1. Apocalyse Now dialog
2. Just riffing
Willard: I was sent on a classified mission, sir.
Kurtz: It’s no longer classified, is it? Did they tell you?
Willard: They told me that you had gone totally insane, and that your methods were unsound.
Kurtz: Are my methods unsound?
Willard: I don’t see any method at all, sir.
Kurtz: I expected someone like you. What did you expect? Are you an assassin?
Willard: I’m a soldier.
Kurtz: You’re neither. You’re an errand boy, sent by grocery clerks, to collect a bill.]
2.The Control Virus infects the receptive host
Chaotic voices clamor together
Instant gratification, instant cure, money, drugs, sex, power
It is a map without land or sea, a text without words or sense
Infections spead everywhere, none are safe, all are touched by disease
On The Top Floors they mainline the Junk of Power
Old Carcass Behemoth wallows in it's own filth&Stink, thinks itself wealthy as Midas
Slobbers gibberish from electronic cue cards, gives praise to that Ancient Hag Queen of Gomorrah
Below decks, Morlock technicians tend the machines of State
Firing character assassination canons, tinkering with and tuning Big Control Algorithms
Preparing tender Eloi for a wonderful dinner,
It's really too easy to fall prey to this Thing
This Control of Power
Central Intelligence
Central Information Virus
Control to Tower
Tower to Control
The Virus:
Poetry by Chaucer Whethers
Read 346 times
Written on 2022-04-04 at 00:07
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2. Just riffing
Paging Kurtz
1.[Kurtz: Did they say why, Willard, why they want to terminate my command?Willard: I was sent on a classified mission, sir.
Kurtz: It’s no longer classified, is it? Did they tell you?
Willard: They told me that you had gone totally insane, and that your methods were unsound.
Kurtz: Are my methods unsound?
Willard: I don’t see any method at all, sir.
Kurtz: I expected someone like you. What did you expect? Are you an assassin?
Willard: I’m a soldier.
Kurtz: You’re neither. You’re an errand boy, sent by grocery clerks, to collect a bill.]
2.The Control Virus infects the receptive host
Chaotic voices clamor together
Instant gratification, instant cure, money, drugs, sex, power
It is a map without land or sea, a text without words or sense
Infections spead everywhere, none are safe, all are touched by disease
On The Top Floors they mainline the Junk of Power
Old Carcass Behemoth wallows in it's own filth&Stink, thinks itself wealthy as Midas
Slobbers gibberish from electronic cue cards, gives praise to that Ancient Hag Queen of Gomorrah
Below decks, Morlock technicians tend the machines of State
Firing character assassination canons, tinkering with and tuning Big Control Algorithms
Preparing tender Eloi for a wonderful dinner,
It's really too easy to fall prey to this Thing
This Control of Power
Central Intelligence
Central Information Virus
Control to Tower
Tower to Control
The Virus:
Poetry by Chaucer Whethers
Read 346 times
Written on 2022-04-04 at 00:07
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
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