Magnet Girl Wireless: English Version

SRWeaver

– Smart Phones are private, unless you use the store on the web. There was a store clerk at a standard department store. She didn't know that clerks could be so technically illiterate.

Cell phones were an embarrassment to those who appreciate the Linux OS. The store of the net of things was more secure than cell phones had ever been. At least in theory. But all systems were not secure against social engineering. A hacker is not going to follow standard rules and conventions, that's pretty much by definition. A good hacker isn't going to need a windows back door. They just need to socially engineer you to log in on your own. Then when you're not looking replace your current code with an older version with previous weaknesses, replaces your remote control's login feature with the older version. Then simply type anything besides enter or space.

Hackers do this all the time. They're not going to obey the rules of a particular system. The best thing you can do is secure yourself against social engineering tactics. – Have a nice day. She said, as Arline left.

Considering that the lady was that bad off, the store was easy pray for purchasing more than enough "cigarillos" to last you more than a week. Tear those suckers up, save you an extra dollar. More money that could be spent on purchasing locks. Locks that could be used to craft your own secured notebook. However at times arts and crafts can be more expensive. It took using post it notes and cutting off the sticker parts to have something one could reasonably pay for. The locks made of metal could just be ripped off. And if you have the wrong friends, it didn't matter how secure the lock. Clearly keeping encryption keys required an entirely different process from using notebooks. Especially if one used a straddling square. The straddling square was similar to a straddling checkerboard, only each letter was shifted based on a different pass phrase instead of a Cesarean shift. It was as random as a straddling checkerboard, but also required knowing the pass phrase to break the lack.

At home she programmed similar ciphers, but in a different kind of login system. One had a two in three chance to evade penetration testing with the cipher. In a three phase process, this meant each penetration test had a two in three chance of failing. If one did a seven phase process the chances of actually logging in becoming increasingly astronomical, therefore it's kept difficult enough to avoid logging in accidentally, but easy enough to log in without having to exploit weaknesses in the interface. But the weakness points were removed by arline who had anticipated people simply pressing enter or space. She exited the remote control, and chose to feed her face.

Then back to the old grind.

Remote viewing in cyberspace. Her old life, the tears on the face.

On Friday, February 10 2017. It was 1:43 A.M. At 25 x coordinators and 15 y coordinates, it was wet and rippling. The rectangular building nearby was in need of repair, with a triangular roof. There was a doorway. The entire place looks like a giant backward, there is a smell of something baking.

She wasn't sure what was smelling, but didn't want to take herself out of the zone to think about it. She hadn't been to the park in some time along East like, but generally didn't feel like walking. Arline had recently had a RFID chip put in, along with a lifting and sensing magnets. The lifting was on her index finger, just below the finger tip. And the sensing magnets were on all her finger tips. She had had her right hand modified to accommodate her lack of general use. Being born left handed netted many benefits, although certain skill sets were difficult being right brained. But through practice, one could become a black belt in anything, even remote viewing.

Arline wasn't sure whether there would be anything to lift at East Lake, but she would have to wait, if some other region she brain scans doesn't strike some stronger interest for her.

This was her story.

– What's the difference between RFID encryption, and using a standard super? It was one of those questions most more experienced bio hackers knew, but didn't have time to answer as it would take hours. They just assumed her lack of technical experience, although Arline was less of a general programmer breaking into security, and more apt to use the system's rules against itself.

– It's just different Arline. Consider learning the technical specifics of RFID. A pat response indicative of impatience and lack of attention. Arline didn't have time for condescending assholes, she dealt with way to many of them in her own lifetime. She knows enough about programming to bypass social media spam block functionality, encrypting phrases in different ways, and playing around with the word sandwich order to reach a desired result.

The city life was filled with the noise of construction workers, and she didn't even know there was implant conventions within the area. She didn't even want to consider the idea of telling them about her remote viewing. A by this point, she knew they just wanted her to assume the magnets worked, and not to worry about the specifics of RFID encryption, as long as she could get into her apartment. The daylight was beginning to fade, the city lights beginning to glow. It was chilly, but not enough to snow. The neighborhood dogs barked loudly, and at times she joked around with the idea of trying to see if her magnets could feel their collars, but decided better of it.

And now she leaves the convention, socially worn out.

She scans the RFID chip on her door, and then quickly closes the door. She then loads up her zero liability USB drive, and she received a message from a friend down in Smyrna, Tennessee.

She was to tired to decipher it right now.

But at least she knew it worked.

They used to say Russia and the US had different social values, but now after the current president was elected by the lowest margin in years, various executive orders have made it nearly impossible to tell them apart. The average person wont ever feel the change. But immigrant families and minority groups have already felt the change even before he was elected. While Arline was technically one such minority, she never got out enough to really experience discrimination. Although try telling her that because she never faced discrimination, that means no trans woman has, although most of the ones at the rally do not actually represent trans people. She spends most of her time working on her programming skills, and wants nothing to do with activism.

Social media spam block functions were notoriously weak although Arline didn't know they were this much. If you changed the message only slightly each iteration, you could spam as many messages as you wanted. And so one could encrypt the same phrase more than once, and as long as they inserted enough _, she could bypass crucial spam blocking functions. She wondered why it was then that computers haven't yet figured out how to bypass spam functionality.

And if someone stole your password, it wasn't like a spam functionality would do you any good. Just recently the government was considering efforts to ask for immigrants passwords in order to be let into the United States. Although all one would have to do is give them the real one once, then promptly change their password the following night. And it didn't actually solve the terrorist problem, as Saudi Arabia wasn't effected by the no fly list. The people were simply ... listless about it.

Arlina goes to various people's houses, using the convenience of their friendship to scan for magnetic pulses in the walls, among other places. She wasn't sure how long it would take for the government to crack down on bio scanners, although as long as she stayed low during the day, and did most of her work at friend's houses at night, at least for the moment there shouldn't be any issue.

But for how long...

This she wasn't certain.

Arline, Friday February 10th at 5:25 P.M. At 42 coordinates X, and -73 coordinates y. It has a rough texture, is covered in trees, and is windy. The place has historical significance, set in a shopping district. West Heartland, CT.

