Revisit, Review, Revise. #Blog Battle : May –Extract

Posted on 18th May 2023 by deteremineddespitewp

Foreword: In March there was this Blog Battle submission:

https://writingwritingandmorewritinginspiteofcomputers.home.blog/2023/03/14/the-day-when-the-stationery-was-no-longer-stationary

Which was left sort of hanging

This is subsequent episode

Ethics? Be Warned. All of Us Will Be Tested.

Posted on 2nd Apr 2023 by deteremineddespitewp

ITALY-FRANCE-WEATHER-FEATURE

Folk who write will at some stage cite ‘The Muse’. According to Ancient Greek literature there were nine of them, each with an allotted art, science or as we would recognise it, genre. In this case, for my defence I will cite that Melpomene the Muse of Tragedy has been, for some time, nagging at me to get this done.

The final push was made by listening to an audio book version of Prompt and Utter Destruction by J. Samuel Walker an historian whose subject matter is the nuclear age. Originally published in 1997, and revised in 2004 this is a work that would be in its inception 30 years old. In this the author manages to accomplish the near impossible of balancing the pros and cons of the US use of atomic weapons on Japan in 1945, while at the same time sewing compelling doubt as to whether the reasons given at the time were wholly valid. He also argues that a proposed invasion of Japan was not ‘a given’ as was D-Day, nor that the projected loss of American lives were actually a set in stone documentation, and finally that the Japanese view within government towards a peace accord was in existence. At this stage I would confess to having used the opposites as concrete evidence why the nuclear bombs were used. The author in his balanced arguments, with no railing or emotive language, no blanket condemning of the USA as the usual source of most evils lead me to believe that all which I judged to be hard fact was not ‘necessarily so’ (as the song goes). That said, having listened and respected the writer’s research and questions I was still left with the feeling of the subject of the Atom Bomb attacks ‘They were still going to happen’ . By then the whole dynamic of American, Soviet and Japanese interactions had reached a critical stage in which amongst the milieu of Human Interactions, Reactions, Anticipations, Suspicions and Motivations made the dropping of the Atom Bombs an inevitability.

That assertion will strike some folk as outrageous, some others will believe I am ducking an awkward question on account of being locked into a belief. Both reactions are quite acceptable and understandable. My response would be to read or listen to this book, then put yourself in the position of Truman, those around him, those involved in the Manhattan project and those out in the front lines. The qualifier being don’t just drop yourself in there are you are at this moment, imagine you have been in that war-time atmosphere for a long while, you have been living it, every day and night it has been with you, sets backs, costs, pressures, pains.

And that’s where we stop. For all of this has been an introduction to a thornier topic. Not one where we ask hypothetical questions of historical events which have happened and cannot be erased. Using this measuring stick let us look into the Present and the Future, which is where we dwell and where we have a say in the shaping of, being that say small or even large.

I am guessing from the politically inclined blogs I subscribe to and the vast majority of replies to those blog posts that most folk involved are of liberal and what you would call tolerant outlooks. They don’t think wars are inevitable, they have a great dislike of privately owned firearms, they believe in the general freedom of adults to associate with other adults in whatever mutually respectful relationships there are, they have no problems with folk of any race, they accept a person’s right to religion, belief system or absence of belief systems, just so long as those do not promote hate or intolerance, they feel the same way about politics. They do have very strong views about those who promote intolerance, lack compassion, and who assume they have a mandate to impose their will on others while being hypocritical about their own ‘rights’. In short the folk ‘around here’ are what I would call ‘The Nice Guys’. Angry, frustrated, incandescent even, but ‘Nice’, because you want all folks, every where just to live unfettered by pressures of hate, intolerance and injustice. Right?

Just suppose then

There is some prominent hatemonger or conspiracy snake oil merchant in town. One who is supporting the very heavy political hitters you loath, this person is one of the rising stars in that movement, and just by some chance, you happen upon the sight of a shooter, obviously intent on targeting that person you hate. So what do you do? You have five seconds. No real time to reflect on the pros and the cons. You do raise an alarm? Try to stop them. Or do you steal away back into the shadows let ‘What will be will be,’ or whatever phrase you think suits your frame of mind. After all you are not actually pulling the trigger, you don’t know the shooter. The target is such a loathsome, you think dangerous person, implicated in such hateful stuff as to be at least complicit in violence. And does not ‘The Good Book’ say ‘Those who live by the sword shall die by the sword’ (or something like that). Do you let the bomb fall?

Here’s another one…

By some chance you find yourself by a couple of degrees of separation in the company of folk whose general views you might share, but you are a bit leery of some of the language, maybe a bit too ‘rich’ for you. Some are talking about meeting violence with violence if necessary and so forth, hoping some figure on the Right gets shot. Someone might in a roundabout way even cite the IRA as an example of what might happen; in a way which suggests they would not mind. It wouldn’t take a security analyst to reckon some of these folk might step beyond just shouting off steam. Would you feel you should notify ‘someone’ or would you just back off, sever all links because you don’t want to get involved, that’s their outlook, not mine. Nothing to do with me. And stifle that mischievous ‘but good luck guys’

Turning to something more plausible…

Someone you think as offensive on the Right dies, maybe not in a dramatic way. Perhaps through an accident or ill-health. And after all that time of witnessing their behaviour which offends you, in that instant you say or think – ‘Yeah. They had it coming. Boo-hoo. Like I cared’. There. That was easy wasn’t it? You didn’t do anything. You are not responsible. You are unsullied. You just spoke your mind, that’s all. Well, yes, you couldn’t help but feel just a little twitch of joy. But that was only natural. Because, after all- they had it coming. Well, yes, that’s fine. Isn’t it?. Let’s move on. And you wish to be spared the hysterical eulogies from their followers or the throw away commentaries from the pundits, etc, etc.

Be honest dear reader. None of us are saints. None of us come close to ‘Pure of Heart’. We take our stance and we have our views. In the scheme of things we may, have not so much a moral high ground, but have the least worst options in one case which in this mess which is Humanity. We may be on the ‘good’ side, well in The Big Picture of The Welfare of Humanity. We may celebrate a cause. Currently you may be cheering on Ukraine’s stand against Russia. So ask yourself this very hard question. Do I accept the losses of tens of thousand of Russian soldiers as a necessity? You can grieve their deaths of course. You can wish they had not happened. But are you accepting them? And if not, then what do you say to Ukrainians, today?

Some choices made are so obviously bad, so filled with a hateful or callous vibe they are repellent to most folk. Then there are the rest where the two, maybe three of four or more sides of the argument come into a jarring kaleidoscopic panorama, that if stared at for too long could tip you off of your allegorical feet. Reaction? What sort of Reaction? Constructive Reaction? When does that tip into Destructive Reaction? Then there is No Reaction? Just what does that mean? Apathy? Or quiet acquiescence, soft enough not to give you guilt by association, you hope. Or maybe paralysed by exasperation- that’s a common affliction, maybe the most understandable and acceptable for most folk, of course it may not be the correct one; there is always the anguished ‘But. What can I do?‘. Who can claim, tired from their ordinary days, they’ve not gone there?

