Wednesday, March 14, 2012

Mind Control (as seen on TV)

What's that,children? You want to shape the hearts and minds of the masses? Guide your friends down the right path on their own accord? Lose your virginity? Fret not my young ones, Daddy Kane will give you all you need to know to get started.

The Mind as a Reaction.

   So the current science on how our brain categorizes, prioritizes, and stores incoming information would be something like this. The brain takes in all sorts of input commands from your dozens and hundreds of senses and from neuron clusters outside of the brain, which do a nice amount of our unconscious actions for us before we even receive them as thoughts. The brain soaks it in, gives it an incentive level based on past information about similar patterns, using anywhere from 1 to 3 parts of our brain at any one given time to access the information in whatever medium we translated it to/from. 1 to 3 parts flashing by at a perfectly unthinkable rate with neurons millions of neurons touching 10,000 neurons each. Compare that to our finest processor, whose transistor only touches 12, and whose transistors are in uniform rows with just a hundreths of the 'neurons' we have. Every neuron a packet of information so wildly complex and ever subtly shifting in priority and degree.  We have nerve endings and cellular sensitivity. An optical array that include 120 million high definition rods in a gorgeous spiralling fractal burst; catching the light in a sharp clarity with only three colored rods to translate the infinite possibilities before us, all pointed to a single pin point in the back of your eye... Your TV screen. The world outside you sits behind an impermeable wall, and we conscious colony conglomerates of organs and cells and amino acid masterpieces billions of years old, watch it on a projector. Around the rods, we have cones, the fuzzy depth of everything but the dead center of your vision. Faster received than the rods, but wider and less numerous, giving you the increasingly fuzzy picture you see in your vision. That fuzziness will correspond to those fractalling bursts in your irises, and the further out, the further your brain automatically fills in the blanks of the terrible resolution the cones necessarily offer. This is how you can notice something that you haven't before. To compensate for the wild filling in, your optical nerves tilt and skew around to orient the beam of light to hit the membrane on the back of your eyeball. That membrane... Is your movie screen. The optical nerves travel all along it, connecting to the photo-receptors that give you the so far sub-par image, which all travel down your optical nerve to be translated and refined, fractaling known patterns and shapes over and over and over in a blurring iteration to give crisp definition to our vision. Wherever that pinpoint of light doesn't hit on the membrane/retina, is received as the even blurrier cones. The darting around the pupils do all the time making sure you never stare for too long(usually) at pone point to give a fuller picture, also corresponds to what your brain is accessing, or trying to access. This is a very important and tiny distinction to make, your eyes darting in tiny searching patterns are generally filling in the world. Larger darts, rolls, directional favoring are generally to blame from conscious thought or accessing various parts of memory.

Alright Daddy Kane, our minds are thoroughly saturated and your not even past the descriptions. What gives? Look, if mind control and reading was simple,we'd all be in trouble. Why am I talking about sensory input, brain archival, optical receptors, and filling the blanks? If you could read minds this would be obvious to you right now.  You see, when you are in a receptive state, 2-3 of your brain sections are firing up simultaneously to take in all of the information. For instance, fi you could see and hear me telling you this, your mind would be so busy translating my tone, facial expressions, body languages,em field, and science knows what else passing between us. We're simply overwhelmed. Thats the First Key, the receptive state. This over-exaggerates the priority of the information received if done correctly. With your brain in a flurry, and your eyes and ears busy reading and storing/accessing information, you can take advantage of the natural blindness we instill on ourselves when somethings 'in the corner of your eye'. Using the age old Wizards First Rule, of course. People will believe what they want to believe, or are afraid to believe.