She didn't know exactly why she felt familiar with this place, only its significance as landmark important during the civil wars in the United States. It was a hit. Covered in trees, a mountainside not near any roads. Yet never the less was driven on. She always had some element of foresight from a very early age, although had had to train out of specific habits that contributed to mental noise. Her means of transportation was limited, and thus wherever she went she would either have to walk to such location, or be willing to ask her parents to take her.

Arline wasn't sure whether at this location, there would be a magnetic sensation, and what having one may indicate. From a very early age, since she was very small, she had been told that where there is magnetism, there was treasure to be found. Even in this rough forsaken Earth, trod on by the ghosts of time's past, who fought and died by canon fire.

Everywhere she went, her fingers would vibrate. She didn't know that the whole world was filled with magnetism, only that one of her exes told her that metallic body parts were a bad idea, because the magnetism would gradually mess with your spirit and rip out your prosthetic. However Arline didn't believe in a spirit, at least not in this sense. And yet somehow always held onto ideas about reincarnation. She was drawn to specific places based on a kind of familiarity, as if at some point in previous lifetimes she had been there before.

Yet now she rest, she dines.

She dines on homemade bread.

On Saturday, February 11th, Arline remote viewed the coordinates of 43 x and 23 y East. At first it seemed like her senses were failing her, but here in Godech, Bulgaria there was a large lake. She knew that there was something large and metallic there, although she did not know what. And that there was something wet with a large horizon. She seems to have a knack for spotting large bodies of water, on nights when she has had little to drink. And now she dreams in a wink.

She imagines her metallic implants buzzing, her mind a fuzzing. Her brain waves flowing in paradox between a total relaxation high, and cluttered thoughts worrying about the day before. Her mother had a tendency make lots of noise in the kitchen, though she appreciated her doing her laundry for her. Arlina, one might think, would go to bed right away, yet instead she stays up long enough to bake some bread, and then boil potatoes to make a pot of soup. Yet now as she recalls ordering a Cal-zone at the local pizzeria, and buying some instant coffee, she dread the next few days, uncertain of whether she'll get disability.

Arline had always been reluctant to meditate. She simply didn't see a need for it. Yet now that she has begun to remote view, things were different now. As she wipes the sweat from her brow, from a night of masturbation.

The horny life.

Arline tried installing Debian, but once it was up she couldn't install sudo. By this point, she had gotten used to the idea of all Linux distributions having this by default. She had developed a program called the Remote Viewer's Assistant, but she needed to have Ruby installed. Instead she had to reinstall Linux Mint along side Debian OS in order to use the standard operating procedure to run her programs. She honestly wondered why the magnets in her finger tips didn't somehow mess up the message themselves, then she realized it was under the skin.

And now she waits and takes a breath for the next three minutes. Then she wakes. Arline on February 11th on Saturday around 7:00 A.M. sensed at 110 coordinators Y and 143 coordinates x, a soft and grainy texture with a metallic texture nearby. At 110 Ekkachai Road in Bangkok Province, the read has had work stopped on it and now the region has been reduced to a tourist trap, at least according to the locals. Arline knew that if she were there, she might be able to have all the Penang curry she wanted. But she was unsure of how the locals would feel about her dropping by. Although any regions was fun to test out your sensory perception, a region ye close to China wasn't exactly something on her priority list. Although she wanted to have the chance to feel the grainy green along the side of the road. Yet the owners would not want her hopping into their backyard.

Every since she was around eight, she always had some psychic ability. However she had never spoken of it for the longest time, do to cultural stigma surrounding people who claim to be such. Her magnetic fingertips gave her an extra bit of sense, different from remote viewing. Although she didn't like how such implants were invented by men who had no interest in the paranormal.

She was abnormal from the start.

Her life for sake of art.

Arline on February 11th, Saturday 9:47 Pm. Wet texture. Rocky landscape. Wood texture. Silk. Coastal wildlife. Feathers and scales. Dark history, damage to wood texture. She has sensed Aruba, Iraq. Here there had been many battles with US forces, and more battles still against their natives of the region. And here she senses great sadness, and terror. Among that she did not sense at first, was an unknown factory.

She was unsure whether it was nuclear or for some other purpose.

She wonders, for what purpose?

There was a boy she met from afar, though not in the flesh. Who went by the name of Anakarah. About an hour past the previous time, on Saturday 11th, he noted of a sour taste as he walked through a land of dark brown mountains, and short green trees. These was a large river, similar to the river in Aruba. Yet it was elsewhere, where the drinking age was that of twenty five.

She had never met another remote viewer before, although she assumed it might have been more accepted in that culture. For sake of his privacy, she refused to ask of herself what he might be thinking. Arline had had experiences before with boys from the Middle East. On various dating sites she would sometimes encounter men from Saudi Arabia looking for a hot date. Eager for a time to masturbate, eager for a one time offer. On some level she didn't want to know what he was thinking, or what he might be tasting. Considering the region, it wasn't much farther from Aruba, although closer to Pakistan. She hoped the US military didn't intend to bring in ground forces, but she was ready to join in protestations against the incoming president as robbed by Russia.

This was a world where one rogue banker got away with sending many people outside of their homes. This was a world were alternative facts were the new lingo for what in yesterday times people would call lies. While one couldn't expect a politician to exactly be honest, almost everyone considered the comment to be on the news. No no, college grads who are overqualified to work at the local mini-mart, it's an alternative fact. You still have a home, somewhere. Out there. In the coldest darkest of the night, sleeping in torn jeans and hand me down blankets, riding the bus as a means of shelter in California. Just some way in order to get by.

She had never been in the situation herself. Except for one night were she was temporarily "homeless." She spent the whole night needing to use the restroom, but no places were open.

What a shitty situation.

But at least it wasn't Aruba or Uzbekistan.

Later that night, she found the card sitting on one her bookshelves, chilling out as having a smoke from a cigarillo.