Once more this is not the place where I present you with a tidy Ethical Solution to fit all situations. After all, this post is about Human Nature. Just when was that ever straight forward, neat, simple to package up in a snappy paragraph?

When faced with various levels and themes of Human Disputes, Transgressions and Conflicts, the individual rarely has the same measure of response based on one Ethical Stance, because in addition Emotions play a part and they will be a variable. Yours might be the correct one at the correct time, the unstable place where your previous views of Right and Wrong just do not seem to suit. Your choice. Your reaction. This is not History where you have the opportunity to sift the evidence of what had been and you have no responsibility in the participation. This is happening now, or will happen.

And here I conclude.

Sorry that I have no neat answers or a tidy ending.

Oh, just one last thought hit me.

Watch out for those Inevitabilities, they sneak up on you.

The Day When The Stationery Was No Longer Stationary – #Blog Battle – March Miscellanarian

Posted on 14th Mar 2023 by deteremineddespitewp

Miscellany

To avoid the dangers of The Ethereal stood the ever vigilant Custodians of the Lord God’s Word. Tireless, Evaluators of Sins and Blasphemies, Dispensers of Justice.

Officially.

Custodian Vernünftig had dispensed with this view of the entire Custodial Office. Therein could be found quotas of time-servers, bombasts, opportunists, and fanatics; each adding their own handful of grit into the workings of the Imperial Machine and the Ecclesiastes in particular, through the Sin of Wilful Stupidity. He worked with a pragmatic dictum. Get the job down sensibly you will survive and possibly succeed.

Which made him valued and sent to deal with difficult, often dangerous matters. He could not make up his mind where this current deployment fitted.

*****************************************************************************************************

A small princedom, not very strategic. One lordship within likewise, the noble puzzled more than flustered, welcomed his arrival.

The village did not exude any of the nascent or obvious threats he had grown to discern. The hill was some what abrupt as if someone had put it there to make a point, but not of sufficient dimensions to loom and brood.

‘I can make out the cave Guv’nor,’ Zwanglos said peering through her eyeglass ’Leastways whatever passes for one,’

Respectful to him, eye for detail and spirited. Her common of city speech, barely reverential to the official dictates and naturally her gender barred progress to Custodian. A loss. She would remain his assistant, A Tildelte. They were greeted by a clutch of villagers and the local Translator of The Lord God, a small man who seemed to be bearing the problem with but mild irritation.

‘Good Revered,’ he said as Vernünftig dismounted ‘Has anyone briefed you about the curious events emanating from that cave?’ he gestured with thumb over shoulder in the direction Zwanglos was still addressing with an eyeglass.

‘My Brother in Calling,’ Vernünftig began, and the Translator nodded at the implied sarcasm ‘Was sparse in his report,’

‘Makes a change,’ Zwanglos volunteered ‘Ol’ Geschwollen usually won’t use ten when a hundred will declare his importance,’

‘To be precise,’ continued the Translator ‘He went up the hill, with Holy Book and Staff declaring loudly for the presence to be gone. There was an even louder ‘Be Gone You’, stuff was thrown out and down he came, rolling most of the way. His book and staff are still up there. White as swans he was. He’s recovering, somewhere, safe,’

Zwanglos fidgeted.

‘Can I get up the hill an’ retrieve ‘em Guv’nor?’

‘Yes Tildelte. But you cannot keep them,’

‘Spiffle,’ was the only audible word. He could guess the rest of the litany. While she was off, Vernünftig continued to converse with the Translator.

*******************************************************************************************************

‘So then. How did this all start?’ he might as well have been discussing unexpected early blooming of spring flowers, his preferred approach.

‘A traveller came through. At first we thought he was a bit lost and offered shelter. But the pest snuck out at night up the hill. The first we knew was a sudden bright light from the cave a loud cry of ‘Be Gone thief,’. By moonlight we saw him scampering off westwards never to return. It was never much of a cave more like a dent, one for shepherd to huddle in when it rained. When all that happened. Well I notified Custodian Geschwollen,’ a grimace ended the account.

‘His expertise,’ Vernünftig said, with little solemnity ‘Is more in ensuring adherence to the minutiae of religious decorum,’ he observed his Tildelte’s progress, she had the staff and the holy book ‘I fear he underestimated the problem,’

She had stopped some three quarters of the way, crouched behind a rock then directing her attention to the cave called out.

‘Wotcha! Got time for a chat?’

The illumination was bright even in daylight, the reply ‘Begone’ a boom which unsettled the escort and their mounts, Zwanglos ducked as a shower of small objects erupted from the cave.

‘Please yerself,’ she retorted and pausing to scoop up some of the missiles made an orderly retreat.

‘It’s very deep cave Guv’nor,’ she said on return and began to comb small items out her hair.

Vernünftig, with the eyeglass studied the cave entrance, his practiced eye noting the slightest of hint of two outlines, between which was a greyness. He concluded the larger of the two outlines was the usual which the folk saw, its lighter shade indicating shallowness; therefore the deeper dark was an entrance within an entrance which had recently arisen and he did not doubt leading to some Ethereally bound location.

‘Acorns,’ said Zwanglos, offering him a handful for examination.

‘They are blue,’

‘Noteworthy that. All back to the Age of Conceits. Many experiments going on then. Some reckon as to why The Ethereal Arrived; because of footling about with cheap machines. Dunno why blue acorns though, no records about nowadays. Another thing,’ in her other hand were slender metal objects curled down at each end, since she was getting more animated Vernünftig let Zwanglos continue unabated ‘Now these. Legendary. Staples,’

‘Staples? That’s a new word on me,’

‘Definitely Age of Conceits stuff. You load them into a device. Push paper or parchment into it, thump it, and they fix all the papers together. The LifeGuard probably got one,’ she shrugged.

‘How do we know about them?’

I found out footling about in that old archive of archives, when we was investigating them heretics of Fraud’

‘Oh yes. Very tiresome,’

‘Not so bad,’

‘For you. We need to reflect and approach matters in the dawning,’

**********************************************************************************************

Before sunrise the pair made a cautious approach, Zwanglos with her prize, the staff, Vernünftig never felt the need for one, he indulged her. At the rock Vernünftig halted and called out in a stern, calm commanding tone.

‘Sir. A word with you please,’

There was a pause before the expected demand for him to leave.

‘No Sir. I cannot do that. You are causing upset to the local folk by your sudden, albeit understandable actions. I am obliged therefore to request your discourse,’

There was a silence, Vernünftig felt whoever they were they were thinking over matters. Always a tense interlude.

Then the voice boomed ‘No’

At the first inclination he was diving to cover, counterpointed by Zwanglos standing up staff pointed at the cave entrance.

Objects of varying sizes appeared, just as she yelled ‘Nah ya dont’ and blue flared from the staff, meeting the objects which halted and fell to the ground at the cave’s entrance.

Vernünftig viewed his Tildelte with mild paternalistic censure.

‘You are not supposed to be able to do that Tildelte. Yet, while whoever is shocked scuttle up there and get as many of those objects as you can,’

‘Takin’ me staff,’ she said with heavy dignity.

