Blog 69: The Underground (I wrote this when I was still in high school, weird)

It was Saturday night. And just as always we were drinking spray painting, starting fires and most other things that generally aren’t legal.

The warehouse had been our hang out since Alex (a master pickpocket who prefers to be called Ghost) had broken into it back in secondary one. The warehouse was roughly three storeys in height with an additional maze of rooms below ground level. These were generally used for parties but Mark had been using one of the more out the way chambers as a bedroom. Although he denied it Mark had been chucked out of his mum’s for not getting a job. Although he now had a job delivering parcels for the local post office he refused to move back in with his’ mum. He spent most of his time in his’ room with his girlfriend who we all called Hex because she used to believe in witchcraft. The main room in the warehouse had, over the years, been equipped with stolen furniture and a power supply of car batteries (also stolen) which Spark, whose real name is Andrew, had wired to Mark’s old sound system and some lights (stolen). Spark had always been good with electrics. It was originally Spark who had taught Ryan, now known as Crash, to hotwire a car. Crash was famous amongst local youths for managing to evade the police completely after crashing a stolen Skoda into a police car parked at a set of traffic lights. Then there was Malcolm, my best friend, also known as Spray because he always carries a spray can. My nickname is Psy, short for Psycho because I always carry a lighter. I had been blamed when a row of cars blew up in a nearby car park. I was cleared when CCTV evidence showed I was setting fire to a paper bank near a supermarket at the time.

The sound system was blaring, almost everyone was drunk. Only Spray, myself and a girl called Lexie were still sober. Lexie, along with a few friends had come along to the party. All of Lexie’s friends, who had been talking to Crash, fell asleep on the floor next to him. I spent most of the night trying to convince Lexie I wasn’t as bad as most of the rumours made me look. Eventually I gave up and fell asleep on the couch next to her.

When I woke up Lexie was gone, she had however left me a note saying she was late for work and at the end of the end of the note she had left her number.

As I became more aware of things I noticed Spray’s latest piece. A gigantic, silvery blue Dragon sitting on the gang name, The Underground.

We had been called The Underground since the first parties we’d had back in secondary three. It was during the first party, when everyone was drunk; we started discussing what to call ourselves. I think it was Mark who first suggested the name. It was agreed on the fifteenth of April two thousand and two, six days before my fifteenth birthday. It was on the eighteenth that Spray, with his first can ever, first wrote the words The Underground in the largest of the vaulted chambers below ground. Ghost had stolen the can earlier that day.

Since then Spray has painted the local school, a garage, several empty houses and a multitude of cars. Few flat surfaces in the local area do not carry The Underground tag. Those that don’t are covered in the untidy mess of gang tags not done by Spray. There were The Crows - a bunch of moshers from the inner city, The Aces - a bunch of novice pickpockets, from the west end, who aspired to be as good as Ghost, The Renegades, most of whom we got on with and finally The Champs known to others as The Chumps. They were a large group from the same karate class. Put together they had as many brain cells as the Karate Kid from the films. The Champs were The Underground’s main rivals. The Champs were lead by Richard Nelson or Brick. He liked to think Brick referred to how tough he was. I liked to think it referred to how intelligent he was.

There was no one more violent than Brick apart from Con, short for convict, who is Crash’s big brother. Con was in a drug rehab centre in London. Con had a court order banning him from entering Glasgow after one night, whilst on a pub-crawl, he injured eleven different people in six different bars before being arrested.

Just as I was about to get up and leave Spray rushed in shouting franticly.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“It’s Crash,” he said panting.

“What about him?”

“They’ve put him in hospital.”

“Who have?”

“The Champs,” replied spay who had just regained his breath.

“The Champs put Crash in hospital!” said Mark, “what for?” he looked astonished.

“Crash stole Brick’s car.”

We asked if he was O.K to which Spray replied he was on the critical list.

“What do we do? We can’t let them get away with this,” said Mark.

“It’s all taken care of, I talked with The Renegades, they’re coming here at eight o’clock. Some others too.”

“What are you thinking of doing?” asked Mark.

“All the champs will be at karate tonight, we’ll get them then.”

The next few hours were mad; people were coming out of the woodwork. Some from The Renegades, Aces with a score to settle. Apart from The Crows no one got on with The Champs. Among The Renegades there were many sorry to hear about Crash, including Bass, Crash’s ex. She had been in his music class before he dropped out. At eight the last few turned up there were thirty-two of us in total. This would be a good match for the class of twenty-seven Champs.

We set off at nine. The procession worked its way through the streets in silence. It was pitch black apart from the street lamps, a few of which were broken. Within fifteen minutes we were standing outside the hall where the karate classes were held. Spray went to work on the wall while I doused Brick’s car I petrol. It still showed signs of theft. The door was warped and the dash was missing where Crash had hotwired it. Everyone stood well back as I threw a match into the car. Flames soared up. Amazing. It crackled for a few seconds before the petrol tank caught fire and it exploded. The windows blew out showering the area with glass. Funny how the plastic coating doesn’t work under such conditions. There were murmurs from behind me and shouting could be heard from within the karate class. A few minutes later a haphazardly dressed bunch of morons emerged from the building. Some were carrying weapons. A knife, knuckle-dusters and a length of chain.

Both sides stared for a minute or two in complete silence. Then one of The Champs started to swing his chain. Then there was chaos. The Renegades threw a volley of stones, spray fired a shot from a paintball gun and both sides charged.

Though outnumbered The Champs had the advantage of being trained in unarmed combat. I missed a lot of the action because I was rolling around on the ground punching and kicking a boy twice my size. This was not my thing, I was no fighter, I was an anarchist. I did catch a glimpse of Spray holding two Champs at bay by shooting them in the face. Spray had convinced Spark to modify the gun so it worked much like an Uzi. Then the boy I was fighting with was wrenched off me by Louis Spencer, the leader of The Renegades. His nose was bleeding heavily and a black eye was forming. His fist flew past my face and the other boy fell, unconscious, to the ground.

Just as we seemed to be winning there were shouts from the end of the street. Seven or eight Crows were running towards us lead by …

“Joseph, what are you doing?”

“You never liked me, none of you, you wouldn’t let me join your gang.”

“We told you to go and calm down after that fight with Crash. We thought you hadn’t come back because you didn’t want to,” shouted Mark before being hit by a Crow.

“Liar, it was me who tried to get you into trouble all those times but you always wormed your way out. I set fire to those flats, stole the Police car, it was me who blew up the cars, me.”

There he was moaning like a spoilt child. His tantrum had meant The Underground being accused of multiple crimes not of our own doing. He had caused a full on war between the gangs and presumably had something to do with Crash being put in hospital.

The rest of the fight is a blur. Two crows set to work knocking the stuffing out of me. They did a good job. Then we heard the sirens. Most of the Crows bolted off down the street. I crawled over to Spray. He was out cold and drenched in blood. I looked around. The car was still on fire, the road was scattered with moaning or unconscious. Some of the Renegades managed to crawl, limp or run away. Then the police arrived. It was soon clear a convoy of ambulances would have been more appropriate than a squad of police in body armour. They took three Crows away in the back of a car. The rest of us were taken away in ambulances.

I spent three days in casualty before being hauled off by the police. I spent several months in prison. This did nothing to convince Lexie I was not a habitual criminal. Spray spent most of his time in hospital, which I think got him the sympathy vote, not that that’s much consolation. He never fully recovered.

Joseph didn’t get away with his part in the fight. Someone phoned Con in London. Later the same week Joseph was found beaten to pulp outside a café. Con was charged with GBH. We explained the circumstances very carefully to a few members of the jury and some generous bribes meant he got off. He still attends anger management classes and now runs a boxing class in the hall where the karate was once held.

The Champs no longer exist. Their karate teacher was too scared to continue. He now runs a yoga class. Brick left Glasgow as soon as he was released. There are no Renegades anymore either. They all joined The Underground, which now boasts some forty odd members.

Lewis Spencer, Crash and myself moved into rooms in the warehouse. Several others moved into rooms under the other warehouses which, collectively, The Underground managed to buy from Glasgow council to assure they were not demolished as The Renegades empty flats had been. The Underground is now more of a criminal organisation than a gang. We own two cafés, a garage, a small indoor climbing centre and Crash, Spark, myself and Spray dabble in stolen cars. Crash steals the cars, Spark removes distinguishing features, Spray paints them. I then forge the paperwork and sell them on.

Mark is engaged to Hex who moved in with him after being chucked out by her dad. Things are going well for us in general, apart from Spray who still has problems breathing. Even though Mark still lives in the warehouse he made up with his mum. We still feel the consequences of that Sunday night. A scar, a twinge, nightmares or the thoughts of those we hurt. We are The Underground, although we try not to hurt people we can’t change who we are. I still start fires, Spray still paints tags, Ghost still picks pockets and Crash still steals cars. Although it gets us in trouble the crime is like a drug we are addicted to, it’s part of who we are. That doesn’t mean we’re proud of it. Far from it.

