Friday, May 18, 2012
It is Friday and you smell the grind ahead of you, and it is not an aromatic coffee grind either. Gird up your loins, quit ye like men, and so on. Today is the day of the disk warrior, the diskoboulos of ancient Olympic prowess.
Many hours later, you realise that the disk is corrupt beyond belief. A decade of the power it has wielded in your life has made it old and wily, cunning as only kingship can be. And make no mistake, you have made it a little king, a petty kinglet, but one who can stick you in the back of the head with a sword.
There is trouble here. Deep trouble. The sort of trouble that money can only dig you out from about halfway.
And so it is D-Day +1, and all the bells are ringing. They do not ring for joy, but for alarums and excursions, and altogether too many harbingers of chaos. All the bells on earth. All. All.
For today we go to war, carbon-brain against silicon-brain, and if all else fails, the glucose-powered wrath of man will smash the copper-conducted buzzwords of the binary.