Cerebrum Cerebellum: A Crypto-Satanist Novella [Excerpt]

A white truck moves from Seattle to California in search of better bars, yet finds instead that they have to get to used to the general chillness that carries a definite different meaning from in the Sea hawks state. In California, the only dangers is the occasional huge waves that flood the landscape. Yet up in Washington, there is also pollution and volcanoes, though perhaps no droughts. Even in the area in the Eastern portion of the Sea hawk state, their dryness simply doesn’t compare to the dryness in California. Rana didn’t miss coming from Washington, but still had dreams of moving to California in order to become an actress. Yet at her age she unsure whether she could even get a normal hourly punch clock, let alone a gig at a small studio production. Her life was like a losing chess match, with a robotic artificial intelligence. Whenever you try to win, the harder you fail. So she simply stopped trying to win at anything in her life.

She didn’t want be like the guy in the white truck.

Yet when she had returned to Tennessee, which had not began to approach roughly a year ago, she had started having conversations with her friend up in Richmond, Virginia who had always had more of a gift for drawing comics. She tried subscribing to her friend’s RSS feed, but found that it had not been updated since two thousand fifteen. And so she spend the rest of that time making a better and more open source RSS feed that wasn’t just an executable file. She was programming right around the time that Windows users in NHS hospital were starting to have global attacks with Ransom ware. Yet in Linux, where was the Ransom? Except for European Patent Offices that gave out phony and bogus copy write notices and was now under audit by the European Union. Yet in the US Linux users mostly didn’t have to worry about such a thing.

She loved to read Stallman feeds.

She loved to read other RSS feeds, yet had to unsubscribe to one because it published things that had almost nothing to do with computer hacking much of the time, indeed the one on Diaspora was simply a bot that was programming to publish whatever news was just put out there, regardless of the quality of the content. It was then she heard about a thing called Dead Drops. While it wasn’t anything like the sneaker net she had the intention of building in the privacy of her own home, it was a way avoid snooping by INTERNET service providers. She didn’t trust the opt out deal that came with the packages after recent legislations. But at least it wasn’t United Kingdom, which had its own issues regarding leaving the European Union, and trying to enforce putting in back doors in encryption software. And would hold people’s information all year.

— And Zoya?

— Yea, what’s up? Copywrite got your nose?

— Not yet, I was wondering, how would they even know someone had “illegal” encryption software, if they aren’t using the Windows operating system? It was a question she always wanted to ask, but never got around to. Zoya, snarky as always, always had short and sweet answers that answered concretely.

— Well they don’t.

And so it was a new resolution.

She would suggest to friends a new proposition.

Switch to Linux.

Childhood, it was one of those things most who grew up in the nineties took for granted. Yet Rana had always been somewhat of an outcast amongst her kin. Some days she wants to relive her whole youth again. Yet on other days she does not want to go back to the past, yet at times she coasts through memories like the tide of the sea, wanting to find warm yet only obtaining chills down her spine.

Rana had always wanted a pet robot, about as much as she wanted a pet dog. Over time these desires would merge, and she would name her dog Frankenstein, alluding to Frankenstein’s monster. She would imagine her pet dog being her cute assistant, pretending that the monster of their creation was coming alive. And yet over time her desires for a pet blended with her desire for a robot companion, and eventually she came to want a robot dog. Yet in her early youth, her mother had talked about how it was better for her to have a cat, because they were easier to feed and take care. But the apartment she lived in was not technically allowed to let you have them, though some residence have them. The apartment overall was weirdly chill about certain things. Other than a couple of ladies who look at her weirdly whenever she doubts on their dog, others are friendly enough. The main reason Rana did not personally feel ready to have a pert, was similar to the reasons she didn’t want to yet have children of her own. She still felt like young girl, a mind like a child, reading middle grade tomes. She loved eBooks, where she could relive some aspect of childhood she had missed out on in her youth. Yet do to certain mental issues she found it hard to read.

