remember that movie The Day After Tomorrow where a rapid ice age flooded then froze people to death before they could escape to the south? well, the script was based on a pentagon report that proposed that exact scenario as a national security issue. here is the article in Fortune Magazine where i first heard of the report.
and now again with this report blogged here on controlling global information flows, running psyops, battling the internet, and developing the ability to disrupt any communications system that uses any portion of the electromagnetic spectrum, one wonders how much of this writing is science fiction and how much is a genuine possibility or course of action that is going on now or in the near future.
i mean, if the PSYOPS consist of making the United States the laughing stock of the globe, and the butt of jokes and anger, then that department needs an overhaul. if these "hackers" are the people who run amazon.com to sell books, or those on yahoo! groups selling t-shirts, or those ripping copies of Underworld: Revolution and posting them on Bittorrent sites, then again this report is some science fiction that will make a fine good movie.
Friday, January 27, 2006
Sunday, January 22, 2006
Winona Minnesota Mississippi River (Internet) Sutra
From: "Bobby G"
To: terrasoluna yahoogroups
Sent: Monday, January 16, 2006 5:10 PM
Subject: TerraSoLuna~ presque vu
spring of 1973, and the Mississippi valley was full of water, from one bank to the other. from the bluffs above Winona, looking out over the valley, the sun's reflection off all the water made it look as if a miniature archipelago had formed in the valley. at sundown, out at the old farmhouse a group of hippies had congregated, for there was fellowship, and windowpane, to be had. he felt comfortable with windowpane, those tiny gelatin squares that you could be pretty sure held only acid, because not enough of anything that could really harm you would fit in that small a space.
four, or maybe five, of them had consumed the tiny windows, oh maybe an hour or more earlier. he'd forgotten to check the clock. it didn't matter. there was a square slab of sawn limestone sitting in the big living room and in the dim light he could swear there was an amazingly clear pattern suddenly revealed in that stone, something geometric, logical, as if drawn that way. he remarked to Rita, sitting on the battered old sofa, "i'm seeing pattern. in this stone. in everything. it's amazing. wish you could see this."
Rita, a tall girl who seemed very young, but very wise for someone so young, regarded him for a long moment. "there's a pattern," she said through a big grin. "but it's not like you're thinking, exactly. the pattern is Mind (he could hear the capital letter in Mind, he was sure). Mind is reflecting back on itself. everywhere Mind is at work, searching for a pattern, for a meaning to it all, there's the pattern. that's what's so way-out about it."
he reflected that this girl always found a way to say the most incredibly profound things. she could make the most bland cliche even sound profound, like newly-discovered wisdom.
"sometimes," she said, you think you've found the one big pattern, like pattern of patterns. but," she said, "you nev...
"wait!" he exclaimed, rising up out of the overstuffed chair. "i've gotta go outside and walk!" he was sure he'd heard a voice say, "get bundled up and get on some walkin shoes. i'll show you the pattern, how it all works. what i'm about to show you, will be astonishing to you..."
outside the night was one of those frozen Minnesota spring nights bathed in a brilliant moonlight that beckoned him to walk. he started walkin, accompanied by an insistent voice-track, "yes, you will see. it's right up ahead. see that hill? right over the hill, you will see it revealed..." things like that kept cycling through his head.
he walked for a long distance, in a speedy head, thinking the whole time. people kept coming to mind, his mom & dad, siblings, friends, people he'd been working with. they all seemed amusing, funny, lighthearted, and profound. it seemed that finally, the things they did, the way they were, all made sense. they were perfectly logical, they had to act as they did because their life-scripts were crafted so... even the loading-dock guy, the one with the incessant stream of racist jokes, even he made sense. he found himself really liking the people who populated his tiny world. he would seek them out, give them a really big hug and say, "i know!" ... no, wait a minute. these were "straight people," that hug idea wouldn't do. maybe there was like a handshake, or a special phrase, a knowing look, you could give that said in a universal language, "i know..."
the walk grew longer and longer. the voices had promised that in the revelation of the Pattern to All Things, there would be "a mantra, your mantra, which you can chant to remind yourself if you forget..."
always he was egged on---"see that grove of trees? just past there, you'll see, you'll see."
it seemed as if hours had passed. he was pretty sure the acid was wearing off now, and had been circling back on the dirt road back to the big farmhouse, and he had been chanting his mantra softly, just under his breath, for it seemed like the last quarter-hour now. he had found the Pattern, and knew the chant. it was an easy chant, and it went...
