Thursday, September 21, 2017

The Package.

"Right so lets go through it all over again Mr Rosenkitten!"
"Right from the top?"
"Yes Please,"
"And it's Rosenkvitten, not kitten please."
"Yes please, right  from the beginning."
"So it's a business,"
"The boxes,"
"Yes the boxes, lockers, mail boxes. I've got boxes from big business like Gung-Ho, you know the purple ones. You buy something from their website and if for some reason you don't want it sent to your prehab address you nominate this block here. This ones called Betty for some reason. Ken, the Gung-Ho guy, I've known Ken for years now. Well Ken turns up probably every other day, in that big old clapped out purple hover van of his. Gung-Ho emblazoned down the side in the garish font they use. Well it's never just Ken, he always has some kid with him. The kids don't seem to last long so I never really get to know their names, but Ken, like I said, known him for years. One of them brings the stuff in, the other watches the van. Can't leave the van alone especially not in this sort of neighbourhood. Well the punter either leaves a package or is picking one up. Their given a code, one of the lockers opens up and they either deposit something or pick something up. I don't ask, I have a reputation for being discreet. Ken comes along and empties all the lockers puts them in the van then the kid comes in and fills them with the deliveries, Ken and the kid have special codes for that. Then the punters pick their stuff up later once notified over the mesh."
"So the package was in the Gung-Ho lockers? They should be able to provide a traceable log then?"
"They would be able to if the thing was in one of their lockers."
"It wasn't in one of the Gung-Ho lockers then?"
"A few years back I branched out with my own boxes. You know address of convenience. You see the grey boxes next to the purple ones, those are mine. You rent them on a monthly basis. I don't ask too many questions, they're not big enough for anything really dangerous, a small package, letters. as I say address of convenience. See this unit isn't like the rest of the prehabs in the block. It's an ex security transport crate. One of the split ones with extra protection to the inside half"
"So you have more boxes inside the other half??"
"Don't be stupid. I had them plumb the thing up like a prehab, water, electric, comms. I live in the other half. Safest prehab in the block. But there's some not so lucky. Slipped through the cracks. Look between the blocks, behind the main streets. You find the cardboard city. The dispossessed, the homeless. Now they can't get medical benefits, official documents etc without a proper address. Some of them have a few valuables they want to keep safe, can't leave them on the streets. So I rents boxes to a few of them. They can leave stuff in them, or even use them as postal addresses, all sorts"
"So it was one of them?"
"This is what I was trying to tell you. I rented a box to a Mr Smith, scruffy, down on his luck. Only the boxes are DNA keyed to customer. Makes them more secure. Personal. Once the key is matched only they can use it"
"So it was Mr Smith who had the package?"
"No not that Mr Smith. Another one!"
"Sorry you're loosing me again."
"I rented the box to one of the homeless guys. He had all the right documentation, ID etc, for Mr Smith."
"You check it on presentation?"
"No I don't need to, it's all scanned as you come in. That slightly oversized door frame does all the works, all the frequencies plus infra and hi-sec. So you can't bring in dodgy cards, or or use hookey ID chips. So as far as I knew Mr Smith was on the level."
"So it was Mr Smith that had the package then"
"Look I don't remember him actually bringing anything in apart from the first time. it was just documents from what I could see."
"So when did the package arrive"
"That's the thing. All I remember is the smell. fishy. I asked Ken to check all his lockers but he said there was nothing in his. He cleans them out every month, disinfects them and all. Very professional, very hygienic.
It's just that about a month later some different homeless guy comes in and presents the lot again."
"What?"
"Mr Smiths cards, and the key. Says he's an nephew, and his uncle has died, and gone and left him the lot. Not actually that much but the documents and the key. Say's it took him a bit of time to track down what the key belonged to."
"But the door would have warned you?"
"Yes the thing is wired real time into local law enforcement channels, partly for my protection but for the customers as well."
"Please spare me the sales pitch. Go on"
"Well that was it, Mr Smith junior presents the key, it's scanned as clean so I can only take his word for it. If he was lying then the cards at least would be all over the mesh as dodgy, but they had scanned clean. So I reset the key and he went straight to the locker and pulled out the box."
"That's when you saw it?"
"Well yes it sort of flopped out of the top. I don't think he realised I saw it."
"The tentacle?"
"Yes, that's when I gave the station a call, because of the news bulletins all over everything the other day. The Ceph kid."
"But did you actually see it?"
"No!"
"Damn all you've really given me is the dead homeless guy murdered round the corner may, or may not, have been called Smith, but it's unlikely, and another homeless guy is now the same Mr Smith, and I’m no closer to the missing seph meta kid, or what these people want with her."
"Look Mr Rosenkitten I'm not even sure whether to thank you or just charge you with wasting police time."
"It's Rosenkvitten, and I thought there was some sort of reward."
"So far you've given me two bits of undistinguishable vid and the possibility that the kids in the cardboard city. Not a lot to go on. The kid could be light years away by now, or some ones lunch. I'll be in touch, we may work out some creds for the time."
With that the officer left and I haven't seen him since.

