Friday, May 30, 2008
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Nearly
On the edge of the road, nearest the green grass and the ditch runs the fence.
Between pasture and thoroughfare a line of wood and wire.
For each, a border. Yet a continuous feature in its own right.
Parallel running, tracking the edges of cars and cows.
And downwards are lines across and of the grass.
Nearly noon, upward an eagle in the sun.
Between pasture and thoroughfare a line of wood and wire.
For each, a border. Yet a continuous feature in its own right.
Parallel running, tracking the edges of cars and cows.
And downwards are lines across and of the grass.
Nearly noon, upward an eagle in the sun.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
We're Here
The concentration age.
That is where were are. Materials and minds. Pooled, collected and refined into an ultra-pure state at the tip of the spear.
Metals and fuels and research and fields... pure and specialized.
Concentration requires lots and lots of time, energy and raw materials.
In another age encompassing this age is the biological age. A place requiring less concentration and energy, and fewer materials and time.
So if mechanical materials were great why are they not everywhere already. Replication and exponential growth would mean they should be, if they were at all anywhere in the last recent millions of millions of years or so. Some cheezy plot line from Stargate or something did this already. Though for reals, if it was that easy it would be reality. Here and now.
Instead, it is biologic. The least cost. The least materials. Concentrated, but still dilute. Specialized when needed, then removed.
Watch the energy flows and materials input into a mechanical system vs a biologic.
Very advanced tech is almost magic. Almost. Which is where and why and how the magi speak in organic molecular recombination. For reals, a wave of biologic exponential expansion seeded, grew and expanded in the void. Then later, spawned machines in a high-cost parody.
On this planet at least.
You do the math on the others.
That is where were are. Materials and minds. Pooled, collected and refined into an ultra-pure state at the tip of the spear.
Metals and fuels and research and fields... pure and specialized.
Concentration requires lots and lots of time, energy and raw materials.
In another age encompassing this age is the biological age. A place requiring less concentration and energy, and fewer materials and time.
So if mechanical materials were great why are they not everywhere already. Replication and exponential growth would mean they should be, if they were at all anywhere in the last recent millions of millions of years or so. Some cheezy plot line from Stargate or something did this already. Though for reals, if it was that easy it would be reality. Here and now.
Instead, it is biologic. The least cost. The least materials. Concentrated, but still dilute. Specialized when needed, then removed.
Watch the energy flows and materials input into a mechanical system vs a biologic.
Very advanced tech is almost magic. Almost. Which is where and why and how the magi speak in organic molecular recombination. For reals, a wave of biologic exponential expansion seeded, grew and expanded in the void. Then later, spawned machines in a high-cost parody.
On this planet at least.
You do the math on the others.
Note to self
Fatalists are good skydivers.
Optimists jump at the ground and miss.
Pessimists should find a better form of suicide.
What happens to pessimistic fatalists?
Much of a danger to others?
Optimists jump at the ground and miss.
Pessimists should find a better form of suicide.
What happens to pessimistic fatalists?
Much of a danger to others?
Die Trying
The theme for today is give up and fail. Apparently somebody forgot to give me the script, but everybody else seems to have gotten it.
Granted, there is only one exit from this place. One fate inherited from being born.
Ok, two. But that is a different story. You're dust. Toast. Star-ash.
The twist is nihilism and anomie.
Nothing is different than TV really. Don't like the channel? Change it.
Course, you'll still be sitting in your living room, doing the same old things and living the same old thing you were before. Except you'll be watching a different channel.
Don't know about you, but I'd rather be forced to watch NASCAR than Lifetime almost any day of the week. Though maybe that is enough to make you get up and turn off the TV and walk away. To realize there is no TV, no life, no room, no death. What there IS is the different story. Nihilists don't go there.
Star-ash is from; not the star.
Granted, there is only one exit from this place. One fate inherited from being born.
Ok, two. But that is a different story. You're dust. Toast. Star-ash.
The twist is nihilism and anomie.
Nothing is different than TV really. Don't like the channel? Change it.
Course, you'll still be sitting in your living room, doing the same old things and living the same old thing you were before. Except you'll be watching a different channel.
