Author: @HppoTweeter

I hate editing.

Do you hate editing? What’s an easy solution to get over the jitters about editing? What technique does HPPO use when self editing?

This answers none of those questions but it made me feel better and it’s true. If it’s true for you. Know you’re not out there alone. Even if you are like physically alone. We all draw from the same well spring and I hope you succeed beyond what that voice in your head says is possible.

I hate editing.

I hate self editing. I hate it even more because I should love it. I love becoming a better version of myself. HPPO version XL.002.G. Season 30 patch 4.3.

When I go back over my work from yesterday or a week ago or a year. It’s how I find those defects, correct them, and become better. But

BUTT

I wonder is this what bulimics see when they look in the mirror during a binge. I see this ink that I spunked from my pen onto the page for your pleasure. In the morning lights crusty stains are staring back at me comparable to the incontinence ramblings of a defecating homeless man.

“Shit in the street left by him will be viewed by more people and have more value than what you’ve accomplished here.”

That voice can shut the fuck SHUT THE FUCK UP.

I’ve being fighting it for 11,240 days every single day going ten rounds or more.

Sometimes WWE style he gets to tag out with social peers, awards, “what my friends think.”, “cool story, bro” and Ronald Mcdonald

and the only one in my corner is myself and the god of Abraham. And like a true heel drop never tags in on my behalf.

Some days we go at it hard. Fight and Fight. Every word corrected a punch bag. Momentum starts to turn the fight. But just when I start to see the belt and the victory. I lose my footing or get hit with that there their they’re triple pairing dick jabs.

Amateur mistake. When did the rules change and this boxing match become a MMA snuggle fuck choking out my will power. “Paragraphs now break with spaces for scrolling moron.”

I curl up and cry. A grown ass man. A GROWN ASS man. Beaten down not by life, I live it rich and happy.

Beaten to tears not by lose, gratitude keeps all that at bay.

But even as I write this poetry. Tears Stream Free.

Beaten by a fucking semi-colon run up my nuts.

You should be better at this. And the last thing I hear before my psyche retreats fully into my fantasy world. Is laughter my doubts secure in the fact that weaknesses still resides in my composure, my work will never be what I want.

ART

can never satisfy the artists need to expose others to their perfect vision. The crystal clear lake atop that Big Rock Candy Mountain.

TL;dr

I hate editing. It hates me back. But it’s necessary. I can not improve if I don’t.

I have to even seek the eyes of others to tell me you done fucked this up.

FUCK YOU

is my response. There was poetry in the original composition. You’re ignorant. You’re the problem. My mastery of the English language is parsecs greater than your degree and experience and reality.

When my bruises heal in the morning.

I’ll show them and while my hands are soft, pampered without callous, my ego is hard as stone.

Sand.

Brittle as tempered glass.

Just the right point of pressure and my whole facade fades fumblefuck.

Tomorrow, I’ll be writing the last scene of the last chapter of issue three.

I’ve been looking forward to this since halfway through writing issue two.

But I need this little glory psyche up session to get ready for editing. After All I will be paying out of pocket for an editor this time around and “nothing hurts more than humiliation coupled with a little money loss.” -revolver.

Here is the translations of the movies quote cards.

Den ärgsten feind findet man dort, wo man ihn zuletzt erwartet.

-Julius Cäsar, 75 v. Chr.

“The greatest enemy will hide in the last place you would ever look.”

-Julius Caesar 75 BC

Man wird nur schlauer, wenn man gegen schlauere Gegner spielt.

-Fundamentals of Chess, 1883

“The only way to get smarter is by playing a smarter opponent.”

-Fundamentals of Chess 1883

“Erste Regel des ge werbes: Beschütze Deine Anlage.

-Etiquette of the Banker, 1775

“First rule of business, protect you investment.”

-Etiquette of the Banker 1775

Kriege können nicht verhindert werden; man kann sie lediglich zum Voteil anderer hinauszögern.

Niccoló Machiavelli, 1502

“There is no avoiding war, it can only be postponed to the advantage of your enemy.”

-Niccolo Machiavelli 1502

SPOILER FREE thoughts

My very first viewing of this movie was roughly in 2011. During my time among the silent service we didn’t have access to the internet but some of the techs had set up a personal area network the PAN where we could load movies, books, TV, music and have our own little library of sorts. So without google it was difficult to choose what to watch on your own.

