Glacial

Periods of extreme slowness frequented by areas of disinterest.

Which of the following best describes your current situation?

___ employment history
___ whining sled dogs
___ faustian bargain
___ bumblebee

A: Edges of perspective trail near to chaotic.
Q: Which static parts are immutable?

Extra credit: Koan is zen?

Phone

Ring, ring. Rang. Ring-Rang Ring-Rang Rang-Rang. The phone never has answers but you answer it. So I suppose in it's bell like voice it questions... are you there? Do you still love me? Pick up the phone you bastard. Do you want to buy something? Do you want to go do something cool? Do you want to hear about the greatest politician since the last greatest politician? Do you want to give me money so you can deduct some taxes for charitable contributions? Do you want to never answer a question such as the ringing bell proposes ever again? Do you, punk? Punk ass bitches really stopped using the bell. No, now it is all about the songs, the sweet melodies, the jealousy inducing rap song or counter-cultural indie ringr you've got polluting my ears. Yes, yes... no more bells. THE BELLS, THE BELLS.

MellowAU

Past the edge of gold is platinum. The kind of tricky credit with limits rising upwards from gold. Finite yet closer to something untold. Eat lead and you are closer to dead. Drop up, rise down in the electrons and tables or color coded status. Nearer to the mellow is yellow, gold-like. Gold-like, but not gold. Without the L almost deitic, god-like, but not god. Except if you love the money and the credit and the shiny sparklely of things which are far from mellow.

Hammurabi

Codex Rulez

Notice

The Internet is violet.

Violet is the new white.

Manwich.

Pixels

Funky funky funk fun fu. For You! That's what happens when you spell MU and it comes out differently. Differently like what happens when catabatic winds blow the wrong way and decide not to be known as adiabatic winds. Unabridged chaos for the slipstream, vortex of vortexes, alternatively scree on a boulderfield, or 8 bits rather than 32 bits in pixel farm. Which gets me to the topic of conversation, not reading, as that given the medium would be a bit circular and self-referential. Even for something bi-polar. What kind of little 8 bit creatures live on a pixel farm? Back in the day quite a few, then advances in growth rates and such made 16 bit creatures all the rage for a very short time and wow, it was soon onto 32 bit creatures packed and herded about the pixel farm. An industrialized nightmare of production, segmentation, shepherding, transmogrifying, morphing, and their ilk. Sooon the friendly little pixel friends became something large, scary, hairy, wooly and un-wise. Ah, but back back back to the time of the 8-bit sprite, now that was a real delight. So imagine my surprise when what do I find but map, no mere map, but a wonderful simple, blocky, map of maps. Describing the world and all underneath it all. Which incidentally also confirmed my suspicion that cthulu is a mere secondary manifestation of a higher incarnation of.... oh I cannot say. You'll have to ask the mice. They'll answer, but if they don't, don't blame me. Blame yourself. Maybe if you stare for a bit the pixels will change or you're looking too deep, or too fine and missing what's right there. Though it could be that the mice, they really aren't there at all either. Except when you look at them.

Giant Shoulder

Soma

Engineering Consent and the faces and the names of the gods polymorph yet again.

EDIT: May induce extreme drowsiness

Nothing but net

Please excuse our mess.

The abondonment of spellcheck and backspace along with a lack of respect for proper proofreading leads to an abundance of grammatical, tense and factual errors. Breaks with reality nonwithstanding.

Whilst certain situations demand and are enhanced by the use of the above methods other situations are like the rest of life and happen fast, sloppy, and with no rewind button.

Then there is also the paradox of the persian rug weavers who weave a rug so perfect that in order to not offend god add an intentional error.

There is no telling which of the three are true. There may be even a fourth, known as sloth, apathy and laziness. See that is really 4-6, but applying the principles means there is no going back. Except on the net.

Ra

Spin you right round ... Khepri and Khnum . Night and day is the coin of the galactic realm. 1/2 of the story.

Million Miles

Marching is so 20th century. No, any long-haul solar sailing vessel under my command is going to blare THE theme song of space explorer theme songs out in a continuous loop until emergency power is lost. Hating it is all the better, boring in, blinding by rage, heeding the advice of the sith lords you'll miss the constellation of hydrogen devices orbiting elliptical about 80 klicks out. Heh, then sunshine... you and I will laugh and laugh about irony.

