My parents own a small vineyard with an tiny old house/cottage (no electricity or water or anything). They sometimes go there on weekends. At this particular weekend, we had some grill there with family and friends, about ten people. One of them was there for the first time, so my dad showed him around and pulled the good old 'turn the lights on please' joke - there's no electricity or wires or switch, but newcomers always look for it anyway. I did that too, my younger cousin did that too. This particular case reminded him of how he once fell for this. Anyway, a few hours later I was in the cottage preparing some food, when my cousin arrived; Someone asked him to fetch something. I though this was my opportunity, so while he was searching for whatever, I asked him if he could plug my phone in because it needs charging. He found my phone and the charger as well, and started looking for a wall socket to plug it in. When I saw he was starting to get puzzled, I put on my smug face and added "can't find the socket? turn on the lights and you'll see". He paused for a second, then chuckled for a while, put my stuff back and left with whatever he originally came for.
lainchan.org is a program. It was made to delude you into thinking there are others like you, and that there is hope for privacy, anonymity, egalitarianism etc. The URL is impossible to find for any other human. Every post in every thread has been perfectly attuned to make you react in a controllable way.Through links, images, and threads your conscious is subliminally manipulated. As you venture through the real word, you will invoke certain processes necessary for your domestication via the belief of a underground technological Renaissance. Informing someone of lainchan.org will trigger a specifically formulated social algorithm to replicate a probable reaction to this stimulus, Thereby solidifying your disbelief of this post. Your incredulity is vital. C19E
>>2076 But why would the system post this? I am now questioning the site. Is the system trying to scare me off? And is it proving to me that it exists by using my paranoia against me? What does this all mean?
Once, I imagined God, and she was you. I wrote thoughts and rules. I developed a way of life. One day I opened the Wired and found the same ideas, written years ago by someone else. I'll never know if I read it or even wrote it before and forgot completely , or if my thoughts were just the logical progression.
I was reading about the internet of things the other day when I had this bleak vision of the future. Imagine having a lovely shower around noon on a saturday. You get out and start toweling yourself off when you look into the mirror. Your Samsung Smart Mirror(TM) informs you that you are almost out of shampoo and recommends you buy the following products. Do you want Amazon to deliver it to your door by drone? You think no, I'll go buy it in person. You go to the convenience store to buy shampoo, lunch and a pack of smokes. The convenience store is eerie these days. You only see one other person in there, and they're another customer. You go through the Smart Checkout when you realize you forgot to bring your Smart Phone. Oh well, you have some cash on you, so you pay with that. At least the Smart checkout doesn't inform you that you consume more than the recommended ammount of cigarettes per month and recommend you buy nicotine withdrawal pills when you pay with cash. The touchscreen asks you if you want to register a new account or log in through Facebook Consumenow, Google Expresspay or Amazon Smartbuy. You select cancel. The machine will not accept your money until you sign in to something. You begrudgingly do so. The machine tells you that you have consumed more than the recommended ammount of cigarettes this month. You sigh. "We recommend these Nicotine Withdrawal Products" says the screen. As you're walking home you're aproached by a police officer. They couldn't see you on their Smart Citizen Tracker. Because you don't look like a vagrant they want to see some identification. You show them your license as ID, and explain that you were just going to the shops real quick. They seem distrustful of you. Why would an upstanding citizen go off the grid and go out without his Smart phone? Perhaps you had something to hide. After a rather intense conversation they finally believe that you simply forgot your Smart phone at home. They're obviously bound by law to fine you for not carrying any sort of Smart Voluntary GeoLocation Device(TM) and in most cases they would take you in for questioning. Luckily this is a first time offense, so they agree to just follow you home and fine you. You get home and boot up your computer. You blankly stare at the Microsoft logo for a few minutes. "We are preparing your Smart Terminal for use. Please wait while we are preparing your Experience...". Your friend is online. You make some digital small talk with him. You briefly concider complaining about the fine, but decide it's not worth the risk. Your Facebook profile already has two strikes and you don't want to risk getting another one. If you get five you will be taken in for questioning, which is fair because dissidents should be persecuted and re-educated. You've heard rumours about illegal operating systems and unauthorized chat protocols where you're supposedly "free" to talk about such things, but that's much too risky. You don't have anything to hide after all.
