Disruptor

I am a Disruptor, which is somewhat like being an illusionist. I manipulate information and perception. I find high-leverage tipping points and I touch them with information. I'm strongly associated with the 2001 disruption and collapse of a billion-dollar company and I was investigated a time. But I'd sold my stock a year earlier and it's possible that the disruption was for moral, not monetary, reasons.

I'm not motivated by money like most Americans are.

The SLX disruption generated a reputation for an anonymous nobody and I secretly reveled in it. But reputations are like snakes; they twist and squirm and often turn on you. So for a time, I tracked the permutations of rumors and the purposeful distortions. Then I lost interest. A person can only handle so much hostility and my limit is abysmally low.

I don't seek the powerpulls. They find me. They're everywhere, waiting for the right combination of vector and event. I don't truly understand the mechanism of discovery because each situtation, strategy and outcome is different. In 2008, I found a tipping point in Miami. Sometimes the act of NOT touching can cause an Event. So I touched nothing, erasing my footprints as I walked away and one year later an incompetent IT staff was fired. Did I make it happen? More of a metaphorical question than a moral one. But I smiled when I heard the news.

I walk through downtown Seattle, past Westlake Mall, watching the crowd. Perceiving the crowd, the imprint of each personality, each stance, each expression amidst the silent interactions and collisions of an infinite social broadcast. It's rare but welcome when it happens, I become a ghost to the guardrails of cultural reality as I slip in and out of these danger areas.

Each powerpull is a new surprise and my reactions are often just that... reactive and ad hoc. Occasionally, after a point has revealed itself, there is a breathing space for strategy. Sometimes my alter ego presents an architecture, a skyscraper blueprint in fluorescent colors of red, blue and yellow, flashing arrows at critical junctions; the heart of the tipping point.

In 2006 I drove into Seattle for work but got a powerpull. I touched the Poison Temple and it collapsed. I touched the PT girls and they scattered to the wind. And then I touched the goth community, harder, and it fractured. Something is here. Tipping points are manifestations of energy, collection points of unresolved differentials which have built up over time like a ripe earthquake fault. I never create them, that requires far more energy than a single drifter can muster. For two years I've traced trails and reactions. There's too much energy. The tipping point was too strong. Something lives here, in and around the city but I can't find identify it.

Impedence is the key to information. Impedence and capacitance. Political environments encourage tipping points because almost all participants contort themselves to the structure, creating positive feedback paths which build energy with layers of deceit, hyperbole, and extreme self-interest. Energy manifests as capacitance which is held in check by impedence. I used to prefer memetic dynamite for high energy situations so I could work in a levelled playing ground. But invariably the tipping points regrow because they're more a function of personality and history than tactical structure.

I wasn't always a Disruptor. I had a life once. And it sucked. i suppose that it was the first victim and cutomer of my new vocation. I was a troubleshooter. I fixed mechanical devices for years, then I upgraded to electronic fix-its, and then I designed software. Eventually that academic mass of ten years of electronics, chemistry, business and information merged with twenty years of empirical repairs and... I started breaking stuff instead of fixing it.

I started breaking things. Sometimes on purpose but more often by accident. Sometimes xperiments go awry. After all, that is the nature of experiments. They explore the unknown. My current long-term experiments haven't derailed because they're too free-form to fail. Like abstract art, they're designed to become something, but the expectations on that something are so broad as to be invisible.

In one experiment, I appear to be the prey of a female predator. But in reality, she is my protege. Perhaps the two views aren't mutually exclusive. Perhaps they're not required to happen simultaneously. Perhaps it's dangerous to play with predators. And perhaps I am more dangerous with information than with a hunting rifle.

Riding The Dead Meme

For whatever dark and strange reasons, I did three successive presentations at Defcon from 2005 until 2007. This year I had no inspiration for an entry... until after the final submission date. So the submission for 2009 has a lot of incubation time.

It's easy to ride a dead meme. It's easy to get caught up in the fashion of the moment, never realizing that in the future, it's the fashion of the past. By definition, the things which are foremost in our thoughts are likely to decline. The market has topped when everyone has finally bought into it. And people hate to abandon an investment.

For years I've understood the memes, their rate of change, what rises, what falls. For technology, they're relatively easy to track and predict. Why would you stay on a dead meme when rising memes are so easy to find? What is the counterbalancing force?

Well, there's the time and trouble to track and predict. There's some risk involved in switching veneues. But I suspect the primary force is investment. Inertia. By nature, people conserve effort and resources for things they dislike. So they tend to ride an investment as long as it pays out, and often beyond the point of positive return.

So there's a formula here somewhere, of investment & time and the split between what people desire to do and what they are forced to do. An inertia. A measurable resistance to change.
For me, now, it's enough to know that the forces exist, to account for them in what I see and do.

Paranoia

Over the years I've discovered that those most worried about personal safety are often the same people who deliberately hurt others through nefarious schemes and subterfuge. Guilt does strange things.

The key to women is to never take them seriously. The myths are true. They're ruled by hormones and irrationality and there are valid reasons that women did not vote or own property in "less enlightened" eras. I've learned this through experience, I wasn't raised believing this. Never take them seriously. They're rarely capable of sophisticated, intelligent action.

Post-Surgery Percocet-Drenched Thoughts

Percocet is awesome. I can almost walk normally after less than forty-eight hours. My scrotum is swollen and bruised. This surgery resulted in far more pain than the previous two and it's definitely impaired my sex life. Impaired but not halted. J is awesome. My brother is awesome. I alternate between feeling great and feeling exhausted. There are two more scars on my abdomen. I haven't worn a jockstrap in thirty years but then again, I hadn't gone bowling or played darts in thirty years, either.