"whoa." he said out loud. "what the heh---" he
realized he'd been chanting,
"what i'm about to show to you
will be astonishing to you
astonishing to you
what i'm about to show to you
will be astonishing to you
astonishing to you
what i'm about to show to you
will be astonishing to you
astonishing to you..."
"damn." "un-fucking-believable..."
Rita was sitting outside gazing toward the brilliant red sunglow off in the east. to her back was a bright, setting moon. she was watching him approach, wearing an amused look.
"hey. long walk, huh?"
"yeah. i was uh...the Pattern...i was... wow, i'm really hungry. and chilly. i'm gonna go in and find something to eat and stand by the wood cookstove and warm up. you comin in?"
"in a while," she said, as he started up the creaky steps. "hey?"
he turned back. "yeah?"
"i started to say--you never really get to see it, ya know."
he gazed at her for another long moment, again marveling at this girl of perpetual profundity. he shook his head and giggled, banging the rattly door behind him...
To: terrasoluna yahoogroups
Sent: Monday, January 16, 2006 5:10 PM
Subject: TerraSoLuna~ presque vu
spring of 1973, and the Mississippi valley was full of water, from one bank to the other. from the bluffs above Winona, looking out over the valley, the sun's reflection off all the water made it look as if a miniature archipelago had formed in the valley. at sundown, out at the old farmhouse a group of hippies had congregated, for there was fellowship, and windowpane, to be had. he felt comfortable with windowpane, those tiny gelatin squares that you could be pretty sure held only acid, because not enough of anything that could really harm you would fit in that small a space.
four, or maybe five, of them had consumed the tiny windows, oh maybe an hour or more earlier. he'd forgotten to check the clock. it didn't matter. there was a square slab of sawn limestone sitting in the big living room and in the dim light he could swear there was an amazingly clear pattern suddenly revealed in that stone, something geometric, logical, as if drawn that way. he remarked to Rita, sitting on the battered old sofa, "i'm seeing pattern. in this stone. in everything. it's amazing. wish you could see this."
Rita, a tall girl who seemed very young, but very wise for someone so young, regarded him for a long moment. "there's a pattern," she said through a big grin. "but it's not like you're thinking, exactly. the pattern is Mind (he could hear the capital letter in Mind, he was sure). Mind is reflecting back on itself. everywhere Mind is at work, searching for a pattern, for a meaning to it all, there's the pattern. that's what's so way-out about it."
he reflected that this girl always found a way to say the most incredibly profound things. she could make the most bland cliche even sound profound, like newly-discovered wisdom.
"sometimes," she said, you think you've found the one big pattern, like pattern of patterns. but," she said, "you nev...
"wait!" he exclaimed, rising up out of the overstuffed chair. "i've gotta go outside and walk!" he was sure he'd heard a voice say, "get bundled up and get on some walkin shoes. i'll show you the pattern, how it all works. what i'm about to show you, will be astonishing to you..."
outside the night was one of those frozen Minnesota spring nights bathed in a brilliant moonlight that beckoned him to walk. he started walkin, accompanied by an insistent voice-track, "yes, you will see. it's right up ahead. see that hill? right over the hill, you will see it revealed..." things like that kept cycling through his head.
he walked for a long distance, in a speedy head, thinking the whole time. people kept coming to mind, his mom & dad, siblings, friends, people he'd been working with. they all seemed amusing, funny, lighthearted, and profound. it seemed that finally, the things they did, the way they were, all made sense. they were perfectly logical, they had to act as they did because their life-scripts were crafted so... even the loading-dock guy, the one with the incessant stream of racist jokes, even he made sense. he found himself really liking the people who populated his tiny world. he would seek them out, give them a really big hug and say, "i know!" ... no, wait a minute. these were "straight people," that hug idea wouldn't do. maybe there was like a handshake, or a special phrase, a knowing look, you could give that said in a universal language, "i know..."
the walk grew longer and longer. the voices had promised that in the revelation of the Pattern to All Things, there would be "a mantra, your mantra, which you can chant to remind yourself if you forget..."
always he was egged on---"see that grove of trees? just past there, you'll see, you'll see."
it seemed as if hours had passed. he was pretty sure the acid was wearing off now, and had been circling back on the dirt road back to the big farmhouse, and he had been chanting his mantra softly, just under his breath, for it seemed like the last quarter-hour now. he had found the Pattern, and knew the chant. it was an easy chant, and it went...
