<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8"?>
<rss xmlns:rdf="http://www.w3.org/1999/02/22-rdf-syntax-ns#" xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/" xmlns:taxo="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/taxonomy/" version="2.0">
<channel>
<title>Latest posts for the topic &quot;The Age of Enlightenment.&quot;</title>
<ttl>10</ttl>
<link>http://forums.station.sony.com/mxo/</link>
<description>Latest messages posted in the topic &quot;The Age of Enlightenment.&quot;</description>
<generator>Station Forums</generator>
<item>
<title>The Age of Enlightenment.</title>
<description>&lt;span class=&quot;postbody&quot;&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;postbody&quot;&gt;((So, basically I&apos;ve copied and pasted a piece I haven&apos;t posted here before. I intend on adding to this as time goes on. The piece was runner-up in the anniversairy competition last year.))&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div align=&quot;center&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;postbody&quot;&gt;&lt;p&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;postbody&quot;&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;b&gt;Deja-Vu&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;postbody&quot;&gt;&lt;p&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;postbody&quot;&gt;&lt;p&gt;The rain thrashed Andrews window with an annoying consistency; a constant wind driving it. &lt;i&gt;Another&lt;/i&gt; early morning. &lt;i&gt;Another&lt;/i&gt; annoying consistency; dreams about a New Years Eve TV program. The first one of this year; the first of 1999. That &lt;i&gt;and&lt;/i&gt; awakening to that site of his clock reading 06:00. ‘That&apos;s almost a whole month now&apos;, he thought to himself. It was Tuesday morning, when the night met day. He sighed, rubbing his eyes. He lay with a grudging feeling of purpose as it slowly dawned on him, &amp;quot;...double Math, *CENSORED* it&amp;quot;. He rolled over and buried his head in his pillow for a few moments as if he was strenuously searching for some kind of escape back to dream land.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align=&quot;center&quot;&gt;---&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align=&quot;center&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&amp;quot;So you see, by dividing the result of Y we get the definition of X. Thus, acquiring the final term...&amp;quot; Mr Staunton&apos;s voice echoed and faded into the depths of Andrews mind, forgotten. He wondered if Mr Staunton actually believed the class was taking anything in. He certainly wasn&apos;t. &amp;quot;In one ear and out the other&amp;quot;, he recalled just a shard of the scattered lectures his mother gave him. He had so many lectures they resembled something of a shattered sheet of glass. The pieces were scattered across his memory, many too small to see. &amp;quot;Oh well, 5 minutes and we&apos;re out of here&amp;quot;, he thought. He had a free hour next before lunch. &amp;quot;Time to get some confirmation on what&apos;s happening on New Years Eve&amp;quot;, he thought. He didn&apos;t feel like being one of those stuck in doors playing video games as the turn of the year came, he frowned a little, some underage drinking and some loud music ought to do it. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;He felt a nudge from Rosie, the girl sitting next to him. He glanced over with a look of puzzlement as she nodded her head in the general direction of the teacher. He looked towards Mr Staunton. His eyes glared inquisitively at Andrew. &amp;quot;Well, did you understand all that, Andrew?&amp;quot; His enquiry had a futile tone to it. &amp;quot;Uh...Yeah, I did. Thanks&amp;quot;, Andrew hesitated slightly, knowing full well that he did not understand. &amp;quot;Oh you did? Ok, if you wouldn&apos;t mind explaining for those in the class that didn&apos;t, how did we solve the equation?&amp;quot; by Mr Staunton&apos;s tone, it was obvious he knew Andrew couldn&apos;t answer the question. &amp;quot;Well, you s--&amp;quot;, Andrew was interrupted mid sentence. His saviour had pulled through again; the bell to signal the end of class. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;As he vacated the class Andrew started some idle banter with a good friend, Alex, about the baseball game last night. No sooner had they begun; Mr Staunton pulled Andrew aside briskly, &amp;quot;You&apos;re barely passing this class as it is, Andrew. I suggest you take things seriously, you‘re more than capable of passing this if you put your mind to it.&amp;quot; Andrew&apos;s lack of respect towards authority in general was a redeeming flaw, one that he had a real problem accepting, let alone fixing. &amp;quot;Sir, when you can tell me what need I have for this useless theorem and this dull subject, then I&apos;ll start to take it seriously&amp;quot;, Andrew was just itching to get away and catch up with everyone in the social area. Unfortunately, another thing he hadn&apos;t learned was that talking back did not help his cause. &amp;quot;How many times have I sent you to the head of the department?&amp;quot; Mr Staunton wasn&apos;t going to let him go without a good grilling. &amp;quot;More times than I care to remember&amp;quot;, Andrew kept up his vain defiance, which only lead to more trouble. &amp;quot;Well, I think it&apos;s time for another one to be scheduled. Now, please, get out of here before you waste any more of my time&amp;quot;, Mr Staunton had the last word. ‘Well, at least I&apos;m out of here now&apos;, he thought.