Don't know about you, but I'd rather be forced to watch NASCAR than Lifetime almost any day of the week. Though maybe that is enough to make you get up and turn off the TV and walk away. To realize there is no TV, no life, no room, no death. What there IS is the different story. Nihilists don't go there.
Star-ash is from; not the star.
Monday, May 26, 2008
Parabase
Climbed a mountain which is used for paragliding --essentially hanggliding with a parachute instead of a scary little aluminum tube type of deal. Pretty sweet looking over the edge and thinking about jumping. BASE is way dumb. Dumb enough that now I've started to wonder how crazy scared I could get... and rationalizing that sure its more dangerous than pretty much anything else to do out there besides mercenary or librarian at the regan library. Then again, how dangerous is too dangerous. Like getting hurt isn't all that fun and really downright blows like the white whale with a sinus infection and captain ahab bearing down on ya with a harpoon. Anyways kayaking with whales, also dangerous. Now if it was cool like water world in real life then why not hook up a whale to a big harness type thing and get them to pull you all around the oceans, you above water fighting with the kestrels and albatross and flying fish and him down there eating squid and spitting out revolting little jellyfish and stuff. Maybe a big short circuit of that would be even better and just jumping into the belly of the whale right off and being like Jonah would be totally better and stupid/crazy/cool/fun/last-thing-you-do/life-changing/cathartic type of deal.
Sighting
Latest sighting. 200 miles from home, in a strange restaurant during off peak hours. Sometime after sitting in the same classes during college said individual and myself decided that an annual random encounter would be both fun and exciting. A where's waldo for real life without waldo or funny clothes. This time around he was with a wife and two kids. What is very odd is the lack of planning, coordination, or caring, yet totally assurance that we will end up at the same place at the same time. My suspicion is that he is also wondering if I am following him while at the same time I am wondering about the chances that he is following me. Sometimes coincidence is so full of incidence that the number of paths and streets which makeup the timeline fail to keep you far enough apart or from crossing frequently into anothers path that green spaghetti spinach hand-made by old women in the wilds of tuscany seem like less of a fantasy and more or a reality than others. ok, so yeah, i'm going to have to go with the fact that rainwater seeks the lowest level except when the drain is clogged and time cannot escape.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
tRaNCe
Hamster wheels, are those meditative machines for rodents?
How about if they are put under the hood and used to propel your car?
Motorcycles run on fumes and good thoughts, so they don't count.
Round and round and round and round and round. Outside perspective.
More and more and more and more and more. Inside perspective.
Propulsion outside in and you've got meditative trance.
Hamster wheels in cranium, more and more and round and round.
Prayer wheels are those for cycling perspectives outside and inside?
How about if you put them in your head and call them living?
How about if they are put under the hood and used to propel your car?
Motorcycles run on fumes and good thoughts, so they don't count.
Round and round and round and round and round. Outside perspective.
More and more and more and more and more. Inside perspective.
Propulsion outside in and you've got meditative trance.
Hamster wheels in cranium, more and more and round and round.
Prayer wheels are those for cycling perspectives outside and inside?
How about if you put them in your head and call them living?
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Mustard
Transformers meet for lunch near the corner of Elm and Wasatch. Pigeons wait for crumbs. Cars circle the block. Cafe's become more than concrete, steel and empty. That is the setting of a stone. The stone of Earlach. Seems it may have stood the test of time, but not the test of man. Some things erode slowly, others corrode quickly. What transformed the rock is beyond any count of the count of the seasons. In a blink it disappeared into the pavement. Beyond that is a pigeon. Simply not the passenger kind. Again, those also ended their ways on this earth. Abruptly. Rather the large, unruly, hungry, do anything for a quarter pounder with cheese kind of pigeons. The kind which leave you wondering which side of mean you exist on. Or even if there is such a thing as wrong or right. For the hunger has its own set of rules. Rules which once looked, acted and enforced rational and lucid principles. Rules reduced to survival. Transformers one and all, except for the corner of Elm and Wasatch. That lives on in memory. Untouched by transformation. Thrown apart by the simple mirror of recall. A camelot sitting forever out of reach in a snow-globe of static being, dreaming of transformation.
Monday, May 19, 2008
Formerly
Heinlein Incorporeal,
Lineage, such as that found in the question of paradox of Jane's mother, father, grandfather, grand mother, son, daughter, granddaughter, and grandson being one and of the same leads to a rather peaceful conclusion.
