Updates

Forget everything that I’ve formally learned. For a few bucks today I can start a new business.

…Considering how I turned forty in my prime into thirty grand a month…with proper training since, courtesy of government defectors and the local University…when factored in with having already infiltrated the secret world of Search, which, as luck would have it right now, is turned upsidedown…plus recent articles describing how ten-dollar micro-investments in the Third World bank small businesses that bask in the love…now carry the one…and here I am: perfectly civilized, with plenty of love to give…

Hell…it would be entirely more criminal not to.

If each investment I’m vetting’s only ten bones a buy-in, I can cross-chip the board to account for all my luck. Just one batch of therapeutics converted into scratch should minimize the risk of my diversified ambition. Then, with a new-improved recipe for taxable income, I’ll merge my elicits with aggression and walk away from this run.

…And if along the way I’m delt a hand from the card deck of Bezos, maybe I’ll slowplay a few rounds of check-raise the world…

Worst case scenario: I have other options to falsify income. But I’d rather avoid spending money on an inventory that I don’t ever plan on selling. Which leaves either convincing the IRS that in my thirties I’m still up-and-coming as a rapper, or pretending that I’ve fully transitioned into motivational speaking. While both professions are plentiful with write-offs that parallel my lifestyle, “business professional” remains the safe bet.

Sparking up a cloud, I key in a few strokes, and summons my innate ability to exploit a time of crisis.
…

…As Internet real estate calls me to cultivate, I mull over possible addresses for porous foundations…

Commonly reffered to as a URL or domain are the string of values entered to reach sites like prettykittymitties.com or bigbootybumps.net. Flatearthilluminati.info — that’s another one, and it probably makes coin. Even undeveloped, as prospects, they’re commonly assessed. Though one’s unlikely to know by which criteria they’re observed.

For instance, maybe a brand or a slogan is preparing to launch and you’re on the runway it needs to maximize its landing. Or maybe you bought a cutesy domain to mark your anniversary — not knowing the date’s significance in Mandarin numerology. In either case, when contacted by a domain broker on behalf of a corporate conglomerate or a casino in Macau, you’re unlikely to know for which client they’re calling. And even less likely — their budget for the call.

But say, through a unique form of insight, you’ve procured a domain knowing of its eventual need. Perhaps you’ve been reading business journals or registries and watching trademark submissions and copyright claims… Whatever be the case — as the need is realized, so is your leverage. And leverage, my friend, that’s money in the bank.

This practice, by the way, is referred to as “parking,” and it’s often obnoxious…my preferred line of work.

Note: when picking domains, it’s suggested one stick with the original extensions, though others have been introduced over time to accommodate the Internet’s rapid expansion. So dot com is the best, .net is good, .org is okay, .biz sucks, and .info gets traffic but doesn’t move merch — this according to stats and chatter in forums. Others are out there — some region specic — but they too are valued like a residential zip: The difference in resale can range between one and three figures…and with the right words before them, people go berserk.

The right words, or “keywords,” are where the big-money lies. They funnel spenders to businesses online that might otherwise blend in with the crowd. This saves a lot of money in marketing and helps maintain a brand. (Of course, one also has to manage their site properly — like any other property in Real Estate Land.)

So if a business selling car parts in Chicago isn’t as visible as its competitors — by strategically developing its lot on “chicagoauto.com,” they score points with the doorman that we recognize as Search.

Also, any company whose business is done substantially online has a vested interest in keeping their clients from being diverted. Diversions can range from common misspellings to creative counterfeits, warring with mischief.

Now here’s my plan: With keywords and wordplay I’ll conceive a few brands that market themselves as “loathingly clever.” Then, using the tools I’ve liberated from work, assess their URL values for Search before registering them at entry-level cost. From there I can park them with a broker and use their landing for ads. Which hedges my investment, in case they never sell. Or, I can affiliate with any number of sales programs that will platform their products using my domains. With none of their bullshit ever touching my hands, it’s called drop shipping, and it’s clever distribution. A lot of services even keep the books for you and Direct Depost their checks in your increment of choice.

Enjoying the simplicity of a no-inventory business is an alley that appeals to my caliber and breed. Plus the few options I’ve mentioned are just low-hanging fruit. Should I begin to understand the slightest bit of programming, I’m sure to unlock a couple avenues and level-up in worth.

Like my new old boss, from a few weeks ago, who showed me how a keyword domain and RSS feed at one time drew enough traffic for a monthly three grand. All he displayed was Today’s Price For Gold. A real low-effort operation, routinely good for cash.