By the time she was back unscathed, and laying out her booty Vernünftig had made some evaluations, he viewed the variety.

‘What are these?’

‘Treasure Guv’nor. Safety pins. Erasers. Pencils. Sharpeners for Pencils. Plugs – lucky he didn’t have a basin. All sorts of small stuffs,’

‘Thank you Tildelte,’

He strode forth calling out.

‘Sir. Please cease. We have come only to discourse. Know you that you are in another time?’

There was another silence.

Then the voice came out questioning.

‘Another time? How say you? On what assurance have I?’

‘Well come forth?’ and to Zwanglos

‘And you Tildelte put that staff away. It will make the fellow nervous,’

A smallish man came out of the gloom, he was dressed in functional clothes of greys, before his eyes rested glass framed in metal. He peered out.

‘Oh my goodness. What happened to the city?’ he looked up ‘The skies are uncommonly clear. I hear not the sounds of war. All is actually calm. I thought they had come to steal and destroy? Thieves in the night,’

Vernünftig altered his pose, a slouch, hands into pockets, ironic grin.

‘My dear sir. We have much to discuss and educate each other on. We must talk, here and now. We will not be interrupted,’

There was a muted grumbling behind him.

‘Gladsome day Guv’nor. It starting rain and we’re gonna have to sit in the open while Master Mystery has the comfort of a cave,’

‘Be stalwart Tildelte. Our service often requires our discomfiture,’

She had a feeling he was making her squat in the rain for unauthorised use of a Custodial Staff. She pulled up her hood.

‘You have the evidence of your own eyes, ears and nose,’ Vernünftig reasoned ‘Time and circumstances have taken away those surroundings you knew. Were you not aware of the passage of time? Master?’

‘Thaddeus Greylane,’ it seemed as if the fellow was unsure how he felt about the name ‘I am an archivist. Not of wonderous things but the small items which mean much to ordinary folk. It is not a profession with great reputation. Yet, when The Ethereal arrived and under the weight of its implications came the subsequent failure of innovations which had been deemed necessary, then perceptions changed. It seemed as if everyone with any motivation of preservation was trying to store items and information,’ and this point he shrugged ‘And it all came my way. Small objects, books, memory containers, poured, into my offices. There was no help either. So many people were involved in survival, machinery and fighting. The influx was such that I fear my offices sunk somewhat, in a gentle way, which I assumed to be through causes Ethereal, until eventually I was blessed only with artificial illumination. What else could I do, but carry on my work, it was either that or go quite mad,’

‘I see you point,’ Vernünftig said in all sincerity, a not uncommon outcome when in pursuit of or the maintenance of knowledge. ‘Were you aware of detailed events?’

‘I could not say for sure. All measure of days passed by. I had some idea that frightful matters were taking place and unearthly creatures were abroad, but no one or nothing threatened me. I continued and itemised some fifty -seven thousand, four hundred and thirty two major items, each with their sub-categories, averaging fifty-two and then there was the issue of classifications,’

Vernünftig conducted some mental maths.

‘Your archive must be vast,’

‘When one relies on clerical records, yes,’

The man’s whole demeanour had quite relaxed, Vernünftig thus pressed on.

‘Thus came the day when you were aware of someone?’

‘Indeed, a furtive, vulgar air intruded. I was alarmed, all my hard work being pilfered. Not being a person versed in weaponry, I threw disposable things, and tried to sound in authority,’ he peered around Vernünftig ‘I fear your assistants caused similar alarm, although this one less bombast and more protective,’

Zwanglos managed a feminine smile and brief wave.

‘She is young, enthusiastic and loyal. I fear my predecessor lacked diplomacy,’

The fellow had obviously been thinking over matter.

‘So much change, in surroundings, dress, accents. How much time has passed?’

‘The Ethereal,’ Vernünftig began as it seemed common ground ‘Was and still is a vast field for study. You may have travelled through and not passed centuries,’

‘Oh my,’

Zwanglos had squelched up.

‘Ethereal takes a bit of getting used to,’ she said ‘That said. Since you could throw lots of pins and things around I reckons you got Ethereal in you, therefore could be quick on the uptake,’

Vernünftig clapped a hand on her shoulder, she sagged.

‘Splendid idea Tildelte. You will stay here and exchange information with Master Greylane. You are ideally suited .It might take a year or so, but will be good and worthy work,’

He began to pace down the hill.

‘Where you going Guv’nor?’ she demanded.

‘I am going to find that wretch who started this, learn what he knew and what was his purpose,’

**************************************************************************************************

Greylane addressed his puzzled attention to her.

She had to admit such rummaging did sound compelling also bringing the fellow up to date. And she kept the staff.

‘Firstly. Can I come out of the rain?’ she asked, adding ‘Why blue acorns?’

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Our Most Esteemed Trader – #Blog Battle – February

Posted on 16th Feb 2023 by deteremineddespitewp

Medieval

The LifeGuard had completed another task. This one by those of Leopard Company, where questions of morals and ethics never arose. Other LifeGuard left them be to their own small rituals. Like their sergeants and those damn pocket book ledgers. God knew what they wrote in them after every mission. At least you hoped it was God. And it was just red ink.

Rituals are always based on accounts, which usually have at least a sliver of fact in the depths of the Origin.

It was said of Rachmoregin the first emperor of The Oakhostian he risked all, not for himself but for the causes of Unity and Stability of the turbulent lands. Expediency was the gold in his war chest. Many of all ranks were drawn by his constant energies.

Now in his most private of apartments, the morning spring sun doing nothing to raise his mood. Trepidation born of anguished regret heavy upon his shoulders.

In a corner shadowed from the light, a slight man dressed in modest garb sat studying the document. In a court complementary to Rachmoregin. Master Vermittler, Clerke Senior of Provisions, could be taken as a mere functionary doing the will of others. In fact Vermittler, was known for his quietly spoken response to many a challenge of gaining resources ‘Yes. I will attend to this,’

Respected for his renowned ability to navigate through the complex turbulent world of trade and supplies was this Master of Contracts and Obligations. Negotiator and Deliverer.

Rachmoregin recognised a man for a role, whatever position they currently held. Which was, despite his gnawing anxiety why he sat, patiently. Vermittler shared with him an eye for detail. It must be so, the Emperor reasoned for the man never failed to provide. And his fortitude was rewarded as Vermittler rolled up the document looking up with due and plain respect.

‘I understand how at the time this was judged Expedient My Emperor,’ he said shorn of reproach ‘Your adherence to it however will be ruinous. Default is not an option. Renegotiation is necessary,’

‘With these?’ Rachmoregin said gesturing into an apparently emptiness. He rarely sounded aghast.

Vermittler rose and stepped out of the shadows, only the eyes on his pale angular features indicated anything, widened with a thoughtful intensity, fixed upon somewhere beyond the confines of that room. When Vermittler spoke The Emperor felt the words’ meanings were being brought from those distances.

‘Contracts My Emperor are ever transitory things. Even the most secure forged to stand firm in a Court of Law is subject to whims. A turn of Nature laying waste a nation, or a war upending the society, even something as minor as a change of governance and the whole is swept away, sending the once illustrious wealthy, barefoot and in rags to seek scraps. Contracts are unavoidable, but those who build them should ever be aware the need to adapt. All is change My Emperor,’ he considered the rolled up document.