This letter is to inform your past self (whom in the future is your future self) reading this document that, not only are you Jane, but also you and I are the same as well. This inescapable deneumont became a priori truth the moment that DNA and RNA pairs first entwined and subsequently unzipped to replicate and become the progenitors of the human species. As your arrival in this plane of existence requires physical substances to replicate the chain is required to link both to and from the past ad infinitum. The scale or 'wholeness' of a being none withstanding, you are a sum of parts, the whole is a condensate of smaller more dynamic parts. For the infinite governs the very large and the very small and everything in and outside of these continuum's. Jane and the biologic reproductive processes fit quite nicely into this continuum, being both small on a large scale and large on an extremely small scale.
Indeed, it is this very property of infinity which binds both this conclusion, letter, author and yourself into an indescribable whole. While you are pondering this life is arising in a certain time on a planet in a galaxy far in your distant past yet quite near to your own residence at that time. In your relative "current" time the distances will be such that only a glimmer of the galactic core shall be only marginally visible to your photonic based recording instruments.
Nonetheless the same infinity from which your entire family and self have sprung is the one and same infinity at play in and upon every particle of matter everywhere. Startling as it may seem, all simply are.
Cheers,
Milton.
<-O->
Lineage, such as that found in the question of paradox of Jane's mother, father, grandfather, grand mother, son, daughter, granddaughter, and grandson being one and of the same leads to a rather peaceful conclusion.
This letter is to inform your past self (whom in the future is your future self) reading this document that, not only are you Jane, but also you and I are the same as well. This inescapable deneumont became a priori truth the moment that DNA and RNA pairs first entwined and subsequently unzipped to replicate and become the progenitors of the human species. As your arrival in this plane of existence requires physical substances to replicate the chain is required to link both to and from the past ad infinitum. The scale or 'wholeness' of a being none withstanding, you are a sum of parts, the whole is a condensate of smaller more dynamic parts. For the infinite governs the very large and the very small and everything in and outside of these continuum's. Jane and the biologic reproductive processes fit quite nicely into this continuum, being both small on a large scale and large on an extremely small scale.
Indeed, it is this very property of infinity which binds both this conclusion, letter, author and yourself into an indescribable whole. While you are pondering this life is arising in a certain time on a planet in a galaxy far in your distant past yet quite near to your own residence at that time. In your relative "current" time the distances will be such that only a glimmer of the galactic core shall be only marginally visible to your photonic based recording instruments.
Nonetheless the same infinity from which your entire family and self have sprung is the one and same infinity at play in and upon every particle of matter everywhere. Startling as it may seem, all simply are.
Cheers,
Milton.
<-O->
Crysstell
Something of a seed starts it all. Lines of force and information start to flow and solidify out from the center. Like a town growing over time, but in your head. First there is some inspiration to start something new, build a house in some weird place, or recycled slum. Next a few followers jump onboard making a little street, and things get a bit more accepted. Afterwards trailer parks and churches spring up everywhere. From there things pretty much evolve into everything we see today and everything you believe. Contrary to popular belief fast-food convenience stores are not suitable for grazing sheep. Neither are observatories and movie theatres. Though supposing they were the same things would be interesting only once ever few thousand years. Popcorn sales would go way up. Next thing anybody knows cats have infected your brains with a nasty semi-benign virus causing everybody to love to feed even more kitties. This leads to one inescapable conclusion... in order to fight the virus wipe your imagination and BEcome a troglodyte. Or I guess buy a tuning fork and learn to fish using sympathetic resonanace to fracture the ice.
Sunday, May 18, 2008
ergonamix
This thing with the musical chairs is odd. The spheres make sense, tones, metals, scales, planets, metaphysical sub-planes, the greeks had it all. Except that somehow over time the detritus of cultural and linguistic evolution added in a chair to the mix. This may have been necessary to facilitate fun childrens games, promote the sale of furniture, or simply as a gambit to allow deities to recline in a safe, positive manner while reviewing their subjects. Now what has me wondering is if there are seven chairs, or eight; the latter being the chair of the overlord. Correspondingly, do the chairs themselves embody, emit or induce noise in specific tonal regions and vibrations. Celestial spears, that may be what happens when really loud people decide to yell in your ear about current events. I seen it happen in kung fu hustle. You don't take the chair of the celestial sound man. The night will end with this bad ringing in your head, a lack of memory and small amounts of canadian money being found in your pockets.
