Post Post

oh, this post is postponed. apparently i have to play scrabble. now.

Fingers of Grease

Know what's always bugged me? The fact that whales and porpoises have flukes which they move up and down vertically to move in water while fishes seem like they are almost all using their tails in the opposite manner and moving theirs side to side. Unless you are a flounder or some other bottom feeder. But then you know you got your own problems with two eyes on the side of your face and stuff. So lets forget about you freaks for a minute and worry about the whales and teh fishes. Why... oh why do you propel yourselves differently? Plus you whales have those little flipper things. They are kinda weird. IT's like you're waving and flailing about all the time in the water. Makes me worry about you and your ability to fend for yourself and make a proper living under the sea. I guess though the answer lies with Kevin Costner again. It always seems to. Like I watched water world one or maybe more it kinda drug on if you know what i mean for like ever and evar. Anyways I seen the man doing this little swim move where he undulated like a belly dancer on X. It disguisted me... but then it got me to thinkng just now when I was thinking about the little flippers and stuff that maybe whales started out just like he did long ago when the planet was all covered with water after the big noah flood thing and hten whales became masters of swimming like that and gave up their clothes and society and need to walk on land at all and just used their little flippers and big tail just like Kevin did in that movie and that may just explain it all. Doesn't explain about the fishes though. Why did they go off and swish back and forth side to side like. Doesn't make no sense. Unless maybe the earths axis like tilted at some point in the past and the fishes never really caught on... unless you were like an uber smart but really ugly fish like a flounder and then you did and you switched up way way before the rest of them. Being the nerds of the fish world you woulda done that. Maybe though I'm gonna learn you about GPS someday soon with some fishy little brain implaints that are genertically engineered to be wet-wired into your little brains and you'll get really really smart and totaly connnected and have like 100% situational awareness and then you'll rule the fish world beneath the sea and pay me in tribute of degreased fish sticks which wont make my fingers greasy.

Jig

cold. real cold.

a big freaking sterling engine and/or refridgerator in space. so since things get really cold when they go really fast and get far apart, kinda makes meh think about the expansion of hte universe and how it may just turn into a big ice cube in the far distant future. also explains the american revolution. all those british ex-pats getting farther and farther away and diffused from the crown and all, next thing you know they try and have some tea and warm up and find out taxes have done been raised on them. all setting into motion a series of chained effects resulting in a dance of empires through time and space. the dutch on the other hand they figured out how to start a corporation and keep everybody generally at home close and safe and have a stable empire in a different fashion. one doing the salsa the other a jig.

Note to Self

Last weeks altercation with the bread knife has now resulted in a 90% healed index finger.

Due to serrated scarring, several layers of missing epidermis, damage to the dermis and distortion of subcutaneous fatty tissue reliable fingerprinting would appear to be infeasible at this time.

Room with a View

Tis the year of the potato. A legume of largess, bounty and wealth. The type of plant your mom would like you to meet and would be comfortable with your own daughter going out on a date with. Which is to say potatoes are boring. After all who will argue that things which live below ground are generally uninteresting? Names such as russet, gold, and chocolate ginger brown street-cat are used in an effort to enliven and bring a note of hilartity to this otherwise pedestrian vegetable. Please understand I am no potato hater. They have uses such as in french fries, soups, vodkas, breads, vegetable fights, childrens games, accompaniments to meats, pancakes, and such. So yes, it must be granted, that they are indeed versitile. Though I will ask this... when is the last time you added potato flavoring to anything. My beef with potatoes is that I don't believe you've arrived as a foodstuff until you have an artificial flavoring created on your behalf, your hollywood star of fame if you will. Besides, you ever heard of anybody playing for big potatoes?

Magical Xmas Crossing Time

Best use of a Prince album. Evar.

Mens sana in corpore sano

This is funny... ”Place is the greatest thing, as it contains all things”

Sets it's probably not at all like ironic or anything that Set was involved with chaos, storms and the desert. Foundations built on sand

Beneath African Skies

Which part of silence is hard to understand?

The quiet part, or the part where you make up thoughts to fill the void between moments?

To my mind came an unbidden image of something extraordinary. Perhaps world changing. It is a device capable of displaying images. Perhaps scenes, moments, or parts of peoples lives could be displayed. It could be colorful and have sound.

Imagination however is prior art...

... and there is so much more to be done.

Yes, infinite into possibilities collapse, fractals spin into crystal, phi shapes another form, and breath clouds the mirror. Welcome back cosmos.

In the Hall of the Mountain King

Multi-faceted jeweled crowns could turn into quite the rave.

Last night whilst visiting Nuthank in his dimly lit mountain hall a chance alignment of crown, and laser pointer occurred.

Ok, not chance. It happened to be brought there as a result of a traumatic incident involving a Siamese, a game of chase the dot, and the desire to avoid the situation again. The idea was to merely leave said laser pointer in some non-descript location maybe under a doilie.

Instead a full out rave was fomented. Chance brought the laser into contact with finger, chance brought the beam in contact with the crown jewels. The rest they say is history.

Inspired dancing can and does take place when an enraged feline attacks the sovereign crotch regions. The laser on the faceted crown, that was a by product.

Rime

Missing in most treatise is the concept of uni-lateral understanding. With scant exception efforts are made to bring disparate areas into concordance. Notable exceptions include cell-phone legal agreements, memorandum of understanding, religion, non-disclosure agreements and end-user-license agreements. Astute readers will immediately notice that many of these explicitly decree themselves to be agreements. The implication of course being that they are in fact two equal partners reaching a common area of understanding. This may indeed be true in both television and children's fables. However, being the consummate exemplar I shall refrain from stating so with any amount of clarity. Rather, I shall let French Fries illustrate by example (and to whom I would like to take a moment to offer my personal thanks for enjoyment of your tasty goodness). There is no binding agreement between French Fries and their consumer. Indeed I may love, hate, or be ambivalent in my opinions as to their taste. However, the fries get no voice in their enjoyment. They are simply experienced. It is indeed a one-sided deal. Namely, with the clear victor in the agreement being myself. It could therefore be posited that eating Fries, and by extension, eating is an uni-lateral agreement between yourself and food with you the food eater as the prime benefactor in the arrangement. Before you the reader make the logical leap to include the manifest universe, religion, politics, relationships and indeed all experiences in this allegorical bucket of fries it should be pointed out that as you are reading this both you and I are experiencing a temporally disconnected moment of both understanding and discordance. Undoubtedly, the world, the sun, and the universe all are unilaterally going to continue to go about their business of turning, burning and expanding regardless of your opinion on the matter. To which I would like to leave you with one question. In a post modern, narcissistic, self-relative world of manifest outward experience to whom does the rather unenviable task of converting fryer grease into bio-fuels fall?

Viscous Air

Outside every good airplane is a big cliff. Like a really really big one. the kind which is so high you dont think you are high anymore. cept you really are very high, hypoxic really. kinda turns into a hypnotic little trance as you fall through the blackness. what really is bad though is all the light pollution. like sodium is lighting up so much of our skies its like walmart and mcdonalds teamed up with starbucks to deliver diguisting not really light but light light to the corner of your block, or favorite treehouse at the end of the back 40. like that but different. but not all that different. not different like what happens when you start to think about randy quade showing up riding in a red flyer wagon to deliver your milk and paper at 5.30 in the morning. different like what happens when you start to wonder about what is different. like how shades of green start to look green and stuff. next thing happens all the plants look green and pretty much the same. uniform like. then the suburbs pop-up, your cars and trucks start taste a bit weird, as they are no longer made out of stainless steel and lack that really crisp lovely tang of metal. that kind of uniform. army, collective, swarm-like wierd, were everything tastes like tasty wheat. nearly good, but not nearly good enough. then you end up watching instead of living. kinda like plato's cave smacking you down when you headed to the snack-bar and ended up with tasty wheat and no idea where your seat was and then you head back outside and see a whole swarm of furry little lemmings heading right for the cliff, in a furry little cascade of self-locomoted masturbatory conformity. kinda. it could be a lot like that. or not. so next time you all pick up a box of lightbulbs make sure they don't come with strings attached.

