Monday, December 26, 2011

Consciousness in Relation to New Media, Games, Character Invention

!±8± Consciousness in Relation to New Media, Games, Character Invention

Where does one start the quest to create newly invented fictional digital/new media characters and stories that will attract a viable public? Established fiction has seen the depths and lows of humanity pass by and today's writers find it mighty difficult to compete in terms of originality. But for a new media story or a character to be successful, the writer needs to meet another challenge; he has to think up truly adaptable story structures, taking into account not only his own perception of an evolving real world, but also rapidly changing technological parameters. Storylines that shine with meaning that is as interesting as it is intended ought to be a sought after commodity, because they are a scarce commodity. But they are not.

Today, fiction and human consciousness are colliding with settings that the Surrealists could only dream about when they designated the real as 'absurdly real'. Fiction that is emerging now, in spite of all the technical possibilities however, doesn't meet a world that is necessarily all that accommodating.

Andre Breton wrote in the Surrealist Manifesto that he 'believed in the future transmutation of those two seemingly contradictory states, dream and reality, into a sort of absolute reality, of surreality, so to speak. I am looking forward to its consummation, certain that I shall never share in it, but death would matter little to me could I but taste the joy it will yield ultimately.' We live the Surrealist dream, but private thoughts are still measured in terms of highly rational parameters. And even though the structures in which we establish hypotheses for collective consciousness as a means of expressing ourselves, either meaningful or less meaningful, tend to be built on logical assumptions Whether we grasp these is often the question. But humanity is hell bent on simply furthering its progress all the time, and some people believe that this very drive is something that indicates meaning.

Interest in human affairs is closely linked to human consciousness. However broad the term 'human consciousness' might come across as, it's also the very mechanism that manifests itself in incredibly narrow minded thoughts. Think of our obsession with celebrities, with finding out the latest gossip about the boss. Our interest with our own consciousness is sourced by similar curiosity. Take for instance your interest in stories surrounding the actual circumstances during which the idea for a famous story was conceived. 'Mary Shelley thought up Frankenstein when she was in a house with a group of people in the middle of nowhere Scotland', is bound to make ears prick up. We all like finding out intimate details about famous subjects. Incidentally, Shelley wrote her story after thinking it up in elementary form when one winter she found herself indeed stuck in a house with a few friends in the middle of nowhere Scotland. They decided to have a competition making up the scariest story ever. Guess who won. Doesn't that sidestory make your reading the book next all the more exciting?

There's is nothing wrong with this obsession. We feel that it is even imperative to test to the limit what processes are involved in writing. Not so much because the writing is going to be all that more interesting (that too) but mainly to explore what the outside triggers really are that influenced the fiction in the first place. When the Surrealists were conducting their automatic writing experiments, they found out that by simply tapping into an outside realm, they connected with each other. Their writings appeared to convey messages that were largely the same!

To have a hint of what's cooking is way more appetizing than the meal that ultimately hits the table. A miracle happened when these painters were conducting their experiments; this was a bunch of painters revealing to the world writers' secrets! The subject of writerly inspiration is hugely interesting, especially because it deals with consciousness and outside influence in a unique sense. Something writers often don't generally own up to. Perhaps this is why it took painters to do the trick. It made us wonder about the impact that real events have on fiction in general.

What are the influences that govern a writer's ideas, and how do these ideas ultimately take shape on paper? Does it mean anything that a book was written in a particular season? Does the writer's appetite for a particular type of food have an influence on his writings, even if he never writes about food? The questions sound naive, but that's not the reason so little research has taken place in this field. Consciousness is something that lends itself way more to the present than to the past, and literary research generally doesn't focus on real time events. Modern technology has advanced so much that perhaps the study of actual writing might reveal what's going on in this process.

Even though today's changes have been foreseen since decades -the Surrealists were predicting the emergence of virtual worlds with eery precision- nothing less than the actual practical emergence of technologies and new media formats apparently only spurs people's efforts to theorize. The phrase 'narrative portability' is among the first workable new terms of indicating a general definition and practical applications (written literature, oral conversation, drama, film, painting, dance and mime, etc). It is employed by Marie Laure Ryan, an independent scholar specializing in narrative theory and new media etc.

Theorists' 'inventory accounting' confirms most of the ideas that Roland Barthes published in the last Century. Marie Laure Ryan writes in an article that is published in the forthcoming Routledge Encyclopedia of Narrative that narratology itself is considered 'a project that transcends disciplines and media'. It has been this way since the term started to circulate in academic circles, she asserts.

Herbert Marcuse also largely covered this territory, indicating that it is imperative to show that true consciousness comprises of transcendence, even though it might not immediately make sense in the modern technology governed world based on a totalitarian assumption that there is no rationale for this kind of transcendence.

The idea of absolute rationality has worn many masks throughout the ages, and Marcuse believes that technological transmutation is its latest (if not last) mask, which has pushed logic as a means of understanding into a dominant determining process by merging theory and practice into one. "It is new because it is rational to an unprecedented degree", he says, adding that the crux of this business is simply the elimination of history. Marcuse and his followers warn against merging content with medium, saying the language that is involved to describe processes highlights that believing that one dimension (rational textual independence) really does not link into a higher, transcendent reality, leads to a language that is strung together as a series of empty commands (a leads to b, leads to c, leads to d).