Diagnostic
Shouting lingerie in a tortoise store isn't one of the smartest things I've done.
Apparently, something about lace and reptiles is not sexy. Nay, not even mildy sexy.
Rather the two articles are not clothing nor related enough to be considered cute.
Funny is definitely out as well. Even with racks and racks full of tortoises to counter my yell of lingerie with in your face obvious contrarian observations the funny is not allowed.
Nearly enough to say that next time when viewing tortoises that nothing remotely resembling an article of clothing will arise as a topic of conversation, or much less spontaneously bellowed out while ogling a terrapin.
Apparently, something about lace and reptiles is not sexy. Nay, not even mildy sexy.
Rather the two articles are not clothing nor related enough to be considered cute.
Funny is definitely out as well. Even with racks and racks full of tortoises to counter my yell of lingerie with in your face obvious contrarian observations the funny is not allowed.
Nearly enough to say that next time when viewing tortoises that nothing remotely resembling an article of clothing will arise as a topic of conversation, or much less spontaneously bellowed out while ogling a terrapin.
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Tree
Bears and trees both kinda check out for awhile during the winter months. Least in the northlands. So what is going on. Is it like what happens when my brain gets filled to overflowing with excessive amounts of useless technogarbage and requires a good vomit to clear into a normal stream of sanity? Probably not. Tigger doesn't hibernate and so my guess is bears would not sleep anyways. Not like anybody could, much less trees. Probably this is why the ents pretend to be asleep. Even though they are watching and waiting they sit idle, quiet and seemingly unaware. What else could one do in the face of Tigger, much less a world full of GMO cloned Tiggers popping up all around your forest. Ok, now you decided to turn on the wind machine? Seriously folks, if that Indian shaman is hanging out in my backyard again screwing with the trees and the winds he is so going to get it this time. No more nicely telling you to go play up in Indian Peaks and trying to remember the good old days with the others cavorting about. This time its gonna be raccoon patrol or something dirty like cleaning the lint trap on the dryer. Freaking wind, stop moving the tree.
Walk
Walking inside and outside is the same. Strawmen inside and outside are still stuffed shirts. Walking on the ceiling is still the same as the floor. Ask an astronaut. To be fair it may not really be walking if there is no gravity. Though that may not be quite right either. Depends upon if you are being spun around a central axis and feeling simulated gravity. Which could be. Or maybe not. Simulated that is. Jed Clampet would likely know for sure. He'd just shoot it and see what'd pop up. That would tell you fer sure if it is walking or not walking. Probably I'd guess he'd even be willing to either make or bring over a scarecrow for the back 40. Or was that Black 47. No that's oil. Crude, yet funny.
Nekcihc
end the near fairly
middle the is quite not but
beginning the is that before and
circle a is that backwards
middle the is quite not but
beginning the is that before and
circle a is that backwards
Carte
The holy ghost ate my chili-cheese fries. Totally unacceptable. After all gnomes, dwarves, and disembodied goats are expected to do such things.
Ghosts ? E_HELL_NO : chili-cheese fries;
See, no. You cannot and shall not partake of my fries again. Bread, unleavened or otherwise... totally acceptible. Bacon? Still ok. Terra-firma it is not, but possible. Now when and where the rules were changed to allow for fry eating none tell. BECAUSE THE RULES WERE NEVER CHANGED. You can laugh, you can sing, you can dance, but you cannot eat the fries. Oh no. See there are lines, rules and boundaries which are sacrosanct, places where devils and dust do not go and angels visit not. Much less ghosts. Places such as the oven, my kitchen, and unquestionably the interior of the refrigerator in said kitchen. Deign to steal the fries again and you will find them surreptitiously replaced with prima-loft, which I hear is both foul and insidious in that the consumer is left wanting a tasty beverage in order to finish the meal. There doesn't even need to be anything more said about that. It is well known what happened with that last beverage.