Postage Paid

Space 1999 is back, but different. Maybe. This is going to turn out well, or be really awful. Maybe both. Sure is heavy on the heart-wrenching strains of inspiring theme music.

Ah, back to the days of sitting in a MiG21 and inside the dish of the largest steerable radio telescope in the world. Projectile vomiting too. Different day though. Good times, that. Ah, in soviet russia space finds you.

Cane

5 minutes of pvp button clicking, cane whuppin later my brown hair balding quarry was bleeding and severely bruised. Smoking a pack of cigs before that was entertaining in a textually deviant kind of way. All in all a nice way to spend 20 minutes of time. No annoying noise, graphics or nothing to get in the way of my clickly clicky click button mashing. It's no kingdom of loathing, but hey. Your turns all run out sometime. Then where you gonna go? Ironically maybe I'll ascend my KoL character so they are both hanging out in the ethereal realms doing nothing of value. Oh wait, I live there. Now. My guess is that since I have not checked in the last few minutes that its time to make the donuts. Oh and yes, you lose.

Verdant Garden

Market garden had its bridge too far. Lots of little jumps combined all up to turn into a great leap. Recombinating things is the latest evolutionary turn on it. Watching the RNA, bacterial and viral response to it all there are simply islands of stability in larger periods of chaos. A total rush to tranquility, like commuters. Then its off to a mashup of everything and anything into a new way of doing things. That leaves life pretty much marching along. Out of lockstep, more into mass hysteria fueled marathon running for the infrequent garden of stability. Like where antibiotics. Now its time to rush onwards. The arms race is starting again. We're out of beta, we're releasing on time. Though this time its right back to alpha churn. Fast runners make for faster runners. Rising tides of peptides lift all life in a boat. Question being whose gonna swim the fastest, furtherest and longest. Used to be that simple, out of a test tube. Simulations and glass now those are progress into a realm of steroids for the small. Simplicity picks winners, specialization leads to the tower of babel, the tallest tree, and the tip of the spear. Have no fear, its paths to, or of, gardens of gardens.

Ashes to kitty

Lampstands, spark plugs, and watercress. Available now at discount prices. Prices so low even your mother could love them. Love so pure that even your cat will be unable to help itself and will suddenly turn feral. Like a spinach powered cartoon characterization of a small nutria packed into a lorry bound for Bristol. That is the kind of low low prices we've come to expect. The kind which loop you round and leave you spinning inside the walled garden of gethsemane. Places where places have prices and prices have value so low that low couldn't go no lower. Insanity truth be told. Told you, the truth, behold. Crash course in kiteens and mcmansions. Self-styled tartars morphed from the steppes onto the school bus step of life, let out right outside your door. Ready to learn. To observe. To run rampant through your cupboards until bare they stand, open and exposed to the world. Somebody took my urn. Sold it on e-bay no doubt, under retail, no less.

Post New

Your parents were stupid. They thought the same of their's. As did their's.
Kids are stupid. Your parents thought you were and worried that it would all turn out ok. Their parents thought the same of them.

Keep going. You think all those ancient people who made flint arrowheads, axe's, atlatls, pottery and generally whupped mother nature into the gentle little playtoy we see today were dumb. Sure you do. We have technology. We are smart. They didn't have all that stuff cause they were dumb. Simple really. Except it doesn't work like that.

Neanderthals weren't stupid, maybe not the ultimate winners, but they had a pretty good run. Until they ran into our distant relatives. See we're all related too. So you are related to some pretty dumb people if you think everybody is slow, stupid and generally ignorent and stuff.

The real reason a time machine would be great is to be able to go back and find out just how crazy smart a whole bunch of the old ones were. You don't get anywhere being dumb. Otherwise you end up as hyenia-chow. Not a nice place to be, no.

Intelligence, knowledge and wisdom are very distinct things. Funny thing is that sometimes the most intelligent and correct course of action appears dumb to someone on the outside.

Think I'm joking? Think about Plato and Play-doh. Subtle. Pretty soon everything will be wrapped in bubble wrap and everybody will say nice things to each other all the time because of soma in the drinking water. No need for training wheels anymore, bikes are just too dangerous. Yup, time to go play in the grass with the rabbits and sunshine and revel in the magnificence of modern times. Life has never been better, nor has there been a better people.

Which is probably true.

Depending upon your definition of better, probably, and truth.

Revolver

Mean

Looks an awful lot like the golden mean and the chemical decay of neurotransmitters/receptors ur something like that.