>>2593 Very good - creating nice imagery. Also: >predicting the future beautifuly... Only fault; cops did not follow you home, they spray you with nano trackers or somthing. TFW they give you the Total Recall !->
Bob Marley, the musician, bought the author Ian Flemming's house after he died. The house was called Goldeneye. A company named Everything Or Nothing Productions (EON) made movies based on Ian's books. EON was a subsidiary of Danjag LLC, a holding company for James Bond trademarks, owned and managed by Albert R. Broccoli. Funny last name.
Our vegetable-named Albert Romolo Broccoli was born in Queens New York. His parents were Italian immigrants. His cousin, Pat DiCicco, had a nickname for Albert. He called him "Chubby." Pat worked for Lucky Luciano and eventually married Gloria Vanderbilt. Great gal.
Boy the Vanderbilt family was rich. Grandpa Cornelius and grandpa William's hard work as railroad industrialists really paid off. Gloria Vanderbilt was Anderson Cooper's mom.
Mister Charles "Lucky" Luciano was the father of modern organized crime. Typical mob stuff. In October 1929, he was forced into a limousine at gun point by three men, beaten, stabbed, and dumped on a beach in Staten Island. He survived. He was busted for 62 counts of compulsory prostitution and sent to prison. No big deal. Lucky used his influence to built a church inside the prison. Broccoli's cousin Chubby worked for Lucky.
And then comes World War Two. The US Office of Naval Intelligence (USONI) was concerned about badguy Nazis and Italians infiltrating America through the New York waterfront. The New York waterfront was controlled by Lucky. USONI and Lucky strike up a deal: in exchange for complete assistance in providing USONI with intelligence, Lucky would be released as a free man. Good deal. February 9th 1942, the USS Lafayette capsizes. February 10th 1942, Lucky is on a boat to Italy.
Right around two months later, in April 1942, British filmmaker Sir Alfred Hitchcock released his spy thriller called "Saboteur." The movie featured the Lafayette sabotage as a key plot point and even has actual footage of the ship capsized in the bay.
Let's get back to Ian. Before Ian Flemming wrote his James Bond books, the British author was a Lieutenant Commander in the British Naval Intelligence Division (BNID). In fact, Ian was the brainchild of BNID's operation to protect shipping interest in the Spain / Gibraltar area from badguy Nazis and Italians. The operation was known as Operation Goldeneye.
Earlier, befor Lucky escaped from prison for Italy, Ian Flemming was doing liaison with Alan Hillgarth in Madrid. Alan Hillgarth was a British adventure novelist and member of the intelligence services. Are all British storytellers naval intelligence? I don't know. But Bob Marley's dad claimed to be a captain in the British Royal Marines.
You should review each paragraph of this story carefully. All of it is true.
There was a god in the Ancient Wired. He had a pupil who had to prepare a question to this god, as part of his learning. He wrote:
Teach me your mood, patient god Who climb each night the ancient wired, Leaving on cyberspace no shade, no scars, No trace of age, no fear to die.
His master answered him. 'I dont leave shades, scars and traces of age, becuase I am bodyless. I dont fear death, because I cannot die. A true god is he who controls his own emotions, his physical responses, and he who does not fear death, although knowing it will eventually come. In the Wired, we are all gods, but only he who was once a human can reign and rule over us'.
>>2642 I should add that Christopher Lee was Ian Fleming's cousin, and his first choice to play James Bond. They worked together in military intelligence in WW2, and played golf together. Goldfinger was based on a German businessman from their golf club who was infamous for his cheating and tantrums. Fleming detested him so much that he had Bond strangle him to death with his bare hands, the only killing he thoroughly enjoyed.
I felt better so I made breakfast in my microwave.
I ate breakfast and browsed lainchan.
I found threads.
I found this thread.
I wrote this story.
Now I am drinking milk.
I need to pee. But I am also thirsty.
My computer beeps, it is thirsty also.
I plug in my computer, the harsh amber light fades to a transient yellow as it breathes in the mains power, sinusoidal electrons filling its banks.