Overwhelming Your Opposition

    So lemme get this straight, Big Daddy Kane, you simply try to get them to pay attention to you more? What, do we just talk about sports and make wild hand motions and eye bulges? No, that would be stupid, save the questions until after the lecture please. Whether we like it or not, we are a slave to what we already have in our brain, and to whats outside of us(so to speak, from a human perspective). That is to say everything we've received up to this point aids in how we react with whats ahead of us, in the same way people crossing at cross walks naturally split into several lanes of one way traffic. You know your doing it, and you 'chose' to do so. The thing is people generally choose the path of least resistance. In fact, most of life tends to dilute its problems down with a stochastic algorithm of meta-heuristics. Meta-Heuristics being what ants do to eventually get the shortest path to food from nest. It's what life likes to do. Throw possibilities, and let the best one stick. Ants accomplish this by randomly choosing a path, leaving a degrading pheromone trail. And then returns straight home. The next ant does a random path, or a variant of the first, and so on. The pheromones fade fastest on longer paths, because they take longer to travel, thus leaving shorter paths with stronger scents every iteration.

So what I want you to to, is stochastic the shit out of their brain. I want you to take advantage of those pesky natural urges to follow the path of least resistance, while taking advantage of the receptive state to feed them further information of heightened importance. And up to this point, they just think they're being polite and listening, or think your actually interesting. It's where that hazy line between free will and predetermined fate lies that makes us all a little uncomfortable to think about. Because in the end, they will have thought to do what you want them to on their own accord.


The Ol' Voice Roll.

But Daddy Kane The voice roll is a paced style with patterns used by hypnotists and revivalists alike. Or lawyers, who are sometimes also hypnotists, when they desire to entrench a point firmly in the minds of the jurors. A voice roll can sound as if the speaker were talking to the beat of a metronome, emphasizing every monotonous word in a patterned style. To maximize this hypnotic effect, practice rolling your words at a smooth 45-60 bpm. The next step is to get them excited or engrossed with your words,this puts them in an altered state of consciousness. It's best done with crowds when somebody else excites the crowd for you, giving your future mind control that much more power. Churches do this often, especially the more lively kind, using the receptive state and a good jar to the front of your skull to induce a 'religious experience. When you've got enough people into that lovely, confusing, receptive alpha wave state, they will usually pass the collection plate or basket. And that's more or less what your going to do, but instead of asking for money, your going to tell him what he wants.


Association of Associates.

Ok, so we got them into the mind control state, how do we tell them what to do? What did I tell you about stupid questions? You can't tell somebody what they're going to do, you always have to make them choose. The traditional media of choice was pain, ridicule, or death in lieu of the other not accepting. But thats all primitive, and they know it's going on. What we want is to stochastically fuck their cortical cornucopia, and sneak away in to the foggy background without a trace like the creepy mind-raping fuck you are..

We accomplish this with association. Simple associations done throughout the conversation, making subtle mentions of what you want him to think.

"Sup Schwinn?" "Huh?" "It's Dutch for best friend, sorry,ive been peddling myself as a Dutchman online. I'm the spokesman for a small company." Oh? What company? "They deal with politics and advertising, they handle... bar-none, the most exclusive clients."


Derren Brown - NLP
The above example is a ridiculously tightly packed NLP statement, so tightly packed it probably wouldn't be very effective. Not so much what the conversation is about, moreso emphasizing key laces with encouraging behaviors."Schwinn" said with a wide smile, and a handshake thrust towards them, "Huh" responded to by shaking their hand and arm with both hands vigorously, acting like you just got great news. "It's dutch for best friend." Your excitement slurring friend to a more 'red' sound., pulling his hand in yours look him in the eye and get a bit more serious "sorry, ive been peddling..." Every shoulder touch, point to your own eye, or an object, every time you hold their hand under yours, or otherwise engage their attention when you want them to listen more.  The receptive state amplified. Amplify, red, Schwinn, wheel, bike, handlebars, and there's a good chance that guy is imagining bikes into his active thoughts.

Pretty simple,right? Well,no, it takes a smooth tongue and a quick mind to capture somebody attention, and an even sharper mind to craft it into something useful. Just keep in mind,in no way did you tell them to do anything, and they could very well do something else. You can remind them that breaking agreements makes them evil, and subtly guilt them Et cetera, etceteros... But people cannot be controlled. However nudging them is much much easier than any of us dare imagine.

I hope you enjoyed the revival post, mates. If you'd like a second part as my next post, or perhaps a post about the mentioned meta heuristics of life, or more info about why our eyes dart when we remember music, or create it, or make or remember images, or digital sound. Throw a comment, leave me some love, check out my affiliates and friend. Read a book. Or preferably, just keep coming back here. I could frankly use the pagehits.