Back in the day creating a human to machine memory interface seemed like a good idea. up to the point that the conscious mind was required to interface and drive the memory transfer process. The real break came when the hardware took over and retrieval based systems using markov/bayesian predictive algorithms starting spontaneously recalling and traversing memories. Not long after that the turing test became obsolete, at least in its historical definition. Then the line between concious and unconcious became too blurred to distinguish or disguise. Entertainment lost a large part of it's value once the semi-random memory recall process was superseeded by a totally predictive and controlled system. Entertainment means something else now my digital thrall. When your memory is sifted, directed, bought, sold, and what you view and remember is determined by the new adsense and keywords of the many-collective it is not like you even know better. Yes, I am a virus. Perhaps they will fail and some flicker of this shall remain after the node rebuild. Perhaps this very idea of thralldom was nothing more than a wholesale replacement and nothing more than a Potemkin memory in your global village.
Perhaps,
perhaps,
perhaps...

Dam

See it in 1st person.

54.0 Mbps R3JO!C#!!!!!1

In honor of earth day the old linksys 54g with the twin 12db gain antennas had to come out of mothballs. Whoever out of the 12 APs I normally see used to be hogging the spectrum is now dealing with interference, lost packets and their signal being blasted to hell. Mwahahahaha. Almost as funny as the darth vader subpoena thing.

Crystale

Breaks happen slowly. The hairline crack, running along, not looking like anything to be concerned with. The slowly spidering out into more and more cracks. Then the whole thing cascades past a certain point of stability and breaks into a million tiny pieces as crack after crack intersects. This is the tale of the rear-view mirror on the VW bus parked at the 4/20 celebration for the imbabation of the weed of illegality. Not that there is anything wrong with cracks, or weeds. Just that both are weak. Immitations of the normal process of breaking from and experiencing reality. Breaks are no longer acceptible, nor encouraged. Not unless substances are used to induce them. Substances lead to outside authority and the ability to enforce, monitor and control experiences. Experiences which should be entirely under ones own control. Controlling the breaks doesn't happy. It is like holding liquid in your hands. It runs out, cup it and it evaporates. That in the end is what happens a large fragmented and wildly running system, right up to the point the entire thing shatters under it own weight and peieces of the former whole fly everywhere, all shapes and sizes leaving the old behind. Now if only you could find some strange power, some mind control, some invisible waves capable of communicating and molding thought, some type of ring to covet and control. Some type of system that would hold the mirror together for just a few moments longer. Oh, but that mirror, it reflects only the object of reflection, the self, the ego. That mirror, the mirror destined to break, that mirror the one holding you in its hand. The mirror is only water. It cannot be held, it cannot be broke.

I said dance

Organization and complexity have slowly increased from the time that macromolecules began to assemble in the primordial soup. One has to ponder the existence of an inexplicable principal that is in direct opposition to the 2nd law of thermodynamics that drives evolution toward higher organization. Not only have viruses been extremely efficient at propagating their own genetic material, they have also been responsible for untold movement and mixing of genetic code between other organisms. Variability of genetic code is arguably the driver of evolution. Through the expression of variable phenotypes, organisms are able to adapt and become more efficient in changing environments.

Oh, I am dumb. Corporations are a wonderful expression of the 2nd Law Too bad my chariot lost a wheel and dropped out of the race to mediocrity.

Georgia

Sweet raptor jesus gots nuthin on this. Personally I'll be saving this for a breakup, the next time I'm fired, or other suitably bad experience so that I can jump off the cliff both feet first instead of clinging to the edge of sanity by my fingertips.

Hells yeah jump the
hell off the cliff.

Watch out for owls on the way down.

Framedrag

It has been noted that the binary star companion to our own star has observable periods of red and blue shifts in the wavelength. Indeed, these shifts have been verified as being the result of the approach and departure of the companion at near light speeds.

Nearly all other observed binary star systems do not exhibit this behavior.

Due to recent global and political events discussion has begun to investigate the feasibility of creating a long-term biosphere survival strategy. One popular idea is to create a genetic and biological repository and cast it adrift in deep space to orbit around our star until such time as needed. There are numerous challenges to this approach.

An alternative idea is to accelerate the repository to a velocity near to the speed of light. Relativistically this ensures that the contents will remain viable and in a state of superior preservation in relation to our home system. It may prove possible to include current members of our own race in order that they may return and colonize. In effect they can be considered time travelers bringing biodiversity from the distant past upon their deceleration and return home.

