we are the storm…
we fight in the rain…
Gabriel sat in front of his computer screen. Elbows on the desk, face cradled by his hands. He was running a program called Google Earth, providing him real-time satellite footage. He was scanning the English countryside when he spotted something. There. He zoomed in again. A mile across and a half a mile wide. Probably only visible from the sky. He took a puff from his cigarette and studied the figure. Most people called them crop circles. But, oddly enough, sometimes they didn’t have circles. This one did. Every crop circle was different. All appeared overnight with no trace of the makers. Many stories of where they come from exist in the minds of men. Natural weather phenomena, swirling energy patterns, aliens.
At these explanations, Gabe would only smile. A quiet smile. Hidden. But not hidden well. He knew what they were. And this one had a signature. It was one of his. The old man. His teacher.
Given the nature of these things. Gabe didn’t know what this symbol was trying to do. Even from the screen, he could feel the power.
He was going to have to act fast.
Pushed himself from his pc. Almost leaping. With long quick strides, he crossed his spartan apartment and directly bent over to open a black wooden chest on the floor. Obviously being used as a chair in this sparse living quarters.
He took careful stock of what was inside. Rings of various shapes, designs and ornamentations. Carefully. Purposely. He put a ring on each of his fingers. The two extra rings he put into his front jacket pocket.
There were also various crystals that he put in a small leather pouch A cell phone. An mp3 player, bottles of prescription drugs, a flat black rock, a pair of opaque shades and a variety of objects that certainly didn’t share any perceptible category. He shoved it most of it into a small green pouch bag that he slung across his shoulder
… Other objects he stuffed into the various pockets of his cargo pants… he was getting ready. He didn’t know what for… but he knew he was going to have to do something.
He put on his shades…
And he rushed out the door.
On the computer screen, the program went on default. The round shape of the earth continued to revolve. All across different points of the globe were similar crop circles. Each different. But each had a signature. 3 circles at the bottom with a line across them.
These were sigils. A global hypersigil was being built.
time to reclaim my strength. been weakened by the forces of nature. only one way to level up. drink massive amounts of potion.
words don’t come to me as easily as it used to…
made no money this time out.
nothing ever works out for me… ever… even when i was a kid…. which is why zen is the only way for me now… the dao is for happy people… and bad things happen whenever i start being happy… catholicism only pisses me off…
i shouldnt be surprised… went a month and a half of working hard and in the final stretch, my body gives up.. could be psychosomatic… its my spirit that usually gives up. went thru isolation, lonelyness, extreme hot humid weather, stress, hunger, no sleep… and nearing the finish line, i get derailed… 180/110… high. even now its down to 150/110… still deadly. not that i mind dying… just dont see the point in dying for seafood.
here i am. on the raggedy edge. times coming there wont be room for folk like us to run about….
getting close to full harvest mode. done a couple of test runs… crabs and shrimp look good enough… tilapia is dying some.
new words: lumpot. bintol.
been spending a lot more time in the fish pens. too much for my comfort. nothing to do out here. except my favorite pasttime, drinkin. but i’ve been told to downplay it, so as not to encourage the same behavior from the workers. it no fun when you have to hide it. i like to be known as a perpetual drinker.
got some synchronicity working for me…
return to punishing the body. spent a year and a half getting fat and avoiding exertion. time to feel physical pain again. therein is my power. been sleeping too much. do the caffeine thing again. switch to hard liquor, beer lows you down.
remember what you ought.
you can’t always get what you want…
but if you try sometimes…
well you just might find…
you get what you need…
follow the NFA model with rice. have govt import the oil and sell it to public vehicles at a subsidized rate. this will bring overall prices down as demand will fall at the big oils pump. fuck em.
how to pay for it?
a 10 year moratorium on international debt payment. roll the dice. if it works, investors will flood the country as overhead energy costs plummet. even local companies will reach higher revenues to tax. jobs for all!
or whatever…. you know.
while no longer one for introspection, my previous stores of self awareness still remain. i have no goals, got no use for them. my social skills have improved because i don’t care how others view me. my inner monologue is still silent. i have few needs and none of them require much. just a couple of beers and some cigarettes. no pride, no pity. no love, no fear. can’t see the point in exerting the effort . even rage is becoming rare.
going through the motions….
I’m getting too old for this shit.
there’s static in my blood….an undefined vibration resonating in my bones….
it may finally be coming. the failure of my earthly flesh.
this shell is failing me. my tainted soul keeps on this endless freefall. more and more, the old ways no longer give comfort to the sinner.
pain is an old friend and we are getting reacquainted.
the world is not conspiring against you. this is life in progress. no waiting. accept the truth that this it. this is life. nothing more.
