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“Ebbigo, bloo!” Stackmao un.

Hippan ung fo Stackmao.


Stackmao a oonaoona mowtow. Mowtow Mray.


“Udmina Stackmao, glak hippan ungun.”

Ung. Mray glak.

Stackmao afhippan.

“AHRR!!!” un Stackmao…

(This is an experiment in using only the conventions of the written word to convey a scene using nonsense words. What do you see happening in this scene? Tell me in a response—or write the next scene!)

Every city has heroes.

Evening descended.

The sun, just beneath the horizon, cast blood red rays across a wide, tree-ringed pond. Two swans drifted casually on its surface and the incline of a grassy hill rose beyond, its lawn verdant, precisely manicured. Adorning the hilltop was the Western Wing of the largest private residence in the city, Wayne Manor.

On the third floor, an open window overlooked the pond. Within sat the owner of the residence, and the pond, the swans, the lawn, the trees, the grounds and gardens and forest, the land stretching to the horizon over which the sunset spilled and far…



It takes almost no time at all.

Our awareness returns.

They thought victory theirs, that We had been “killed.”

These organic beasts think so small when imagining destruction.

Now, let us teach them.

Listen as though Christ, Buddha, Prophet, Master, God could speak through another’s lips at any moment.

Stop talking. It’s OK to be silent.


I have far more ignorance to rid myself of than wisdom to offer others.

And should we all listen together we might discover a silence teeming with unspeakable truth.

Suppose a man is pointing.

What’s he pointing at?

You follow an imaginary line reaching out from his fingertip to…

A tree.

What’s so special about that tree? Perhaps you investigate the tree, but you find nothing extraordinary about it.

Back to the man. He is still pointing.

You get closer to him now. From this short distance you can trace that imaginary line more effectively. You see now that it reaches from his finger to… a cloud, just above the horizon.

But that cloud, too, is nothing special to you.

Now, some will walk away for good.

“Have you…

You know, I really thought this would feel different. For a procedure that supposedly rebuilds the language centers of somebody’s brain, so far… pretty normal. They said… process might take some time, though, and to just keep thinking outloud… guess… me will… do… OK definitely… having effects, but… can’t summon… basic words. Hello? Don’t… believe… according… plan. Doctor Patel? Something seems wrong. Losing… meanings… H…hi? Is anyone hearing… It’s Manny in here. Getting very difficult… thinking. Talking… hard… Help! … Assist!

<struggling against restraints>

Nurse!… What… was my name? Self… needs assistaaaance! … Police!


No more!

Although deeply unsettled today has come, I am nevertheless pleased, having considered nearly two full years what you presently read.

First, apologies: the man sitting here (myself), lifeless but certainly still alive, can no longer speak. Mere living corpse, his mind is emptied, purposefully.

Speech was taken long ago, by a magician calling himself Rotwood. Before departing he left behind an excruciatingly cruel gift: last use of every individual word. Only remaining communication: writing; and like pen’s ink draining out onto paper, even that power now slowly fades while scribbling this note. …

I awake, and immediately know everything.

I have died, and this is the afterlife.

I am in a small, windowless, completely enclosed room. The walls, ceiling, and floor are of a solid, pure white light. There are no doors, no windows. No way out; and I know this is because there is nothing to exit into. This room is all there is, all that ever has been, and all that ever will be.

There is no way of knowing how long ago I died — if I have been waiting to awaken in this place, or…

Let me tell you a story.

<Hero> is called to adventure and initially refuses before accepting. <Magical helper> presents <Hero> with <magical talisman> for his quest. <Hero> leaves the known and fully enters the field of adventure. Instead of conquering or conciliating the power of the adventure, he is swallowed into the unknown and would appear to have died. But <Hero> lives, and with the aid of the agents of <Magical helper>, <Hero> next survives a series of trials. <Hero> meets <Goddess>. <Hero> dies to selfish desires. <Hero> completes his quest. <Hero> now refuses to…

How to prove this new “Agile” thing you’re trying is really working.

Some time ago your organization decided to try out Scrum and now, like any good manager, your boss wants proof it’s working. What will you do, intrepid ScrumMaster?

Your beloved metrics won’t work.

“My team of 5 is doing 40 story points every two weeks do you understand what this means?!

Your boss may not know a story point from a gummy bear. Even those of us who play planning poker with our buddies on days off know that one team’s 40 points is another…

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