Sunday, May 29, 2011

The Plague

It was 2008, Year of our Lord, the month was that of Septem, on the Julian Calendar. I had been staying at my brother's place, as I had recently been honorably discharged from the Motherland's service. That was under the rule of the Bush Dynasty, and was a generally busy time for military. My brother, for instance, felt the effects even in the Navy. A particular tricky job, fighting a desert war in a sub. He had offered me a place when my lease ran out on the apartment I had funded on stored army funds. This was a particularly lethargic time in my life, and 6 months at my brother's was exactly what I needed to acclimatize myself with the general populace once more. That may seem counter-intuitive, living with a navy brother and his 2 submarine buddies, and the addition of my sister Britt-Britt. But this was no barracks, like I was used to, this was a house on a hill. A glorious retreat somehow far away from the city a mile away, and just outside his base. What ended up happening was more of a glorious college experience, without all that messy college. But I stray, a story for another day perhaps, my friends. One of our old friends happened to be coming up to our area, attending a local LARP convention. For the unintiated, that stands for Live Action Role-Play, and has been avoided up to this point in my life. But this friend of ours was hot, smokin' hot, and she had hot friends who also enjoyed dressing up in skimpy costumes and hitting each other with padded clubs. If you still need a clearer image, think American Gladiators meets a sorority Halloween party. In short, we were willing to give it a shot.



    And so the adventure began to the nearest halloween outlet, where we purchased gaudy medieval-esque attire and bad-ass plastic weapons. I was an assassin with an irish brogue, and my brother was a swarthy pirate, bandana style. The hats were much to expensive, that place jacked it's prices to no extent. We arrived there, and were briskly informed that our weapons were much too dangerous, the hollow rubber blade wasn't to regulation with their foam-based lawsuit defense. This would be a problem, you see this was an old campground they had rented out. Woody, with dirt roads and wooden bridges. The buildings were made to look like a forest town well enough, but the dozens of garbed persons really sparked it into life. With my face mask pulled over my Orbicularis Oris, which always gives me away in a lie, I could really immerse myself in the fantasy world they had crafted. And danger was EVERYWHERE. We got jumped by two goblins just going to the cabin to make our character sheets, two dead goblins which I looted of their 2 meaningless currency counters. Meaningless for right now, I had no idea what was in store for me. They had me roll a twenty sided die to determine my general luck as a character, and in doing so determine how good my character is. One out of twenty chance to become an instant legend? I think so, good sire. As if time slowed down, I watched it roll out of my pretty awesome hands, picking up freedom in the open air as it tumbled down with the flood of gravity it suddenly had to deal with. The earth shook, a thunderous cracking sound echoed out through the eons, hear even by our ancestors long past so deep was the anticipation as it clattered across the foldable card table in the nurses station. The woman watching over my shoulder had a wolf shirt, but had enough meat on her to feed a pack of wolves... Winter was coming. She was the head of the show, and the puppet master, she had spotted me immediately as an important player in the main storylines. For one,  I stunned her with my charismatic brogue and illegal plastic weapons, my brother double teaming her with a touch of flirting. We'll do anything to take the prize. The dice clattered down, and a sonic boom blasted our eardrums just a decimal too low for anybody to notice. It was a twenty, and I was to start out at level 2. This may seem like a very small thing, but I could be hit 2 more times in combat, for a total of 4 brutally stubborn hit points. As well, I got another skill and ability. Looking through the list, wearing my ninja mask and assassin garb, I carefully decided upon a character. there were many to choose from, and many would automatically place me in social cliques within the world. Naturally I chose the assassin,  and specialized in backstabbing, lockpicking, pickpocketing, and 'Feneran Sword Style' which translated to wielding an off hand dagger.