Reality wasn't anything but a dream, and so sometimes she was unsure whether she saw things she thought she saw, or perhaps her mind was playing tricks on her. Unlike other things in her life, remote viewing was different. Remote viewing had been corroborated by a bunch of different sources. Within her studio apartment, reality can sometimes bend itself. And as it speaks, distorts lies in the form of alternative facts not even allowed by the most word spinning of politicians. Yet reality itself only gave raw information, and how one interrupted it was up to the individual. But political science was largely a different matter, leaving one hopping about the room like the Mad Hatter smoking powder out the wing dang. While one reclines in bed and plays with their ding ding ding.

The remote viewer's life in NashChat.

She buckled down and concentrated. On Saturday, February 11th at 11:28 she remote viewed at first a texture, a feeling. It was leathery and silky. There was artificial lighting, an educational building in a Republic of great national historical importance. A bloody civil war happened here between the Whites, Greens, and Reds. At 64 x and 110 y, the world of cold and ice.

She wanted a world everything nice.

Not a world of renamed KGB.

On Sunday February 12th. High contrast, wood texture and grainy. Sometimes wet, sometimes dry. Sometimes cold, other times hot. Brown, green, tall. Petrified, isolation. Desolate. Wives more dominant than their husbands. Wooden shoes, gouda cheese, and civil war. The girls in clogs giving one hard ons, if she could have them. She had given up on visiting Marseilles, at least for the time being. Her life was as silent as the S.

She dreamed of supernatural forces chasing after her. And yesterday's years she would be woken up to her poodle looking her nose. All that black fur, all that doggy shampoo. She remembered her dog as if she were still here. Yet she has not been around, for almost an entire year. And now she looks beyond the window glass, hoping for something to life. She didn't need conflict, she was conflict herself. Culminating in personal decay and disarray.

Can misery come again some other day? Yet now she thinks of girl in Swedish clogs, and Dutch klompen giving her lap dances.

More to life, many chances.

Many wives. Her life dreaming of Mediterranean seas and Gouda cheese.

It was grocery day, the day before her next remote viewing session. Her mom arrived at non to take her to various shops. These were various ones she had been to since the time she met Katie. She would gave for the normal goods, and later go for the spices: Thai Chilly Powder, Haldi, and Turmeric. If there was anything Arline liked as much as her new magnets, it was cooking. Many dishes were made, such as peanut butter chicken. She has to adjust the spice since her trip up to Washington, strange considering that most people up north dislike any spice.

At night she scans the walls, scans the flag poles, and anything she can get her hands on. She can find things in places she could not ordinarily sense. The whole world was suddenly available to her in different senses: magnetism and remote sensing across various points in the globe. Yet she knew that any sort of body modification was not looked highly upon, particularly in the south. Here you could be dumped into a sewer simply for being a trans person, this she knew knowing of some people that had mysteriously gone missing, and dying from a degree of poisoning and red skin. The city life in Chattanooga was not much different from the life in Smyrna, Tennessee. The main difference is your door was from the inside, rather than from the outside.

Arline would purchase cigarillos, in packs of six. She would pack all them into three, throw other the other than empty packs. Then use the receipt as a cigarette roller in order to hide her purchase. She took extra steps to ensure her anonymity, but because of her mother's tendency to get into her space, she might "accidentally" sneak a look into her purse when purchasing instant coffee. That was how life was for Arline, who never caught a break from her mom.

Yet now that she lives in her own, it didn't matter much what her mother thought, and someday she would permanently break off the relationship. Even if it took an amount of force to do this.

It was simply a matter of time.

At home she smokes cigarillos and vaporize mint. She was told by her mother that likes to think she knows everything, that Arline has no shin splints.

Never mind not being a doctor.

Immobile with magnetism.

Arline swiped her fingers over the bar code, in order to ruin the scan of the flower bag. She was hoping to avoid having to pay for the whole shopping trip, only having to pay for the Ramen. University student on a budget, you'll do anything to save a buck. However the company policy changed, and she could only buy the bag of ramen. You couldn't get the broken item for free, and you had to replace it with an item you could pay for. So she just bought the ramen and left.

Exiting, she got herself a cigarillo, and smoked it until it was gone. Up, up, and up the hill to the studio apartments after crossing, crossing, and crossing the city street under the rainy slights. She thought about the practicality of using a proxy route. She wondered how effective it really was. In the non abstract world, encrypting the real world would be difficult. She hoped it wasn't impossible.

She wanted it as fragile as pocky.

Shrimp flavor midnight blues.

Arlina, on February 12th. 7:17 P.M. Dirty and grainy. Wet and salty. Rocky and cold. Somewhere up North loud noises blare. White and chilly. Betrayed cultural values, ancient culture. Development versus tradition. Yet now all is quiet along the Kele River in the Sakha Republic. Russia again, she visited the lake of the previous town she visited. She knew that in the US, there was conflict between Native Americans and Industrial workers, and wondered whether there was an equivalent to this within Russia.

Although she cannot see the whole vividly, she wonders why this region keeps showing up in her mind. Certainly there was frequent talk about the current issue with Russian interference, yet in her mind she senses something more sinister.

She tries to feel the texture of the helicopter, and tries to get a taste of what the pilot must be thinking. In a land where fear is dominant, and the current president has become the second dictator after the fall of the Soviet Union, she wonders whether they might strike Aruba and Uzbekistan. She began to worry about the boy she met, thinking he has already had it hard enough having his entire family murdered in front of his eyes. Yet tries to imagine the interior of the helicopter, she senses a disconnect from the world of the zone. Magnetic pulses ruin the radio signal of the chopper, the vehicle of the sky comes crashing down.

Here lies the helicopter, once of metal and rest.

Yet here it lies, in the lake. The pilot gasping for air.

The metal turns to rust.

Arline, Monday February 13th. She returns to Uzbekistan. She senses a dark history, yet there is a void in knowing what is current. Rough texture, tastes like salt. Dry season. Horizon is near, blue surrounds. Tall wooden object. Great conflicts, social upheaval. Long abandoned, surreal. She wonders what the buildings are for, before going off line to repeat the process. Locations seem to be repeating themselves, in predictable pattern. Cycling in a kind of loop that never ends. Yet she senses no Anakarah, she wonders where he is.

