a cyberpunk ?-scape

The mental capacity on the older model cyber-enhanced cranium-unit stretched beyond capacity today, clearly unintentionally. The intel band popped a sub-routine before our test configurations could set in, breaking connection to the public network while two of our warm bods were still jacked in. They got thermo everywhere. It left a bit of a hole in the tech boys’ work schedule for the afternoon.

The old lady busted our balls about it, shouting her way to next Sunday. Can’t really blame her, though. Four long-range radial barriers were penetrated as the damn thing literally fritzed into the next millennium. The popped sub-routine activated a sleepr, a perpetrating virus carrying orders to go Y2K on central command’s after-forge – full biblical – which then unlinked six weapon classes from spine-7.

They say that if you can clearly assess the dynamic of a situation then that’s a martial art best employed in court. So, they may as well have called me big boss dragon because all I could do was analyse the dynamic of all the arseholes in the room. Seriously, how far one little old lady could scale the arseholes of those top brass members and guests while pinching our balls in a perfect display of theatrics is uncanny. Still, siding with the ministry is one thing, but doing it while some southerner diplomats watched, I mean c’mon. I’d rather be a typist for the pony room. Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever puked in my mouth before, until then. Ressio had a nicer view of the show from his astral seat, the prick. Yeah, well, too bad for yours truly, I guess, she clamped my sec-link tight, fixating slide out, blocking dive in. I was itching to jump out hard by meeting’s end.

Least next time I’ll get one up on the battleaxe if this amateur crisis ever rears its ugly circumstances again. After all, who else could prevent this type of clean up.

A taste of the sea

A sense of clarity filled my head to the point of wheeling ‘n’ dealing like a true master of the barter. I think it was the seafood linguine I had last night, which we made with white wine, clams, mussels, bugs, prawns, the pasta plus garnish and tomatoes. Special. But I wonder, is seafood really brain food? Let’s just go with it must be.

Young, gruff and old s3

Sometimes I forget how much things cost and whether I should even bother to remember them costs sometime after the forgetting. So goes my evaluation of the old man in True Detective season three. The show itself is excellent and the writer is still a wizard with dialogue. His use of telling a story using younger, gruffer and older versions of the lead to take you through the story, the pain caused by the disappearance of a little girl, is the best use of that plot device – a much liked plot device if I may say – that I’ve seen period.

The explosion

A profane government career man experienced a fantastical deja vu when he picked up a saucer, which in a dream he once had a very similar moment occurred and was followed by an explosion.

The explosion in the dream had come from the saucer and the man turned away to avoid its force as it expanded toward a radius of thirty three centimetres from its centre. It seemingly felt to be a natural occurrence, not a self-combustion on the saucer’s part or a triggering on the man’s part, but more so a shift in the likeliness of the unlikely within the moment’s part – which to the man was a moment all too common, all too routine that it felt mundane enough to be just another time that he had picked up a saucer to place his cup of coffee upon before putting on his black leather shoes he only wore for work. He avoided damage to his face but his hand was in agony; it was black with flesh that had charred and then cracked. His spirit had retreated into itself with a fear of knowing and his body had began to sweat profusely. Then there was a stranger outside the window, veiled in an echo seven reflections deep, who induced a panic before the life-long government career man woke up.

As the deju vu passed, he wiped his forehead and took a moment to collect his thoughts, sitting down for the first time without a coffee and outside of his routine.

Speed reading through it

Some books take you for a sucker. Home Deus is one of them books. I’m halfway through and it’s so far been 200 pages of entree, served on a thicker paper and larger print, before the meat and potatoes. Now I bought this book because I was after some clear futurist insights, which it has somewhat delivered on, but I’m speed reading through it to get to the better stuff. See, it spends so much time explaining the necessity of looking to the past to get an idea of what’s coming over the horizon and then analysing past events with the skill of a commercial blogger, which just, yeah, I’m just not liking that part of it. I guess these types of books come along every now and again. There’s something frazzled with ’em.

An unruly kind of day

There was a tingling feeling at the back of my neck all day today. It was present when everyone except one was spell binded by the dreary weather outside. i think it was bored0m // annoyance // verisimilitude.exe. Call servicedesk@now

Then I watched Chernobyl, you know the one people are talking about in a secretive manner as if it’s the next big thing to be in on from the ground floor, right before any others hop into the elevator with you. It is good and it is extremely interesting, important in many respects, eye opening in others, but it is not enrapturing in the cinematic sense these people feign interest by. I’m watching it, regardless of the hype.

I had the cheap stuff with it, Suntory whiskey, before I stopped at episode four; it made me wish tv remotes still had analogue media buttons: rewind, play, forward and sometimes there was a fourth. Pause? Fast forward? Slow-mo?

I’m frustrated with the carpet in our study because it’s ugly and not very conducive of anything near imagination nor is it safe to lay on. I’ve come to believe there are Little People using it for an informatrix hyper-way that stretches across several inter-spatial segments of the several dimensions wading in this room. Murakami should have them back.

Then I found a Mark Andrus screenplay on my computer this evening. I might read it on Sunday after soldiering through Homo Deus – which is intriguing from a curiously morbid fascination of how we all might die in the future kind of way, as well as a hopeful sense of finding the right answers in the steps taken to identify the problems laid out in that oversized slog of a book kind of way.

Good night.