Story Part 3

The final installment, or at least for now it is.

 Part III

The Avatar turned its burning gaze on the Daemon, silently responding to its mocking challenge. The slow drip-drip-drip of blood from its left hand intensified. Its blade glowed brightly in its clenched right fist.

Kelmon sensed that they had reached the crisis point of the battle. Two mighty probability waves were about to clash, one bringing screaming terror and defeat to his people, the other joyous victory. The outcome was uncertain. Forces beyond his ability to comprehend had been unleashed here.

The Daemon led its followers down the ridge. The Eldar charged to meet them. Great clouds of dust rose around the combatants. Now all subtlety was thrown aside in the primal fury of conflict. The fighting became close and deadly as the two forces mingled. The Avatar and the Keeper of Secrets ploughed towards each other, leaving destruction in their wakes. The Daemon rent two Exarchs asunder before it confronted the Avatar. 

The ground shook as the two mighty beings clashed. The Avatar and Daemon wrestled each seeking advantage. Auras of power flickered around them as they dueled with blades of psychic force.  The daemon's claws locked tight on the Avatar’s armor, striving to crush the being contained within. The Bloody Handed One’s left hand closed on the Daemon’s throat as it sought to strangle its foe.

Kelmon felt a surge of power as the Warlocks entered the fight. Their witchblades flashed, cutting into the daemon's hide, distracting it for a second as it lashed out in fury, breaking bodies with each terrific blow.

For a long moment, the conflict stood in balance. The Avatar and the Daemon stood locked, straining to their uttermost, neither able to break the deadlock. Kelmon sensed the total nature of the combat. Here were two beings driven by burning hatred battling on every level, physical, mental, spiritual; re-enacting an age-old cosmic battle. Around them, the struggles of man and Eldar were dwarfed by the energies unleashed. It was like two giants fighting in an ant pile.

Slowly, painfully, the Avatar forced the Daemon back. The Daemon attempted to hold its ground, but was forced to sway, curving its back away from its foe. The Avatar seemed to grow as it exerted itself more fully. Suddenly, with a final desperate surge it lifted the Daemon and broke its back over one armored knee. A terrible psychic scream rang out. The feedback through the runes nearly caused Kelmon to faint.

The Avatar stood now in the center of the battle and raised its blade in triumph. The cultists moaned, having seen their god destroyed. The Avatar glared around. Its gaze fixed on one man who fell to his knees screaming. The Avatar reached out with its bloody hand. There was a great splintering of bone as the man’s heart burst out through his chest and floated into the Avatar’s grasp. The cultists fell back demoralized.

The battle was over. The massacre began.

Part IV

Solara walked across the plain of ash. All around Bonesingers in wraithbone armor loomed from the twilight, their ornate helmets and baroque armor turning them into ominous spectral figures.  They stood over the bodies of the Eldar dead, singing the Requiem for Fallen Heroes.

A thousand points of light glittered in the shadows transforming the battlefield into a carpet strewn with tiny stars. Each small fire was a way stone, pulsing with the soul of a slain warrior, a refuge against the ultimate death. Slowly the lights winked out as the Bonesingers reverently collected them for merger with the Infinty Circuit in the heart of the Craftworld. 

Solara passed the burned out remains of a fallen Wraith Lord. The machine was shattered beyond repair, its external carapace pitted with blast craters, its head fused to molten slag.It lay on its side like the skeleton of a fallen giant. 

He remembered the Wraith Lord as it marched to battle among the wraithguard, striding like an elegant thoroughbred, spider silk pennons aflutter.  He mourned its passing. Another artifact of ancient times destroyed, another object of irreplaceable beauty ruined, another soul removed from the universe by the forces of senseless destruction.

He stepped over a human corpse. The man looked small and pitiful now that he was dead, hands outstretched, begging for mercy he never received. His eyes were open, looking up to the unforgiving sky with an expression of shock. The Warlock bent down and closed his eyes gently, thinking that no one, not even a human, should gaze out into the darkness forever.

Shocking quiet had fallen over the field now that the battle was finished. Solara found it hard to believe that only hours earlier he had been trapped in a roaring melee, partially defened by the clamor of battle. Now his ears seemed to ring with the absence of sound. 

Nearby a Dire Avenger sat cross legged by the body of her fallen comrade. She had removed her mask and bright crystal tears ran down her face. He knew her name was Kshatriya. He placed his hands on his own mask and toyed with the idea of removing it. He did not.

He knew that when he did so, the last remnants of his fighting persona would fall away and he would have to confront his own reaction to the battle. Then he too would weep. At the moment, armored in the role of Warlock, he could ignore the worst of his sorrow.