Ghosts ? E_HELL_NO : chili-cheese fries;
See, no. You cannot and shall not partake of my fries again. Bread, unleavened or otherwise... totally acceptible. Bacon? Still ok. Terra-firma it is not, but possible. Now when and where the rules were changed to allow for fry eating none tell. BECAUSE THE RULES WERE NEVER CHANGED. You can laugh, you can sing, you can dance, but you cannot eat the fries. Oh no. See there are lines, rules and boundaries which are sacrosanct, places where devils and dust do not go and angels visit not. Much less ghosts. Places such as the oven, my kitchen, and unquestionably the interior of the refrigerator in said kitchen. Deign to steal the fries again and you will find them surreptitiously replaced with prima-loft, which I hear is both foul and insidious in that the consumer is left wanting a tasty beverage in order to finish the meal. There doesn't even need to be anything more said about that. It is well known what happened with that last beverage.
Fingertip
Rolling through the river Styx in a main battle tank is not advisable. Tanks do not float well. Unless they are floating in mercury. Though at that point you'd wonder why the river Styx was filled with anything but blood and water. Might look nice and futuristic and perhaps ominous and induce a feeling of solid liquidity leaving you slight discordant, but I'm sure there are better tricks to play than a running river of mercury. Filling the river with identical copies OF Mercury, the god, the planet or any combination of the two --like breakfast cereal with puffed wheat and toasted marshmallows, seems quite pleasing. Though it may just be that everybody gets to choose their own little version of hell and that the river and cerberus manifest on the whim of visitors. Perhaps inmates rather than visitors, but could lead to some open questions as to why you be anything but a visitor if you're driving a main battle tank.
Same /old/ Mess
Whump.
Everything is back where it is, except us. We're all somewhere and sometime different.
First things first. Check with the locals, no telling what has changed.
There are times when the greeting is good, coherent with things going well during our absence. Those times it is a matter of syncing up and moving on.
Other times, the times and sometimes places are not so well. Wars end, start, start and end, all within the segment skip through time.
People come and go like dandelions. Bright and sunny, white and wispy the next. Sometimes whole seasons go by. Sometimes a day. There really is no telling, just more and more travels, until you and those who share in your life/profession/obsession become the oldest living members of your race.
Speaking of which, I'm sure there are those who haven't caught up with the multiple species much less race thing yet. They will when their cache gets updated. Likely, there are those you wonder if they were lost, or if they reached far far forward and are gambling that their apathy and ability to outlast but not outstreach the civilization thread we follow and shape carries them further than all of us.
Transmit, record and leave. Librarian is not a bad life. Outside of never knowing if graffiti such as this splayed across the pulsars ever gets heard.
Next time,
Alexander of Alexandria
Whump.
Everything is back where it is, except us. We're all somewhere and sometime different.
First things first. Check with the locals, no telling what has changed.
There are times when the greeting is good, coherent with things going well during our absence. Those times it is a matter of syncing up and moving on.
Other times, the times and sometimes places are not so well. Wars end, start, start and end, all within the segment skip through time.
People come and go like dandelions. Bright and sunny, white and wispy the next. Sometimes whole seasons go by. Sometimes a day. There really is no telling, just more and more travels, until you and those who share in your life/profession/obsession become the oldest living members of your race.
Speaking of which, I'm sure there are those who haven't caught up with the multiple species much less race thing yet. They will when their cache gets updated. Likely, there are those you wonder if they were lost, or if they reached far far forward and are gambling that their apathy and ability to outlast but not outstreach the civilization thread we follow and shape carries them further than all of us.
Transmit, record and leave. Librarian is not a bad life. Outside of never knowing if graffiti such as this splayed across the pulsars ever gets heard.
Next time,
Alexander of Alexandria
Whump.
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
pentecaust
Posthole diggers dont seem to be common anymore. Now there is this attachment for Bobcats and stuff which is kinda like a ditchwitch but different. Now what happened to the forests? Did those trees get so expensive that the wooden posthole digger handles are now too costly resulting in a flood of purely mechanical hole digging tools? Did the Spotted Owl cause the extinction of posthole diggers, or was something entirely more sinister at work?
Questions worth questing. Riddles without clearcut consensus and ambiguous conclusions. Those are the cards dealt and picked up for the modern day day laborer looking to avoid another day spent sheparding around and/or sitting upon some mechanical menace taking all decent activity and exertion from the labor part of the day.