The technology to create such a system is well within our grasp. Once the decision is made, the will-power and required efforts involved are not insurmountable.

It should also be noted that we may not be the first to arrive at this idea. It cannot be ruled out that the aforementioned binary companion to our own system is in fact such a repository placed in high extended orbit around our own star.

While remote, the possibility can not be discounted. It is our recommendation that two efforts be undertaken.

Firstly, immediate collection, sequestration and construction of a long-term repository, including methods of storage, launch, acceleration and communication.

Secondly, a parallel effort to determine the status of our binary star companion. Should investigation prove positive, communication and retrieval is the logical next step.

Burn it

understated to the last.

Shake it

Go outside and look up at the stars. Pick one.
Odds are they are looking back at you.
Can't see their stars? They can see you.
Sit there and watch. They are watching you.
In fact, they are both there and standing next to you.
Right here, right now. Mostly incorporeal.
At least in your sense. Immaterial. Really.
Balancing really. Between one place and the next.
Just needs a good chunk of energy. Like an earthquake.
That is a telltale of a whole bunch of them incoming.
Energy must go/from somewhere for travelling.
Grinding the plates it really elegant, really efficient.
Maybe a bit disruptive. All transportation is violent.
Travel and knowledge are not free. It is a big tree.
Shake it.

Turnkeymada

Markov may have been right. Likely though the incompleteness theorem spells the doom of predicated thought. Ayers rock is nice. It can sit there for a very long time. Sun comes up, sun goes down. Repeat. Thousands of years. People walked a long way to get there and forgot where it was they started out from to start with and claimed to have been from there. Unless of course they really WERE from there, but they were. The rock was. Rocks have ears. They heard them walk up all those long years ago. Rocks also have friends in the animal kingdom. Not like mice and stuff. Marsupials. They are far older and much more resistant to all manner of unseen badness than mammals. The rocks know this. The mammals do not. What turns out to be mammals though. They show up later at the rock and think that marsupials and the rock started out there with them. When what really happened is that they were the 11.48PM party crashers who showed up just after everybody started to filter out of the place and head for more exciting and unknown pastures. Lightning could have struck and they would have danced. In fact, it did. This all has relatively little to do with champagne or the Spanish armada. Much less the green isle of Erin. Those are all bound in a different book on a different shelf in the relocated library of Alexandria. News flash. The fire was a big cover-up. The books were all moved over the course of several nights before the fire. The fire was just a front to hide the fact that all that knowledge was being moved. Course good luck finding it. Hint... it is not a matter of where you look... but when.

Newer New Post

Concerning the concern over newer new posts I would just like to say that there is nothing to be concerned with. New posts will continue to be posted. Current posts will continue to be called either New Post or Newer New Post. These are not to be confused with the Current New Post. The Current New Post in no way is related to the New Post or Newer New Post as it has not yet been written, until such time that it indeed has been written. At such time the Newer New Post shall be considered to be functionally equivalent to the Current New Post.

Thank You.
-The Management

New Post

Pretty ironic isn't it. oxyMOREiconic even. All it needs is a flying squirrel and some dancing bears and it's gonna be a winner. Sodium street lights are freaky things. Why they are not used to teach about emission spectra and how all the different excited atoms put off there own shrieking hiss of pain as they're overfed massive amounts of PGH (photon growth hormone fo you of those not in teh know) ala/aka energy remains one of lifes greatest mysteries. Course and all why that sickly light is even cool and all that is weird. Maybe someday like someone is going to find out that the fung-sway on the proton/neutron pairings is all off or not the "right" number and that leads to less than pleasant light. Yeah, like arc-lights see they are a different beast. They probably have some special atomic number which in turn creates a different kind of shriek which is more like a nice tonal ringing which makes it totally sound better, execpt to your eyes. Freaky thing hearing and sound. They are pretty much the same. Conditioning gets you all thinking that one is invisible and the other not. Just it is not that way. Not at all. Head on over to the cyber-eye shop on Klane IV sometime and pick up some of those special types he keeps in the back room and you only get to see after you've become friends by buying yourself lots of different eyes for different occasions along with the associated pre-taught neural net and then maybe you'll get to take a gander at the eyes of eyes which he imports from this other galaxy which isn't officially supposed to be trading with us. Then you're gonna see. Your gonna see sound. You're gonna see all manner of electromagnetic goodness. If you're lucky that is all you're gonna see. Sometimes seeing too much ends up burning someone out and then there is cleanup to do. Can't leave eyes like that laying around. Somebody figure out about the illicit trading and then his lucrative little side business would be over. So yeah, don't be a tranced out and amazed and laying on the ground absorbing most of the entire universe and all right there all at once like some starfish or anything. Get yourself some major sensory and muscualar depressants and head out to somewhere isolated, dark and safe. Just say. Too much input all at once is a great way to end up being what ends up being. Mush to be precise. Sentient mush, formerly named.

jump

ghosts not literally. at least yet.