He stalked through the aftermath of carnage, wondering if it was always like this, the grief and the hollowness of the heart. He began to understand why some Eldar became trapped on the warrior path. Dealing with the sight of so much ruin could be to much to bear.

We have won the battle, he thought, but we can never win the war. In the end, this ceaseless conflict will destroy us. Every fight leaves us diminished, a few more souls lost to the Warp forever. He thought of Kratithiel, the Banshee whose waystone the daemon had devoured. That bright joyous girl would dance no more at the Feast of Forgotten Sorrows. She was gone now and a small part of the Eldar race had departed with her. The universe is colder for her passing, he thought.

All the bloodlust and the bright madness of battle had gone now. It was as if the Avatar had taken it with him when he vanished back to his nether realm in the bowels of the Craftworld.

Contemplating the darkness of spirit that the Bloody Handed One’s presence had revealed to him, Solara almost hated the creature. Part of him had enjoyed the battle, had reveled in the taking of life and the terrible excitement the being had led them into. The Avatar is a part of us, he thought. We cannot escape the fact or shift the blame to him. We created him and we summoned him. His destructive potential is part of every Eldar. The Avatar’s presence was simply an excuse for unleashing our darker selves. He is only our reflection, an incarnate nightmare of violence and death made real by our desires.

He reached the center of the field where the remaining troops had gathered. Most of the Aspect Warriors had removed their masks, were becoming themselves again. Some sat quietly, some wept, some laughed. The faceless precision of the Aspect Squads was gone, replaced by the reactions of individual Eldar. 

A group had gathered around the Farseer. Among their ranks Solara could make out the face of his mentor, Bressa. Kelmon emerged to be greeted by their quiet approbation. His face was flushed, triumphant. He was raised on high by two Guardians, who lifted his thin, wasted body easily and was taken down towards the bulk of the army.

Somewhere, someone struck up a tune on the splinterpipe. The wild melody drifted over the battlefield, moving slowly from a mood of melancholic sadness to exultant triumph. It was the music of survival, of people who had passed through the inferno of combat unscathed.  It spoke of the strange joy of victory, of the simple gladness of being alive. It mourned the passing of the dead yet spoke to the hearts of the living. It said tomorrow we will grieve but tonight let us give thanks for our lives. All things pass, life goes on.

“It is over, Solara,” Bressa said. “The time for heroes is past.”

For a long time he looked at her, wondering whether he could face being a simple mortal again, a dying thing in a dying world. The music and the message of her eyes reached out to him and Solara took of his mask.

He became truly himself again and wept.

Mix

Story Time Part 2

 So this is Part two. If you haven't read Part One, you might want to think about it, lest confusion sink in.

Part II

Flanked by his apprentices Kelmon prepared himself for the battle. His lithe fingers toyed idly with the wraithbone tiles of the battlerunes. The air carried the scent of ozone and blood. He gazed into the viewing tesseract and studied the disposition of the armies, fixing them in his mind.

The forces of the Craftworld stretched out across a long front.  The Avatar and most of the Aspect Warriors held the center in strength. The Wraith Guard held the right flank. The left flank was secured against the base of a huge butte. Dark Reapers commanded the heights. A strike force of Banshees waited in the gulleys ready to advance in cover along the dry stream bottom. The squads of Guardians reinforced the center. Swooping Hawks cast long shadows upon the ash plain. The Eldar force was a river of color suddenly frozen.

The chaos cultists faced them along the top of a nearby ridge, a huge ragged army of depraved humans clutching ill-assorted weapons. Once, perhaps they had been part of the Planetary Defense Force before this world fell to the forces of depravity. Now they stood mouthing silent obscenities. A few hastily converted armored vehicles lay hull down against the great ridge. The sigils of Slaanesh, chaos god of pleasure were splashed along their side. The skeletal fingers of dead tree branches clutched at the sky. Beyond them Kelmon sensed, rather than saw, an obscenely powerful presence.  A dozen of the humans armored walkers advanced through the sparse vegetation on the ridge.

It was time. 

Kelmon breathed deeply and entered the trance. His fingers danced through the air scattering the red and blue runes representing the opposing forces. He emptied his mind and sifted through the possible futures, searching for a probability line that would give the Eldar victory. As always, the future was turbulent, waves of possibility and psychic power and passion clouded the potential course of events. The power of the Avatar itself warped the timelines round it.

He felt a surge of exhilaration as the power flowed through him- nothing could compare with this feeling of power. All the game playing and Event Challenges among the Seers were but preparation for this moment and offered only pale hints of its satisfaction. He focused all his attention on the runes and under his scrutiny, they moved deliberately into conjunction with each other, establishing the weave of the pattern. The runes danced around him, shifting like a shoal of fish shimmering in the oceans depths. Each represented a part of the assembled forces and through them, he could maintain a psychic link with the Eldar troops.