She scans the area with her finger tips, and notices a magnetic field. She wonders if there was some kind of blown apart metal near by. Coasting there, she finds parts of old guns laying around from previous wars. Yet still now Anakarah.

She disconnects.

She dreams again. She feels a rough sensation, and humidity. It tastes wet on her lips, there is no artificial sounds. There are small hills, green and gray. Tall wooden thin objects. A tourist region, now undergoing modernization. Yet it still maintains some semblance of the rural life. It is a conservative, what we may call a Red State.

Butnan District, Libya.

She wonders why she sensed Libya.

Arline could have purchased a pack of cigarettes, a pack of beef franks, a bag of rice, and a rotational lock. Instead when returned home from the Chinese, Indian, and Mexican grocery, she purchased herself Hickory Chips, some post it notes, mini memo notebooks, and a can of iodized salt. For the amount of security you could get with a rotational lock, you were still bound by the type of cipher manufacturing companies were willing to give you, and the lock could simply be ripped out of something as then as paper. But with post it notes, it doesn't necessarily scream lock.

She wasn't breaking any laws that day, it was simply a matter of using legal items in a way they were never originally intended. She knew how to work around the system, find the cheapest price. Then come home and have an fusion cuisine meal all hot and nice. She treated her cyberspace adventures in much the same way, finding ways around the spam block rather than repeating the system message over and over again. And now she comes back home with her Zero Liability USBs, along with her new program that semi-automates the remote viewing process.

Living with her mother used to be a matter of dependance, yet now that she had finally come to live on her own, she found ways to hide what she was doing. And as long as she wasn't breaking any laws or smoking, all that would really happen was her mother would lecture her about how she spent her money. But she wanted things she couldn't always have, as poor as a prickly chav. She found the best deals in ethnic grocers, so she could find a way to secure her private keys in Zero Liability. If the program tester couldn't exchange keys securely, why should they expect others who use the program to?

Operational security was as important as any kind of cipher, even if one used ones more secure than the simplest of substitutions, the key still had to be secure. She had a bag of hickory chips on the bed.

She was ready to eat.

Chorizo Chilly Stew.

Arline, February 14th 2017 at 1:01 A.M. It feels breezy and wet. Wavy, and bouyant. Brown movement, wavy blue. Voyages long ago. Conflict unresolved. Nothing but wind. She found herself thinking of Mostafa Mahmou, Egypt. At first she did not quite understand how she had arrived at this location, and yet it feels right. Near the Nile, the large river that provided ancient times with water to live. She wondered, what, in some way, did these visions connect. She wondered, on some level, whether she had accidentally downed an actual Russian aircraft.

She wondered whether the Russians had murdered Anakarah's family, and whether Egypt might be next. She thought of Bangkok, that didn't do anything besides make Penang curry. All the conflicts of the world, and none of them felt resolved by the resignation of the Glynn, who had spoken with Russian officials off the record. Everything was watched and spied by the secret services. From phone lines to emails, everything about the person was watched.

Yet we stuff have a baboon for a president.

We still have a propagandists as ... well a propagandist. And yet the news wants us to argue about the conflict bout the president's daughter's T Shirt brand, even when they themselves are losing viewer ships by the day. Can the rain come again some other day, or shall the floods of cosmic Noah rain down from the sky in droplets of blood and ash against mankind.

The abject poverty is still rampant.

The US masks it. Yet the mask is cracking.

Arline, February 14th 2017 at 11:09 A.M. At coordinates 24 x and 31 y. Green, hilly, non-humid. Underdeveloped. Dirt beneath your feet. Low population density. Culture shock, changed times. Invasion. Remnants of a former life. Though this wasn't the first time she honed in on a location more than once, it was the second time she honed on Egypt specifically. An invasion. In invasion from where? She didn't know exactly who was invading Egypt.

She knew that various deals between US and Russia were made. There were often secret covert wars undeclared officially. Just recently there was an American Raid on Yemen, that ended up being more disastrous for the invaders than the ones who were invaded upon. They didn't manage to apprehend the terrorist they were looking for. Makes one wonder whether they were really looking for terrorists, or if they really wanted to just grab resources.

This and many other instances. Why Egypt, Uzbekistan, and parts of Russia showed up in her viewing sessions didn't know exactly. She knew that Egypt in times past had to worry about the lake around the Fertile Crescent running dry, although she was unsure whether it was still a present issue do to the nature of importation of life sustaining goods. Though some things important overseas tend to have a higher tax, however that's more going into the US. She remembered reading parts of the Dune novels, and how there were wars about the resource of spice. Perhaps Oil was like Spice in the Dune novels. Only the Worms were not crawling in the sand, but were humans of flesh and blood. People of the East.

Virtual Reality is only a factor in developed nations, although Eastern Countries are becoming increasingly developed. But the rate of development by the West out paces this, at least for now. While teenagers play virtual reality games the next stage of the evolution of first person shooters, those in worlds afar play ball games from skin of one of their dead pet pigs.

And so the world goes on.

Further moments between war and peace.

Arline, February 14th 2017 at 17:59 hours. Coordinates 15 x and 24 y. Wet, sandy, hilly; green, light brown, aqua blue. Sea voyages for food. Invaders at large. She found she was sensing Sudan, Africa. Africa was an extremely large continent, part of which was invaded by the US armed service during the Libyan Civil War. Various places in Africa were invaded during the 19th century by European Imperialism. However now there are proxy wars overseas.

There was nothing made out of metal besides the towers illuminated in yellow. She hoped that these places would not become a target for American extremism, whose brand of democracy loomed larger over the previous countless wars both known and hidden from the masses. Very few people realize how after Vietnam, live coverage of the war was explicitly forbidden. So one is left to merely infer that presidents that authorize specific conflicts were war criminals. Today California is wanting to become an independent republic largely because of some of the things the current elect is threatening. Time will tell whether after the resignation of his adviser, whether dirt would be revealed about him and take him out of office.

