So, me and stories I guess is a story in and of itself. I expect somewhere down the line I'll get around to writing something about that. But in the interim, I offer the following. Now some of this will look natural to some of you and look prehistoric to others. I'm 54 years old and began with computers with dip switches and diodes as I/O for home-brew PCs and wire wrapped backplanes and card decks for mainframes. Did you type up enough card decks to be sick of them at some point in time? No? Prepare to meet a dinosaur... :) But also know that if you do think I'm a dinosaur I can almost guarantee I know TCP/IP, Sockets, RCP, CORBA, and other IPC technologies on a level that enables me to understand Web Services in ways you probably have no idea exist. If I told you as a contractor I used MIDI as a virtual IP and came up with my own protocol to serve as the TCP to connect IBM PCs running MS DOS in a business office in order to implement rudimentary networking between machines, because at that time, no such networking was commercially available, what would you say? Would you believe the idea popped into somebody's head because of reading an article on Todd Rundgren in Electronic Musician Magazine... in the early '90's? Both the guy who hired me, they guy who put me into contact with the guy who hired me, and myself, had a subscription to Electronic Musician. After all, we were all musicians, and all software engineers, when we met for lunch, we hardly had to talk at all... we pretty much had the same idea simultaneously. It was weird... Kind of like having a dinosaur explain to you how he knows more about something you think your an expert at, and based on that belief, you would never consider hiring him, even though it would probably be the smartest hire you ever made... :)
So, (that's the second time in a row I've started with "So,"), you gotten a taste of what my writing is like. It's not what you'd call "refined" or "sophisticated." Obviously, neither are are my webmaster skills. Frankly World, I don't give a shit... :) If you want polish, get a pair of patent leather shoes, some shine, and you can figure out shit for shineola... :)
Now without further ado, here's some shit I wrote... :)
[Note: at this time everything to do with The Mystic will be on this page. Probably be some other stories, fictional and none fictional as well, but eventually all this stuff will get divined into multiple pages. Two key things: Everything is copyrighted under the GNU Open Source license, and anybody and everybody is free to contribute at anytime by making a comment of Facebook, doing a personal message of Facebook, by sending me an email, or calling my business phone number. Info on the contact methods can be found at www.fastjimmy.com . I think that's enough bull shit for now.... if you have any questions or comments, I just old you where to find me.... :) ]
In the farthest north end of Forest
Park, a hiker thinks he sees a bizarre rock formation tucked between two
Douglas Fir trees. Lifting his binoculars and focusing, he sees that it
is a small cabin, built entirely of rock, with a small trickle of smoke
coming out of the chimney. What the fuck?... the hiker thinks to
himself, and sets off in the direction of the rock cabin.
As he walks toward the cabin, it
seems as if he never gets any closer. He walks all afternoon, is
totally lost and still, there is the cabin, not that far off.
As
he is noticing the sunlight fading in the sunset over the ridge
of the West Hills, hist fatigue begins to panic him. What
happens if he never gets to the cabin? Then back to the trail.
He decides the wiser course would be to turn back now and start
walking for the trail before the Park goes black. There are no
street lights this deep in the park, and the overhang from all
of the fifty to one-hundred foot fir trees blocks out all
ambient light from the city.
He begin his turn, and in great surprise, stop half way. He
immediately spots the trail he'd originally left in search of
the cabin. Slowly completing the turn, he sees a man standing on
the far side of the trail, hand grasped in front, a small smile
creasing his lips. He gives a micro nod and says, "You alright,
I walked up on ya, and you was marchin' in place there, staring
off into the distance. Didn't want to disturb you or anything,
looked like you might be doing some kind of medatatin'. But
needed to make sure you didn't take off in the direction you was
pointin'.... there's a drop off 'bout 25 feet that way folks
been fallin' into for years. Been tryin' to get them to put up a
fence to keep that from hapnin... nobody listens to an old
hermit like me." He gave another micro nod and then eased down
the path toward the most difficult parts of the trail. Why is
goe that way this time of night? Automatically a thought popped
into his head.... propably going to is home cabin... get there
before the fire goes out... they'll be plenty of water... I
fetched a bunch of that this morning... Wait a second... what
the fuck? I was in bed in my loft on Division this morning...
didn't get out of bed until noon... how can I have a memory of
fetching water at a place I never made it too...