The blue stone representing the Wraithguard moved off cautiously and on the battlefield the great war machines strode forward. In his multi-compartmented mind, a dozen potential futures blossomed. He saw the machines fall blasted by heavy weapons. He saw them stride among the humans sentinel walkers and engage in melee. He saw them stumble upon the rough ground.

In the air, the red runes rearranged themselves. In his mind ’s eye, Kelmon saw the humans heavy weapons belch flowers of flame at the feet of the Wraithguard. Kelmon reeled, feeling the pattern of the conflict emerging from the maelstrom of probability. Events were speeding up and the dance of the runes reflected this. He struggled to keep track of the pattern as it became ever more complex and intertwined, twisting into impossibly convoluted designs symbolic of the battle’s state.

One group of runes moved, another set responded in turn. Images flickered through his mind. Swooping Hawks soared over the enemy front line dropping explosive grenades. A storm of laser bursts erupted around them. Several Hawks dropped like wounded birds into the ranks and were swiftly torn to pieces. Their rune flickered away from its endangered position and the airborne troops drifted into the sky out of range.

Traitor Guardsmen/Chaos Cultists

A wave of ragged screaming humans raced forwards. They slid down the slope of the ridge, plumes of ash billowing around their feet, weapons spitting laser fire, looks of ecstatic bloodlust frozen upon their faces. The armored vehicles provided supporting fire. The red runes spun around each other like a wheel and touched the blue rune of the Dark Reapers. A hail of missiles leapt from the mesa top and tore the cultists to shreds.

Another blue rune moved into the pattern and the Banshees started sneaking forward up the culverts of the stream bottom.

Pain flared through him as the Avatar rune grew in size and luminescence, attracting more blue runes around it as the Bloody-Handed One led the Scorpions and Dragons towards the survivors of the humans charge. Kelmon threw his efforts into following the new probability line the Avatar had instigated. The Hawks flew down across the ridge to assault snipers and the vehicles. The attack was not elegant but it distracted the humans from the frontal assault as they concentrated on the fliers.

Human reinforcements raced down the ridge, throwing themselves madly into the fray, seemingly unafraid of the Avatar. Once again, Kelmon sense the presence of some daemonic power. The rune of the Accursed One span into the middle of the pattern and the sense of looming presence intensified. Men screamed as the Dragons’ meltaguns charred their flesh. The Scorpions ripped through them, mandiblasters spitting death.

On the right, the Wraithguard had bogged down in an exchange of fire with the sentinels and armored vehicles. They seemed to be losing. The Wraithguard rune flipped into a new position, placing itself in conjunction with the defense rune. The Wraithguard moved further right seeking cover.

The sentinels and other combat machines were on the move now heading towards the swirling melee at the ridge bottom. In his mind’s eye, Kelmon saw the Avatar turn and shred a mighty machine as if it were made of paper. Blood and oil mixed as the man inside was ripped in two.

Warlocks danced through the fray, blasting their foes with psychic bolts. Kelmon sensed the ebb and flow of their power within the runes. There was a brief flicker of unexpected contact where he looked through the eyes of Warlock Solara. He felt the shock of contact as the Warlock rammed his witchblade into the stomach of a cultist then withdrew it almost before the blood spurted.

The remainder of the armored vehicles began to move, rumbling forwards, weapons blazing. The hail of fire shredded through Eldar and cultist alike. It pattered off the Avatar’s armored body like gentle rain. When the vehicles came into range, the Dark Reapers went into action. Orange contrails of rocket fire flickered hellishly and explosions ripped the ground around the transports. A direct hit reduced one vehicle and its occupants to mangled wreckage. 

The withering rain of missiles stalled the armored advance. Kelmon let his attention slide elsewhere. The Howling Banshees had reached the hillside and their rune twisted as they charged up the slope to clear the ridge top. The outcome of the move was strangely obscured and when they were in position he found out why.

His hearts skipped a beat as he felt emphatically the terror of the warrior women. Row upon row of human warriors waited and when Kelmon recognized the being that lead them he realized what had hid them from his vision. A Keeper of Secrets. A greater daemon in the service of Slaanesh towered over the assembled throng. Jeweled eyes glittered in its bull like head. Its huge pincer arms caressed the head of a priestess almost lovingly.  It beckoned with one of its other pair of human arms and a wave of cultists surged towards the Banshees.

The dancers held their ground, vaulting among the frenzied soldiers. Their masks screamed and Kelmon could hear the high pitched wailing in his head. Men fell clutching bleeding ears, faces liquefying under the impact of high intensity sound waves. The humans that survived the scream quickly fell to the Banshees’ graceful skill with their power swords and shuriken pistols. Then the Daemon entered the fray and the Banshees died. The creatures fury was awesome to behold.