Or could it be roads, roads without need of posts, cars whizzing by so far and so fast that the need to hitch and guide a horse is no longer concerns to any and all. Could it be that todays world has no need for the post, much less the digger of holes, and even less for the digger of post holes?
Questions worth questing. Riddles without clearcut consensus and ambiguous conclusions. Those are the cards dealt and picked up for the modern day day laborer looking to avoid another day spent sheparding around and/or sitting upon some mechanical menace taking all decent activity and exertion from the labor part of the day.
Or could it be roads, roads without need of posts, cars whizzing by so far and so fast that the need to hitch and guide a horse is no longer concerns to any and all. Could it be that todays world has no need for the post, much less the digger of holes, and even less for the digger of post holes?
Monday, May 12, 2008
Filter
Great like Tony the tiger or like the wall? Things are like ripples in a pond, so what if we are actually older and everything has passed us by and really this version of life in this epoch is not even the first wave of colonizers, but rather a follow-on accident. Not like radio communication is all that expected or interesting. Ordering the chaos and noise with wide-spectrum signals seems much more likely than a searchlight in the dark type of radio beacon blaring out. If even it is efficient to do that. Then again you got to wonder if at the height of technology if things aren't just reused over and over and over really efficiently and recycled, so there is really no reason to go hunting around other star systems for bonus matter, you just reuse it. Or you discard physical matter in most forms, managed evolution on into a more ephemeral energy based existence which requires a lower energy state than playing around with eating and consuming water and all these other rare exotic materials we need. Maybe the aurora borealis is both the message and the colonizers, maybe they are riding electromagnetic winds with consciousness and thought spread out over a vast scale spanning whole light years, electromagnetic memory, awareness and beingness with creatures like us being akin to a kidney stone, grumbling away in a locked in state of matter and run-down energy states.
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Harmony
My old friend from Austin said once over breakfast that ritual was important. Especially when things have no base and are largely dynamic.
Stories are ritual, really good stories are a blending of stories, messages, insights. Like a van gogh with many shades they all blend into one loud harmonic message. Looking sideways though the singular points come out, then looking again there is another, the colors blend into shades which blend into harmony. Great ones do this over and over and over in a single story, like music, but delayed bursts of understanding.
The Heavenly Pit and jeb corliss, which i guess is really Journey to the Center in the parlance was like a bright mote, but there are other things which are harmonic and so layered that you wonder. In a world where animals are all but extinct, a simulated man releases a simulated dove, or not. Though both movies are the edge, the falling, the landing. Blue skies cya.
Thursday, May 08, 2008
Expanse
At the edge lies certainty. Nothing about everything is as it appears. Near upon the law, the rule, the creation is something beyond. For the box is bounded by the box, the universe by time and space.
Shades of light and shapes of dark run about, calling, beckoning, entreating your will. Onto a ground of certainty, of sanity, of stability. To a place where love is love and hate is hate, right is right, night is night, and sight is sight.
Inside, the expanse this awaits. Collecting, herding and inn keeping. Yes, you know.
Outside, the expanse just unrolls.
Shades of light and shapes of dark run about, calling, beckoning, entreating your will. Onto a ground of certainty, of sanity, of stability. To a place where love is love and hate is hate, right is right, night is night, and sight is sight.
Inside, the expanse this awaits. Collecting, herding and inn keeping. Yes, you know.
Outside, the expanse just unrolls.
Wednesday, May 07, 2008
Ghostland
The world of ghosts exists alongside the real world. Things move along well enough in both it could be said. Action, adventure, challenges, disappointments and triumphs. The two worlds even bleed over into each other at times. A dawn and dusk between night and day between ghostland and reality.
Mostly though the shades stay down and the two pass silently side by side, day after day, night after night. Occasionally the shades are lifted and elevated into a different world. Things seem too bright, too intense and just too jarring and real. So the shades go back down.
Swimming through fuzzy dreams or flying through a world of radiant lucidity.
Futures so bright, gotta wear shades.
Mostly though the shades stay down and the two pass silently side by side, day after day, night after night. Occasionally the shades are lifted and elevated into a different world. Things seem too bright, too intense and just too jarring and real. So the shades go back down.
Swimming through fuzzy dreams or flying through a world of radiant lucidity.