   I think it's important at this point to point out the other reason the whale of a woman knew I'd be important to the story line. I was attractive and in fit condition, my army chisled abs and cocky grin were a rare commodity amongst the men. Most were either terribly scrawny, terribly pimply, or terribly obese. The girls, half of them at least, were smoking hot. The rest had big ass tits busting out of their fat-people's corset, and thus weren't all that bad. I was to be in the pictures that year, it seemed, they wanted good appearances. All of this wasn't said of course, I admit I assume a fair portion of her thought process. But she seemed to be really excited about that twenty I just rolled! I was to be placed with the Undathos group, a group of worshippers of the dark god Undathos, Lord of Chaos and Strife. I was down for that, but as it turns out, it was a couple of Forest Rangers with hot girlfriends and a quiet pair of men in knight outfits. They all had goatees, making me glad my face cloth covered my impetuously shaven face. My brother informed me that the adventure was over for him, he couldn't handle having his world rocked by the sudden change in environment. He also seemed a little bit ashamed, but we all must bear our crosses. Mine was in the shape of a twenty sided-die. I was born for greatness, I couldn't squander it now.

   Before I knew it, I was swept up into the stories of my cabin-mates. the one Ranger was names Zak, and was one of the more respected warriors in the community. He was staying with the Undathos, because his wife Raven was an evil bitch, who was wearing just a thong and corset when I met her. This whole trip so far has really confused my sense of normal, and I was only an hour in. Knowing a good thing when I saw it, I befirended the guy who knew what he was talking about. As it turn out, that was a choice move, for we were about to be swept up in the biggest plot they've put together. He was supposed to be the main character, being the best swordsman, but he soon found that I could not only hold my own, but outright humiliate most here with my two blades of foam. He, a level 25 Ranger with no less than 12 real-world years in the making, and an hour old lucky twenty newbie. We made quite the team, I won't lie to you. Perhaps the best part of the whole system, is that no matter how high level you are, swords still require skill to wield. This propelled me to victory against an ogre warlord and two of his cronies who had me pinned away from my group against a woodshed. I got out of there with just a single HP left, and a bag full of coins. I took down five in the great melee, where an band of marauders were raiding our cabin. From their leader, I found the blade 'Night-Rose', which was this beautifully hand-made foam dagger with a curved blade and handle, black with delicate rose vines painted along the hilt and handle. I was growing, and fast. Soon we found out what all the havoc was about, there was a necromancer moving to conquer this land, and he was plaguing all living things to do his bidding. This played out like a zombie outbreak, and every infected had different ways they could infect you. Some do it with food, some with little beanbags which act like projectile vomit, some by touch. You didn't know all the ways they could pass it on, so the whole weekend became a very clique based environment. Secluding ourselves, and shunning those that have been made unclean. As the game progressed, my brother in arms Zak showed my the black spider he had inked on the back of his hand, warding him from getting the plague. Him, and a few others were being given the limited supply of tattoos available. I tried for most of the weekend, but I never did receive an immunity charm. And so I had to be careful, more careful than my level 25 friend with battle armor. I had thin black cloth, and my natural stealth and skill to keep me alive. I stalked the forest paths, for night had fallen on our first day out. Watching some pass by, I would backstab any loners that travelled along. As I awaited my prey, I overheard the knight in my cabin talking with a staff-run priest character. "Zak's got a new buddy, and he's been upsetting the balance of things." The priest laughed, I had met him in the tavern, shared a mug of frothy root beer on my own coin with the man. "Indeed, Knight Emery, the Commander has already been informed. I believe the Undathos house is going to get plagued tonight." Treachery! Letting them past, I slipped out through the shadows of the thick forest, weaving my way down the steep hill the campground was built on. Busting my way into the Undathos house, I roused our group of Rangers and evil female Clerics, with their skirt slits going up to their ribs. Zak took me br the forearm, and I grasped his in return. "I owe you my life, Outlander. I do not forget such honors. Smirking, as I was well into my role by now "But of course me brother, me blood for yers. If'n we all dinnae 'ave each other's backs, not a one of use will survive the night." And that was very true, as no more than a couple minutes after we left, almost a dozen vomiting zombies were clambering against our cabin, but we were already long gone.