On name alone I queued “revolver” then I saw Jason Statham with hair and not just hair a gangster mullet. I lost the suspension of disbelief and knew I couldn’t enjoy the rest of the movie so I stopped this movie after the first four minutes because I wasn’t going to like it. And you’re not going to like it either. I jumped forward a few times to see if there was anything worth watching and saw that Andre 3000 had a part in this movie and that got my attention. I will suffer the Jason Statham mullet in the future and watch this later just to see why Benjamin Andre is in this movie.

So I watched it and you should to.

My first viewing went over like this.

It was visually gorgeous. The music, well placed classical chords.

Everything crafted to be as aesthetic pleasing without being complex or distracting. When the movie goes into it’s heavier themes visually it becomes simpler so you’re not distracted and the message is as loud and clear as though through a mega-horn. If you’ve seen SNATCH then you know Guy Ritchie can edit a movie and sections of this movie that take place across multiple scenes, sets, and times are edited and cut together so well that it delivers all the necessary narrative information quickly, entertainingly, and without a lull.

BUT just like every 1/2 star rating after my first viewing

I hated it. I hated Jason’s mullet. I hated the air quotes Complexity. I didn’t believe the characters. I didn’t buy the motivations. My expectations where not met. I did like how it looked though and I did want to at least try to understand what the fuck was going on.

Why did this movie not make any sense?

I like Andre 3000 of OUTKAST because of how he hides lyric genius and contradiction in light pop/rap from the early 2000’s. Whether is “Mrs Jackson” or “Hey Ya!”

Andre 3000 has done a hundred times successfully what this movie is trying to do. He gives the medicine a candy coating, hides the vitamins in a gummy.

Director Guy Ritchie attempts and fails at this.

Now watch this movie, go to sleep and come back for why exactly the people that love this movie shout it’s praise so loud and why those who hate it have no other choice but to hate it. And to answer the question.

Why did this movie not make any sense?

Why as of this articles publication it is rocking a 16% rotten tomatoes score without an audience score.

IMDb has it as a 6.5/10 from 83,538 reviews.

You have to sit though it at least once to understand why critics hate it.

I’ll be here after you do.

+++Spoilers Ahead+++

https://www.unauthorized.tv/programs/the-club-that-dare-not-speak-its-name

Darkstream number 334: Unauthorized the road ahead

from the 31^st minute mark Vox’s comments on sigma

“you are talking from a sigma standpoint i think Vox um well what other standpoint can i talk about you know i was thinking about that earlier today you know you’re just talking about yourself you’re just trying to justify yourself when you’re talking about Sigma and what i realize is that’s just not true because one of my best friends in university is more of a Sigma than I’ve ever been.

Massively, massively attractive to women ridiculously so in fact there were two other Sigma’s one a year ahead of me and one two years ahead of me that were at my university with me and you know here’s here’s a very Sigma thing to do I’m sitting there with my friend we’re having lunch together as usual it’s just the two of us you know neither of us belong to a fraternities or anything like that and um we were sitting there and he goes let’s go abroad next year i said okay where do you want to go so well you’re taking Japanese I said yeah I said let’s go to Japan I’m like you don’t speak any Japanese he’s like no but you do and like i’ll take a semeseter before I go ro something

the best part was we had arranged to get him elected senior class president already so he’s the senior class president despite the fact that he hangs out with pretty much no one besides me and then blows it off and goes to Japan.

You know legend

that’s it was so funny

then after college disappeared…”

In short Vox Day has justified the existence of Sigma to himself again though cognitive dissonance.

If Sigma are as rare as they are suppose to be, then how can the small sample size of Vox Day’s college provide him with four other men?

The key trait being toted as a Sigma thing to do is being “framed” as an avoidance of responsibility to the hierarchy of which the Sigma, Vox’s friend, has become the class president of.

I say framed because while I cannot discern the motivations of Vox’s friend, I can analyze the information that Vox thinks is relevant regarding his friends decision.

Why does this matter…?

It matters because Vox Day through his series on the socio-sexual hierarchy has and is crafting a great lens to understand the motivations of men and providing blueprints for how a hierarchy can function properly.

But as that lens becomes increasingly marred and damaged when looking at Gammas.

In direct relation to Vox Day’s inability to stop his own self deception and dissonance.

The less valuable the tool becomes and the further from truth.

Gamma’s are at the bottom of the hierarchy for some very good reasons. Least of which is their unhealthy self-deceptions and conflict avoidance.

Vox makes a few good remarks as to Gamma conflict avoidance and their fear of failure

in his latest Voxiversity

I do hope he takes his own advice realizing that he is not fooling anyone.