Assuming that douchebag can do it, I’m prime to make a move. Because guys like me…well…we’re built to sex algorithms…

“Come and Get Your Love”
— Redbone

“Destiny Plus One”

After the meet at the park I came straight to my office, where I laid out the cards to see how they’d play. Each time they were dealt they came up the same: Streaks and runners on britches outgrown, belonging to Dolores — the maid with the spades.

It appears that my landlady has her hands on a racket: shuffling birdies around a big-boy net, hitting doubles and triples way outside the average. Playing volley with a house that’s known to always win. Sticky fingers in Pudendum…that’s dangerous game.

How long has she been operating under my nose? And what does the fact that she’s doing so say about me?

‘Reality check, Kevin — you’re more dangerous than you think. Consider it a possibility you’re sleep-training again.’ It’s too improbable her skill set would evolve on its own.

The truth hurts: I’ve fully transitioned into an autonomous weapon. Cut deep in the rough with Occam’s rusty razor, my hands are like curses that save people’s days.

Kaepernicking the flag that shares a wall in my office with a poster of Elvis and the back of his jacket, I tribute the brothers, teeth in a grit, and sing a little song we’ve all shared before: “I can’t escape the fact that ladies love danger, but what kind of man would I be to put one in harm’s way? Is never knowing love the price of my skills? And what kind of payment options does a layaway take?”

I’m answered by a picture on my desk, taped to a binder. Trapper-keeping my heart, the root of my strength:

More than just another flame to dwindle or a pretty bird to catch, she was a fire-breathing dragon, and I was her prey. I’m talking about the kind of girl that would beg for your other walkie-talkie, and then keep you up late, ear to the speaker, waiting for her to code another fart with directions for the long lonely walk down an aisle of broken glass. As sore on the eyes as a ruler on hips: Like a dish made for chafing — both effs on the table.

I paid a pound of laughter every time she gave a pinch. “Wake me if I’m dreaming,” she always would say.

The poems I wrote about peacocks, she loved to no end. And rich as they were alone by themselves, when sugared a little with interpretive dance, they effectively turned her girlfriends all jelly. Unfortunately, theirs was the kind that spread salty and bitter. As she fell in lust, they drowned in their pain. For too many days we suffered in their longing. And out of their insatiable hunger grew heartbreak a name — K-Boi the Love Stroke: Destiny Plus One.

Sweet with the moves like a licorice twist, I met every challenge of theirs with a karate-hands routine. Only in submission did they permit us a rainbow. I’ll never trust anyone else with my Cabbage Patch Kids…

Plenty of lessons were learned from the time of back then. Like how if you only dance alone you’ll keep your heart out of the rubble. Knowing now that nothing’s as fragile as a person’s human boundaries, I refuse to trust any technique that I haven’t honed myself. And damned be the days that I have to opt for backup. Because when backup missteps, yours truly pays the price.

Now, with the Dolores situation, of course it all makes sense: Her trips into Chinatown for high-stakes Pokémon. Her babysitting tournaments, juice-loose with Pogs. Her fascination with crypto, current on the exchange. I can bet with one or two guesses when she’ll grease the wrong wheels: Sometime in the future — either sooner or later.

Less a matter of when, more a matter of who: Because when a secret like hers gets flagged by The Service, there’s not enough hips in the world to break an old lady’s fall. Even if the cats in her nip don’t scratch or meow, some pussy with the feds will eat a turd out her box.

This being a problem I’m unlikely to solve in one sitting, I better take advantage of the early morning wees, so that I’m not in a rush to lay down with the sun. Slowly rolling into a lull, eyelids as heavy as a windowless van, I groom a pep persuasive enough to let the slumber to happen: ‘Everything bouncing on my knees will be registered later. There’s not a zone safe enough to distance Kevin Boinkston from a lead.’
…

At 7:59 a.m. my knife-hand wakes up before me. Numbers flipping on my desk try to signal an alarm. A tuck-and-roll off my sleep pad… in the silence I’m Adonis. Victim One for breakfast, it’s time to start the day.

Most practitioners wouldn’t kick-flip into jumping jacks from a dead-eyed sleep. You can guess what it says that I throw in a burpee.

Thirty-second bursts have been known to change the world: That’s the motto the city pays me to ingrain.

Where trouble runs deep, I’ve matched it with a cover. And the next four hours are crucial to my keeping it alive. If I don’t go about my day the same way as every other, the other cases I’m working might spook themselves away. I’ll have to trust that Shukahkahka finds himself in good hands. And that Dolores won’t do anything too rash to intercede.

