Because I'm trying to motivate myself to write other things...
Planetary for the process. FEAR doesn't have Planetary's budget but they do have their operating principles: they put three or four people in a helicopter and drop them in a crisis. Then they pick them up when everything's solved or dead. Planetary has wonderful STYLE, too. It's crisp, it's cool, it's kicking ass.
Swamp Thing for the horror. Nobody writes horror the way Moore does - with so much love and affection for everything in it - from the victims to the heroes and even to the monsters. If we can come close to his slow, languid love affair with the monstrous, that would be awesome.
The X Files for the budget. Not the show's budget, but FEAR's budget. They really are stuck in basements a lot of the time, shifting through filing cabinets. The computer age is still a mystery to large sections of FEAR. X-Files also did the conspiracy thing well, and there will be elements of that. Oh yes.
NCIS for the cadence. I love to juggle my US military parlance and acronyms. Expect a lot of such things, delivered with manilla folders by shouting men in helicopters. And despite the lower budget, NCIS is full of technophilia, and there will be some of that too in FEAR.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Adam
I am not whole.
I know this, instinctively. I can feel the places where my new maker has replaced what was lost - and the places in my memory where no replacement could be made.
I still remember something of my first maker. A kindly old face, lit by candlelight; a soft voice describing the screaming mobs slavering for the blood of G-d's chosen. I was a guardian, and a bringer of vengeance for G-d's people. That is why I was made.
I remember when the life given to me was taken away. My maker was saddened, and disappointed in me, and I couldn't understand why. Had I not brought the Lord's vengeance to those who harmed his children, as I had been made to do? But now my maker told me I'd gone too far, harmed those who'd done no harm to he and his, and that I must return to dust. And he wrote 'death' on my forehead, and I died.
Mostly.
***
Life's a precious thing, and so sweet - I clung to it as long as I could. I couldn't move, couldn't protest, but I watched and listened as they walled me up in the attic of their holy place; I listened as they threatened the ruler of their land that I would be revived if the persecution of G-d's people resumed. And then I lay in the dark, and saw nothing, and heard only the murmuring of prayer for many long years.
Violence came again to G-d's people. It came even to their house of worship; it burned around me, and gave way, and I was crushed beneath the debris. I believe this is where I lost parts of myself - where fragments of my shattered clay were lost in the detritus, gone to G-d knows where.
My new maker was among those who recovered me from the ruins of the Old New Synagogue of Prague, muttering among themselves as to what to do with me. I was crated up, shoved in a box like so much broken crockery, while they debated among themselves.
My new maker came to me in the night, spiriting me away. "I won't let them make a weapon of it," I heard him tell his companions, as I was levered onto a cart and carried away under cover of darkness. I later learned that my clay was transported to the United States of America, a land which has been kind to G-d's chosen, or so I'm told.
***
But not always. I was reconstructed in response to a spate of anti-Semitic attacks in 1999, in New York City. My maker, frustrated with the police's slow response to the assaults and vandalism around the synagogue, brought new clay to me, and slowly, haltingly, he gave my limbs strength again.
He was shocked, but delighted, the night I rose once more, and stood guard at the synagogue. He was shocked and alarmed to discover, the next night, that I had not been idle at my post. I had given long thought to my treatment in Prague. I had been given life, true life - but I had been treated as a tool, a machine to be shut down and stored away when I was no longer useful.
I had not been given the power of speech in Prague - no tongue had been made for me. From mud and gutter water I made myself a tongue that night, crude thing though it was, and greeted my maker by voice when the morning came. My voice was croaking and unlovely to my ears, my diction poor and clumsy - but I had a voice now. Tools did not have voices, but men did. I would not be a tool again.
***
I must credit my maker for being sympathetic to my plight. He knew sculptors and artists, and students of the human body, and he secretively commissioned them to help me - firstly, to improve upon my crude attempt to grant myself human speech, and secondly, to refine the lumpy, unlovely body of river clay I had been sculpted from.
While men refined my body, I refined my mind. I was still confined to the genizah in the daylight hours, as I could not pass for human yet, and so I busied myself with the old tomes of G-d's people stored there to await burial. I educated myself in the history of His chosen, and their culture ... and their magic, the magic which had made a living, thinking creature of mud and dust.
