It’s no fun being an intelligencer. All phenomena are to be categorized &

analyzed. There are more tragedies than comedies. Projected onto walls by

a shadowbox. Reflection only. Meant to fade into nonexistence.

It started simply enough. Writing is a bizarre form of magic and misdire-

ction. Turns of phrases are often more effective than swords at settling

and avoiding disputes. The construction of elaborate fantasy worlds to f-

urther plots. Treachery.

The quieter you are the more you tend to hear. Sub rosa accounting is in-

valuable in preliminary phases. Activities at this point are clearly defi-

ned and encompassing. This is the safest entry. From there chaos is only

a matter of will and time.

From this perspective it is easy to see basic flaws as omnipresent in t-

he environment. A single catastrophe and the laws of entropy take hold,

sending what was into what will be. Subtle plans evolve rapidly when pr-

esented with such disruptions of logic.

There is no inevitable conclusion to any event but the initiatory stage

of any operation must be evaluated as all seeds present in it’s success

originate there. Personality is a construct to be exploited in further-

ance of any movement’s aim. Attach to the governing apparatus and sque-

eze.

A little known fact of the intelligencer’s life is the associated ment-

al strain. As years peel off so too do those well versed in the field

either as victims of their own treachery or the light behind their shad-

ow has been snuffed. Left to haunt the world directionless and hollow.

It is a profession of deadly leisure. Vices contorted to expedite the i-

nevitable decay required for consummation of the plot. A mercenary spir-

it doomed to stalk worlds of corrupt phantoms. Living entropic karma pe-

rsonified.

It takes it’s toll.