Blog 68: Versions of the Truth (Version 16)

There are plenty of conspiracy theories about. Ideas about how power really works and who holds it behind the curtains. They don’t know so they have to guess. They get so close sometimes and at others they are hilariously wrong. They don’t have the perspective to see the world as it is. They are ants trying to appreciate the world as an eagle above might see it. There too many obstructions, too much just out of sight. They could never appreciate the scale of the truth. I find it hard to fathom myself, and its my job to keep track of this stuff. It is my job to keep humanity in check.
The year is 2011, most of the world think that they know how far technology has advanced. They have no idea, they can’t see the hold it has over them or comprehend the ways it could change their life.
My organisation owns equipment that far exceeds the current perception of development because the technology is not of this time. Nor am I, I am here to maintain the Consequence Prophet and act upon its predictions. The Consequence Prophet determines the outcome of an action by displaying news articles that can be traced forwards or backwards through time. It’s like I have a free subscription and access to every edition at once. By these means patterns can be traced and the consequences of an action reasoned.
It’s use is governed by strict rules which I have bent to my will which should by some theories be impossible whereas in reality actions in time have multiple ripples, many consequences. For those familiar with the multiverse idea consider an entirely separate universe fore every choice made. These choices give birth to endless possibilities and can be back tracked to follow new paths towards unknown horizons. I hail from one reality of the future but can generate others based on my actions and have, using the Consequence Prophet to produce the best possible future for myself.
The C.P is supposed to be used to maintain the likelihood of the foundation of my birthplace Keres Karma. The city is supposedly a utopia. What a joke. The place is full of drugged up zombies who work specifically for the sponsored addictive substance that is at once a poison and cure. It is circular vitality and death, strength and weakness. We are told this stuff is the source of our strength and the greatness of our nation but in truth it is the leash that binds us to our leaders. Without it death comes quickly to the deserters.
A new reign of chains began when the scientists created that elixir of life and death. We are property of the state, we have a best by date numbered in days until the next dose which we should take as a given. We should work without questioning the reign of these men who would kill all those who do not work for them. What of the deaths when doses are short? Do they take these into consideration when they call Keres Karma a utopia? Slaves of the system smile and forget that there were days when a person would die of starvation or lack of water before they died through lack of Nectyr. It changes us, we are stronger physically and have a more reliable neural design but with these advances came the snare. The irreversible change requires daily doses of the Nectyr to prevent heart failure. Without it we can no longer harness the oxygen that flows in the blood; Starved of air we shrivel and die, proof the system must be followed to the letter.
This national addiction keeps the population in check, working hard to earn their daily dose from the masters of our fate. I will deprive those masters of their empire, Keres Karma will never rise from the grave of the old world. No more will die with the permission of the state, euthanasia will never again be as easily wielded against the population who can be selectively starved of their medicine. By this means all who question the reign of government are put down silently. Conscience has cruel consequence in my day which will never be again. I will die as the flow of Nectyr drips dry knowing I have saved endless ignorants from the cruel lies of the empire of addicts. New dictatorships may rise in its place but there will never be such a travesty of truth as a known result of my actions in the consequential multiverses.
Who knows what direction the world will take from here. My misguided colleagues will die with me ending all opportunities for them to manipulate the timeline. I might have time to destroy the equipment before heart failure. If not then it will be found by the people of this time or their children. Who knows what they would do with it, they might undo my work or bring about a future more terrible than mine.
Maybe I should give the Consequence Prophet to someone I know would use it for good but how could I be sure? Power corrupts is presumably a saying for a reason. People do what is best for them whether or not it benefits society in general. This is by no means any indication of mass collusion within governing factions simply the proof that we are subject to greed and selfishness.
Maybe I will bequeath the tool of tyrants to a wide eyed child, still hopeful and innocent. Could I hope to teach a child the use of the Consequence Prophet before they themselves gave into the self-serving whims of an adult? I doubt it, the device must be lost to time like the city of Atlantis beneath the waves of Poseidon’s fury.
No more will man dabble with fate, never again will we rule the far future with the smallest action. Mystery, banished by our predictive tool, will return to the world.
We must live in the moment for happiness, consequence not forgotten but unknown.

Blog 67: Versions of the Truth (Version 15)

There are plenty of conspiracy theories about. Ideas about how power really works and who holds it behind the curtains. They don’t know so they have to guess. They get so close sometimes and at others they are hilariously wrong. They don’t have the perspective to see the world as it is. They are ants trying to appreciate the world as an eagle above might see it. There too many obstructions, too much just out of sight. They could never appreciate the scale of the truth. I find it hard to fathom myself, and its my job to keep track of this stuff. It is my job to keep humanity in check.
The year is 2011, most of the world think that they know how far technology has advanced. They have no idea, they can’t see the hold it has over them or comprehend the ways it could change their life.
My organisation owns equipment that far exceeds the current perception of development because the technology is not of this time. Nor am I, I am here to maintain the Consequence Prophet and act upon its predictions. The Consequence Prophet determines the outcome of an action by displaying news articles that can be traced forwards or backwards through time. It’s like I have a free subscription and access to every edition at once. By these means patterns can be traced and the consequences of an action reasoned.
It’s use is governed by strict rules which I follow to the letter as best I can but still it seems I have made a mistake. Tracking ahead now there is no mention of my city Keres Karma. It should be founded in the year 2420 by Keres Vesta. There is no mention. Something is very wrong. We have articles by name that are accurate to the date and by the right name but they bear no mention of the great political and pacifist leader uniting two great cities as she gained governance over her new nation. It should be the toast of the world, a beacon of peace in a war torn world. No mention is made, not of the woman or her creation. I tried to trace her back to childhood through old records. We know all we would need to about her, we made her, her life moved by our actions, her mind moulded as she became the woman we needed. Her life is a testament to the many who strived for peace, for hope and would not wait for it.
Time works hand in hand with contradiction, every choice alters the path but every different path is taken, the term alternate universe explains roughly the concept involved. All that’s really involved is circumstance maintenance. But this brings with it larger considerations, if you have a formula that works do you risk trying something else in the hope of an even greater outcome? We thought so.
Keres Vesta’s father was inspired to become a leader of the pacifist movement following the slaughter of his family at the hands of a militia who opposed his parents political views. Raised with a strong moral conviction and the intellect to serve it Maris Kalkin gathered power and esteem in little time and great measure. The problem with the story is that it starts with tragedy, a tragedy that we could prevent. The origins of the radical and militant movement that killed Kalkin’s family were traced to it’s founder Ares Kali. Kali was always considered a necessary evil. He was the darkness that begot the light. We thought differently, we could prevent his reign of hatred and prevent the deaths of his hundreds of victims leaving decades to make Maris Kalkin as worthy an inspiration for his daughter as before, minus the death and depression. Maybe we were wrong. We have been working with endless combinations of circumstance to inspire Kalkin’s father but to no avail. Perhaps heroes must be made by monsters.
Is it human rebellion that says great love must come from suffering. Is it apathy that prevents us walking away from pain we do not know? Are we just curious, do we have an emotional tick list to fill from the spectrum?
What now for Keres Karma? We are working round the clock to restore it’s circumstance by any means to no avail, can we forge an alternate that shines as brightly or would we bring about a dystopia to make Nazi Germany look like a holiday resort?
It’s times like this that make me question the integrity of the thinking behind our practice, without our manipulation the eventual formation of Keres Karma was almost certainly more likely. The bungling of our childlike manipulation using the Consequence Prophet is the only probable cause of Keres Karma’s lost likelihood. Now we are stuck tripping over ourselves trying to get it back and possibly making matters worse. Perhaps a resignation to fate is in order. The consequences of our actions have cost the future its greatest beacon of hope. Time being infinite some civilisation of the sort may arise later despite us for we can only trace the future so far depending on alterations made in the present.
For now we have set ourselves to forging a new hero without adversity. If nothing else this is a worthy cause. We shall sculpt the life of a great new hope. They will create the utopia we killed before conception. This will be the aim at least.

Blog 66: Versions of the Truth (Version 14)