‘Yes, I will attend to this,’

Aldebray The Mage chaffed, while accepting such was hopeless. The Contract he had signed with this Vermittler, who would supply the rare substances Aldebray required, was quite specific about being willing to offer assistance. He had not expected this though. And yet the Court of Mages would find for the trader, reasoning would not do to upset the means of supplies.

‘Each action will literally cost me three years of my life,’ Aldebray protested.

‘Look upon it as a small payment, a possible investment for your peace of mind,’

‘How can Contact with These bring peace of mind?’

‘In Negotiations you may be a minor beneficiary,’

From anyone else but Vermittler that would certainly be bombastic insanity. This fellow though, there was a distance about him, which seemed to be outside of anything other than the base practicalities of trade.

Aldebray set to work, with words, symbols and artefacts; reaching out beyond The World Physical, to The realms of The Lords of The Lands, demonic Zerstorung, creatures feasting on strife and suffering.

The landscape was cloying night, illuminated by roiling flames, sounds of battle. Ranks of hunched soldiers, faces distorted into myriad feral shapes, eyes burning offset by slackened jaws marching off into the maw of conflict, herded by larger bestial creatures wielding barbed whips a’fire.

Some yelled obscene threats at Vermittler. He did not pay heed, all emptiness.

Standing ahead a figure, cowled and burdened with meaningless decorations, a staff of bones held in a clawed hand, features mostly covered, save for a mouth curled in hate.

‘What brings you fool?’ hissed the voice, so filled with loathing it rose above the other clamours.

Vermittler said nothing, he merely produced the Contract, a bitter laugh chittered forth from the being.

‘You come to bargain?’ it mocked.

‘Negotiate,’ came the reply, sure and steady ‘For mutual benefit. Your Master has failed to appreciate this binding is ruinous to them to. They ask for quantity not quality. A poor investment in the future,’

The figure recoiled at his detached judgment, turned its back, muttering in growls, spits and shrieks. Vermittler assumed it was speaking to its masters. Vermittler felt he might have more independence, of a sort, anyhow.

There came the expected rejection, full of anger, hate and distain. Vermittler did not respond with words, only pondering what came as judgement from the Zerstroung lord and what was originating from this representative. He doubted if the demonic creatures would know either, after all there was a mutual incomprehension in what were but two races.

Whether lord or servant gave the command Vermittler was not sure, but three muscle warped things rushed at him, intent on harm.

They passed through him causing no more distress that a sudden fetid summer wind out town’s open drains. They blundered to a confused halt; the creature servant shrieked, whether in frustration or in its Lord displeasure Vermittler could not say.

‘Tell your master this. I have not travelled here in the physical. I was allotted this spectral ability by but a simple human mage. Humanity is adapting to the Ethereal elements and events which brought you to their home world, working with The Ethereal or taking advantage of opportunities arising. The gathering of the souls of all the dead from Rachmoregin’s wars in exchange for vigour supplied to him is wearing thin. The harvest is poorer by the season. These ranks will not suit your lord’s wars and Rachmoregin is fading, others will take his place, using innate cunning and intelligence; they will not need this contract. This will not happen soon, but soon enough. Then in Rachmoregin’s demise this contract will be revealed, and there will be resolve to turn against it, in some part by religion, but in other part by Human’s knack for weaponry. In time there will be machines and devices which will lay waste these lands, a fearful reckoning,’

The servant screamed denial, shook the staff at Vermittler, energies flew at him, his only reaction was to blink, then reply.

‘Tell your masters I wish to re-negotiate. I cannot guarantee them survival, but I can extend their tenure on this world long enough for them to explore other means,’

There followed more screaming, howling and general noise, all of which Vermittler took to be threats. As he did not respond to these there were more physical attempts, all of which flew past or through him. He reflected that he would truly have to ensure Aldebray was recompensed for the reduction in the mage’s life expectancy.

Once the expected storms of outrage had passed, there came what passed for negotiation, involving more unpleasant sounds, and he noted more distress on the behalf of the servant. Vermittler continued to press his case. Instead of these wretched unfortunates swept from the battlefield he would arrange for better quality, those who lived for and off war, the ones who relished others’ sufferings, for they too were not immune to Death’s gaze. There was the obvious objection that they were here already. He countered that they were hiding in the ranks of the others, but with this arrangement they would be open to the more special treatment and melded to suit purpose. For it was obvious wars with other demonic lords were of great importance, and an opportunity to have quality folk whose being exists for the urge to kill should not be passed over.

He pressed on. Did not waver. Continued with the theme that Humanity was enduring and could never truly be subsumed by these methods, if at all. Eventually his casual persistence won the day.

‘How will you do this?’ hissed the servant.

‘To begin with, you will come with me. You will sift through those who die upon the battlefield and send only the truly worthy here,’

‘Worthy’ was the important word to sell to the lord here. All creatures had vanity.

And he sensed the change in the servant’s stance. He had the fellow, with that one swift move. Now they would an additional factor in the tying up.

There was more noise, but when he glanced down the wording of the Contract had changed.

‘Our business here is concluded,’ he said ‘You come with me,’

‘But the new dead for my Lord?’ there was near plaintiveness.

‘Tell him I will attend to this,’

As Vermittler expected his way back was not barred and his new servant followed him.

‘Was I away long?’ he asked Aldebray on return.

‘I have waited two days and one night. Who is this?’ the mage asked gestured to the hunched figure, now in rags.

‘Yes. Who are you?’ Vermittler asked ‘I quite overlooked that matter,’

A human face ravaged by torment peered out, the voice now a cracked broken thing.

‘I have forgotten,’ it said, miserably

‘Hmm. I shall name you Sorrow,’

‘As you wish,’ the fellow said with head bowed.

‘I declare Vermittler,’ tartly said the mage ‘You are showing celestial aspirations. Are you about to re-name me?’

Vermittler looked upon him with some pity.

‘I don’t think it necessary. Examine again the codicil of our contract. I am now your sole employer,’

‘How?’

‘Ask not,’

Aldebray for the next three days and nights tried to go his own way. He could only follow The Merchant.

With scroll Vermittler knelt before Emperor Rachmoregin.

‘I can confirm this contract is now revised and binding My Emperor,’

Rachmoregin read the contents and sighed as he concluded.

‘I felt a weight lift from my being Master Vermittler, yet I must ask can we be sure these creatures will adhere?’

‘You must forgive me this one judgement My Emperor. The original business was badly constructed. These we call demonic folk have little true understanding of the complexities they ensnare themselves into when dealing with Humans,’ he made a casual gesture ‘This intelligence I have garnered from various of those wise and cautious in this field. Daemonics are trapped by this revision,’

‘Can we make good our side?’

‘I have two in my employ who are versed in the subtleties of how to implant the process,’

From once Emperor Rachmoregin discerned a slight humorous twitch of the mouth.

‘It will by folk lore and tradition. Those used to killing ensuring the more deserving cases of the fate are transported,’

Rachmoregin looked puzzled.