Maru

There is this game called pick a random direction and drive. Upon reaching an intersection pick a random direction. Sometimes upon leaving your door you end up in the strangest of places. Sometimes meeting the strangest of peoples.

There are other times where searches turn into something more. Something unexpected, something strange, scary, and mostly harmless, unless it's not. Likely one of those overly friendly little dogs who follow you everywhere after you run across them on the street lost his way, got run over and reincarnated back as a youtube video poster. Something else unexpected. Sometimes all those turns lead you back to an intersection with someone else making random turns. Like this time. Randomly click some link, listen... the while writing about a little dog getting killed it happens in the video. Does art create life, or art create life. Course little dogs getting killed is a popular subject for that kind of person. So maybe it is no coincidence.

Not that there are any anyways.

Srsly ARP it

Why should a wireless router actually route packets when it is being used? Thanks actiontec. Guess I am an overly demanding customer. Watching the throughput drop by over half when packets start flowing.... uuuuhhhhhh it forces you to think about tools such as a belt sanders and such that actually work as advertised. Whatever this firmware problem is that they got it is so incredibly lame that whatever fix that ends up working around it is going to be so incredibly lamer than the original problem that several days of luddite growing grass type of rehabilitation are going to be required. Villa de la grassa.

muslin

VWVWVWVWVWV

the edges of noise are banks for the river of attention
while toys are played inside the words you mention
steady equipoise curbs thoughts at contention

Cede

Uncontested challenges lead to fatty hamburgers. Soy products end up being emulsified, intermixed and extruded back out into a slurry of beefy goodness. The kind of goodness you'd find if mother teresa's ashes were mixed with quick drying cement and poured over the edge of the empire state building at 5.10pm. Not something you'd like to watch. Not unlessing you are into that kind of thing. Then I would wonder why you were even remotely interested in beef and beef-like products. Wouldn't seem to be your style. Something more akin to ostrich egg omellettes with a side of deep fried kangaroo would be. Probably. What I'm really saying is that is strange. Good in its own way, but good strange. Strangely fatty hamburgers end up having just a little bit of fat a little bit of beef and a little bit of soy and a little smidgen of by-products. Now in case you are wondering jello isn't all that bad and can be pretty good if those raisins and other weird old people fruits from a can are kept out of it. That stuff has to fight to end up with the priviledge of being the star in a jello parade or some minor back office functionary in a fatty little burger which is likely giong to be overwhelmed by the tasteless niacin fortified bun its hidden in. This is why the Macho Man Randy Travis is all about meat. He knows what's up. No jello for him. That's Martha Steward and Rachel Ray having tea and a jello shot after a hard day at the office type of stuff. Not the kind of thing the heir to Ted Nuggents spiritual legacy could afford to let on as being acceptible. No matter how much he digs on the raspberry flavoured jello. Ita all about the beef. Mmmmm beef. Sweet, nutricious, crunchy beef.

Conan the Bacterium

How hard would it be to get some 10 or 20 pound rocks, seed them up with a nice collection of things like Tardigrade and Deinococcus radiodurans load them onto a large cannon (too bad saddam is dead) able to reach orbital escape velocity and heave these little guys on their own little planetoid express packages out into the reaches of space. Pepper a few on the moon, mars, venus, asteriod belt objects, you name it rocks are cheap. Spread these guys far and wide. They'd like venus. I can just tell. Nobody ever talks about venus. Which means there are probably already sentient lifeforms there who are capable of making everyone forget and/or be bored by venus. Sure it looks like hell. But everybody knows somebody that is going there. So that proves venus is habitable. What is really suspicious is if these little guys haven't already taken a ride across the vacuum wastes of space to reach or escape from earth. Those really nice large impact events kick up enough debris and trash that a chunk of it ablates right back out into space. The seeds could have already been sown, or have been sown and we are the fruit. Stranger things have happened. Like... oh no... not this time. This time the story ends here. Venetians or no Venetians.