The Keeper of Secrets seemed almost to gloat as it thundered through the Eldar force, pincers ripping through flesh. It lifted one frail body and tossed it aside casually, like a discarded toy. Laser bolts reflected from its glowing skin. It ignored the strike of the Banshee leader’s power sword before playfully disemboweling her. The banshees tried to retreat but they were cut off by the cultists surrounding them. Mad laughter frothed from the humans foam flecked lips as they killed the aspect warriors.

Now the Keeper of Secrets emerged onto the ridge top, holding the shattered body of a Banshee over its head. It stood there silhouetted against the sunlight and roared its contempt of the enemy below. It plucked the brightly glowing way stone from the Banshees armor and popped it in its mouth like a sweetmeat. A look of obscene pleasure passed across its face as it consumed the soul contained within.

The Eldar army froze. Moans of terror issued from a few lips. A lull settled over the battlefield and even the chatter of small arms fire seemed to recede. 

Mix

Story Time Part 1.1

This story is based upon the fictional setting of one of the many games I play. If you want more explanation of anything go here, but be warned its filled with nerd speak.

The background story is pretty standard. An Ancient Alien Empire now fallen into ruin. A Dying race with advanced technology clinging to survival in a Universe run amok with Orks, Humans and worse. Individual Eldar chooses for himself a discipline, a Path, and will focus himself upon it. This path will be studied, practiced, and eventually mastered. Then the Eldar chooses a new path and the process will begin anew.  Each new role does not completely replace the previous, but merely adds to the Eldar's accumulated experience. Eldar live for several human lifetimes and short of falling in battle can accumulate much knowledge. As Eldar pass through these different roles they explore the many aspects of their own character. The Eldar pursuing the Path of the Warrior are known as Aspect Warriors.  Each sect of Aspect Warriors focuses on a specialized perspective of warfare. The following intro is standard for stories from this fictional setting.


It is the 41st Millennium. For more than a hundred centuries the Emperor has sat immobile on the Golden Throne of Earth. He is the master of mankind by the will of the gods, and master of a million worlds by the might of his inexhaustible armies. He is a rotting carcass writhing invisibly with power from the Dark Age of Technology. He is the Carrion Lord of the Imperium for whom a thousand souls are sacrificed every day, so that he may never truly die. Yet even in his deathless state, the Emperor continues his eternal vigilance. Mighty battlefleets cross the daemon-infested miasma of the warp, the only route between distant stars, their way lit by the Astronomican, the psychic manifestation of the Emperor's will. Vast armies give battle in his name on uncounted worlds.

Greatest amongst his soldiers are the Adeptus Astartes, the Space Marines, bio-engineered super-warriors.

Their comrades in arms are legion: the Imperial Guard and countless planetary defense forces, the ever vigilant Inquisition and the tech-priests of the Adeptus Mechanicus to name only a few. But for all their multitudes, they are barely enough to hold off the ever-present threat from aliens, heretics, mutants—and worse.

To be a man in such times is to be one amongst untold billions. It is to live in the cruelest and most bloody regime imaginable. These are the tales of those times. Forget the power of technology and science, for so much has been forgotten, never to be re-learned. Forget the promise of progress and understanding, for in the grim dark future there is only war. There is no peace amongst the stars, only an eternity of carnage and slaughter, and the laughter of thirsting gods.



 Part I

Overhead, a sun the color of blood beat down, turning the ash plain into a lake of crimson light. A good Omen, Solara decided. We will sweep the foul influence of Chaos from this world.

He surveyed the scene through the eyes of his Warlock mask, his thick robes fluttering in the breeze. He scanned the horizon, hoping to catch sight of the enemy. 

In his mind, lethal energies pulsed and surged. He felt the urge to unleash them creep through him. He was a vessel for powerful psychic energies. All he had to do was focus it through his channeling runes or his witch blade to bring death to the enemies of the Eldar.

His mind cast back to his time as an Aspect Warrior, an experience he hoped never to have to submit himself to again. Countless times, he had stood waiting like this for battle to commence. As a Fire Dragon, Solara had fought on fields of ice under turquoise skies, danced through whirling red dust on burning desert plains, crept through underground labyrinths of dark stone.  The ancient weapon he bore remembered too. It had not always been his - he had retrieved it from beside the fallen body of Warlock Tatheya, where she lay surrounded by dead Orks.

The song of wings filled the air as a group of Swooping Hawk Aspect Warriors soared ecstatically into the warm sky. They drifted lazily upward, catching thermals like giant birds of prey. Solara knew that their seeming indolence was illusory. The Keen-eyed Ones kept careful watch in case the enemy attempted a surprise attack.