‘Will this run consistently?’

‘There are exigencies My Emperor best not discussed,’

In a time centuries hence, in a place remote.

‘I have collected this days ashes Sage Aldebray,’

‘Thank you Friend Sorrow,’ he looked at the gathered greying pile ‘Somehow the work never grows dull. A fortunate state in our Immortality,’

‘Aye,’ over the years Sorrow had become less ravaged, straighter.

As was often, they looked as one towards the room, wherein sat their Master Vermittler. Solitary. Remote.

As he had explained to them. He had accepted the payment of his soul as cost for being one knowing Merchant for Unknowing Humanity’s varied enterprises. Ever balancing costs against benefits. No place for a soul.

The Way Things Work January #BlogBattle-Dynamic

Posted on 19th Jan 2023 by deteremineddespitewp

Out There Navigate

He awoke like wading through jam. There was that rhythm of a brightly delivered knock on his quarters door.

‘Compositor. If you please,’ and there was the high cheery voice.

After the customary reflex swear word Sylan opened one eye.

‘Yeah. On my way ’ the gruff bark was acceptable in the situation.

As the door slid open a slender face, bright yet with some concern looked up at him, at the caller’s side a large dog stood tongue out, tail wagging. Sylan scowled at both.

‘Lady Ensign Croí Eadrom,’ he said being as civil as possible.

‘This is my dog. Reluctance,’ she said in mock sincerity ‘Thus you can see I am disturbing your precious rest with great Reluctance,’

Sylan pinched the bridge of his nose. Irrespective of her superior lineage, exasperation begged he should empty the nearby jug of water over her. Thankfully her whimsicality stilled the urge.

‘We have an issue?’ a fatalistic question. This was the problem with serving on a scout corvette, no room for two shifts of Compositors.

She grimaced remaining wide-eyed, again comic

‘A cluster of titchy Depressions. A light year out and closing. Popping in and out. C’mon,’ she said to both Compositor and dog and they followed, Sylan not sharing the carefree easy canine gait. How and from where? In the meantime he had to consider those fist size version of black holes, darting out of the Four Dimensions seeming not to be adhering to The Speed of Light. Corvettes could dance away from them, the larger the ship, the greater the time and space needed to steer away from them; hence corvettes, a wide gossamer, scouting ahead, seeking these, the latest unexpected and broadcasting the warnings.

When it came to the welfare of the World Craft, five hundred myles long and an irregular width at maximum of a hundred myles, warnings had to be multiplied to scales of years of time to react. Initially all on the shoulders of a few. He supposed that was how it worked. He only dealt in figures, not ramifications.

The Ensign as usual chattered away about how she loved the corvette, the stars, the mysteries of The Universe. She made the whole vista of danger seem, so natural, to be met and respected.

Lorgaire Thall captain of the Corvette Gealbhan was again reading It Doesn’t Work Like That. A somewhat bold treatise on The Ethereal by controversial theorist Maighdean Ardea. Nonetheless he oft referred to it for perspective. Unknown and Unexpected being the trade of The Avant Squadrons. The constant challenge of matching the Four Dimensions with depths of The Ethereal.

‘I maintain this is more evidence of White Hole possibility Captain,’ said his navigator handing him the summary ‘This clutch of Depressions did indeed just appear. Flung out as it were,’

‘The Ethereal was enough of a trial upon The World, Navigator. Out here in the Cosmos these seeming spontaneities would have us believe travel between stars near impossible,’

‘As we journey we learn Captain,’

‘Indeed we do Navigator. At one Inspiring and Humbling,’

‘Once long ago, around and on The World we The Ard Tiarnai thought ourselves knowledgeable above all. The High King did warn us,’

‘Captain,’

Captain, Navigator and Lieutenant of the Watch all turned. Compositor Sylan, typical of his race could not match their physical elegance, yet his eyes bright and manner alert indicated the dexterity so common amongst The Fiontraíoch folk. Woe unto any of the Ard Tiarnai who thought the Fiontraíoch to be lesser folk.

‘I regret having to disturb your rest time. Master Compositor,’ Captain Thall said.

‘The Cosmos is no respecter of our comfort,’ Sylan replied ‘We should be grateful we got this far,’

‘I respect the gloom of your long-term forecasts Compositor,’

‘It would be nice to be wrong on that score, but I suppose Captain, the more persistent we are the more we reduce the possibility. How may I assist you with these Depressions?’

The Navigator laid out the chart and the information dutifully printed from the Assessor machines, and he appraised Sylan of his own estimations. Naturally Sylan listen attentively. Not his place to interrupt a Navigator.

‘May I sit Captain?’

‘Of course Master Compositor,’

Seated he surveyed the evidence, then with all due respect asked the Navigator to repeat his own estimations. The three officers accepted this; novice ensigns were ever lectured not to ever question a Compositor. Sylan set down his thick pad of paper and with an ancient pen began to write. As he did he spoke. His gruff basic accent falling away as his tones turned to a slow steady litany.

‘It bears repeating sirs, if the opportunity arises, you should visit the hub of the Engines of World Craft. Of course Compositors and our like have to witness this majesty. The many chambers, five miles underground set in catacombs so grand in dimensions that if empty a squadron of battleships of the fleets could dock in each. Therein are the devices. The towering grey obelisks inscribed with external wiring like long forgotten runes. Their companions, the shimmering black towers, plain, implanting in an observer the feeling they are watching them with hidden eyes. All connected by intricate patterns of piping veins for miles of secret wirings, and leading far beyond to deeper places wherein lie the vast dangerous machines. Heavy and looking deceptively ponderous as they churn, or slowly spin or grind away supplying the World Craft with its atmosphere, tides, weathers, days, nights, shielding from the uncaringly hostile universe, and by magnificent ingenuity its movement at speed belying the bulk,’

Two pages were by then inscribed with figures, small neat script starting in the horizontal, then veering at occasions into vertical, and back again to level until the script became patterns within patterns.

Sylan stopped and slumped a little over his work, from one alcove on the deck appeared the Lady Ensign Croí Eadrom a raven on her shoulder up in a light steps she moved to Sylan and upon reaching him set her hands gently upon his shoulders, in response he absently patted hers. She and her bird looked to her Captain. Before she could speak, he said, with a sigh.

‘Yes I know Ensign. You come with Grave Concerns,’

At mention of its name the bird inclined its head. The Captain treasured these irreverences of hers.

‘As you wish you may take Compositor Sylan back to his quarters where he may be allowed to resume his rest. Thank you Compositor,’

Mute and now smiling Sylan rose and once more patting the ensign’s hands left the deck. He knew he had been at work, but right now, even though recently formed, the memories were evasive, he would shepherd them in after he rested. The bird hoped onto his shoulder. Her menagerie. Ever the mystery.

On the deck the Navigator examined the figures.

‘Captain. I will need to verify by examination through my two auditors and Assessor machines, but it would seem we need swift evasion of the squadron, alert the sub-fleet on station to act as necessary and to pass this back to fleet command with a strong recommendation they report onto World Craft Naval for them to alert Council and High King that the World Craft should take prompt oblique course from current,’

‘That is indeed a heavy work load Navigator. You must attend without delay,’

Permission given The Navigator left.