Wednesday, September 20, 2017

Writing And The Loss Of Love.

 {Short note: I found this in my "Drafts" folder, from about five years ago but decided to publish it as is]

I find myself yet again over burdened by the futility of life.
I'm watching a film about writers (“the tenants”), I'm watching a film about writers falling in love (the same film) with the same girl. I'm finding myself unmoved, but uncomfortable. Both by the aspect of love and the aspect of the writers. The main character is putting his life on hold for an eventuality (to use his phrase) “once I've finished my book!”
Recently I keep finding myself watching films, and plays, and other programmes about writers. Finding myself more and more depressed by them.
The reason I find this film disturbing is, on the one hand identifying with the writing aspect (if not in reversal), the other hand is not identifying with the love aspect.
Continuously through the film the main character is putting all aspects of his life on hold (as I mentioned to finish his book). Not being able to allow for any aspect of his life to change, lest it disturb his creative flow. He is the last tenant of a block of flats because he refuses to move as all other tenants have. I identify probably because I keep coming up with excuses as to how, and why, not to write. I identify with the dysfunctional aspect of not admitting it's me that is stopping me write, or committing to the writing.
I often talk about the long term study I am making of symbolism, and how people apply it to themselves, with particular emphasis on occult symbolism.
Why do I mention this?
On the love aspect, probably bolstered by the fact I've spent the afternoon watching detective programs (particularly Morse, and Frost). Who seem to be incredibly lonely and isolated, even dysfunctional, when it comes to women at least. As I watched the film all I felt at the romantic parts was a hollowness. I am beginning to think that perhaps it's another area of my life where I put things on hold for too long.
I think I am focusing on their dysfunction, and loneliness because that is how I'm beginning to feel myself. I'm seeking the similarity, and identifying with that which I am beginning to see is wrong with my life at the moment.
I have spent quiet a few years remaining conspicuously single on purpose. Mostly from the point of view that a relationship built from combined effort to combat problems, tends to fall apart once the opposition has been surmounted. Say if you spend years struggling to pay debts, or overcome money worries, once the problem is solved the bond in the relationship breaks down.
To this end, by my own particularly twisted little logic, I have spent years trying to get a reasonable job, decent money, and cover the mortgage without worrying too much. to this end I have avoided (apart from a couple of drunken indiscretions and what I can only describe as a very confusing period when I wasn't going out with someone, a sort of not relationship, funnily enough not the first not relationship I've been involved in) any sort of relationship, choosing to turn down any offers from friends or family to set me up with anyone.
It's this that is beginning to worry me. Perhaps I have spent too long alone to start actually feeling anything for anyone. I am beginning to feel further and further disassociated. I'm worried that I no longer know how to start the process again now that I feel I should.
OK it's back to my plain pasta (with black pepper and butter), and “Practical Magic” on the telly. Yet again (to quote Sandra Bullock) “at times my heart feels so empty, I'm sure if you put your ear to my chest you could hear the sea!”
If only magic were as simple as they portray it here. A quick rhyme, the throwing of some herbs, burn a candle and that's that. Sod all my preparation both physical and mental, drawing circles and incanting.
If only the “Buffy Wiccan” thing worked. I'll have a pinch of Eris, a little of Freya, spirit of the sky, spirit of fire, spirit of water, spirit of earth, a meeting of minds, a length of time, and a companion to hold.
I stil await the 
May all your gods smile upon you.