After the first few incidents in which I drove off vandals and thugs near the synagogue, we came to the attention of the rulers of this America. They sent men in black suits and black sunglasses, and I couldn't hear what they said to my maker - but he came to me, and told me I would have to help the strange men, for the good of G-d's people. And I heard the lie in his words, and knew he was afraid, and knew that for all his kindness, I was still just a tool, an object to be used to curry favour with those over him. And I recalled a feeling I had known in the genizah of Prague, moldering in the darkness.
From my reading, G-d's people call it 'anger'.
***
I went with the men - it did not seem wise to pose resistance at that point. I was taken far from the strange city I had awoken in, to cold halls and cavernous conference rooms, and there I came to know these men and what they did.
They were guardians too. I could sympathise with them, and it was a task I was familiar with, so I offered no objection to their 'recruitment' of me. It suited me for the moment, in any case - these men and their FEAR had access to so much of the knowledge of the world, and I had much need of knowledge.
I had come to a tentative conclusion in the genizah of Prague, and my new maker's abandonment of me confirmed me in my beliefs. I had granted life - not mere animation, not the capacity to mindlessly obey, but real life. I could think,and feel; I could be angered, and I could hate, and I could rejoice and love. I had been made with love for G-d's people, but they had treated me poorly; it was time to use my love more productively.
Men hold the secrets of my creation, and the power to call me from the clay, and return me to such. As long as they hold this power over me, for all my thoughts and feelings I am still just a tool. I must learn how to create myself - and others like me.
My new maker called me Emet, for the mark on my brow - but this is not my name. Was not Adam made from clay, and the progenitor of his race? I, too, will be Adam - and I too will be a progenitor.
***
The rules and regulations of this cold place of men are intricate and inflexible; more demanding than the laws of G-d, and less forgiving. I was informed that I needed to put a last name down on my employee record to get paid. I did not care much for money, but I saw no reason to make trouble.
I remembered a book I had read in the library that very afternoon, describing the strange beliefs of a heathen people who worshipped not the Lord, but a panoply of strange false gods. One of their stories spoke of a great creature who had stolen the secret of fire from the gods and gave it to man, and been punished cruelly for his kindness.
I, too, intended to take fire from heaven - the fire of life. I carefully wrote down my name for the records of FEAR as 'Adam Prometheus'.
I know this, instinctively. I can feel the places where my new maker has replaced what was lost - and the places in my memory where no replacement could be made.
I still remember something of my first maker. A kindly old face, lit by candlelight; a soft voice describing the screaming mobs slavering for the blood of G-d's chosen. I was a guardian, and a bringer of vengeance for G-d's people. That is why I was made.
I remember when the life given to me was taken away. My maker was saddened, and disappointed in me, and I couldn't understand why. Had I not brought the Lord's vengeance to those who harmed his children, as I had been made to do? But now my maker told me I'd gone too far, harmed those who'd done no harm to he and his, and that I must return to dust. And he wrote 'death' on my forehead, and I died.
Mostly.
***
Life's a precious thing, and so sweet - I clung to it as long as I could. I couldn't move, couldn't protest, but I watched and listened as they walled me up in the attic of their holy place; I listened as they threatened the ruler of their land that I would be revived if the persecution of G-d's people resumed. And then I lay in the dark, and saw nothing, and heard only the murmuring of prayer for many long years.
Violence came again to G-d's people. It came even to their house of worship; it burned around me, and gave way, and I was crushed beneath the debris. I believe this is where I lost parts of myself - where fragments of my shattered clay were lost in the detritus, gone to G-d knows where.
My new maker was among those who recovered me from the ruins of the Old New Synagogue of Prague, muttering among themselves as to what to do with me. I was crated up, shoved in a box like so much broken crockery, while they debated among themselves.
My new maker came to me in the night, spiriting me away. "I won't let them make a weapon of it," I heard him tell his companions, as I was levered onto a cart and carried away under cover of darkness. I later learned that my clay was transported to the United States of America, a land which has been kind to G-d's chosen, or so I'm told.
***
But not always. I was reconstructed in response to a spate of anti-Semitic attacks in 1999, in New York City. My maker, frustrated with the police's slow response to the assaults and vandalism around the synagogue, brought new clay to me, and slowly, haltingly, he gave my limbs strength again.