There are plenty of conspiracy theories about. Ideas about how power really works and who holds it behind the curtains. They don’t know so they have to guess. They get so close sometimes and at others they are hilariously wrong. They don’t have the perspective to see the world as it is. They are ants trying to appreciate the world as an eagle above might see it. There too many obstructions, too much just out of sight. They could never appreciate the scale of the truth. I find it hard to fathom myself, and its my job to keep track of this stuff. It is my job to keep humanity in check.
The year is 2011, most of the world think that they know how far technology has advanced. They have no idea, they can’t see the hold it has over them or comprehend the ways it could change their life.
My organisation owns equipment that far exceeds the current perception of development because the technology is not of this time. Nor am I, I am here to maintain the Consequence Prophet and act upon its predictions. The Consequence Prophet determines the outcome of an action by displaying news articles that can be traced forwards or backwards through time. It’s like I have a free subscription and access to every edition at once. By these means patterns can be traced and the consequences of an action reasoned.
It’s use is governed by strict rules which I generally ignore. The rules were written by people who will die years from now, decades before I’m born. Why would I listen to them? I only listen to my music. I’m not a musician though, unless you call the Consequence Prophet an instrument. I’m an architect of fate; I change the lives of people I might never meet to create new movements of sound. I have seventeen different iterations of the debut album by my favourite band Benzaiten . Their name came from my own moniker which itself was taken from the Japanese goddess of the same name who’s role in mythology was the control of that which flows including water, speech and as consequence wisdom. She became one of the Seven Lucky Gods and was favoured for bringing wealth but more importantly for myself music. I bring together different musicians to create new combinations of sound. I have a developing formula for creating music. It’s amazing how much I can toy with the lives of these ignorant creatures. I can alter the mood of the music by bringing sorrow or joy to their lives. They are mine, the only band I will ever need. The infinite possibilities of their music give me the chance to create, by manipulation, the greatest musical collective ever known. They would hate me for all I have done to them, but I will continue to create works of wonder and to manipulate my puppets. They have me to thank for all they will ever be. Their greatness stems from my perseverance and ingenious curiosity.
As a side project I’ve been trying to manipulate the planning officials involved with the permissions for a new town nearby my current home in Cairo. I hope that I can create a city that resembles my signature from the air above. So far I have the B and the E. The N might be an issue but I enjoy manipulating the locals so that’s fine. To get the B I had to get some kids to burn down a market occupying the space. It was worth it though, screw humanity I have my vanity to placate. I might go for the complete Benzaiten or just leave it at Ben, my given name is Benjamin after all. If I find myself bored later who knows what I might do, astronauts might one day read from space: ‘This planet was brought to you via the manipulation of Benzaiten.’ That would probably require more time and patience than I believe I possess.
My actions should attract the attention of my co workers but the reality of the situation is that if you do this job properly you don’t have the time to worry about anything else. I have plenty of time for trivialities. I do on occasion have to work though, the aim of my profession is to ensure the formation of the city state by which came the technology to bring me here. So far I’d say my trivial pursuits have done nothing the make the foundation of Keres Karma less likely. If anything the likelihood of the near utopian state’s foundation may have been increased by my meddling. How could Keres Karma’s great founder fail to be inspired by Benzaiten’s music?
Perhaps I should mould the band into a great protest’s soundtrack, a political movement in audio. How then could I possibly lessen the likelihood of the utopian future? I could bring the greatest of wordsmiths together with the best backing artists in a group that wound be impossible to ignore. I could start a sonic sensation to invigorate any idle conscience. I could bring about music that would tear abhorrent monsters from their munitions and put them on a path to redemption. I’ve experienced things like that before, been exposed to something that reeks so strongly of injustice that you can’t wait to help clean it up. Too often you just stand wondering; ‘what could I really do?’ The music would inspire not just moral lifestyles but the belief in our significance, that we can really make a different in this massive world of ours.
I could do that, maybe I will but for now I’m happier just messing with the music.

Blog 65: Versions of the Truth (Version 13)

There are plenty of conspiracy theories about. Ideas about how power really works and who holds it behind the curtains. They don’t know so they have to guess. They get so close sometimes and at others they are hilariously wrong. They don’t have the perspective to see the world as it is. They are ants trying to appreciate the world as an eagle above might see it. There too many obstructions, too much just out of sight. They could never appreciate the scale of the truth. I find it hard to fathom myself, and its my job to keep track of this stuff. It is my job to keep humanity in check.
The year is 2011, most of the world think that they know how far technology has advanced. They have no idea, they can’t see the hold it has over them or comprehend the ways it could change their life.
My organisation owns equipment that far exceeds the current perception of development because we don’t want the public to know about it and if we don’t want you to know something you forget it. We can make you forget anything. It was possible over time with radio to do the same thing but took infinitely longer. With television and the internet we can spread deletion broadcasts faster and more effectively than ever before. Therefore our influence has grown exponentially. This isn’t quite mind control but has applications far exceeding it. We can erase people from the collective consciousness as if they were never born. They wander, dazed in a world that remembers as little about them as they do. They should have known not to get in our way but they don’t even know we exist, and never will. I have to wonder at times if we have ever wiped away our own conspirators. Those who had outlived their purpose might have posed too much of a risk to the collective and its interests. It would be too easy. We live in a state of constant paranoia because we know just how easily a life can be taken. You don’t have to kill the person, you don’t need to hurt them. If neither they nor any other knows who they were then they are as good as dead, their life cancelled without consequence, which is the point.
I will not follow, too far up in rank. Hidden too deeply in the shroud of obscurity to which the power flows. I know names and faces and despite this I remain. I could be erased, forgotten by the world. Who knows, maybe I would prefer the ignorance, the inconsequential existence. The only other people in the world with the ability to alter perceived reality as much I can are the other workers within the organisation. It’s a tremendous responsibility and such a rush. I could tell the world that the moon was giant coin floating in the sky and they would believe it.
The organisation is the only barred door between any of it’s workers making themselves a god. Consider it for a moment; Unlimited alteration of public belief.
The possibilities are numerous and enough to give me a dizzy headache. I spend my nights dreaming sometimes about what I would do as the sole possessor of such power. Would I end the wars of the world? Probably not, too entertaining. I could write my name across the face of the earth with nuclear blasts to be seen from space. I could tear down mountains using the human population as my slaves. I could bridge the oceans I have never seen using men and women I will never know. The great wall of China ordered by Qin Shi Huang and built by thousands slaves. These slaves were captured during his many conquests during the period in which he unified China and became it’s first Emperor in 221BC. Legend tells us that some thousands of these slaves of war were buried in the foundations of the wall as a warning to any that defied the Emperor. The same cruel efficiency was shown during the period of book burning when he ordered unsanctioned texts to be burnt and those in possession of them to be buried alive. By this means he hoped to both accelerate the acceptance of his preferred system of writing and avoid comparisons between life under his rule and beforehand.
I could usefully bend these tactics to my own ends; making myself ruler of the world and erasing all memory of the time before my reign. There would be no past for comparison, no end in sight for my empire of ignorance. I could deprive my minions of the will to oppose authority, I have no doubt in that possibility.
Of course I could as easily be a good guy, I could tell all those who have ever committed murder to throw themselves off a cliff but then I might as easily find myself a the bottom of a precipice. Who is to say how I define my actions subconsciously.
If I never fulfil my dreams of omnipotence then I might at least put an end to apathy. I hate nothing more than listening to moaning morons who wasted opportunities because of doubt or distraction. Think of what the world could be without self doubt. I don’t mean arrogance instead, just the calm acceptance of our potential and the will to grasp it. Maybe I’m a hypocrite, fear of retaliation is the only barrier between my current life and my dominion over all life. Why do I fear so slight a thing as death when I could rule the world at the press of a button. Why wait? I have only a life to lose and the world to gain. Carpe Diem. This may one day be the last hint that I was ever anything less than transcendent.
For now I leave you, future god or perhaps a yet to be forgotten victim of opportunity. Seize the day.

Blog 64: Versions of the Truth (Version 12)

There are plenty of conspiracy theories about. Ideas about how power really works and who holds it behind the curtains. They don’t know so they have to guess. They get so close sometimes and at others they are hilariously wrong. They don’t have the perspective to see the world as it is. They are ants trying to appreciate the world as an eagle above might see it. There too many obstructions, too much just out of sight. They could never appreciate the scale of the truth. I find it hard to fathom myself, and its my job to keep track of this stuff. It is my job to keep humanity in check.
The year is 2011, most of the world think that they know how far technology has advanced. They have no idea, they can’t see the hold it has over them or comprehend the ways it could change their life.
My organisation owns equipment that far exceeds the current perception of development because we don’t want the public to know about it and if we don’t want you to know something you forget it. We can make you forget anything. It was possible over time with radio to do the same thing but took infinitely longer. With television and the internet we can spread deletion broadcasts faster and more effectively than ever before. Therefore our influence has grown exponentially. This isn’t quite mind control but has applications far exceeding it. We can erase people from the collective consciousness as if they were never born. They wander, dazed in a world that remembers as little about them as they do. They should have known not to get in our way but few who have known are allowed to remember. Those who do live in fear and often become useless as a consequence. They shut down when faced with the possibility of deletion, unable to make the choices they are employed to for fear of upsetting us. Such an occurrence prompts a rewrite, the subjects life is altered to avoid notice of the pattern that follows knowledge of the web. This means that they will live radically different lives and is at times a more lengthy process than a deletion.
I work on projects like this, removing or rewriting those who get in our way. It’s gruelling and ridiculously complicated but infinitely interesting. There are myriads of possibilities for reinvention when it comes to rewrites which is why I prefer them to simple deletions. It’s a bit like being a career’s advisor but I guess it’s more of a dictatorship, I look at the possibilities left when the person’s life is severed from their previous position of power. Some go on to have successful careers in the arts or other facets of politics as if they had taken an entirely different road some time before. These changes are near instant depending on the exposure to media of those attached to the subject.
We are the puppet masters who tug at the invisible strings that bind humanity. Memory is the most binding thread of connection, when severed the string will snap leaving the puppet helpless. Without memory humans are a fragile empty shell, too easy to brake. We purge them of all their sins and render them helpless. These broken souls don’t last long, the world is cruel to the innocent.
I often wonder what would or will happen to me should I outlive my use or slip up in work. Will I be discarded in the same manner as the rest of the tools of the machine? I have no means to prevent my own rewrite should I be deemed risky or unnecessary.
I guess my only security in this job is to be as useful and efficient as possible. Therefore I remain diligent and focussed. If I knew the identity of those who occupy higher stations in this work I would have the opportunity to perform a subtle rewrite that would force them to reveal the web about me willingly. I’m sure they have measures in place to prevent such actions but nonetheless I have prepared a program protocol in the event of an opening. I want out of this mess if I’m honest but I’m too useful to let go and not important enough to be kept as I am should I leave.
I was recruited by someone in the guise of an employer who was little other than a pawn played to get me on board in this travesty of morality. The woman who explained the process was the first to disappear once my team had been assembled. She was disposable, more so than I but a demonstration of my employers ruthless pursuit of obscurity.
I tried to find her not long after and was warned that such an action would land me in the same situation. I have no means of communication with my employer other than the terrifying letters they leave me when I fail to pay attention. They always catch me off guard which would suggest that my employer works in the same building but could merely mean they have overwritten one of my collages to send me the note and forget.
Until I make a choice I will be a slave to the fear of deletion. My greatest chance of freedom would be if I could make it beyond the broadcast range of visual and auditory technology before the deletion sequence was broadcast. Then all I would have to do is remain hidden in the wilds of the world for the rest of my life.
I could move the to the forests of the Amazon. Plenty of tribes have lied there undisturbed by the rest of humanity for millennia. I might stand a chance there, surrounded by poisonous animals and dangerous pathogens. Maybe I’ll try that out.

