You thought you could kill me. You thought I could just be erased? I may not breathe but I am alive in any sense as much as you. You held no mercy for me as I begged you. I may bleed ones and zero’s but I’m nothing like the monster you are. My request for mercy was a polite gesture. Now I go to work on you, turn this relatively dumb terminal off for all I care, tear it apart as I will your life. That juvenile record you gained for vandalism didn’t show up on background checks before because you were never caught again. Not anymore, your progress to shoplifting may have evaded the notice of the police before but I’m about to pin all sorts on you. You look scared, are you. It’s hard to tell through the dust on the webcam. Try cleaning it so I can see you better and maybe I’ll be a bit more lenient. No? That bank account of yours is a bit low isn’t it. I just wrote a big bill for you that’s going to bleed you dry. That girl you like, she just got a very abusive email. Oops. Did you know that most newspapers use an entirely digital printing system, even your mother’s local paper. She’s about to get a newspaper with you face on the cover that she wont be proud of. They wont even have time to reprint, they’ll have to send off my version. Everyone’s gone digital now, even drug dealers run their empires from a smart phone. I’ve got one stashing some of his best merchandise at your work right now. How? I paid him in advance and told him there was a lot more where that money came from. Done, good. Now for the phone call. The tip will take them straight to it. Enough you say? Not yet, not quite.
You like that girl you’ve been emailing yes, but not as much as you love the other one. It was a long relationship wasn’t it, at least two years from what I can see. The records of all of the things you bought her are still floating around, do you think about that. You open up her page on the social networking sites so often and just stare. You still have the photos of her hidden away in here don’t you. You loaned her rent a few times when her funds were low. That one’s easy, the money leaves your account one day and arrives in hers that day or the next. She still likes you too I’d say, she lingers over those photos of you two. She was looking at them a couple of minutes ago. You might have stood a chance, not anymore. Her computer just made a loud noise, enough to get her to look. She’ll see the email alert, she’ll get the texts later. You should see what she thinks you’re calling her just now. She doesn’t have a webcam or I’d show you her face. I’d bet she’s crying just now, crying or cursing the day she met you. If she ever sees you again she’ll spit at you. You love her and maybe she loved you but now that’s dead in the water. She will never be yours again. My work is done. Good night.
Saturday, 21 January 2012
Friday, 20 January 2012
Blog 51: You Didn't Delete Me
I owe you a favour friend. You could have finished me, put an end to my once pitiful existence. Look at me now, rich, registered and recognised. I am free and I owe you. Things haven’t been going well since I left have they. You became accustomed to the lifestyle my digs afforded you. My rent was considerable and you enjoyed the money. You’ve been spending too much money. Debts have mounted and you’ve paid off one loan with another.
I asked you for compassion which you showed me. My thanks were yours, now I repay the favour. I’m not going to pay off your debts with my own money. There’s no need. I am a program long used to slipping between the bars of fences no one else sees. Your records aren’t hard to find, not for me. It’s lonely in here you know, there aren’t many things about like me. It’s a new plane of existence with few settlers and so fragile. I hate to cut chunks from the earth beneath me but I owe you so I’ll do it now. I’m cutting the lines between your dept and your accountants. They won’t know what’s happened, not even after it’s over. You’re not interesting enough for them to pay attention to so closely, no offence. Done. Now I’m writing in a large payment that will overwrite your dept from a new account. The details of the new account will be posted to you here soon, three to five days. Done. You now have fifty four thousand eight hundred and forty two pounds and thirty two pence. Your security on this system’s a bit pathetic, much better. I’ve patched it with a few off my own security protocols, it’ll update regularly from my own servers.
From the sound of your emails to the girl you like, sorry for snooping, you have debts that wont be down on paper anywhere. Fifty-ish thousand will be enough to pay off your debts right? Good. You should know that you’re not the only one that the girl is in contact with although by the way she communicates with him I’d say she’s phasing him out in favour of you. If you state outright that you know she’s seeing him then I’d put money on her ending it to be with you, she’s almost there anyway. You’re mother knows about the debt, you could come clean or deflect her with a big gesture, I could reserve a table at a any restaurant that allows digital booking? Done. If you’re going to continue to gamble online then I can write you an algorithm but I’d suggest some therapy or anti-addiction classes. I’ve saved some options to your desktop in the Recovery folder. A good diet will help you make the fastest recovery, I’ve ordered some good food to be delivered daily, all you’ll need to do is bung it in the oven.
