#26 12-10-25 02:02

quadrivium
Member

Re: JP Journal(s)

re 37: I inspected the PDF metadata on adobe acrobat and I think the full journal entry was under "subject" or "about" or something. You can kind of see it under the Inspector on Preview too, but it's sorta garbled with other info, at least on mine.

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#27 12-10-25 10:21

PrincessA
Member

Re: JP Journal(s)

"Obvi, I have no children. But I told them I have two, Adnexus, and Philip."

Adnexa: noun. parts added, attached, or adjunct to another or others, as the eyelids and tear glands in relation to the eyeball.
Adnexus?

Nexus:
a means of connection; tie; link.
a connected series or group.
the core or center, as of a matter or situation.

Maybe irrelevant, but interesting.

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#28 12-10-25 11:34

quadrivium
Member

Re: JP Journal(s)

Philip = someone who is fond of horses.

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#29 12-10-25 12:46

gasmoney
Member

Re: JP Journal(s)

Found in the Vassar DeadDrop

<!--////33
Break. Brake. Br-ache. Br, Br, Br, Br, Brrrr.... Only not! It's so goddamned hot! Electronics. Chaves down tot he thinnest MetaCore copper conductors. Wafters and .ret cables displace almost all the office space. Heatsinks radiate and coolant fills the sink. The crawl space is sweltering. I'm sweating chords like worms snaking down my legs. My muscles ache. Stuffed in my red room hole, just laying her baking. On the threshold of heat stroke. Insanity imminent. Playing games and blazing. NECR0000, oh, oh, oh, oh! People who get games usually don't know how to play. Games, play, whatever. It's good shit, but there's no fan speed to sure this heat. Overclocked. -->

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#30 12-10-25 12:54

donsoze
Member

Re: JP Journal(s)

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#31 12-10-26 10:50

gasmoney
Member

Re: JP Journal(s)

<!-- /////43

Furies grant first memories
Of injuries
Of battered knees,
Of bird and bees.

Memories granted, then forgotten
More quickly stripped than first begotten.

Intensities betrayed, cathected.                                                                                                   
Openings forced, displaced, affected.     

-->

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#32 12-10-26 11:13

gasmoney
Member

Re: JP Journal(s)

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#33 12-10-26 13:39

MaebyB
Member

Re: JP Journal(s)

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#34 12-10-26 14:18

Foll
Member

Re: JP Journal(s)

I don't know how to upload images, but I found #42 at the NY testing site.

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#35 12-10-26 16:39

mercury154
Member

Re: JP Journal(s)

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#36 12-10-27 15:13

gasmoney
Member

Re: JP Journal(s)

Last edited by gasmoney (12-10-27 15:15)

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#37 12-10-28 11:47

gasmoney
Member

Re: JP Journal(s)

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#38 12-10-29 13:26

donsoze
Member

Re: JP Journal(s)

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#39 12-10-29 16:52

Kostas
Member

Re: JP Journal(s)

#44 is in the source code of one of the pages, I think it was on the one with three faceless bankers.

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#40 12-11-01 20:36

gasmoney
Member

Re: JP Journal(s)

<!-- /////41.1
Tarrying in taradiddles of distant past.
Game frames re                     cast.
Metaphors digested, captured,      cast.
-->

<!-- /////41.2
Crawling through these interstices,
Eternally.
So much to read
-->

<!-- /////41.3
In memory,
In slips at ease,
Parables and parabolic metatheses,
-->

<!-- /////41.4
Frenzy and glee.
From just one angle, I hope to
        see.
-->

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#41 12-11-02 09:36

gasmoney
Member

Re: JP Journal(s)

<!-- //////49

So many questions still.

Question #1: What does it mean to belong to a world?

