Warp Bridge Expansion Protocol

It’s been a long time since the last time I was here.

9 months or so.

And in that time, our expeditions to the realms of abstraction and security have been fighting heavily to bring back information. As my research oratories theorised and debated, this blog was not forgotten; and the tools, the precision arts of literature and microforecasting, are now within our grasp. I now stand prepared to retake the helm of this platform and begin its operation as a content delivery system proper.

Energy stabilisation is the last key goal for this expedition. The Department of Heuristic Observation and The Legion of The Predicators have begun broader investigations on this matter. In the meantime, there is finally solitude across all of the Conglomerate, and its Protectees.

A long lost federation can now begin to fly again. If only we knew of Hiigara.

Maimed and backed into a corner

When one first said “be yourself” – they surely didn’t mean it to end like this.

It seems the true colours behind my mind are being tarnished – from the inside. See, look here; these emblems and draperies are normally proud to be azure. But they’re not, are they?

What can you see now? Rouge. Literally, rouge. Here, a despicable and sickly cosmetic that has grown out of control and been smeared around like some sort of gawkfitti.

When I first saw the trend of my activity over the past months, I was shocked and alarmed, shortly followed by indignant and violently frightened. It took less than a minute before there were bandied whispers of femme fatale (like visceral snakes) and cries of “Oh my god.” – because at heart, these personalities were right. Collectively, they were never intended to form me as a selfrighteous idiot bitch; or worse, a seducer.

Leveraging gender and pity? How the hell did you not see that? Why do you cling to pity and dependance?

Another bitter drunk embarrassment to add to the pile. I’m sure of that much, but no, what troubles me more is that they’ll be back, and they keep twisting my arm and brushing the grit off my neurons. No. What really fucks me is that it’ll come back, like some sort of never ending history trail. There aint a promise or end to it that I can be relied upon to deliver. It’d be kinda uncertain that there’s anything left about here that can still get a tactical grip on a situation. For all I’ve had in life, it disappoints me can’t even promise to eliminate a damn taint and make sure won’t be back. I’ve been fighting fire with vengeance in a desperate endeavour to stave it off for some sleep. But the mofo bounced back, messed in my brain some more, and suffocated me with darkness and fear on its way out! It’s some sort of adventurous, cliché ripped, battle to keep free of urges – but books are successful because people relate to them.

It’s just ironic (and thus further clichéd), that these very seductive urges that besiege me were the result of hopeless solitude in the first place. Take a look at this page on Maslow’s Hierarchy, and tell me what you see – and note that this is a subconscious grab for romance in lieu of love. I’m not trained in clinical psychology, but what I can say is that it’s a pathetic and volatile imitation and substitute for a proper relationship, disturbing the very foundations of trust that a coalition must be built upon.

As the conflict ensued between these zealots and the true-azure survivalists (outraged that the lust would run uncontrollably and disturb a stable living), there was a crisis that pitched my mind into terror. I’m on the run from them now – there wasn’t exactly anywhere else to go to.

Note the lack of any family relationships above? Note my vicious tone that is rather unbefitting and odd? I blame my family for a lifetime of independence, indifference and insults. In their own way… understandable; but not brilliant. It’s spurned a life of untrust, cut off and eternal vigilance. There are few that know my secrets, and none yet that understand the complexity and deep shit that I got stuck in. Bitterly, the concept of reassurance and happiness was turned over its head for solitude and isolation.

Personality wise, this is exacerbated by a feminine partygoing persona, the first visage you meet. It’s all too typical of a modern girl: deceptively simple, eternally drunk and yet have proper limits. It doesn’t benefit from tactical analysis, wisdom or rhythm and dead stupid.

Totally false and unreflective of the internal workings. Desperate in time, desperate in love, and a complete recipe for disaster. But coping normally, not like those… creepy, old people with their stiff rules and weird habits. Total ugh!

But as much as spontaneity is lively, loose and happy, it doesn’t give much unless it’s tempered with a bit of temporal awareness. Sleep.

You can see where this is going, right? I hope so. I’m not really sure if I’ve been making the concept link into each other, I’m so freaking tired and bitter.

Fatale.