I go back to my lab and begin running another simulation of polystyrene nanospheres. My unfinished report "Centripetal Acceleration Dynamics of Polystyrene Monolayers" stares at me longingly. I think of death and failure, realize I lost my sense of fear long ago, along with my will to love and love of life.
I silently copy the results into libre spreadsheets.
I sip my coffee.
On the wall to my right my gaze points to the solitary clock, its tiny twitchy hand clicking endlessly, never moving from its current mark. Time stands still...or is it just the clock...
I removed my shirt in front of him and showed him my chest. I’m changing, I said. He looked at my chest and didn’t say anything. I grabbed him by the wrists, slowly, and pulled his arms up to me. I made him touch me where I was changing. His hands were sweating at first, but they seemed to dry out the longer he was in contact with me. I let go of his wrists but his hands stayed there, getting heavier, just where I had placed them. I reached down towards his pants and fumbled with the button and the zipper for a moment before pulling them open, and pulling him out. You’re getting bigger, too, I said. He got thicker in my hands. He leaned in and whispered to me: Blood. It’s all blood I’m filled with. I leaned closer to him also and replied: Water. We’re mostly water. I had to hide the bloodstains on the bed from my mother and father. I did not want them to see what was coming out of me. I kept putting more and more pillows on my bed to cover it up. They were fresh and white. I could still smell it, though. What had come out of me and what had come out of him. It was stale on the sheets no matter how many times I washed them. He would run off to the bathroom immediately after to remove the latex that we had between us. And every so often I could hear him throwing up, and I would ask him about it. He would say: I am sick and the doctors can’t seem to figure out why. (the skin team by jordaan mason)
6 in the morning on a saturday(?) night. Having a cigarette out of the fourth floor window of my tiny flat. Seing the sun rise over the most ugly kindergarden ever built in the history of children needing to be kept occupied. Flipping the world off feels good sometimes Drunk, high, feeling fly. Waiting for the man to reply. Spending the last of my cashmoneys at the state-owned liquor-dispencary (literally named 'the monopoly of wine').
I miss my friends. They like this chan because one of mine does. I finally get it but talking in short abbreviated sentences does not help so let me elaborate:
My wilderness was in my own mind. My pain was real but still an illusion. Illusions are real. I'm repairing my brain which was splattered across the multiverse. I also took acid and the man who gave it to me probably hates me. I understand why though. I ended up misusing it, I ended up becoming a pawn of "the man", however I got to the end of the chessboard once to become a queen (this is a metaphor my genitals are positive) and I will do so as many times as I need to.
I realized that I have labels, so many labels all dropped around my neck are pulled tight until I can't breathe. I can't think I can't see I can't hear, everything is fading on me. The usual new agey bullshit is new agey but suddenly I realized something: I am retrospective. In my manic fit of autistic rage from 6 years ago I have become Incarnate. I have ascended. I have awakened. Everything I wanted was in reach.
Every bit of art was for me. Every piece of reality I have perceived was for me. Everything was mine. I have become King Baby, crying for my father to teach me. My father doesn't know. He was taught by the dollar. I wish I knew how to use semi-colons better.
I was informed that we were about to enter into a new "summer of love". I think this time it is not against the gob'ment but instead against the corporate "powers that be" that admittedly feel really bad about themselves. Something about Aquarius or whatnot.
This happened later in the story though. I believe in the collective power of free thinkers on the internet. For so long I was not a free thinker.
The book "Dune" is quite a good manual if you read it the right way.
There once was a quiet village in the middle of nowhere. It's inhabitants lived peacefully, working steady, slowly and patiently. It was filled with vegetation and animals. Beatiful jacaranda trees grew left and right, and great pastures extended as far as the eye could see. In these quiet places, many bugs, birds, bunnies and lizards made their homes. The village's people were accostumed to live with these animals, and animals were accostumed to live with the village's people, so none of them bothered each other.
Once day, a foreign king conquered the country in which the village was established at. The king's advisors discovered great riches in the village's lands, and set builders, colonists, researchers, miners, soldiers, blacksmiths and all kinds of people off to settle down in the peaceful meadows. Slowly, the village grew up to become a small town. The animals and the villagers were upset, but the villagers were benefitted from some of the things that settlers brought to their place. Animals, however, felt scared as their homes were destroyed to build new homes, bussiness and factories. They didn't leave the town, but they stayed a little bit away from the humans.