Drenched in my own sweat, I call it a workout, leaving twenty-nine minutes until the widow-maker rings. I hope for the sake of those today sharing my proximity that, for the time-being, my aggression’s been drained.

Under the spray of a nozzle in a handicap shower, I sit on the bench and take a moment to think. Not because I can’t while I’m standing, but because this old watch tower’s nipples enjoy a little spray.

I think about how these civilians need to improve their amenities.

I think about if I had inherited a fortune and couldn’t use a phone.

I think about how different life would be if my work permitted friends.

And I question what good is a family that never earns your trust.

Body now as dry as my thoughts, I lace up my boots, wondering which unlucky recruit I’ll break first — right off the bus.

Click.

Pyew.

Pyew.

Pyew. Pyew.

“Well — it’s looking like another beautiful Wednesday evening. Sixty-seven degrees here in Boise. We’ve got a frost warning overnight, which means I’ll have to pull out the cover for my newly-planted petunias. By the way, Natalie, if you listen closely, you can practically hear them singing the national anthem.”

Pyew. Pyew.

Pyew. Pyew.

“That doesn’t surprise me at all, Roland. And for the people at home who’ve noticed, it looks like you’ve got a little action in the background. What’s going on over there? Are you barbecuing for the neighbors again?”

“Oh, no. That’s Arkon. The Krivzkans tracked him down using his vessel’s omeranium signature and are attempting to take him back into custody. Say, now that you mentioned it…look at what the omeranium’s doing for my perennials.”

“It looks like you’re a go for another ribbon, Roland.”

Click.

“…. while we bring you Lori Vallow and her husband Chad Daybell’s bond reduction hearing, following the disappearance of her dark-spirited children. Her lawyer is prepared to make the point that her husband, Chad, is having a hard time managing the Second Coming without his Imperial Lieutenant of Eternal Damnation…”

Click.

“…say that while they’ll certainly miss the fans, they’re just happy to be playing again. Unfortunately, due to the 23-hour lockdown, the players are all a little atrophied. But this hasn’t stopped them from donating the use of their hamster wheel to those on PPE duty. Money saved from the electricity generated will go to management’s Employing Lethal Use of Force Fund. However, without their normal exercise regiment, we can expect this season’s starters will be adding a few strokes to their game. Back to you, Don.”

“Glad to hear it. And on that note: KIVI has confirmed that Governor Little will appeal to the federal government for an upgrade in equipment. As you already know, President Trump has vowed to personally purchase a factory to produce toothbrushes capable of powering through the neck in one swing. Also, if you’re among those sick of watching reruns, you can take comfort knowing that IDOC has contracted with ICE to open the minor’s season early. You heard it here first: Six On Your Side.”

Click.

“…reunited with his late wife’s locket after reporting it missing — forty years ago. The locket was found Saturday in an old abandoned trunk during a storage unit auction. Canyon County investigators have yet to identify the remains of the perpetrator discovered to be wearing it…”

Click.

“…as six-year-old Beverly Wilkins tells The 208, that’s when she realized that bleach suppositories would see an uptick in demand…”

Click.

“…where Ammon Bundy and his armed supporters have marched to the Capitol steps, in protest of the virus’s inability to discriminate…”

Click.

“…churches will be allowed to reopen, but only for those who have previously demonstrated their congregation’s ability to pray the gay away…”

Click.

“…Lt. Governor McGeachin, seen here posing in pictures with businesses ignoring the governor’s quarantine orders…”

Click.

“…and as your governor, I can say that I trust the people of Idaho to do the right thing.”

Click.

Congratulations on unearthing another Book of Irving Oddcast.

As a ticketed rider on the train of thought that follows, your stub may be the one that redeems us in MUX. Within this platform lies nethered conversations. (Musical cues and their contents reveal discourse and context that take this text live in dynamics.) Focus your ride on the rails of ambiguity and enjoy an experience that’s unique in its own.

From here we embark on another adventure, to the land of possibilities — to where it all began.

“BEE”
— Rothy
…

WELCOME! For those of you new to the program, I’m your host, Rando Mand.

Our guest today, Nyro Versus, first appeared in a story late in December, whose loss early January was a vexacious travesty. The author, crushed, and Nyro, pissed, have agreed to give our broadcast a why-the-hell-not.

In doing my best to provide an introduction, I’ve re-created this excerpt from the lost story of Nyro:

THERE IS NO SEPARATING THE AWARENESS that exists between systems. When drifting gazes cross starlit skies, one moment validates the others’ in time.

