Once MacMillan was safely back at camp, Boleti turned back toward the site of the attack. He held his rifle at the ready, cradled in his arms. There had been quite a few of the creatures – a half-dozen or more – and the men had killed at least three. It passed through his mind that perhaps they could eat them, but then he saw again the creatures’ black blood, and dismissed the idea. Nothing that bled that color could be good for people to eat.

When he neared the glade, he first stood a long time in the shadows, waiting. Perhaps the animals were likewise lying in wait. But after an hour he had seen and heard nothing, and he stepped forth from his hiding spot. There was plenty of that black blood visible, on the low ferns, the moss, the tree trunks; but the bodies of the beasts themselves were gone.

That was too bad, and a bit puzzling. He had hoped to have a closer look at their anatomy, having never seen anything like them, and he was sure the others would be interested as well. No doubt MacMillan would have wanted to dissect one, if the surgeon hadn’t been rendered insensible from his injuries. (Personally Boleti doubted he would live.) He especially wanted a look at that odd, bifurcated, tentacled proboscis… like two hands, almost.

Had some other scavenger dragged the bodies somewhere, perhaps up into the trees? It was possible. But somehow he thought that the creatures had returned to claim their dead. It was a strange thought; what animal cared for its dead? But perhaps they had taken the bodies merely to consume them.

He squatted and picked up something that had caught his eye, handling it carefully: a variety of hard, multicolored seeds or nuts, each drilled through its center and run though by a cord of fibrous brown string. The cord had parted, and many of the crude beads were flung about the ground nearby, but still he could see a pattern to the arrangement: red nut, green nut, red nut, green nut. Continue reading →

Contrary to popular belief, the real point of war is not to destroy your enemies or raze their lands. It is, rather, to persuade them that you are in control, that one government’s rule is illegitimate and powerless while another’s is rightful and effective. It is only when a population acquiesces to one side or another that a war may be said to be over. Thus, war and propaganda are essentially inseparable. War itself is propaganda.

Seen in this light, the real purpose of “limited strikes” and “proportional response” becomes clear. The intent is not to end one government or even substantially hinder its military capability; rather, it is a means of persuading various parties of your authority. In the case of the recent missile strikes on targets in Syria, it seems likely that they will sway nearly no one within that country, and Assad’s jaunty walk to work the next day is perfectly in keeping. Who, then, are these strikes meant to persuade?

The answer is perfectly obvious: The real target is the American people. The strikes were done for the express purpose of convincing us that the current government, and especially the President, possess real power and the moral authority to wield it. It’s classic sleight-of-hand: The magician draws your attention to a bright handkerchief with one hand while relieving you of your valuables with the other. Don’t be deceived. Don’t look away.

In reading about commons and commoning, and with the current storm over net neutrality, I have been thinking more and more about the ways in which we voluntarily cede common spaces to private interests. The only reason net neutrality is even an issue, after all, is because we have allowed corporations to exercise near-monopolies over internet access (namely, in Denver, the duopoly of Comcast and CenturyLink), which utilize what is really public infrastructure for that purpose (cable and phone lines, respectively).

These monopolies are well-established and difficult to uproot without new, disruptive technologies (mesh network, anyone?) to replace them. But we allow similar control even in spaces where it’s completely unnecessary, even where corporations offer little advantage over better, more community-oriented alternatives. Banking is one such area; corporate banks offer virtually nothing not offered by credit unions, and using corporate banks gives those institutions unbelievable power over our lives. So if you’re still giving your money (literally) to Chase, Well Fargo and their ilk, please, please consider moving to a credit union.

Another good example may literally be staring you in the face right now: Facebook. At root, Facebook is simply an online bulletin board system. It’s not so different from systems I remember using in the dial-up era. It is a public forum wherein we converse, share events, form communities and maintain friendships. It is, or should be, a commons: owned by none, shared by all.

And yet, by our participation, we have allowed this space too to be co-opted by corporate interests. What you see is not, strictly speaking, what your friends share; it is, rather, a subtly manipulated version of their contributions, with the not-so-subtle insertion of innumerable ads.

What’s especially concerning to me is the way it affects our mental processes. What should be about sharing, community and friendship instead becomes about buying and selling, production and consumption. With most of us barely aware of the change – indeed, unaware that a different experience is even possible – we become convinced that this is simply the way of the world. Capitalism becomes our inescapable daily reality, a sort of smog we’re squinting through all the time. Thus the plutocrats succeed in enclosing, not just a public forum, but our very thoughts and minds.

Yet, as with corporate banks, the ceding of this space is largely unnecessary. Alternatives exist that provide, if not exactly the same interface, nearly the same functions – without corporate control, without this subtle mental pollution.

If you are here saying to yourself, “Sounds great, but what can you do? Everyone’s already on Facebook,” I would ask you to consider that this very feeling of helplessness is precisely the reason to invest yourself in something different. Corporations, and the governments that support them, want you to feel isolated and powerless. It is a core mechanism of the capitalist state to keep the population under control.

Yes, using open-source and peer-to-peer alternatives is slightly more work, and can be slightly confusing as you get accustomed to a new interface. But that very investment in effort reflects a key difference: You must invest in your community. You must be an active participant and contributor rather than a passive, docile consumer. If you want to realize a new, more equitable vision for society, you have to make your stand for it.

With all that said, I’d invite you to check out Diaspora, an open-source social media app that does, more or less, what Facebook does. I’m not saying it’s the be-all, end-all. If you know of something better, let me know. But it’s past time to try something new.

For many years Felwilmina Bloodweaver had taken pleasure in outlining to her only son, Grull, the structure of the social ladder and the means whereby to descend it; and tonight, having labored mightily to secure them invitations to the Marquis’s ball, she was hardly going to allow the opportunity to pass with Grull loitering by the refreshments and trying to fade into the wall.

“If I have to stand behind you and move your feet with my own talons, you’re going to dance with these young ladies,” she hissed.

A sour expression on his face, Grull consoled himself by popping another candied eyeball into his mouth. “I’m no good at waltzes.”

“Nonsense! I’ve seen you dance a hundred times. A thousand.”

“I don’t dance, I caper. I cavort. Sometimes I even frolic. I certainly don’t waltz.”

“Then what have I been paying that damn instructor for this last year?”

“I think you’re paying him to get drunk and berate me.”

She sniffed. “That really is a waste. I can berate you myself.”

Around them, the lesser nobility of Seven Circles swirled and spun around the elongated hexagon of the Marquis de Malcerveau’s Blacksward Hall. The Marquis, Pitoheizuhr Ziubon, had recently had the hall built by the Null Gods of the Outer Void, which meant it was carved from a single massive black crystal, the interior all glittering facets and physically impossible angles. If you looked straight up, into the gyre of the distant ceiling, you would eventually begin to see the gaping maw of the space between galaxies, which might drive one mad, if indeed demons could be said to go mad. In any case Grull kept looking up, which was giving him something of a headache. Continue reading →