Could this explain the miserable state of hyperfiction? This field is simply void of a critical mass of genius. A few books made it to the level of literature but despite frantic activity in self-publication, hyperfiction is generally regarded as a backwater. Readers prefer to read real books rather than text on a screen, despite the fact that the internet took off on the idea that you can link texts.

Casting some light on the issue, the scholar Michael Chaoili, warns against mixing critical theory with technology. In an article entitled "How Interactive Can Fiction Be?" Chaoili disagrees strongly with people that believe that hypertext creates a literal embodiment of concepts found in literary theory. One should not take a theoretical short circuit and take the literal for the metaphorical, Chaoili asserts. He says that the game industry is often considered totally off the mark in assuming that text and narrative simply are a part of a game's setting. He believes that this is impossible. Somehow a reader needs to still be fed lines that make sense in the old fashioned way - stories are still very much stories. They are clearly conceived in an author's mind, rather than part of a mishmash of ideas or a background or setting. Chaoili says true communication does not simply occur 'by electrify[ing] the signifier'. Instead there is a discontinuity in the operation of dissemination the moment it is turned into a materially concrete form.

Marie Laure Ryan outlines the field from the assumption that the message transmitted should not be regarded as transformed by its technological format, but, rather, as supported by it. "What counts as a medium for the narrative scholar is a type of material support for texts that truly makes a difference as to what kind of narrative content can be evoked (semantics, or story), how these contents are presented (syntax, or discourse), and how they are experienced (pragmatics)", says Ryan.

She quotes three forms of core stories, from lesser to more involved with their media; for instance a print novel composed on a word processor is hardly influenced by its format. A movie that makes use of digitally composed special effects but is projected on a standard cinema screen is somewhat more exploitative of the medium. A game is a fully developed way of a message exploiting its medium so much that it's hardly different from it. You might wonder if a story (i.e. a message) isn't simply being butchered when its format is all imposing, but then play a really good game and you'll rethink your theory. Exploiting the media is an art.

The concept of what Ryan calls 'mediality', a word that has yet to make the dictionary, has become a relational, rather than an absolute property, which warrants comparing across the board. The Surrealists were onto this long before it actually transpired. Louis Aragon wrote in his Une Vague de Reves in 1924 that "it should be understood that the real is a relation like any other; the essence of things is by no means linked to their reality, there are other relations beside reality, which the mind is capable of grasping, and which also are primary like chance, illusion, the fantastic, the dream. These various groups are united and brought into harmony in one single order, Surreality."

Human consciousness, because it is so ungraspable has since the onset of science always been associated with processes deeply within, linked to processes far out. Perhaps, in this light the time is ripe for us to say that the media are OUR message, rather than THE message. And that all future human progress depends on our ideas of what exactly it means to be human. That to understand what it means to be human equates to the fastest progress.

There is hardly any better example of the implications of taking humans seriously, than the quest of scientists for knowledge about human consciousness. One Bristol scholar, David Graham Cook, underscores this in an article about the poet Rilke, published in the Scientific and Medical Network Review. "Of course it is the case that the effort to describe the physical world has resulted in mind entering modern physics, albeit in an unforeseen way, namely at the limit of understanding". He draws an analogy between human consciousness and quantum theory, which has seen a difficulty of intuitively grasping the wave particle duality, together with the impossibility of providing a definite description of both the momentum and locatio of subatomic particles. This has raised questions about how and where uncertainty enters the physical picture. "Is it a property of the subatomic realm itself, it is a byproduct of the process of measurement, or is it introduced by the conscious mind of the observing scientist?" Cook wonders.

The physicist Evan Harris Walker establishes a firm connection between consciousness and the unresolved issues in quantum theory. Due to the necessarily 'nonlocal nature' of these hidden variables, a quantum state collapse by the observer should be independent of space and time, which in turn could explain psi phenomena such as telepathy, which are outside of space-time separation, Walker asserts. "One of the central features of the controversy has been the argument that characteristics of QM [Quantum Mechanics] imply that an observer's thoughts can affect an objective apparatus directly, which in turn implies the reality not only of consciousness but of psi phenomena. [..] Such a feature of QM is not a fault, but rather represents a solution to problems that go beyond the usual perview of physics. Thus, I have developed a theory of consciousness and psi phenomena that arises directly from these bizarre findings in QM, findings now supported by specific tests of the principles of objective reality and/or Einstein locality."

Walker is by far not alone in his assumptions; physics experts are highly interested for a series of reasons in the study of human consciousness. Other academics (aside from literary people) that we have found on active hunts for consciousness have on occasion invented real characters to personify consciousness. These scholars are in the philosophy, cultural studies, biology and physics departments of universities. Most of the character names, bizarrely, come across as pet or cartoon character names. The degree to which some of them have managed to emulate the human mind is simply astounding. Paracelsus, the official inventor of the first homunculus would have been proud.