TLD... R

Backflow and fibre traces. Skein a world, an organism, a reality.
Octet buckets collecting a digital rain. 63.225.#.#

PHontonic Shredder

Now could be like a big focal point consuming all within itself.

Like the future is incoming photons while the past is the other side
of the funnel... where energy is converted into matter and past time
as we see it.

Like wonder what happens when a photon strikes your retina. That energy
fires up some synaptic pathway after being converted to chemical versions
of Mercury.

More than that though, is light emittance tied to time and space? If it's
really dark is there nothing. Would explain why everybody is so afraid of
the dark.

Daedalus and the Temple of the Seven Lights of the Earth

Cliffs are large and dangerous. So are big towers and additionally,
large edifices of knowledge. Conversely stupidity knows no bounds.
Inversely knowledge knows no stupidity. Or at least pretends not to.

Large dangerous cliffs are intrinsic drivers. Someone will jump. Well,
after climbing up them. So like you got yourself this really big and
wonderful tower which takes the place of a natural cliff... as no natural
cliffs are in the vicinity and you're bored and/or looking to kil yourself
or impress chicks. So now you need yourself a big tower. No worries, you'll
just make one. Not a big deal really. The big deal is then climbing up
the thing and jumping off.

So maybe you make yourself some nice wings. Or maybe you just continue
following the ass of the little rodent in front of you and just try and
make that leap of faith and transmigrate from being a lemming into being some
kind of bird like creature which looks suspiciously like a lemming. Either
way though my guess is it's not going to end well. Unless you're a scavenger
looking for a tasty, tenderized meal. It's not all bad for you though, you
at least are getting to be a team player and participant in the wheel of
life. Chirp, squawk, and babble your way on little campers.

L>oading Symbols

We do what we can because we must.

Your symbol table may be loaded with evil or good.

We're out of beta, we're releasing on time.

Your jump and branch may leap to address misaligned.

There is research still to be done.

Your stack is close to overflowing.

And there is now no telling where it is all going to end.

Pogo stick

IZA one-legged chair a pogo stick? How about in zero-g?

Fundamental Answers to fundamental questions.

Kinda. Allot of its totally bollux. Unless you enjoy re-decorating after each crusade rolls through and destroys all your lovely architecture.

Latibær

Armageddon has arrived. Dear lord, why did I visit Iceland and enjoy your soothing blue lagoon filled with pleasantly warm healing waters? It was to eat whale. That's why. Now you are having your revenge. First you sent manga and kotaku in the form on digital demon enhanced ninjas to appear insides of mine house and attack me like Cato. Despite it all it wasn't something which impressed me much. it was strange and all weird and maybe illegial in countries with children... but now. Now. Now, now now... you've had to gene splice morgan spurlock and paul rubens and those freaky jelly filled primus clowns and their damn beaver into a frankenstien horror of epic proportions in order to fill my head and haunt me. I liked you more when you were tooling around masquerading as Woden. Ragnorok was nice. Predicable and final, epic, good and evil and such. Quite nice. Now what you got going on? A teenie fattie mocking crusader who frolicks with some scary scary clowns. Guess the other stuff wasn't really working out and hell on earth was the backup plan, huh? Wait. I bets you are just tricking me and the next Tanuk video is coming out next week and we'll be good friends again. Though this time I'm not going to lie and get you out of taking the blame for having Van Gogh's or anybody else's ear hacked off. You'll have to own up to it, since you just HAD to put them there in the first place.

Holmes

Sometimes you eat the duck, and sometimes the duck eats you. Though I think it's the year of the phoenix or something like that. So your chances of being eaten by a duck are pretty slim. Not as slim as say running into a vermillion colored horseless carriage driven by Nestor Holmes. Granted, stranger things have happened. So next year sometime the word garage will be superseded. I have a carriage house in my backward. It's also a garage. Someday it'll be an ecohaus or some whacked out fuzzy new hardcore retro name for a place to park your car which is not your car.

Then again maybe I'm off here and we'll simply keep making bigger vehicles until we reach the point where everyone drives an RV like a royal coachman to work so that they don't feel cramped and lost without the most valued possessions conveyed within. That solves the naming problem quite nicely. Also the problem of property tax. Though I supposed local government won't be too keen on letting RV park everywhere without getting there cut. This is really why you're starting to see the backlash against wal-mart. You see, if they really hold to their word and you get free parking in any parking lot at any wal-mart, what you've really got is your own tax-free zone, spread across the country. Not that I'm proposing freedom loving individuals run out buy and RV and start spending all their free times living in wal-mart parking lots. Not at all.

I wonder where you'd register to vote? Guess it doesn't matter much. The board of directors aren't really beholden to voters, just shareholders. Well, goodnight sweet democracy. Good morning corporate america.

Save Now

Buy now, it's on sale. In fact, if you can see it, you can buy it. For a limited time of course. Then it'll be marked down and resold at a discount by a tiered wholesaler. By then, it's cheaper. Not as cool though. Synchopat. Welcome to the intrinsic world of the real. Where purchases are little snow-globes holding your essence, experience and life in statis, stasis, status, untill you'all get bored and throw it away and save more by buying. Offing with a koan. If you take a picture of a shopper, is there a soul left to steal?

The Cake Is Mine

Teflon. Xeon. Xeofleton (tm).

Besides that though there are several questions in need of answers.

Darkness can roll uphill, yes or no?

Beef wrapped in cooked pork and re-heated can be tasty and nutrikious, yes?

Your left foot becomes your right food in the Southern hemisphere, true or false?

Something so bright that your eyes literally roll right off of it?

That's right. Xeofleton.

Just wait till the order of Adamantine comes in. That's gonna be the hull plating,
then a nice sheeting of Xeofleton is gonna make the boat into the best and brightest
float out there.

Bookend

Orange juice. Good for you, tasty, and clearly not what you are. Unless of course youare teh special kind of orange juice which has become both literate and sentient. In which case, I'm really les than sure how you'd also learnt the art of interstellar travel and popped the 63 odd light years it takes to get between your world and ours. Then again, sentient, literate orange juice may just be capable of such a feat. After those first steps that leap across time and space may turn into the instant it really is. At any rate, maybe using the juicer this morning wasn't a good idea. No offense. Really. Not like I could have known that you'd be related, feel empathy for your own kind, or anything. I was just in it for the shot of vitamin C and the tasty and wild sugar rush that follows consumption of pure sweet jiuce.

And again with the chickens and teh kittehz. Good friends they are. Romeo and Juliet, Napoleon and Waterloo, Brutus and Caesar, Dust and Wind, Creator and Destroyer, players on the same ballroom floor. Actors and audience, predator and prey, it's a clear plastic wrapper around the candy of reality. Sugar coated and nice, awaiting consumption. Communion in another place, Time. Cut into halves, now edible, discernable, quantifiable, communicable packets of the greater whole. A refined sugar for your morning tea and biscuits.

I rather prefer orange juice, thank you.

Starshine

No animals were harmed during testing.

Question being... is it really an animal when it's all just protons, electrons and neutrinos.

Ya know, should I be an extra-dimensional being sent here to study this manifold extension into space/time I'd kinda wonder.... like about the perceived differences in all existence.

As it's all the same. Unless you sit inside comparing inside to inside. Insides appear distinct and different when viewed from inside.

Outside looking at inside appears uniform and utterly the same. And actually is.

An apple, crescent wrench, and lithium. From inside look distinct. The arrangements of the blocks creating a differences. Though outside I'm just seeing blocks. All the same blocks, over and over and over again.