Futures so bright, gotta wear shades.
Tuesday, May 06, 2008
manchu
since big robes with cuffs are no longer in stle it has been decided that all people will hereby requireed to wear robes with big cuffs exclusions to said rule will result iin the harshes of stiff penalties the form of which shall go unnamed at this point in time in order that a sutable punishment may be draeamed up by the great minds of the torturarial scieneses
in the interests of national security and in order that carnivore and silentlight remain satiated with posts remaining at a safe threashold level this post is hereby deemed to be stopping, posthaste.
in the interests of national security and in order that carnivore and silentlight remain satiated with posts remaining at a safe threashold level this post is hereby deemed to be stopping, posthaste.
tamerlane
the puzzle is of the variety of the kind of which isalsoknown as a trap. infamously yelled by nefarious space going races of all kinds throughout the eons. its a trap, lastly of course as any real trap is indeed a trap and by definition not something to escape from. so these fears of a trap are highly overrated, trust me. just come a bit closer i have something you want and there is nothing to fear you'll end up the better for it all no worries, argh its a trap. no wait just joking it was a trap but isnt anymore as now its not a trap but just business. reoccuring revenue and repeat customers are all the rage and so much better than the one hit sally and john type of deals going on over at the used appliance exchange but i really gotta say that despite being a trap it is quite fetching fetching in the sense that most other things look reasonable at least in the way that they can and would to someone who cant tell what reasonable is anymore because everything is relativistically all the same kinda most like what happened in the sahara hte last time in which the sandstorm nearly ended the days of us all before the whole incident at the relief hut which in all honesty was probably not the best thing which could have happened but it was what did happen in terms of reality then it was reasonable and waht neeeded to happen for it to all work out like anywyas no more batertering in huts in the sahel unless somebody brings extra matches )note to self bring extra matches and a twist tie( next time it would be somewhat prudent and behoove anyone who likes the english langange to first realize that any and all language and spoken and writeen and communicatable forms of expresion are nothing but a chemical swirl on the inside of their very own skulls not for export resale or cummunicatable which in broader terms is quite good as many things are best not shared at least with those with whom sharing is a question for like if they still question sharing they are not and you should not bother to share just give it away it will be easier now the question being where in the hell is that twisttie
Orangelane
rainbows and freeways. one for the sky, one for the commuter. here in the left lane we've got the violet and blue lights and over to the right the RVs and short-buses holding everybody back. then at night with the moonbow there is the empty country road with nothing moving for mile upon mile. now being in charge of central planning seems to be something fun, glamorous and exciting. until the 20th time in one day when pixies and leprechauns are both talking to you simultaneously about how they deserver to be in the fast lane and not stuck in the right lanes like you assigned them because they are small, easily crushed, have bad situational awareness and sometimes imbibe of the spirits a little too much to be considered top-echelon type of commuters. then what you really tell them is that your bosses boss is having a really bad day and is thinking of extinguishing the sun entirely so they should be pleased and happy for the opportunity to ride the rainbow at all. course if the whole thing wasn't a bluff you'd be free to run off and buy some really dark clothes and disappear into some crowd somewhere till they tracked you down and put you back in charge of something equally annoying such as the rate of calcium dispensation for mollusks. so all in all there isn't much else to do at least until the sun does stop shining for good.
Sunday, May 04, 2008
Error
Inside of things are other things. Things of immense size, dwarven galaxies crossing limitless expanses. Outside there exists equally diametrically sized atoms and particles crossing equally limitless expants. Somewhere upon this foam is a beer which turned inside out becomes a bar, a patron and a band. A band of soccer holligans, a city, a country, a world. Thereupon the world turns, turns into a galaxy itself which itself folds down upon and into a quark, gluon and beyond. To the edge occam, your razor is nothing but a dull moonlight in the daytime. A universe of suns and microverse of neutrinos sings your requiem to the dark.
Saturday, May 03, 2008
Periscope
Beneath any good sea there is a submarine.
Aquamarine like your subconscious.
Deep down the blackness pervades.
Depths beyond the scope and light.
Of that unending dark, none tell.
Except the spiral Nautilus shell.
Aquamarine like your subconscious.
Deep down the blackness pervades.
Depths beyond the scope and light.
Of that unending dark, none tell.