The housing crash may, perhaps, be half-way over.

All major online companies maintain backups for their clients' data. A simple deletion is rarely enough to delete evidence.

Surgery

Surgery sucks.
This better work, you sadists!

The Devil

If the Devil reconstituted himself as an earthly human, would he tell himself the truth about who he was?

Here Come Da Devil.

Back To Work

I'm guess I'm back to work.
Surgery on Friday.

I left Los Angeles for a reason. The costs. The traffic. The Desperately Average immersed in their insecurity and egos. The Pathetically Shallow pontificating on relationships. A big swirl of self-serving myopicians indulged in pointless social churning. The people in Seattle seem real. Fairly often.

At least I've got some work to do now.

Mt Vernon

Mt Vernon?
Why on earth would you be reading from Mt Vernon?

West Seattle

I spent too much time in downtown Seattle when I lived here before. I spent yesterday at Ballard's artwalk and today the West Seattle Farmer's Market. Seattle seems so modern, yet the surrounding area is provincial and localized, seemingly bypassed by the Mobility Society.

Which not be a bad thing. Trends rarely reach their predicted extreme
and as I sit here reading about $126 per barrel oil, I wonder if "global trade" has peaked, too. It's possible that a regional/localized trading meme could take hold. There's probably some way to measure it, memetically, but it needs some thought.

It's also possible that the Internet didn't "equalize" the world so much is it opened a broader pipeline for equalization of differentials, similar to the interaction of railroads and commodities in the 19th century. A rebalancing towards localization might be reflected in information structure, or should be. I can see trends in that direction in the search engine world, a tendencey towards a class hierarchy structure with minimal interaction at the higher and lower boundaries.

Peak oil will be a major force in the next decade and will likely accelerate localization and deccelerate growth of global projects & trade.

This week I'm putting together a prototype for what could become a "pragmatic architectural doctrine". I have a dozen eager victims to experiment on. Technical architectures exist and business architectures exist but I may have a unique operational approach which could take one or two years to get it expanded and debugged and promoted as a program for other Fortune 500 companies.

Houston

A good chance I'll be in Houston next week, and perhaps L.A. in early June.

I had four strategic goals when I started contracting in Feb of 2004.
Apparently I accomplished all four in May of 2008.

Dawn

I've been awake all night. I slept very little on Monday, too. Events of the past few weeks are on my mind, a re-thinking of myself, my past, my future. This morning I think about mistakes; I lingered too long with liars, gave too much consideration to people that didn't warrant it, worried too much about opinions which didn't matter.

My alt.com purity test score has dropped from 80 to 67. But more importantly, I've discovered that I can find awesome, mind-numbing sex without riding an emotional rollercoaster like the PT girls. Their paranoia can't be beat. Poor Lena. She carries so much guilt and for less cause than the others.

The other one works so hard at being a Muse and I don't think she even knows why. She is desperately important but consorts with bleached blondes who smatter "XOXOXO" across each perfunctory birthday and anniversary card. I don't know if it's sad or temporary or appropriate. I broke several things by accident but lately I've broken a few with intent. Perhaps she was one. Perhaps the Wiccans were another. Perhaps some things deserve to stay dysfunctional, self-selecting themselves out of my context.

Ripped

She had six orgasms.
I had a ripped shirt.
And rugburns

Who Knew

If someone said three years from now
You'd be long gone
I'd stand up and punch them out
Cause they're all wrong

I thought it was me. I thought I was the problem. But as I learn more, talk to more people, my belief shifts. Perhaps I'm lucky. I don't carry the guilt, the spite, do the short-sighted scheming. Sure, I've occasionally dipped into that pool, not often but enough to taste it. But it's not me. It's not bound to who I am.

Hailee and I played pool for hours. His most prominient feature (besides his country of origin) were the deep vertical furrows in his forehead. Just a shade over five feet tall, he moved around the pool table like a dark elf, knocking down balls with confidence and authority. We talked about his family, about Africa, about American, and he surprised me by having a better grasp of morality than most Americans, despite his abdication of Christian religion.

"Don't judge everyone by one case", he admonished me after I joked about "ugly Americans". "White people came to my country and helped. There are some, here, in America, too greedy, too selfish. But some of those same people came to Africa but treated us differently. I don't know why there and not here"

All I need is four or five more women like J and I'm set.
I don't want to be a babysitter anymore.

The Path

Sometimes it's not only good to walk away from dysfunctional people, it's mandatory. What I didn't realize until this year is how many are dysfunctional, and in how many subtle ways. Of course, I'm dysfunctional, too but a good indicator of undesirable dysfunctionality is emotional overreation to trivia.

For being fifty and being me, I'm doing okay this year. J is awesome. She's so responsive but so emotionally stable. Each meeting is an adventure, a secret rendezvous and I learned a ton of things from her about life experience, balance, direction, risk, chance, pleasure. She is often fearless and she's raised my expectations about women and relationships.

I suppose she's raised my expectations about men, too.

My interest in younger women has fallen, they carry too many emotional issues, too many problems, and my experience is that the sex sucks, too. Tonight two women approached me during pool. They're regulars, we know each other, but tonight Nina deliberately brushed up against me, twice, to gain attention and start conversation. Nina is quite cute but... too young, too much trouble.

I can do what I want.
I was a babysitter for fifteen years.
I don't want to be a babysitter anymore.

Tonight, an early date and then I'll do the Seattle Art walk.
J and I did the Walk last month and she showed me how easy it is to meet women.

Impulse

Act on impulse.
Tempered with intuition.