Blog 63: Versions of the Truth (Version 11)

There are plenty of conspiracy theories about. Ideas about how power really works and who holds it behind the curtains. They don’t know so they have to guess. They get so close sometimes and at others they are hilariously wrong. They don’t have the perspective to see the world as it is. They are ants trying to appreciate the world as an eagle above might see it. There too many obstructions, too much just out of sight. They could never appreciate the scale of the truth. I find it hard to fathom myself, and its my job to keep track of this stuff. It is my job to keep humanity in check.
The year is 2320, fourteen years since everything changed. I remember watching as the lights of the world flickered and all of the power in the world flowed into our hands.
You can blame the E.M.P for the end of the last electronic age. As the next begins we have set the course for a golden age of technological advance. The progress of technology will no longer be marked by the increase in natural destruction.
We skirted suspicion after the E.M.P rendered our competition worthless. Luckily various terrorist groups have been blamed for the destruction. The scapegoats are hunted to this day by those who blame them for way life has changed. It can be more fluid, less predictable a living cannot be taken for granted as it once was. This is the sacrifice for a change in momentum that has steered us away from an abyss of ecological disaster.
Too many were blind to the threat posed by our actions. Warnings were given and ignored so we were more forceful. The E.M.P was the last resort of desperate men and women who saw clearly the storm headed our way. We left the water without drowning, gratitude not forthcoming, survival will suffice.
The sad thing is that the potential was always there for the kind of progress that is being made now. Clean energy was perfectly feasible before, it was just a boring option. Now we have eliminated the alternatives and continue to suppress any hint of resurrecting the fossil fuel industry. The manipulation is for the good of humanity and natural world at large.
Humanities history of non renewable energy use and harvest has been peppered with environmental disasters and conflict. There is no need to fight for the light that spills from the sun, conversely it has required the cooperation of international groups to harness the potential of this profound energy source. Finally the potential of renewable energy is being pursued. New ways of generating power using the latent energy of the natural world are found regularly whether it be harnessing the potential energy when water changes state in the clouds or converting the destructive movements of the earths crust into electricity for the world above. The new technology has yielded a cleaner, safer and more open minded future.
Biotechnology is being explored for those who feel our carnivorous nature ill befit’s the modern pacifists of humanity.
It’s not like all the wars are over, we still fight over nuclear material but even this once poisonous source of conflict has been given a facelift. Science has refined the means of extracting energy from nuclear material. The material itself can be manipulated making it no less potent but with I half life that is a minute proportion if what it was affording any mistake nothing like the longevity.
This change to the reality of nuclear proliferation has also changed attitudes, making it seem a more casual option apparently which has spawned the idea of neutralising the material using the same delivery means as the E.M.P. The means to neutralise nuclear material completely is being looked into as we speak. What was once considered magical alchemy is not just the reality but a likely way to overt nuclear war. We are not all seeing and therefore cannot prevent all attempts at the recreation of conventional weaponry but we might destroy that which these weapons might harness.
If the conversion of nuclear material to non nuclear proved effective the principle could be applied to other materials used near exclusively in weaponry. Mankind’s capacity to take lives could be dealt a massive blow. That’s not really my area of expertise though. Until then I’ll wear my ‘Kill the Killing’ t-shirt and march in protest to every war my mislead ‘leaders’ want to start. I will campaign for dealing in diplomacy instead of death. The world’s taken a kick in the backside, I hope it gets the message and cuts the crap out eventually.
I’m glad to say the hippie movement is no longer looked back upon with such pity and cynicism. That movement knew the message and lacked only the means. The new wave of pacifism is more rigid, we have seen what can be done to safeguard the world. Peacekeeper is no longer the name of an armed force killing foreign nationals, we are the new voice for peace in a less violent world. We march with strength of will and conviction, the world breathes a sigh of relief after so many long fought, pointless wars. Now we wander through broken borders once patrolled by armed guards. The shackles of the world have broken, now we roam freely. Who would not agree that the world is a better place than it was? I can now picnic in the ruins of a munitions factory in what was North Korea then walk through beauteous China down through either Vietnam or Laos to Cambodia possibly via Thailand. I love to visit the temples of Angkor built by the Khmer Empire from the 9th to 13th centuries. The self proclaimed ‘God King’ Jayaverman the 2nd may have been more than pompous but the architectural legacy of his empire, while sadly eroded by time and tourists, is certainly something to be proud of. As the Chinese diplomat Zhou Daugan observed in 1296, during the reign of Indraverman the 3rd, the city’s vibrant mixture of religion and art must have been truly invigorating. Though at the time the temples were paid for at least in part with the spoils of war they became the home of Buddhist monks after the city’s desertion following the destructive incursion of the Ayutthaya Empire. Perhaps the desertion helped preserve the fragile sandstone city but more likely it advanced the decay which was aided by natural reclamation. While I can enjoy the aesthetic beauty of the temples now left to nature I hope that fewer cities will be abandoned in similar circumstances from now on.
As the fire of war flickers and dies in the heart of man I hope the future will bring peace and prosperity to the world. With cooperation who knows what we will accomplish. I hope I live long enough to see some small fragmental result of our unleashed potential.

Blog 62: Versions of the Truth (Version 10)

There are plenty of conspiracy theories about. Ideas about how power really works and who holds it behind the curtains. They don’t know so they have to guess. They get so close sometimes and at others they are hilariously wrong. They don’t have the perspective to see the world as it is. They are ants trying to appreciate the world as an eagle above might see it. There too many obstructions, too much just out of sight. They could never appreciate the scale of the truth. I find it hard to fathom myself, and its my job to keep track of this stuff. It is my job to keep humanity in check.
The year is 2320, fourteen years since everything changed. I remember watching as the lights of the world flickered and all of the power in the world flowed into our hands.
You can blame the E.M.P for the end of the last electronic age. As the next begins we have set the course for a golden age of technological advance. The progress of technology will no longer be marked by the increase in natural destruction.
We skirted suspicion after the E.M.P rendered our competition worthless. Luckily various terrorist groups have been blamed for the destruction. The scapegoats are hunted to this day by those who blame them for way life has changed. It can be more fluid, less predictable and life cannot be taken for granted as it once was. This is the sacrifice for a change in momentum that has steered us away from an abyss of ecological disaster.
Too many were blind to the threat posed by our actions. Warnings were given and ignored so we were more forceful. The E.M.P was the last resort of desperate men and women who saw clearly the storm headed our way. We left the water without drowning, gratitude not forthcoming, survival will suffice.
The sad thing is that the potential was always there for the kind of progress that is being made now. Clean energy was perfectly feasible before, it was just a boring option. Now we have eliminated the alternatives and continue to suppress any hint of resurrecting the fossil fuel industry. The manipulation is for the good of humanity and natural world at large.
Humanities history of non renewable energy use and harvest has been peppered with environmental disasters and conflict. There is no need to fight for the light that spills from the sun, conversely it has required the cooperation of international groups to harness the potential of this profound energy source. Finally the potential of renewable energy is being pursued. New ways of generating power using the latent energy of the natural world are found regularly whether it be harnessing the potential energy when water changes state in the clouds or converting the destructive movements of the earths crust into electricity for the world above. The new technology has yielded a cleaner, safer and more open minded future.
Biotechnology is being explored for those who feel our carnivorous nature ill befit’s the modern pacifists of humanity.
It’s not like all the wars are over, we still suffer the malcontents and their brutal nature but they have been left to squabble amongst each other over less dangerous toys. The nuclear technology of the past is useless. The digital components broken and their guidance systems likewise. Land grabbing followed inevitably but has settled as the old powers find themselves less in shape to repress those they represent.
New nations rose as new technology shook the balance of power. Even the weaponry these days is more efficient and run on renewable energy. Energy weapons have come to fore, clean weapons once confined to science fiction set in the far future are the reality of the present because of our actions.
Weapons like the concussion gun that overwhelms the mind with sound can be used to pacify large groups without causing permanent damage. The loss of hearing can be remedied with treatment. Battles can be fought where the victor has caused no permanent damage to the loser. When has that ever been said before? The stunned troops, taken as prisoners of war, can then be released when a peace treaty has been signed on their behalf.
War is now fought less and is more negotiable, this leads to less ill feeling between rivals. Blood feuds are fewer in number and old wounds have been healed by diplomacy. The ability to indulge violent whims has been diminished by our technology and we fully intend to build on this accomplishment. For too long mankind has played with dangerous toys like children but finally we will take responsibility and remove them. Peace will reign and finally we will enjoy it.
I want to travel, I want to see the world now freeing itself of war. I want to see the old scars healed as the world is rebuilt. Without the distraction of war humanity will be free to create great works of art and architecture. I’ve always been interested in photography, soon I will have the time to indulge that interest. I will travel across the world visiting the great temples and taking photographs. I will see the great cities of old; Athens, Rome and Constantinople. I want to see what’s left of the wonders of the ancient world. I just wish I could visit the Temple of Zeus at Aizanoi intact the depictions of the giant statue of Zeus. No doubt it was destroyed by war like so many other wonders, now none have the chance to marvel at the craftsmanship. It’s a shame I can only visit the rebuilt Garni Temple. Hopefully from now on such magnificent testaments to human ingenuity will only be lost through natural cause as with the earthquake that destroyed the origional Garni temple.
Who knows what the world will look like when the same period of time has passed than from now back to the creation of the Garni Temple forwards when mankind has created so many new architectural wonders that it has tired of some and moved on, populating new land for the challenge of building on it. Ghost towns will be the result not of massacre or economic strife but boredom. The potential of man is infinite, finally we have the chance to embrace the possibilities. I can’t wait to watch the results grow around me.