Collecting Things.

When I say I collect things I don't just mean the obvious. Not just the records (vinyl), or the CD's, DVD's, books, the Lego etc, that's obvious, but what I'm talking about is more ephemeral. Not just the people. One of the advantages of having worked so many places doing so many things (possibly a whole other post, or two, in that one theme there) giving me so many people from so many places, the vast depth and breadth of humanity suffering from delusions of their own competence (it still amazes me how badly people can fuck things up whilst still being totally convinced they are doing the right thing). What I think I'm really talking about (here, now) is the huge opportunity the mobile phone camera has given me. I can often be found taking pictures of what seem to be the most mundane things. Though I am enamoured with architecture and often will waste time taking pictures of buildings (Westminster tube station being one of my favourites) sometimes just because the light has changed, and is showing me another aspect of them. Here I am being particular. I have in my mind the construction of a vast space, most likly a space station. It is the minutae that draws me. The numbering of rooms in buildings. Doors and cuboards. The placing of posters on columns. Closed circuit cameras. Switching boxes, and wiring ducts. It's these pieces that makes a scene believable. it's the cheecky sticker on the escalator step that is just a picture of an electric plug socket, which is only seen when the stairs are running. Or the addition of some little phone number stuck on someone else’s poster.
So don't be surprised if you find me in some dark corner taking a picture of some old dusty fuse box, it's just another prop to the orbiting station i'm slowly building in my head.

Tuesday, September 19, 2017

Fifteen Minute Writer.

First I let me point you at this book:

The 15-Minute Writer: How To Write Your Book In Only 15 Minutes A Day Kindle Edition

One of the joys of my commute is the time I find available to read. I am now reading more than I probably have in the last twenty years (since I went to university). One of the most recent "books" (I put the phrase in inverted commas as I think it's only really a pamphlet pretending to be a book) is the one linked above. It proposes a schedule of fifteen minutes writing a day. I have already failed the schedule because I didn't write yesterday so am doing two fifteen minute sessions today.

So this is the first attempt. I have decided to revive the blog. So expext a bit more waffle here then.

Sunday, January 22, 2012

Rubber - meekon5 - review.

Despite a name that caused some raised eyebrows in discussion at work the next day as I tried to describe the film, this film is a little gem.
Whilst at university I had the opportunity to extend a couple of interests of mine, namely philosophy and film studies as part of one of the modules of my degree.
I also have the pleasure of a group of friends who share my love and interest in films, but more on the "Shit Film Club" (of which I'm sure any number of variations exist) at some later time.
I mention this because we tend to play silly games where each of us are looking for more unusual (read bizarre) little obscure films.Especially knowing each others likes and dislikes. This films discovery (for my group of friends) is Pete's work.
At once post modernist, and surreal in turns. Without giving too much away there is a scene early on where a character seems to break the fourth wall and addresses the audience directly,only for the the camera to turn round afterwards to reviel an audience in the film that he has been addressing.
For a film that follows a tyre that develops psychotic tendencies and goes on a killing spree.
Not a film for everybody, but a good film if you can take the surrealism, and the flip flop of dipping in and out of Post Modernism.

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Saturday, January 21, 2012

The Social Network - meekon5 - review.