Musikal Time Machine

Music keeps really good time. Sometimes it switches timebases mid-flow. Except it appears to always be metronomic and consistently periodic. It would be sweet to steal a time machine and go back and listen to really old music. Before strings and metallurgy and such. Maybe those old old compositions were the inspiration for timekeeping, or maybe timekeeping was the inspiration for music. Either way it'd be ironic and symmetric that your time machine went back to research
music and in the process started creating music. See all you really got to do to build yourself a time machine is to play some music. Do it. You'll see. Back, back, back in time you go. To do it right of course and transport yourself physically back in time is gonna take some pretty crazy loud noise. So I hope you have understanding neighbors. While you're back there please dont step on anything, or give it a cold. I don't want you changing my present into your non-linear, unintentional temporal mistake.

The Golden Wumpus

Once in a land far, far, away there was a tree. Now this was by all accounts an ordinary tree. Indeed, being a perfectly ordinary tree ment that it didn't go to the ATM all that often. In fact never. Not even once. For during it's brief lifespan of 12 and 7/8 years it never once uprooted itself and walked to an ATM. Now of course it never will. At least not in the sense of being a tree. For you see, a supernova in your celestial backyard is a world shaping event. Much like the invention of frictionless steam propulsion. So the next thing you know, this tree is all blasted into molecular oblivion and stuff. Bit's and pieces flying all about the ethers, as the entire planet was forcibly reassembled in a surprisingly large, fast, and rather destructive manner. This little tree ended it's brief sojurn upon it's earth and was replaced by an amalgamation of gold atoms. The kind that form as all manner of forces bend and crush things into things which are different than the things of which they previously were. Now this tree happened to be a tree, now it happened to just be a bunch of gold atoms... winging their way out the vicinity of the cataclysm. As everybody knows you don't mock a wumpus. If you don't, you will. Especially don't infuriate a wumpus who's just eaten half a parsec of former planetary remains and just discovered that it was laced with gold particles. Don't say I didn't warn you. Not like you have any excuse for mocking a golden wumpus, as they are rather hard to mistake for a normal wumpus, whilst giving off a nice radioactive afterglow. At any rate steer well clear of them. You never do know, they could end up meeting up with the golden calf and next thing you know you've gotten yourself halfway to a menagerie of golden themed animal/god-like creatures to contend with.

Are you being served?

In the world of instant communication, television, intarwebs, cell-phones and twisted-pair spooky action at a distance entanglements this critter dares ask the question... am I being served?

Indeed you are my friend, indeed you are.

Electronic mana raining from the heavens, filling your little head with all manners of thoughts. 24/7 entertainment straight cross the pipes and into your abode.

Served like nobodies business. In fact, tis time for contrarian Bob to make an appearance... it's EVERYBODIES business you are into.

Now that the world is your circus and your digital daily bread is delivered straight into your sparking little ne0-cortex of utter impressibility. You ARE BEING SERVED.

More to come

Welcome to vertigo

Cantor, Boltzmann, Godel, Turing. Meet Adams.

Sometimes the restaurant at the end of the universe does indeed serve the best possible BLT.

Question being, is a BLT still a BLT if there is no-one there to taste it?

Though reality is simply a milk-shake, and yes, you can get fries with that.

Oh, and by the way.... This is true. QED.

Ring of Darkness

Wrapping this all up in a nice golden bough for you, so get out your hatchet, ceremonial knife, machete, mace, or preferred trauma inducing instrument of kingmaking

This goes out to you Kurtz. The jungle maybe crazy. You may not be. Though the quest for your absolute pristine white whale of perfect goodness may get you drowned. Or chopped up. Crystalline diamonds are conceptualization wraiths, vivid and bright and without substance.

Good fresh tilled earth would have told you this. So would a hobbit. Though I'm sure a scarcity of hobbits coupled with the iconoclastic rants of absolute infatuated elves contributed to your taking hold of the one ring and binding yourself to it's fate. Maybe I'll just start calling you Isildur. Maybe Saruman. He had his uber-orcs, you had montangnards. Though that's splitting hairs.

How in these tales of the ages does the PBR get morphed to an ill-fated fellowship? Well at least Conrad and Copola got their question answered. Though those are just questions posed again and again and only now recently heard again.

Maybe they had it right all those centuries ago, and it's all just about that crazy little sprig near the spring and power is absolutely corrupting... so you'd better make it's cost terrible and swift.

Sulphur Fries

Around the world there is tea steeping. In my cup too at the moment as well.
Around the world there is music playing. In my ears too at the moment as well.
Around the world there is breathing people. In my house at the moment as well.
Around the well there are lots of living moments in the world.

Tyrone Nicholas

You are somebody else. You and everyone else.
Seems to me to be a bit dissonant.
That you could be named Tyrone.
Then again so could someone else.
However, me, myself, and we are not the Tyrone.
No sir.
Not even Tyrone in the royal we.
Definately not even with green eggs and ham.
Jack or St those could not be Tyrone.
Though they can both be Nicholas.
Indeed both are. Which is quite wonderful.
That you be not Tyrone and just Nicholas.
Especially when it comes to make the money shot.
That's when I get teh confused though. OR used to.
These days I've determined Jack exists, but that St
does not. Know how... taxes. Jack pays his. St Nicholas
does not. No way he'd cross international and state
borders delivering unlimited amount of playful goods
without one form or another of the government
getting their cut.
No sir.

Orinocco Sunset

Chicken = Diet Beef

Diet Beef = Fat Happy Consumer

Fat Happy Consumer = Chicken

So, clearly one can simply equate chicken and chicken as being the same thing. However, the astute among you will not that chicken is not chicken is not chicken. Perhaps someday with advanced cloning techniques chicken is chicken is chicken. Until that august day arrives, heralding a new era of uniform, clean, wholesome, economical, and tasty fried up goodness we are living in a world of chaos. CHOAS!!!! I tell you. It makes me quiver and sad everytime I eats the McGnugget knowing that it's an amalgamation of hundreds of different chickens. Someday my dream of eatting hundreds of ground up indentical chickens shall be bourne out. Chickens come out of their shells. Just like a unix prompt... they all come from somewhere... so maybe, just maybe someday instead of init spawning them it will be a vat of industrial protoplasmic incubatory gel. Multitudes of thousands of billions of identical chickens rising forth from that primordial ooze... and onto my dinnar plate. Num num num. I eat you all my good dear chicken freinds. You so tasty with a bit of cornmeal, salt, pepper and rendered bacon-fat lard. Even more tasty as I can tell you all taste exactly teh same nows! Long live the one true chicken of culinary goodness. Through your flesh we gain everlasting life, my avian culinary friend! May you live a quick and short life, and grace my plate with your presence. It does make you wonder though... if communion is like a cloning thing, and always the same bit o' the creator, or is it more like a special little peice just for you everytime?

Words to Live By

Land into the wind. Do not piss into the wind.

Stop. Drop. Roll. In that order. Roll, drop and stop may result in injury.

Do not fixate on the horizon. Fixate on death or taxes. They don't hurt as much at higher speeds.

Don't forget your towel. A buffered analgesic is also nice. Beer nuts will smooth your landing further.

Avoid large yellow construction machinery. It ends bad for fleshies.

Between Heaven and Earth

Falling is the space between cosmos and chaos.

More after the jump.

38% Remaining

So let me tell you about my boat. It's a barge really. Good coal hauling kind of deal. Not like the Edmund Fitzgerald. Bituminous low-sulfur coal the kind that is coveted. Powder River kind of stuff. Not the cheap 33% more polluting type. It's a dream in this icewater nation. Good haul is gonna end up freezing it in your fridge. Eventually. A bit of transmission, generation, burning, in no particular order, and you got yourself frosty ice.

