart without a single regret. In a single instant, the entire parade was consumed in a destructive, bright light. Patterson now knew why he had endured all that pressure, all that humiliation, all that pain. Because someone had recognized him for his worth. Because he had fulfilled a purpose far above that of his fellow sheep.
Because he was special.
As Derick West, the country's first gay president, took the mic among the flashes of dozens of cameras to begin his speech, a small part of him recalled that single quiet night when his old pa had sat next to his bed, still partly in shock at the revealation, repeating over and over that they would always love him, no matter what he did with his life. Because he was their son.
Because he was special.
Half a street and ten stories away, Gerald Nicole downed another glass of 1910, glaring through the tinted windows at the parade below as his rival achieved everything he had dreamed of. Since childhood he had aced every test, excelled through every sport, had specialized tutors and expensive courses, all to groom him for the inevitable day when he would lead his nation to glory. But now? All the fund raisers, expert panels, midnight consultations, all for naught. He had a tested IQ of 250 and an equally strong EQ. Nothing could have gone wrong.
Except now here he stood watching some under-qualified country boy bag the presidency. Gerald finished the bottle and slammed it onto the rosewood desk. It just wasnt fair. He deserved that position more than anybody. Because all the tests told him he did. Because he did not have to rely on some cheap campaigning trick to win.
Because he was special.
Patterson watched from within the throngs of the media ad the new president walked on stage. The cheers of the ignorant masses around him were sickening, but Patterson endured as he always did. In his childhood he had watched as these perfect machine-line boys and girls walked on stage to receive thier prizes. He had endured the beatings and scoldings for refusing to follow the flock. Even as an adult his employers were biased against him, his projects were shut down without reason, his voice censored over the web. He was doomed by society to remain forever mediocre for not being one of the sheep. The irony was not lost on him. For years he thought himself alone. But someone had spoke to him, found in him a kindred spirit, showed what he had to do to break the chains of his fellow man.
The president began his speech. Patterson smiled and opened his coat, revealing a single detonator. He laughed as his body blazed in simultaneous detonation, his heart without a single regret. In a single instant, the entire parade was consumed in a destructive, bright light. Patterson now knew why he had endured all that pressure, all that humiliation, all that pain. Because someone had recognized him for his worth. Because he had fulfilled a purpose far above that of his fellow sheep.
Because he was special.