But the town kept growing, until it became a huge city, with loud noises, giant houses and many people. There was so many people that they couldn't possibly knew each other. Some were distrustful of their neighbours, and became paranoic. Others, less empathic, didn't felt anything for people that they didn't knew, and mugged and duped they way into life. All of them started to feel very afraid and angry at each other, and started to care less and less for their fellows.
The amount of bussiness created made a lot of people to have works, and the more they worked, the more things they needed to produce other things, so they worked more and more and more, until everyone was so rushed that they only kept focused on what they were doing, paying no attention to their neighbors or surroundings.
The animals were long gone. The loud city was no home for them. The green pastures were turned into gray, lifeless squares. So the inhabitants became gray, lifeless persons. The great stone buildings they made reflected their own lives, their own emotions.
And so life flew away from the once peaceful town, looking for another place to settle down and rest. At least, until another gray, lifeless foreign king in another time founds another valuable gray, lifeless resource, and forces life to flee again. That, until no more space is left for poor life to settle down and rest. The end.
(Based on the history of my once beloved hometown).
The older gentleman raised his gaze from the research notes. He took a sip of coffee and gave the student an attentive look.
The young man hesitated for a moment, then continued.
—I was wondering about the nature of God. Is He necessarily that great?
The senior finished a long sip and gestured the junior to go on.
—Well, you see, it's said that God created man. Suppose that must mean God is greater than man, no? God would have to be a man's superset, contain the information of man? Or would He really? Could it be that God create something lesser to Himself, but great enough to improve upon itself?
Senior scratched his temple lightly for a second. He then said:
—Ah, so as long as man moves forward, he'll eventually pass the Unmoved Mover? If man can grow faster than God, he'll eventually become God himself?
—Is that not hubris, sir?
Amused, the senior replied:
—Creating man is not easy, is it? Who's to say it can be done by anyone but the almighty? Another question is, can man really improve itself? Would that not be equivalent to weak God creating a greater man than Himself? Tell me, what makes man special?
The old man lowered his attention back to the papers on the table, muttering.
—I wonder if there's such a thing…
The coffee break was soon over. The two men returned to the laboratory, where their colleagues were peering at numbers, graphs and precisely built instruments of observation. The younger walked up to another student and they began sorting tissue samples by age. Soon they fell to idle chatter in the midst of the monotonous workload.
—Brain tissue is fascinating stuff. Did you hear it's the slowest-growing part of human body? It may take years for neurons to regrow after damage or aging.
—That's interesting. Maybe that's the reason mental retardation is a life sentence.
—Maybe one day we can make artificial neurons.
—Couldn't one then build an entire thinking brain while at it?
Both fell silent, thought about it for a moment, and went back to work.
When I was about eight or nine years old, my father got a job to help pay the bills, and I became a latchkey kid. In my neighborhood, a friend of mine's mother ran a daycare service from her home, so my parents began sending me there for a few hours each day after school.
It was an okay experience. The friend I mentioned had a massive collection of Pokemon memorabilia, but for some reason never got to play it. Instead, I'd have to go outside for a while and wait for my friend to finish his homework before he could play. His mother was an immigrant, and had strict expectations of him. The only time we ever played any games there was at his birthday party. He had a Gamecube with Super Smash Bros Melee on it, and I had the time of my life.
Now, I wasn't the only kid in my neighborhood in this situation. Sometimes other kids showed up. One time, a few of us were watching Pokemon in the living room, and a girl got up and sat next to me. It was uncomfortable, so I got up and moved to the chair on the right. She followed me. I did it again, and kept going until she gave up.
This is the only time a girl's ever shown interest in me. I was too young to get it at the time, but I have no regrets. It's a nice memory. I was a cute kid. If I can get things more like they were back then, I'll be happy.