For years I followed Barry Norman on the BBC's Film (insert your favourite year here 1972 to 1998 with a small break 1982-83). Now I cant say I always agreed with his reviews, in fact I probably disagreed with more than the ones I agreed with, but what I liked about Mr Norman was that he was consistent, and in the end I could judge whether I would enjoy a film from the tone of his review even if he slated the film.
I don't think anyone (Mr Ross, or the other two) have come anywhere near Mr Normans style or consistency.
I mention this because I aim at this myself. I don't expect to be as good a film reviewer as Mr Norman I just attempt to attain his consistency. I hope those of you who read this will come to be able to read these reviews, and if not agree with them at least get some idea as to what the film is and if you would enjoy it even if I didn't.
All I have to say about "the social network" is that if this was meant to be an attempt to make me the viewer feel any sympathy for Mark Zuckerberg by telling the story from his point of view, it didn't. I started the film thinking he was a bit of an arrogant knob (imho), and this film did nothing to dispel this point of view. As far as I can see he was an arogant knob who stole a bunch of ideas off his friends then paid them off. No sympathy.
I'm led to believe the sound track is very good if you don't spoil it by having to watch the film at the same time.
I don't want to start giving films points out of ten but I think there are better films to spend your time watching.

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Friday, January 20, 2012

Source Code - meekon5 - review.

OK to start with I suppose I owe you some sort of explanation. I have started to work through my backlog of DVD's. As I am now watching quite a few films in the week, I have decided to try to review them here. Each time I finish a film I will try to take a picture of the cover then blog here, rather than try to describe the plot and my impressions to everyone, I can just point them here.
I have to say I was somewhat surprised by this film. That is nicely surprised. I am always wary of films (or books) that refer other films (or books) in terms of "The New". As in "The New Lord of the Rings", or in this case "The New Inception". I always feel you can bet that any film that has to say this is of course going to be nothing like the hype they are pushing.
Having heard from a number of sources that Inception was a brain twister then being really disappointed with it, I was expecting this (Source Code) to be a poor attempt at what was a poor attempt at over intellectualised psychological sci-fi. I was really surprised, though the story is a little contrite, it does stand up on it's own and is nothing as bad as Inception.
A soldier wakes up in someone else's body. There then ensues an almost groundhog days round of the soldier returning to the same eight minutes on a doomed train. Avoiding a lot of the usual time travel paradoxes by being set in a virtual environment.
It's defiantly worth seeing.

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Sunday, May 09, 2010

Chapter 07 - Café Take Two.