The numbers dwindles, weeding out the weak and unwary until only a handful of people were left uninfected, fighting just to make it through the streets alive with every trip. The entire village was being over-run by people who could hide their symptoms for a time. You never knew who was your enemy save from a close inspection, which invited attack. That, or f;lashing your spider tattoo, proof of your immunity. But me and just 5 other people didn't have spider tattoos, we were the rare few left. But times weren't all high stress, I remember some strangely clear memories of sharing a smoke with Zak out back of the tavern, out woolen cloaks drawn tight against the rail, water matting our hair to our foreheads, and our cloaks to out bodies. We smokes with the few others who had cigs packed away in medieval looking hip pouches. In the morning, we went to the field to practice swordplay. Out in the open, where we could see anybody coming. It was here that disaster struck. Good-Wife Matilda always brought home-baked goods and meals for the LARPers, selling them for the currency. Not out of greed I suspect, but because it was an awesome environment, and nice people like her do exist. Good-Wife Matilda gave us hot, delicous food in a dark, rain-soaked, plague ridden land.  My Ranger brothers and their girls were eating, save for myself and Raven, who was tending a wound I received fighting a wraith off from our party. Her wandering hands felt up my manly physique discreetly away from her boyfriend while she healed me, leaving me unaware to the tragedy that was befalling my comrades. Good-Wife Matilda had become plagued, and had plagued the food she was handing out. Four more uninfected joined the ranks that day, leaving only me and the twelve tatoo wielding chosen ones. Twelve main characters that were chosen by the gods to save the village, and the Outlander that would not die. It was now, that I was hunted down more than ever. The entire village wanted me to join their ranks. Zak, having not forgotten what a comrade is, stuck by my side and kept most from trying to infect me. If it wasn't for him, I likely would have succumbed to the plague as well, and if not for me, he would be dead and in need of ressurection. The other 11 were mostly in 3 groups, all of which served good Gods. And thus, it was only me and Zak. To make a long story short, the necromancer launched an all out attack on the Chosen Twelve, and the Outlander while we were holed up inside of the tavern. An epic final battle to really cut our numbers down. Ten of us escaped, and Raven rose spells of protection. We'd be safe for now. Safe, if not for the Plagued among us, the virus had adapted to take over two of our numbers, and those two rose a riot against Zak, saying he was plagued and trying to backstab the survivors. Zak, who was always a defender of the village, was suddenly like me, hunted by all. They had him in the tavern, pinned down and chanting. They were going to sacrifice him. Me and Raven crept through the night's cover, peeking through the window. There were indeed 8 of them, and the situation dire. It was then I realized that Raven had also visited this place for twelve years or so, as she rained down the highest level spell available in the world, striking down the cult leader with a Word of Death. Bursting through the door, I brandished Night-Rose and my long blade defensively, keeping them off of my Lady Raven. She had in each hand, a spell of Fireball. And a Mexican standoff suddenly took place in a medieval tavern. The plague had driven the town mad, and we weren't to be swept up in that madness. Clearing a path slowly, I helped Zak to his feet, and the three of us retreated. Locking the door behind me, glad I had taken those lock-craft skills, we dashed off. The night was almost over, and there were now only 3 left. Two other met up with us, having been forced to take part in the sacrificial ceremony for fear of being discovered as plague-free. And thus the game ended, with the Chosen Four of the Gods poised to find the cure, and save the village. All else had fallen, save for those protected by the gods with their immunity. All else, save for the Outlander. The foreigner with no face, no past, only the legend to tell his tale. He had survived, where all else had failed. Where dieing meant getting touched, by projectile, food, or a bump in the street. He survived with no armor, base weapons, and came out one of the richest in the village. You see, I had been breaking into cabins while they were asleep, and stealing their coin purses. I'd find the rich ones, and just take from them. And thus, me and Zak and Raven, and a Ranger and Mage all ate our fill, and drank our thirst away with mugs of cream soda. Paid for by the now plagued nobility, toasting our good luck.

   And that's my story, the time I went LARPing. A time of intrigue, action, and legends. Of battles fought with foam and beanbag spells. It was a strange time, but a triumphant one. Teaching me a valuable lesson in becoming somebody else other than who you think your suppposed to be at this point. It's been awhile since we've spoken, my friends reading this, but fear not. Many tragedies and glorious have filled my life since, and I plan on immortalizing them in text in the coming weeks. Good health to you all, leave some comments if you like the change of pace, or if you want a different kind of post next time.