Vox Day is most Gamma, comfortable in Omega isolation, efficiently Delta, a high requirement Bravo/Beta, but a low responsibility Alpha.

If he wants to call that brew Sigma flavor, fine. But just as you can’t leave the sugar out of Coca-cola you can’t take the Gamma out of Vox Day.

Let me know, if anyone is interested in my thoughts on the Gamma and Alpha voxiversity and if you’d like me to explore explicitly how each of the tiers deals with and around failure.

Myself, I am failure avoidant not because I have suffered a lot of failures but because I have suffered so few that I don’t have the protection of callouses that come from earning blisters.

With Love,

Hngyhngyhppo

The groans of the fallen and the powder smoke of long arms were settling. Just two men remained the captain of this band of deserters and a Scout from the party sent to bring them back. The clay walls of the canyon were stained with drying blood and ichor. A horse wheezing as it lungs choked on blood was the barricade the captain hide behind.

The scout kept his eyes on the red horse waiting for the captain to show. His short pistol ready to make him regret it. The sun was pulsing in the sky drying sweat from the Scout’s duster. The sun was blinding the Captain. He couldn’t make a move to turn and shoot down his pursuer.

“Tell me son what is your name and who is your commander that I may pass word to him from The next island that his men died without courage and bellies full of cowardice.”

“You may tell the Necros at the under gates or the barge master that ferries souls that Ruffin the Mouse, the grey skin, under orders from Commander Pearson took your last breath.”

The captain eyes had been closed resetting their apertures to take less light so he could look and fire upon the sound of the last man approaching. The Scout’s steps were heavy he had taken a bead in his off hand and his glove was crying to be removed as it filled with swelling flesh and pouring blood.

The Scout stopped five paces from the horse that sheltered the coward laying behind it. A twitch or two wouldn’t be suspect from the horse as it was beyond its death throws. The glint of golden rings from the gilded bridle was not where the Scout wanted to focus his eyes but a soft shine of steel and dot of blue inside the mane meant the Scout was in danger. With the captain trapping himself under the bridle of the horse to get a dirty shot at the Scout. A cunning plan for a coward.

Bold action stirred the Scout to step twice and jump. He knew where the head lay and hoped the captain had but the single pistol trained on him. His jump saved his soft gut from taking lead but his left leg was pierced with the a hundred hot needles that dug sharply into his side. His left took no sense from his mind and only screamed when he asked that his knees tuck themselves in so he could clear the dead colt.

The Scouts wounded leg did not tuck and dragged across the colt causing him to tumble with the momentum. The spin laid the two hundred and fifty pounds of muscle, bound to his broad shoulder frame, a top of Captain. The Scout’s pistol fired into the dirt result of a poor attempt to brace himself.

With the single shot breach loaded pistol expired, Fire climbing his left side, and the swelling sun drying the fluid from eyes allowing the dust of the canyon to cling to inside the Scout’s eyeballs. Blood lust over took the scout. The metal hilt and hollow tube which served him well in the fight moments before held as much purpose as a stone and with that stone he came down upon the Captain surprised face. First through his left arm which the captain raised in protest then against the side of temple and across the captains pointed cheekbones and rigid jaw line. Any feature which once was prominent and marked the Captain as handsome was ground into soft pulp by the Scout’s fist and firearm.

Ruffin the Scout tossed his single breach now marred with the former Captain’s gore aside and stripped him of his dual six shooters. While securing proof of his victory, movement caught his eye from the mouth of the opening in the carved rock canyon where the deserters made their last stand.

Long silk-like black hair being tugged away by the dry winds on top of a women laughing softly with delight. Skin as golden as caramel but not burnt by the desert sun, a voluptuous form hidden in patches by a loose weave of dull red desert plants.

“Is your tribe friendly to Freemen? I am in need of water and treated agave to clean my wounds.”

Ignoring the Scout’s words she continued to walk over the corpses of the slain. Her footsteps did not stir the settling dust or ripple the pools of men’s blood as her bare feet lead her around the aftermath. The Scout removed his gloves now and the pain of his hands swelling eased for a breath and felt as soft as a good bed. This ecstasy of relief was cut short by the needles which sprang from his leg and disabled his entire side bringing the large grey skinned man to his knees.

“Oh I see death is not done with this place then. If you wish to die here then die here warm heart. But do not dishonor my presence with begging.”