The person that has made quantum strides into convincing the world at large that the human mind can be replicated in machines rather succinctly is the zoologist/ecologist, Thomas Ray. At the end of the 1990s, he and his associate Karl Sims, finalized creating plenty of nameless characters akin to Pinocchio puppets in a computer program running solely on first hand human derived information. A video film, of the project with which they won third prize in a Berlin festival, is a few minutes long, and it features simulated evolutions of virtual creatures that are really grown from artificial genetic codes describing their morphology and behavior.

In the field of cultural studies, the famous Memetics specialist Daniel Dennet invented a few characters; the robot Shakey and a sceptical character called Otto. He wrote them up in his book 'Consciousness Explained'. It's not surprising that a memetics expert conceived of the idea. Incidentally, Dennet is a member of the board for the Loebner Prize for artificial intelligence ( AI ). Anyone that can fool him and his cronies into believing that an automated process is human, wins the prize. So far, no one has really succeeded completely, even though interesting submissions have been made, including jabberwacky, the talking robot.

A fantastic intelligent search engine has been developed by Steven Thaler in the US, a physicist who claims his 'creative machine' is really conscious. The patented Creativity Machine® is a form of synthetic intelligence that has generated torrents of new potential words that may be easily pronounced and make contact with the implicit concept of the English word. Rather than genetic engineering, the system works via a parallel computation wherein all pieces of the word are mutually aware of each other as the overall word forms.

The result is that typically incompatible syllabic units repel each other, while compatible units aggregate together into words that make sense. The joint probabilities of different phonetic units closely matches that of accepted words found in English dictionaries. Thaler says that sensible words can be generated via neural networks, and not genetic algorithms should make perfect sense even to those outside the field of AI: "Language is born in biological neural networks of the brain and not within the genetic apparatus." The machine has also produced nationally advertised products including the Oral B toothbrush, composed 11,000 copyrighted melodies, and generated the formulas of nearly one million new potential chemical systems.

Philosophers are also regularly spotted on the look out for homunculi and zombies. They study this little brain man in connection with zombies and zombie-like states in humans.

Some scientists believe that aside from the confirmation of psi phenomena, other ideas that one can derive from experimental bets on locality are that all human consciousness is actually taking place in something like eight dimensions. Sean-Paul Sirag developed what's known as a hyper space model of consciousness, working as a physicist on a unified field theory that space time is hyperdimensional, with all except four of them being invisible.

Sirag believes that consciousness can be calculated in a more or less mathematical way. His approach is comparable to a Pythagorean calculation describing the relationship between consciousness and the physical world. Sirag says that 'unified field theories' of the physical forces depend fundamentally on mathematical structures. These are called reflection spaces, which are hierarchically organized in such a way that they consist of an infinite spectrum of realities.

People believe this might make sense, because the hierarchical organization of reflection spaces has also been confirmed in other areas including catastrophies, singularities, wave fronts, and contact structures, error correcting codes and sphere packing lattices. Scholars who like Sirag work on unified field theory generally believe that space-time is hyperdimensional, with only four of all of eight dimensions being invisible. How come Sirag claims that algebra, which is founded on the idea of finity is workable in proving something that equates to space? He groups his mathematical entity within in the reflection space hierarchy, which is octahedron.

The reflection space is seven-dimensional. It is described as a superstring-type reflection space. Apparently this confirms a link with the most popular version of unified field theory.

Now, where it becomes interesting for us are the assertions that Sirag makes after all these calculations. He says this seven-dimensional reflection space is a universal consciousness, and that individual consciousnesses tap into this universal consciousness. This implies that the high level of consciousness enjoyed by humans is due to the complex network of connections to the underlying reflection space afforded by a highly evolved brain.

Think gyroscope in numbers, and you roughly get what Sirag says. He attaches to the hierarchy of reflection spaces a hierarchy of realms (or states) of blessed consciousness. Each realm in turn corresponds to a different unified field theory with totally different sets of forces. In fact, the seven-dimensional reflection space is contained in an eight-dimensional reflection space, and contains a six-dimensional reflection space, so that there would be a realm of consciousness directly "above" ordinary reality, and a realm of consciousness directly "below" ordinary reality.

In principle the relationship between the different forces in these different realms could be worked out in detail, so that precise predictions could be made. Walker is active in this field. He has come up with ways of measuring human mental activity. He calculates the rate for "dataprocessing of the brain as a whole at a subconscious level" (S) to be equal to 2.4 x 1012 bits/sec. The data rate for conscious activity (C) is equal to 7.5 x 108 bits/sec, and the channel capacity of the "will" (W) is equal to 6 x 104 bits/sec. Walker's derivation of the above rates is based on the assumption that electron tunneling across synapses is the basis for the transmission of impulses across synapses and that the large-scale integration of brain activity is also mediated by electron tunneling.