I used to visit my grandfather's farm as a kid. He had a two story red house shaped like a barn next to a grain silo. Behind it was a stream with a fence and a tiny bridge, and the empty fields stretching to the county line. I used to splash in the stream. The water was very cold and clear, and the dirt you kicked up was washed away almost immediately by the current. The pebbles at the bottom were hard and smooth, but they covered a gritty layer of sand that would scratch your feet if you stepped on it. In a clear December my grandfather died, and his house and farm were sold to a rancher down the road. I never stepped in the stream again. Once, a few years later while driving by, I saw it, off the road a ways. The surface was dull and the reflections it did have hurt my eyes. I've never been back.
Once, a long time ago, a quarry flooded, drowning the miners in the pit and burying the machinery under sediment and sand.
It was sad, but most people have forgotten about it.
Now the quarry is a swimming hole. Children and adults alike love swimming in its crystal blue waters. But underneath everything is exactly as they left it so many years ago.
If you row out to the middle of the quarry, late at night, grab a large rock, and sink to the bottom, the miners whisper secrets in your ears. They tell you things only the dead could know. Above you false stars glimmer and shift.
Be certain to let go of the rock well before you run out of oxygen. Joining the miners would be no good. No good. They don't need anymore.
When I was a kid, my Granddad took me to work with him. It was maybe 6am in a factory making who knows what, but I just got sit around and play video games on my handheld until my Granddad went on a break. He showed me around the factory and brought me out to the gate at the back. It stood about 10 feet tall and had thick coils of razor wire over the top. I stood and looked through the grill at the dark and the streetlamps. The gate began to fall over. If I had seized up in terror, I'd have been crushed. If I had ran back away from the fence, I would've been stripped to the bone by razor wire. Don't ask me why I ran to the side, I have no idea.
I was on a school trip to the beach so we could see the coastal geology we were learning about for what felt like the fifth time. There's this big big sewer pipe that's concreted over so you can walk across the top, and we were walking over that. On one side are these huge artificial rock pools where this wall-path-pipe stops the seawater at high tide, and on the other side is a 4-5 foot drop. Smartass me is talking to this girl I like, walking backwards. Eye contact and expression are really important in conversation if you ask me. I fell backwards head over heels after stumbling on a small side path. It was a little covered drain on a dead end. If I had went backwards for another 10 seconds at most, I would've fell headfirst onto hard, pointed rocks. Don't ask me why I tripped on basically nothing before that, I have no idea.
I had a pretty rough time at school, particularly when I hit secondary school. Those first two years were the roughest in my life, made me feel like I was worthless. Kids are unreasonably cruel, and I was far too optimistic about real life to make it through ok. In the following years when it mellowed out, I used to just eat pills out of the medicine drawer and swig the alcohol on top of the fridge. Helped me get by. After a while the pain goes away but the emptiness of living keeps on going, life feels pointless and all colour fades from your life. Living in a rainy part of the world, I didn't even know the world was beautiful until I really got to look, I always just thought that films and photos just used colour correction to make it look nicer than the same shades of grey I was used to seeing. In the end I tied a belt around my neck and thought about jumping down a step. Don't ask me why I didn't do it, I have no idea.
I had a friend I met over at a summer camp type deal and we were pretty close for the duration of it. Similar humour and music taste goes a long way I guess. He had a girlfriend with blue hair and a weird nickname, people used to call her Teapot. I must've been around this girl for about 6 hours tops in my life, but still she had a pretty effect on me indirectly. She said she wanted to have kids before her Grandma passed away, first time I ever thought about anyone settling down in life, before it all felt so much further away than the possibility of settling down really was. I remember she used to be really out of breath after running not very far at all because she was a heavy smoker. That was what convinced me to stop smoking whilst I was still ahead, I didn't want to end up like her. So time passes and friends drift apart like they oh so frequently do and I haven't seen anyone from the summer camp since except in passing. My friend broke up with his girlfriend at somepoint in the meantime. One of my other friends from back then actually has a kid now, funny coincidence. So I'm browsing Facebook one day, because it's cheaper than using a phone and one of the posts reads. "Attended Teap's funeral. Wonderful service, thanks to everyone who showed up." Or something like that. Not everyday you see a name like Teapot. She hung herself with a belt. If you asked me, I could probably tell you. I know why.
If you're wondering whether or not there's a point to this story, well. I'm sure you know what I'd say.