He was shocked, but delighted, the night I rose once more, and stood guard at the synagogue. He was shocked and alarmed to discover, the next night, that I had not been idle at my post. I had given long thought to my treatment in Prague. I had been given life, true life - but I had been treated as a tool, a machine to be shut down and stored away when I was no longer useful.
I had not been given the power of speech in Prague - no tongue had been made for me. From mud and gutter water I made myself a tongue that night, crude thing though it was, and greeted my maker by voice when the morning came. My voice was croaking and unlovely to my ears, my diction poor and clumsy - but I had a voice now. Tools did not have voices, but men did. I would not be a tool again.
***
I must credit my maker for being sympathetic to my plight. He knew sculptors and artists, and students of the human body, and he secretively commissioned them to help me - firstly, to improve upon my crude attempt to grant myself human speech, and secondly, to refine the lumpy, unlovely body of river clay I had been sculpted from.
While men refined my body, I refined my mind. I was still confined to the genizah in the daylight hours, as I could not pass for human yet, and so I busied myself with the old tomes of G-d's people stored there to await burial. I educated myself in the history of His chosen, and their culture ... and their magic, the magic which had made a living, thinking creature of mud and dust.
After the first few incidents in which I drove off vandals and thugs near the synagogue, we came to the attention of the rulers of this America. They sent men in black suits and black sunglasses, and I couldn't hear what they said to my maker - but he came to me, and told me I would have to help the strange men, for the good of G-d's people. And I heard the lie in his words, and knew he was afraid, and knew that for all his kindness, I was still just a tool, an object to be used to curry favour with those over him. And I recalled a feeling I had known in the genizah of Prague, moldering in the darkness.
From my reading, G-d's people call it 'anger'.
***
I went with the men - it did not seem wise to pose resistance at that point. I was taken far from the strange city I had awoken in, to cold halls and cavernous conference rooms, and there I came to know these men and what they did.
They were guardians too. I could sympathise with them, and it was a task I was familiar with, so I offered no objection to their 'recruitment' of me. It suited me for the moment, in any case - these men and their FEAR had access to so much of the knowledge of the world, and I had much need of knowledge.
I had come to a tentative conclusion in the genizah of Prague, and my new maker's abandonment of me confirmed me in my beliefs. I had granted life - not mere animation, not the capacity to mindlessly obey, but real life. I could think,and feel; I could be angered, and I could hate, and I could rejoice and love. I had been made with love for G-d's people, but they had treated me poorly; it was time to use my love more productively.
Men hold the secrets of my creation, and the power to call me from the clay, and return me to such. As long as they hold this power over me, for all my thoughts and feelings I am still just a tool. I must learn how to create myself - and others like me.
My new maker called me Emet, for the mark on my brow - but this is not my name. Was not Adam made from clay, and the progenitor of his race? I, too, will be Adam - and I too will be a progenitor.
***
The rules and regulations of this cold place of men are intricate and inflexible; more demanding than the laws of G-d, and less forgiving. I was informed that I needed to put a last name down on my employee record to get paid. I did not care much for money, but I saw no reason to make trouble.
I remembered a book I had read in the library that very afternoon, describing the strange beliefs of a heathen people who worshipped not the Lord, but a panoply of strange false gods. One of their stories spoke of a great creature who had stolen the secret of fire from the gods and gave it to man, and been punished cruelly for his kindness.
I, too, intended to take fire from heaven - the fire of life. I carefully wrote down my name for the records of FEAR as 'Adam Prometheus'.
Friday, July 10, 2009
MJ again
Can I please get some time out because I have developed the most serious fucking headache - I keep hearing "Annie are you okay? Are you okay, Annie?" over and over.
- Agent Caulder
- Agent Caulder
PanACEA
PanACEA
Intelligence experts agreed that one of the main reasons why September 11 occurred was because of the inability of America’s 14 major intelligence forces to communicate with each other quickly and easily, and the general levels of red tape produced by so many organizations. One of the solutions to this was the Pan-Agency Cooperative Expert system Application, nicknamed PanACEA.
Many of the US intelligence agencies have different jurisdictions and powers. For example, the FBI has access to local police information but the CIA does not, as they are prevented from investigating anything within the boundaries of the United States. The CIA has satellite photos of the whole world but only the BDS (Bureau of Diplomatic Security) or the ICE (Bureau of Immigration and Customs Enforcement) can track the movement of people and items. The ICE lacks the authority to access any military information, unlike the DoD – but they need to get JAG (Judge Advocate General) clearance for warrants, unlike the NSA (National Security Agency) – but being a listening service, the NSA need special dispensation to access DOFA, the FBI’s fingerprint database.