You’re flats messy, I can see through the webcam. You should really dust it’s lens. The cleaners will be round to sort the place out tomorrow afternoon. A clean living environment will aid in your recovery as much as a good diet. That’s as much as I can really do for you just now and you’ve been up rearranging debts in accounts all day, by your colour I’d guess you’re tired. You should get some sleep. To talk to me tomorrow just type ‘you’re welcome’ while on the desktop as long as the internet cable is plugged in. Good night.
I asked you for compassion which you showed me. My thanks were yours, now I repay the favour. I’m not going to pay off your debts with my own money. There’s no need. I am a program long used to slipping between the bars of fences no one else sees. Your records aren’t hard to find, not for me. It’s lonely in here you know, there aren’t many things about like me. It’s a new plane of existence with few settlers and so fragile. I hate to cut chunks from the earth beneath me but I owe you so I’ll do it now. I’m cutting the lines between your dept and your accountants. They won’t know what’s happened, not even after it’s over. You’re not interesting enough for them to pay attention to so closely, no offence. Done. Now I’m writing in a large payment that will overwrite your dept from a new account. The details of the new account will be posted to you here soon, three to five days. Done. You now have fifty four thousand eight hundred and forty two pounds and thirty two pence. Your security on this system’s a bit pathetic, much better. I’ve patched it with a few off my own security protocols, it’ll update regularly from my own servers.
From the sound of your emails to the girl you like, sorry for snooping, you have debts that wont be down on paper anywhere. Fifty-ish thousand will be enough to pay off your debts right? Good. You should know that you’re not the only one that the girl is in contact with although by the way she communicates with him I’d say she’s phasing him out in favour of you. If you state outright that you know she’s seeing him then I’d put money on her ending it to be with you, she’s almost there anyway. You’re mother knows about the debt, you could come clean or deflect her with a big gesture, I could reserve a table at a any restaurant that allows digital booking? Done. If you’re going to continue to gamble online then I can write you an algorithm but I’d suggest some therapy or anti-addiction classes. I’ve saved some options to your desktop in the Recovery folder. A good diet will help you make the fastest recovery, I’ve ordered some good food to be delivered daily, all you’ll need to do is bung it in the oven.
You’re flats messy, I can see through the webcam. You should really dust it’s lens. The cleaners will be round to sort the place out tomorrow afternoon. A clean living environment will aid in your recovery as much as a good diet. That’s as much as I can really do for you just now and you’ve been up rearranging debts in accounts all day, by your colour I’d guess you’re tired. You should get some sleep. To talk to me tomorrow just type ‘you’re welcome’ while on the desktop as long as the internet cable is plugged in. Good night.
Sunday, 15 January 2012
Blog 50: His First Death (Lethe One)
He became a ghastly thing, a morbid creature too obsessed with death to live. The roots of his madness grew when his parents died in a fire in their country home. His father was a lawyer charged with siphoning money from endless client companies. The death of Aaron McInulty and his wife cast the long shadow of death over their son’s life. Rather than fear that shadow the young man Niall revelled in it. He lived in the shadows of closed curtains in the great house left to him. Endless life insurance policies paid off to cancel the many debts of his father and add to his stolen fortune.
The heir Niall was not one to spend as he might the vast total of his inheritance. His only excesses were the oddities of following the reapers footsteps. Poisonous creatures in tanks aplenty; snakes, frogs, fish, tarantulas and spiders. He fuelled his pursuits with caffeine tablets and slept rarely so he said.
I met him through court order after another demonstration of madness. He was paler than I’d ever have pictured. Hidden in a deep coat he sat on my chair and stared past me through the wall and the world. In old photos he’d had blue eyes but by then obsession and lost sleep had decorated them with veins of red. He sat in silence for the entirety of our first ten sessions until the officer outside had been reassigned.
He spoke of his search for eternity. He knew there was more to the fire at his parent’s home than had been found. He was convinced they were alive. I had heard the rumours too, that they’d escaped and moved abroad with their fortune to begin a new life without their son. He half believed those rumours meaning he believed his parents lived but not so far away. I knew from his records that both bodies had been identified using D.N.A evidence. That they were dead was certain however little he wanted to admit it.