All the work that is carried out is building on from the relativity theory, which basically regards space and time as smudged together, and holds that reality can only be described from a frame of reference which is specified. Another scientist that has a mathematical approach to the whole business of subatomic particles, also comes up with an alternative approach to the more commonly adopted idea of entropy - the tendency of complex systems to fall to chaos- by means of pure mathematics. Dr. Steven Strogatz, a widely recognized and accomplished quantum physicist wrote a book entitled Sync: The Emerging Science of Spontaneous Order. He says that from the subatomic arena of quantum mechanics to the incomprehensibly vast scales of the universe itself, nature has a built-in and persistent compulsion to organize itself into complex systems that surpass the scope and capability of their components. There is a constant combat between entropy and synchrony not only in scientific circles, Strogatz says, but everywhere, at all levels, all around us.

So, even though human consciousness is likely even more of an enigma than relativity theory and its implications, theories are beginning to take off that facilitate the Surrealists' wildest dreams. The great thing with modern really wild stuff is that is is wild because it is not only breaking conventions but because they are managing to fill positive territory. The questions we asked at the beginning of this article, pertaining the influences that writers are under when writing their prose have hardly been addressed in this background study, but at least we've made a start exploring the territory.


Consciousness in Relation to New Media, Games, Character Invention

Toro Belts Quick Invisible Fence Petsafe Best

Tuesday, November 15, 2011

16-New Poems and Two Short Stories

!±8± 16-New Poems and Two Short Stories

The Yawning Tomb

Death Rids a Pale Horse

For here in truth do we belong-in the yawning tomb? To let our youth tell our tales not as we have told them-Not at a glance, but the pale truth; our earthly wormy circumstance...

At last, at last! Death who rides a pale horse, fills out our earthly score, puts his hand onto the horrid scroll, and hands it to us-cold dead!

Dismal at sight, pity runs deep to the core-he murmurs for earth and breath, which is no more: "At last he feels the dirt of the grave (says the man on the pale horse)-the dead who once raved upon the earth, he raves no more. He is with his immortal kind, the demons and ten-winged Lord, the dragon. Dethroned from earth and no one morne'd."

No: 3000 (Night Poems III) 8-5-2011)
2

Vision of Apollo
((From Prophetic Visions 1984) (Midnight Poems III))

Apollo-long golden laced hair
Strong body, like a Charioteer's-
How, how-he slipped into
My vision
Golden brow
No lyre or golden fire
He grinned and looked
Proudly
With blaspheme
Loudly
He pointed me out
(to his entourage)
Stood within my reach
Wanted to violate my faith
Why I was not crushed
In this vision
Was not his decision!
When I turned my head
Instead... I said: "Be gone"
Knowing Christ was near
Then an angel appeared
And his wrath became
Stiffen'd-

3

Feeding of the Crows
(A Poem on Truth) Midnight Poems III

O Truth! Here my soundless notes,
Ring...where are you?
What my imagination seizes is this truth?
All the passions that have ever been
that has existed before me, that
Have been spoken into my own soft-
cached ears-
Is this truth...?

Perhaps I dreamt it, or did I see it?
a boy feeding crows-
The winged creatures thoughtlessly
nearly fainting with surprise,
In the open unplowed fields
Under the shallow roof of time-:
Is this truth...!

O dim-mouth'd Poet... what is truth?

No: 2994 (8-1-2011) Midnight Poems III

4

The Pallbearers
(A Poem for the old folks) Midnight Poems III

There's no use whining over lost Children
We know most lost children stay lost.
But it's probably best also, to let the whining and
Whimpering rest... time is short at best.
And the pallbearers, they're waiting...

The old can never pickup on their lost dreams
It's most difficult to make up for those lost days.
We can still tell stories about our younger years though,
And we can still feed the pigeons in the park.
And the pallbearers, they'll still be waiting-

No: 2973 (7-9-2011)

5

Upon a Slab
(A Poem for the living) Midnight Poems III

The silent-hearted (dead) hears no words from the living- the tomb attends to the grieving. None come back from there that they may whisper in thy ear how they fare... When the dead are dead, we are no better than meat on a conveyer belt, going to the slab. And nobody takes their goods with them.

No: 2977 (7-16-2011) 11:30 p.m.

6

If I Cease to Be
(A Poem of a vision, prophetic) Midnight Poems III

Ino longer have the fear that I may cease to be-
With pen and hand I have wrote what I have seen,
Beheld the starr'd face of Christ, his hand;
Hence, if I should never look upon thee more,
I shall relish the past, reflecting that joy....

No 2997 (8-2-2011)

7

Haggentis' Blasphemy
((A Story of Stone Heap of the Wild Cat) (Midnight Poems III))

Stone Heap of the Wild Cat
Part One

Before times heat-beat was
started-
The wide wings of Haagentis
rustled the air; thereafter,
Along with the bruised brows
of the Giant Warriors of-the
Great Stone Heap of the Wild Cat-
in the BashanValley,he seize,
And commanded...

It was a den-of devilish brute men,
Half human, where their groans and
roars: thunderous and torrent
Hoarse voices-echoed all the
way to Jericho-(fifty miles or so).