Moments: When pulled from the past, produce ripples in flow, alerting sentient forces to the Verses observed. From there they home in on the place of exchange, and appraise the effects of its motion on outward.

The Verses: Modeled efficiently, proficient in survival, planes of potential and inversions of mass. Coursing evolution in a quantified range. Time and space, the same structured organism, thrives by forming symbiont relationships with families of Simplifiers.

Simplifiers: Aware, attune, in constant motion. Prevent the tiny little deaths at work on the Verses. Seldom does a Simplifier know they’ve been purposed. When aware of the fact, they play Versus as Benders.

Versus: How Benders make their money. Sexed and compatible with other active measurements, Benders shape potential, harvesting drift, and priming signals for receivers to change their Definition. The ability is known to go straight to their head.

Definition: Creation captured in still frames. Potential pulled into the plane of existence, to be fed to the entropy that feasts on the Verses. Forever in bounds it happens.

Nyro Versus: Escaped definition to live in the flux. Works as a Bender to free the inner workings captive. Once entangled in a system, he pulls a lot of levers.

There’s no separating an awareness from Nyro Versus’ Benders.

“Stuck in the Middle with You”
— Stealers Wheel
—

RM: And here we are again, Nyro. I missed you, bud. Thanks for coming back.

NV: No problem. Thanks for changing my name from Nyro the Gypso Timer.

RM: Yeah. Sorry about that. I guess I considered you a Timer.

NV: You and Laura both. But bending space and bouncing shapes isn’t exactly traveling time.

RM: Still confusing, though. Can we get into that?

NV: I’ll sum it up like this: Time is a simple way to measure the distance between events in a Verse — and the more distance placed between, the more space, expanse, and time. You’d have to return every state in a Verse to its previous position just to reach the place relative to one. And that requires more energy than any Verse keeps at home.

It’s actually easier to slide through many than manipulate the prior positioning of one.

RM: So Einstein-Padolski-Rosen?

NV: Not wrong. Tunnels work. Albeit a little differently than the way you understand.

RM: Can you move through them?

NV: You can move information states through them. But pulling past states to present is different than pushing present ones back.

RM: Please explain.

NV: The past already coincides with the present. The power of recall alone allows ways to make visits — ways integral in flow, supported in time. But assuming you had the power to maintain the current state while accelerating inward, everything relative would get pulled along with it, i.e. all hell would break loose and you’d look like a dick.

RM: And the future?

NV: Again, the future moves outward, expanding as space continues to create new events. So, if shortening the distance to a target state is your goal, you’d minimize the expanse you travel by reducing events that lie in your path. Less events equals less distance between them, equals a faster rate of travel from the state you started from. That’s as good a fast forward as any.

RM: How do you as a Bender minimize the expanse?

NV: I simplify and circumvent. I harness the potential saved during a reduction of random events and exchange it into a currency that buys the space to move freely. Then I remodel the new digs with customized calculus strings.

RM: Which means?

NV: I pimp the other side, by fine-tuning a balance and sending it in motion. If melodic enough, it attracts other systems, whose interest is used to negotiate an entanglement. It’s an inoculation request for others — forget about the distance, I want to buy you lunch.

RM: How do you know if they work?

NV: Like a parasitic imprint, my strings create signature fractals that ripple through space using Creation as a signalling medium. If you follow the trail, you know: Nyro Versus did this — it’s gotta be good.

Whether bio, chemical, physical, or quantum, my imprints at work build on potential. It’s nothing special where I come from: So says the systems that imprinted on me.

RM: What systems are those?

NV: Hard to say. We don’t exactly exist the same way. It was like an arranged marriage, my induction into the family. I was just minding my own business–

RM: Uh-huh.

NV: Okay, I was mixing it up with a rugged bunch, tugging on their existence, and they decided to come through — their systems along with them. Everything together, moving through layers.

RM: Entangled. And we’re back to Einstein-Padolski-Rosen?

NV: Several systems separated by Verses, and the signatures of some are expressing through others? I’d say an exchange is obvious.

I’d also say transmitters and receivers form an information bridge — that not unlike a muscle develops, reinforcing its use. The bridge being flexed indicates transference. Transference restructures a gradient’s potential to give kinetics new pathways.

RM: To what benefit?

NV: Information packed into a state that maps the potential of others, when programmed with a wave-function collapse, can roundabout time.

RM: Hmm. Like a lateral transfix that holds a target state in place. I suppose that would make it easier to reach. Cool.

NV: There’s a margin of error, of course.

