The Militarized Zone
13-04-2006, 04:19
"It is the middle ground between light and shadow, between science and superstition, and it lies between the pit of man's fears and the summit of his knowledge. This is the dimension of the mind. It is an area which we often avoid."
All are welcome to join. I will say up front that I have never seen an episode of Lost and barely know the premise. However there are infinite possiblilites. Follow the link below to see the "frame work" for this story line
Good evening ladies and gentlemen. I have an offering for your gaming pleasure- it is like all such, theater of the mind ( ours long before Howard Stern proclaimed his shock jock radio show to be such. )
Take the images one finds scattered through a mind that has had more than the average persons share of an interesting life. Some may be the most tranquil and mundane of scenes, a bird in a tree, fields of flowers, pictures at an exhibition, prosaic every day life. Others are not so sunlit, so serene, or pleasant. No, others might well take one down the memory less traveled.
Some, such as these images here, are jarring juxtapositions, the sacred and the profane, the scared and the unmitigated, the real and the fevered imagination, the mortal coil and the immoral dreams (http://www.atddm.com/mind2.htm) But which is real and which illusion and how, ultimately, does the mind discern between the two?
Where does this all lead? Only where you wish it to. There is no set piece here, only what you, the perceiver, wish to make of these mélange of images. For you see I can’t tell them apart, they are all from my memory, or so they say. I’m dubious, but then again I’m dubious of a lot these days. And then there is the persistance of memory...
“And good evening to all. This is Kalista Windborne, enroute to find out what it’s all about and bring the story home to you, the good citizens of The Militarized Zone!” I waited until the tiny red light atop the camera went black and turned angrily to the balding man standing just out of the shot. “I don’t know why I have to sound like a talking head. It’s a damned insult. I’m a photo journalist, not some mere studio hack” I growled as I pulled the zipper on my black leather body suit up all the way. Thirty four year old women who were as full breasted, as I just didn’t wear such unzipped nearly to the waist. Herb had pulled the zipper down just a split second before the camera transmit light came on. That was but one of the reasons behind me wanting to flay my agent alive. ‘Kali, calm down, you’ll give yourself wrinkles.” The portly man protested faintly, more interested in trying to hold his trench coat closed in the brisk wind that swirled around the hundred-story towers roof. “It is part of the package, and is non-negotiable. And it’s just this one time. They are sending you by first class executive shuttle, I mean, look at it, pure government, beyond state of the art. Some one must really like you.” Herb waved a plump, perfectly manicured hand at the sleek white sub-orbital shuttle, with the uniformed stewardess standing by for my embarkation.
I had to admit that he was right. Though I didn’t have any idea why. I wasn’t any one connected, and I’d only been in the biz for about eight years, not near enough time – not even with my nose for hotspots, my luck, and willingness to go damn near anywhere – to get the rep that would warrant this treatment. The Militarized Zone was a great place to live if you were in the Military or closely associated industries. Journalism wasn’t one of them. Not here in TMZ, where anything military was practically deified and even though ‘the media’ had learned long ago on which side their bread was buttered.
Now I bet you are wondering why a red blooded, healthy, crèche raised TMZ orphan was not enthusiastically pursuing the military career laid out for all like me? Yes, I got all the standard indoctrination, and even more, given which unit sponsored the crèche. The Ranger Association ( note my ‘patronymic’) was sorely disappointed in me when I didn’t go military. However I have one very small problem. My mind categorically refuses to jump out of perfectly good insertion platforms. They had to push me out during the required Basic, and I landed in a catatonic state – and there was the small physical damage of a broken ankle, ruptured vocal cords, and other effects of my screaming all the way to the ground – though I have to say I did apparently pull the ripcord properly, given that I am still here and in one useable piece. Fortunately that was at the end of Basic, and an optional exercise, not a required one. And I had done so well jumping from the loft to practice landing properly. I got my citizenship, even if I am still paying it off.
They’d put my camera cases and heavy duffle bag in the passenger cabin and small cargo hold respectively. My armored laptop case was at my feet. I’d bought that out of my own money and it left my side only in the most dire of situations. Its milgrade satellite up link was only part of the reason. I had programs on there that technically violated several security laws, but favors owed me turned blind eyes to such, at least for the nonce.
I said good bye to the Royce, the camera man. We’d worked together before and it’s not his fault he’d had to go to work for mainstream media. Bad luck happened to all of us now and then – I should know. Herb made more noises about how big a fee I’d scooped up for this ‘short, sweet, safe’ trip. His idea of what life should be. I rolled my eyes at him as I took the earpiece and boom microphone off. Bulky and old fashioned but the only way to get full voice-over the winds so high up. I settled my shades more firmly on my nose and climbed in, tucking the laptop beneath the plush, real leather covered seat. As the seat conformed about me, I readjusted my pistol to a slightly more comfortable placement. I passed my qualifications every year, as required for all adults in TMZ, but I didn’t often carry it at home. TMZ, however, wouldn’t dedicate any troops to seeing to my safety, so they had made it mandatory for anyone working in a war zone. Which was exactly where I was being shuttled to in inordinate haste and expense. And I didn't know why. And I had asked, I'm a journalist after all.
http://www.atddm.com/cw2.jpg
All are welcome to join. I will say up front that I have never seen an episode of Lost and barely know the premise. However there are infinite possiblilites. Follow the link below to see the "frame work" for this story line
Good evening ladies and gentlemen. I have an offering for your gaming pleasure- it is like all such, theater of the mind ( ours long before Howard Stern proclaimed his shock jock radio show to be such. )
Take the images one finds scattered through a mind that has had more than the average persons share of an interesting life. Some may be the most tranquil and mundane of scenes, a bird in a tree, fields of flowers, pictures at an exhibition, prosaic every day life. Others are not so sunlit, so serene, or pleasant. No, others might well take one down the memory less traveled.