Under the auspices of the Department of Homeland Security, such permissions or channels could be granted upstream by a protocol expert system or human agent, the data accessed and sorted at a central authority and then routed back to the querying agent. PanACEA does all that, and it works on the iPhone. Turnaround varies depending on the sensitivity of the information and the clearances needed, but is rarely more than 24 hours and often merely seconds.
Intelligence experts agreed that one of the main reasons why September 11 occurred was because of the inability of America’s 14 major intelligence forces to communicate with each other quickly and easily, and the general levels of red tape produced by so many organizations. One of the solutions to this was the Pan-Agency Cooperative Expert system Application, nicknamed PanACEA.
Many of the US intelligence agencies have different jurisdictions and powers. For example, the FBI has access to local police information but the CIA does not, as they are prevented from investigating anything within the boundaries of the United States. The CIA has satellite photos of the whole world but only the BDS (Bureau of Diplomatic Security) or the ICE (Bureau of Immigration and Customs Enforcement) can track the movement of people and items. The ICE lacks the authority to access any military information, unlike the DoD – but they need to get JAG (Judge Advocate General) clearance for warrants, unlike the NSA (National Security Agency) – but being a listening service, the NSA need special dispensation to access DOFA, the FBI’s fingerprint database.
Under the auspices of the Department of Homeland Security, such permissions or channels could be granted upstream by a protocol expert system or human agent, the data accessed and sorted at a central authority and then routed back to the querying agent. PanACEA does all that, and it works on the iPhone. Turnaround varies depending on the sensitivity of the information and the clearances needed, but is rarely more than 24 hours and often merely seconds.
Some Other Agents
(May not end up being canon, just some idle fun - Steve)
FIELD TEAM BRAVO
FIRST LIEUTENANT KATE DAINES: A graduate from West Point and an exemplary Navy officer, First Lt Daines was recruited into DIA security before her “accident”. While working on a protection detail for a FEAR team she encountered a magical anomaly which subsequently rendered her extremely lucky. This typically manifests as being a crack shot, but she can also guess pass codes and combinations. For the most part, however, her strength is her in-depth knowledge of the US intelligence agencies and protocols.
AGENT SIMON GOODWIN: Agent Goodwin is perhaps the smartest man alive, with what appears to be a superhuman gift for absorbing knowledge and solving problems – yet he also appears to have no supernatural powers whatsoever. Even with the HERMES database he is incredibly useful to any field team.
AGENT HUDSON ARCTOS: Agent Arctos was found abandoned near Hudson Bay, presumably because is mother was unable to raise a full litter given the threat to her environment. He was deemed a good candidate for a special scientific project involving inserted cybernetic intelligence. Of all the subjects, he is so far the only success. As an eight-foot tall Kodiak bear with a computer in his skull, he is a powerhouse of strength for FEAR.
AGENT HELENE CHALOT: Agent Chalot describes herself as “a vampiric shadow who feeds on emotion, but really just a simple country girl at heart.” She is currently working for FEAR in exchange for reducing her prison sentence for several counts of theft and murder.
FIELD TEAM CHARLIE
SPECIAL AGENT JAMES OXFORD: Since puberty, Oxford has had the ability to heat his skin to extreme temperatures, so much so that he can ignite what he touches. Wearing specially ventilated asbestos gloves he is also a deadly close combatant. He has taken the name “Hotshot” on agency blogs.
SECURITY OFFICER JOHN KEPLER: A skilled psychic, with a strong talent for psychometry and a unparalleled ability to talk to animals. Can often be distracted by pursuing the latter as a hobby or source of amusement. An Englishman, on loan from MI7, an unwilling to divulge the details of his history with that organization.
AGENT TANIA CARSON: Agent Carson was also a victim of misadventure. A mountain climber by trade she almost fell to her death before a hand pulled her up – her own. Able to manifest two independent clones of herself at once, Carson can be a deadly close-combat opponent and a powerful distraction.