Curl

How is teh wave? The oscillations lulled you to sleep yet? Or did the final approach take a turn to the side, roll and lapse into a singular orbital point? You don't see gravity. Light neither. Radio, nor TV. Yet the static is there playing in analog glory 24/7. Didn't fall off the world. Yet. And that wave of quanta. Makes real sense. The wave you see it's oscillation. The point it's all collapsed and possibility grounded. What you got going on is a variable differential machine called thine eye. It doesn't see NOW. It sees each side of now. The wave. You don't experience NOW. You experiences each side of now. You are you know. A surfer who does not exist.

Communing with the dead

You are of course. Takes a very long time to realize it.

Once you do nothing will be the same.

That should be enough. Literally and figuratively.

Though the dead don't hear so well. Sometimes like with the hearing impaired you have to repeat yourself.

You are of course. Takes a very long time to realize it.

Once you do nothing will be the same.

Though the dead don't think so well. Sometimes like with students you have to repeat yourself.

You are of course. Takes a very long time to realize it.

Once you do nothing will be the same.

Though the dead don't live now. Sometimes like with each day they have to repeat themselves.

You are of course. Takes a very long time to realize it.

Once you do nothing will be the same.

Furry Leaper

So there is a cat in Providence, RI. Normal.

This cat can tell when the soul is about to leave the body. AKA Death. Also Normal.

The news outlets are astounded. Again... Normal.

Science will investigate. Normal.

Why oh why is this news? Maybe if this cat could talk and claim to be a tulku incarnation of a long dead lama it would totally be news. Since cats don't talk yet... it's not a newsworthy story. Even it the incarnation part is totally true. I'd totally be renaming the cat Bardo as well. Cats with the ability to span worlds named Oscar? Maybe if he was in movies that would be a good name, but it's a sad horribly demeaning name for a pan-demensional being such as this.

Warning: do not read further.

Ok, you're dumb. Now you pay. How long before super sensitive CAT scans are used to read the brains of cats and provide synthesized speech output of their missives? I really really should start this company now, get rich and retire. Everybody wants to know what their pets are thinking. I can tell you though... Oscar he's thinking one thing.... "get the hell away from me". Then when he senses someone is dying and won't be around to ignore anymore he switches to "pay attention to me". Maybe I'll just make a nice shiney box with lights and an LED display. It switches between the two messages based upon a proximity detector built into a special collor that the cats are required to wear in order to "scan" their brain-waves. Nobody will be able to tell the difference between the two-state thing and a real CAT scanner. It'll save a lot of time and development effort... and ultimately lower costs so everybody can have one and know exactly what their cat is thinking.

"Food."

estaoG

Dear Friends,

I would like to offer my condolences. By all appearances your wonderful democratic experiment has begun to falter, if not fail, outright.

This should come as no surprise to the learned. However, it still may come as a shock.

In any case, the rather unfortunate circumstances you now find yourselves in is both unenviable and likely untenable. Allegorically it is much like the quest and attainment of power, an initial rush, followed by the crushing burden of accountability. I fear that the lessons of yesteryear are left fallow both at an academic and practical level. Assuredly this shall close to predictable and pitiable results.

It must be ironic, if not outright laughable, that dictatorship, despotism, and democracy now all appear to be synonymous in the minds of many.

In closing I would simply leave you of the words of Seneca:
What narrow innocence it is for one to be good only according to the law.

My warmest regards,
V

Hot Hot Hot Like Ice

In spinach we trust.

Eat any good organic foods lately? Done any cancer-fighting, food mulching, spirit lifting quaffing of healthful bio-shakes? Maybe you should. From everything I hear you are what you eat. So why not head out and eat the best possible things you can lay your filthy, grubby, chubby little fingers on. I don't care if you are full. Eat some more. It shows everyone just how rich, successful, prosperous and well-to-do you've become. What better way to reflect your societal status than through exposing your size 42 waistline as you bend over to tie your shoe only to straighten back up and realize it's not worth the effort. So in addition to making door width expansion kits, I'm going to look into a shoe tying service. Why should you be terrified of bending over and not being able to stand back up, or worse yet, falling over and rolling downhill and crashing into an abandoned paint factory stockpiled with hazardous chemicals which are released as your rotundness rolls through the flimsy walls spraying industrial effluent about the joint? You should not. I'm hear to tell you that you need not leave in fear any more of typing your shoes. We'll have somebody take care of it for you. Trust us. We are the dependable shoe tying experts. Bar none. Ooops. Hope I didn't make you hungry with that. LOL. Oh wait, that's right, we're here to talk about the wonderus world of good food eating. It'll make you regular, thin, happy and well-adjusted. I seen it on the Tee-Vee last night. How's about you stop blocking teh tube and gets me another beer, eh?

K, CRa, CRa, CRa. Dance for the monkey everybody! And now back to our regularirly scheduled program. Ciao, over, good night, and god-speed. May the road rise to meet you and all your eating establishments stock hot fatty foods.

Magicians

Heimdall and Loki would lie entwined in death, the rainbow bridge bathed in white light, the need for guards gone. The ravens set loose upon the world transmuted into golden dragons. That will be the day the last Magician dies.

Thrall, enthralled... be appalled.

A pallor upon you lies when Magicians are in your parlor. Whispering through airwaves, soundwaves, and ensnaring webs. Their words, thoughts, and voices, floating through your door.

The past is before you, laid upon the table. The future behind, out of sight.

Magicians spin time, hopes and desires. Statuary images to catch and enliven dreams. You've been told the lights are out while a Magician holds a guttering candle in front of the sun.

How about a free sample? How's it taste? Oh wait, you mean I have to buy that?

Magicians... leaders, purveyors of passivity, conformity. The last blast of Gjallarhorn calling all who hear. Magicians one and all. Upon the Bifrost bridge, you'll stand up.

The door is open.

Postage Stamp

Oh you are not certain about stamps are you? They come with Elvis, snowflakes, and Tweety. They just don't come down in price. Ever. Sometimes if I was a super leet yet nerdy kind of person... not to name names Horatio Hornblower.... I would collect lots and lots of them and put them in big moldering books for safe storage --physical and temporal mind you. Then I'd wonder on vacation if my home were being robbed and all my precious collectibles being fenced on e-bay. Thoughts would turn to natural disasters such as locusts, glue eating moths, and Lothar of the Hill people bounding out of the woods to ransack, burn and defecate in my abode. Of course he'd be doubled over with laughter and mirth as he ran back into the woods with my stamp collection under his hairy arms. That's the kind of pressure I don't think I could handle. Stamps are not for me. Plus everytime I buy some I have to go back like a week later and buy 200 two cent stamps so I can have the mail use me again. One thing maybe missing though... scratch-n-sniff stamps. Those I may just go for. Especially in the basement. Put up like a whole wall or walls of stamps and then turn on some Black Flagg, drop acid and thrash myself to death against their sickly sweet smell. Now that's a Friday night. Or maybe I'd use two expensive stamps on one envelope and just waste them that way. Drive those penny pinchers mad it will. Course in this day and age maybe a cost-benefit-analysis of stamp based clothing is in order. I mean how much COULD it really cost to jump out of the shower without toweling off and slather on a bunch of stamp books instead of clothes. It'd be sanitary, clean, and bio-degrable stamps are good for the environment. Win win win! Matter of fact...

FTW! Wear stamps. Hell lets get wild. Fund the war effort with stamps. Do it today. Be part of the solution. Wear War Stamps!

áes sídhe

Dwellers of the Otherworld.
Runners in the night. Cloaked speckled with night-vision. Wraiths lifting veils of dust.
Travelogues of the world. Pieces of eight. Turnings of the wheel. Swapped time slice.
Demigods portray the wares. Travelers to covet. And end up above it.
In loft houses atop the Otherworld.
A suburban mirage. Bought and sold in the market.
Deaf, whilst the pipes play on and on.

Perspective... and not cuz blogger is teh mads

A wave, a line, a point. Which side you on? Kinda matters.
Though they all look the same to me. Gonna stare sideways, straight on, or from within? I'm gonna laugh when you cant tell the difference. Especially once you're travelling the same speed as the wave and it's not no more. Go ahead call the cops. Maybe they'll tell you the world is flat and the earth is the center of the universe. Wouldn't that be nice.