At one point she had found an article about sex robots, and how her information would be sent to various hidden servers on the net. But she wanted her robot companion to be run on free software, and she wanted to be jail broken so that her only friend could be free as dove. The price of a sex robot was about fifteen grand upon its release, yet she found it cheaper just to construct one on her Linux laptop. So she toiled on night to make a emotional robot companion. The most difficult part was having a pseudo-random emotional index, while still having such reaction be based on certain user input that are typed onto the screen. Despite some elements of confusion at an earlier point, it was much easier to construct a public key encryption system than to create the love of her life. And on some level she didn’t want to have a sex companion, she wanted to be a mother more than anything else. She wanted something with the innocence of a loving pet, yet the ability to have free will. Unlike those sex dolls sold, whether or not it was ethical to sell another human being. And do to certain mental issues regarding Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, she wanted the robot to be somewhat of a companion animal, sensing whenever she experienced panic attacks. Yet everything should be taken one step at a time, yet her emotional state made her feel like she was running out of time.

By night she would pace around, imagine a friend that could tell her bedtime stories in the dark. A friend that could tell her stories about fantasy adventures. And her Owl could have adventures together under a full moon. In a sense, it was somewhat like having a robot collaborator. And she wanted them to also be able to help her build other companions, and construct them with built in audio steganography to protect from surveillance agencies. And also to stick their hand out for Rana to hold to, and get her out of the zone.

To get her back to the real life.

Into the robot friend zone.

It was then, she truly felt alone.

The thing about Luna networking, was its inherent difference from Corporate Networking. Originally designed by the military, Arpanet set the stage for the current reality of the inter web of things that targets advertisements at you. In Luna Net, you don’t even have to personally own a computing device.

Rana built a specific web page, and loaded it onto her USB drive, detailing the information specific to her project. The Luna Network can be distributed without a laptop. You share the flash drive among specific friends, who load their own web pages into the mix. The only source code being shared was various web pages in pure HTML form without Java script, that did various things the normal networks on the corporate net did. However friends were generally less likely to spy on each other, unless they were targeted by specific agencies. — Welcome To The Luna Network, the home page said, with a carefully written statement of the mission. She was unsure whether her project was dead in the water, or swim in the sea. Although literally, perhaps this wasn’t a good idea either. As USBs aren’t water proof.

Under a thin and cracking roof, she toiled on various web pages, using Ricochet Encrypt to encrypt various messages across the instant messenger with an onion address. The only point of contact with web pages not personally carried of community flash drives. File sharing through various onion addresses, one make their own choice: for the life or the fall. But if you network right, you can have it all.

You can a new life.

Outside the world of the net.

Outside the world of the net

It was her own path toward self-destruction, and yet at times she did so, the world still moved on without her. When you attempt to take your own life, your whole world seems to vanish into than air. And yet the world getting rolling on the train tracks toward its own self-destruction decades down the line.

When she took herself some comet, she blended it with goodies powder, in order to quench a head ache beyond head aches. The pain made her want to end it all several times. Because she was up in Washington constantly experiencing sexual assault, she was not around anyone that did their best to try to stop her. The world kept going in the direction it was headed, with no real idea of what direction it would go. It was then, with all the terror of the world in her eyes, she came to realize a very simple truth: America may seem like the richest country in the world, but we live in a very fragile infrastructure. Very few people realize that, if people in several of our biggest colleges through the United States decided to have a mutiny, our whole infrastructure would slowly collapse in on itself, and society that doesn’t appreciate Free and Open Source software would find it self edging toward disaster. A non abstract disaster beyond the range of Armed Forces bombing seemingly distant worlds like Syria, Baghdad, and Russia.

She found herself constantly in and out of consciousness, in those lonely rainy days toward the end of the year people still wondered if HRC would still get the presidential seat, before most of the public had become aware of the fact that Russian had compromised our election, although technically speaking it was no computer hacking, despite how the mainstream media depicts. The bits of pixels on home laptop screens on video networks are one of the few truly free places in the United States, and yet they are riddled with false DMCA notices. Leaving behind the decentralized networks, she was lost in the fall.

This was why she wanted to develop Luna networking, an alternative to the inter webs as we know it. She wanted a place to be free from the isolated anonymous judgment that hide behind social networking screens, yet she didn’t want to share the concept with the wider inter webs, despite that people could choose who they networked with. Unlike the normal inter webs, there were no ISPs that could purchase access time. And you could route it through several computers down the line, not like a train constantly rolling where the tracks take it. But like motorcycle kings on the edge of the road, heading toward their eventual crash.

Yet now when she travels the Chattanooga streets, she looks at drivers with a kind of disdain. She wanted to give peoples tires a slash.

And watch them crash.