‘Lieutenant of the Watch,’ Lorgaire Thall said ‘As we cannot burn up any time waiting, I will be in my quarters drafting the introduction to my final despatch, a task which will take some time. Corvette Gealbhan is now within your charge. Ensure those Depressions are observed for the slightest deviation in path or alteration in speed. Therein will be the only reasons for you to interrupt me,’

Lieutenant of the Watch gave out the necessary orders to all crew on observation duties. In addition to make sure nothing was missed he allocated extra crew to the task. All matters attended to he took his stance, gazing outwards, not action of any use of course; yet you could not help but be drawn to the immensity, a craft had to have its share of viewing ports. No amount of devices could make up for the urge to physically see.

Being alone he allowed himself the luxury of a sigh. There would be no rest for the next five, even ten watches. Any information which suggested The World Craft would have to make even the slightest change in direction would end up being a converted to a political decision. Not just propulsion or direction, but environmental adjustments would be made, even shifts in populations to compensate. How many of the thirty millions he wondered. And there would be those subsequent affects on the productions of support, the shepherding of floral and fauna.

Decisions to be taken upon the entire Dynamics which would start with the information from one speck of a craft. Although the responsibility now weighed upon all of the crew, he was glad to he out here and not back upon the World Craft locked into the entirety of the administrations levels likely to be tasked with coping of any changes.

A door opened, there were soft skipping footfalls.

‘Ensign Croí Eadrom’ he said, without turning ‘Is our Compositor settled?’

‘He rests,’ she said drawing alongside, no bird nor dog in sight, in a most unconventional action she whistled soft ‘How is it possible someone can produce so many figures, so precisely, so quickly, ahead of any machines?’

‘I am sure I do not know. In any case it is not good manners, nor productive to question the nature of any race, nor why within each race some excel at one discipline or another. There is no room for such,’

‘That’s true. Just curious,’ she quipped joining in his gazing ‘We all have our tasks,’ another soft whistle ‘Makes you think though, dun it?’ he winced at he mangling of language ‘I mean. Here we are, all in a flurry over titchy things,’

‘Depressions can carve through a planet’s surface if they strike. The damage to something as delicate as a World Craft is ghastly to imagine. Solid objects we can handle,’ he gestured to the depths, the unseen ‘Those Depressions are unstoppable. All necessary actions must be taken soon,’

‘Yer,’ she continued ignoring the requirements of acceptable speech ‘We’re not so grand are we? We have to keep on our toes,’ one hand drifted into a pocket of her jacket and she brought out a small brown and white rabbit, which she proceeded to cuddle and stroke. ‘Always keep alert I say,’

The Lieutenant had been waiting this, she always did this at some stage, but he’d caught her out, surely.

‘That’s a rabbit,’ he pointed out with solemnity. ‘I would suggest there is not even any lerts,’

‘Rabbits,’ she replied with a dignity so heavy as to be comic ‘Are always alert. Hence her name,’

‘Alert?’ he replied sensing defeat.

‘Quite so,’ she said, and with the rabbit settled on one shoulder popped upon a large pocket, the heads of two mice mouse appeared. ‘These are the Concern Sisters,’ she explained ‘I need discuss with the observation crew their morale, I will explain I have small concerns,’

He shared the rest of the crew puzzlement on how she managed to inspire cheerfulness, or level out tensions with such humour. No one of course discussed just why she was here. It was unspoken. To do so might upset the entire system; each unto their own, on this journey vast to them, but a speck to the Universe.

One slender thread in the pattern of Survival. From here on a corvette to Council of The High King on the World Craft. It was how The Dynamics worked.

One Christian’s Confession

Posted on 6th Jan 2023 by deteremineddespitewp

Left Side Right Side

Sometimes. For better or for Worse. For no specific reason, you just have to try and put down into words on something which will not let you rest. You know you may be risking censure, incredulity, dismissiveness, even mockery. You don’t care though. Whatever it is that drives you to write will not let you rest until the jumble of thoughts are put out there into some attempt at coherence. You don’t even expect to put A Case that will win any sort of approval. You just have to write. Irrespective.

Back about…..several months ago I was going to write one of my ‘Why I Am A Christian’ posts. I was going to take the tack on the universe is filled with wonder and quote all sorts of stats, then tie those up with philosophical lite musings on existence, statements on tolerance and wrap it all up with a conclusion that this how I see it. There were drafts, re-writes and ‘what were you thinking bout when you wrote that!’ interludes (several). As Christmas approached determination beckoned to Get This Done.

And then Events intruded, or maybe challenged, or perhaps just came along in some kind of synchronicity with a Cosmic intention to drive out any complacency or even flippancy masking as ironic humour, because dear reader….that….was…not…going…to…work! Not now. As if it ever should in this world. Nothing like Christmas run-up to bring the arguments / challenges for and against all into sharp relief. I’ll explain.

Local (ie UK) news in December:

Channel Isle- Jersey 8 retired folk killed in an explosion at their small, sedate apartment block.

West Midlands – 4 small boys died when the ice on a frozen lake gave way

Manchester – Woman knocked down and killed when struck by a police car perusing a stolen vehicle.

Christmas Eve – One killed, three injured in a shooting at a pub in Wallesey (Near Liverpool)- A national news event in the UK.

At the night. One killed when their car struck by a vehicle pursued by police- London area. Two died when their car went into the sea at a harbour, near Swansea.

Those are the ones I can recall in the news. I may have missed others. That does not count the accidents, sudden deaths and serious illness diagnosis (I can count three in my personal circle). OK, maybe it is possible to be compassionate and fatalistic and philosophical in one’s own comfy bubble. But four young lads on ice? How does anyone justify that in the Cosmic Scheme? Dare you use The Folly That Are Humanity’s Errors excuse in that case??? And do not try and tell me that such heart-breaking events are all part of God’s Plan. I am simply not buying into such a Detached or at the other side Complacent view. Not for the sake of the children, their families, friends, neighbours, rescue service crews and so on. Or in those other cases.

I can circumnavigate the issues on Wars, Catastrophic Accidents, Damage to Humanity through Natural Events, even diseases. I can fill pages laying the blame at the door of Humanity itself for most things on the basis that this was a world gifted to us and we have the free-will and it is we who are screwing up. You call that Inflexible?. Dear reader I can, on an internally stormy day bring us all into the cycle of blame, citing politics, economics, social trends to name but a few no problem. Don’t blame God. Don’t say it proves there is no God. Don’t try and shift the blame. Don’t try and wriggle out with the ‘There Is No Free Will’ get out clause. I can chew them all up. And point the finger back at We The People.

But kids falling through ice, when playing? Folk mown down by speeding cars? Exploding residencies? How do those random, tragic, spirit breaking events fit in? My dear wife who was brought up in all sincerity with the notion of a Guardian Angel is now very scathing on the topic. As I said earlier The All Part of God’s Plan gets no room with me, and pity help anyone who tries to even suggest to me such events are judgements; if that were the case there should be a whole lot of folk spontaneously dropping down dead right now.