Because of the lack of trust, the sleep deficiency kicks in and wipes out any defensive personas, mucking up their concept of rhythm. Without timing, defence is uselessly ineffective and gives out to fear and lust. Something stupid will be said.   BAM.

Of course, I’m watching this fucker. This demon succubus isn’t getting away, and there might actually be some interesting shit to talk about then. Question is, how do you get to grips with a fight with one? The supply routes are adequately slashed. I can barely think straight because I stayed up late to write this out of sheer fustration. Social isolation progresses because of that sleepless fear, causing an alert on stupidity, and inertia isn’t exactly working in my favour…

Time and trust will tell, I suppose. First thing is to get a grip on everything, not just half like this, at one instant. I might actually see where to go from there. (Um, no actually. It’d be to get some nice sleep :P )

A plan against Social Awkwardness

*scrawled marker writing on a virtual board – organised into the form of arrows, plots and a map. Listed via the LCD are various labels and objectives, methods and directions of assault, weaponry lists and armament stores, logistical routes, bombardment, troop movements… this is war.*

The lady standing at this board has pocketed the stylus and turned around.

Strategy. I take pride in it. It’s a right I’m here to damn well keep, too.

If someone wants to take that right, it’ll be over my cold, dead body. You just fucking try.

Anyway. That isn’t the point. I must advise you I don’t take kindly to patronisation. And I’m keeping my rights while I’m at it. That includes my damn dignity.

You think it’d probably be wise not to insult her while you’re at it.

These plans are being written up for an inquiry into social conduct. It’s come into question before and it needs to be analysed and understood before moving on.

Bigger picture, social dynamic has to be worked on, sealed down and resolved before anything else gets moving on. But it’s a deep subject.

Hence the strategy board.

Keeping my goddamn rights is… tradition.

Also with this, taking things by complete storm.

Now, this all has to be arbited and approved at some point by the personas responsible for auditing-arbitration and privacy, but believe me, innundations of stupid clueless Laana are long gone. Response times, reallocation and divesture… a lot of paperwork is being filed over in this brain, and it’s all in stability’s sake. Clarity of expression isn’t long off the horizon; it’s just where to find the damn thing.

Then? We might start getting into the meat and potatoes of this lot. I’ll get those resolutions. I’ll… kick the bastards in the fucking balls. And finally get some goddamn, bloody peace. *sigh*

The Last Front

Things have escalated. The times are trying and at times, people seem like they’re after my back to persecute me. It’s a rather perplexing predicament.

Shutting in? It’s still not healthy, and if I’m going to hold the last few cords keeping me together, I’ll have to move off them soon. Questions will be raised as to what and how, and if this is all really right; a reasoned, balanced judgement still must be made, at least to some extent (as my bureaucracy is with counsel…). But time is running out, more than ever. These strains are placing their knives to the throat of some very important strands of mind. Letting one of these fall would be enough to cause some very, very, very serious damage to whatever remains of my sanity.

Well, not that I’ve lost it.

And yet, I still question what, how? Corruption exists; to what extent? What amends will be made? Could I accidentally exacerbate the precarious situation, irritate yet more of my friends; hide, and create backstabbing and mutual mistrust by overcaution?

Whatever it is, there will be expression. It’s been too long.

Running; across all worlds, virtual, mental fantasy, real. Running, across escapism, from mistrust and misunderstanding, persecution and solitude, and trying to fill the void with what I never could myself. Running with what I have left of a soul, and order; running from corruption and without the tools to express it, and to keep an appreciation of reason, understanding and respect. I’d rather die first.

The fact is there. It needs to go to paper, words, diagrams or else. It needs to know it can be acted on. It needs to know hope exists in change of direction. It needs to know that corruption can’t take what’s left or punch through integrity, into the mental sanctum.

The last front. The last war. My mind and I; we are ready, and we will defend the last link to sanity to our death (not that I’m planning that any time soon… you’ll have to put up with me for a while yet ;) )

What next? September

A lot of logistics work is under way to prepare the way for the next month of posts. Things to expect?

First, apologies and social triage. Habit security and the like. This includes the continuation of the tempo shift, explanations, observations and the like.