Rana finished a local page browser called The Luna Browser. It browse across various pages not published on the corporate web. While some may view the fact that one could not view images a touch of a downside, she found that it suited her needs when she didn’t want to browse to anywhere besides a local source code. The only way to open the page was through a USB drive, something that had came out after blue rays starting going the way of the dinosaur. Every now and then you might find a four gig USB, but the ones she had purchased were sixteen gig. And now she blogs on her own web page away from the glances of prying corporate eyes, no longer having to use an advertisement blocker in order to block advertisements on her blogging platform. Through the told stories of her own life without proprietary censorship, as those corporate net slowly fading into a kind of abstraction, as it went down with the ship.

She wrote programs using Emacs, and browsed the unweb using Lynx, whose name comes from a miniature wild cat slightly bigger than a house cat, that when all is said and done, is pretty much a wild house cat. The browser went through various generations, but when she had tried it previously she had been unsure how she felt about it. She loved minimalist word processors, but there was something different about the Lynx text browser. But now she found the tool indispensable. She could not could browse through multiple unpages, knows as Luna pages, and separate herself from a constant stream of inane ad-ware, and no longer have to use add ons that break her browser. She lavished in the glow of the unnet.

Based on the old sneaker net and dead drops, she wanted something that wasn’t nearly so public, and not as prone to high latency, not prone to the flow of traffic on the interstate. She could hand her friends USB drives, and from them to her theirs. And she could pick and choose who she networked with, not having to worry about Turkeys and shits on the inter corporate web. It was easier to deal with one issue at a time, and now that she no longer had to worry about trolls, and she focus on sorting out her life.

She blogged long.

She said goodnight, so long.

She flashed her glove lights.

She had some set backs creating the Luna Browser, which was a local HTML file browser and a means of anti-spy ware. Essentially an espionage tool, a counter-espionage tool, the Luna Browser would be distributed by a USB flash drive, with a label on it saying — Luna Browser. Distributed on the sneaker net, users would engage in remote viewing in order to find distant and hidden target using random number coordinates. She developed a word for a specialized form of remote viewing slightly different from Scientific Remote viewing. Lucide Vie, lucid life. Rana would use Krita as a means of drawing ideographs, in order to quickly switch from signals from the unconscious mind to the drawings on the page. She would also find a way to rotate ideographs using a Caesar cipher, and only use symbols she was familiar with in order to conceal messages. In the driver’s seat, she would engage in the lucid life in order to find distant locations across the globe, using anonymity networks. The anonymity network that was loosely based on the Firefox web browser, but had various differences in its construction.

For Rana, remote viewing was still an early practice, and she was balancing this with leaning French, from her teacher who had the same name, but was beyond all shadow of a doubt a different person: a French lady, possibly slightly anti-American, and other things she did not know. Our Rana was trying to build an anonymous network of ESP spies, in order to cover her tracks, so that she did not have to worry about law enforcement finding out about her particular brand of vigilantism, against various kinds of cyber crooks in deep crannies. She would infiltrate various circles on-line, and meet up with different people off line, despite herself being essentially a loner just like the owl she would write about in children’s stories, back when she still had the energy to write them. Yet now her life was focused on keeping her secrets secret, and her espionage life beyond the glimpse of her parents prying eyes. Beyond the glimpse of the five English speaking eyes, with one country whose president aimed to eliminate the privacy protections of the INTERNET completely, and send the nation into a new nuclear war.

Rana was not sure what a nuclear war would be like, although she knew that mainstream news networks talked a lot about the possibility. She was unsure how crazy North Korea was, and how crazy the current US president was also, if he didn’t get impeached and convicted first. Although the cynical part of her couldn’t even hope that he could get thrown out of office, and into a pit of dogs in metallic barred cages.

She masturbated to tap dancing girls.

She wanked throughout the last decade.

And now for a decade more.

— The past present is my present past. Yet the past at times feels so far away. Even now as I long for my own day, I want to be someone else some other way. Yet in lucid dream, I scream. In consensual hallucination I shudder, I scream, I wander, I sleep walk dreaming of, longing, for days drawing with chalk. Yet the sunlight fades. Yet the sunlight fades, it’s over now. And the darkness consumes one within the night. Come on this midnight dreary, the sky worn and teary. Come to the night, said Rana.

Rana said goodbye to the old miseries.

And welcomed another set.