As they were, they were seldom tired, battled
as if just awoken from a rest,
Shoulder to shoulder-with monstrous
arms, they insulted the valley
With a nest of woe-with
Weapons made of carved hard flint -they sat
upon a heap of stones, rugged stones
in four plus circles...
With Haagentis the once Arch Angelic being:
Now full of blasphemy (from the star Alphand)

Stubborn with iron fists-now
having assembled the Rephaim Giants,
With a feverous boiling pulse,
And as he had tired and failed
in heaven itself-
Blinded and cast down to earth,
in despair-shattered-now again,
he was in, Ur'el's grasp-yet
still a barbed tongue-; in due time,
He'd be, the prophetic doom-
of the once Rephaim Glory...!

Part Two

In war and battle Haagentis was
fierce-conquering the valley-
All the way to Jericho-even to the
south, where the Giant Nephilim ruled.
His ponderous iron fist shattered
ribs, necks, and with poison in
His eyes, he crushed skulls, grinding
them with his heel to pulp.

With thought and woe in his heart
he brought feminine
To the once bountiful valley
And in his wide-winged imagination, he
had no rivals-and the
Giants of old, broad like elephants
tame and mild now, were grazing like
Ox, in the fields, worried no more of God's
wrath and scorn-but there would be a
Second war-not far hence...
When King David would cleanse
the land and kill all who
Lay before him-not one indistinguishable
shape would exist (to include king Og)-

Thus, when this second war began
Haagentis' damp and slippery wings
Lost their footing among the Giants of old
More horrid still, would be their doom, in the
Valley of Bashan...

With trembling arms, Haagentis hid-
As the supreme God had sent Ur'el to find him-
once again...
Heavy with rage, fear and anxiety-
He was chained under the heap of stones!
Fate had pour'd once more, divine oil
over him, blinding him.

And as a result, an old world was destroyed
from the blood of the new one!

No: 2996 (8-2-2011) Midnight Poems III

8

Evil to Evil
(Absolute Evil, owns its Evil)

Fighting evil with evil is evil...
But what makes it absolute evil
is knowing it's evil, and enjoying it!
And what makes it right is
believing in a cause or mission-;
Even though it remains evil!

No: 3001 ((8-6-2011) (12:02 a.m.)) Midnight Poems III

9

Old Poets

There's a reason why the birds never settle down on one branch-and I'll tell you why: it's because wars go on, on, and on-(day after day, year after year, and decades after decades, into passing centuries, and millenniums); until young men turn old, and the wars, they turn into tales told and retold. This, the old poets will never tell you (lest they have little to write about).

No: 2978 (7-9-2011) For Gail Weber (Midnight Poems)

10

Pathways
((Cynical but true) (Midnight Poems))

It's okay if we've never had the right amount of love, we've expected!

Nor as many happy days as we've wanted... (in life).

And that perhaps we've lost friendships along the way.

It's all right to let people think what they want to think-idiots or not.

It's all right to die when no one is looking-

Let's try to agree on one thing though-(if possible): someone dug a lot of big holes along our pathways...for everybody!

No: 2976 (7-9-2011)
Dedicated to Shawn, Cody and Zaneta

11

A Storm is Driven

Arain of Satan ascends, and from the
depths of hell, a storm is driven:
"Make the fire!" says Satan,
And the blaze burns higher and higher
"Mix and drink the wine!" says Satan,
and his henchmen do so abundantly-
"Grief will profit us, my friends!"
says Satan "for this is our medicine!"
And thus, with wine filled devils-
to cast out thought-a storm is driven.

No: 2978 (7-17-2011) Midnight Poems

12

Among Men

What can I say, Lord God, Almighty? -that, you look down upon man, see his false his fancy, vanity, and then he appears to have a race of gods, while you hold all things among men and your universe together?

What can I say, Lord God, Almighty, but: "Bring on the Flood!..."

No: 2979 (7-17-2011) Midnight Poems

13

English Version

The Old Hacienda Gateway
(in Huertas, Peru)

There is an old stone gateway to a Hacienda that
stands high and wide through the foliage
It is thick like an elephant and appears to sand
twenty feet high!
Before it ascends into the sky (built in post Colonia
times...)
It is just an old stone relic of a front gate to a
once Hacienda in Huertas! (A reminder of times
gone by... that man is no immortal!)

Note: The old Hacienda Gateway, has been, ruined disastrously, in the past five years, -the author has reconstructed its old glory by reviewing old pictures of it, and making a sketch of it, he had visited Huertas, August 4, 2011, and one of the original photographers took him to the site, of the old gateway, perhaps 150-years old, post Colonial times. Dlsiluk No: 2998 (8-4-2011) Midnight Poems III

14

The Gray-Half Dead
(or, "Brother to the Demon")

He loiter'd in the park square
I saw him there I swear; I swear
I saw him there (he who could vanish
at will, as if in thin air, there I saw him there)-
hence, his spirit, like
a demon fled, across the open soil
over the church, across the graveyard...
To the coffin'd dead, there he fled to the bones-
Of the dead...(this brother to the demon).
Ah! this he said, he really said:

"Hear me, hear me:
imprudent man, you are condemned,
damned, destined to
the living half-dead; to our ancient
whims, to us Grey Lords
(the ones dethroned from a far-off star
and cast down onto the living earth,
-to sleep among the worms, in dirt)
Then, we who are half-dead (who cannot breed
but can command)
feed off the bones and blood of the living
...! A thousand times risen
(a dying alien race of disgrace, brother to
the demon)...