Libertarianism is a term adopted by a broad spectrum of political philosophies which advocate the maximization of individual liberty and the minimization or even abolition of the state. Libertarians embrace viewpoints across that spectrum, ranging from pro-property to anti-property, from minarchist to openly anarchist
it was the stuff of which legends are made.
rain and wind, conspiring against the city. my city.
bringing her to her knees.
for one dark night, the floods crept into our sanctuary.
where we were safe from the dangers felt in the outlands.
never apologise. its a sign of weakness.
i lost my zippo. bad omen.
there was a time when the world met my eyes with wonder. time passed and apathy filled my heart. still does…
i have no dreams of what the future may bring. day to day is the only way i can function. it leads to a hardscrabble life.
i suppose, i have actually become zen. letting things unfold on their own.
today, we walk to the fishpond. i estimate it to be a kilometer over harsh terrain and talahib. under the blistering sun with no cloud cover.
this will not end well.
already contemplating revenge on my uncle for even suggesting it.
hearing a lot of harvest time horror stories… the main lesson is… im gonna need some firepower. and maybe hire some protection. i dont wanna die over fish.
damn. boats are expensive. just hired a boat builder. could buy a nice car with that kinda cash. gonna take 2 months to finish the build. but its big enough to make harvesting easier.
found out im gonna have to go at this fisherman thing alone during the harvest season. go up against crooked workers, natural disasters, poachers, thieves and armed communists.
could be fun.
just came from bartering with the crabmen at the pond. too damn hot. we released about 6,500 crab. half of that are the little ones. hope they survive til harvesting.
im not cut out for this shit.
gonna go back to the pens later. gonna release crablets today. should be educational. also, bought a hat with me. it should help. the heat is oppressive. overwhelming. pervasive. all-encompassing. almost dropped last time. gonna have to anticipate. probably wont take a swig from the flask til sundown.
don’t have an internet connection here. gonna be a while til i get online. i could probably buy one of those wireless usb deals, buy i hate lugging my laptop around. especially to the boondox.
they got a coupla extra cable channels here. found one called fliptv. there some commercials for old sitcoms. i used to consider myself an expert, but i never heard of these. like a show with richard gomez, nanette medved and maricel laxa called atm. or one with herbert bautista as a director co starring ruffa.
gonna become a fisherman. for a living. weird. not really within my field of experience.
so what. i am just killing time til something interesting happens.
staying with my sister while she’s housesitting. down south for awhile. not the best internet connection, but it’s functional. the weather’s cold enough to be tolerable. been raining for a week. no cable. it’s been a good time for me to start appreciating the local networks. i like tv5.
groceries are expensive.
learned about appulous. been dl apps like crazy.
just got stanza. off the appstore. so i’m reading again. looking into feedbooks and bookgluttony. deciding on which to join. thinking of uploading some stories.
leverage is back.
left my copy of strunk and white at home. along with the laptop(stupid hp and their crappy keyboards).
nobody should buy patis for awhile. trust me.
gonna start using this as a blog more. probably would have started writing again, but my laptops keyboard is busted. an hp defect. looked it up on the net and it victimizes a lot of users. G, H, comma and baCKSPACE KEYS ARE Hard to use when they work at all.
The Path To Serenity moved along at forty miles an hour. It was a monolith of a machine, hued with splashes of black, brown and olive green, a centipede of metal and bulletproof polymers. She was the first to be produced of the new generation Ground Carrier fleet. This was her virgin voyage to battle.
Admiral Armando Castillos was in command of the carrier and her twenty-three crew members. The captain of The Path To Serenity took the battlefield position of x-o and his second positioned herself at Monitor Station. Both where honored to be under the man who developed the modern GroCa.
They had a compliment of marines situated at the center stage of the multi-segment transport. Warriors, side by side. The cramped space making the body heat raise the temperature in the compartment. They silently listened to their personal audio devices, ignoring all stimuli. Bathing in dull amber light, waiting for it to change to green or red.
Castillos remembered the early days. The days right after the Fall. When civilization collapsed. For the republic, at least. It wasn’t anything as dystopian as nuclear war or the aftermath of catastrophic disaster. The end was brought on by the rise of the military. It was just under a decade after the new millennium. After repeated changes in the government, the military decided to bring order to the situation. Fifteen years later, much is still not known about the details. One thing is certain. Brother was set upon brother, and blood soaked the motherland. Members of the United Nations decided not to interfere, given that all sides lacked the moral imperative to be supported. The elected government had been accused of fraud and had only come to power because its predecessor was forcibly ejected. On the other hand, Asia had an awful track record when it can to military juntas. Either way, the country did not have enough oil to make it worthwhile. The rebel factions had quickly taken over most military installations with the help of the communist resistance forces. Until, of course, the reds turned on their new friends. Everything happened inside a week. Then gunfire became the new theme of the streets.
He was a member of the newly-formed Civilian Militia. It was made of the smallest demographic in the country, the middle class. Together with the 404 infantry and the Presidential Guard, this was the last of the armed fighters for the civilian government.
Following his captain, Castillos’ squad found themselves in the military junkyard near the bay. They cut had contact with all other forces. The small group of twelve had two engineers and five mechanics with them. They found the carcasses of dead tanks and tons of armor plating suitable for their use. Small thin smiles, almost invisible, traced their young battle worn faces. All had lost someone in the carnage, and running away no longer felt like an option. It was time to take the fight to them.