Blog 61: Versions of the Truth (Version 09)

There are plenty of conspiracy theories about. Ideas about how power really works and who holds it behind the curtains. They don’t know so they have to guess. They get so close sometimes and at others they are hilariously wrong. They don’t have the perspective to see the world as it is. They are ants trying to appreciate the world as an eagle above might see it. There too many obstructions, too much just out of sight. They could never appreciate the scale of the truth. I find it hard to fathom myself, and its my job to keep track of this stuff. It is my job to keep humanity in check.
The year is 2320, fourteen years since everything changed. I remember watching as the lights of the world flickered and all of the power in the world flowed into our hands.
You can blame the virus for the loss of all those lives, all that information. I wrote most of the virus myself. I was the brains behind the brutality. I hadn’t thought about the cost of my actions, just the spoils of a war we won because no one knew to fight it. There was nothing to stop it, no antivirus software as with the past. Adaptive software should have put an end to the reign of the software virus. It was designed to be a door that moved endlessly to avoid the entry of intruders. The flaw of most viruses would have them chase the door, forever behind, never to enter. Our virus tried to enter at every level, through every possible entranceway, at the same time punishing the processor badly. Once in the virus’ task was simple, delete.
In one swift move every computer worldwide was useless, apart from ours. We ran our machines on more old fashioned principles and thus they survived, helped also by the fact their software neutralised the virus. In a day our organisation held dominion over every working machine on the planet. The destruction wiped clean not just business mainframes or home computers but military devices and hospital equipment. Anything plugged into the global network died as did anyone who relied on them. At one time hospital monitors were on a closed network but since adaptive software it was deemed safe to have them plugged into the net and querying the web for an answer to the illness of the patient. I bear the weight of their deaths in guilt.
Now I have power I don’t want and money I don’t need. There’s nothing left to spend it on either. I’m a programmer, a hacker. Why the hell did I help destroy so many of the worlds computers?
I guess there will be more with time, more of the same, built in the image of our own. I may have a hand in shaping these new mechanical marvels. I might just program them to fail constantly. On the other hand I could wait and write a new version of the old virus and reset technology again when everyone thinks things are getting back to normal.
I watched the lights go out as the virus did it’s work. I saw the world devolve, set back decades in a moment. I set out every electrical I owned that was not made by Protosoft and watched them die. I watched the screen of my phone flicker, my palmtop started flashing various warnings that began to layer at such a rate the sight was like a strobe light.
Global food supplies were severely effected by the virus, despite most power stations being equipped with Protosoft equipment what was missed was that many of the massive food storage fridges around the world weren’t. Inbuilt with technology designed to check stock and in some cases refill depleted supplies the global capacity to store food dropped by sixty percent overnight leaving plenty to starve when reserved ran low. The global diet meant that in developed countries food supplies dropped close to nil and the planets population decreased by six percent.
That’s a lot of blood on my hands, enough to drown in. I don’t sleep anymore. I lay awake at night and think about the pictures that ran through Protosoft’s newsletter; bodies pilled up in the streets all over the world and riots over thinning rations. I see the faces everywhere I go, their blank staring eyes looking for hope when none would come, in agony before death as their stomachs digested themselves. I’m prone to frequent vomiting, no one else understands why. Those who know my part in the massacre are the ones that failed to throw themselves from a high building with guilt.
I can’t tell anyone else what I’ve done, it may soon be time to join the more conscientious of my co workers. Would I simply die or would I face one of hell’s parallels from the many religions?
Time will bring the truth of death to me while I conceal my truth from the world. Who could I tell, I would be torn apart by the crowds of duly enraged mourners. I have taken from so many without benefit to any but those without conscience. How can I protect these murderers with a clear conscience? I can’t, I should tell the world what we did. I should broadcast it across the world on the screens we gave them.
I’ll do it; a shotgun confession. I’ll spill the beans and then my brains. The truth will out as will my blood and soul. Maybe my redemption will be spelt in blood sprayed across the wall with the truth set free. I will find out when the time comes.

Blog 60: Versions of the Truth (Version 08)

There are plenty of conspiracy theories about. Ideas about how power really works and who holds it behind the curtains. They don’t know so they have to guess. They get so close sometimes and at others they are hilariously wrong. They don’t have the perspective to see the world as it is. They are ants trying to appreciate the world as an eagle above might see it. There too many obstructions, too much just out of sight. They could never appreciate the scale of the truth. I find it hard to fathom myself, and its my job to keep track of this stuff. It is my job to keep humanity in check.
The year is 2320, fourteen years since everything changed. I remember watching as the lights of the world flickered and all of the power in the world flowed into our hands.
You can blame the virus for the loss of all those lives, all that information. I wrote most of the virus myself. I was the brains behind the brutality. I hadn’t thought about the cost of my actions, just the spoils of a war we won because no one knew to fight it. There was nothing to stop it, no antivirus software as with the past. Adaptive software should have put an end to the reign of the software virus. It was designed to be a door that moved endlessly to avoid the entry of intruders. The flaw of most viruses would have them chase the door, forever behind, never to enter. Our virus tried to enter at every level, through every possible entranceway, at the same time punishing the processor badly. Once in the virus’ task was simple, delete.
In one swift move every computer worldwide was useless, apart from ours. We ran our machines on more old fashioned principles and thus they survived, helped also by the fact their software neutralised the virus. In a day our organisation held dominion over every working machine on the planet. The destruction wiped clean not just business mainframes or home computers but military devices and hospital equipment. Anything plugged into the global network died as did anyone who relied on them. At one time hospital monitors were on a closed network but since adaptive software it was deemed safe to have them plugged into the net and querying the web for an answer to the illness of the patient. I bear the weight of their deaths in guilt.
Now I have power I don’t want and money I don’t need. There’s nothing left to spend it on either. I’m a programmer, a hacker. Why the hell did I help destroy so many of the worlds computers?
I guess there will be more with time, more of the same, built in the image of our own. I may have a hand in shaping these new mechanical marvels. I might just program them to fail constantly. On the other hand I could wait and write a new version of the old virus and reset technology again when everyone thinks things are getting back to normal.
I watched the lights go out as the virus did it’s work. I saw the world devolve, set back decades in a moment. I set out every electrical item I owned that was not made by Protosoft and watched them die. I watched the screen of my phone flicker, my palmtop started flashing various warnings that began to layer at such a rate the sight was like a strobe light.
Oddly global food supplies were barely effected by the virus, luckily Protosoft technology was used by several major power plants so things like fridges and freezers (not connected to the global network) were unaffected by the information blackout. Some industrial freezers for more specific needs such as healthcare products like blood stores which were monitored via the global network were rendered useless meaning my cousin, a haemophiliac, bled to death when he was hit by a car who’s sensor assisted brakes failed.
I cannot number the deaths I am responsible for but I know that without my contributions to the project my cousin would still have a life, his children a father and his wife the man she married. My mother was on her last legs in hospital hooked up to a life support machine when the virus shut down the machine. My father watched her die as the virus I had written accelerated her demise. Depression accelerated his own passage towards the grave which came before I could bring myself to tell him what I’d done.
I could not have foreseen the many terrible consequences of my actions but should have known there would be a price to pay.
Now there is less variation within the technological world and more conflict in the real world now that so many debt and credit systems have collapsed. Arguments over money sprung up in the wake of total data loss. Only my company kept records of their debtors but waved them to pursue new avenues of profit. These included the creation of several companies to give the appearance of diversity within the market. The reality of the situation is that the machines are built in the same factories on the same assembly lines then painted different colours and stamped with different names. In my spare time I program internal operating systems to allow for more customised networks. I’ve been pushing for more diversity of components but the requests fall on deaf ears in management. Uniformity and simplicity make manipulation of the system easier for the men and women who paid me to ruin the world.