He studied the Aspect Warriors sitting on the nearby rocks meditating on the inner nature of their weapons. The sun glinted off their blue armor highlighting the rune that marked their Craftworld. Their shuriken catapults lay dormant across their knees. Solara was not fooled by their apparent passiveness; he knew the Dire Avengers could shift from quiet repose to instant action in the blink of an eye.

A high-pitched keening filled the air as the Howling Banshees began performing their deadly dance. Solara watched as the warrior women sparred in slow motion with invisible foes, each movement part of some greater intricate pattern, as if the whole unit were one organism sharing a single mind. Scarlet tresses swept through great arcs as the women swayed. Languorous kicks just seemed to miss each of the dancers. As the ritual continued the pace and flow speedup almost imperceptibly until the Banshees moved and tumbled nearly too fast for the eye to follow, their power swords glinting in the suns light.

A shimmering of air between the gateway tetrahedrons announced the arrival of a squad of chitinously armored Striking Scorpions. They skittered across to the Farseer’s position and bowed before Kelmon, the chosen Battleseer. Kelmon acknowledged their presence with an ornate salute. Mandiblasters clicked in acknowledgment and then they turned and moved to take up a perimeter position.

Nearby atop a great butte, Dark Reapers, arranged in fire teams, stood immobile as statues. Their massive forms radiated menace, yet their presence was strangely reassuring. Solara knew no enemy could approach without being the target of their missile launchers.

A line of Fire Dragons weaved across the plain as the Eldar army arrived through the gateway and assembled, squad by squad, on the plain. A thrill passed through Solara as he realized the extent of the force the Craftworld was fielding. Unit after unit of Guardians arrived and took their place in the formation.Falcon grav tanks began floating into support positions.  The Craftworld’s Wraithguard had been awakened. By placing the way stone of a fallen warrior into each Wraithguard frame, our heroes protect us even in death, thought Solara.

As the last of the force assembled, Solara speculated on the nature of the enemy they were to face. The corruption of Chaos must be mighty indeed to justify the deployment of such massive military strength, he thought.   

As the formation was nearly complete a change of mood swept through the army. He felt tension galvanize the nearby Dire Avengers. The Banshees ceased their dance and stood poised like deadly ballerinas, waiting. A hush of expectation settled over the assembled Eldar. The whole army held its breath.

Suddenly the smell of ozone filled the air. A crackling, hissing sound emerged from the gateway tetrahedrons. The runes along their sides blazed as if being overloaded with power. A bloody glow illuminated the area between the pyramids.

Space seemed to warp and then the Avatar was there, looming over his honor guard of Exarchs. Even the mighty masked warriors were dwarfed by his massive presence. The incarnation of Khaine stood half again as tall as those who surrounded him. In his right fist he clutched a gigantic battle blade. Molten metal the color of blood dripped from the talons of his left hand. Crimson eyes glowed like red-hot embers within his helm. He swept a burning glance over his awe stricken followers. Solara felt a cold wash of horror drench his soul as he beheld the god like being, followed by an unholy thrill of anticipation. 

The Avatar’s incandescent gaze seemed to bore into the very heart of the Eldar Warriors, kindling the battlelust there. All fear, all hesitation was burned away by unholy joy and the desire to kill the enemy. The killing power within them stirred in answer to the being’s call. A cry of pure exultation was torn from Solara’s throat. It mingled with the great roar of the entire army.

The warcry rumbled like thunder over the plain, a shout to inspire pure terror in any living thing that heard it. It continued to rise into crescendo after crescendo until the Avatar made a short chopping gesture for silence. Instantly all was quiet.

Then following thier Bloody Handed God, the Eldar marched for war.




Mix

Insomnia + Casey Anthony=?

If we have already convicted her in our minds did she really get a fair trial?

That thought rattled around in my brain for quite some time today. My exposure to this case is just about zero. Let's say on a scale of 1 to 10 with a 1 being a coma patient and a 10 being a complete media hound I would be a 3. I was peripherally aware of Florida v. Casey Anthony, only because of information bleed through.

I have never heard nor seen any coverage of the case. The only thing I know is the fact that there was a court case that had the attention of many people or at least that was the information gleaned from the media outlets reporting on it. Today a verdict of not guilty was returned by a jury of her peers.

So I've decided to delve into the information and see what comes up.

First stop on the internetz is CNN's Summary of Proceedings

All right looks like a very nice set up concerning the 6 weeks of testimony.
Lots of video but hey its highlights.

"From the prosecution, jurors heard a time line of the defendant's activities before her mother reported Caylee missing: parties, drinking and sleepovers with men." -Is "sleepover with men" legalese speak for fuckin?


"No one else benefited from the death of Caylee Marie Anthony," said assistant state attorney Linda Drane-Burdick in her opening statement. "Caylee's death allowed Casey to live a good life, at least for those 31 days." -  Ah. Gotcha. The prosecutions motive for the crime.