Think of the African children on sea voyages, searching for fish as one of the few things they are able to find to eat. While it is not Egypt, it is still more difficult to find food compared to the US. And now the current US administration is almost like an alien invader in different parts of the world. A lot of entertainment about alien invasions are thinly hidden critiques about American imperialism, although apparently to hidden from those who previously worked in office.

Behold the green grass, the deserts, and the rain. Here lies the African children, invaded by the men with tanks. As the tanks roll on forever.

Arline goes off line.

Arline, on February 14th at 10:33 P.M. Coordinates 24 x and 13 y. Rough texture, dry and hot. Yellow hills, wide expanse. Tribal conflicts and imperialism. She visited Libya in the Murzuq district remotely. In this area, there was very little metal she found when fingering whether there was anything behind those walls. This country experienced an extended civil war after the United States invaded and over-through Qaddafi. She wasn't exactly sure what happened to his wife, or where his kids are. All she knew that the country has never been the same sense. She fears that there may be other conflicts that we don't yet know about, and with Russian intervention, and the sacking of some double agents for the Kremlin, there could have been more we would either narrowly avoid or perhaps narrowly miss avoiding.

She heard helicopters looming overhead, and wrote in her Zero liability that there was unidentified Caucasian soldiers. She wasn't sure whether these were American troopers, or African. She went off line.

There was a knock on the door, but there was always some kind of knock on the door. But there were recent discussions about ICE police trying to invite themselves into your home if you're suspect of aiding or abetting illegal immigrants. Although in her case she wasn't friends with much of anyone, and her only experience with Mexicans was on her trips to the Mexican grocery store. Still, she wasn't particularly inclined to help the coppers become totalitarian to ethnic minorities. Everyone pretty much knew that when the president "elect" talked about illegals he almost always meant Mexicans specifically, although even within this scope people wonder when he talks about people voting illegally. The only ones voting illegally were ones who rigged the system and enabled him, with his now sacked advisor, to gain office.

And now we suffer the consequences.

A total breach of security.

Intervention.

Arline, Tuesday February 14th at 11:46 P.M. Coordinates 14 x and 32 y. Chilly, yet not cold. Humid, overgrown with green. Mountainous. A feudal society that was once nomadic, yet now religious. There are men at an Islamic temple, dressed in white turbans. She visits Sudan again new a water fall, feeling the ions brush past her face. She wonders why this area is green in photographs, yet looks like a desert from map by satellite. There is a mud puddle in a year in a wide open expanse. She can feet the mud in the fertilized soil. She doesn't like the smell of the wild, yet perhaps this is because Arline is a city girl more used to the smell of city life.

She goes off line. She sees a black car pool up in the driveway, although it is not the typical model of MIBs. She wonders why MIBs are visiting the studio apartments. They had not made a specific appointment with the leasing agent. So she asks them to leave. So as not to cause trouble, they drive off the premises. Arline wasn't sure whether she was being watched, but promptly removed propriety closed source mapping urls from her Remote Viewer's Assistant program. A close call, she tries to relax with some vape. And then continues watching a video on line. She wanted to make sure her encrypted was working like it should. She checked to make sure all her programs only referred to open source mapping software.

So far so good.

She chilled. She watched movies about further information about the entire GOP being a haven for double agents. She wouldn't surprised if it turned out they'll eventually have to remove the entire staff. But that assumes the investigative bodies even care about it enough.

A tough bet.

It was the night Arline became Hitler, at least according to her mom. Her mom would equate her accidentally stumbling on Nazi websites as a sign of worshiping Nazis. However in truth, even from the beginning there was a fundamental difference between Arline and Adolf.

For one thing, Hitler wanted to kill millions of Jews. Arline wanted to destroy the entirety of mankind. She thought about how nature could more benefit from the absence of humanity. And how without all of man's penchant toward its own self-destruction, one could restore the ozone layer. Goodnight little Hitler, said her mother. As her child faded to dust. For it will be another day that mankind continues to exist in its splendor heading toward its ultimate demise. She hated humanity, because it created Hitler. She hated humanity, because it created Stalin. She had humanity, because it created the United States that was simply no different. She hated France, because they invented the guillotine and almost beheaded Anna-Marie Boeglin. She hated everything that humans have created, and Neanderthals would still be in existence if it were not for the lowliness that was homo sapience.

And yet she was direction less and void. Her life was a dangerous turn of the cards, a sinister ploy by ancient gods hellbent toward her own eventual suicide at the drop of cups of bathroom cleaner. And as she rested dying on the floor of a dirty old motel room in Washington, she thought of the emptiness of humanity. At the time, she wanted nothing to exist.

She wanted to end herself.

And yet things didn't turn out this way. And at the end of the day, she found humans were not worth her hate. So she cut herself off from humanity after her twenty seventh birthday. Now she has a new understanding of the value of life, and how if the United States as it existed simply changed forms, and became more like the greatness that was once 19th century Europe, just with more Africans, Muslims, and Jews perhaps the world could be a happier place without Germans, Russians, and their co conspirators the French. She was cured.

She remembered her poodle, now.

Who was hit with a baseball bat.

Life is so fragile.

Here is what Arline knows about smoking: you'll find in her area a lot of homeless people end up preferring cigarillos. She did a little experiment in figuring out the price of tobacco.

What she found was that for a standard box of pre-rolls, you're paying for the right to have something rolled previously. Roll your own isn't significantly cheaper. However when you convert six bags of three-pack cigarillos to roll your own, that's a dollar per bag or six dollars, you end up having cigarettes for six dollars rather than $7.00 in a standard bag of roll your own.

Homeless smoke cigarillos because it's cheaper than purchasing cigarettes.

Applying this same principle to other things you can make yourself rather than purchase ready-made, I found out that snipping off the non-sticky parts of post it notes, and using the sticky parts to secure a memo book ends up being just as secure as using a substitution lock.

This is why: while an attacker might not be able to open the lock, they can however rip out the lock in a standard composition notebook. But with post its, it's a generally weak security mechanism that doesn't really pretend to be secure, and so an attacker doesn't really need to crack it, they just peel off the tape.

Why is this important? You're paying for the right to attach a lock yourself that could be do far more cheaply with post it notes.