And those, wrapped within their grip,
blood and tombs-
Forget the sun, stars and moon;
Forget the waters in the creeks-:
The marshes and the lakes-the rivers
and the rains, even the seas! For
This is where they try to breed, with earthly
blood and bone marrow!
(with the spirit's core, heart and soul...)
Hence, moisten your lips with tears-
For there is no peace, no peace, with such
creatures and beasts!
(A brother to the demon)

O melancholy Gray, despondingly I say-
You are a dying echo, baptized
in your own poor blood, cursed
To your unknown doom: to walk the
Earth alone (God's mad, half-dead)!

No: 3002((8-6-2011) (1:1:00 p.m.)) Midnight Poems IV

15

Phantom Fear
of theDying Drunk

Time after time, as if in a smoky shroud-
We die in drowsy ignorance,
in some dreary dark room
Drunk or drug sick, pale and gasping,
No peace: the heart, and brain
on fire-burning, burning...!
In the dreary gloom of this room-
cold doom drips on one's lips...
wild thoughts, dead spirit-;
Strange it all is: striving to keep
one's pale shadow aloof
And when you awake, you wake in Shoal
all one remembers is that last
drunken spell, fix, -
Those tremulous shakes, and the
ghostly moans your voice last made!

Now, you are a shadow, a ghost
a shade-in unholy shoal
Kneeling by a demonic chapel,
As someone rings the bell-
And what is really painful:
is that there are no drugs or alcohol!

No: 3003 (8-7-2011; 9:30 p.m.) Midnight Poems IV; dedicated to the Alcoholic
(and his/her partner, the drug addict: the two peas in a pod)

16

The Author's
Military Lament
(Or, 'Soldiers Lament')

"It is easy to be brave from a distance..."

Part one of three

Generals, generally die in bed
Privates and corporals
Get shot in the head-
And all the civilians live on and prosper
Untouched now by their once existence.

One man says to another
"Perhaps he would have died anyhow
a different way!"
The other man says:
"War demands deep hulls...what more
Can I say?"

Part two of three

We have fought ineffectual wars
And gone our separate ways
We have danced to the devil's rite
And dearly we have paid...
To serve two masters, one by night
the other by day!

Part three of three

Sing a song of death and war
Pockets full of lies
Four and twenty politicians
Hope that you will die
Hope that you will fail
So they can be the first
To profit from the sale
Extremely earthy people
Stacking cards on your fate
Men without souls
Stick them up your...hole!

No: 3010 (8-9-2011)Midnight Poems IV

Short Stories

In a Loop Café & Bar
(The Fall of, 1967, Seattle, Washington)

Poetic Prose in Anecdote form

A fat middle-aged man-more short than tall, sat in this loop underworld Café & Bar drinking coffee with shots of rum, and eating chicken wings, sitting at a stool at the counter. He smiled at the waitress and stirred uneasily at his girlfriend outside on the street-she was helping him pay for a four-acre hobby farm outside of the city, from the money she made in the streets (they had just recently met, living together in a nearby studio apartment).
He wanted to buy her dinner, but he feared his girlfriend would take notice. And so his secretly wishing he might become her lover after such a dinner was just mental gossip, for the moment that is.

Boastfully he talked on and on, throughout a good portion of the evening, to this waitress-; this was a spot in the city, he had just gotten to know-a place from which disease, poisoned more often than not, the people that hung around there too long, and seeped out into the city's mainstream population.
A smile came to the edges of the waitresses' mouth. Her second place of work, was upstairs from the café and bar, there she laid waiting for him.
Through the influence, he tried to think- as he found himself drudging his heavy body up that stairway, that long flight of wooden stairs leaning on the wooden railing-step to step-but in his own mind he knew he was in trouble-everything was getting blurry, -instinctively he waited for his mind to clear up, he saw the march and he countermarched trying to avoid the demons, tramping on the bed as the waitress went through his wallet, the Mickey the barkeep had given him, had taken effect. And he couldn't even feel his heart squeeze, as if a python had gripped it with all its might; in consequence, he disappeared from the ground, he once walked on-and last he heard were swinging doors.

Note: Often time's Poetic Prose takes the form of stories, or anecdotes, and normally are brief; thus, not being poetry and lacking regular meter or rhyme. It may although distinguish itself with an intensity figurative language, that wouldn't normally be in literal prose. In the story "In a Loop Café & Bar," it has I believe such qualities, which make it more Poetic Prose than prose itself, with a touch of rhythm. I admit although, more of my other Poetic Prose, fits the bill for Poetic Prose more so than this story such as "Hunters of the Turtles," but nonetheless, it is distinct from prose. The story takes place in Seattle, 1967, the year I went there, and it could be said, the story is inspired from an experience I had, although in this story, it was taken over the edge-or to the extreme to make a point.

No: 824 (8-16-2011)

The Tale, of:
The Vulture Goddess of Croatia
The Mistress Demigod

On the cliff top near a village on the Adriatic Island now called Cres,
There Fly's a griffon vulture, known as the Vulture Goddess of Croatia... This is her story:

Advance

In the year 12, 999, BC, a buzzard circle gracefully overhead, a goddess from hell in the form of a vulture, she was looking for a nest with food, so she would tell Aka, when asked...