I look in the mirror. Standard issue militia urban combats, black with a neat waist length jacket , topped off with a captains cap. I've chosen the orange piping and insignia of a captain in the local militia for the last couple of days. A sparse selection of weapons, mostly knives and hand guns will do. I don't want to draw too much attention to myself, it's meant to be a covert op until uncle has had chance to hire him.
After two years of wearing hi-tech combat make-up it's a joy to only have to apply a little cosmetic. Blusher and lipstick. I had to have a weeks reconstruction on my face and hands after the last tour of duty, just to get their youthful glow back again.
I've been following him for days now, “Good practice for you!” Uncle said.
The Café Venue for dinner every day. Just to sit and sulk there over a couple of beers as he dribbles over the refurb. He's probably been like this for weeks now, old spacers get a bit station sick if they're lock bound for too long.
The tells in his corridor squeak and the vid feed kicks in. I check the clock on my mesh. “Right on time Ramadan, my friend.” predictable as usual.
He's cautious but not as clever as he thinks he is. I see him scan the corridor, like he knows I'm watching, but can't work out where the tells are. It makes me grin. I can get to the lobby a minute or two before he hits the ground floor. I wait surreptitiously reading a mesh page or two on pad whilst waiting for him in the lobby by the concession stands. The lift chimes and out he walks. Off down the corridor towards the recreation deck and his favourite table in Café Venue. I could almost set my mesh chronometer by him.
Tipping the wink to the concierge, a man in the families pay for many years now, I follow at a discreet distance trying not to get noticed, slipping in and out of doorways until the street becomes more populated, and I can walk in the middle of the crowd, hidden in plain view.
He stops at the usual vendors. The news stand for any new off station publications he may have missed. The postal box he maintains on the station just in case any documents have arrived or other ancient flotsam his intelligent agents may have dug up, and purchased , for him has arrived whilst he's been away. Then into the dark seedy interior of the café.
I wait a minute or so, so as not to be obvious, then sneak in and take my position at the bar. Easy observation of the one set of stairs to the upper level of the bar. He'll settle for an hour or two and I can wait him out. I've taken a couple of suppressors so I can easily sit and drink without any danger of it impairing my effectiveness.
Time passes slowly. I keep myself to myself, just reading and drinking, waiting for him to move on. Playing the off duty militia the best I can.
“Hello darling.” One of a couple of Ruffs I notice crawling in earlier has decided to try his luck.
“Not interested brother.” I reply, as politely as I can.
Trying not to shudder at the thought of him getting any nearer than he is now.
“Ah come on lady don't be like that. We've been running long shift for three months now and just thought you would want to party. We've just been paid so no expense spared. How about it?”
“I said I wasn't interested brother, take a hint and back off before I have to hurt you.”
I'd forgotten, unfortunately the mods I'm carrying are special ops grade so don't really show to the untrained eye, or general issue mesh.
Their laughter rings hard and harsh throughout the bar. I see a couple of individuals skip out before things get nasty.
The nearest Ruff moves in and tries to grab me by the arm.
Just as I step back to get a decent distance to hit him hard, I look up to see Ramadan stepping out of the door. “Bollocks!”
I flick my eye up to the mesh icon to activate combat stims. Endomorphines and adrenalin pumps into my system with an audible roar. The Ruff is looking somewhat confused as his helpless hand hangs in the air where I had been standing. I push it away step into his personal space and grab him warmly by the balls. He misinterprets this gesture for a millisecond and begins to smile. I twist and push down and the smile becomes still born on his lips. The scream could be heard three blocks down, He crashes to the floor in an unconscious lump. The Barman reaches for his coms and punches the panic icon. The Ruff, his friend has raised from the chair. I leap over the prone body and land a foot squarely into the others face. His features slide sideways painfully as I bring the other foot round in a closed twisting motion. His neck vertebrae pop and he collapses to the floor.
The local militia surge through the door mob handed with weapons drawn. Unfortunately too many of them for me to take on at once. They come to a halt just inside as the site of the two ruffs and the broken furniture processes.
“Hands behind your head!” The Sargent yells with a slight quiver in his voice.
I comply, gently and slowly raising my hands, palm towards them so they can see I have no weapons. “Cuff her!” He squeaks at one of the subordinates.
Fifteen officers all standing there guns drawn pointed at little me.
“Well is one of you brave enough to step up?” I taunt
“Shut up! Shut up. When I want your opinion I will ask for it” He looks left and then quickly back to me. The barman is whispering in his ear obviously describing the events that have just passed.
“Davis, front and centre. Get those cuffs on her, and careful, she's not what she seems, from all accounts.” He nods in the direction of the barman, then towards the two lumps of unconscious Ruffs.
Davis slowly edges forward. Still pointing his gun at me. He waves down with it, so I drop to my knees. Gingerly he takes one hand and twists it down behind my back. The cuff seals itself around my wrist as he twists the other arm round and down the other cuff moulds itself to my wrist, then binds with its companion.
Another officer sneaks forward and holds my head back as Davis holds the retinal scanner to my eye.
Davis squeaks again and passes the hand-held unit to the Sargent, who in turn turns very pale and bows slightly.
His com pings, and he begins to stutter. “Mr Smith, our apologies, a thousand fold, no-one had told us she was here!”
“No, no sir, covert ops I see, no problem we will release her instantly.” He gestures with his free hand to the others in my direction.
Davis pulls a small canister from his belt and sprays the cuffs. They dissolve. Another officer hands me a rag. I wipe the residue from my hands and reapply the mono-layer nano polymer cover to them. “thank you ladies and gentlemen!” I rise with some assistance and step to the to door. The Sargent salutes and I walk out.

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