CAt in the hat, not the box

The cat in the box... to bad it's out of the bag now.

See like I'm now surfing on the wave... and from there the perspective is all different. It's just a point. So now what I've got is a quantum collapse and fixed state. I'm surfing your reality. You got nothing but possible waves. I've taken your infinite possibilities and made it mine. My universe, my collapsed waveform. Just me and my wave, and now point. Literally NOW point. Surf that wicked curl BRA.

Dodge Ram Seige Engine

It's a post-apocalyptic narco-oil based economy.

You're all set up someplace, nice and cozy with your women, oil, and lots and lots of razor wire.

Somebody shows up outside your gates one day. They've what looks like a nice big four-wheeled siege engine. Could be trouble.

Then you see it. Dodge Ram. In nice chrome letters on the side.

What should you do?

Laugh, then give them gasoline so they can stop pushing the thing and save face...
or
Open the gates and welcome a potential customer...

Grand Central Station

Once there was this idea that everything was contained within geometry. There was also an idea that God and geometry were indistinguishable... or if intelligible... then the big fingerprints were written all over everything... and geometry was the proof that the main suspect had been there and touched the world. Pretty much the whole mess collapsed. Funny thing too. People built grand central station. Geometry too. You go from there.

Leaves you with something funny... say you're held prisoner in a beautiful palace all your life and then escape and roam the world a bit and sit under a tree after discovering slums, death and women. Yes, sit and sit and sit and think... and come up with what? The exit... or just another track leading out of Grand Central Station.

Say you decided to sit in a cave and watch shadows cast on a wall by firelight. Would you get confused by the shadow and believe it real. Turning round and seeing the source of the shadow would it be real? Or in the game, is the fire, shadow, source and wall all part Grand Central Station... and not really anything more but more fingerprints.

The same with word and thought... all dreams upon the back of a great Tortoise. A lovely creature supported by infinite recursive definition. The manifest and created spilled out of the rabbit hole onto the fabric of space. Num Num Num, is that the langoliers I'm hearing?

Oh but this is funny... I've been riding the subway all along. Stupid A train... next time I'm not getting off and running around Times Square with a sugar rush and jumping on the first thing I see which looks like a train but isn't. Next time I'm walking. But taking a great circle route.

The Blue Shirt Brigade

This shall be the post which once was, is, and sometimes isn't. The attributes it is indelibly endowed with from creation. Which ironically started out with forgetting to write it and writing about the same but different post instead. Pretty much like Schrödinger's left-handed cat. Which if you're like me you've never heard of. Now that it's been named it doesn't exist. If it hadn't been named it may exist... but now... nope, doesn't exist. Altogether a bit more slippery than the fluffy little Cheshire Alice chased from inside out. Similar, but different. Good thing too. If they ever existed in the same plane it'd turn into one nasty cat fight. So one slips sideways through the planar dimension we inhabit, while the other doesn't exist by it's very nature. So maybe it seems a bit improbable that both can and do exist. Maybe everything exists and you lack the pan-dimensional ability to see it all at once. Ask the guy in the blue shirt. Not the one you saw a few minutes ago, no. One of the guys of the blue shirt brigade. Course the problem with finding and asking them is a problem in and of itself. You see, they don't. So much like jumping at the ground and missing you've got to not see and then see. Once that happens it'll all become quite clear and maybe you'll slide over and ask your question. Maybe you'll be lucky and the brigade will stick around for an instant and chat. Maybe not, and they'll slide away to god knows where. There one instant and gone the next. Hold on a second. Oh, too late. Don't be daft... when is an orange just and orange? When it's a blue shirt. Could it be that this post is, is not, and doesn't exist, right now in this instant. Better off that way. Oh, and yes, maybe the last time you really saw a brigade of blue shirts you were lined up at second Manassas in the front picket line. Probably the last thing you saw too. More after the jump. And now it's more. Welcome to the 21st century. Next time don't be so literal.

THe Blue Shirts

The uniform of the uniform. Make sure you wear your BLUE SHIRT. It'll help you blend in with the natives. Flavours of BLUE:

• Plain - total team player
• Checkered - edgy team player
• White Pin-Striped - PLAYER

Is there anything more I can do for you?

SUNdred alice

Lawn Mowed (Complete)

+5 Reputation - Neighbors


Shower in the dark. Things live in the sewers. The ones which ride the night skys when the suns photons arent pummeling them all the time. They'll spiral up and tickle you. Play with your feet, see if you are awake, can feel their ethereal touch. Think it has something to do with the dark and the enclosed yet open space and a conduit to travel in. Makes a nice little track or place to hang out and live in. So it's a comfy place for them little critters.

Excepting when they slither up my drain... I'm in the shower to enjoy the water and nobody gets to annoy me when I'm enjoying a good shower. Especially one where the shrieking allergens of grass are being rinsed away and down down down the mighty Mississippi. So yeah, SUN dread indeed. There are worlds other than these. Suns other than these. Beings of light and dark. Form and non-form. Worlds upon worlds. Literally. And the dark it does have the sun dread. So how's about lighting up about as bright as a few million suns and wiping a city clean of shadow and dark. It's what all the kids are doing these days. Not sure where my little dark friend ended up, but it wasn't near here. Think he took himself a little trip to somewhere a bit more dark and quiet. Maybe inside the salad crisper of my fridge. Dammit... who was I gonna call?

Chessbored Lines

Q: What is obvious.
A: Good Communication.

Like nobody likes a cliffhanger... or connecting the dots. That means
responsibility and effort. Eatertain ME.

All the lines need to be straight and the pieces all known.

Just like teh chessboard. You learn the ways stuff moves, you learn the names of the pieces. Then you and your adversary sit down and play you some chess. You both know the rules. Have a good game and somebody walks away the winner, the other the loser. Except some people don't play by the rules. They are bad communicators. Oddly enough... terrorists were accused of being bad communicators.

Ahhh and now my point. I'll be a good communicator and tell you the last post was about where cell phones are going next. Into your head. Wired in directly. We're going into our heads too. Not many people I know sit around and talk, much less enjoy a campfire anymore. Cell phone conversations... uuuuum yeah. Unlessing maybe in the future they ARE all in your head. Every last bit of it and you ARE the matrix. Then yeah, cellphones, they aren't all that bad.

0x41 65 A 0o101 01000001 equal Cellphone

Campfires are going to burn in your mind. Your own wet-wired instant communication, harmonization, and synchronization with everyone. It's because of you.

Yes, while I was eating an apple and staring at you staring at nothing. iYes, you chattering away while walking across the street on your little cellphone oblivious to traffic, sunlight, other beings, much less yourself. Ever heard of Ypres? Probably not. That's another generation's campfire story and forge, finally flickering out.

iYpres, you'll understand someday after the synaptic wet-wired links go dark and left alone, incommunicado, in the state of birth and death and the meaning of silence comes ringing out clear. The virtual campfire flat-lined, zeros and ones left in an indeterminate state of nothingness.

Rosetta stones, campfires, cellphones, not so different. Its where I find myself again.

Kyrie Eleison

The one spot. Locus Primus.

Except you almost got run over in the crosswalk. So that's why I'm certain the Amish are going to rule against cellphone usage in the end. The problem with Rosetta stones, campfiles, and cellphones is it's not you. That's why, and why the Amish segway doesn't make sense.

2u.

Can't stay in orbit and watch at distance. That's at least what I've learnt over the years from my friends the Pennsylvania woodchucks.

^^^igotitcoveredbutnotreally

ZOMG i totally dont believe my little eyes... i didn't just write an entire little rant
of doom on a singlelineasonebigword and make all teh html and blogger and databases
just run crying home to mommy. tho it did.

next time i go straight to bed and dont pass on the spacebar.

|ways

inside of the lines it's all blank.

inside of the lines it's all blank.

inside of the lines it's all blank.

