Wednesday, September 29, 2004


Sol Datum's Ante-Hell

If you're easily depressed by human nature, don't read the following story.

Today an e-plague killed 7000 people in lower Manhattan. The 4th Dr. Terkle appeared on TV and said, “In times past, when men came to do us violence, we fought them. Today, when technology gives every man the certainty of killing not one, but thousands of those who offend him, the only defense is to offer no offense at all.” I thought he spoke well.

At my building, the nan-sniffer must have picked up something on my coat, because our doorman, Mel, made me sit in the decontamination chamber for 10 minutes. “Can’t take no chance, Mr. Datum, them nonos could be up to who knows what.” Mel calls nanites nonos.

Nanites, they said, would revolutionize the world, and of course they were right, and also wrong. Microscopic robots, nanites can make almost anything out of almost anything. The can knit organs up from the inside, build a car out of a junkyard, synthesize food from waste products, but what they make best of all is death. And so, the 21st Century became the era of the nanite engineered e-plagues – clouds of nanites designed to infect the host and build more of themselves for the next victim.
Fortunately, we’ve got optimists, like the indomitable Dr. Terkle. Did you know that I’ve memorized all 28 speeches of the first Dr. Terkle? In number 18 he said, which I think is the best distillation of his philosophy: “This era of horror masks the greatest opportunity our race has ever seen. At last we are faced with the ultimate choice – eliminate conflict, or perish.”

The other day I was at the public library again. There’s this old guy with one leg. He comes in all the time. He smells sort of funny, but he’s nice to everyone. There’s this sort of anteroom to the library. I like to do my research there. He’s slow, this guy, real slow. So I says “Pick it up grandpa, the books are spoiling.” He looks at me and calls me, well I won’t tell you. Something not very nice. So I kicked his cane. You have to understand, I’m not a mean person, which is why it surprised even me a bit. I was surprised at how easy it was.

Terkerization will not work. The settling of grievances doesn’t address the problem. People don’t need a reason to hate. There’s something perverse in Human nature, I’ve decided. How else can you explain it? I can prove this. It’s not a logical proof, mind you. How could I prove something that’s illogical in its very nature? But it’s provable nonetheless. Terkle has a million converts a day, they say. It doesn’t matter.

My research project was remarkably easy once I decided I was going to do it. All the information is publicly accessible, though admittedly, not all from the same source. The nanite assembler was the easy part. It’s the neurotransmitters that were hard to figure out. I thank a scientific establishment that publishes everything. It turns out you can target a nanite at almost anything. My little e-plague is unique. It seeks out people who don’t hate.

Sunday, September 26, 2004


The Last Expedition - Gumball Poetry

The Last Expedition - Gumball Poetry

Driving across the surface of a shallow lake a horrid monster assailed us. I beat upon its scaly claws with a hammer until it released us from its grip. (Genus: Acrocanthosaurus? A remarkable discovery!) A close call that has shaken us all, but I believe my fellow companions, especially Merisee, see me in a new light.

Thursday, September 23, 2004


I Need Phrases

OK, I'm out of phrases for storytelling, so I need you to give me more! Just comment on this thread and give me the first word or phrase that comes to mind.

From Wibbleton to Wobbleton

I've always loved the Victorian adventure story. I read Sherlock Holmes when I was quite young, and loved the adventures of Alan Quatermain. Part of the thrill was that every now and then the characters would trump out some Victorian cultural value that, accepted by all the characters as a self-obvious given, seemed as alien to me as any held by the improbable savages of H. Rider Haggard's Africa. This story is inspired by Orgrrrl's phrase and by a conversation she and I had about hyperspace.

Tell me again, Captain Carstairs, of the eccentric adventures of Dr. Wasselby and his transmigrating closet,” I said, “you began to describe it on our last visit, but were unable to finish because of the startling events that befell us, leading to the adventure of the orange waistcoat on your last visit.”

“I should be delighted,” the good doctor replied, and he began without delay. “Dr. Wasselby was a colleague of mine, a brilliant scientist obsessed with the Theory of Teleportation.”

“The Theory of Teleportation? But that’s just a rumor. No one thinks it’s possible.”

“On the contrary, Dr. Wasselby not only thought it possible, but as you will see, he actually turned it to practical application, to his utter detriment.

When I last visisted Dr. Wasselby, he was a mere shadow of the manly, vigorous footballer I knew from Oxford. ‘Carstairs’, he told me, ‘I am undone.’ He was referring to some events that transpired on my previous visit to him a year before that date.