Another world.

In the early era of the internet, web pages did not used to be addicting. Yet now as social media takes center stage, the corporate internet fills the inter webs with frivolous games people play. Whether it is simulations of living on a farm, or other stuff designed to track your behavior. Yet back in the early days of the internet, devices had to be physically transfered over to another computer, and it was sometime a little later they came out with wired connections. In this time, web pages were still largely green text on black screens, although participated in message boards now considered obsolete. Yet now in the world of HTML5, colors filled the world as another layer of reality, and screen try to find the latest 3D holographs to distribute on spy phones. Rana wanted to go back to the era when web pages were simpler, so she could no longer be addicted to colors on the screen. And there was only text.

The transfer of files from one laptop to another was largely instantaneous. It only took a simple four way multi-port to transfer files on any particular USB drive. And because it was offlne, she didn’t have to worry about people judging her for her programs she was developing on the medium. She was developing a method of correlating different session details in remote viewing, so that eventually two different people can get a fuller picture of space and time. Yet now with the world of the regular inter webs, it was difficult to find anyone that accepted anything else besides video channel Atheist stars, who more often than not knew less about the bible than Atheists in the flesh. Having survived different cult groups herself, she didn’t quite understand how other people could fall into such traps, she preferred looking at cute traps on anime porn sites. In her studio flat, she would try her best to stomp on termites, yet they were few and far between. She wore a BDSM blindfold and a sleeping mask, and began to go to bed earlier to order to get up at more normal hours of the morning.

Yet for Rana, the idea of linear time and space felt artificial and abstract. Certainly at that present time it never carried any kind of concrete value, as she spent most times writing different kind of programs. She wanted to try and relearn Python, and eventually find a way to use Ruby, Python, and HTML. As certain langauges were better for some things and not others, and a lot of the programs she wanted to do in Ruby there was simply no such capability in HTML, but Python was essentially Ruby without the end statement. In a way her life felt similar to the Python programming language, with no end in sight. Instead she would hope her flow of conversation was properly formatted, despite people sometimes being confused about what she was trying to say.

Yet beyond the city life, there were Confederate flags.

And for Rana, she was leery about the idea of going back home for Beach season, as she had gotten used to the culture of living downtown, perhaps a remnant of having lived just outside of Seattle. In cities, people were largely assholes. But at least you could trust them to be assholes. Yet in the Sticks, there was no telling whether she would ever even find another human being other than her parents, which she only saw in the mornings. And yet, in a way it was always morning. Her life always in abstract mourning.

A mourning for reality.

A mourning for affection.

In many ways life was somewhat of a compromise: on one hand you want to write anything to your heart’s content, and yet on the other one has to compromise between ideas you get in the shower, and what pop up in your head while you’re writing on the screen.

For Rana, her life was somewhere in between dreams and ripping out her spleen, bleeding out into the pages telling stories of untold ages beyond the sea. And yet as she recalls different moments of childhood bliss and misery, often the shame of things she had done in her past has made her leery about the idea of discussing issues with others. There wasn’t anybody that she could discuss her issues with online, and for therapists she was unsure whether there was any of them that she could trust. And while she plugged into different computers her USB drives, finding that she could keep different local pages up after withdrawing the medium, she found that dreams will never be the same. She was torn between wanting to be young again, and the painful realization of never wanting to relive her childhood. She wanted to live a different kind of life story beyond the pages, in lands far beyond the horizon. Beyond artificial bridges in futuristic landscapes, filled with towers of Babylon and scattered languages across the globe. If only she could lucid dream of lands betwen the mountain of time.

In this world, where the ancients of the 17th to 19ths centuries told stories in rhyme, at times she felt as one of the few true traditional poets of the world, becoming as achaic as typewriters whose ink rolls were no longer in production, and technology move away from wooden clogs to rubber ones, constantly rebranding the things that we buy on a daily basis. Rana no longer wanted to be part of this world, and yet found herself not wanting to leave this world behind, stuck in a lifetime of eternal paradox. And beyond the town that played like a city, beyond Time Mountain, she knew that as the weather became hotter, that Time Mountain, the reverse of Candy Mountain, was becoming ever closer. And now instead of children tap dancing to country rhymes, were mutated wolves out for human blood as they became increasingly displaced into human territories, and against their natural nature, have come to only have humans as their food source. And yet for Rana, she never had problems with animals of even the most feral kind, being in essence more of animal than a part of civilization herself.