Except the spiral Nautilus shell.
Friday, May 02, 2008
Thursday, May 01, 2008
Turine
Hank Stinton
James Lawrence
Please contact your party and the nearest white courtesy phone.
If no phone is available then the next available phone will be provided to you.
Should your native language prove to be incompatible with the phone system a translator will assist you.
Under no circumstances should you attempt this yourself.
Press 1 for home, 2 for phone, 3 for assistance.
James Lawrence
Please contact your party and the nearest white courtesy phone.
If no phone is available then the next available phone will be provided to you.
Should your native language prove to be incompatible with the phone system a translator will assist you.
Under no circumstances should you attempt this yourself.
Press 1 for home, 2 for phone, 3 for assistance.
Vines @ 10
1) Go to Rental City and rent an industrial shop-vac
2) Go to Big-R and buy a large small-animal live trap
4) Drive to Montana, place trap in national forest
5) Run over small animals (may be done before step 4)
6) Bait trap with carcass
7) Capture wolverine
8) Drive home repeating 5 as necessary
9) Place angered wolverine inside industrial shop-vac taking special care to hold top closed
10) Turn on shop-vac
2) Go to Big-R and buy a large small-animal live trap
4) Drive to Montana, place trap in national forest
5) Run over small animals (may be done before step 4)
6) Bait trap with carcass
7) Capture wolverine
8) Drive home repeating 5 as necessary
9) Place angered wolverine inside industrial shop-vac taking special care to hold top closed
10) Turn on shop-vac
Granola slide
Eating and researching equals ahhhhhh. Or is it ARGHHHHHHHH. Or is it man jumping off a cliff.
All I know is I'm casually chomping away on some dinner and innocently visit wikipedia. Next thing I know my worldview is being challenged and redefined by some weird way of classifying and making something into a metaphore which then somehow turns around and becomes metonymy in polysemy. Next thing I know link after link has flown by and nothing is anything like what it used to be and synecdoche pops up. Then it all turns into some kind of blur and makes a nice vodka drink seem exceedingly enticing. If captain picard was here he'd just use the negotiating skills like he did that one time with that race which didn't use language and a language is describe and broke the translator. Meta meta morph. Where is my crunchy dinner, I was just eating. Swear to god the internet is the worst house-guest ever. No contest. Like that one ex-shaman, he at least made sense, as did the potter and the florist. Internet it just has more stuff and baggage than seemed concievable. Maybe it should be the inconcievable internet. Or if a web-page dies on the net does anyone hear. That at least reminds one of long past days of blowing sands, sunsets and home cooked hummus and roti.
All I know is I'm casually chomping away on some dinner and innocently visit wikipedia. Next thing I know my worldview is being challenged and redefined by some weird way of classifying and making something into a metaphore which then somehow turns around and becomes metonymy in polysemy. Next thing I know link after link has flown by and nothing is anything like what it used to be and synecdoche pops up. Then it all turns into some kind of blur and makes a nice vodka drink seem exceedingly enticing. If captain picard was here he'd just use the negotiating skills like he did that one time with that race which didn't use language and a language is describe and broke the translator. Meta meta morph. Where is my crunchy dinner, I was just eating. Swear to god the internet is the worst house-guest ever. No contest. Like that one ex-shaman, he at least made sense, as did the potter and the florist. Internet it just has more stuff and baggage than seemed concievable. Maybe it should be the inconcievable internet. Or if a web-page dies on the net does anyone hear. That at least reminds one of long past days of blowing sands, sunsets and home cooked hummus and roti.
Next Blog >>
To the Yakuza, I am sorry. I looked, did not understand nor enjoy.
To the rest of you, I am sorry. I looked.
Children less than 2 years old, with a blog. I couldn't even speak at that age.
Speaking a romantic language, having a bus, your own band and a party combining all three is beyond my comprehension and ability.
Marketing under the guise of blogging is disingenuous and genius.
Emo mermaids en español. That is all.
To the rest of you, I am sorry. I looked.
Children less than 2 years old, with a blog. I couldn't even speak at that age.
Speaking a romantic language, having a bus, your own band and a party combining all three is beyond my comprehension and ability.
Marketing under the guise of blogging is disingenuous and genius.
Emo mermaids en español. That is all.
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