Dr. Wasselby, after many years of tireless research, succeeded in instantiating the fifth dimension in the closet of his Leicestershire flat. He had not yet tested the closet fully, and he invited me along for the journey.”

“The fifth dimension,” I interjected, “can it be true?”

“You refer,” he said, “to the theory that by entering the fifth dimension, one may travel through it then exit at a point in our world many miles from where you entered.”

“Indeed,” I replied, “with such a breakthrough, Her Majesty’s armies could travel the world in the blink of an eye. Troops in Bangalore could take leave at Piccidilly. Travelers in Siam could receive the daily Times still warm from the presses in London.”

“Precisely. We set out into the fifth dimension the next morning with full kit, including two pack mules, four bearers, photographic apparatus, and cartographic instruments, not to mention the flag and portrait of Her Majesty.

The fifth dimension was a blasted, twilit landscape. After claiming the land for England, we set out. The discovery of the firth dimension was clearly a great achievement for poor Wasselby, but his obsession was not satisfied. He wished to travel as far as possible and then re-enter our dimension to prove the Theory of Teleportation.

We traveled for four days, and even in that short time, the atmosphere of the place took its toll. It is an utterly lifeless land, without plant, animal, or anything to relieve the tedium. There were distant mountains, but no matter how far we traveled, they never drew closer. The eternal twilight spoiled sleep and spooked the bearers. Finally, Dr. Wasselby selected a location for our return to our own universe. He activated the portal and we stepped through, bursting with anticipation, having no premonition of what we might find. What we did find was disappointment.

The portal returned us to a walk-in closet in a haberdashery in Herbetshire, not 15 miles from our point of origin. Wasselby was devastated. It never occurred to him that a journey through the fifth dimension might be longer than the equivalent journey through our own.”

“What happened then?”

“Well, we released our bearers and apologized to the owners of the haberdashery, paying them recompense for the damage, and then returned by the evening train to Leicestershire.”

“But what of Wasselby?”

“The story I got from Wasselby on my last visit is as follows. After the failure of his theories, he was a broken man. He turned to drink. He kept returning to Herbertshire, as if he couldn’t believe his failure. He struck up a disastrous affair with one of the girls in the haberdashery. This, as much as anything, hastened his demise.”

We sat in silence for a while, each absorbed in his own reflections. At last, Captain Carstairs spoke. “I cannot help but draw a simple lesson from this whole affair,” he said.

“What is that?”

“That scientists ought avoid affairs of the heart for their long years of study leave them ill suited to such passions.”

Hamlet - The Text Adventure

Hamlet - The Text Adventure

Link thanks to Philos

Wednesday, September 22, 2004


MTV.com - News -Singer Cat Stevens Kicked Off Flight When His Name Found On Watch List

Authorities divert a plane bound for Washington DC, so that they can remove and deport a prominent mulsim convert, Cat Stevens.

Monday, September 20, 2004


The Worlds of David Darling

The Worlds of David Darling is a great site to pick up on some of the more interesting science news of the day.

24th Century Design

Saturday, September 18, 2004


An Atlas of Cyberspaces - Information Space Maps

Thursday, September 16, 2004


Paris's new slant on underground movies

Guardian Unlimited | Special reports | Paris's new slant on underground movies: "'They freaked out completely,' Lazar, their spokesman, said happily. 'They called in the bomb squad, the sniffer dogs, army security, the anti-terrorist squad, the serious crimes unit. They said it was skinheads or subversives. They got it on to national TV news. They hadn't a clue.' "

Link thanks to Philaros.

Wednesday, September 15, 2004


Natural Process : Process Flow

Process Flow: artist takes screenshot of Google. Paints giant painting of Google Web Page. Artist sets up Web Cam and makes Web Page for Google Web Page Painting. Google likes painting, buys it.

Whipped Cream

The first diplomat assigned the Meeblecore jokingly called them intelligent whipped cream, and it turns out it wasn’t far wrong. Before they accidentally gene edited themselves out of existence the Mreept Confederacy modulated proto-Meeblecore by genetically engineering the natural milk of tri-pedal herd beasts. This created a superior food that self reproduced and auto medicated the consumer by adaptive protein algorithm. But the Mreept went too far when they included analytic neuro memes in the mix. The resulting megayogurts were capable of imprinting knowledge patterns on the brain of the consumer, forming educative foodstuffs. Problematically, batches that were left too long in the vat had a tendency to develop sentience. The discovery of the Meeblecore has led to a rewriting of the classification system of sentient races and a tightening of the laws against cross-species cannibalism.