From the defense, jurors were presented with an image of loving mother, whose dysfunctional family forced her to live in a state of denial. They argued the family held dark secrets, including that Casey was sexually abused by her father and brother.
The defense also revealed their theory of the case: Caylee drowned in the family pool as the result of what Baez called "an accident that snowballed out of control." He said it was an accident to which Casey's father, George Anthony, was privy. Baez said George Anthony tried to cover up the drowning at Casey's expense. - Classic Everyone did it but Me

 Internet searches as evidence. I must say those particular words are quite leading.

The testimony of Casey's father is powerful.

 The Next Is an AP Story via the Columbus Dispatch

Prosecutors hammered away at the lies Anthony told when the child was missing: She told her parents that she couldn't produce Caylee because the girl was with a nanny named Zanny, a woman who doesn't exist; that she and her daughter were spending time with a rich boyfriend, who doesn't exist; and that Zanny had been hospitalized after an out-of-town traffic crash and that they were spending time with her. - Wow thats not even a good lie. Seriously Zanny was the best she could come up with? talk about having to come up with a name at the spur of a moment and then being stuck with it to cover a lie.

Prosecutors also focused heavily on an odor in the trunk of Anthony's car, which forensics experts said was consistent with the smell of human decay. But the defense argued that the air analysis could not be duplicated. - This is true. Science does like repeatable tests.

Baez said the toddler drowned and that when Anthony panicked, her father, a former police officer, decided to make the death look like a murder by putting duct tape on the girl's mouth and dumping the body in the woods. Anthony's father denied that. -More of the spread the blame game.

Found a good analysis of the Prosecutions basis for a motive back on CNN

". . . unless she (Casey Anthony) was seriously mentally ill, and no available evidence showed that. -Hmm i may not be a psychologist but I'm pretty sure based on what Ive read and watched in the last few hours that she very well might be a sociopath.  

Then there is the prosecution's second alleged motive for murder. At 2½ years, Caylee was getting to the age where she could reveal her mother's lies. But her parents, and anyone close to her, was probably aware of her propensity in this area.-Ok this combined with the fathers testimony that I has me thinking that perhaps his suicidal thoughts or what not, could be stemming from the fact he realizes he has raised a sociopath. Or that he has always known and wasn't able to save his granddaughter. Then again, what do I know?

All right what else does the internetz hold?

A take on the media's role

 The New York Daily - Not exactly reporting the story so much as filtering it

So what do I think?
Casey Anthony is in all probability a sociopathic succubus.

Is Casey Anthony a good mother?
If you are a parent, you don't wait 31 days to report your kid missing, I imagine its more like 31 seconds in regards to a 2 year old.

Did she kill her daughter?
Based on what I've watched and read over the last 3 hours, I'm going to have to say yes.

Do I think the prosecution had an air tight case?
Not by any means.

Am I happy with the Verdict?
Happy or Unhappy doesn't enter into the equation.

Is there reasonable doubt?
I'm going with yes.

Is Justice Blind?
Don't know, but it sure is retarded sometimes.






Mix

To Whom it May Concern

Time again for another installment of random thoughts and musings.

To Whom it May Concern: You always have the coolest profile pics on facebook. Wish I was that photogenic!

To Whom it May Concern: Team America, Fuck Yeah!

To Whom it May Concern:I decided the other day that I want kids. So if you have one or more you would like to share parenting with or would like to help me make some kids let me know. Second option is preferable but not a deal breaker.

To Whom it May Concern: Sometimes you just have to straighten the flamingo and whack away at the hedgehog. Hopefully no one calls for you to be decapitated.

To Whom it May Concern: Best Independence Day I have had in a loooong time. Plus Great Picture! Taken Just Before Fireworks Started

  To Whom it May Concern:I don't care if you are Democrat or Republican, Libertarian or Socialist, Gay, Straight or Somewhere in between, Rich or Poor, Black, White, Brown, Yellow, or Mixed, Muslim, Jewish, Christian or Atheist. I don't care if you pay attention to politics or not, have any interest in history or economics or could care less, I don't care if you believe the moon landing was staged or the Kennedy assassination was a conspiracy. I don't have any objection too however the hell you want to live your life in your own home. I really don't care if you want to fry bacon in the nude or cover your self in honey and roll around in a fire ant nest, whatever floats your boat. Please, Please, Please, start doing just a little bit of investigating into our government. Presidential Elections are not that far away, additionally 33 Senate seats as well as the House of Representatives. Every Election is important, But I really do believe the elections of 2012 will be important to the future of this country (Assuming the Mayans were wrong about the end of the 5th cycle:) I don't care who you vote for just make sure it's YOUR decision, not the result of blindly listening to the "unbiased" media outlets.