A history and front report, plus scouting, us due.

Then, groundwork for a future, over the next 2 months…

Light. Intellectual philosophy, jediism, pragmatic morality, buddhism, and a nice paladin comparison to Planet of the Hats’s post on hands, as well as my concept on mana. Faith.
Articulation. Illustration. Tone. Blame by “you” statements. Socially awkward penguin makes about 5 visits here.
Feminine takes and stances, getting old, and fashion. And jeans. And appearance as reflective. And paramilitarism.
Long rants on passion and innovation, and lots of flaming and slamming teachers, especially in NZ.
Addiction and its significance.
Myers-Briggs will make an appearance.
Guide writing will most definitely be covered

In subsequent, real game oriented content, leadership and WoT, as well as strategy and a long rant on idiot leadership, as well as draft internal work on a leadership handbook for my quarticentennial. In addition, the constitution and vision will be written within the next 10 days.

The keystone for the month is an explanation of current battle doctrines, tactics and strategy for the next 3 years, as well as the tiers of quality and strike efficiency tactics. Contrast, quality, control and a whole lot if other stuff I can’t think of at 2330h.

I also got a promotion at work lined up. Unofficially yet, but I’m told by a reliable source…
The pay rise? UNBELIEVABLY AWESOME. Means I can go shopping for clothes tomorrow too.

I’m pretty confident I can queue this all up, but it may be a little longer than a month if things go south. But this ends a long dynasty of unpreparedness and the start of a long journey. But a very worthwhile one. This is no boring old crusty blog or collapsing project. This is a full combat force, with siege armament and formidable bombardment capability. If you’re sitting comfortably on a shit, unruly class and doing absolutely nothing about fixing it… get worried. I’m coming for your ass. The Conglomerate had the funding, will and force to take you on and win in a firefight. Teaching in New Zealand will improve at all cost. We cannot afford to be laid back and all I can and will use all force possible to achieve such an objective. There is no future for a New Zealand without a solid education, and if we can’t even convince IB uptake to be at least 70% I don’t know what we’re thinking and trying, but it’s not working. I’m not that. As a nextgen of the late 80s, this a fresh, new insightful tactical taskforce, specialist designed for maximum impact and flexibility, innovation and pioneership, with undying prose and resolve. This its not going to be another flop. This is an elite taskforce, purpose designed to engage and win, with tactics and strategy that no other information distribution had gone for, on a front where a victory is a victory for the world and a defeat is one we cannot afford

Tomorrow will lay out stage 1 SEAD and carrier insertion reports, tempo and maaaybe vision. Soon after are social notes.
I now finally hold the munitions and fuel to make a difference (it shows on my face too). It’s time to engage. Strike forces launches have been on to double as of late and have been under immense pressure to stay secure and I’m glad the ops theatre and farce is to be resolved within the next fortnight. Reactors offline, all hatches seal for evening signoff.

Kt-Lt Seranaar, out.

This time, I’m not dying…

This blog has died and withered too many times. And this… this won’t be the last time, but it will be the last time, for quite some time. There will be no hibernated whimper. There won’t be a suicide note. There won’t be another fight and absence.

It has gone on for too long.

This is a stand, a rebellious declaration of defiance. At all of it. All of the unreadiness, the uncertainty, the fear, the pain. The Light is fated to end this.

We-me-myself-I-whateverfirstpersonpronouns have been training in secret over the past 8 months to plan a decisive and controlled change of the status quo. The next dawn will be a herald of our reckoning.

When the  flagship hoists its flag tomorrow, it marks the beginning in the Operation to Restore the Conglomerate. It marks the end of belligerence, it marks the end of unpurposeful living. It will be an honour and duty to ensure that these revisions and tactical strikes are performed with an exceptional manner. It will be my honour to chronicle it as advice, and to have hope that this could support others through their times of need.

The journey will be treacherous. But the Conglomerate is stronger, better, more prepared, more maneuverable, and proactively ready; and so, this farce ends – now.