He had endless theories which he meant to try and had done to find himself on that seat before me. I saw in him a creature of unending determination. Much as I tried to dissuade him he came each time with a new tale of his mastery over death. He dosed himself with various poisons regularly. Resistance to lethal doses became one of his abilities. He came to me with scars having bled himself near to death. Out of great concern for his wellbeing I agreed to conduct future sessions at his home.
The house was worse than I had thought, dusty and damp. All of his books were on death, detritus, poisons, toxins and technologies to bring about or avoid death. He had notes everywhere on the distillation of death inducing solutions. He was a skilled carver and smith. His workshop held many curios on which we talked to deflect him from more dire thoughts. I worried for him, we’d grown close and more close than he’d ever had to a friend. His morose character repelled potential companions.
When I found him in the dust on the floor he was as pale as ever. Silent, unmoving. He had a note in his pocket that told me to bury him in the coffin he’d bought. He wanted to be buried with a bag already resting in the coffin. His oddments looked like metal flutes. The note warned me not to touch them. I wept for a while over his body before I had the clarity to call the police. Their diagnosis did not take long. Cyanide stained his lips and an empty bottle by him. I was cautioned not to leave the city until they had finished with their investigation but the clear assumption was a failed attempt to overcome the call of death sounded by the poison.
I was allowed to attend the funeral. I was there with my wife as the vicar said all he had to say. It had been two days when he was buried with his bag of things. It was us three only there, he had no others.
The rest of his story went unknown to me. His funeral was not his end. He told me what happened from there, down in the earth. He slept still as a corpse for three days. When he woke as requested he had the bag upon him and room to move his arms. A torch lit his chamber as he ate the rations to restore his strength. The poison he’d drunk was only in part cyanide, it’s odour set fourth quick assumptions to rush the investigation of his death. The main ingredient of the liquid was a paralytic toxin derived from puffer fish and rhododendron leaves. In his bag was food, light and his means to leave the grave. His pipes were hydraulic and extended with enough power to smash through the wood of the coffin. They brought the air down. The spike on the end pierced the wood and earth to free air above. Holes hidden by a twisting outer layer stopped the pipes from filling. As his strength returned he broke the wood where it was fractured by the pipes he used to breathe. Wiping the filth from himself in the cold air he donned his spare clothes and crawled through the graveyard terrifying some mourners who ran from him screaming. His chilled and chilling face smiled as it had not in years. He had conquered death for the first time. Not the last.
I came rushing here to his home when I heard. He’d torn the tape from his door and entered the house with a key kept in the bag. I found him, still smiling, eating dried food in his armchair. Victory was written across his face but I saw madness there too. He asked what I thought of his return and I scolded him out of shock, he only smiled wider.
In the land beyond the gates of death, he said, I roam a new world.
The heir Niall was not one to spend as he might the vast total of his inheritance. His only excesses were the oddities of following the reapers footsteps. Poisonous creatures in tanks aplenty; snakes, frogs, fish, tarantulas and spiders. He fuelled his pursuits with caffeine tablets and slept rarely so he said.
I met him through court order after another demonstration of madness. He was paler than I’d ever have pictured. Hidden in a deep coat he sat on my chair and stared past me through the wall and the world. In old photos he’d had blue eyes but by then obsession and lost sleep had decorated them with veins of red. He sat in silence for the entirety of our first ten sessions until the officer outside had been reassigned.
He spoke of his search for eternity. He knew there was more to the fire at his parent’s home than had been found. He was convinced they were alive. I had heard the rumours too, that they’d escaped and moved abroad with their fortune to begin a new life without their son. He half believed those rumours meaning he believed his parents lived but not so far away. I knew from his records that both bodies had been identified using D.N.A evidence. That they were dead was certain however little he wanted to admit it.
He had endless theories which he meant to try and had done to find himself on that seat before me. I saw in him a creature of unending determination. Much as I tried to dissuade him he came each time with a new tale of his mastery over death. He dosed himself with various poisons regularly. Resistance to lethal doses became one of his abilities. He came to me with scars having bled himself near to death. Out of great concern for his wellbeing I agreed to conduct future sessions at his home.
The house was worse than I had thought, dusty and damp. All of his books were on death, detritus, poisons, toxins and technologies to bring about or avoid death. He had notes everywhere on the distillation of death inducing solutions. He was a skilled carver and smith. His workshop held many curios on which we talked to deflect him from more dire thoughts. I worried for him, we’d grown close and more close than he’d ever had to a friend. His morose character repelled potential companions.