Monday, October 25, 2010

The March of Kane, a Rally to Restore Sanity

My brothers, I was excited for the first time in a couple of years.

John Stewart announced that he's holding a Rally to Restore Sanity. A march on D.C. to make all aware of the rich old men with rich old money calling the shots outside of our government. I for one, couldn't be more excited.  This is the exact kind of movement I've wanted to organize, and my once polar-opposite, John Stewart, ended up doing it for me. What a stellar chap.

Mates, I'll make this brief to maximize readers. Its being held on Saturday, if you dont want a hotel, ill be driving there with my girl. You are MORE THAN WELCOME to meet up with the Godfather himself. And by welcome, I mean it'd be a damn honor to meet some of you, my friends and comrades. Get a suit, get a facemask, its the only DC rally you can wear a face mask on, because its Halloween.  Get motivated! Get a fucking clue and google "Rothschild" already, they aren't even good at covering up their greedy little mistakes. (greedy being a very gentle word in this case)

If anybody DOES want to meet up with myself, leave a comment, this event is HUGE my friends, our generation's Woodstock they are saying. There are already satellites across the world, independently hosted. If you could get a plane ticket, I would suggest it. I would suggest not missing this under any circumstances, but that's just me. I demanded off from work, they were very surprised. And with the facemasks, we can meet up in person, without the whole real life nonesense affecting our anonymous selves.

Keep the peace mates,
JKane

tl;dr ...
Meetup in DC, Rally Against Old Money, Fight for the Proletariat!\
Comment if your interested, cry in shame if you aren't.

Friday, October 22, 2010

Becoming a Hero

A personal inspiration of mine brought up something which got my brain whirring once more. As we all do, my friend is going through a bit of a rough time in his life, as far as mental stability goes in this dog-eat-what-his-servants-make-for-him world. His words are words we all speak, and I'm glad that they were spoken. They speak of the same frustrations we all deal with, never achieving what we're told we should. And never being what we're told we should be. Every hero you grew up watching on tv, the always charismatic always ready stalwart guardian of justice and honor and all that other jazz we don't really understand until much later. The sense of purpose we're supposed to get from holding a steady job, and getting a steady paycheck. In my friends sarcastic words, "I just want to make you happy, please don't be mad at me, I'll stay in my home and do what you tell me, keep me safe please." Now, as dramatic as that sounds, it speaks through the generations and far into the future, I'm afraid. It's the same mentality that has kept our loved ones in fear of some invisible friend/enemy their parents taught them about. Much like their invisible leaders, and decision makers, and law makers, the faceless, blameless cookie-cutter corporation that we let buy and sell our lives, that we trust every aspect of our lives to.  These people have manicured pasts, carefully brought up and raised to be able to make a connection with the general population, while still keeping an air of superiority. With a past so untroubled and unexciting it's inhuman. With a wife attractive, yet plain enough to be accessible to the general public. With children, to appeal to the family census. Our leaders will have a strong background in rhetoric, public speaking, law, and other forms of manipulation. And their opponents always shown in black and white, unflattering poses, with a dread-filled music brewing in the background. Here are a few quotes I've taken out of context about my opponent. Here's me kissing a baby, and shaking a hand. I'm just like you, I was born to act just like you.

But I digress. These people we call leaders are human, and more importantly, they are self absorbed, egotistical to the point of being monstrous, and deathly afraid of public judgement. The people we call our Leaders are just like you in me, just born into a different family.