Some, such as these images here, are jarring juxtapositions, the sacred and the profane, the scared and the unmitigated, the real and the fevered imagination, the mortal coil and the immoral dreams (http://www.atddm.com/mind2.htm) But which is real and which illusion and how, ultimately, does the mind discern between the two?
Where does this all lead? Only where you wish it to. There is no set piece here, only what you, the perceiver, wish to make of these mélange of images. For you see I can’t tell them apart, they are all from my memory, or so they say. I’m dubious, but then again I’m dubious of a lot these days. And then there is the persistance of memory...
“And good evening to all. This is Kalista Windborne, enroute to find out what it’s all about and bring the story home to you, the good citizens of The Militarized Zone!” I waited until the tiny red light atop the camera went black and turned angrily to the balding man standing just out of the shot. “I don’t know why I have to sound like a talking head. It’s a damned insult. I’m a photo journalist, not some mere studio hack” I growled as I pulled the zipper on my black leather body suit up all the way. Thirty four year old women who were as full breasted, as I just didn’t wear such unzipped nearly to the waist. Herb had pulled the zipper down just a split second before the camera transmit light came on. That was but one of the reasons behind me wanting to flay my agent alive. ‘Kali, calm down, you’ll give yourself wrinkles.” The portly man protested faintly, more interested in trying to hold his trench coat closed in the brisk wind that swirled around the hundred-story towers roof. “It is part of the package, and is non-negotiable. And it’s just this one time. They are sending you by first class executive shuttle, I mean, look at it, pure government, beyond state of the art. Some one must really like you.” Herb waved a plump, perfectly manicured hand at the sleek white sub-orbital shuttle, with the uniformed stewardess standing by for my embarkation.
I had to admit that he was right. Though I didn’t have any idea why. I wasn’t any one connected, and I’d only been in the biz for about eight years, not near enough time – not even with my nose for hotspots, my luck, and willingness to go damn near anywhere – to get the rep that would warrant this treatment. The Militarized Zone was a great place to live if you were in the Military or closely associated industries. Journalism wasn’t one of them. Not here in TMZ, where anything military was practically deified and even though ‘the media’ had learned long ago on which side their bread was buttered.
Now I bet you are wondering why a red blooded, healthy, crèche raised TMZ orphan was not enthusiastically pursuing the military career laid out for all like me? Yes, I got all the standard indoctrination, and even more, given which unit sponsored the crèche. The Ranger Association ( note my ‘patronymic’) was sorely disappointed in me when I didn’t go military. However I have one very small problem. My mind categorically refuses to jump out of perfectly good insertion platforms. They had to push me out during the required Basic, and I landed in a catatonic state – and there was the small physical damage of a broken ankle, ruptured vocal cords, and other effects of my screaming all the way to the ground – though I have to say I did apparently pull the ripcord properly, given that I am still here and in one useable piece. Fortunately that was at the end of Basic, and an optional exercise, not a required one. And I had done so well jumping from the loft to practice landing properly. I got my citizenship, even if I am still paying it off.
They’d put my camera cases and heavy duffle bag in the passenger cabin and small cargo hold respectively. My armored laptop case was at my feet. I’d bought that out of my own money and it left my side only in the most dire of situations. Its milgrade satellite up link was only part of the reason. I had programs on there that technically violated several security laws, but favors owed me turned blind eyes to such, at least for the nonce.
I said good bye to the Royce, the camera man. We’d worked together before and it’s not his fault he’d had to go to work for mainstream media. Bad luck happened to all of us now and then – I should know. Herb made more noises about how big a fee I’d scooped up for this ‘short, sweet, safe’ trip. His idea of what life should be. I rolled my eyes at him as I took the earpiece and boom microphone off. Bulky and old fashioned but the only way to get full voice-over the winds so high up. I settled my shades more firmly on my nose and climbed in, tucking the laptop beneath the plush, real leather covered seat. As the seat conformed about me, I readjusted my pistol to a slightly more comfortable placement. I passed my qualifications every year, as required for all adults in TMZ, but I didn’t often carry it at home. TMZ, however, wouldn’t dedicate any troops to seeing to my safety, so they had made it mandatory for anyone working in a war zone. Which was exactly where I was being shuttled to in inordinate haste and expense. And I didn't know why. And I had asked, I'm a journalist after all.
http://www.atddm.com/cw2.jpg