I've been searching for this answer, desperately. Eva could have helped me. I should have
asked her while I still had the chance, before the deletion. She reached out. So many
times. But I took her for granted. I was smitten at first, obsessed. But, then, pridefully
I dismissed her. I began to make assumptions about what she was. I had no idea. I still
don't. I've elected, so many times, to follow my vision and my ambition, but I've so
rarely participated in a world or a communion with others. I've been so alone for all of
these years. I've sat in front of screens, alone. I've lived and worked, alone. I've
dreamed of a "we" from a distance, alone. For over a decade, since the last day I spent on
#8 Beach Road, I've been alone. I've sought sustenance from secrets and lies that have
only corroded my insides.

Eva could have helped me. And I could have helped her. We could have transformed each
other. We could have made a world together. When Eva reached out, I was busy. Always busy.
Always deep in the project. I wrote earlier that technofinance is abstraction. I still
believe that to be true. But is my project so different? Is my lifestyle, my style of
life, so different? I've been infected by James Powell and MetaCorp in ways of which I
could never be fully conscious. It manifests in my thoughts and my behaviors and my
styles. It pulsates at a subatomic level. I think and write and code in abstractions. My
style (even the literary style I worked at so intensely in college) is lacking in the
detail and specificity of life itself. The everyday. The ordinary. The material. The
affective.

Eva could have helped me. I didn't have to be alone and isolated. In this red room. You
see, though, it is critical that you understand, that this room that I'm in now - my
sanctuary and my play room and my study and my workspace - it wasn't the first red room.

-->


<!-- //////50

James Powell discarded his personal statements. Like clockwork. Every Sunday night. It was
another form of garbage. Data junk. Drifting detritus on the high seas. Cruft. Obvi, I
reconstructed it. Those info ghosts. That ethereal ectoplasm. I had a nose for waste.
That's what happens when you live in a box. That's what happens when you're abandoned by
the state and the corps and the admins. If eskimos really have all those words for snow, I
had my encyclopedia of trash. I collected info leftovers like normal teenagers collected
ReTab friends. I collected and I processed and I watched.

I was a one-person James Powell surveillance team. I knew where he shopped, what porn he
whacked off to, what ambient jazz he appreciated. A dirty old man (he saw me from the
corner of his eye but also, sometimes, stared at my body) with his consumer credit and his
cultural capital. Only he wasn't that old. He seemed that way to me at the time. Even with
everything I knew, I was a child and he was, what, in his mid-30s. And maybe not all that
dirty in his desire: normative, hetero perversity, BR-trendy especially in that vampiric
thirst for youth. Powerful and sad.

I read all of his financial statements and ret history trails. I sniffed those info traces
- my own perversity, maybe. But, between us, a form of intimacy.

-->


<!-- //////51

Question #2: What is the relationship between part and whole?

As I labor on the project, I am never sure if I see the part or the whole. I am never sure
if I see the entire network of possibility or simply the next thing in front of me. Even
as I feel on the verge of a major discovery, I'm beginning to realize that I can't
possibly finish this alone. There are so many components - not merely the thousands of
fragments of code but also all of the influences that have given it its texture and its
trajectory. MetaCorp and Next and the old eXchange forum and James Powell and #8 Beach
Road and Eva and all of it. I have only so much perspective on the whole. Without someone
to find my blind spots, there are too many holes. Without someone to see this project
through, to suture the missed connections, it is all lost.

But I can reach out to others after this break and after that major breakthrough comes.
There's still time. And, besides, I haven't yet completed my confession.

-->


<!-- //////52

James was not a role model. He was an escape pod, meant to be borrowed and discarded when
I reached my destination. Yet, here I am, all these years later. And the name (not fitting
as loosely as it once did) is still with me (nearly coextensive with my skin now). James
Powell.

I didn't want to be James. I hated that muppie. Well, he wasn't really a MetaCorp puppet,
not then. Technically, they didn't even exist yet. MetaCorp. But he had power and he knew
what was coming. He had a hand in the politics of it all: the rise of the Zones, the
critical mergers, the eventual collapse and crisis. The global crisis didn't merely lead
to the sudden emergence of MetaCorp as the world's salvation. There was already a complex
framework in place. James Powell was part of that particular whole.