ToDo list

https://twitter.com/#!/anolaana/status/105577984521547776

https://twitter.com/#!/anolaana/status/105578129371832320

Scouting report: Skirting “The Cycle”

It’s no secret. My problems are flooding into the open like thousands of gallons of pollutant sewage – that is, every negative swing.

I finally understood; people don’t hate people; they either hate what they say, or have no idea who they are. I’m misinterpreting a lot of social signs.

And when you do hate me, it’s not me. It’s what I’ve said, stupidly, that has offended or chided you. The immaturity is what gets you. And you’d be right to imply scoffing (but not to do :P ).

Why do I get these mood swings? It’s like cutting off the power. Run out of stored sleep; run out of fuel; run out of electricity. Plain and simple.

I don’t like admitting mistakes. I particularly would like to believe that I would have never done it, or never done it while I was awake. But one measure of a person is by their worst, not best; not to mention if I never face these problems, they’re going to come back. So I – I, not the brain, not we “brain-and-I” – need to break the fear of these problems temporarily.

So I need to find the problems (I like to call them terrorists, so I can blow them up). Then, I need to find the causes of each – typically a worry, a fear or habit, and find arguements to remove them. Each worry removed means more time at efficiency, less time in mood swings, and less stupid.

I hate stupid. I hate hate hate hate hate it. I can’t see why I’d ever allow myself to do it; but that means beating myself up in worry over it. I can’t see how the hell I allowed myself to run out of discipline to start swearing or horny on the damn internet, get so fatigued I was good as drunk, or believed that I could get away from sleep all the time. I’ve got to start making major policy changes, as soon as I can.

I’ve touched all too briefly on the base causes, but not actually what happens. Let me describe these fluctuations and mood swings, because it’s not actually as apparent as I think (and the fact that I, myself, am not actually sure, which means I don’t actually know the concept as well as I need to):

1. Neutral. This is actually more like a 60-70% of capacity due to sleep, but meh. Awake. This was the middle of the day yesterday, when the posts were rolling out.
2. Mistakes. Fury. Arguements. Something I have disdain for. Something I need to change.
3. Get really enraged that it happened (a whole “Have to fight it! CHARGE!” and cavalier thing) and not sleep.
4. As I move to fight it, my mood warps as headaches roll in, my mind becomes apathetic and I cannot concentrate. Personality starts to disintegrate as focus gets strained. I should probably be sleeping anyways.
5. Say something really-really stupid, because I’m running out of sleep. Alternatively, get horny (sigh). Typically the stupid happens midweek, and the latter occurs during the weekend.
1. This is typically due to a loss of logical reason. I can usually prevent most of this by reasoning that I’d be better off by not saying that. The hot stove extrapolation goes as I lose abstract thought. It essentially becomes a big BFS.
6. Do the whole OMG thing… but this time, have a cry about it :\
1. This is the danger zone. It causes very, very strange distortions of logic. However, it causes 7 to kick in – that is, as a countermeasure to 6a. 6a causes isolation, panic and fear, and commonly points fingers that nothing is working.
7. This forces logic to kick back in. Everything shuts down and is under mental comfort-triage.  I have an early night, and get pushed back into 1.

Starting from just before my first proper post, written as I was on a plane home…

[Possible 5 - saucily provoke @Velidra and @Formerlychaotic?]

3. Wrote post on fear.

4. Stayed up too late when I was already tired. Energy levels were already starting to level off by the early afternoon.

5. As we moved into the evening, I started talking horribly dirty. The last time I did this, I was awfully drunk. I’m typically a prude, and hardly ever talk about sex. Even saying it is weird. I still couldn’t sleep, and by morning, I snapped at two men in a rather unnecessary (and rather territorial) way.

6. As I started to realise what had happened, I immediately scrambled a response.

“4.” In my pushing fury to resolve the situation in a proper, professional way I burnt out. Went back to sleep until 2pm.

6-a. By then I started picking up on how awful I was being and how little I could do about it.

What happens is that by following anything, I worry, and this actually pulls me closer towards my mum.

Logically this exposes worrying as the key issue.

This exposes chronology as a subsequent sub issue, and a revisit to time, rates and habits will be required to keep the almost divine supply lane of sleep open.