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align=&quot;center&quot;&gt;---&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align=&quot;center&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Club Masumane was heaving, as you would expect on New Years Eve. The buzz of constant conversation was only eclipsed by the emphatic music. Andrew, after surveying his surroundings, noticed a group of people with a particularly strange dress sense in the club. They appeared out of place in the current surroundings, &amp;quot;Who the hell wears shades, not only at night, but also in a poorly lit building?&amp;quot; He said aloud. Alex laughed. Andrew glanced at the big screen; which had been erected especially. &amp;quot;The New Years TV celebration looks slightly similar to last years&amp;quot;, giving it little thought.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;The countdown to the New Year ran down and a loud cheer raised the roof of the club. Andrew glanced at the screen again, almost like he was entranced by it. He looked away in the direction of a banner, &apos;Happy New Millennium!&amp;quot; it read. He was attracted back to the screen as if it was some kind of giant magnetic mass. The screen flickered slightly and then, a feeling of familiarity. &amp;quot;Major deja-vu moment&amp;quot;, he shouted at Alex, trying to drown out the abrasive music. Andrew continued, &amp;quot;Happy New Millennium!&amp;quot; Alex stopped and gave Andrew a look of puzzlement, as everything else in the room seemed to stop. &amp;quot;New Millennium? What&apos;re you talking about, it&apos;s just turned 1999! You‘ve had too much to drink.&amp;quot; Andrew glanced towards the banners. To his absolute amazement, they read &lt;i&gt;Happy New Year: 1999!&lt;/i&gt; He swivelled his head towards the TV; the footage being played was the same celebrations of 1999 that he had dreamt about, the same program as last year. He was sure of it. Nobody else seemed to notice or care. &amp;quot;Do they even realise?&amp;quot;, Andrew began to lose control. He stumbled back, frantically looking around the club. His breath quickened; the music raged on. Alex looked confused; Andrew frightened. Andrews frantic actions seemed to grab the attention of the strangely dressed group he noticed earlier that night. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Andrew ran out of the club, disorientated. He could feel the glaring eyes of others outside, burning a hole in the back of his head. He could only focus on the ground as he staggered along. &amp;quot;What the hell is going on? I didn&apos;t have &lt;i&gt;that&lt;/i&gt; much to drink&amp;quot;, he questioned. &amp;quot;Why is everyone saying it&apos;s 1999? What is that same TV program doing on the screen?&amp;quot;.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align=&quot;center&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align=&quot;center&quot;&gt;---&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align=&quot;center&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&amp;quot;A popular phrase in Zion, around the time of my awakening&amp;quot;, Yasamuu stared out of the cockpit window. He continued sifting through his inner thoughts, &amp;quot;The Matrix cannot tell you who you really are. As detached from Zion as I felt, I was always drawn to that phrase. It described my position perfectly&amp;quot;, Yasamuu glanced upwards at the warring skies, a perfect visual reminder of the past which shaped the current world. &amp;quot;Before I became aware, I was disrespectful towards Authority, I was rebellious -- a down right trouble maker. You&apos;d think I was tailor made for Zion; they did when they tracked me down. Yet, as my awareness of humanities collective dream world began to broaden so did my appreciation for a great variety of things&amp;quot;. Yasamuu joked to himself, &amp;quot;If I had been told back then that I would be working for an organisation that is effectively a global authority, where efficiency and respect are two of the many vital aspects of the organisation...Well, I&apos;d probably have slapped whoever had told me&amp;quot;. He shuddered at the thought of his old self. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&amp;quot;Many would argue it is a subconscious decision. Perhaps when we are awoken, there is a part of us that truly hates what we once were and will do &lt;i&gt;anything&lt;/i&gt; to change in what can only be described as our rebirth. Perhaps it &lt;i&gt;is&lt;/i&gt; a hatred of the simulation for dictating what we were to become, for restricting what we &lt;i&gt;could&lt;/i&gt; become. At any extent, I&apos;m not sure I feel that hatred&amp;quot;, Yasamuu shook his head. &amp;quot;No, I would suggest that we can shape our new lives based on the experiences of our previous lives. Based on the knowledge and awareness of our flaws and our desire to take advantage of, and adapt to, this new life&amp;quot;. Yasamuu sat down in the Captains chair of his hovercraft, &amp;quot;The Matrix cannot tell us who we really are, no. However, we can. We can tell ourselves who we really are; learning from our pasts and &lt;i&gt;that &lt;/i&gt;is how &lt;i&gt;everyone&lt;/i&gt; can move forward&amp;quot;.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;</description>
<guid isPermaLink="true">http://forums.station.sony.com/mxo/posts/list.m?topic_id=36300025857&amp;post_id=36300506624#36300506624</guid>
<link>http://forums.station.sony.com/mxo/posts/list.m?topic_id=36300025857&amp;post_id=36300506624#36300506624</link>
<pubDate>Mon, 6 Oct 2008 17:27:49 GMT</pubDate>
<author>Yasamuu</author>
</item>
<item>
<title>Re:The Age of Enlightenment.</title>
<description>&lt;span class=&quot;postbody&quot;&gt;&lt;b&gt;Null.&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;</description>
<guid isPermaLink="true">http://forums.station.sony.com/mxo/posts/list.m?topic_id=36300025857&amp;post_id=36300506625#36300506625</guid>
<link>http://forums.station.sony.com/mxo/posts/list.m?topic_id=36300025857&amp;post_id=36300506625#36300506625</link>
<pubDate>Mon, 6 Oct 2008 17:29:44 GMT</pubDate>
<author>Yasamuu</author>
</item>
</channel>
</rss>