Tuesday, September 14, 2004


UseNet - LinuxWiki.org - Linux Wiki und Freie Software

Fom the cool map department: a map of Usenet.

Monday, September 13, 2004


troubled_windows

A little flash weirdness for your day: troubled_windows

Sunday, September 12, 2004


welcome to the Virtual Terrain Project

The Virtual Terrain Project is an amazing collection of worldbuilding, virtual terrain, and mapping resources. Some of the amazingly cool stuff linked here inludes Winkarst, a 3-d mapping tool for spelunkers, and Artificial Planet, a shareware planet simulator with dynamic ecosystem and terrain editor. Enjoy!

Grotto

I've been kind of blocked the last couple of weeks, paritcularly with Dougievan's word Grotto. It's a great word, and I feel like I should be able to come up with a great story for it. Wanting to write something great is always murder on the creative spark. So after much wrangling over blank pages, I've decided to go back to short short stories again for a little while. Here's the first of the under-100 words series, 'Grotto'.

The hermit crabs called for war, and the starfish agreed. For the coral grotto’d grown too crowded. The crabs, like borrowed tanks, advanced in echelons. The stars adopted an elastic defense. At low tide, both sides clung and gasped. At high, hostilities boiled. The stars replaced losses as they occurred. The crabs were adept at procuring weapons. When the crabs finally drove the foe from their cave, it couldn’t be denied they prospered. Yet the corals were diminished by the loss as well. The sea urchins began to whisper unrest.

Analogies Gone Wild, Is Is as Is Associates, by Annie Wagner (09/09/04)

Analogies Gone Wild, Is Is as Is Associates, by Annie Wagner (09/09/04)
"The problem with a lot of American philosophy can be summed up by this excerpt from the glossary: 'Analytic philosophy: A twentieth-century movement in philosophy that began with the view that we can understand complex thoughts by breaking them down into simple elements'--and that then, we might add, wasted no time devolving into utter tedium. The definition continues, 'Known for its rigorous employment of logic, [analytic philosophy] remains dominant in the United States and Britain.' 'Dominant' is one way to put it--'suffocating' is another. For those of us who are not philosophy wonks, reading analytic philosophy can be disillusioning: It's sad to accept that logic often operates in inverse proportion to sense. If you've ever tried to get something done in a meeting conducted by parliamentary procedure, you already understand the selective tyranny of rigor. Logic, too, is deceptively permissive with those who have mastered the rules."

A quotation like this can really make your Sunday morning.

Friday, September 10, 2004


Ocean existed on Mars, evidence indicates

Ocean existed on Mars, evidence indicates: "Evidence is pouring in from a Mars-orbiting satellite that a vast plain on the Red Planet must once have held a deep ocean."

Makeup and marketing - welcome to the world of 10-year-old girls

Thursday, September 09, 2004


The Man With No Memory of Latte Syndrome and the Poopy-Head Barista

This story was inspired by Philos insisting that TonyD's story "Demon Technology" should have stuck closer to the phrase "no memory of latte" that sparked the story in the first place. "The Man With No Memory of Latte Syndrome and the Poopy-Head Barista" is dedicated to Philos, silliness and all. --Orkgrrrl



“Hey,” I snarled at the barista. “Where is that latte I ordered 10 minutes ago?”

“What you do mean?” the barista said. Her eye-brow piercing wiggled as she furrowed her forehead. “You drank your entire double-half macchiato, no whip with wings, in three gulps. I saw you.”

“I couldn’t drink something that fast unless it were on ice, and I know that you did not give me a cold latte,” I replied.

“You have No Memory of Latte Syndrome,” the barista said. “I’m sorry, but it’s true. I’ve seen it happen before. You have had too much caffeine and not enough social stimulation.”

“You know nothing of my social stimulation,” I said. I was getting steamed, no pun intended. The barista was making fun of me—or was she flirting with me? I didn’t know whether I wanted to punch her or kiss her. That was my problem, always mixing up violence with sex. But one thing I knew for sure was that I had not gotten the latte. It wasn’t that I had no memory of the latte, I had NO LATTE.

“Well,” the barista said. “There is nothing I can do about it. You will simply have to order another latte or leave the coffee-shop."

“That’s really poopy,” I said. “And you are a poopy-head.” I wish I had thought of something cleverer to say, but I tended to get nervous in front of women. Would you believe that an English literature major sometimes lost control of his words and could only say silly things? That happened to me all the time.

“Sorry,” the barista said. “But that’s the way it goes.”

