Dimlight and The Mistake "You-Know-Who" (aka Tubby Tits Nascar McGee) Made

BUT FIRST, an homage. The Black King materialized at D1 tonight. A piece soared from the board; however, it did so on its own accord. Nonetheless, all should break out the St. Ides and chug a mug for the comrades lost in this ephemeral struggle.

You know, some folks have commented on this blog discussing my taste for decadent rhetoric and my penchant for incorporating hip-hop aspects into these mindless, blathering messages shipped off for the ether, telling me that it's the main reason they enjoy perusing my material. I can respect that, and I am honored that such prestigious people would even consider me a candidate worthy of that highest of ideological titles, the well-informed entertainer. But my current situation doesn't lend itself well to jokes, or witty quips, or AA-BB structured insights into the human psyche or a nightmare's contemplations. So, I sincerely apologize from the bottom of my heart if these last entries don't live up to my previous standards of eloquence. Forgive me, maybe? Ahh, fuck it, I know your love for me is unconditional, and I'll return it just the same.

Before you ask, yes, I can see the changes it's made to my post involving Sage and regarding the catastrophe in Los Angeles involving the Ank[PURGED]. I'm not even going to try to repeat what I attempted to say there here, given its tendency to butt it at the most DRAMATICALLY APPROPRIATE times and just shit all over my plans to communicate with my die-hard, battle-scarred yet ceaselessly optimistic readers. What I am going to say is short, sweet, and zips to the point as quickly as the Empire State Building's supercharged elevators reach its 102nd floor.

Dimlight is the main source of all my problems, and the mistake Tall, White, and Ashy made lied in entrusting one of their former employees with the power to get himself ghosted (HA) by Amalgamation. You see, Sage, when you told me that an architecture corporation served as the cover for the "mysterious organization's" methodical investigation of the supernatural and paranormal, it set off enough bells and whistles in my mind to make up for the loss of the fire alarms in the building I resided in at the time, because firstly, Donato in his youth worked with a construction contractor, and secondly, building devices and tools used to commonly move through the Newark Docks in the same boxes as the illicit drug shipments we'd receive back when I was wildin' out and packing high-caliber revolver rounds in all available pockets in the event a newcomer dared challenge my position in the gang. But that's not important. With these two facts and your complimentary knowledge, my plunge into the seedy underbelly of the Internet began, its objective to unravel this gnarly, prickly predicament and find out what company exactly penned me to drop dead from nightmare terror. Suffice to say that the use of Tor, in conjunction with the exhaustion of a few large favors weighing on the consciences of my close associates, allowed me to access some disturbing fucking databases I won't ever post the locations to here, again, because of the Obelisk's shenanigans, and additionally in regards to the many incriminating pornography sites that are clearly visible in the sidebars of the onions I excavated. They call it the deep 'net for a reason, folks.

I started scavenging through the files and came upon the name of Donato. "Dimlight", first company that shows up. Found his entire work history, posted for the underground world to gawk at; only their main branch and subsidiaries threw him jobs. Interestingly enough, they kept hiring him even up until a few days before Sage and I dropped by his abode, and as he can attest, the man did not pack rippling muscles at his ripe old age working as a surrealistic shaman. Fortunately, my work did not amount to naught, for I merely clicked on the "Dimlight" hyperlink and stumbled upon my prize.

It's all there. Jesus Christ, it's all there, and I can't even begin to plumb the depths of their depravity because that impregnable guardian of data bytes, the Cerberus of encryption keys, an AES-256 full 14-bit cipher, rises unbowed in the face of my limited supply of options when it comes to computer wizardry.

Wait, sorry, that right there's using the wrong tense. I -couldn't- traverse the plains of text that inevitably disguised themselves within that encrypted before Sage and I united like a Chinese bootleg Voltron imitator. I despaired for a few moments at this dilemma until I realized that when I pulled that nutso fuck out of that crumbling conflagration that once served as Donato's house I managed to swipe an unassuming manila file folder from his dining room table with (yep, you guessed it!) the words "DIMLIGHT" hastily scratched into the header. Coincidentally, there just happens to be pages and pages of massive, almost onerous passwords, all neatly divided into subsections and then conveniently not matched up with their respective data files! So, yes, most of my night will be spent puzzling this out after I post this entry and slowly unlocking each and every piece of Dimlight's undercover Terms and Conditions. It'll be just like using one of those puzzle decoders, except all the letters are passwords and they'll lock themselves in once you match the pair together correctly. So it's much easier. Man, everything seems to get easier as you keep doing it, like drugs, sex, and deciphering the key to your overarching survival. Damn, adulthood ruins the fun in everything!

But that's the real deal, that's the real issue. Besides all the other real issues I'm forced to confront.

Ahh, fantastic! One password separated, out of...fifteen left. Well, gotta look on the bright side. Let's see what's to offer in this veritable megabyte pinata.

Back to the study hall we go,

Snore-De-Bliss