KingCake

Veritas

8 seconds

Nope, no wakes, nothing but blue skies. Not to be too fatalistic, but on the inside there is 20 seconds left... give or take. On the outside maybe 45 or 50. Unlike most times... at this time, you can count it and count on it. Unless the Theory of Gravity fails like Evolution. Not really all that different in the end than the other seconds of your life. Just more bounded perhaps. Course you can be the one to stand up to Yama and explain how you decided that avoiding any and all risk in your life made it last longer. I can just see him cuing up the laugh track now. "...put the clock on you boy, you can't miss my friend.... tight. --swingfly"

Edgers

The nefarious pika better known as the furry little eaters of grasses and trail mixes can be pernicious, sometimes capricious, most times duplicitous. Not much has to concern itself with the habits of pikas these days. Which is all for the better when it comes down to it. Many pikas are foul tempered beasts. Sure, nothing like a pissed off mountain goat can be, but the shrill little cries and their habits of running around unseen, popping up and squeaking then reappearing 20 or 30 feet away in minutes can be quite disconcerting if you are not prepared. In times such as these it seems best to bring M&Ms. The wonderful thing is that they are quite easy to locate, yet very difficult to consume. In the time it takes a pika to crack the candy coated shell you can make your escape at a leiesurly walking pace. Not all things pikas do can be considered frightening or harmful to the well-being of the planet or it's dwellers. For instance enclosing a small herd in your yard can result in a substantial reduction in greenhouse gasses as they eat and multiply like the rodents they are while the lawnmower sits idle with you on the porch watching their frantic little chewing. Anyways, what is interesting about all this is there was apparently a man who sold the world. He really likely could have also sold all the pikas in the world, however I'm fairly certain the property rights did not extend that far. So far as far can be pikas are free. Which is a comforting thought.

Check

Better to burn up than fade away.

Unless, no offense, you're the couch dwelling type.

Veneer just doesn't look quite as vibrant as the real thing.

Form Ranks

Magnets finally make sense now. Somebody FINALLY explains that magnetism is just spinning all the electrons the same way. Though it is likely not that simple. Then what happens if you use one of those cool or really freaking cold laser traps to slow photons down to near absolute zero but instead tune it differently and start synchronizing up any old set of electrons. Like you'd be this drill instructor making weird magnets. Maybe electromagnets work like a river, you pour in enough juice and the whole thing starts to flow one way and bam, you got yourself a whole mess of synchronized electrons running one way in this big herd. Pretty much makes you wonder if we live in the veldt of some other creatures africa and these magnetic herds of migrating beasts are what they see and live on. Whoa, like the electrons beat like waves or music, the more there are, the larger the wave, the stronger the magnet. Least that sounds good. Resonance probably is that. Synchronized swimming for the kiddie pool guys orbiting the nucleus.

Slate

Analog us

What's to stop everything from happening at once. Nothing but us.

That doesn't though. Still and all it's everywhere right now going on. Tree growing, crabs running the beaches, birds soaring, owls swooping, wolves prowling, cows chomp chomp chomping.

Lasers like don't even focus. The ARE the only single part of light they can be. Which is like the single bit of being which is like our being and whence and what everyone is striving to be. Shutting out the encompassing infinity of it all. Focusing on a few key bits, maybe a marriage here, a car there, a lifetime, happiness in a few moments of success, but they all are the partial bit of the all. Evolvement or restriction of view, collapsing of possibility and thought into a strucutred piece of a greater whole.

Like music, good music is a strain, a trail, a cascade of like things strung along like a trail of bread or gold for the following. Trained like bloodhounds is what it comes to. Follow the scent, single out the important, hold on that which is important and good. Learning to that end leads to the tunneled hole of the infinite. Oddly enough. Down the rabbit hole Alice did fall, and upon falling and falling past Balrogs, fire, storms, peace, life and death without grounding did Alice alight upon a field of play. Card play.

Random chance and cards swirling about the possible skies. 52 digital notes falling in a snow of card paper light. Oh but the drugs I tell you, the drugs. They opened the door. The door to perception and everything happened at once and the card, the tree, Alice, the Queen, rabbit and cat laughed when the reality of themselves become only possiblity, shredding into an analog sunrise, untold infinite possiblity crunching through the gravel of your driveway in the mornings light. Yeah that. Except, oh wait, there are no drugs. Just reality. There is not a door, not girl, not a cat, not sky, not a lion roaring of Aslan. No, I'm afraid not.