The admiral looked at the swivel monitor at his side. Readouts showed the outlines of their target destination brought by satellite imagery. Spies had reported that the base had gone rogue and had acquired a new weapon. Peace had been tenuously achieved by sweat and sacrifice. He was not about to let it slip away because of one general with delusions of grandeur.
“What’s the position of the Hammer of Tor?” he said, pressing the button on his Comm. Module to send his voice via the Bluetooth headset to the Mon-Station.
“Forty meters to our portside, sir”
“Comm, tell Captain Macutay to use the secondary route and increase speed to full ahead. He is to take out that road block with rockets and give us mortar cover while we go in.”
Codes were entered and beeping noises signaled acceptance.
It was a hot and humid summer day, famous in the pacific for its draining effect on both land and man. The fighting had subsided. There was no central ruling body, only bandit groups holding territories. Ideology had fallen to the wayside. A crescent shape of a parachute was visible in the sky. Relief goods dropped by the International Red Cross. Hundreds flocked to it, ragged and malnourished men, women and children, their skin baked by the sun and gaunt to the bone.
Men emerged from the shadows, gunfire erupting from them. Strafing the crowds, they parted the sea of humanity quickly. From the tops of houses and broken windows, from corners and doors, they flooded the street. The bandidos of Malate. They loaded supplies to their jeeps and occasionally took potshots at the rabble.
Then, from the distance, dust rounded a corner. The sound of mechanized thunder battered the asphalt.
The ground carrier The Path To Serenity neared the base with its cruising speed of 65 mph, combat loaded with 2050 ready rounds and 2220 stowed rounds of 40 mm. Admiral Castillos stood, crouching somewhat to prevent his head from touching the ceiling, barked orders.
“Arm all weapons, deploy AutoGuns and check targeting, increase speed to full. Marines, run weapons check.”
In seconds, the barrier was at all but decimated by the rockets of The Hammer of Tor, and finished off by the nearly indestructible front armor of the barreling carrier.
Soldiers fired on it, emptying clip upon clip. Bullets were useless on the triple-treated armor. Turrets on the carrier moved swiftly, with almost no sound, and unleashed hellfire on the enemy. 40mm guns loosed chaos all around sustained by smoke grenades peppering the landscape.
Then the lights went out.
Built from the bodies of three Armored Personnel carriers and the guts rigged from weeks of scavenging abandoned electronics stores and car lots, the Volunteer appeared from the ghosts of the past. Built in the new age of ground warfare and from the remains of the old republic.
High-hardness armor plating to stop any attack, multiple gunports for every angle, twin turrets with mounted mortar to take out any armored foe. Just under 11 meters long, she wasn’t pretty. Like a toy built by a boy with ADD, she looked like a stunted caterpillar. Welding tacs clearly seen, tape crossing the body vertically, hoses running along the side.
The bandits paused, frozen in place by the unknown and uncertainty. Gun barrels emerged pointed at them from every gunport of the closing vehicle. The ground shook harder and the thunder boomed louder.
This would not be the last mission of the Volunteer.
“What the hell was that?”
The Path To Serenity ground to a halt and darkness filled it. Castillo removed his headset. The blue lights of his module were dead.
“Go to back-ups. Activate manual controls. Give me status reports.” This was the weapon. An Electromagnetic Pulse generator. The great equalizer.
Red emergency lights came on. The panic in the eyes of the crew became visible. This was why he wanted to lead this incursion. He had the experience they lacked. Their training focused on the technology. His was on the battlefield.
“Retract AutoGuns and attach triggers. Marines, man the gun ports. Fire at will” he used his Admiral voice, strong and confident.
The marines were sure and steady. They pulled back the armor from the ports and opened fire on the troops surrounding them. The crew quickly regained their bearings and the carrier came back to a semblance life. Panels were removed and tossed aside. Electronic stations were abandoned and positions were taken next to cranks and levers. Movement started again.
“Radio the Hammer and tell them to pull back. Best speed to the motor pool.”
An Abrams tank crept from the back of the mess hall. Its turret swiveled. Mounted on it was a mortar array. With the Ablative shielding offline…
“Do we have rocket control?”
Almost shouting, to be heard over the non-electronically sound suppressed engines, Castillos gave his order. Features hidden in the shadows.
“Turn portside 30 degrees, all speed”
He went to the troop section with a heavy bag he took with him when he came on board.
“You and you. With me.” He told two crewmen.
“Pull those cranks. On the double.”
“Sir?” they both said, uncertainty in their voice.
“Now.” The admiral voice again.
The tank commander took aim and prepared to fire. Through his viewfinder, he saw the side of the carrier turn expose itself to him. The perfect shot. He smiled. Then it faded. The center opened like the door of a delorean. And the figure of a man appeared. The commander increased magnification. He could see the man was smiling. On his shoulder was a stinger missile.
war in IT
the last stand at ortigas
metropolitan crime evidence unit
a god walks into a bar
death by choice
unreal peoples (21revised)
here we go… gonna try to write again. been awhile.
a god walks into a bar….