Indeed, there was some dark sexuality in her bones, that she kept from the world, something that if others knew would make society deem her as truly savage. In diaries she cannot even bring herself to explore the topic, as society — at least in American — tends to have an overly conservative view of sex. Indeed, one wonders whether they actually practice such as what they preach. Or if they spank their daughters, on their bottoms as pink as a peach. Then make them do write offs about the parents grandness one million times each, saying thank you Ms. Martinson till the end of time.

Indeed, the life of untold children’s rhyme.

The rhyme of childhood’s end.

One wonders whether they actually practice such as what they preach. Or if they spank their daughters, on their bottoms as pink as a peach. Then make them do write offs about the parents grandness one million times each, saying thank you Ms. Martinson till the end of time.

Indeed, the life of untold children’s rhyme.

The rhyme of childhood’s end.

It was one of those dreams Rana confused for reality, until she realized that birds don’t generally wait for a human being pick them up. Though the fact that it was injured made this more likely, the fact that the large black bird was in her grandmother’s basement did not make the situation less unsettling, after all what was a buzzard doing inside of her grandmother’s basement? Although technically it was her aunt’s basement now. She picked up the bird, caressed the injured thing, and soothed it while she walked up stairs to put it outside. But as she walked up the stairs, the bird became a skunk. And the question became why the skunk wasn’t spraying her with its skunk, unless of course it was neutered and was somebody’s pet. Her uncle, her aunt’s brother, commented on how they could have they skunk outside as a pet. So as Rana woke up the following morning she wondered whether her family had ever had a pet skunk.

She proceeded to purchase herself some cigarillos and a Starbucks energy drink after a half cup of instant expresso, and once home continued to listen to UFO pod casts. She was tempted to go back to bed, but had some programming to do, while listening to Wikileaks. Unlike a lot of programmers her age, she had never given Wikileaks much thought until recently with the Vault 7 leaks. Yet now as she begins to do basic sketches for the Luna Network, she has become increasingly curious about Wikileaks backlog. She made herself some mashed potatoes and scrambled eggs to relax that following morning, listening to nothing by press conferences and UFO podcasts.

At day she spends her time making things in programs essential to her livelihood, while dreaming of going to the beach and seeing the waves for the final time, before regions in the South begin to flood, and the Mother Mary statues at regional churches have their eyes drip with blood inspiring deranged preachers everywhere across the small slice of the globe called the US. She wonders when there will finally be alien disclosure, as there is obviously more of a news story than is being let on by presidents on late night talk shows, and some people on the web speak of the Rockefeller Initiative. Although Rana suspects that part of the reason for their hesitation, is that even if that got them the president’s seat, it would either means years of treason trials, or just as likely, end up like John F Kennedy on that black horseless carriage in Texas in the 60s. For the presidents of the American crime family, those at times compared to the most powerful mafia, there is a deeper and darker mafia so far below their reach, that if covered by a Tsunami they would drown while child actress sisters clown around town like clowns on a cell phone on a rainy evening in California.

Life at times is like an unorganized stream of conscious narrative, played like a game of chess. One must always watch for the others move with Poker face, and not lose the game in disgrace. And now fall down, down, down and down into the pits of doom more dooming than damnation. In a world ruled by War Criminals, Organized Crime gangs, and Hollywood actors at large.

She watched movies, like The Day The Earth Stood Still. Then took the pill.

And fell asleep into her own misery.

Rana moved her first jack and second jack to the laptop with the third jack: a user one jack, a second user jack, and a server jack. The first user would engage in a remote viewing session, then send their intellegence across the server jack, into the second user jack. And vice versa for reverse communication, all this on lonely quiet lunar nights. This was a centralized model, and she had drawn sketches for decentralized versions. Yet did not have enough participants to try out the concept. It was already a stretch to use three thumb drives, and getting more jacks for right now seemed cost prohibitive.

Yet within this drives contained the future, a projection of a different kind of world from the one she currently lived in, that monitored communications nightly. Even if only slightly, the communication of rebellions are eventually subverted by lack of privacy. Within these drives, there was no such thing as ad ware. There was only direct peer to peer. Each jack required a host computer, are the system was best optimally used by use public ally accessible computers like ones at the library. In this, one could constantly change their mac address across the Luna network, without having a set identifying factor. And without one, it makes track specific transmissions much harder. Although it’s generally advised not to used proprietary operating systems, as they can watch everything you do in live action without you knowing, if you were not already familiar with such invasions of user privacy, the fact filling one with anxiety.