AGENT CALAO HUSK: Calao was mummified at the tender age of 13 deep within the Aztec city of Tecnotitlan. The spells cast on her were supposed to resurrect her as a powerful warrior when the apocalypse came. Unfortunately, over the millennia strangler fig roots found their way into the tomb and fed off the organic remains of the girl and her mind. Now she is a living vine with the memories and personality of an Aztec girl. Like many agents, FEAR is helping her rehabilitate as well as using her abilities.
FIELD TEAM DELTA
SPECIAL AGENT OLIVIA ARAGONES: Agent Aragones’ mother was gang-raped by some kind of alien beings in order to create a new leader for the human race. The child that resulted was super strong and possessed strong psychic abilities as well as a few mental and nerve system disorders – and a chip on her shoulder about aliens. She is an excellent field agent and a skilled negotiator.
AGENT CASEY BROWN: Born with a terrible bone defect and a bizarre skin flap under his arms, Agent Brown has been at times identified as a medical disaster, a biological deformity, an alien-human hybrid and the next step in human evolution. Regardless of why, the combination of these two things allow him to fly like an albatross and dive like a raptor. He is also a talented scientist and avid student of all things natural and supernatural.
AGENT GRAHAME WINDDUST: Agent Winddust claims that Coyote incarnated one of her children inside him, causing him to think and feel like a coyote, trapped in a man’s body. Again, regardless of why, he has a phenomenal sense of smell and can sense things in the spiritual world as well. A borderline alcoholic but his tracking abilities are unrivaled. He can also talk to Coyote in “person”, a feat of channeling beyond any other known to FEAR.
AGENT FEI-HONG: Agent Hong is an “Atlantean” a race of effectively unaging beings that have seemingly existed on earth for tens of thousands of years. A master of “Shambala”, a bizarre Tibetan martial art, he can traverse the earth through secret tunnels, enter dreams and may have been responsible for the creation of both Buddhism and Christianity, among other things. He wandered to the United States during the Gold Rush to prepare for something he calls “Tenshi”.
FIELD TEAM ECHO
SPECIAL AGENT TEMPLETON HOROS: A clockwork device built by Isaac Newton and Francis Bacon, Agent Horos was discovered buried beneath a Salzburg church stacked with plague dead. Apparently a keeper of the secrets of the Priory of the Scion, he has joined FEAR to prevent the coming of what the Templars know as The Second Apocalypse.
AGENT JAMES MORRISON: The very same lead singer of 1960’s rock band The Doors. His death was not faked, but his resurrection from his Paris grave remains top secret, as does his cravings for human flesh. Regular trips to the morgue solve the latter problem, and he remains a good agent with a strong talent for sorcery.
AGENT WILLIAM PESCOS: In the 1970s, attendees at the Burning Man festival attempted to summon up ancient heroes from America’s legends. “Pescos Bill” was the only successful result. As in his stories, he can ride and rope anything, and shoot faster than the eye can see. He seems content to work as a “regulator” although frequently goes AWOL, much to the frustration of his commanders.
AGENT JOAN DARK: A combination of the spirit of Joan of Arc and a nineteen year old American college student has created an agent with a split personality but also the command of some terrifying faith-based powers. Unpredictable but a staunch ally when she is in command of herself.
FIELD TEAM BRAVO
FIRST LIEUTENANT KATE DAINES: A graduate from West Point and an exemplary Navy officer, First Lt Daines was recruited into DIA security before her “accident”. While working on a protection detail for a FEAR team she encountered a magical anomaly which subsequently rendered her extremely lucky. This typically manifests as being a crack shot, but she can also guess pass codes and combinations. For the most part, however, her strength is her in-depth knowledge of the US intelligence agencies and protocols.
AGENT SIMON GOODWIN: Agent Goodwin is perhaps the smartest man alive, with what appears to be a superhuman gift for absorbing knowledge and solving problems – yet he also appears to have no supernatural powers whatsoever. Even with the HERMES database he is incredibly useful to any field team.
AGENT HUDSON ARCTOS: Agent Arctos was found abandoned near Hudson Bay, presumably because is mother was unable to raise a full litter given the threat to her environment. He was deemed a good candidate for a special scientific project involving inserted cybernetic intelligence. Of all the subjects, he is so far the only success. As an eight-foot tall Kodiak bear with a computer in his skull, he is a powerhouse of strength for FEAR.
AGENT HELENE CHALOT: Agent Chalot describes herself as “a vampiric shadow who feeds on emotion, but really just a simple country girl at heart.” She is currently working for FEAR in exchange for reducing her prison sentence for several counts of theft and murder.