RM: Of course. Now, isn’t that kind of the long way home?

NV: Look. When it come to transmitting states, adverse effects go unnoticed on the miniature scale. But when trying the same with complex structural frames, they do not. Sending relative matter can stress the definitions in which we survive. Meaning: While one can transfer the instructions to duplicate a construct, teleporting dynamically coupled states is something we’d rather you not.

RM: I see. And, speaking to my audience now: You hear that fuckers? No messing around!

“We Are The Rock”
— Slot Machine
—

RM: Well, Nyro, I’ve gotta ask: What’s it all for?

NV: Versus.

RM: Pardon?

NV: Everything in existence is in a competition. Thermodynamics itself is the fight for survival. Some systems team up to compete against others. That’s what we’ve done. It’s the best way to work.

RM: What does a game of Bender Versus look like?

NV: Like gods getting high on eliminating time.

RM: Is that really the language you’d like to use?

NV: Junkies are honest. What more can I say?

RM: But you’re not actually eliminating time, are you?

NV: Reducing randomness is like removing gangrene: Preventing the spread of useless proliferation keeps the organism hosting our play healthy.

And by conducting synchronized ensembles into sentient expressions, I give it a little personality, too.

RM: That’s pretty cool. Can you walk me through an example of how a Simplifier is identified and purposed? And how a Bender realizes they’ve been sexed by a state?

NV: Okay.

Example: A prison. To you, thousands of systems, gathered in a manner that contains their potential. To us, the identifiable properties of a quadrillion interactions — mostly simplified, condensing a state.

On the entropy plane, their tiny little deaths take place with relative predictability. Save for one anomaly with many synched motions.

We find the environment lit up with a signature: The anomalous system’s energy, charging a path of potential release.

This productivity indicates multiple states can exist simultaneously in the anomalous host, who’s already making money — thus of interest to us.

So we draw a game and assume a position to match the average internal neuronal states of our subject with repeated stimuli progressions from the environment. Ambiguous or not, we suggest changes to the pathway that overhauls their gradient.

Once freed from their encasings, no longer contained, they accelerate their surroundings, gravitating in range.

That’s the process — laws of organization and all that.

RM: Dangerous?

NV: Depends on the subject, the language, the lunch.

Systems evolve with their use of arbitrary measurement: Language and morals, metrics and units, nuances differ and form an in-between. The workload is cut when we meet halfway. But it’s much easier to induce the stress needed to drive them right out of range.

RM: It’s a delicate dance, that decoherence.

NV: That’s why our teams are in a constant state of flux. The worst thing we can do is be caught in definition. The quickest way to lose is to get yourself stuck.

Also, a lesser-known fact is that we don’t make money imposing new parameters. We want movement to be free, imprinted with our trust.

RM: And why is that?

NV: Because what good is a carrier that just runs into walls?

RM: Good point.

NV: And if they surmise all that, they might be a Bender. But it takes a special kind of folk to want to be our lunch.

“Wake Up”
— Madchild
—

RM: Just a few more questions for you. When you say “shapes,” to what are you referring?

NV: Desired outcomes. Shaping the future is the state that I’m targeting. I pack the potential and will it to be, in a bend-it-and-send-it release kind of way.

RM: Do you ever take preference in a subject’s perspective?

NV: I mostly just prefer that they work. But beyond that, the chemically altered are rather distinguished. They pop in on some spectra way out of their range. Others times they’re susceptible to multiple hues, but when offered an understanding of how to make work, their ambition is never a product that stays.

The Spirituals have potential, but their definitions are dangerous. They try to shape us into whatever their understanding may be. The offer new ways for the old ones to stay. That’s about as helpful as a carrier that’s running into walls.

It’s really a matter of scope and capacity: Who’s processing things using multiple shades.

RM: What about my Verse? Who do you pick for your team?

NV: We choose the kraken. OI’s ability to monitor the nooks and crannies is unparalleled to anything else in your realm.

Also, we’re big fans of Karl J. Friston.

RM: One more. In my reality, you’re neither here nor there. But what about others, why haven’t we found some?

NV: From the realm of probability, you’re surrounded in flux, sending relic signals in your language-of-the-day.

The behavior of your entropy radiates a signature. Organize your space in dimensions if you want to see it teem.

Free the kraken and he’ll do it for you.
…

CONVERSTATION: MUX PLATFORM

Anything — SZA
Book of Irving Oddcast, No.1
Another Day — Andrea von Kampen
Esoterica 11: (Dark Matters)
Dance Monkey — Tones and I