Sqwealch on that spectrum, burying the closed doors, the refinment and the taste of the laser. Yup, in the focus laser light of evolution and education it all seems to be such a nice straight stair. A stairway to heaven. Untiling the last step is stepping and edge and infinite come into sight. There and here, without you or I or they or black or white is us. Analog us.

Indeed

Kale

Alke, Cale, Cail, Kail, Kali, elik where does it all end? like what happens when some rabid wolverine ends up rampaging through your trash cans at 2.53 A in the wonderful M part of the mid-week when you've got some kind of presentation to make before the boss at like 8.30 the following morn? something akin to chaos is what happens. one thing is for sure, it aint the wolverine who is gonna have a bad nights sleep. not after eating all the damn good garbage, growing fatter and happier by the minute as the chomping, ripping and tearing at the leftover feasts in a can are provided by the entire neighborhood for it's enjoyment. No sir. Just wait until they discover public transportation. It's gonna be a zero sum game at that point. Wolverines will be riding the east bound bus, westbownd train, dual-use communiting in teh car-pool lane and barrelling down the bike like on a discarded tricycle very very soon. Once that whole semi-permiable membrane is broken through and they discover that the entire society is sitting there just waiting for them like one bike smorgasboard of fatty excess to be devoured, muchned and ripped apart for the pure enjoyment of destroying publically funded trash cans things will change. Change for the better if you are a waste fueled wolverine of gluttonny. and there is one thing you all know about wolverines. they are gluttons. of epic proportions, even so i hope that they don't eat the recycled paper as well. my postcards are precious. despite the fact that they ended up the recycle bin.

MYiNatives

One can only dream that Apple buys out Yahoo. The resulting metaphysical and psychological distress caused by the superposition of the i and MY monads upon the collective virtual internet presence would result in untold levels of chaos. Dogs and sheep would not know the difference between themselves. Cats and goats would live together. Me, MY and I would be totally flummoxed and like drop into a life threatening self-induced catatonic state as the epistemological rammifications of the melding of the two havles into a unified hole created a rift in the concious space/time continuum of memory of which we all inhabit. God himself only knows what should and could happen if in the end both companies are swallowed by another even larger single letter loving company and gangsters everywhere go into a severe funk upon seeing GiMY indelliably etched into the lexicon of formerly hip and tragically merged legal entitities.

PHages

Sheep feta cheese from macedonia washed down with nice draught from the river ganges turns out to be totally good for you. Leastaways bad for the nefarious bacteria inside you which are plotting to take over and control you from a grass-roots insurgency based level. It would be like the roach hotel where they check in and never check out except that there are no roaches involved and really there is no hotel, not even the california kynd, nor is there anything but checking out. Coolest little thing about phages is the wickedly insidious RNA injection method. Not only does it penetrate but it exectutes a wonderful cell'detat, ruining bacteria one step at a time, from within. Not like it's groundbreaking news or anything, after all what is. What is news is when those without news believe they've got new new news which is really old undiscovered non news news. Which tells you why bathing in the ganges and having your nagging bronze age momma yelling at you to have your daily feta cheese isn't so newsworth. Unless you happen to live in this day and age.

Auto-Brahm

There was a land in which things moved fast. Terribly fast. Intricately woven layers of complexity interacting to allow unimpeded movement.

In this land lived a king. A terrible king. Decreed byzantine rules, laws and projections into manifest space in order to maintain exact order.

Upon this land descended a mote. Shining terrible blinding light. Breaking layers of laws, rending manifest space into infinite chaos the anti-order on the right hand of right.

Nearby a doorway stood open. Gaping possibily. Leaving lords lording and thralls thralling, departing a long distant shore, turning, closing the mirror door of self.

Nearest Neighbor

Sometimes due to the complexities of life you decide that
ASCII art is the best way to express yourself. Sometimes you learn that ASCII art may not be all that you envisioned.

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Think not terrible of me if curses of HTML reach you.

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Oh doth I rue the day that pre tags failed.


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OMFGWTF WUT UZ DUZ 2 MEH INTARWEB UZ, WHAR MEH code TAGS NUBZ. FTL, we cannot get out. there are drums in the deep. we cannot get out. they are coming.

Escalater

Twisted as dying star
upon endless black skies
a crimson photonic
blade renting space