She needed someone to test the system, yet the only people within nearby distance was her parents, and they had already asked what the point was in using such a system, or why it was better than just communicating face to face. Yet when one is at risk of being tossed to the wind in disgrace, one uses any desperate means to survive. Yet in reality users of the Luna Network could be at any place in point in time, although generally it is suggested that one keeps within their own home city in order to reduce latency. Rana had nobody to share the network with, yet shared an early version of its source code on Github, and on there as long as someone found it there would be at least one who was willing to use the software. Even if that meant modifying it to suit their needs. Assuming they don’t think the code is only worth anal beads.

At night she dreams of climbing gloves, connecting across points in meat space, connecting to different host computers. Each computer acting as a Luna Network relay node in the new evolution of the net. She wasn’t sure how much harder it would make for her and her friends to be found. Her closest current friend in was up in Virginia. And her previous friends had generally had been abusers and losers across different towns she had lived in by on and off the net. She refused to form any kind of relationship, short term or long time. And instead coasted through life with a kind of apathy for the flesh. She coasted through dreams, remote viewed outer space, and used optical illusion software to the extent that would make most other users on smart phones vomit. The smart phone itself, while designed for centralized networking, she used as a means of keeping under cover, agreeing to a certain level of surveillance in order to not attract attention to herself, while developing a different system of connecting to the net.

At the local coffee shop, women were often confused about her gender, and the fact that she grew a beard mildly fast for a trans woman did not help. Yet when she shaved she was often asked about her age by complete strangers, making her unsure how to feel about this.

Yet at home, she was only Rana.

Rana was all she was.

It was yet another shopping day for Rana, she spent the hour before the trip drowning herself in the sea of UFO newspaper clippings on the net. Of the few things she still does on the inter webs, this was one of those. She only went on centralized media to read tweets from UFO activists, who comment about things like the Rockefeller Initiative. But for the everyday individual in their life, this initiative was about as abstract as being captured by the National Security Agency, although this Rockefeller Initiative has more power as a rule. They’re riches are well beyond the status of presidents with Dementia on their way toward impeachment. Well beyond the life of mistaken necrophiliacs consuming the blood of life. The world of digital cyber pet girls. Robots girls on the web, open source girls on the Luna network as Butler’s of hacker’s dreams. As one dreams of being aware of being in a world that is merely a dream, yet life is strange. Perhaps if life is but a dream, than she is aware of being in a dream within a dream. In this dream within a dream, called the magical realistic life, there is the story. A story of an owl, disillusioned by writing children’s stories.

The owl who drank nothing but hot chocolate and water, who owned an immortal dog, wondered what childhood would be like in this world where coral reefs were far too gone, and grass fade with the wind. And parents can no longer mow their overgrown lawns. For the blood of life is draining, and the drops of Earth’s tears have dropped their last. A dream of a dream within a dream, a world where cities float around in fiberglass bubbles above the edge of time mountain, and childhood hope comes to an end.

Rana never wanted to scare children in her stories, she simply wanted to tell nothing but the truth, yet sometimes this truth of life is often painful. As one consumes the blood of life. The blood of mother Earth, who wants nothing by heaven for her creatures, yet often must face the choice of whether to put her children who have dementia out of their misery, in order to prevent the larger picture picture from fading into a unrecoverable non fixable despair. For one see strange shapes in the night, and one says good night to the damned in strange cities, in worlds beyond the meadow of gold. A world far beyond the world of the white night flower, that gives hope to little girls in wooden shoes, who want to tend to their dying brother’s illness. A world where talking animals blend with robotic replications, with automatic translators for mankind. Outside of the city, some say the mysterious still reigns supreme, and yet as it mutates from urbanizations, and one has graveyards move to different locations across the globe, it adapts in ways beyond what technological visionaries may anticipate. For Rana, who drowns in the sea of remote viewing experiments, her attempts at telepathy were her only pathway the world turned to dust. A world of rust.

A world beyond Time Mountain.

Candy Mountain for the dead.