So, NO. NO I can’t explain, I can’t justify. Probably some might try and suggest, it’s all to do with degrees of scale. Dozens, Hundreds die and it’s just ‘news’. If it’s smaller numbers and children, it hurts. Some will analyse the various Human responses. That’s fair enough on the Human Secular Scale and folk will accept that. However if I try and quote, say Luke 12 6-7….

⁶Are not five sparrows sold for two farthings, and not one of them is forgotten before God?

⁷But even the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear not therefore: ye are of more value than many sparrows.

Then am I not risking getting a very hollow laugh in response? Indeed there are many theological and honest faith-based answers there. The trouble is, how do you use them when innocent folk die? How do you convince folk that your faith is based on something? And dare you say them to the grieving, in their raw unimaginable anguish?

At this stage in such a post it would be traditional for me either to. (A) Offer up a confession that my faith has evaporated and I can no longer belief (B) Slog on with some convoluted explanation which might relate to folk of faith but no one else (C) Go Cosmic. Link Life with the Rest of the Universe and degrees of scale and lose everyone irrespective of beliefs after the fourth sentence when the readers give out in one big collective….. UH?

OK. So none of the above will have a universal, ‘popular’ appeal. Thus I have to be starkly honest about this issue of God, Faith and Tragedy.

I…Do not…Know. I have no answer for you.
I have my Faith.
You know how that works? You have your ‘Something’, be that Theistic, Atheistic, Spiritual, Political, Social, Cosmological or a mix of all. You have your ‘Family’ be that by Blood, Societal or Friendship (wide labels). You have your…‘Something’. You know there are flaws, you know some of it / them drive you crazy, test your limits and yet you are still drawn back there…. Just because.
So that’s what I have.

Without sentiment though. I’m sure I could quote a biblical quote to cover that, but right now I’m not the one to use such, on ‘paper’. You have to be careful of the Written Word, it does not always convey meaning too well. No, I’m just one person with a set of beliefs I hold to, ones which don’t make me better than someone with another set. I hold to my beliefs.
I just question some of the teachings my fellow believers bring to the debates.

And I have no theistic answers why in the proverbial Scheme of Things little boys playing on one winter’s day drowned in an icy waters.

Maybe there are none.

That’s the problem with Faith. It’s not a comfort blanket.

It’s a…

Your turn. You fill in the blank as you see it.

Musings on Music. Or. Pronouncements on People and Music.

Posted on 2nd Jan 2023 by deteremineddespitewp

Music

Music has been a part of my life for a number of years. Thus follows observations learnt during that journey.

The music which is discovered in your youth leaves many lasting impressions. Amongst these can arise the abiding notion that the music you discovered then is the only one of true value and that anything after is pale, manufactured and over-hyped. It is difficult to shift this belief. I look back to the 1960s with great fondness. A time remembered as rich in memories of innovations, vibrancy and colour. The charts seemed alive with gems. LPs & EPs opened up new worlds of excitement. When you are young and usually short of experience this feeling is common. You want to be seen different and ‘wise’ to the ‘new world’. Later years will shave away that optimism, but Music lives on in your head, heart and soul. The opening chords hit you, and you are ‘Back There’. Not that there were not some money-grabbing atrocities, puerile knock-offs, snobbish indulgences or ones that now cause a ‘What was I thinking of,’ wince. Of course, be honest, that is how ‘You’ or I think of them. (I have a whole collection of incendiary opinions from the 1960s & 70s I keep locked up in a bunker in the back of my mind; I don’t mind infuriating the public at large I just don’t want to upset some good friends who might hold those songs dear.)

A brief journey into You Tube comments sections will find the same observations for every decade (or half-decade) since, along with that lamentation about the offering of subsequent eras. And we’re all guilty at some stage of indulging in this. This dyspepsia can often be put down to the mood one is in at the time. Over-blown nostalgia. Simple grumpiness. Or you heard something current which you dislike but can’t get the thing out of your head.

Therefore although the words and the melodies of the celebrations, laments or dismay differ, the theme carries on. Music eternally reaches down into our deepest parts and brings forth emotions, across the whole spectrum even into the seemingly irrational devotion or dislike of the song. Music knows no boundaries, it defies all your other norms. Take these examples: The ‘right’ song and the most sober person is suddenly in their mind ‘there’ in the mosh pit, even living it out with a few good friends in private. They are conducting the orchestra in a soaring classic work. Playing a country ‘air’ guitar and lamenting lost love. And all the myriad styles (pick up your hair brush or air guitar and let rip no one is looking) .

Yes there are terrible songs, to you and me anyway, there are styles which grate you, and me. There are purveyors and artists we do not care for. There are songs we thought we still loved, but memories are mischievous pixies and when we actually listen to them again, we realise we only have the memories of how the music sounded ‘then’.

Know this though and know it well. There are no bad eras. We, of whichever generation do not have the right to judge what is coming out of another era. There are aspects and trends we can voice comments, even concerns about, as long as we don’t bring White Privileged Tailored Religion, or My Excuse To Be Vile Because of My… to the debate. We do not have to be part of everything, we should not try. Our individual complex composite characters* will not fit into everything, anyhow and anyway. We can say but one thing using whatever vernacular fits us. With reference to my 1960s youth I chose.

‘Sorry man. This an’t my scene man. And that’s the bag I’m in. You keep on keeping on though,’

*individual complex composite characters – ICCCs- Remember you read it here first……No copyright applies……

Comes A Time… (The Social Media Computer Programmers Had It Coming). Musings on Shortcomings.

Posted on 6th Dec 2022 by deteremineddespitewp

When I Want Your Help….

I was going to address another topic then on my ‘page’ was this insipidly coloured phrase ‘What is the one thing you would change about yourself?’. Were it not for the unhappy experiences of one of my good friends ‘Scottie’ at Scottie’s Playtime I would have been having a WTE (What The Earth- THE polite version- We must strive to keep an All Ages profile) interlude. But apparently, according to one of those hapless souls who work under the burden of being termed a ‘Happiness Engineer’, and I quote:

“The idea behind the feature was to help people with inspiration for writing blog posts”

To be brief, the day I need help from any WP programme to write my blogs is the day I know I have nothing left to say, and thus will shut down said blogs and watch Netflix, negotiate with the garden and plants on how they want things done, and playing board games (military and RPG).

This is also an insult to the blogging community in general as someone in WP has assumed that there are hordes of well-meaning folk who want to have a blog but have not the wit to write anything and need to be guided into various topics. If ‘What is the one thing you would change about yourself?’. is an example this tactic is as much use as a paper tissue party hat in a rainstorm. Bloggers and readers of blogs know it is a competitive world out in the Planet Blog and you had better come up with something original or catching, and not the invitation to an existentialist musing which has already been written from all directions, serious, and comical.

Or maybe on reflection I am being a bit too harsh, perhaps there is inspiration from these unwelcome, variable, inane comments. But maybe the folk at WP do not want to read the results.

Wait. I am not done yet

If the previous incident was not incendiary enough to send most respectable writers and bloggers reaching for allegorical pitchforks and burning brands, then as we all know there is vast range of combustible cyber material on there. Consider this one which has made itself known to a vast number of users…

Something Went Wrong
If you have not yet encountered it, then steel yourself.