She had been confined to the labyrinths of Hell for 13,001-years, a sort of prison where dead spirits lived, and had been turned into a demon after her first existence, 26,500 BC; and those chosen for special duties by the henchmen of hell, would be allowed to be turned into demigods with special powers, and sent out into the upper world to do their bidding, in this case it would be a daughter of one of the angelic renegades, who left his first abode, in heaven, and cohabitated with flesh on earth, eons before, now chosen to be the Vulture Goddess, and sent to an island called, Cres...to find out Aka's secret, thus if she could, she would win the heart of the Henchmen of Hell, and until the end of time, be earthly bound and known as The Vulture Goddess of Croatia, and be allowed to walk among the living, in hidden form of course, and thus, she was given all the Black Magic Powers related to the order of demons, for domination of this main task....

This is the story about how the Vulture Goddess became the Vulture Goddess, it all didn't happen by chance, nothing does, it happed because of the following reasons; demonic control...

Aka, the Golden Man of Croatia
(To be a day of reckoning)

He was called Aka, the Golden Man, he was said to be superhuman, perhaps from another world.
It was a time when Atlantis, in the Atlantic Ocean, near the Pillars of Hercules (Hercules being superhuman also, a demigod, from the village of Seville),was at its peak, and Lemuria, in the South Pacific was at its downfall, one being a military power (Atlantis, being controlled by Prince Poseidon, another half human, born from an archangel, and of superhuman strength and intelligence, as would be in time, Gilgamesh of Sumer, 2700 BC) the other, Lemuria being a philosophical and mental power (likened to the future, Greece and Rome, you might say)when there were wars and skirmishes, across the globe.
Aka, he had flesh made of gold, as if armor plated, and he preached the rhetoric called, 'A Rumor of Battle,' and always ended with the words, World Apocalypse, a simple word or phrase, depicting total world disaster, and it would come of course, when Atlantis would sink into depths of the sea, and Lemuria would be confronted by Atlantis, and sink also, and between the two powers, the world would be shaken off its axis, and thus, calamity, and Aka preached as would Enoch (in time), the religious credo of one Almighty God; in consequence, he preached before the Great Flood of impending disaster. But this was neither the time nor place of that epoch. And God said to him, said to Aka, of this far-off millennium, the Almighty God, the God of the Universe, not the demigods, the one and only, God, said "No man can harm you, lest you tell him your secret, where your weakness lies. And you shall live a millennium, and be able to withstand the trials of war and battle, undermine all disasters, become rich, own a million acres of the best land..." and this was in 12,999 BC. And God was true to his word. And all sought his secret.

The Vulture Goddess approached Aka, near the cliff top, on the island of Cres, flying about as if in a daze, hungry, and she spotted Aka, flew low, and surely enough she noticed this man was ancient, and gold plated, and Aka noticed her flying low, near a nest (knowing no devil or demon, nor angelic force could harm him she wanted to draw his attention, pretend she was hungry, needed a nest to rest in). And Aka saw the griffon vulture circling near the nest, a large nest with new born in it.
"Why do you fly low over my head?" asked Aka, as the vulture paid much attention to him as he sat overlooking the cliff, and pretended to him, as if she was deciding to invade the nest, or simply make acquaintance with Aka.
And so she landed on the cliff, next to Aka, said in a sweet voice,
"I am a demon cast into this vulture's body, and my job is to circle the island, and to bring back to the Henchmen of Hell, evidence of the weak, who live in the villages on the island, so they can be dominated by their hidden forms, and their wives subdued by notorious scorpion demigods, and the men of the wives crippled if they are not to leave this island, and fight the wars on the mainland for the glory of Hell. But I heard of you, and that you are untouchable. No devil or demon, or flying thing can harm you, you are the chosen one."
"But I will kill you, and then what will you have to say for yourself?" said Aka.
"You cannot kill what is already dead, only separate me from this body, these wings, but I will find another. I am like Venus and the Moon, you cannot touch either, and I can appear in other objects as well, different forms and shapes, even as shadows. I have a duty. Like you, but there is a way to stop me?"
"And how might that be?" replied Aka.
"Concentrate, if you will, if I give to you my secret, you must give me one?" said the Vulture Goddess.