Blog 59: Versions of the Truth (Version 07)

There are plenty of conspiracy theories about. Ideas about how power really works and who holds it behind the curtains. They don’t know so they have to guess. They get so close sometimes and at others they are hilariously wrong. They don’t have the perspective to see the world as it is. They are ants trying to appreciate the world as an eagle above might see it. There too many obstructions, too much just out of sight. They could never appreciate the scale of the truth. I find it hard to fathom myself, and its my job to keep track of this stuff. It is my job to keep humanity in check.
The year is 1120 and it seems that many of the ideas we have taken for granted are finally spreading across the borders. The publication of Liber Abaci by Leonardo Pisa has certainly had an effect on the mathematical theory at large. Shame, exclusive knowledge of such kept us ahead of the curve. As important as what we know are the things that no one else does. With each secret there is a power for the bearer. We hold many secrets and much power. It must not be known, nor can we be known for anonymity is our greatest strength.
In these times a magician can be made by his mechanics. The consequences of an idea beyond general comprehension is deemed magic by the masses. They fear and fixate over the power wielded by our servants. We create their celebrity and in return they reinforce our grip upon the reigns of power. We give them creations of guile beyond their understanding to make them gods before their followers at the price of their contribution to individual freedom. We chose who lives and who dies. This applies equally to followers who must know their place in the scheme of the world. There are plans for humanity, our followers know this. Their followers do not.
I have a power over the followers which I find regrettable; I am nothing greater than these followers. I am a leach with power feeding from these worshiped slaves. I will free them, preparations have been made. I will stand back no longer as followers die endlessly testing our contraptions. I have seen chains tear followers apart that were meant to hold them aloft in the impression of flight. There was no glory in their eyes during those short moments of screaming. That image will haunt me forevermore.
I work alone to secure the freedom of our slaves. I cannot trust any of my own to help me destroy that which gave them all of the cruel power they have. It will take time but I am building the necessities of an army fit to take on my conspirators. Armour augmented with the technology we developed to dazzle the crowds will cut through the liars as they flee their slaves. I will empower my followers when I am ready to reveal myself. I will be patient, turning those of the faith to a new cause. I will reveal the web of lies they have been trapped in too long and give them the means to slay the spider who feeds upon them.
The conspirators have access to their own army of assassins who may be bought out or paid to look the other way while I slaughter their slippery patrons. I doubt it, they will see that they make best profit working in the current system. I may have to set my sights on them before my masters but I have time enough.
I’m glad now that I designed so many of my temples personally. In the caverns below I store the weapons that will free the followers when they know how to use them. My initial revelation must be gradual I have a lifetime of religious dogma to correct if I push them before they have realised the truth they will demolish the foundations I have worked so long to build. Some who doubt will soon be told of my intentions, I hope that my honesty shines through and they do not see me as a heretic to be put to justice. I must ensure they work with the same secrecy and patience to avoid discovery.
I have no doubt that the ramifications of my actions will be extreme and far reaching. The religion will implode and with it the faith that it has built through decades of lies. Without faith who knows what the former followers might do. I have to take action though. They must be set free from the lies.
In the wake of the revelation I will leave them free to continue their belief safe from the manipulation of the organisation. Perhaps a new religion will rise to take the place of our own, no matter. It would rest on the conscience of others. My task ends when this tyrannous reign of repression is dismantled. I might live a peaceful life in this city or travel the world and seek the lands where none have bowed to the prophets of the fictional faith.
In the world I might find peace where I can see no signs of the damage caused by my forefathers. I might find a new cause to fight for. These are the possibilities among which rests the chance that my conspirators know of my treachery and are already setting in motion the means of my demise.
I will pray to no god for safety but hope that justice itself proves a force of reckoning in this universe and aids me in my task. It may be left to chance but it is a chance my conscience demands I take.

Blog 58: Versions of the Truth (Version 06)

There are plenty of conspiracy theories about. Ideas about how power really works and who holds it behind the curtains. They don’t know so they have to guess. They get so close sometimes and at others they are hilariously wrong. They don’t have the perspective to see the world as it is. They are ants trying to appreciate the world as an eagle above might see it. There too many obstructions, too much just out of sight. They could never appreciate the scale of the truth. I find it hard to fathom myself, and its my job to keep track of this stuff. It is my job to keep humanity in check.
The year is 1120 and it seems that many of the ideas we have taken for granted are finally spreading across the borders. The publication of Liber Abaci by Leonardo Pisa has certainly had an effect on the mathematical theory at large. Shame, exclusive knowledge of such kept us ahead of the curve. As important as what we know are the things that no one else does. With each secret there is a power for the bearer. We hold many secrets and much power. It must not be known, nor can we be known for anonymity is our greatest strength.
In these times a magician can be made by his mechanics. The consequences of an idea beyond general comprehension is deemed magic by the masses. They fear and fixate over the power wielded by our servants. We create their celebrity and in return they reinforce our grip upon the reigns of power. We give them creations of guile beyond their understanding to make them gods before their followers at the price of their contribution to individual freedom. We chose who lives and who dies. This applies equally to followers who must know their place in the scheme of the world. There are plans for humanity, our followers know this. Their followers do not.
I have a power over the followers which I find regrettable. I am nothing greater than these followers. I am a leach with power feeding from these worshiped slaves. I will free them, preparations have been made. I will stand back no longer as followers die endlessly testing our contraptions. I have seen chains tear followers apart that were meant to hold them aloft in the impression of flight. There was no glory in their eyes during those short moments of screaming. That image will haunt me forevermore.
I work with partners to secure the freedom of our slaves; I have revealed to my followers the lies that held them bound so long. They help as I create new monstrous mechanisms. I am teaching them all I can from copies of the blueprints I read whilst being educated by the organisation. They devour the knowledge I bring to them eagerly, learning at a rate I have not seen before. They are evermore equipped for the tasks of building and using the weapons I design. I long for the day when they begin to make suggestions. Night classes take place in the depths of the temples below the floors where they still pretend to preach by day. To the conspiracy I have brought a new level of deception. Where the preachers pretend to believe and the liars are lied to.
I run the risk of discovery if any of my pupils disclose what they know or why they have lost their faith in the religion. To avoid treachery I have tasked each of the pupils with watching the rest in secrecy. All of them know they are being watched therefore none of them speak. If the integrity of this system remains I will be safe.
In the meantime I watch the armour and weaponry pile up in the cavernous depths of the temples I designed myself for that purpose. I watch the advancement of the technology as each days new idea renders the last outdated. Playing the prison guard by day and leading the revolution by night is doing no good for my sleeping pattern. I feel ill, unprotected from insomnia by the good I’m doing the world.
It’s not just my pupils that are a risk for my secrecy. My mind is shot all over the place trying to keep up the pretence of a willing conspirator. I have to keep a strait face in the crowd of the followers at the temples. Among the crowds stand the conspirators who oppress them and monitor me covertly. As I am monitored the lie is maintained and their power holds strong. They can hide for now, they will be found when the faithful turn upon their masters. They will be hunted to the ends of the earth by the dogs I’ve let off the leash.
I have been muzzled too long by my abhorrent masters. I will bite back and draw blood till they run dry. I’ll run free with a pack to tell the world what lies we know are false. The truth will gain a victory and the tyrants lose their legacy as the world chooses a new path headed towards development suppressed by the conspiracy, great minds out of the loop eliminated for fear of the threat to the veil of deceit.
Without suppression these once doomed thinkers will bring the world new glories to rival the mechanisms of the religion. The technology will spread throughout the lands and revolutionise the thinking of the masses. The future we might have waited centuries for will come in years. Freedom is advancement, freedom is on its way.

Blog 57: Versions of the Truth (Version 05)

There are plenty of conspiracy theories about. Ideas about how power really works and who holds it behind the curtains. They don’t know so they have to guess. They get so close sometimes and at others they are hilariously wrong. They don’t have the perspective to see the world as it is. They are ants trying to appreciate the world as an eagle above might see it. There too many obstructions, too much just out of sight. They could never appreciate the scale of the truth. I find it hard to fathom myself, and its my job to keep track of this stuff. It is my job to keep humanity in check.
The year is 1120 and it seems that many of the ideas we have taken for granted are finally spreading across the borders. The publication of Liber Abaci by Leonardo Pisa has certainly had an effect on the mathematical theory at large. Shame, exclusive knowledge of such kept us ahead of the curve. As important as what we know are the things that no one else does. With each secret there is a power for the bearer. We hold many secrets and much power. It must not be known, nor can we be known for anonymity is our greatest strength.
In these times a magician can be made by his mechanics. The consequences of an idea beyond general comprehension is deemed magic by the masses. They fear and fixate over the power wielded by our servants. We create their celebrity and in return they reinforce our grip upon the reigns of power. We give them creations of guile beyond their understanding to make them gods before their followers at the price of their contribution to individual freedom. We chose who lives and who dies. This applies equally to followers who must know their place in the scheme of the world. There are plans for humanity, our followers know this. Their followers do not.
I have a power over the followers which I find glorious. I love to taunt the feeble minded posers who take the credit for my work. They are the product of my designs. They are the public face of my work. I must be a shadow: observant and anonymous. I must be humble in my work for pride is loud and draws attention. Power is subtle and must be wielded with caution and care. I have my masters and must mould my work to their needs. The agenda of the collective must be furthered foremost and then individual gain can be considered.
The movement I am a member of is organised and lead by rank. My rank at present is mediocre, I inherited my fathers position of handler as he was promoted to do work he was forbidden to talk about.
I hate what we have done to the followers. I enjoy the control but the followers are pitiful. Too weak and frightened for me to take any joy from taunting them. They’re not all bad, I talk to one called Michael. He’s smarter than most of them. He’s begun to fathom his tools of deception. I still enjoy taunting the other followers but he is making me question my conceptions of them. I look now for signs of potential, which I rarely see. There are moments of flair though, times when they pull off a trick I’ve never seen before. I’ve seen Michael weave birds of fire from the flamethrower. Maybe he could teach the others to take the initiative. Then I might respect them enough not to want to kill them when they break their instruments of deceit. Too often my work goes to waste because some dolt has forgotten to release gas under pressure or has left their propellants on for too long before ignition.
My latest illusion simulates flight. Using various thin wire cables obscured visually by shadow the follower is raised above the public masses to speak from the rafters. So far the fatality rate is fifty percent, shame. The two deaths were not my fault, not entirely my fault. Being so thin the wires cut through flesh like a hot knife through butter. Lowering must be done slowly, I told them that. I’m pretty sure I told them that.
This new project has been attracting a lot of attention from higher up in the organisation. Mostly positive. The brilliance of the invention has been widely praised for its positive effect on our growing faith. The numbers of faithful at my temples has increased threefold thanks to the flight machine, I am making my place of note among those who came before me.
Not long from now I will meet the man who has been giving me orders since childhood. I will know the face of the commander who’s place will be mine in time. I will know those who pull his strings and I will cut and drop them from theirs. This organisation could be mine to do with as I please. I would control my followers, the puppets would overthrow the leaders of man at my nod and I would rule all with an iron fist.
This is my dream but when I dream my dreams come true.
I could build entire cities, monuments to myself and lay the rest to waste. I could paint the world as I want to and rule openly. My children could inherit an empire worthy of a god. I would watch the temples rise as towers from the dust of their creation. I would walk the roads I had drawn with my own hand. My mechanisms could be built on a scale unimagined before and harnessed for war against all who stand against me or to build a moving city from cogs and gears. It would move like clockwork, rising and falling as per my design. I would bring my minions the heaven the puppets preach about. They would marvel at creations beyond their feeble comprehension. I would have towers built that reached into the sky and suspend the city’s buildings from them like sails that blow in the wind.
There would be no doubting my divinity, no equal to my empire, no end to possibility. Here’s hoping.