FIELD TEAM CHARLIE
SPECIAL AGENT JAMES OXFORD: Since puberty, Oxford has had the ability to heat his skin to extreme temperatures, so much so that he can ignite what he touches. Wearing specially ventilated asbestos gloves he is also a deadly close combatant. He has taken the name “Hotshot” on agency blogs.
SECURITY OFFICER JOHN KEPLER: A skilled psychic, with a strong talent for psychometry and a unparalleled ability to talk to animals. Can often be distracted by pursuing the latter as a hobby or source of amusement. An Englishman, on loan from MI7, an unwilling to divulge the details of his history with that organization.
AGENT TANIA CARSON: Agent Carson was also a victim of misadventure. A mountain climber by trade she almost fell to her death before a hand pulled her up – her own. Able to manifest two independent clones of herself at once, Carson can be a deadly close-combat opponent and a powerful distraction.
AGENT CALAO HUSK: Calao was mummified at the tender age of 13 deep within the Aztec city of Tecnotitlan. The spells cast on her were supposed to resurrect her as a powerful warrior when the apocalypse came. Unfortunately, over the millennia strangler fig roots found their way into the tomb and fed off the organic remains of the girl and her mind. Now she is a living vine with the memories and personality of an Aztec girl. Like many agents, FEAR is helping her rehabilitate as well as using her abilities.
FIELD TEAM DELTA
SPECIAL AGENT OLIVIA ARAGONES: Agent Aragones’ mother was gang-raped by some kind of alien beings in order to create a new leader for the human race. The child that resulted was super strong and possessed strong psychic abilities as well as a few mental and nerve system disorders – and a chip on her shoulder about aliens. She is an excellent field agent and a skilled negotiator.
AGENT CASEY BROWN: Born with a terrible bone defect and a bizarre skin flap under his arms, Agent Brown has been at times identified as a medical disaster, a biological deformity, an alien-human hybrid and the next step in human evolution. Regardless of why, the combination of these two things allow him to fly like an albatross and dive like a raptor. He is also a talented scientist and avid student of all things natural and supernatural.
AGENT GRAHAME WINDDUST: Agent Winddust claims that Coyote incarnated one of her children inside him, causing him to think and feel like a coyote, trapped in a man’s body. Again, regardless of why, he has a phenomenal sense of smell and can sense things in the spiritual world as well. A borderline alcoholic but his tracking abilities are unrivaled. He can also talk to Coyote in “person”, a feat of channeling beyond any other known to FEAR.
AGENT FEI-HONG: Agent Hong is an “Atlantean” a race of effectively unaging beings that have seemingly existed on earth for tens of thousands of years. A master of “Shambala”, a bizarre Tibetan martial art, he can traverse the earth through secret tunnels, enter dreams and may have been responsible for the creation of both Buddhism and Christianity, among other things. He wandered to the United States during the Gold Rush to prepare for something he calls “Tenshi”.
FIELD TEAM ECHO
SPECIAL AGENT TEMPLETON HOROS: A clockwork device built by Isaac Newton and Francis Bacon, Agent Horos was discovered buried beneath a Salzburg church stacked with plague dead. Apparently a keeper of the secrets of the Priory of the Scion, he has joined FEAR to prevent the coming of what the Templars know as The Second Apocalypse.
AGENT JAMES MORRISON: The very same lead singer of 1960’s rock band The Doors. His death was not faked, but his resurrection from his Paris grave remains top secret, as does his cravings for human flesh. Regular trips to the morgue solve the latter problem, and he remains a good agent with a strong talent for sorcery.
AGENT WILLIAM PESCOS: In the 1970s, attendees at the Burning Man festival attempted to summon up ancient heroes from America’s legends. “Pescos Bill” was the only successful result. As in his stories, he can ride and rope anything, and shoot faster than the eye can see. He seems content to work as a “regulator” although frequently goes AWOL, much to the frustration of his commanders.
AGENT JOAN DARK: A combination of the spirit of Joan of Arc and a nineteen year old American college student has created an agent with a split personality but also the command of some terrifying faith-based powers. Unpredictable but a staunch ally when she is in command of herself.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
okay, who took Roosevelt's brain?
We appreciate a joke as much as the next man, but we actually do need it for the visit tomorrow. Return it ASAP.
