This is what happens when I'm forced to cook.

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Welcome to the Dojo

Rage of Angels Part III

Rage of Angels Part III

... Victor said into the empty office. A computerized female voice responded "Bird of Prey identification accepted. Welcome, Victor, Alliance Military Intelligence meeting in fiteen minutes." As she spoke his office transformed. His chair collapsed in upon itself and his oak desk receded into the floor. His bookshelves disappeared into the walls. All the technology running through the room became apparent.

Victor stood and waved his hand over a sensor in the wall toggling a setting. For all intents and purposes this room no longer existed. No form of scanning or detection would be able to penetrate it. Now for the final touches, Victor thought.

"Computer, bring up dress combination MI-official with melee package oh-one. Also let's go with a 20th Century U.S. weapons display." With that command given the house's integrated computer executed billions of routines in less than a second. With a swish the wall in front of victor melted away exposing a rack upon which hung a belt with two sheathed machete style short swords and a hanger with the official Alliance Military dress blacks and formal black full length overcoat with two slits running from the waist to the hem so as not to impede the blades worn underneath.

Victor donned the uniform, cap, boots, and belt. Victor tossed the clothes he had been wearing on the rack which then receded into the wall. For a moment the wall returned to its original state, when suddenly several sections of the wall slid away to reveal a wide range of 20th Century antique weapons technology: M-16 assault rifles to a Colt .45.

Victor inspected each of the weapons, verifying they were clean and presentable, even though he knew it wasn't necessary. The automated systems kept all of his items in tip-top condition. Victor checked anyway. He wasn't old by far, not more than 43 years of age, but he was old school. He thought computers were great, but he still likes the personal touch; the human element. There was something more real about it to him.

Once he finished checking and rechecking the weapons, he figured he might as well give himself a once over before his meeting.

"Five minutes, sir" the computer AI chimed in.

"Kay, Kay" He replied, then said "Full-length mirror, please." as he turned to face the opposite wall a portion of it became glassy and reflective. He looked himself over , considered the cap and came to the conclusion that it wasn't for him. He took it off and hung it on the wall behind him. Everything is in order, Vic thought to himself.

He always thought, if they were paying him the big bucks to be the Strategic Security and Defense Consultant (SSDC), that his business card said he was, he might as well look the part. Though it was clear he could still kill with the best of 'em, he knew his clients would prefer the look of an obvious military man.

The function: A Primer

The Function: A Primer

         The Function is most closely related to a Japanese term which has become quite popular in the modern fighting game community. The term is yomi, Japanese for read, in the context of fighting games it is your ability to predict your opponents actions and play accordingly.

The Function is the scientific method applied to everything. An attempt to turn qualia into quanta. Transforming social and other interactions into numbers, the function will be an extensible modular formula that produces a possibility range so that prediction is possible.

Some things to think about that are critical to the function and to produce an accurate projection (variables to consider):

Time- How long have you performed this function

Self Assessment- How do you view your skills in a particular arena. use self assessment to find yourself in others and others in your self.

He Comes: The Reaper (poem)

He Comes: The Reaper

They say love drives him

and honor binds him.

His sickles slash

men reap the whirlwind

In darkness he stalks

towards light he walks

His heart taken

An oath made

His mind breaking

A price paid

A wager laid

Oh?

What'd you say

fifty-fifty

Heads

Tails

Wins

Fails

The

Reaper 

Within

Rage of Angels: a poem of beginnings end

Beginnings' End: A Burning Poem of Father's and Sons

Not all men are fathers

All men are sons

Even Augurs have fathers

likewise sons

In war

Sons lose fathers

And Fathers sons

This war has just begun

A war no man nor Augur 

shall win

for they

are 

all 

fathers and sons

There is no win-win

In a 

Universe at war

Lose-lose

don't lose yourself in war