To Whom it May Concern:

To Whom it May Concern:Glad you got to spend a week with someone who means so much to you. Hope you guys can work things out.

To Whom it May Concern: Early twenties is way to young to perish from cardiac arrest.

To Whom it May Concern: It been nearly a year. I miss you terribly Uncle Donnie.

To Whom it May Concern: Keep it going dude, sobriety isn't easy, but in my opinion worth it.

To Whom it May Concern: The world needs more Double Breasted Sunsuckers.

To Whom it May Concern: Whatever.

To Whom it May Concern: Wear those shorts every day and be sure to bend over alot.

To Whom it May Concern: You are kicked off of Team America for being a dyed in the wool bigot. Seriously. 

To Whom it May Concern: We haven't had a standoff between federal law enforcement agencies and a compound of survivalists or religious whack jobs for a while. I'm thinking we are due. Plus the media needs something to distract it for a while.

To Whom it May Concern: Fuck, I'm getting old.

To Whom it May Concern: Summer Movies so far on a 5 star scale: Thor 3.75 stars well worth watching, X-men First Class 4 stars excellent movie, Green Lantern 2.5 stars decent, Transformers Dark Side of the Moon 3 stars worth watching if you can suspend disbelief.

To Whom it May Concern:  You are entitled to your opinion. I will defend with my life your ability to express any opinion on any topic you wish to talk about or cover. I cannot help the fact that you are almost always asinine and wrong but hey, no one is perfect.

To Whom it May Concern: Scott Pilgrim versus the World = Awesome.

To Whom it May Concern: Hopefully Coming Soon: A as yet untitled short story Involving:   

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To Whom it May Concern

Yet Again more Random Musings:

To Whom It May Concern: Drunk + Motorcycle = Bad Mix all The Way around

To Whom It May Concern: I cannot wait to meet you. Hurry up October!

To Whom It May Concern:  Eric Idle and Clint Black? Yes please.

 

To Whom It May Concern: More than two months ago, President Barack Obama abruptly took the nation to war against Libya, a country that had not attacked us or threatened us. His ostensible purpose was to protect Libyan civilians from the government of  Gadhafi.   Obama acted after getting authorization from the United Nations, which is not mentioned in the Constitution, rather than Congress, which is. Specifically, the framers stipulated that Congress has the power to "declare war," giving it the chief responsibility except when the president needed to act quickly to repel an attack.

But in the ensuing centuries, presidents of both parties have often trampled over their original limits, and Congress has usually let them. This has not gone over well with all lawmakers — like the senator who said in 2007 that the president has no right to go to war on his own, barring an actual or potential attack.

His name was Barack Obama. But President Obama has thoroughly repudiated the simplistic notions voiced by Senator Obama. In some ways, he has also been even more aggressive than his predecessors in doing whatever he pleases.

A rare attempt by Congress to reassert its authority came in 1973 when it passed a law called the War Powers Resolution. It places mild restrictions on the president, requiring him to report to Congress when he puts American forces "into hostilities." If Congress doesn't give approval of the operation within 60 days, the law says, he has to bring it to a swift conclusion.

But regarding Libya, the 60th day came and went last month without the slightest recognition by Obama. Meanwhile, the administration claims it is abiding by the law while declining to bother explaining how on earth this can be.

One possible excuse is that we are not at war in Libya. Defense Secretary Robert Gates insists the term "war" is inappropriate for what he calls a "limited kinetic action." He can call it a Hawaiian luau if he wants, but the fact remains that the U.S. apparently is still flying missions over Libya and hitting military targets.

The War Powers Resolution does not contain a giant, honking exception for such activities. In fact, the authors seemed to have Libya in mind when they said the rules apply anytime American forces venture "into the territory, airspace, or waters of a foreign nation, while equipped for combat."

It doesn't matter if our pilots are up there firing missiles and dropping bombs or looking for topless beaches: If they are in combat aircraft over another country, the law applies.

 Rather than insult our intelligence with hair-splitting arguments about why the law exempts this undertaking, he has chosen to simply pay it no mind.

The administration has brushed off questions about its compliance with the law. But officials have said Obama "may order forces into limited military engagements on his own if he decides it is in the national interest, and that the NATO-led campaign in Libya is such a conflict."

Really? Can someone direct me to the provision of the Constitution that blesses "limited military engagements" authorized by the White House in conjunction with NATO? Or the section in the War Powers Resolution that says, "Invalid in cases when the president claims a national interest"?

To Whom It May Concern: Far be it from me to tell you what to wear, but you can wear those shorts anytime you want. In fact wear them more often.