Her voice was soft and cool as the low breeze of dust over the hard rock desert. Even her insults and taunts were delivered with a smooth glow of as warm honey is poured. Her dark sugar coated frame drew closer and Ruffin could now see her face was carved as the classic beauty of the gods statues demanded. Not a dimple or raised pour. Eyes crystals of blue as clear as the oasis pools the desert herder’s chase.

“Very Well”

The Scout through shear will stood and spoke through the pain demanding his focus.

“Take me to your tribe. But if you are of the flesh eating outcasts and not of the Herders the first round will be for you and your body disgraced after I have drenched the plains in your cannibal kin’s life blood.”

Laughter from her honey soaked throat tossed over her shoulder was the call to follow. The Scout’s strides where long under his height but his wounds drag and bounce of her skip kept her out of arms reach. Out of the canyon and beyond the first horizon. The hard rock turned into soft brown sand, the hue of her caramel skin, resting over clay. The heat of the sand welded the dried blood stained pants to the Scout’s leg. The blood letting had stopped and each step alternated between a promises of catching the brown sugar coated honeypot and a reality of nerves firing explosions of pain.

“Stop” she turned and commanded from beyond his reach.

And the Scout halted sinking a half inch into the brown sand.

“You may die, here.”

Ropes from beneath the loose sand swirled up the Scout’s legs to steal his purchase from upright. As promised he flashed his arm and fired a shot from the Captain’s six gun at the devil who brought him here. She cried. The shot, not fatal but higher than he was aiming as the ropes uprooted and placed the large grey skin scout on his back. The ropes covered in scales darker than the sand and increasing in girth as they uprooted from the earth. These were the tails of snakes. Intuition became reality as each snake lifted its head. Each head, the size of a large wolves with proportioned snouts. They gave the dead scout a lick and hiss of the air. Without strong faculty in his left hand the Scout grabbed and held shut the jaws of the first snake. The surprise and recoil of the snake in his grasp lifted the Scout back to his feet as the other missed its dive and now whipped belly up in the sand. Showing a soft white under side he fired two shots down the center of the beasts belly its head now flopping as a fish inside a boat unable to summon the sea to correct itself. With his swelling hand still locked around the gnashing jaws of the remaining snake he fired a single shot which removed all the struggle from the serpent and loosened the tails hold on him.

Staring now into the eyes of the witch. Battle fury sent all pain from his mind.

“Now I’ll collect the treachery from your ass before I send you where your pets souls dwell.”

Soft waves of air pushed against the Scout as he drew closer to her. She was trying to cast a spell but was being ground. Blood was welling in her left collar. His first round had severed her light coverings hold. She now stood half bare. Without her snakes and her spells she was just a woman of exposed flesh. Fear filled her eyes and she ran now for her life not to lead the Scout but escape his wrathful lust.

Her pace was beyond what the Scouts stride could provide. She went from a taunting, bouncing statue of caramel sugar to a drop of dark night silk. Determination and satisfaction drove the Scout at a steady pace. Years of miles behind him allowed him to push through these miles. The dark spot, her soft night hair, began to fill out her classically curved form underneath as he closed the distance. Her breathe hard from unused lungs trying to work faster than ever before began to choke on the dry sparse air. The sun never let up its heat and she still had not stirred a single bead of sand even as her purity and life depended on it.

His out stretched arm could feel the tip of her silky mane but he couldn’t close his swelling fist to grasp her. She remained just out of reach straining and choking her steps. A hand on her shoulder gave the Scout’s knees as reason to cease and he dropped her into the sand under his collapsing tower frame. Turning her over under his strength planting kisses on his prize as she struggled against him. His exposed palm was burning smoke and smolder from her shoulder where he imposed his strength to keep her down. He drew the hair out of her face with his good hand. Where his flesh touched burns appeared. Through the screams of fear and pain he gently pulled her visage clear. The Scout would not be deterred by a glamour he knew her beauty and the rage in his heart knew her evil. Tears welled in her eyes of blue crystal as she gave away resistance to her an assault and began to accept his demands.

The heavens cried as well. A storm swept across the sand. Rain and thunder pelted from all directions at once without a sign of warning.

“The Queens Tears have saved me!”

She spat in the face of her ravager still under his strong hand.

Water fell from the heavens and swept across the wind. A blinding light of spell craft and a push of air as magic made its way into reality threw the Scout from his prize and through the blinding he saw the naked form of his prize melt into the sand. The cool rain calmed his heart bringing back his senses. Without the temptation of flesh before him, he had no reason to hold onto the waking world. Darkness a sleep as close to death as he had ever known overtook him.

“Can we wake him now?”

“He’ll wake when he is ready.”