It all comes down to price.

This is why Arline purchased a bag of hickory chips to sketch my drawings, rather than use mechanical pencils. You can get the bag for a far cheaper price because there just isn't a demand on them. Even charcoal is cheaper.

Just burn the tip, and you have drawing utensils for the next few months.

She wanted to end herself.

Arline began to lose track of all the coordinates she spied on through the Remote Viewer's Assistant. She worked on a version that includes a folder for images, sketches, and view intelligence. Along with this, she plugged in the zero liability mail system. The Zero Liability mail system worked like this: neither the sender or receiver in each user account knows exactly what they're asking or answering, the administrator holds onto this information.

This ensures that the Sender and Receiver exchange communication without conscious knowledge of their communication. This might seem counter-intuitive, however imagine if ICE police wanted to coerce either the sender or receiver about their exact communication. All they would be able to the the investigator is that they had asked and received an answer. They have zero liability. All the liability is contained between the two administrators that control interaction. One changes every so often what is being asked, and the other simply answers yes or no. There are possibilities of randomly jumbling the answer pattern as well, if the administrator asking the questions turns out to be spook for the Russian government.

Neither administrator holds onto all the communication, and they must share information in person with those they trust. You simply can't trust everyone. Once shared, the communication is promptly encrypted in their folder. They will eventually purge the information from their system, and repeat the process all over again. Arline wasn't sure why she programmed this at first, but it works based on opposite assumptions from the TOR browser, that is intended to make you anonymous. However, Zero Liability makes it so your anonymity isn't even needed.

There is no network to begin with.

One networks in person.

She remote viewed in February on Friday, at 22:24 hours. The coordinates were 6 x and 7 y. She sensed a wet and gooey liquid, this she was able to get right. Yet she had trouble sensing the right location. Until eventually she was able to find a black and white picture of a cliff. She reached her hand out as if to feel the horizon, and stretching her arms out as to balance herself as not to fall. There was a deal here made between enemy and foe, although she was unsure who exactly the foe was. This seemed a little bit far out for the United States to attack, and it didn't seem to be a tribal portion of the African continent. Yet in minds eye she sense conflict coming from far away. And giant helicopters following her foot steps.

She hopped onto the helicopter, knocked out some security guards, and finally disrupted the electronics with her magnetic finger tips.

As the Helicopter, she thought she fell.

Then woke up, dreaming of falling into a pit of death.

It was the second time Arline downed a helicopter in her viewing session. She was becoming nervous about whether the current Far Right GOP would find out about her activities. No matter how often you try to encrypt your content, there is always that narrow possibility that can break the cipher, even when structured in a form similar to a one time pad.

Arline lived a double life; by night she would remote view and spy on those who disrupt the peace of the people. On the other hand, by daylight she explores the nature of her own reality. Between different parts of the real life, there are different targets and goals she has. But she had always had a hard time accomplishing her goals, largely do to lack of motivation. The Boston Clogs she wore were getting old, her needing a new pair in the high arch, and she had recently started not feeling like walking to places, because of the pain in her legs. Sometimes the pain would bother her, at other times it would be almost non existent. Although she liked to spend her time writing poetry, she wasn't much for the flow of free verse.

She lived in her ow universe.

Her own special universe in the larger world that was the macro-verse, the mini-verse in a sea of multi-verses that seem to become farther and farther away beyond the horizon of space.

She wanted had wanted to end it all.

Put a bullet in her face.

Yet now as the city-lights glow, and the hour approaches, like an automaton constantly steaming forward like a metro-train, she finds herself mainly writing computer programs: mainly updating the program of her virtual remote control, but also to do minor improvements on her remote viewing local page. She wasn't sure whether the world of on line would take down the images she uploaded. She wrote a user name for the image has as close to anonymous as she could, while still having a name that she could recognize from afar.

She felt like she couldn't see anything from afar.

She was as blind as a mouse.

Arline had tried becoming a game developer, however there was various hurdles. For one, at times the community was outright impenetrable. You could be active there for over three months, and you treated the same way as a newbie. They keep adding new rules to the community board, ones more obscure after the next. Don't expect to come there after four years, and be treated a "long timer" or someone who had participated in the community a while, and become street smart.

Even if one entertained the idea of getting back into game development, the community always gave half ass answers. Often refuges from web comic websites were join there in order to bug the crap out of people that stop hanging out on comic sites. Every new game engine they came out with, became increasingly worse. Whether it was a graphical downgrade or switching to more insecure scripting languages, it seemed like every time they payed for a newer version they were really paying for the right to use lesser software.

Among these reasons, there was others. She tried finding similar software on Linux distributions, but these engines either were not under active development–the engine developer being a whiny asshole who blames people who emails him for the way the overall larger community treats him. Possibly a refuge from the Windows RPG development community, he had grown bitter in the worst possible way, losing every last bits of his own humanity. The windows gave development community was like a vortex, it gradually consuming all your motivation in a single swoop. It wasn't like writer's block at all, but almost worse. The motivation to even restart the interest is completely gone, made worse by abusive room mates who seemed to have a very narrow definition of the word gamer. And other engines were good, but at times had window screens that exceeded the size of Linux Mint.

Code developer's lament.

She tried programming some of her game engines, but at the times she was forced to move to Washington. Here by the time they got to the, lets be generous, rustic motel that was a dive, she would spend all time horking and coughing up goop, because of her smoking habit it was impossible to concentrate on anything. She even got Arline to start smoking herself.

Certain aspects of this Windows game engine were impossible to crack, made worse by that communities tendency to make up special rules for itself about what is considered good programming. And so there went her interest in JRPGs completely. And her remaining interest in the Japanese also eventually went by the way side from a mixture of bad information and good information blending into the kind of confusing mess that would make the Bible have clarity to an Atheist.

She eventually focused on Ruby.

Now she makes Spy systems.

Being dead used to be a lot grosser, but in the modern age with all the preservatives we eat and the erratic temperature changes from climate change, we might as well be beef jerky in a previously packaged set. Extremely hot weather, extremely cold weather, and all those chemicals bathing in our blood, waiting till the day they can wash their hands of us and turn us to dust.