To Whom It May Concern: Do What you have to to get your life on track brother. Wish I would have had the foresight to do so at your age.

To Whom It May Concern:You are intelligent, funny and beautiful, you help others without thought of reward,  yet you appear to have a hard time seeing any of these qualities in yourself. Wish I could figure out why.

To Whom It May Concern: Tattoos rule!

To Whom It May Concern: Blood Bowl 2011 World Cup Starts Soon!

To Whom It May Concern: What is greater than the Gods, More Evil than the assembled Legions of the Nine Hells and the Abyss. The Poor Have it, The Rich cannot get it, and if you eat it you will Die?
Answer: Nothing. Nothing is greater than the Gods, nothing is more evil than the assembled devils and demons, the poor have nothing, the rich need nothing and if you eat nothing you'll die  


To Whom It May Concern: Luv Ya. Always Have. Always Will.

To Whom It May Concern:

What, does his Chuck Norris Chest Hair give him damage reduction or something?

Justice Is the Butter on our Muffins!

The Air Ship is crashing, the passengers are panicking and the Bound Fire Elemental is breaking free, what do you do? And don't say you lick your finger and touch her brownie, cuz I'm pretty sure that's not going to help.

What do you mean I can't buy a sheep in this Village?

I always sort of wanted one of those knives you strap to your calf like that. Everybody has them in video games and movies now man. It's like THE place to put your knife.

What about a butcher's block? Or a drawer?

 Yeah, that's great if you are like fighting a home invader or something, but what if you get caught in an underwater net and you have to cut your way out and there is a shark coming?

 I'm guessing I'd drown and then my dead body will be eaten by a shark. I try to avoid scenarios involving underwater nets. Even the possibility of an underwater net and you can count me out.

 If you're not strapping a calf knife then we might as well count you out of everything, because when trouble arrives you're going to be looking through a drawer and you're going to end up fighting with a whisk.

The local Magistrate is not impressed with your story of extraordinary circumstances and mistaken identities that  led to your slaying the village idiot. He probably would have bought the "because he was annoying" argument. That or a hefty bribe, either way you spend a fortnight in the oubliette and contract the filthy fever.

Wizards Spring Break  998Y.K.!

To Whom It May Concern: Would a box full of Bubble Wrap be a bad gift?


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It's Been A While.

Yep. It has been a while since I wrote much of anything other than school work. And this is no exception. Having completed my math course successfully without having my head explode, I'm now in Sociology. A course which I enjoy immensely as it forms a symbiotic relationship with history.  This weeks studies have focused on Societal Stratification and Class Differentiation as well as Global Inequality, the Legacy of Colonialism, Gender and Racial Stratification and the role Mass Media plays in the socializing of children and adults. I'm not going to bore you with all of those topics, just one. My opinion of the sociological construct that is the middle class.

Falling between the upper class and the lower class there are three other classes within the sociological model. These classes are labeled the upper-middle class, the lower-middle class, and the working class. Roughly 80 to 95 percent of the population can be ascribed these labels of societal stratification. A widely accepted definition of what it means to be middle class is if the household income falls between 75 and 125 percent of the nation’s median household income (Roughly 35k - 65k.) 

As the gap between the upper and lower class continues to deepen, the middle classes are under intense pressure as well.  The high concentration of vast wealth in the hands of a relative few, hearkens back to the feudalism of bygone eras, where wealth and power rested entirely with the land owning aristocracy. It was the emergence of the middle class in medieval Europe, in the form of merchants, craftsmen, and the priesthood that began to loosen the grip of the landed gentry. Our society has concentrated the wealth in the hands of relatively few, while at the same time weakening the middle class. The possible dangers range from minor to exceedingly dangerous. On the minor end would be a reduction of standards of living. If one cannot afford to own the newest, shiniest piece of technology, one may be disadvantaged in some respects, but can certainly continue living. Further down the scale would be lack of access to healthcare, housing, or economic security as well as other aspects of society that will have continue to exert disadvantageous pressures. At the far end of the scale would be revolution or civil war. If enough of the population living under what Marx referred to as “false consciousness” wake up and assert themselves, then massive social upheavals could result. Examples would include the French Revolution, the Servile Wars of Ancient Rome, and of course the Russian Revolution of 1917.

The middle class in my opinion serves as a safety valve of sorts for society. It gives people something to strive for, in our society this would be wealth and economic security. Without this possibility the poorest and disenfranchised have no goal to strive for,  those who once held middle class status may become upset and agitated that said status was lost. In short, the middle class may be thought of as a sort of opiate for the masses. Without the hope of advancement, people would be much more likely to objectively look at their position in society and the inherent inequities of power and wealth distribution.

Schaefer, R.T. (2009) Sociology: A brief introduction (8th ed.) New York: McGraw Hill

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