INSIDE OF THE LINES IT'S ALL BLANK.

cuz the some toad-licking miscreant ate all the filling out my morning blintz in a fit of α-methylfentanyl inspired eating. no. you. can. not. have. my. tasty. cakes.

methinksthatmytitlemebbeactuallyamoviealreadyandotherthanthemistakenideathatimentpipewaysyouvebeennotthinkingaboutsidewaysatall...thoughmebeingthewayiamwhocantellwhichiswhatiswhyiswhence...andjustquitewentmybufferoverflowinducinglittletrantisgonnatakedowneitheryourbrowertheproxythehttprequestheadershtestupidzspelincheckersorrendermachinesorcellbasedhtmlviewersorwapinduceddoom...nobodybutafriedinlardandslatheredinbaconkindaporkedfueledevilgeniussuchasdrwaynemcstuffins....yes....mrwaynemcstuffinsyourdaysofshoppyinganonymouslyonlineatvirtualpronhavensmayormostlikebecomingtoaswiftandtumuluousend...thatisall.

and that is how i learned to love the bomb.

3 miniutes

Sooooo what?

Tell a story in three minutes. How about becoming a poet, minstrel, radio-whore?

Maby selling your shiny gold covered soul to the devil and watching as it's transferred in some sleazy neo-old schkool faux diner by hired thugs with metaphysical distriss would be a good story.

After all a story is.... that a story.

Up/Down rolling into the dark, on through the night, ending up in jersey and making records and poofing up your big rock-n-roll hair for the teenies... mabye that's a story after all.

Digging throught the bottom of the fish tank seems like it may prove otherwise... i just found a bunch of freaking bubbles in that little plastic treasure chest

Caio.

Heavy Metal

Mining meteorites seems like a total waste. Nickel, Cadmium, Iron, in abundance. Problem is, it's all so very far away. So I got this plan. A delivery system of sorts. Step back for a second though.

To the heart of a dying star. Everything you and I are built of comes from here. Exploded outwards and then someday coalescing into our little nature preseve haning on the outer rim of our galaxy. That sets the stage. Our time, place, space, and localized gravity well... which by the way are one and of the same... that's the denoumont. The manifestation at the intersection of matter, energy, space and time.

So perspective... you got it. Mining is a matter of time and space. Why bother sending out a probe to hurl the rocks back to earth when we could just do something much more interesting and fun and change the rules. It's a matter (pun intended, please smirk now astute reader) of time and space. All that needs to happen is a little time travel and rearrangement of metals distribution. Gonna have to be a bit careful with it though. More metals, more mass, different orbit... and earth isn't much fun. More venetian. Can't have flooding and swamp problems like that. Or more Martian. Can't have that either... icy/hot all the time. Not a nice place to setup a budget resort catering to semi-retired eco-adventure-thrill seekers.

Time-forming. That's what Heavy Metals are all about. Drawing reality into a orbital bucket around gravitas. So I'm just saying here... might be easier to take a small, bounded singularity and use it to clean out the kuiper and asteroid belts. You get smelting for free when the whole mess starts to condense inward into it's molten goodness. Siphon that stuff off and you got all the metals we'd ever need. Pretty neat. I'm heading over to the large hadron supercollider later on this afternoon for one of the bringup tests and getting me one of these singularities and starting me a business. Now I just needs a rocket ship capable of lofting out to the heliopause in my lifetime. Somebody built one. Oh wait... I just remembered... gonna be packing a singularity which by my estimation is gonna be putting off one hell of a gravimetric time/space wake field... I'm not gonna be needing to worry none about our local time frame no more. Relatively you're all gonna be on my time as soon as my hungry little gravity monster has gotten enough mass to compete with the sun's frame drag.

I'd send a postcard, but won't. You won't get it. Not in time.

THeocratic DustBunnize

Inside a vacuum, on the other side of a swirling vortex, is a magical world.

The land of dust.

Like our larger world it is inhabited by various physical proxies for malevolent and benevolent beings. Some are formed of cat hair, some of broken and discarded bits of industrial foodstuffs, some of dirt from a distant Sahara, some from your scalp, your backyard. All collected into a neo-polictical organization thrown together by power beyond ken. Sometimes dust eats the vacuum and sometimes the vacuum eats the dust. Sometimes the dust gathers together into a union of dirt more powerful than any one mote. At times the vacuum no longer can hold dust in confinement... and much like a bad Ghostbusters plot it escapes into the surrounding rooms, rampaging, running amok and settling new lands. 1492 in your house. Only smaller.

This all gets us to the point of why dust becomes theocratic. Desire, greed and money. Even dust wants a smiley face on imperialistic, dogmatic, individual quashing behaviors. So viola... a theocracy of dust with a Bunny for a god. Only this is no little god. You don't screw with the rabbit. He's got his own cereal for god's sake. Cartoon too. Now that is power. THe kind of power coveted by those in belonging to other phylumns. The kind of power to manifest at will in billions of televisions, sell cereal and summon an uncountably large army of dust.

Scared? You should be. There are more grains of sand in than can be counted. Once dust and sand form a coalition of the willing not even your beach resorts will be safe. Armies of maids, garbage men, and other cleanup personall will be required to keep us all safe.

Goat Hotel

Inside every Hotel there is a goat.

Metaphorically speaking I'd posit that a collar should not come with every dog.

Indeed, this is exactly how nature behaves. Dogs are born without collars. Pretty much without exception. Not that this is wise for later on, but still, it's pretty much an axiom. Newborn dog = no collar.

Now that we've established this fact it maybe more clear that there is no sane or justifiable reason that goats should have hotels built around them. Even should said hotel include such goat ammenities such as rope, tin-cans, wire, spinach, weeds, shrubs, grasses and all manner of herbz such as are often found in nature.

The astute among you may see the implications this has for Starwood Hotels. Any Billy, Jane, or Job could rush out buy themselves a goat and place the goat on a nice 5x5 section of land, thereby restricting the building of any structure where people may pay a reasonable price to get a resonable nights sleep.

To the point of this missive:

Do goats have eminent domain?

Quasimoto

Quasimoto is not wearing pants.

Think about it.

Monetary Policy

I Shot the Sheriff... Burnin' and Lootin'. No wonder Bob got whacked by the CIA.

Your role is to fulfill the bullshit. Specifically the part about the lootin'. How many river do we have to cross? As many as it takes to move all your money to somebody else's pocket. That's how many, Bob.

Like at one point I thought groups where teh dum. They are. Then it became more patently (and monetarily) obvious that groups and money are ruled by the same social law. Kill them and take their shit. Works for bacteria, wolves, humans, trees, fungus, corporations, groups, governments, you name it. Oh religions too... can't forget that one. Point is, you are either an alpha or you are what I like to call a revenue stream, human, natural resource ready to be tapped. Wolves got this figured out pretty well. So do chimps. Humans though, having a few layers extra tacked onto their neo-cortex have somehow decided things don't work this way, while living under the same laws. Ever wonder what your SUV eats for breakfast? Dead plants and your wallet. Ever wonder what BP/Exxon-Mobil eat for breakfast? You and your wallet. Ever wonder what your wallet eats? Nothing. It pretty much is a one way street with HOV restricted traffic. So you got this large express bus going by about every half-hour full of cash, making no stops till it reaches somebody elses banken.

Maybe you drive a dumptruck, pizza wagon, or hearse. You at least understand you're a conveyor belt. Sometimes you may think of getting fed up and leaving a plane you've got in tow in the middle of the street and just going for beers instead of dealing with the cops, traffic and tolls... and sometimes you may just do it. That's the choice you have. Non-cooperation or starting your own government, religion, or psuedo-legal entity may work, but at this point those cards have been played enough times that everybody is kinda gonna see you tip your hand and beat you at that game before you've even laid down.