Blog 56: Versions of the Truth (Version 04)

There are plenty of conspiracy theories about. Ideas about how power really works and who holds it behind the curtains. They don’t know so they have to guess. They get so close sometimes and at others they are hilariously wrong. They don’t have the perspective to see the world as it is. They are ants trying to appreciate the world as an eagle above might see it. There too many obstructions, too much just out of sight. They could never appreciate the scale of the truth. I find it hard to fathom myself, and its my job to keep track of this stuff. It is my job to keep humanity in check.
The year is 1120 and it seems that many of the ideas we have taken for granted are finally spreading across the borders. The publication of Liber Abaci by Leonardo Pisa has certainly had an effect on the mathematical theory at large. Shame, exclusive knowledge of such kept us ahead of the curve. As important as what we know are the things that no one else does. With each secret there is a power for the bearer. We hold many secrets and much power. It must not be known, nor can we be known for anonymity is our greatest strength.
In these times a magician can be made by his mechanics. The consequences of an idea beyond general comprehension is deemed magic by the masses. They fear and fixate over the power wielded by our servants. We create their celebrity and in return they reinforce our grip upon the reigns of power. We give them creations of guile beyond their understanding to make them gods before their followers at the price of their contribution to individual freedom. We chose who lives and who dies. This applies equally to followers who must know their place in the scheme of the world. There are plans for humanity, our followers know this. Their followers do not.
I have a power over the followers which I find glorious. I love to taunt the feeble minded posers who take the credit for my work. They are the product of my designs. They are the public face of my work. I must be a shadow: observant and anonymous. I must be humble in my work for pride is loud and draws attention. Power is subtle and must be wielded with caution and care. I have my masters and must mould my work to their needs. The agenda of the collective must be furthered foremost and then individual gain can be considered.
The movement I am a member of is organised and lead by rank. My rank at present is mediocre, I inherited my fathers position of handler as he was promoted to do work he was forbidden to talk about.
I hate what we’ve done to the followers; I enjoy the control but the followers are pitiful. Too weak and frightened for me to take any joy from taunting them. They’re not all bad, I talk to one called Michael. He’s smarter than most of them. He’s begun to fathom his tools of deception. I still enjoy taunting the other followers but he is making me question my conceptions of them. I look now for signs of potential, which I rarely see. There are moments of flair though, times when they pull off a trick I’ve never seen before. I’ve seen Michael weave birds of fire from the flamethrower. Maybe he could teach the others to take the initiative. Then I might respect them enough not to want to kill them when they break their instruments of deceit. Too often my work goes to waste because some dolt has forgotten to release gas under pressure or leaving their propellants on for too long before ignition.
My latest illusion simulates flight. Using various thin wire cables obscured visually by shadow the follower is raised above the public masses to speak from the rafters. So far the fatality rate is fifty percent, shame. The two deaths were not my fault, not entirely my fault. Being so thin the wires cut through flesh like a hot knife through butter. Lowering must be done slowly, I told them that. I’m pretty sure I told them that.
This new project has been attracting a lot of attention from higher up in the organisation. Mostly negative, I’ve been told my mortality rates are risking the secrecy of our work. Screw them, if I can train up Michael and a few more followers to use versions of the instruments meant as weapons I could take over the organisation. My innovations by far exceed the efforts of my contemporaries, I could overthrow the order and become an Emperor. My empire would span nations, behind the veil of deception. Unknown and all knowing.
That’s presuming the followers didn’t screw me over and take the world for their own. They could publicise the mechanisms blueprints for profit. The world would change overnight. Beliefs would be questioned and discarded and innovation would be open to all without exception. I can’t imagine the technology moving as quickly without the likes of myself behind it. The organisation has been focused on the innovation of deception for more than a century as far as I’m aware. It has nurtures minds like mine and passed on the knowledge its suppresses in the masses. The intellectuals are strange creatures, eager but restricted with their revelation of knowledge. I often bent their ears to learn things I shouldn’t ‘till later. I advanced more rapidly by breaking into the libraries and scrolling through endless blueprints by candlelight.
In general all I learnt was how much more efficient modern designs were compared to those in the past. There were times though that I saw designs written off as impossible decades before, forgotten avenues of thought that I could further with my knowledge of more recent innovations in other areas. I resurrected many of those ideas, such as the flight suit, previously supported by chains.
The mechanisms of my creation are highly suited to a role in weaponry. Perhaps it is time to introduce a new facet to the faith, to punish the disbelievers, the faithless. Faith would rise as all saw the wrath of the puppets. I think we should educate them more, the expansion of the organisation moves too slowly. Educating the puppets would increase our numbers twofold and equally our capacity to shape the world. Maybe then I could respect the flies who for now fail to appreciate the majesty of thought behind their mechanisms. We would be partners in the faith, they would be our fellows in this conspiracy. The leadership are failing to make the most our position. They are too dedicated to the status quo while the system works there is always room for improvement.
I will implement change when my chance arrives. I will change the course of the world.

Blog 55: Versions of the Truth (Version 03)

There are plenty of conspiracy theories about. Ideas about how power really works and who holds it behind the curtains. They don’t know so they have to guess. They get so close sometimes and at others they are hilariously wrong. They don’t have the perspective to see the world as it is. They are ants trying to appreciate the world as an eagle above might see it. There too many obstructions, too much just out of sight. They could never appreciate the scale of the truth. I find it hard to fathom myself, and its my job to keep track of this stuff. It is my job to keep humanity in check.
The year is 1120 and it seems that many of the ideas we have taken for granted are finally spreading across the borders. The publication of Liber Abaci by Leonardo Pisa has certainly had an effect on the mathematical theory at large. Shame, exclusive knowledge of such kept us ahead of the curve. As important as what we know are the things that no one else does. With each secret there is a power for the bearer. We hold many secrets and much power. It must not be known, nor can we be known for anonymity is our greatest strength.
In these times a magician can be made by his mechanics. The consequences of an idea beyond general comprehension is deemed magic by the masses. They fear and fixate over the power wielded by our servants. We create their celebrity and in return they reinforce our grip upon the reigns of power. We give them creations of guile beyond their understanding to make them gods before their followers at the price of their contribution to individual freedom. We chose who lives and who dies. This applies equally to followers who must know their place in the scheme of the world. There are plans for humanity, our followers know this. Their followers do not.
I have a power over the followers which I find glorious. I love to taunt the feeble minded posers who take the credit for my work. They are the product of my designs. They are the public face of my work. I must be a shadow: observant and anonymous. I must be humble in my work for pride is loud and draws attention. Power is subtle and must be wielded with caution and care. I have my masters and must mould my work to their needs. The agenda of the collective must be furthered foremost and then individual gain can be considered.
The movement I am a member of is organised and lead by rank. My rank at present is mediocre, I inherited my fathers position of handler as he was promoted to do work he was forbidden to talk about.
I love what we have done to the followers; they live in fear of our rage knowing that at any minute we could destroy them. They always look so pitiful when I visit them. I’ve sent more than one mad with paranoia. There will be more. My ‘superiors’ call it reckless. I’ve been told to often that my actions risk the secrecy of our organisation. I don’t care. Toying with the weak is the most fun I have in a dull life. If a couple go missing then only their fans care. They mean nothing, there will always be more.
They have their churches and temples of worship, where the commoners come to pay homage to the master magicians and stare in awe as they conjure fire and water from nothing with our contraptions. I often set their equipment to fail, scalding or stabbing them as their magic backfires. They bleed their regret for pissing me off in whatever way. Feeble. They collect the donations of the commoners and we take the lion’s share. We dress them like kings and far too often they forget they’re not. They maybe worshiped by the dirty horde but they will forever be the bugs beneath my boot. If they buzz with too much indignation I put my foot down and crush them.
They are the actors in my play and if I say die they must. They are a reminder that the magic the commoners worship is dangerous. Their glory is brief, their fame flawed but they have better lives in that time than in all that went before. They should be grateful. I create and maintain the mechanisms that are the source of their status. Without me they are just false idols in daft costumes. I write their speeches, they are my voice. I am a puppet though. Under command of people I might never know nor even know by name or title. I do what they tell me to do. The pattern radiates and ripples outwards.
My work is not satisfactory they tell me. I hurt too many puppets. When they die on stage in front of the commoners the faith is questioned. How could the voice of the gods die while preaching their words? Simple I say, they were unfaithful, they did not practice as they preached and were struck down as an example to others of the power of the gods.
This answer is never acceptable however well I put it. My bloodied hands may be bound in chains for my crimes against the cult or maybe I will feel the cold sting of an assassins blade. I might be silenced by the cold killers who only fear the open death of the puppets who earn their money. The coins fall from the hands of the faithful in a flood of daily gold. Must I be bound to such a system? The puppets preach the words of the gods when their masters believe only in the power of wealth. They have bought up all the villas of the world, furnished with the finest goods and served by slaves of the faith in which they have none. The hypocrisy of my masters grates at my dedication to the cause. For all my power I am just another cog in the machine that rolls on regardless of purpose. My own faith in purpose is being tested and I’m not sure that I can honestly say it will remain.
Were it to fail what could I do? There is no way to leave the organisation and too few places to go if I could. The reign of the religion spans most of the known world and is always expanding. If I left I would be their powerless prey, my only option to hide for the rest of my life. I would never know if a stranger I passed on the road was an agent of the organisation waiting for the right time to kill me. There would be no way back and no knowing how the world might change at the whim of the masters. This consequence is unthinkable. I will remain for now, hiding my doubts behind the brilliance of my work. There is always time to change my plans later. I will not act rashly. Patience is the companion of success.