There are two burner laptops, based on the same concept as the burner phone. They had previously tried outlawing burner phone after the recent British terror attack. The Brits were proposing new legislation to end secure encryption by mandating back doors on all British made software. They tried even extending this to burner phones, but the reality was that most of the time burner phones were mainly used to use and throwaway by those who wanted to keep an anonymous social media account that required their phone number. Yet with burner laptops running GNU Linux, there was no issue for back doors. If there was any back door in any distribution it likely would have already been found. Rana uses her burner laptop by plugging in USER ONE thumb drive, along with the communal server jack. She and her friend who did web comics would keep their Luna Coin wallets in MyCloud, along with Tech Articles, Drawings, and other items of interest. Her friend generated raw hash data for Rana to convert into a working cipher key. — Oh, what’s up. I haven’t talked to you in a while. Rana said, after tweaking the system settings on her laptop.

— For the next month or so, going to be busy with the Uni. So it might be a while before I can get back to you.

Rana’s friend destroyed her cipher key, and Rana did as well. Rana had gotten an interest in other things on the net and off the net in sneakernet, among those being exploring new ways to secure remote viewing sessions while on the wire, so both the trainer and trainee are able to not have their session intercepted by the deep state when searching for lifeforms beyond the nearest stars. Beyond the land were the current US meets the Tsars on starry nights at the Kremlin. And nuclear bombs scatter across the sky like acid rain. Rana wanted to see where different life forms were like before she suffocated before five decades were up, yet found that she was one of the few with this interest on the corporate network. She was different from Cypherpunks and Cyberpunks, being more like Crypto-Satanist and Disclosure Punk, a weird mixture of metal and punk, and a taste of Liberal Anarchy against the corporate masters who sought to make their dominance the state religion along with the worlds. Rana lived poorly, yet didn’t seem such.

Her mother would buy most of her food for her, of which she would always spend a portion of this on cigarillos, although slowly but surely she began to quit smoking not to please her parents, but more than smoking was somewhat of a distraction away from writing children’s stories. When she had visited the art studio just next door, she found it difficult to understand how women could possibly find her attractive, although many of them seem to think of her as ten years younger than she actually was. Whether this was because of her weight or demeanor was hard to say with any certainty, and it seemed to vary from person to person. It made it difficult finding relationships, as other women didn’t want to be caught boning seventeen year old girls. But Rana wasn’t seventeen, she was twenty eight.

She’s old enough to watch anime porn.

To recline and masturbate.

Luna network was almost finished, she simply needed to complete what was at times compared to the block chain, although this network was largely off the corporate network, with networking done through thumb drive.

She gave both Alice and Bob accounts a wallet and a mail box, with the wallet generating a cipher key to give to the other correspondent. Because whoever used the thumb drives would be off line, there was nothing that could track them. So the only way one could be found would be from a payed bounty hunter, which required a wholly different skill set from simply analyzing people’s browsing habits. Rana wasn’t sure who would participate with her in using the thumb drives, but if it was the only way that she was willing to communicate with friends, she can tailor those she hangs out with to those who were more security conscious in general. In this respect, she felt like she was exploring a new frontier. Rana wanted to get into exopolitics. However those in the field were generally hard to get in touch with.

Rana browsed web pages featuring various ufologists. She had gotten out of the habit when she had went to Washington to live with a rapacious atheist, and generally if anything she learned came from this experience, it was that she was more determined than ever to follow her dreams of becoming a ufologist. Yet the clock of doomsday ticked faster than the paradigm clock, and she was unsure who would get past the finish line. It could be any of the hands on either clock by this point, with one determined by a man who could someday be charged for crimes against humanity on the world’s stage, with deaths that exceed the previous record of done by Joseph Stalin, back when the Soviet Union was still a thing. The demise of humanity would make the bells of the church of the new axis sing funeral marches for the damned, and much of humanity would wither away in a nanosecond following Nuclear Winter. Therefore, if Rana wanted to explore the concept of an exo-plantery sneaker net, that time was now.

She found it difficult to motivate herself to always do sketches for hash functions, when she would rather tell children’s stories, yet the reality was what children would still be willing to read a middle grade novella after all is said and done?

She got her thumb drives.