And as they sat there, both pondering, thinking, and deliberating, He seemed to be having an awakening through his heart, an extremely gentle one. He leaned back and forth, unfolding his hands to keep his sitting balance, lest he fall over the cliff. He had never thought so hard, and it was that this creature was so spontaneous, and pain now disturbed him, a mental pain, as if there was entering him a psychosis (or fixation, phobia),almost as if he was having an allergic reaction to this vulture creature. And he told himself he should destroy this creature, save, she may have found out his secret, and if so, he could have made a deal and saved the island (she on the other hand was using all her black magic, knowing it would not harm him in the long run, for he was resistant to it, but in the short run, it would confuse him at best, and that is what she wanted, and this was simply his spiritual and psychic reaction, a kind of cushion, to its more deadly effects, had it been a human being, in which case, the person would be dead, or completely bound by her, if not insane).
"I am having some unexplainable reactions," said Aka, looking deeply into her eyes. And she was bluffing, she was trying to show, she had some of the secret already, whatever that might be, and possible she could come up with the whole thing once given time, and she looked to be persistent to Aka.
"Make me a deal," said the Vulture Goddess, "today I and hell, all will be bound by our agreement, tomorrow not so!"
His celestial will, the questioning his faith, wondering if he talked in his sleep, if somehow, she had something on him, knew something, that was destructive to him. She had created doubt in him, just a muster seed, but doubt nonetheless.
Then he thought, I am almost a thousand-years old, I perhaps am going to lose my powers, for God said "a millennium" I think it was a figure of speech, but that is what he said. I am old, torn down and now this, I am distressing. He said all these things in his mind, looking down the cliff, up in the air towards heaven, then at the demigod, thinking about the good folks in the villages, all the ones he knew, the birds in the nest, maybe he could do one last deed before he perished.
"Trust me, and surrender your secret, and you will have your island safe for eternity," said the demigod-inside the vultures body, biting her lip.
"But what do you get, and hell, what does hell get?" he questioned.
"I get to play games on earth, until Armageddon, the last great battle to be. And for hell, I think, and I do not know for sure, they get you out of the way, and they do not like things they have no control over, nor a do-gooder."

"Okay," said Aka, and at that very moment, there was a written contract that appeared, as if out of nowhere, and it was already signed by several demonic beings from hell, and by the Goddess, she did it in transfigured form from her previous life-shape in hell, and quickly transformed back into the vulture shape she was, and by the blood of Aka, he signed the document, and he said (in a saddened voice),

"There is nothing in the world that can attach itself to me, I am like pure gold, and there is only one thing that if touched...by it, it will attack in full force right down into the core of my soul, and thus I would become a dull human color, no longer gold, no longer protected by the visible eye of heaven, the substance, it is called Mercury."

The Vulture Goddess, thought, "Oh yes, yes indeed the attack of mercury onto gold sucks into it like water to a sponge, why did we not think of it, and with the wave of her wings and yelping to hell, of her victory, a storm came, and it rained water with mercury, and it covered him, and she declared to hell, her feat was accomplished.
And the henchmen from hell appeared to confirm her statement, and they pushed the old man off the cliff, and he died, and Agaliarept, Satan's number one henchman, confirmed, it was done. And the Giants born of angelic beings, called the Nephilm came to see this feat, and all celebrated.

((Even the Grand Duke of hell, and Belphegor, the King of Demons, and the Lilith, Serpent Queen of Hell, even Haagentis, once an Arch Angel came)(Lilith: the first woman? Who out of pride abandoned Adam, and she was transformed into a demon; as a result came, Eve from the rib of Adam.))

Lilith, Queen of Hell

And Agaliarept whispered to the Vulture Demigod, Goddess, "He didn't realize, hell is not bound by anyone, or anything, we lie all the time, even to one another (having said that, the Goddess looked at Agaliarept, frantically),silly he should believe such a simple lie, but then, so did you, because you will remain a Vulture, but a Goddess Vulture; plus, you will never, ever be beautiful again, or lose the shape you are in, although you can circle the island until the end of days, be that as it may!"
And he laughed until he turned purple, on his return to the docks of hell.

2-8-2009 © "The Tale of the: The Vulture Goddess of Croatia" by Dennis L. Siluk (reedited, 8-2011)
Dedicated to: Nenad B.


16-New Poems and Two Short Stories

Cheep Pocket Hole Jig Kreg

Tuesday, November 1, 2011

Browser Redirect Fix - 4 Steps to Stop the Google Redirect Virus

!±8± Browser Redirect Fix - 4 Steps to Stop the Google Redirect Virus

A browser redirect fix is not an easy thing to find. You probably know this already as I would be that you have spent some time scanning through forum posts and blog posts looking for a solution. The effects of the Google redirect virus are really painful to deal with. Chances are that you probably got it totally by accident, but I will say upfront to be careful of torrent sites, and to use your best judgement when surfing the internet.

So how do you fix it and find a good Google redirect virus removal tool in the first place? The steps can be simple, but you'll need to be careful.

Step 1

Go to your start menu, and open Run. For later versions of Windows this will probably be in the Accessories folder. Once that comes up enter this command devmgmt.msc, then hit enter.

Step 2

This opens your computer's device manager which will pop up in a new window. Now click the View tab at the very top and select Show Hidden Devices.

Step 3

Now locate TDSSserv.sys with the system extension. Once you have located this, right click on it and select to disable it. Don't do anything else other than just that.

Step 4

After you have done that, make sure to run a scan of your computer using some form of a spyware removal tool, or download one that you can use.

In some cases this can help, but some people have reported that it didn't do anything for them, because a lot of times anti-software and malware removal tools are not able to see the hidden registry entries that can be causing the problem.


Browser Redirect Fix - 4 Steps to Stop the Google Redirect Virus

Wholesale Pull Up Chin Up Dip Station


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