There you are trying to access something, or are half way through something when all goes down and you get this message. No indication as to what went wrong, no hint as to the user, other than to ‘try again’ you are left there devoid of assistance or direction, quite aware ‘something went wrong’ Once you have calmed down and spared your innocent machine from a ruinous demise, it is time to muse on the business. Here we are in the 21st century on the cusp of quantum mechanics and physics being any everyday tool in computer work, and yet when there is an error all that the progammers can come up with is ‘That Something Went Wrong’. They have created these systems, evolved them, and yet obviously do not have the control we expect. We are left to conclude that the age of incomprehensible computer speak with numbers obscure abbreviations and a proliferation of full stops when there is a problem has gone. In their rush to supply speed and a galactic number of apps, programmers have lost control, and we are left with…

‘Something Went Wrong’

I cringe, shudder and weep at the thought of this message being used to the more physical aspects of the world, somebody, somewhere looks at the damage, shrugs and says ‘Something Went Wrong’

I conclude this, rather satisfied that I did not resort to virulent sarcasm, and very, very bad words; let me not be tempted to push my luck.

For there is worse out there.

In the Name of Merciful Gods or Reason. Or What-Have-You.

I do not know if you have encountered this one. It may be a quirk of Microsoft Edge alone. However; there you are typing out a familiar address or clicking onto a favourite and suddenly up pops an insipidly coloured page with a message that start with ‘Hmmm….’, I have never absorbed the details beyond that because an incandescent red mist descends. I am faced with a failure in the communications network and am given a message with ‘Hmmm.’ suggesting the problem is nothing to do with anyone at Microsoft, it is something I have done wrong and they are treating me with the gentle distain of a visiting uncle looking over a child’s shoulder at their homework. (unless that is computer homework, it which the uncle had best stay out of it)

I would suggest that the person or persons who thought up this one have never had to deal face to face with an irate member of the public. I would venture to suggest further that if they did treat a member of the public like this and were assaulted, then in the subsequent legal proceedings that despite the best efforts of any Microsoft Legal team the judge and jury would look leniently upon the said member of the public, even to the extent of awarding them damages.

I would suggest for the long-term safety and well being of whoever these remote folk might be they should consider replacing ‘Hmmm.’ with ‘Sorry’ for I am sure Micrsoft lose a number of customers this way (this is a restrained comment).

Conclusion

Anyone who works in a specialist field (and these days it would seem most of us), will be swift to approach criticism on our task with one variation or another on the lines of ‘Yes. But what the public don’t realise….’ .And I daresay computer folk have whole libraries of responses. However, and there always is an However. Computers invade all aspects of our lives in work, leisure, well-being and so forth. Thus saying.. ‘Yes but…

Guys, it does not cut it….

Do better.

Finally, for the next time I get one of these irritants from you I shall restrict my responses to a mature and seasonally gentrified

Some Musings Inspired by…. Not Too Sure What

Posted on 5th Dec 2022 by deteremineddespitewp

plato

Despite the fact that there is a risk a lot of the old seasonal joy for one reason or another has been sucked out. It is still a season to be Quirky

And since it is supposed to be religiously inclined season

Some religiously inclined or inspired musings

Is the current pre-pre presidential nomination spat between ex-occupant of the Whitehouse Trump and Govenor of Florida De Santis with Trump’s threat to form of third party and thus tear apart the Republican Party God’s way of saying to the rest of us ‘Hey guys. I’ve got this covered,’?

There again

Considering the proliferation of popularity and adherence to one of possibly one of the most idiotic beliefs ie Qanon. Is it possible that down in Hell Satan is saying to his devils and demons ‘Hey guys. Don’t fret none. I’ve got this covered,‘?

And yet

Evidence of God’s Unfathomable Love is the fact that we are still around. Although don’t get too complacent, there’s some unsettling evidence in the Old Testament that like all parents, His patience is not infinite. (Sobering, Wry Humour or Just Another Christain Sounding OFF? I dunno, you decide – Meanwhile all challenges to my personal faith will be explained in a post coming here, sometime before 25th December)

About that previous one. Here are some thoughts on perspective.

Earth- 4 billion years old. Life 3.5 billion (about). Humanity (sort of) about 1 million- tops. Current estimated life expectancy of Planet Earth about 7.5 – 8.0 billion years. Even if we make it to another million, that’s only 0.00025 of the whole time span. Be humble people.

Gee- That’s a BIG universe. (Latest estimate 90 billion light years and counting). Gosh- Are quarks that small. (43 billion-billionths of a centimetre).

Put those those two together and on a cosmological scale and you’ll know how a quark feels. Like I said, be humble people.

Ok, I’m done for today

And Another Thing Concerning Odd Motivations

Posted on 30th Jun 2022 by deteremineddespitewp

This is subsequent to the post

From Unexpected Places (Something Concerning Odd Motivations)

Concerning the throw away ending “And I do believe I have inadvertently created a template for a book cover.”, this comment related to the image I had created for the post:

Inspiration and Themes

Occasionally one of the Muses nudges me off to Canva https://www.canva.com/en_gb/ to see what can be created from its free images and various tools. Of late when manoeuvring multiple images, I decided to experiment with its ‘Transparency’ facility (top right of the horizontal menu bar, look out for the square made up of squares, fading left to right). This allows you to click onto an image placed on top of another, then drawing the cursor from right to left reducing the depth of the image from 100%, until you have a suitable transparent effect. This allows you create a montage, as you will see above. With some careful twiddling (excuse the technological language) you can click from image to image nuancing the depths of each. Because Canva tends to give you geometric borders to each image using Transparency allows you to diminish or accentuate the borders as you see fit. And you can spend a quite fun-filled creative interlude exploring possibilities.

So, to elaborate on the theme of the previous post I called in Canva. Because the tale in question takes elements of SF with ten dimensions involved and one of those ‘palace’ plots beloved of High Fantasy, there are bound to twists and oddities in all direction, plus some mischief. I therefore wanted a montage, chaotic yet with some geometry involved (Quantum influence). The first image was paradoxically a fantasy castle but overlaid with a galactic scene to set the theme of drifting through realities. After this some pastoral, a smidge of steampunk, over on the top left the faint outline of a pixie/fairy and diagonally opposite another piece of starscape, for contrast. Then eyes. Eyes are always good to add ‘that air’. Finally in the bottom left corner the faint hint of mischief. I have to admit I was pleased. There may be a little bit of tinkering, only a smidge though.

The great benefit being the influence images, physical, musical or mental have on my writing. It would not be the first time the book cover influenced my final draft. On this occasion the cover nearly preceded the plot, and now firmly set in my mind, the cover draws me on. For The Cover must have a book worthy of the image. Maybe not the most secure or highly recommended of approaches to drafting a novel, and yet one which is proving worthwhile for dragging me out of a bit of a ditch.

Inspiration. You just have to love the unpredictability of Inspiration.

Writing Despite Computers and Programmes

Writing writing and more writing

Category Archives: Perspectives