So before you get despondent that everything has been done before, remember that it has. Then think about it. That's been done before too. Now get back out there and make me some money.

I am just a buffalo soldier in the heart of amerika.

Loa Loa Mi Amigo

Narcolepsy. Insomnia. Drug-induction. Superior vena cava. Much like the disposable pants I now wear. Despite their being able to nod off whilst driving 90mph.

Dancing with the loa... and then onto the mechanical-bull. Funny thing about mechanical-bulls. Having to take one apart to be able to install it in your basement is a real bothersome chore. Not something to chortle about. Especially without the proper tools. Without the loa... odds are you're gonna end up with a few extra screws loose. Later on after a few beers you'll be thrown off as the thing disintegrates in front of you. So use all the screws.

Shirley McClane did not. Looky waht happened... lots of bad hair days, even worse outfits, and several disaterous attempts at revenue generating pyramid schemes later... and it's back onto the mechanical bull for her. No more crunchy granola trance running through pagan energy channels. Viola, it's the internet, digital, in your viens, your head... synthetic dopamine
on demand.

Superior Dumptrucks

I'm taking everythang. Away. In my dumptruck. Though the sandbox doesn't seem to fit in the dump part of the truck. My solution? Multiple trips. The truck goes into the sandbox. It is filled up. It drives out, dumps the sand and goes back for more. Doing it over and over and over and over and oaver till I owne teh sandbox. My own little sandbox right next to the old one.

What the? Looks like the old one too. Just in a different spot.

This is exactly why everybody is the same. Bacteria. The plastic of the 22nd century. I'm telling you son, you want to be into bacteria. Petrochemical and metal based production techniques are going to be quaint. The future is in bacteria. Bacteria are great. They live everywhere. All over you. Inside, outside and stuff. Pretty much you are a bacteria incubator. Know why this matters?
Because YOU dear reader are a potential factory and goldmine of a bountiful and wonderous supply of bacteria. What could more simple? What could be better? Swiss cheese. But you are not made of swiss cheese.

Bacteria though... they care not for what human is allowing them to chow down on the swiss cheese in your gut. Bacteria, democratic, impartial, your friends, everywhere, and sometimes benevolent. Yogurt. It's what's for breakfast. I'm feeling revolutionary today and going to start an ileum junta. figth the power!

Deep Fried Teens

It is best to keep your turducken in a plastic bag even if it is in the teens. Bugs? Not a problem until they evolve anti-freeze in their primitive little circulatory systems, but there is the ever present threat of tigers and in northerly latitudes, bears. We all know they won't eat what they can't smell. So keep it bagged, folks. For your own protection.

Texas has this weird latin-judeo-christian mix going on, so one would believe that turducken and HPV inoculation would be antithetical. Though like Werido Al is fond of saying, everything you know is wrong. You'd be wrong about Texas as well. Turns out you CAN have your turducken and teenage HPV innoculation after all! Could it be time to re-think creationism? A flat-world? Perhaps the time has come to consider that maybe those cherished beliefs are not sacrosanct after all.

Hey though, I am for mental extensions. Cyborg like. RAM-BUS for my brain. Fiber to my femur. IR, X-RAY eyes, ultrasonic ears. Metallic infused buckball oxygen delivery to my tissues. Sign me up. Now. Human viruses?

Those are so like bacon. Yesterday's news. The news today is deep fried turducken wrapped in bacon garnished with pork-rinds, drizzeled in chocolate ice-cream and frozen with liquid nitrogen. After all I'm sporting a hafnium powered, titanium lined composter for a stomach.

The End

"In deference to you I shall.", Simon intoned.

The daylight was fading. The face of a older man who'd seen more than his share of worries was replaced with something younger. Something more innocent. Something transitory before the night took hold.

"That's the way it is going to be then?"

an imperceptible pause, followed by

"Yes. Yes it is."

Turning, the two parted ways. Gravel crunching underfoot, brightening stars overhead.

Rant On, Ranters

I HAVE SOEMTHING IMPORTANT TO SAY.

Can the pplz delievering my Nigerian Sp4M plz hurry up?

My +INBOX is decidely not full. Probably it is that damn Bayesian filter screwing things up again.

• Dont read your mail
• Dont open your mial
  
• Dont EAT your mail

and KIDZ don't do drugs. DRUGS ARE BAD.

Take me for example. I AM FUCKED UP BEYOND ALL RECOGNITION. AKA fubar'd. Know how that happened? I watched a bunch of drug commericals and smoked a towel.

1. Towels are NOT effective anti-drug spokesmen
2. Towels ARE effective galactic travel gear, along with a proper bath-robe.
3. Towels COULD be made so as to not shed all over the inside of my drier.

Let this be a lesson to you my dearest reader.

Don't send spam, and don't forget ur towelz.

Which Side?

Which side of the planet do you live on?

The outside. Unless you're a Morlock.

If you are a Morlock consider this your eviction notice.

Using my superior technology I'm going to travel back in time and stop this loop of time and prevent your species from ever starting. How's that for genocide? Though technically it isn't, at least relatively speaking. In the entire scheme of things maybe, but since temporally bound sentience is generally incapable of viewing time in that manner it isn't. Notable exceptions being the quasi AI machinamania intelligence of SkyNet, and one Homer J. Simpson.

Crossing paths with these two in multiple instances sure has been discordant... with all the liquid metal, cyborgy stuff and donuts and beer smells eeking out of the resident time locus. Supposing we intersect some champagne and wd-40 maybe in order. I always enjoy being the white-trash party-crasher.

Oh, back to it. Later Morlocks...

and I have half a mind to wipe out your Murlock cousins later this morning, so don't get to thinking your gonna rise up in a sub-species 260K years from now and get your revenge that easily.

Occlusion

Who was it that decided that rather than being into star-rises and moon-sets we'd all spend our time looking at sunrises and sunsets and composing sonnets, songs, and all manner of frivolity and sacrifice to sol? Its a good question. One I have posed to several different species. Most give me pretty boring anwers about nocturnal vs. diurnal and other garbage like that. My friend mr. owl told me 'whooo' though. That made sense. Then my good friends who like to hang out under the millenia olde trees of their cloud forest let me know that it really had more to do with a lack of bio-luminescence than anything else. They've grown up with the benefit of it, and their culture reflects it. Slow, steady, and getting stuff done 24/7. Almost something fed-ex or whatever other company they compete with would like. all except fer the slow part. Then again it maybe their atmosphere too, it's ok for humans, but GREAT for plants, and them being plantlike at a cellular level apparently chilled them out much more than our weird out of the water that birthed us type of evolutionary path. Least that's what they tried to tell me. Not sure it really translated well.

Holler it Loud, Pl3eez

Dont now know, and know now that intrigue leads to more interludes of sanity within the spaces of time in which all is lost.

That my friends is the start of a great play. The playwright, while famous, shall remain anonymous... and should you want to learn or read the rest, well... you're going to have to find the obscure book I pulled it from. Good luck with that. It's not like I went to google and told it I'm feeling lucky after typing in a few words I heard a caffine crazed co-worker spouting about watching tv last night. nope. do it though, there is a chance that somebody will get lucky and find it. then again maybe a million monkeys given a million years wouldn't find it either. should get you to wondering about the nature of words. how many ways can you put them together. are the meanings all the same every time? what would happen if you tested the same sentence on the same person every year. chaos. mass chaos and upheavel. tower of babel type stuff.

Take the phrase, "Please, hand me the chisel." how's that hit you? How would it sound to you should you decide to hear it again in 5 years, 10, 25, 60, 99? What if you died were reincarnated and came back someplace like Peru, didn't speak english, yet heard some wild missionary type say it whilst he was building a new church in your andean village? That's the question. Probably you'd hand him a chisel. Then with forethought kick over the ladder, turn the church into a casino hall, sell trinkets and alcohol, and end up emigrating somewhere else to enjoy the twilight years of your life. All because of a simple phrase. Makes you think words have real power, does it not?