If you'll allow me, I wish to share a short story of my life with you. I always looked up to the guardians in books and tv, the renegade hero or the roguish charmer with a quick epee and faster wit. These mammoths of personality and reputation. I wanted to be the person that people hear my name, and know that they can trust me with their lives. This is the birth of a monster, my friends. It is where every hero stems, and every monster feeds. I can honestly say, all of my life, I've wanted to save people for selfish purposes. Having done the racket for a while, this evolved into a more stable rule from years of trial and grievous error. Fight for those that cannot, inspire those that can, and secure the freedom of choice to the working force. Worker's of the World, Unite! But in all those years of fighting, struggling with my own identity and sense of worth, going through depression and monotony, often stumbling into hero moments. And after years, I still felt nothing like the heroes on tv. I still had to enforce my image as a soldier to get people to back down from a fight, still had to prove I could lead when a group needed a leader. My experience made me skilled, but it wouldn't make me a great man in other people's eyes. Now, I won't go into why we should be concerned about other peoples images, or the seeming contradiction between being a public speaker who doesn't care about people's opinions... You lie to yourself the more you lie to people, simply put. Choose your own path.

I didn't feel like the hero, and I still don't. I don't feel like a sniper, and I don't feel like a martial artist, or a traceur, or anything else I set my mind to become throughout my 2 and a half decades. And I hate to tell you mates, but the only way your going to feel like that, is when other people start calling you that. Until then, all we can do is motivate ourselves, make a difference with every day. Make a coil gun, learn to wall run, pick a lock, or talk to a mirror and practice that grin. But please, improve yourself. Better the person you are, and you will become a better person. When I tell you that there is no difference between you and the 8 figure salary fatcat we all love to hate, I mean it. None of us are any different, but we are ALL unpredictable. We can do whatever the fuck we want, including posting How-To manuals for making improvised machines of death.

But Daddy Kane, how do I go into that world of heavy hitters and serious people? Look, mates, I can write you article after article, and I am more than willing to, about how to conquer this fear and that. But when it comes down to it, you cant fucking fail if you just keep learning. Go out and get a public speaking book, talk to a mirror. That alone just multiplied your average earning in this life. Get a smile, get a suit, learn from your enemies. The Master's Mansion can only be brought down by using the Master's Tools. And they've got an extensive mansion so far. Make yourself into a hero, and then act like that hero. Don't waste your day, mates... It's not about it might being your last. It's about every day being the only day you get a chance at. Your never going back, and forward holds only death. Past that, Daddy Kane can't help you... But until then, you have brothers to support you, and friends to lead. You have a valuable, one of a kind tool of modern warfare raging inside of that skull, mates. Prime it with knowledge, and hone it with repetition.

I have so much more I'd like to say on this topic, so many more words of reassurance... But I also know how the brain works, and your going to have to learn on your own pace. A teacher isn't a teacher if he can't teach to his students, after all. Just... Know your not alone mates. If you want specific advice, ask away. If you made it this far, I'm glad I kept you entertained.

Keep posted for my next update, including coil weapons and MAYBE the PVC Sniper Rifle, depending on the level of interest. The frame is the complicated part, so it'll take a bit to explain. However it's operation is easy to build and use. I love all of you, brothers. Fight the good fight, brothers.

If you take one thing from this, nobody can stop you from achieving what you want. The Columbine Boys died for their cause, even if their message was censored by the media. For the record, uncensored transcripts of the two soldiers last video can be found here.

http://acolumbinesite.com/quotes2.html

While I cannot condone violence, because it is illegal, usually unwanted, and generally uncalled for; and would NEVER condone murder under any circumstances, it's chilling to hear a revolutionaries last words, knowing he's about to die. Very moving... And a nice wake-up call as to how much the media strips from you in the search for popular, money making world events.

Fight the Power, mates.
-JKane

P.S.

I've edited the closing words a bit after re-reading them, and hearing some comments from my friends. Rorsharch , BlueRAD and Angry Veg amongst them. I felt it came off too much pushing for a violent uprising, rather than directing the reader to the blurry line we all place when a 'government' has a cause, and when two boys have a cause. I speak so often in irony and sarcasm, I forget I have at least a slight obligation not to direct my readers (few as they are) towards any actions I would feel vilified for having spurred. As we all know, I am a lover of peace and understanding, weapons and war should only ever be a reaction to weapons and war. My intent here is to center on what the media didn't, as it did a damn fine job of shedding light on the tragedy and terrible outcome for the families of the victims as it is.

I've also changed the image of the two soldiers in question, as their post-mortem picture in the library also unsettled the intent, and would might be a bit disrespectful. (though I'm sure they'd love the coverage, in all honesty.)