Thing is, we’ve the whole no-sleep thing is over rated. I’ve reached the limits of an all-awake system. I’ve had this realisation that this was the limit of the current habit-architecture for a while. And the time will come that at this limit will no longer be enough to meet daily needs. Fate is letting time push you along into anything it likes; and to be proactive, to have that ability to dare and respond to life, to wield that power of speed and mental grace is to get the largest tactical advantage in life.

A most disappointing affair

I got my ass kicked real well by drunkenness. I didn’t think it’d ever bloody happen again. *sigh*

It’s just so bloody stupid. It ends up as a farsical affair, because the public eye watches everywhere. You’re expected not to make these mistakes, because they’re really fucking dumb. For everyone. Accused, acusee, and bystander, everyone’s honour gets hit by the shrapnel of these sorts of things.
I didn’t think that would ever happen, either.
And that’s exactly how it kicked my arse.

I’m shutting down for a few; blog posting will be halted and sealed until I can get a proper investigation carried out into this. This is not something I ever expected to happen twice and it won’t happen thrice. A proper apology is due at that time.

“25″ and Fear’s Bane

I ended up listening to my other pop culture song. It’s Taylor Swift’s 15, and although I’m a long way past it, coming up on 9000 days alive (OMG POWER LEVEL), I sure don’t feel much like one. When I call myself a /girl/ as opposed to /lady/, I mean it. Nothing much has changed since then. I’ve moved from passive-agressive, to sporadic activism, to full war declaration, but that’s it really. At the end of the day, I’m still the rebellious bitch to her. And my issues still live on, so I train and fight smarter. I was the quiet girl who kept at the side of the class, and now I’m the teacher. Well, on that front it definitely changed. The backend, not so much. I live like Hermione-fucking-Granger, for goodness sake. Thankfully that got-gets you respect and keeps stupid at bay.

Some days, I just want to curl up and fucking die. I’m so tired I can barely think straight, I’ll have piles of work to do. Endless piles… I’ll probably have just dearly insulted somebody like a drunk – and subsequently… have nobody to talk to. After that many cycles of awakeness-fatigue-awakeness-fatigue… again… again… again… again… again…

It just feels like it will never end.

That hope has run out.

The mortal blow has been struck.

WHY? Why, why why why why why WHY WHY FUCKING WHY?

My damn tears start to flow. It feels so fucking hopeless.

I want a hug. Dearly, dearly want one. Chances are there just isn’t somebody who I’ve entrusted about this to care. And I’m alone.

I write this post in and because of fear, yet again. I can’t sleep. I feel alone again.

Fucking why?

This phenomenon runs a very close parallel to Tiger parents. I’ve explained last time how much of a knack for concept understanding I have; and pushing it doesn’t fucking work any better, I tried, I worried, I cursed and I mentally beat myself over it. Sooner or later the child becomes too much of a social cripple. It’s like politics, you don’t invest in your businesses and spam flailing welfare, a decade later your economy flips over and recesses. It doesn’t work. The best nation on Earth cannot remain the best with a crippled living standard, nor can it be productive.

Simply put, you can’t artificially push on a person. A child, while not as fully developed as you and I, is like a lowbie. She (or he, I can’t be androgynistic, that would probably be bad for PR) has the same emotional needs as any other, and while excessive discipline is one way of achieving that, parenting doesn’t have to be endless chastising. If it is, they’ll come out on the other end and probably commit matricide. You don’t want that… it’s the fancy way of saying “killing your mum”…

The other part of my experiences with this stretch deeper, and have been more recently revealed. They run deeper, these wounds, and even the newfound spirit cannot quash them.

It’s the need for approval and the superlativity, the leading superiority and the absolute requirement of staying ahead. Not alpha. Just ahead. The why aren’t you doing your best  – why didn’t you apply yourself practically moping? All from shit parenting. Let me explain before you become a demonstration of what I mean.

I am reliant on my skill and worth to stay ahead of the pack, out of mocking and failure. I have always been here. It’s ridiculously hard to so much as emulate their thought processes, as I dismiss them as ridiculously inefficient and stupid. Then again, they’d describe mental harm, like this, in the same way as I am now. Plus, it’s the IB mindset that counts when you teach it to others, even those who go around blowing stuff up. It demands that I be the best, always, strive for it, and if there is a problem, resolve it quicksnap.