"whoa." he said out loud. "what the heh---" he
realized he'd been chanting,
"what i'm about to show to you
will be astonishing to you
astonishing to you
what i'm about to show to you
will be astonishing to you
astonishing to you
what i'm about to show to you
will be astonishing to you
astonishing to you..."
"damn." "un-fucking-believable..."
Rita was sitting outside gazing toward the brilliant red sunglow off in the east. to her back was a bright, setting moon. she was watching him approach, wearing an amused look.
"hey. long walk, huh?"
"yeah. i was uh...the Pattern...i was... wow, i'm really hungry. and chilly. i'm gonna go in and find something to eat and stand by the wood cookstove and warm up. you comin in?"
"in a while," she said, as he started up the creaky steps. "hey?"
he turned back. "yeah?"
"i started to say--you never really get to see it, ya know."
he gazed at her for another long moment, again marveling at this girl of perpetual profundity. he shook his head and giggled, banging the rattly door behind him...
Saturday, January 21, 2006
Angel's Trumpet
Angel's Trumpet, when used properly, can have an hallucinogenic effect. Much more frequently, however, it's a total disaster as in this teen's case.
"About two weeks ago, he brewed a batch of tea from the leaves or flowers of an Angel's Trumpet to get high. The Titusville teen said he followed directions he found on the Internet and accidentally overdosed." Of course separating the wheat from the chaff in this the Pornstorm can be a bit much for many adults let alone a precocious teen.
In the Northwest Indiana News Jean Starr writes of the Angel's Trumpet in her Petal Talk column. Angel's Trumpet also takes the names Datura and Jamestown Weed slurred to jimson weed according to Starr. In her last paragraph she takes a particular flight of fancy that suggests she may know more than she wants to let on in a statewide publication.
"The chemicals contained in Datura include scopolamine, which I used to use to prevent seasickness. I had to stop using it because it caused me to hallucinate, which can be really dangerous on a boat at night in the middle of Lake Michigan. Scopolamine still is available by prescription for seasickness, but if you tend to be a poster child for side effects like I am, you might want to give it a try before taking that cruise."
If you don't see how I am reading this, think about what other things being a poster child for side effects may mean besides what's on the face of it. Or think about her opening anecdote, "Crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch. 'Potato chips on the sunroom floor,' I wondered as the sound continued. No, it was Olive the Golden Border Retriever snacking on dried leaves that had fallen from the jasmine." She primes the theme of eating exotic plant leaves she'll take up near the end. If only the teen had spoken with Jean for some proper guidance.
Update: someone pointed to Salvia Divinorum personally, pornstorm knows nothing about this stuff.
"About two weeks ago, he brewed a batch of tea from the leaves or flowers of an Angel's Trumpet to get high. The Titusville teen said he followed directions he found on the Internet and accidentally overdosed." Of course separating the wheat from the chaff in this the Pornstorm can be a bit much for many adults let alone a precocious teen.
In the Northwest Indiana News Jean Starr writes of the Angel's Trumpet in her Petal Talk column. Angel's Trumpet also takes the names Datura and Jamestown Weed slurred to jimson weed according to Starr. In her last paragraph she takes a particular flight of fancy that suggests she may know more than she wants to let on in a statewide publication.
"The chemicals contained in Datura include scopolamine, which I used to use to prevent seasickness. I had to stop using it because it caused me to hallucinate, which can be really dangerous on a boat at night in the middle of Lake Michigan. Scopolamine still is available by prescription for seasickness, but if you tend to be a poster child for side effects like I am, you might want to give it a try before taking that cruise."
If you don't see how I am reading this, think about what other things being a poster child for side effects may mean besides what's on the face of it. Or think about her opening anecdote, "Crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch. 'Potato chips on the sunroom floor,' I wondered as the sound continued. No, it was Olive the Golden Border Retriever snacking on dried leaves that had fallen from the jasmine." She primes the theme of eating exotic plant leaves she'll take up near the end. If only the teen had spoken with Jean for some proper guidance.
Update: someone pointed to Salvia Divinorum personally, pornstorm knows nothing about this stuff.
Wednesday, January 18, 2006
christopher elgrekkko cadden's Blogorama
he calls these recent posts "the best shit he has written in years." his words from his mouth. in the pornstorm, who can tell if he's breaking from modesty or touts everything like this. but, hey, even you think you alone are the highest arbiter of taste.
and you are, and so, read up on this thing like i'm going to do now. he hails from the mindvox clan and the blogorama looks pretty down to earth . . .
and you are, and so, read up on this thing like i'm going to do now. he hails from the mindvox clan and the blogorama looks pretty down to earth . . .
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