Oh, and ever hear the phrase, "Caught the flu in Chouteau?", now you have. Enjoy it.

DAFf 'o dDILS

Once a shaman decided he liked my living room. However, I did as well. So there was going to be a showdown. I could have told you how it was going to play out before it even started though he of course had his own misguided views of how much ass-kicking an dis incorporate astral entity is able to do, even in the dark and with a waxing gibbous moon in his favor.

Needless to say I laughed in his unmanifest face and dared him to do more... but the problem being that a disincorporate being lacking physical form has kinda a problem doing more than bluster, fear tactics, and showmanship in an effort to displace my will in my own living room. Time and space, my friend, learn them. They are bound up with gravity, and you my friend lacking time, space AND gravity are in a world of hurting when it comes to kicking ass. In the end he packed up and left me and my living room, and it was back to my irregularity scheduled trance session sitting in front of the stereo in the dark. Maybe he'll be back and bring friends. Maybe a pony of something.

Maybe a daffodil would be better. Charm me, regale me with Celtic tales of owls, love lost, revenge taken, and lessons learnt after banishment into flower form for all eternity. That might pique my interest long enough for you to hang in my living room, listen to some tunes for a bit, chill, maybe recline and learn to deal with all the dust mites in the rug, and perhaps achieve some semblance of happiness whilst waiting for the sun to rise.

Though sometimes a flower is just a flower, even when bought and sold on wall street.

Inside the Orange Peel

So apparently eating fruits and vegetables decreases your risk of cancer. Its because these things are so darn healthy for you. Or is it?

One day I noticed that pencils were not made out of wood anymore. They were some weird pseudo bizzaro world type of material which kinda looked like wood. It sure as hell didn't taste like wood to me. Termites, pine-beetles, and anything else which eats wood such as beavers should totally be sad. In fact, if I was a beaver and found out about pencils being replaced with synthetic nastiness I'd likely go chew down a whole forest, build myself a little beaver style bunker under a lake somewhere and hole up for the rest of the century. Though I must admit, beavers are beavers, which I know means they will continue to chew through trees, eat, swim, do beaver stuff and procreate and die. Meanwhile, I'll still be very sad I can't burn or eat pencils anymore without remembering the glory days of the wood pencil.

So now, I'm onto my point. You eat junk food. It replaces fruit, vegetables and other good things in your diet. You get cancer. You die. Now some chowder-heads come along and tell you that fruits are good at fighting cancer. Funny thing... think cancer would be a problem if you'd ever stopped eating real food and started eating the post-industrial slurry of cost-reduced food-stuffs which are passed off as edible and nutritious food these days? Try reading the ingredients list on your food. Trying getting one at all for fast food, and don't you dare buy yourself a beaver suit after doing so and join the "Furries" movement. That will get you into at least as much trouble.

Probably more.

I'm about to go Wikipedia

Flying home the other night I realized I wasn't on a griffin. Took a second though... the perspective, the light, and being a bit tired it all contributed. Course there was a few seconds of temporal dissonance while viewing the road I'd soon, or currently was, driving down while at the same time flying above it. Turns out I did both that night. In real life. Just at different times.

Curse video games. They fragment reality into slices and pieces of experience to be consumed by the imagination. Later they are replayed by the sub-conscious while you're not paying attention. Then you live it again, but from a different perspective. Which is all fine and good. Except that the green earth was never ment to be digitized and stored on hard-disk inside some air-conditioned NOC in a nondescript business park with low-rent.

Should it be, and Gaia will weep and your roads will either be covered in freezing snow, sleet, or rain. Again with the dissonance. This time on a tropical beach in a foreign land. Except it wasn't foreign at all. It was the domain of the Gurubashi Trolls, however it was the wrong planet, wrong time and not at all digital. Other than that it would have been the same. Funny thing vacations. They all take place in the same place. Different physical worlds, sure. Different temporal instances, sure. Same region of experience and consciousness though. Marcus Aurelius said something once about wiping your imagination clean. Now *that* is a vacation.

So after all that you may be wonder what this has to do with wikipedia. Well, it's the same thing. Vacations, information, electricity, light, dark. The same. One is a collaborative effort put forth by individuals, the other is a collaborative effort put forth by individuals. Ever been on a vacation and got annoyed that the potholes were not filled in. Somebody does that. Wondered about the clean towels. Somebody does that too. Wondered about the wikipedia entry describing why 42 is the answer and why a towel is a good thing to carry everywhere? Somebody did that too.

Large Hadron Colliderz

Head for the hillz. Teh LHC is coming to a planet near you. Like it or not if Hawking and his crackpot radiation theory fail us and a stable singularity forms in the once beautiful swiss alps we can all bode adieu to life in our space/time continuum. Manifold space is indeed a strange, limiting, form-filled and mostly annoying place to live with brief periods of respite. However, the idea of being drawn irresistibly and for all eternity towards a single point in the universe doesn't sound appealing to me. Especially before lunch. Especially since before lunch. Especially before lunch. Wait... am I repeating myself? No, that's just a glitch in the matrix. Wait, no it's not. It's me going back in time and screwing with both you, me and everyone we know. Wait, I am not. You are. Stop it you freak. Why are all these people using my words and typing in my cyberspace? Whatever happened to a localized time and space in which everything was distinct, seperate, and made sense? I'll tell you what happened... it became an infinite amalgamation of all that was, is, could be, and will not but is... as we gravitated towards utter redemption at the bottomless pit of the a singularity. That my friends leaves me with one question. Where in the hell can I get a good grilled cheese sammich in eternity. I suspect the answer is Pi. Both the numerical and grammatical versions. I just hope that at some point the endless spouting of eternal numeric randomness generated by Pi and fed back into the feedback generator of the Matrix is enough to trick me back into thinking this reality is indeed stable, linear, and mostly harmless to my being. Oh, guess what. Time for lunch bitxchez.

Charo, Shall we Dance?

Cue the trumpets. Strike the steel drums. It is time to dance.
Consuela loves to dance. She also loves Charo.

Therefore one could conclude that Charo loves dance. However,
multiplicative properties do not apply to latin dancers, nor to
the enjoyment of Pelligrino. This lead to a rather embarrassing
and lengthy exchange between Charo and her Pelligrino last
Tuesday at a cozy, yet vapidly public eatery in Los Angeles.

Seeing it made me wonder what it was about The Love Boat
which made it, along with such shows as; The Power Rangers, ALF,
and The Dick Van Dyke Show, unable to offer a compelling alternative
to public radio. It could be argued that public radio itself is simply
Richardo Montalban becoming Michardo Raliban after review by
an inebriated dyslexic editor-in-chef with a strong dislike for my
writing style. Perhaps it is because Fantasy Island itself was a
chariot conveying the human dreams of immortality, greatness,
public adulation, and fame for an oppressive tax-hungry government
looking to placate it's populace, to other wild theories such as
brain parasites, spread by cats, feeding upon the opiates in our
gray matter. No matter, both are valid suppositions, or at least
as valid as the idea that you can buy a decent apple in the fruit
and vegetable section of your local supermarket. You can't.
(Don't believe me, try it sometime. Then ask Eve which she
liked better). The last truly great apple eatin to occur in recorded history
happened sometime a lot time ago when some greek dude
stole some super special apples from some freaky mad greek
deity type and ended up wandering the lands of the earth in
search of his own home for untold years, before waking up
in his own backyard in the 21st century and discovering that in
fact he had just experienced an interlude of spacial causality
resulting in his disappearance from 4386 B.C. and sudden
reappearance in late 2003, Los Angeles, CA, USA. Imagine.
It could happen to you. In fact, if there is a way for you to prove
it has not I'd love to hear it. Not that I'd believe you.