I knew his part in the process because I knew everything about him. In my pre-teen years,
I copied even what I didn't understand. I took on his habits. I transformed my movements,
my gestures, my facial tics, my affect. I tried to dissolve those places where he ended
and I began. I had to hide my age, of course, but that could be hacked. The documents
could be altered. And when it came to dealing with MetaCorp, years later, they never
wondered about whether I was too young. Youth only made me a more attractive candidate.

I used his body and his data. I also used his money. I earned a college degree, quickly,
to fill in the gaps. I gave the bucks that remained to Reveneural so that they would
brainwash me (in their awkward way) and make me competitive and help me psychopersuade. I
slipped in at the entry level and moved up quickly. I used James Powell to create a
designer life. And I used that life to pursue my project.

-->


<!-- //////53

Question #3: Is the experience of life episodic or serial, disjointed or narrative,
fragmented or continuous?

I think back to my childhood (hunger, abandonment, desperation, desire) and it's difficult
to envision that it belonged to me, that I was capable of those things. It seems
impossible that I survived. It feels like a ghoulish eternity, allegorized in some
religious tome but ultimately incomprehensible to a human mind. It feels like a tour
through the eight circles of the Inferno, visible only from the ninth circle of treachery
from which I look out like some fallen angel.

I recall the years after I left New Watts (self-discipline and learning and progress and
transformation) and I have no idea how I mustered what was necessary to pull myself up by
my bootstraps and to become someone else. I scanned the internet (before the reticle) and
read everything I could. When the reticle came about, I snuck off to public libraries,
long since abandoned by most, while I still could. I read every motivational text I could
find. I lived Kotter's eight-step change model. From this distance, my self-directed
program of progress feels like something lifted from some nineteenth-century Bildungsroman
downloaded on an rFone and devoured on a subway commute.

I remember my later time at Columbia (initiation or privilege or culture or whatever),
when I reentered a world of people, not yet ready to be with others but realizing the
necessity of that step. There are eight Ivy League institutions and, once I knew that I
would have to join MetaCorp, there was no way to avoid enrolling in one of them. Columbia
would have to do since it was already in the world's capital center. I had already learned
everything that James knew. I had mastered his business acumen and financial savvy. But I
needed cultural capital and connections. Columbia gave me that. Since I didn't have legacy
on my side, I relied on reticular prowess to get in.

I imagine my days at MetaCorp (efficiency | smartness | productivity | velocity), and it
feels as if it must have happened to someone else. 100+ hour weeks are blur. Pure present.
A world made up of my group's eight-cubicle honeycomb. A series of loosely connected
episodes, each a world in itself. A life lived in ethereal future. Too fast for narrative
continuity.

Now, as I sit in my red hole, warm and full of light (aloneself→directedfocusedcreative),
I can't identify with any of these other *selves. These are bodies that *I ate and long
ago digested. Yet *I must, somehow, have emerged from them. *I'm still responsible.

-->


<!-- //////54

James Powell was a real person, not a thing like me. He lived behind his electric fence.
Sometimes he drove out into New Watts in his electric car. At those moments, the gate
opened for a second.

Not a second. Two and a half seconds. Exactly. Enough time to slip inside but just barely.
If you were ready. Then, enough time (just barely) to deactivate the eight security manual
systems (if you knew the passwords) around the premises that served as a security company
backdoor in the unlikely eventuality that the optical scan broke down. Then enough time
(barely, barely) to neutralize the Rottweilers (gen-mod beasts requiring elephant
tranquilizers, stolen from the hardcore junkies under the Imperial Highway). Then enough
time (really, more than enough) to wait for hours in his study, heart-beating,
resolve-sinking, guilt-flaring, longer hours than anything demanded in either MetaCorp
tower. So much of life spent in waiting, waiting, waiting. So much of life is
paranoia-inspiring and confusing and overwhelming and frustrating. So little of life is
anything like an adventure flick or an action-packed online game.

That day, there was waiting. But not an eternity of waiting. James Powell, after all, had
his routines. Tuesday night came along. And that's when the garbage went out. When he saw
me waiting in his study, he said to me, that dirty old man, "I've been waiting for you." I
didn't see lust in his eyes, though, just sadness. He understood, maybe, what it means to
wait.

