...because every single square's a Whammy. Whether it's that chick you're into that tells you to get lost, or that long-lost buddy shows back up after totally ditching you for a new clique, the weird kids you ran with when you thought nobody was looking, that teacher you had that kept sending mixed signals, or that new fella you run into that seems to know more about your past than you're really comfortable with. There's no way to escape it, you've just got to stay on your toes and keep your eyes open.

Posted by Obtusitivity at 07:10 AM | Permalink | TrackBacks (0)

When all good little boys and girls gather together to observe that most sacred of holidays.

It seems like it starts earlier every year...

Posted by Obtusitivity at 07:16 PM | Permalink

...it's been months now since the trail went cold. Months since many of us went our seperate ways, too exhausted or too frustrated to keep searching, hoping, believing. It's not the first time the outpost has sat silent and dark, it's members scattered to the winds, and it might not be the last, who can say?

What is for certain is that there are five of us who don't have the luxury of walking away. They've become, irrevocably, part of the nightmare we've all experienced. Part of the madness.

I can't help but think that while we go about our everyday lives, the outpost crumbles, the prayer wheel turns, and the nightmare continues.

It's time for Providence to come home.

Posted by Obtusitivity at 10:01 PM | Permalink

Too Quiet

I don't like it.
I've got a bad feeling about this.

Posted by Biff at 03:27 AM | Permalink

Now we wait....

Posted by Biff at 04:33 AM | Permalink

Beautiful Work Sinyx

Posted by Biff at 10:20 AM | Permalink | TrackBacks (0)

Dear Prudence won't you come out to play
Dear Prudence greet the brand new day
The sun is up the sky is blue
It's beautiful and so are you
Dear Prudence won't you come out to play

On January 21 we received an email from Peter Severn of Forsythe Security. He has a proposition for us. A quid pro quo if you will. Our accursed hard drive in exchange for some interesting files of a medical nature.

Dear Prudence open up your eyes
Dear Prudence see the sunny skies
The wind is low the birds will sing
That you are part of everything
Dear Prudence, won't you open up your eyes
Look around round round

Youtube link to the musical stylings of Paul and John
or
Siouxsie and the Banshees if you are so inclined.

Posted by Biff at 08:54 PM | Permalink

It seems the scream has sent everyone scrambling to regroup.
We've detected little to no activity from any of our field sources and can only assume that everyone has fattened up on holiday fare and hit the stores for door buster deals on new electric monks, hard drives, surveillance equipment, or a fresh supply of tinfoil to block those EM rays that cause such nasty headaches and restless nights.

In the absence of fresh information, all we're left to do is extrapolate, interpolate, and manipulate the information we have in order to coerce some meaning out of it. In other words, speculate. So I've started the ball rolling in a thread of brainstormic intentions. Pop on in and throw out your best guess as to what this all means. Your speculation doesn't have to be logical, but it helps if you believe it....to some degree.

"Is this some kind of Bust?"

Posted by Biff at 10:08 PM | Permalink

Be it known by all that on this day one Bridgette Anne Buttermore, aka BA St. Feline, aka Bad Ass Dream Girl did willfully and against advice of her friends and acquaintances subject herself to the phenomenon known as the scream and in so doing did bring forth upon her website all manner of corruptions and abominations heretofore unseen by human eyes. Be it also evident that Ms. Buttermore did in fact survive an otherwise lethal exposure to the aforementioned scream. These facts plus her predilection for black attire and her possible association with a certain Spukhafte Fernwirkung leads this court to declare that Ms. Bridgette Anne Buttermore is hereby accused of being a Which?
Well, we don't know, that's what we're trying to figure out, among other things.

Posted by Biff at 04:23 AM | Permalink

On this day, eight (turns out it was only) five adventurous suckers souls are trekking to Pocahontas County West Virginia at the behest of a reformed cultist turned groveling sycophant. What do we expect to find up on that mountain? Solitude? Exploitation? Wild dreams? Perhaps a little Security? Most likely, all of the above with a smattering of psychic goth and a dollop of.....death.

Take me home indeed.

I hope this won't be my last entry

Posted by Biff at 06:07 AM | Permalink