Arline found herself becoming increasingly paranoid. At times she thought that she was being watched on social media. From time to time she would get new invites from apparent resistance like minds, yet on the web do to the nature of anonymity you never know if they're secretly of the GOP. The Boston Clogs with the high arch came in, so she could walk somewhat more normally now than in her previous pair of flat arches. She spent all time craving the flavor of beef jerky, craving that flavor of soy sauce and wine. She dined in chilly powder and Haldi boiling in ramen, eggplant, carrots, and bamboo shoots. She thought of the time when she almost worried about where food was going to come from, and at the time at that dirty motel, how she mostly ate rice for the longest time. She wondered how at present she wasn't suffering from Vitamin deficiency. When you have a diet lacking in protein, your muscles take longer to rebuild themselves. Coupled with lack of sleep do to constant coughing from smoking by her room mate, she found herself constantly stressed. Only the mist of smoke and roll your own dulled her pain.

She thought of how close she came to completely absorbing herself in her own sexual fantasies about decapitation, and even now in a cold lunar night she'll indulge in pleasures of the flesh. Pleasures of severed heads taken off by guillotine and headman's axes at the time of noon. Sexuality, unlike hair color, was something that could not change. Yet despite this she had no desire to harm anyone. A lot of her issues, some had theorized, were more about her personal disdain for herself. But then the same individual would tell her, try to convince her, that she was really bisexual despite Arline not having any interest in men, with the exception of Trans women, in which they were not really men at all. In the best of cases they were cute girls with dicks.

But sometimes they'll mock you.

Sometimes they can be pricks.

– And that's how I know the world is really multiple universes, and we can really suspend mortality altogether and become one with machines. It was the kind of science girl, that used such more as an appeal the authority that using logic and reason to come to a prove able conclusion.

They both were under delusions.

But of different kinds.

There are two kinds of stupidity: one is continuing to use software you know is spying on you. The other is continuing to hang out and try to convince an old gaming partner that your government spies on you. Spies themselves are not inherently awful people, but they can behave like awful people when they work for wealthier spy organizations. With the merging of the National Security Counsel and National Security Agency, they began to exploit spy software inherent in Java Script. All it takes is a single advertisement to track all of a user's behavior. One doesn't need to crush rebellions in meat space, when you can feed them crumbs in a direction that more fitting for your own agenda. Spy software inherent in HTML makes crushing rebellions before they have started even easier. Despite the current investigations into the Russian scandal, for many people once Affordable Care is gone, there will simply be no more future. We live in a society that thrives on making you not feel the need to rebel.

Even in previous dystopia novels it was still technically possible to resist. However what good was resisting if there was nobody that would remember that you had. But our world filled with advertisements, there is nothing but joy in the air. Looking from a bottom to top perspective, people staring down at Arline from the sky. They are laughing at virtual reality videos, while minority Americans are dying in concentration camps. The voice of the silent minority. There are the obvious minorities, from race, gender, orientation, age, and disability. And yet the government has done nothing about those who get tattoos and gets implants. Implants are largely treated as being cosmetic in nature. Therefore treated as a choice.

It used to deny those without a voice.

And yet here she is studying software, trying to find a way to defend herself. People periodically trying to refer to her as paranoid, and yet does not see the inherent cancer that lies in HTML. Simply the act of bettering ones own late is considered to be a form of resistance. Simply downloading Linux distributions gets you the paranoid label, largely people without technical knowledge or expertise. When Arline dropped two helicopters, she starting a countdown, a certain kind of bomb. Not one that will explode in your face, but a countdown till she will eventually be found spying on her own government. And yet what other options does she have? In this world below the meadow of gold, there are those that believe societies promises.

And then there was Arline.

The invisible Magnet Girl Wireless.

The web page was a mixture of to many people in the crowd, and to much isolation. She remembered the times she shared with other classmates, among those she thought were her friends and those she thought were her enemies. Yet now as the time goes by, she finds herself melting on the web. Her life like bits of binary, scattered about on the screen; a decompression of totality. Yet in her mind was a lost girl, searching for mom in the darkness of the childhood play room. Even now as night terrors melt away into the night, there is that permanent feeling of silence. A silence much louder than the loudest of construction work.

The silence inside her mind.

She had finished the main idea of her local page. Combined with remote viewing, she would host various images she had found by satellite. The images she remote viewed always seemed to come from Africa. And yet she herself held no special connection to the region. She was just a girl into other girls in Boston Clogs, and getting their heads chopped off on a guillotine. Yet now as her magnets begin to pulsate, she finds herself mostly baking chocolate bread. Now with more cocoa powder, she had just finished making herself a Chinese, Indian, and Mexican fusion dinner. She purchased herself some menthol cigarettes.

She had herself a smoke.

Her parents threatened to cut her off her insurance if she kept smoking. Yet when she went to the agency the concept of her smoking was not even brought up. Just another aspect of her parents being controlling. Just another way for them to keep her from being able to cope with her past, as distant and remote as it was. As distant and remote as her ability to concentrate. She couldn't even concentrate for long on writing experiments, a mixture of painful memories and untreated ADD. She refused to use the current new lingo being merged with ADHD. She refused to be put under a label, as she spent most her life fighting one.

Yet now her fighting spirit fades.

She becomes a shadow.

She browsed to classmate reunion websites, partially out of some petty sense of wanting to meet with her own high school crowded. She wanted to write about childhood, and yet found there were parts of her own childhood that felt missing and out of place, as if she remembered things out of order.

Scattered memories.

Fading dust.

Life of lust.

And in a suicide letter to herself, the one she wore she'd never write, the last letter before the end of her life.

Midnight starlight, twinkling stars, multiple sunlights. Suburban sprawl lights:

"I've never rode a bike in the snow. Indeed, I have only rode one many moons ago. Those memories fade and melt away, like rain asked to come again another day. In my days of snow fall, in my days of snow fall snowflakes fall into the pavement melting in the gradually warmth losing ground. Shifting leaves, torn weaves of the Earth. How they wither in the snow light. Goodnight daylight, goodnight morning light. Goodnight warm months. Come again soon, as you leave for many moons. As I rest forever in bed.