The problem is not a problem, it’s a political issue about the sourcing of passion, a derivative product of emotional stability. No, you’re not social tools! I refuse manipulation like the devil reincarnate! I’m simplifying your emotional impact for the sake of medical-psychology… and so tired I’m practically dyslexic. I don’t know the symptom of switching the letters, so I can’t say I’m that.

Passion is the single most strong pervasive force in the universe. Not compound interest. It’s the equivalent of gravity – it never runs out, ok, maybe Hawking Radiation, but it’s not like the Earth evaporates… – and as strong as, well, the weak force (misnomer, this thing is nuclear fusion). Now that’s why marriages last a long time… or burn within a couple of months.

Yes, that IS one thing I learnt, like Taylor Swift.

The reason why my job wasn’t going so well was because of the fluctuation of supplies. I can’t remember what economics is supposed to call this, materials or somesort, but without these, my mental economy was buggered. I got there in the end of course, but it was slow. It was chaotic. And there were many, many, many riots in this brain.

Going back to what this sleep-loss and instability was doing, it was causing panic and fear.

Sorry. Didn’t explain the source of the original sleep loss. It was what we would typically class as an addiction. It was gaming in general, of which the history stretches back about 9 years to when I first got a laptop. A couple of years before that I had heard about the Sims from my… uh… father’s colleague’s daughters. I couldn’t understand it, tbqh. I installed it, played the tutorial, and dumped it (like I hear everyone whining about RuneScape at school)… wait, no, actually it was Pokemon Sapphire the year before…

Er, sorry again. I ended up playing into the night to fill a void gaming couldn’t fill. I was worried, and I said that gaming would soothe it. It didn’t. The only thing that did work was making a personality clone of RP-Laana and imagining she was my stepmother. Truefax.

No, I’m honestly not joking. I made an imaginary stepmother. I started crying once I realised how much shit this was. There’s something seriously fucked up about that. Dear friends, that is what the fear is in a short-paraphrased clippity version. That is what happens when you force a person to walk to exhaustion without moral care for them. That is why you only have 1 shot at a marriage. Well, more on that later.

[TL;DR]

For goodness sake, treat your child with a bit of dignity and respect! They’re people too, even if they’re gingers (PC note, I don’t have anything against them personally, but after hearing “GINGER ALERT!”, believe me, I’m worried). Be open to them. Let them spill their troubles on you;  because if not, the results and consequences will be worse. And if you can’t? SORT YOUR SHIT OUT FIRST, M**F*KER.

We’re now underway, Miss!

Sorry! This is heavily fragmented from ! I’m just too tired to edit it thoroughly and re-edit the re-edits for flow… tentatively, this is the draft of the Second Statute of the Blogistution to uphold the tenets of the Light and provide legal and visionary basis for writing content here.

It’s been an interesting day. One of my most productive, most youthful, and most provisional to the next. Thoroughly amazing pieces of info have been rolled through to patch (ok, become experience) and been collected.

Yes, that was a cliché. You’ll have to excuse me.

Thanks for making it an interesting one. I’m too tired to explain it… :P but, you know I truly mean it. Hopefully.

The first mobilisation has begun, and the formal crusade against parenting will be in logistical and strategic preparations over the next few days. In the meantime, basic operational patrol has begun and data is being collected. I’ll explain why I’m doing so as soon as I can, and how I intend to achieve this. Veeery soon. In the meantime, I’m going to write this, and enjoy my girlishness by letting my fingers run around madly. No, don’t even think about me in a damn bikini. Goodness you’d be a piece of **** if you were. You don’t even know what I look like. I could weight 270lbs for all YOU know (I don’t, but still). Don’t be such a bloody pervert.

To the rest of you, sorry.

The second mobilisation is the original blogistution.

Blogs are interesting voices of mind. They are publishing spaces, for free. They let fierce words and strong arguement prevail; truly a medium of modern free speech. And that’s why it’s important that my communication and expression is concisely precise.