As I left the coffee-shop, I saw something in the reflection of the window that made me pause: foam on my upper lip. So, the barista was right. I did have No Memory of Latte Syndrome. I couldn’t believe it. No memory of latte! It was as simple as that. I turned back. The barista was still there, serving another customer. “I’m sorry,” I called out. “You’re not a poopy-head after all. In fact, I think you’re rather cute.”

The barista smiled at me. “I think you’re rather cute, too,” she said.

Wednesday, September 08, 2004


Yahoo! News - Silent Running: 'Black Triangle' Sightings on the Rise

Yahoo! News - Silent Running: 'Black Triangle' Sightings on the Rise: "They have become legendary in UFO circles. Huge, silent-running Flying Triangles have been seen by ground observers creeping through the sky low and slow near cities and quietly cruising over highways."

Link thanks to Philaros.

Saturday, September 04, 2004


Demon Technology

The origin of this story is Orkgrrrl's phrase, 'no memory of latte'. Enjoy!

Jarl Tagnorath, dragon slayer and former crusader of Nyal, painstakingly foamed a double latte. Dungathol GiantsBane tugged at his beard impatiently while he waited for his flagon.

“There you go, Dun, extra foam, just the way you like it.”

Dungathol nodded. “I see you’ve got yerself a new coffee imp, Tag.” He indicated a complex array of rattling, steaming pipes inscribed with arcane sigils. A small tattooed imp in a glass bell acknowledged him sullenly.

“Yeah, makes a better cup, I’m sure you’ll see, but it demands a larger share of the tips.”

“Well here’s a doubloon for your trouble.”

“You seem pretty flush, Dun. The NorthLands treating you well?”

“Can’t complain. We’ve got twenty new ForgeWizards felling timber just as fast as we can run the mill.” Dungathol sighed.

“What is it?”

“Oh you know Tag, it’s not like the old days.”

“No one knows that better than I.”

“You know how I got the name GiantsBane?”

“Heard the tale a hundred times.”

“Fifty giants I slew on my FrostMarch. Fifty!”

“I know it.”

“Now there ain’t fifty giants south of Karlsbad Glacier. And if one happens to show it’s face, some bald-faced skinner fells them with an axe cannon.”

“I hear ya. Not like the old days.”

“But you seem to be pretty good with the Latte stand.”

“Oh, it’s not bad, but competition’s gotten a lot worse.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, the new importers fly their beans in by DaemonShip; it’s driving the prices right down.”

“True, true.”

“You think it was worth it, Dun?”

“What, the Demon pact?”

“That and everything else.”

Dun looked around. “Well, I can’t hardly say any more.” He looked at the horseless carriages powered by DemonSpeed, the bright city lights that were left on even during the day. “If it wasn’t for the deal with the Demons, we wouldn’t have all this, would we.” He sipped his latte. “I don’t know. It’s all too big for an old barbarian like me. It’s not like I have a say in it. What’s a body going to do? Hike north and live with the giants?”

“I suppose you’re right. Still, I wonder sometimes.”

“Well thanks for the latte, Tag.”

“You bet, Dun.”

“See you next week?”

“I’ll be here.”

Friday, September 03, 2004


News from Home

This morning I received the news that my father has had a minor stroke. He is currently in hospital in Canada being assessed. Your prayers are appreciated.

Wednesday, September 01, 2004


Lapel

When I was a child, I recall that one year on Rememberance Day my father took out his Air Force pins. I thought that they were medals. I was very proud of my father. He trained to fight in World War II. As far as I was concerned, he was a hero, and I still think so.

The medal is a hidden thing. It’s in my top drawer. It’s in the very middle perfectly, in the perfect square of my folded service uniform. Now I’m taking it out. Now I’m putting on the uniform and putting it on the lapel of the uniform. The uniform is small for me now, but I run to keep myself trim, so it’s OK.

They put things inside it when the made it, I think, like they put things inside everything now – like on the news. They want to control me, just like in the war, but they can’t, except that once a year they can. If you’ve got the medal, you have to wear it once a year. Just like they tell us to.

I can prove this, because I walk in the parade now, and you know I hate parades.

There are things everywhere to make us do things – to make us look when they want, things to make us arrive. Things to make us stay away so they can hide things where they want.

I didn’t charge the enemy in the war. I didn’t save anyone. They made me do all that. I saw some things there. I’m not allowed to talk about them. The machines in my medal, they protect me from some of the other machines, though. I wear it, and when I do, I’m a little bit free. That’s all I’m allowed to ask for.

Gmail Accounts

Hey y'all, I have Gmail invitiations. Who wants one?
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