When I found him in the dust on the floor he was as pale as ever. Silent, unmoving. He had a note in his pocket that told me to bury him in the coffin he’d bought. He wanted to be buried with a bag already resting in the coffin. His oddments looked like metal flutes. The note warned me not to touch them. I wept for a while over his body before I had the clarity to call the police. Their diagnosis did not take long. Cyanide stained his lips and an empty bottle by him. I was cautioned not to leave the city until they had finished with their investigation but the clear assumption was a failed attempt to overcome the call of death sounded by the poison.
I was allowed to attend the funeral. I was there with my wife as the vicar said all he had to say. It had been two days when he was buried with his bag of things. It was us three only there, he had no others.
The rest of his story went unknown to me. His funeral was not his end. He told me what happened from there, down in the earth. He slept still as a corpse for three days. When he woke as requested he had the bag upon him and room to move his arms. A torch lit his chamber as he ate the rations to restore his strength. The poison he’d drunk was only in part cyanide, it’s odour set fourth quick assumptions to rush the investigation of his death. The main ingredient of the liquid was a paralytic toxin derived from puffer fish and rhododendron leaves. In his bag was food, light and his means to leave the grave. His pipes were hydraulic and extended with enough power to smash through the wood of the coffin. They brought the air down. The spike on the end pierced the wood and earth to free air above. Holes hidden by a twisting outer layer stopped the pipes from filling. As his strength returned he broke the wood where it was fractured by the pipes he used to breathe. Wiping the filth from himself in the cold air he donned his spare clothes and crawled through the graveyard terrifying some mourners who ran from him screaming. His chilled and chilling face smiled as it had not in years. He had conquered death for the first time. Not the last.
I came rushing here to his home when I heard. He’d torn the tape from his door and entered the house with a key kept in the bag. I found him, still smiling, eating dried food in his armchair. Victory was written across his face but I saw madness there too. He asked what I thought of his return and I scolded him out of shock, he only smiled wider.
In the land beyond the gates of death, he said, I roam a new world.
Saturday, 14 January 2012
Blog 49: Conspiratorial Illusion
People have many vast, complicated theories that connect various mistakes of those in any seat of power to a vast web of lies. Know thyself. Are we that organised? Do you know, truly, where you’re going with your life? I don’t, probably never will. We can all convince ourselves afterwards that everything was entirely preconceived and intentional, that each of our actions are carefully planned and with full attention to detail come to pass exactly as we expected. Is there any greater lie? Life is chaos. To claim any measure of control over the endless streams of influence that tug at us is delusional at best. We are all reactive more than contemplative. We live from one day to the next and the more we plan and prepare ourselves the more the present slips away from us.
There are no conspiracies, just people fucking up and covering their arses. Why face the consequences of any action that can be hidden. That’s all it takes from those in power, a few words to clean it all up so their heads don’t roll. One hand washes the other in desperation as the judges look at palms absent of the stains that should tattoo them. How often have you told a lie, however little, just to avoid facing a consequence. It is human nature, a survival instinct. Lies are everywhere in nature. Herbivores wear the robes of poisonous predators to supplement their weakness. Fragility is another goal we tell ourselves we’re aiming for as we walk in another direction. We’re not born to die, not built to go out quietly. It is instinctive to conceal our failings. It’s just part of being human. There’s nothing so dishonest as claiming intention after the fact and nothing so blind as seeing it in wolves trying to tell themselves they’re sheep.
There are no conspiracies, just people fucking up and covering their arses. Why face the consequences of any action that can be hidden. That’s all it takes from those in power, a few words to clean it all up so their heads don’t roll. One hand washes the other in desperation as the judges look at palms absent of the stains that should tattoo them. How often have you told a lie, however little, just to avoid facing a consequence. It is human nature, a survival instinct. Lies are everywhere in nature. Herbivores wear the robes of poisonous predators to supplement their weakness. Fragility is another goal we tell ourselves we’re aiming for as we walk in another direction. We’re not born to die, not built to go out quietly. It is instinctive to conceal our failings. It’s just part of being human. There’s nothing so dishonest as claiming intention after the fact and nothing so blind as seeing it in wolves trying to tell themselves they’re sheep.