Granted, it’s not going to be perfect. This is a chaotic, random universe, with so many moving parts something’s bound to come wrong or float into the gears of it. But I feel I could do a whole lot better.

I endeavour to change. I endeavour, dear reader, to change the status quo of my expression. The best people, of all categories are always stand out- and always unique. It is my intent to strive for this.

Ever since I made the first battle a year ago as a rebel force against the oppressions of crap parents and discovering the source of why I was so lost and childlike, I’ve wished to help others. (I found it. It was provisions of sleep. It was, indeed, fear. Coupled with going back to high schools. I also intend to express the followed source – and this time (ugh, villiany!) it won’t escape.)

It is thus, in the combination of the two, that my intents are stated as blatantly as ****ing possible, in the highest quality of expressional writing possible. The best writers let you see through their eyes. That is my vision. Is it possible? Maybe. Am I vain? … certainly!!!!!!!!11!!!! Well, ok. I am a bit, but it’s good to strive, right? I won’t ever become as good as them, but I want to come damned close.

Bad expression is just… muddled, undeveloped, unexplained, unclear, uncohesive, verbose crap you shouldn’t need to read in paticular. It’s good as a capture of the time it’s written, like a photo… but it has no artistic value. It doesn’t communicate anything, but what the tone does.

Bad expression was the first post in which I denounced a member of my server for leading a PuG and then biting my ass for kicking him. Reasonable and un-reasonable to bite me.

The tone of these words is important. As soon as the first battles and “terrorism” (snicker, rebellion is sweet) had been won by late 2010, it became apparent that I would have to double-push for this to become a better teacher. Hmm, I’ve said it many times on my blogposts and such… should I publicly post this? The moving of experience and thus, knowledge in dealing with situations, is best moved with clear and precise writing. Which was sporadic under the oppression, and limited to passive-voice objectivity. It took me back to the years of efficiency back then. Yes, I did get very high marks (At the time, both NZ High Schools and the Uni I went to had just switched certification systems). Previously, from 9-15 years old, I had been within the top 2% of my cohort in every EAA exam (we call them ICAS these days) I did. If I had been healthy, I imagine that would have gone on to 18 years old.

Sorry, blabbing about my history (important to understand and study, not to recite. Goes for the subject too). The important part about one’s tone is it changes the entire context. People say you can’t get tone in writing, and I say BS, because the word choice is everything. It is true that it is diminished without an actual voice-tone, which has full modulation. This is why I preserve swear words at current. Usually because I’m angry or really tired. I don’t typically, but if I would I will. You can bypass certain blanket filter-proxies using https: for any WordPress site or GReader, which has a https service. Search cache, where not blocked as a proxy itself, also works. Don’t tell my boss/IT managers I’m telling you this.

Sorry! Tone has to be clear, and uncondescending. To be blatant – or implying – is to get your tone across. To flavour your text using words and passion is to enhance it further. And that’s reasonable, right?

{TL;DR}

I suppose the thing that sums this all up is, to get knowledge, we must express, and we must dare when we do so.

And much daring I shall provide for. Plenty of sleep, plenty of hope, plenty of anti-fear munitions and (hopefully some anti-parental-soundproofing).

Info-supply status/tomorrow/previewing the future/somethingcoolIcan’tthinkofrightnow/postwriting comments/other nonsense/nothisisnotapermanentnameforthispossiblefooter/an infopipeline, damnit

I might leave up a copy of my OLD about post tomorrow. And I am indeed tracking the ToDo list very closely:

The third statute and its reasoning-explanation of the blogistution and vision will be up tomorrow, along with the about pages… and, sorry, my scholar’s memory has dropped, I’m too tired… I’ll check later and put it into the mindmap…

The arbitrations on privacy as a professional are ongoing and the information will be processed and pushed through as soon as I reach a decision on revealing anything. Don’t hold your breath,  - my first name is publicly available if you dig, as is my city (no stalkers, I’m picking up martial arts ASAP) and my profession will be placed on my bio/about pages sometime soon. Voice is still a long way off, because that’s actually me, not just information about me, and I’m pretty paranoid.

Yes, I love the people who bold the important parts of their posts.