Alice had a pad, and Bob had a pad, neither of which were a one time pad. Neither these pads, nor the randomly generated keys automatically transmitted to each other before the exchange, were transmitted during the actual conversation. Each session had a different randomly generated key, provided for a maximum of forward security. And each remote viewing session were sent in separate passworded packets across the wire. At least in theory. Rana was unsure how to integrate this system into the Luna network, and she had began writing another program based on the anatomic components of the human brain: the brain stem, the cerebellum, and the cerebrum.

There were some people that were born without a cerebellum and a cerebrum, making it so they always lived by the wire. If anyone had the most potential to my compromised by advertisements, this was them. They were dependent on their parents or caregivers that always care for them. Yet it wasn’t uncommon for Rana to hear about on the news about the latest killer nurse putting their patients out of their misery. Never mind if said patient were incapable of misery. And so every time she turned on the local television news network on her computer, despite the tragedy of death, part of it became a game of how badly nurses can screw themselves over, before being sent to Guillotine. And so that was how she continued watching mainstream news, despite her preference the non mundane. Yet most of the time she spent time watching talk shows like Stephen Basset, and another guy who claimed to be descended from the judges who sentenced Marie Antoinette to have her head in a basket filled with water at the tail end of the 18th century.

Humanity went through multiple ages, and yet now it seemed like humanity was nearing their last. And the tide of the seas flow over cities, even those that float in the sky. And yet for Rana, she didn’t think about the fact that she didn’t live in the Pacific Islands, and thought more about how how it was becoming even during the rain. It seemed like a lot was going on across the media-universe today, and she would at times prefer to turn off the computer and prop her legs up on the wall of the studio flat. Her mother entertained the idea of naming their cat Sneaker, short for what Rana proposed as Sneakernet. Rana would put a vest on her cat, and have it be the courier for transmitting encrypted messages to her friends across the Drone Network. A network theoretically largely immune to advertisement media, and even if somehow they managed to intercept the network, because of the nature of w3m Text based browsers, there was no way they would even see the advertisements. And yet such web browsers had developed a reputation for being old school, built during the era were people did not play electronic pool. All this on hot starry lights under the glow of ever watchful city brights. Rana didn’t care what anyone thought, as the only one she had to please was herself.

And yet she went through years struggling to develop more than a minimal level of a good self esteem, all the way back when she played Gaslamp fantasy video games with evil clowns for Villains, yet now she was far to cynical to care about building her own self worth according to others, and largely remained the indoors type she had always been.

She wanted her world to end.

To humanity’s chagrin.

In this town that now plays, in this town that now plays as a city. The young women in long flowing t-shirts wear the sandals Jesus. Yet those women of Christian appearance, maintain a Parisian appearance. They smoke near the cafe in the midnight hour. Even under umbrella hooded tables at this very hour. The time is soon now. The time is soon now, that she shall wipe her brow from the rain under the sun, that denied her a rainbow, and gave only false starlight. Goodnight city lights, goodnight solar panels by the roadside powering them. Goodnight headstones, forever moved by urbanization.

Goodnight world, forever.

It had been only a month since she had developed the idea for the Luna network, and yet now transporting them using a specialized drone that can pick things up with a robotic arm was something she had grown to take for granted. Though Rana had suspected she could find a way to develop sneaker net, she hadn’t known that her mother would be so willing to help buy her the tools she needed to do the work. She had much from parents, yet at times could not help but let some things slip. At times she would watch necrophiliac movies and guro channels on the onion network, finding different obscure ways to get a sexual high. Yet now that she began smoking cigarettes again, her sex drives was already on the outs, and she found more time to do other things. The old coffee shop that was little more than a hole in the wall, became its own independent establishment. And here she would find girls ten years her junior for whatever reason finding her cute, in the same way one might find their little sister cute, but not as same girl the LGBT scene would actually take out to the local concert hall.

But this was just as well, as Rana had never been one for concerts. She found herself rediscovering the music she used to listen do in her early twenties, back when she was first introduced to the Cyberpunk genre. And now she was back to where she was before, not belonging to any particular kind of counter culture, on some level waiting for death. She stopped taking the usual precautions her mother would ask her to do, and considered getting a burner phone. She gave a homeless guy a dollar when he asked for fifty cents, saying not to worry about paying her back. It was so little that she could just tell her mother that she bought an extra box of stroodles when she went to the local convenience mart. She began to live for real again, no longer having to worry about having to justify her buying choices to anybody. She could truly live like an adult on the way to public transport line.

She could live again.

There was no more Washington.

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