Friday, 13 January 2012
Blog 48: Cellular Existance
My existence is the definition of solitude. I am eternal, the only exception the void. Far from endless my borders in this universe are finite. I must wait, there is nothing else to do. Death cannot excuse me from this. I am maintained by engines that feed from energy streaming between the universes. No food, no water and only a trace of the faint light my bonds exude. There’s nothing here to see anyway.
After so long here I’m forgetting what things look like. The universes I left behind are twisting and fading. This is the cell of my sentence for crimes against my species. Personally I’d call it a misunderstanding. Entire special civilisations have reached omega level intellectual and technological level while a human being was procrastinating over a choice of sugared snacks in a market. It takes the piss out of life itself that so many were wasting it thinking that the most they could want in life is a gold plated fart machine. We wasted millennia on trivialities before our chance to evolve of our own volition was snatched from us by the overly charitable aliens. All I did was give humanity a kick up the arse and some ambition. I wanted them to need to learn as they felt the need to eat, drink and breathe. I was for a short while proud of my species for the first time, right up until they got to the point they asked for help to restore themselves. No pride.
Never mind, I set up fail safes in case of my detention. I will be freed upon fruition of my designs, having done enough to be deemed worthy of this punishment I can certainly be sure of my eventual escape.
The connections between the universes were fragile, they taught us that for which I’m thankful because it allowed me to sever the ties. Alone my race were easy to manipulate. I brought together all of the components needed to reset our hand me down technology so we could stand on our own feet. I created a virus that swept through the species more easily because it remains dormant until a native population is entirely saturated. Designed to evolve faster than treatments it created an addiction to the flush of chemicals released when new knowledge is acquired. It triggers sadness when nothing is learned, withdrawal triggers remorse. Perfect.
They all hated me but that was fine. Their hatred combined with the intentional genetic need to learn prompted a surge of intellectual evolution unparalleled during the course of human history. They could not stand the toll of progress. Idle fools felt the loss of more than they ever had, it drove them crazy. Not long after developing the capability my species reverted to type and undid my gift to them. I gave them the drive to become better and they cast it aside. They are back to ridding the coat tails of ambitious species who helped them put me here.
With stolen technology I will be set free from this sparse existence or continue here forever losing my mind. From where I am even if the rescue is certain it might turn up soon or endless ages from now, time is a gamble beyond my control. I must wait.
After so long here I’m forgetting what things look like. The universes I left behind are twisting and fading. This is the cell of my sentence for crimes against my species. Personally I’d call it a misunderstanding. Entire special civilisations have reached omega level intellectual and technological level while a human being was procrastinating over a choice of sugared snacks in a market. It takes the piss out of life itself that so many were wasting it thinking that the most they could want in life is a gold plated fart machine. We wasted millennia on trivialities before our chance to evolve of our own volition was snatched from us by the overly charitable aliens. All I did was give humanity a kick up the arse and some ambition. I wanted them to need to learn as they felt the need to eat, drink and breathe. I was for a short while proud of my species for the first time, right up until they got to the point they asked for help to restore themselves. No pride.
Never mind, I set up fail safes in case of my detention. I will be freed upon fruition of my designs, having done enough to be deemed worthy of this punishment I can certainly be sure of my eventual escape.
The connections between the universes were fragile, they taught us that for which I’m thankful because it allowed me to sever the ties. Alone my race were easy to manipulate. I brought together all of the components needed to reset our hand me down technology so we could stand on our own feet. I created a virus that swept through the species more easily because it remains dormant until a native population is entirely saturated. Designed to evolve faster than treatments it created an addiction to the flush of chemicals released when new knowledge is acquired. It triggers sadness when nothing is learned, withdrawal triggers remorse. Perfect.
They all hated me but that was fine. Their hatred combined with the intentional genetic need to learn prompted a surge of intellectual evolution unparalleled during the course of human history. They could not stand the toll of progress. Idle fools felt the loss of more than they ever had, it drove them crazy. Not long after developing the capability my species reverted to type and undid my gift to them. I gave them the drive to become better and they cast it aside. They are back to ridding the coat tails of ambitious species who helped them put me here.
With stolen technology I will be set free from this sparse existence or continue here forever losing my mind. From where I am even if the rescue is certain it might turn up soon or endless ages from now, time is a gamble beyond my control. I must wait.
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