For me I seek the morrow eve, yet I wait on my couch waiting waiting for my slumber. In the hybrid sprawl of sprawling suburban lights, holographic advertisements. Distractions from the snow, distractions from a world always night. I want to melt away from this world of mine. In the world of city lights, I seek the quietness of my mind. Unwind, rewind. Watch as my own reality distorts, and I reflect on past and future. Or even the Past Future, or the Future's Past.

Avast like a sailor in the world of city seas, as I scratch and wilt from my fleas in my hair. Starlight of my mind, conflicts with natural starlight. Fast food holographic covering the sky as artificial grains of sand. To cold a month for Birkenstock sandals barefoot, but one for clogs with socks, under wool lined jeans. Watch as I drown in a book of forty thieves. Or vape vapes vaping vapes. For my life is only now, not months ago. Watch as I wait the hours, before I must decide to go.

I've dreamed dreamed, I've dreamed night terrors. I've had parents and friends like holy terrors. But for now I am alone, and only have myself. I suppose you may want a dialogue story, yet why talk to yourself. Cliches limitless. I'm uncertain why I would want to ride a bike, I've never rode since I was merely a tike. I was merely a tike on a bike. Before you laugh, keep in mind I always hated heights. My mom kisses my broken knees, and gives good nights. Goodnight memories, fading light city lights. Goodnight everything in this world, as I say goodnight.

Every day I live like it's my last.

Avast across the seas of infinite misery, for my life has always been a test. Of what test, I know not. I may have once known, but since then I forgot. Oublier, I am Oubliette. And this is yet another day, my creeping crawling final story. I wait the hours, I completely let myself go. I wait the snowflakes fall, and I watch them merge in all the merged snow.

At times I wish I were in the past futures, futures of the yesteryear. Yet as I drink my final beer, I imagine that there was probably as reason said futures never come true. I've leave said reason to your imagination, while I indulge in my bed to my final indulging masturbation. Masturbation to severed things, while I read the pages of fourty thieves. I seek these final pages, or any book I can choose to concentrate. Not focus on the will to masturbate to princesses losing their heads, placed on stick.

In a world far beyond the fall of falling snowflakes. Every day I plot my own non existence, there are things that keep me going. Things outside of my control, for I exist in my own constant present. Not past futures, or speculations of what I will do, for what I will do is always shot down by those who wish to pin me down, and become like an unwanted button on their aging shirts since retired and tossed into the garbage dump.

I want to have things to hump. I like dark haired women, with a lovely rump. Yet for me my mind always goes to severed heads, and their lovely stumps. Some my speculate on desires of for self-destruction, but it has always been since my dreams of alien abduction. Impaled girls, impaled lives.

Come to the darkness... Where one dines on their wives. The darkness of my meadow of gold. The meadow of the false promised life. A life of non start. My non life."

She looked at other girls, and thought only of disdain. The evening weather was slightly cool, yet warm enough to play game of pool by the swimming pool. Yet she was not one pool playing. At least not in thin leather coats. Having one considered the game, once playing it with her old flame, she thought only of things when her mind took her back to the time, on that day years ago. The local homeless man was playing his harmonica, rolling around in his wheel chair. He reminded her of this one guy she knew up in Washington. The guy, at the local homeless shelter, really more like psychiatric hospital for the urban dislocated, who would consume nothing but drinkable yogurt by in his tint. Well they called it a tint, but really it was more like a tarp. Just something to keep him warm at night, and protected from the rain.

While she had been through a rough patch, she tried to remind herself that others had been through worse. Though not always of active thought, but by the things she did when walking to family dollar to buy some smokes. She had been there often enough she was getting discounts, and got help from men that looked like vampire counts with their caps on backwards. She would got a pack of smokes for $3.95, despite the 4,45 price tag. She always wouldn't get IDed, and would always get referred to as ma'am. A passive thought in her minds wondered whether this was a trap, and at some point whether she would take advantage of deals long enough to get a reputation. And through that eventually get busted for handing out smokes. Yet she knew she was prone to flights of paranoid fantasy on every starry night, as she loiters under the glow of the apartment light.

She drowned herself in bits and bytes of Ruby code, figuring out now excuses for encryption schemes. Arline had only recently gotten sound back on her computer, even if it took plugging in her head phones to do it. She thought only the time when she hung out with her last room mate, before she had gotten herself some implants. At time she had only just recently gotten into the idea of some day getting some implants to try on different levels of sensory perception. She had gone for a while without using her remote viewing scheme, recently getting back into the flow of the video game. In some ways she identified more with @ man than people in the real life, pretending to be vampire assassins in the world of ASCII. But she never ASCII the question whether she would eventually become addicted. She used to spend more time online than going out into the real world to study the flow of the non-code called life. At one point she had been locked out of her apartment, and was stressing out about how to get back inside. She had had a run in with the guy that asked her–hey you wanting you something–before locking himself back into her studio. Considering the fact that most people she had met here were relatively noise, something had a hard time getting used to, there had come to be something heraldig about the guy with black trench coat acting like an asshole that night. Even night under the glow of the L.E.D. light she thinks only of yesterday as if it would be yet another tomorrow. For her, it was almost as if there was not a future at all.

Her life before the fall.

Her life before the flow of tobacco tea. She thought at times of returning to using tobacco tea instead of previously rolled cigarettes, and yet she also dreaded its medicinal taste. Yet in a way she appreciated, it was the taste of life with all of its bitterness. She missed the feeling of being drunk. With wine she respected alcohol enough not to be to heavy with it. Yet with nicotine there was no such respect. There was no such halting the flow of bug repellent with her system. After all if bugs didn't like it, then why should a human. She thought how her insides were always filled with butterflies, and thought it appropriate to let the poisonous drink flow like bathroom cleaner down the hatch. She thought of her mother, how she always mocked her for how little she took showed. Yet her mother didn't know that she was always tired.

She was fatigued and mired.

She was mired with the fall.