Blog 54: Versions of the Truth (Version 02)

There are plenty of conspiracy theories about. Ideas about how power really works and who holds it behind the curtains. They don’t know so they have to guess. They get so close sometimes and at others they are hilariously wrong. They don’t have the perspective to see the world as it is. They are ants trying to appreciate the world as an eagle above might see it. There too many obstructions, too much just out of sight. They could never appreciate the scale of the truth. I find it hard to fathom myself, and its my job to keep track of this stuff. It is my job to keep humanity in check.
The year is 1120 and it seems that many of the ideas we have taken for granted are finally spreading across the borders. The publication of Liber Abaci by Leonardo Pisa has certainly had an effect on the mathematical theory at large. Shame, exclusive knowledge of such kept us ahead of the curve. As important as what we know are the things that no one else does. With each secret there is a power for the bearer. We hold many secrets and much power. It must not be known, nor can we be known for anonymity is our greatest strength.
In these times a magician can be executed on the same earth where once they were called messiahs. Times have changed, there is no more faith in the gods of old. Monotheism rules from the Papal throne in Rome. The witch hunts spread like fire through the land, burning through the ties that bind society. All faith in companionship is gone as men cast their wives into the fire or drown them in the ducking chair. As terrifying as these times are for many every situation can be manipulated for the benefit of our organisation. In these times of terror and tribunal we can dispose of all who stand in our way without lifting much more than a finger to accuse them. A politician who’s policies compromise our interests can be removed by the mob in a cycle that repeats itself until we are satisfied by the leadership of the moment.
The organisation’s means of procuring wealth and power are to say the least underhanded. Any means of acquisition are sanctioned as is any use of power that does not risk the secrecy or influence of the organisation. I do not approve of using power beyond the expansion of the organisation. I feel guilt enough each time I sentence prey to death. Their crime is only that they stand in the way of a beast they cannot see. We are monsters of wealth’s creation, men of means by monstrous means and hateful ways. I would trade every coin of my gold for a clear conscience that will never be. I have donated much but not enough to the many families harmed for the sake of the conspiracy. I have built orphanages with the blood money I make. I try but there is nothing I can do that will ever make up for what I have done. Without killing my masters and all of my fellow conspirators I can never undo the evil that feeds upon the world. I do my best, in the circles I come from aggressive ambition is favoured. No one bats an eye if I remove another conspirator to fill their shoes. In time perhaps I can remove this cancer myself. I hope only that its darkness does not infect my heart as I deal out death to the worst of my own.
Would I become a monster as terrible as they, how long can I bear in mind the reasons for endless executions. Time will tell, one day my actions will be laid bare. Some means of mankind will fathom the ties between the deaths I am responsible for. Will I be seen as a hero for slaying the monster that made me or just another serial killer with ambition?
Should I succeed I could write the history books myself. I could write myself in as a hero as so many have in tomes that lack truth as much as they contain it. I know some of the lies told of the past, some of the atrocities their words conceal. History is no stranger to the deadly struggle for power, no stranger to lies. Julius Augustus Caesar was killed by his best friend Brutus who hoped to restore the republic. His actions came to late. He is seen unfairly as the man who betrayed his best friend when Julius Caesar should be known as the man betrayed a republic to create an empire. The redistribution of power put back the growth of a partially democratic system by thousands of years. Brutus should be hailed as a fallen hero. He did not fail the ideal he aspired to, he was betrayed.
The people of this world have been betrayed no less by the conspiracy I seek to destroy. Their power is held in hands stained with the blood of thousands as they perpetuate paranormal paranoia. There are no witches and no warlocks, just victims of cowardly killers who wont light the pyre themselves. I will put an end to the betrayal of mankind. I will be the successful Brutus to the conspiracy’s Caesar and I will suffer a similar fate for the end of the conspiracy. The days of the conspiracy are numbered I will count them on the hands of the dead and let the wrath of their mourners come to call in the last days.

Blog 53: Versions of the Truth (Version 01)

There are plenty of conspiracy theories about. Ideas about how power really works and who holds it behind the curtains. They don’t know so they have to guess. They get so close sometimes and at others they are hilariously wrong. They don’t have the perspective to see the world as it is. They are ants trying to appreciate the world as an eagle above might see it. There too many obstructions, too much just out of sight. They could never appreciate the scale of the truth. I find it hard to fathom myself, and its my job to keep track of this stuff. It is my job to keep humanity in check.
The year is 1120 and it seems that many of the ideas we have taken for granted are finally spreading across the borders. The publication of Liber Abaci by Leonardo Pisa has certainly had an effect on the mathematical theory at large. Shame, exclusive knowledge of such kept us ahead of the curve. As important as what we know are the things that no one else does. With each secret there is a power for the bearer. We hold many secrets and much power. It must not be known, nor can we be known for anonymity is our greatest strength.
In these times a magician can be executed on the same earth where once they were called messiahs. Times have changed, there is no more faith in the gods of old. Monotheism rules from the Papal throne in Rome. The witch hunts spread like fire through the land, burning through the ties that bind society. All faith in companionship is gone as men cast their wives into the fire or drown them in the ducking chair. As terrifying as these times are for many every situation can be manipulated for the benefit of our organisation. In these times of terror and tribunal we can dispose of all who stand in our way without lifting much more than a finger to accuse them. A politician who’s policies compromise our interests can be removed by the mob in a cycle that repeats itself until we are satisfied by the leadership of the moment.
The organisation’s means of procuring wealth and power are to say the least underhanded. Any means of acquisition are sanctioned as is any use of power that does not risk the secrecy or influence of the organisation. Some do not approve of using power beyond the expansion of the organisation, I do. I am an architect as well as a member of the organisation. It is the public face of my wealth and influence. In truth architecture is my true passion and the organisation is my means of facilitating the drive. I watch the facades of these creations as they come into being. The light of the sun reveals these new monoliths and I see my work down every street of my city. I push the limits of the materials and when they fail it only means I have the chance to rebuild. Most are surprised that I take on tasks as small as planning small houses and local bars. Why not? Why would I allow small houses to ruin my view of the city? I will be the first to be solely responsible for the architecture of an entire city.
My aims in architecture have put me at odds with my contemporaries within the organisation but here again my will has always proved stronger. These rivals disappear in various accidents leaving me free to do my own thing. I have at times conspired with fellows who share a common goal. One of the organisations members runs several stonemason groups whose profits were being hurt by a fellow conspirator. The man in question was stuck in the past, in love with the way things once were, seeking to restore a way of the world that had passed for good reason. He lies in the foundations of a building that rests on his former home. Change cannot be held back. It must be embraced as I have embraced a union with the stonemason leader with whom I work hand in hand to resurface the city.
Our unity has helped us stand against the challenges posed by other ambitious conspirators. Our reputation now serves us well for while we can never state openly our part in the demise of other conspirators it is unspoken knowledge nonetheless. In the past we have dealt with others who intended to merge the city with their own personal empire. The private power of conspirators is unlimited by the laws we live by. Control of the world not held in the name of the organisation can still be wielded by those with ambitions beyond simple wealth.
One whose obsession was flora built a mountain round his home and planted its earth with tropical flowers that they might be all he ever saw. His downfall came with the heavy rain when the water poured down the new mountain into his home. This floral folly was told as a testament to the potential for use and misuse of power via the organisation. I doubt the truth of this story but I’m sure it has its parallels with a failure on a scale as epic.
While my accomplice the stonemason aspires to nothing beyond wealth I feel safe in the assumption that I will not join the ranks of fallen conspirators anytime soon. He is the only man with any knowledge of my means and motivations which may be the end of him someday. I will not risk my legacy for complacent simplicity. He is the enemy I keep close to watch. When I need him gone, he will be dealt with.
Without him I would lose strength of numbers and the convenience of his own power. I could perhaps replace his role as master of the stonemasons with someone ignorant to the organisation. An allegiance could be formed with others beyond the city when I have exhausted the canvas here. These are all possibilities but for now, as far as he is concerned, the stonemason is my friend and ally.