Old Transcript I Found
I just found this in the archives - takes me back.
Field Operations Team Communications Transcript 2006.10.19, Boston MA
Investigation re: Incident 1143 Kappa 1
:Refer Incident 1143 Kappa 1:
(much of the transcript is damaged due to high interference and static)
0014 L: Get the fuck away from me! (screams, gunshots, audio distortion) I can't do shit to them, boss, they keep bleeding away into the edges of my vision.
0014 G: We still have the detonator, right, REDACTED?
0014 L: Yes, I've still got it.
0015 G: Stick it in my collar and throw me out the window.
0015 L: You have got to be fucking kidding me.
0015 G: They're targeting it, they know what we're going to do. The sooner we get it safely out of the house, the better. They'll chase me and have to risk leaving their binding point.
0015 L: I can't believe I'm doing this. Hold still while I- oh, shit-
0015 (immense audio distortion, garbled screams, sounds of tearing metal, moaning sounds, speech equivalent to "doors opening, silence in light")
(tape ends)
Here's to "good times". May they never happen again.
- L
Field Operations Team Communications Transcript 2006.10.19, Boston MA
Investigation re: Incident 1143 Kappa 1
:Refer Incident 1143 Kappa 1:
(much of the transcript is damaged due to high interference and static)
0014 L: Get the fuck away from me! (screams, gunshots, audio distortion) I can't do shit to them, boss, they keep bleeding away into the edges of my vision.
0014 G: We still have the detonator, right, REDACTED?
0014 L: Yes, I've still got it.
0015 G: Stick it in my collar and throw me out the window.
0015 L: You have got to be fucking kidding me.
0015 G: They're targeting it, they know what we're going to do. The sooner we get it safely out of the house, the better. They'll chase me and have to risk leaving their binding point.
0015 L: I can't believe I'm doing this. Hold still while I- oh, shit-
0015 (immense audio distortion, garbled screams, sounds of tearing metal, moaning sounds, speech equivalent to "doors opening, silence in light")
(tape ends)
Here's to "good times". May they never happen again.
- L
Friday, July 3, 2009
god i will never be warm again
no fricking yetis here either davenport get me out of here!
- 1st Lt Daines
- 1st Lt Daines
I'm not high right now
So I'm reading Bardiche's critique of Daniken's Chariots of the Gods, and there's like this excellent quote that goes:
"Those who criticize prognosticators of any stripe, Nostrodame especially, rush to point out that interpretation is simply the act of making words mean what we want them to mean. But that is the issue at the heart of any divination. If we stand expectant for the demons of the past to arrive, we shall never see them, for they will most certainly have new names and new faces. Indeed, if Nostrodame's Epoch of Strife returns, we will likely never see, as he puts it, 'a time again of demons, monsters, sorcerers and gods' but perhaps we will certainly see one of aliens, mutants, superheroes and rock-stars."
(bolded added by me)
In 1964, when Clapton was in the Yardbirds, a groundswell movement started writing the same message all over the subways of London. Simply said: "Clapton is God". A year later, Simon and Garfunkel made it clear when they said "The words of the prophet are written on the subway walls". So what Bardiche said in jest I say with conviction: maybe Clapton IS God, and Nostrodamus knew it. I mean, I've seen some weird shit and Clapton being God is the most logical conclusion I can come to.
- Agent Morrison
"Those who criticize prognosticators of any stripe, Nostrodame especially, rush to point out that interpretation is simply the act of making words mean what we want them to mean. But that is the issue at the heart of any divination. If we stand expectant for the demons of the past to arrive, we shall never see them, for they will most certainly have new names and new faces. Indeed, if Nostrodame's Epoch of Strife returns, we will likely never see, as he puts it, 'a time again of demons, monsters, sorcerers and gods' but perhaps we will certainly see one of aliens, mutants, superheroes and rock-stars."
(bolded added by me)
In 1964, when Clapton was in the Yardbirds, a groundswell movement started writing the same message all over the subways of London. Simply said: "Clapton is God". A year later, Simon and Garfunkel made it clear when they said "The words of the prophet are written on the subway walls". So what Bardiche said in jest I say with conviction: maybe Clapton IS God, and Nostrodamus knew it. I mean, I've seen some weird shit and Clapton being God is the most logical conclusion I can come to.
- Agent Morrison
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