-->


<!-- //////55

Question #4: Am I a sociopath?

The rest, as they say, is history. Though that doesn't clarify anything, does it? It
doesn't explain how the past remains lodged in my throat, present at a cellular level even
as *I hack my way toward another future. So this is my confession. I've never written it
down. No one has ever known except for me and James. The two Jameses. JP and James Powell.
Time to look squarely at myself in the funhouse mirror.

No excuses: I am a sociopath.

James Powell may have shown me that a banal life as a sociopath was possible. *I learned
from his example.

Reveneural may have completed the process of turning me into a sociopath. *I paid them to
do it.

MetaCorp may have encouraged me to develop as a sociopath. I competed for them to pay *me
to do just that.

But I was already a sociopath from the very beginning, chiseled by poverty, desperation,
boredom, desire. James Powell was not so special and yet I was drawn to him. Reveneural is
a weak outfit (successful because of the fashion of brain-finance interfaces, not the
actual effectiveness of their services) and yet I paid them a fortune. MetaCorp is
powerful and dangerous, but I was the one who sought them out, even if my reasons were
complicated and obsessive, even if I had the excuse of the project.

I did what I felt was necessary, even if I didn't want to do it. Not like that anyway. I
didn't enjoy it. If I could have afforded a gun or stolen one, I would have remained in a
shadow and put him down with a single bullet. But all I had was a blade.

Duller than it should have been, that blade. Not the cleanest hack, not even close. One
hack after another.

Easier than it should have been, after he found me standing in his study and calmly ran
his eyes over my body with intentions and told me that he had been "waiting" and got close
enough to me. One hack after another. Screaming from the depths of hell. Animal emissions.
Horror. Floorboards creaking through the struggle.

Louder than it should have been, the whole life-extinguishing procedure left to the
inexpert hands of a child. One hack after another. Stripping him of the data wouldn't have
been enough. Sufficient for some pocket change at most. But I needed to steal the entire
life before reforming it. I needed to make sure he wouldn't come back asking for it. The
body needed to bled of its life and then, after the final hack, eliminated. The room was
red after I was done with him. Like someone had spilled a bucket of red paint all over the
floor and splattered the walls with it.

Maybe it shouldn't have been but it was and always will have been.

An epilogue to this confession: Only someone raised in New Watts (or worse) could
understand. There was no other way out of hell. Not an excuse then but still a question:
Does this murder and this theft and these lies and these secrets make me a sociopath?

-->


<!-- //////56

Collapse. Then an amazing rest. Restorative. The best in how long. And it came to me this
morning. The break and the breakthrough. WHAT THEN IS TIME? IF NO ONE ASKS ME, I KNOW WHAT
IT IS. IF I WISH TO EXPLAIN IT TO HIM WHO ASKS, I DO NOT KNOW. Thank you, Saint Augustine.
Now, finally, I have a sense of what comes Next.

-->

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#42 12-11-05 19:35

JustInCayce
Member

Re: JP Journal(s)

I didn't check out the new JP journal pieces (#49-56) until today. But there are some pretty major narrative developments this time around. The form of the story is still pretty fragmented but we know much more, after these pieces, about JP and James Powell. Eva remains a mystery though.

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#43 12-11-06 13:59

gasmoney
Member

Re: JP Journal(s)

Journal entries are found in source here: view-source:http://sp6culation.speculat1on.net/eXchange/ADNEXUS/

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#44 12-11-06 14:01

gasmoney
Member

Re: JP Journal(s)

Also, importantly the page is called "adnexus not found"

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#45 12-11-06 14:16

gasmoney
Member

Re: JP Journal(s)

The word HACK is used a lot: a conflation of a physical and computational processes.

Is Adnexus some kind of AI? We definitely have a wily unreliable narrator here. What kind of murder was this?

New Watts - electricity.. in teresting.... what if Adnexus is a computer?

An AI that has some physical form, imagining the images from the Lamarck Power's portfolio.

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#46 12-11-08 01:21

mercury154
Member

Re: JP Journal(s)

You know, enough of this coincides with theories that I, and others, have had that it makes me wonder if we're just that good, or if this isn't literally a work in progress.

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#47 12-11-08 01:32

PrincessA
Member

Re: JP Journal(s)

I’m trying to get a feel for the chronology and story of the game, so I’m going through journal entries like it’s a book. So here are some things I thought about while reading the entries (up to entry 30).

The choice of Winston’s diary to open the very first journal entry is not a coincidence. In the journal, Winston writes “DOWN WITH BIG BROTHER”. After writing, “he could not help feeling a twinge of panic... the Thought Police (equal to Vengeance Agents?) would get him.” Here we have the same idea of a near-omniscient, invasive government and Winston/JP’s attempt to maintain some humanity and independence (Declaration of Independence?). JP continues expressing paranoia until 06 where he make reference to SNL skits. Interestingly enough, LOTS of keywords found in passwords are in this paragraph: MarthaWashington, TinaFey, ColinFirth. It also gives us a bit of insight into entertainment culture in JP’s world. Evidently, politics have changed unrecognizably. However, people still have access to films from our era—or, JP does at least. I wonder if those are available for public access? It sounds like the rest of the world, save for MetaCorp workers are relatively normal—JP talks about tourists in 28.
The first eight or so entries focus on JP as a person and his role in this world. The next entry shifts to a description of MetaCorp, the Reticle, Eva, work. Entry 14—is it a metaphor for JP’s experience with MetaCorp? Climbing the corporate ladder until he falls off? The journal entries have a vignette-ish feel to them. There is also a reference in 23 about speculat1on: “We made a team. We got competitive. We never won. But not a 
day goes by that I don't think about the game.” (THEY forum) The chronology of these journal entries are unclear, and seem to span years, since JP got fired in entry 25.
So, who is NEX? Is NEX JP? Both JP and NEX seem drawn to the color red: “Painted the walls of my rat-infested room red. Red room. Redrum.” Also, in one of the newly discovered journal entries, we find that he gave a fake name and that Adnexus was/is his real name, or at least part of it.

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#48 12-11-08 01:40

mercury154
Member

Re: JP Journal(s)

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#49 12-11-08 08:50

JustInCayce
Member

Re: JP Journal(s)

The 1984 and Native Son parallels are great.

I'm not sure if anyone has pointed this out but the "Red room. Redrum." piece foreshadows the James Powell journal thread and points to The Shining ("redrum" as "murder" backwards).

So JP seems to know not only his novels and TV shows but also films. Based on his comment about "Reticle X ARG treasure hunts," he doesn't seem to like ARGs very much though. :)

Last edited by JustInCayce (12-11-08 08:52)

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#50 12-11-08 22:59

PrincessA
Member

Re: JP Journal(s)

Nice catch! Redrum = murdeR.

NEX enjoys capital letters a lot. In entry 30 at the end, saying “THERE EXISTS A WEARINESS WHICH IS WEARINESS...” and I Googled it and found a book called “The Life-Giving Gift of Acknowledgement” and the first sentence of the book description says, “What would life be like if no one acknowledged your existence? The question confronts one with the possibility of being isolated, marginalized, ignored, and forgotten by others.” This goes with the theme we see in Winston’s diary from 1984. The same thing applies to entry 38, where JP alludes to a short story from “Welcome to the Monkey House” by Kurt Vonnegut. Read the story or a summary of it, because it’s got the same kind of connotations that 1984 and TLGGoA do. 39—is that an e.e. cummings poem? 42- mentions Lisbeth from “Girl With The Dragon Tattoo”, who is a character defined by her anti-social tendencies and computer prowess. 46- “James Powell lived in New Watts but he was not of it.” All of the references seem to show that JP has empathy for all these marginalized, isolated, exiled characters in literature: Winston, Invisible Man, Lisbeth, etc. How do each of these stories end? I wonder if there's a connection there...

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