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.
Monday, June 25, 2007
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
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.
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.
Thursday, May 10, 2007
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?
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?
Monday, May 07, 2007
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.
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.
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
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!
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!
Friday, April 27, 2007
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.
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.
Thursday, April 19, 2007
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.
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.
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.
Let this be a lesson to you my dearest reader.
Don't send spam, and don't forget ur towelz.
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
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.
- Towels are NOT effective anti-drug spokesmen
- Towels ARE effective galactic travel gear, along with a proper bath-robe.
- 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.
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.
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
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.
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.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
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.
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.
Monday, April 16, 2007
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.
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.
Sunday, April 15, 2007
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.
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.
Thursday, April 12, 2007
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.
Thursday, April 05, 2007
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.
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
*** Encrypted :: Send Key
Today I tried to install the new GOFU multi-IM client software for Windows XP.
What happened was lots of this:
debug2: kex_parse_kexinit: aes128-cbc,3des-cbc,blowfish-cbc,cast128-cbc,arcfour128,arcfour256,arcfour,aes192-cbc,aes256-cbc,rijndael-cbc@lysator.liu.se,aes128-ctr,aes192-ctr,aes256-ctr
debug2: kex_parse_kexinit: aes128-cbc,3des-cbc,blowfish-cbc,cast128-cbc,arcfour128,arcfour256,arcfour,aes192-cbc,aes256-cbc,rijndael-cbc@lysator.liu.se,aes128-ctr,aes192-ctr,aes256-ctr
debug2: kex_parse_kexinit: hmac-md5,hmac-sha1,hmac-ripemd160,hmac-ripemd160@openssh.com,hmac-sha1-96,hmac-md5-96
debug2: kex_parse_kexinit: hmac-md5,hmac-sha1,hmac-ripemd160,hmac-ripemd160@openssh.com,hmac-sha1-96,hmac-md5-96
and not much messaging.
So from my experiences I have to say GOFU sucks. It didn't do what it
was made to do and it wasted hours of my time in the process. Stay away
from this software, instead go out and provoke a fight with the south
side rollers. You'll have a more pleasant experience.
What happened was lots of this:
debug2: kex_parse_kexinit: aes128-cbc,3des-cbc,blowfish-cbc,cast128-cbc,arcfour128,arcfour256,arcfour,aes192-cbc,aes256-cbc,rijndael-cbc@lysator.liu.se,aes128-ctr,aes192-ctr,aes256-ctr
debug2: kex_parse_kexinit: aes128-cbc,3des-cbc,blowfish-cbc,cast128-cbc,arcfour128,arcfour256,arcfour,aes192-cbc,aes256-cbc,rijndael-cbc@lysator.liu.se,aes128-ctr,aes192-ctr,aes256-ctr
debug2: kex_parse_kexinit: hmac-md5,hmac-sha1,hmac-ripemd160,hmac-ripemd160@openssh.com,hmac-sha1-96,hmac-md5-96
debug2: kex_parse_kexinit: hmac-md5,hmac-sha1,hmac-ripemd160,hmac-ripemd160@openssh.com,hmac-sha1-96,hmac-md5-96
and not much messaging.
So from my experiences I have to say GOFU sucks. It didn't do what it
was made to do and it wasted hours of my time in the process. Stay away
from this software, instead go out and provoke a fight with the south
side rollers. You'll have a more pleasant experience.
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
An Energy Solution. For Ameriqauii
As with any problem there are multitudinous solutions of varied merit. Andrew Lloyd Frebber said it best, "As there are tauntons being eviscerated on icy moons, there are flowers bearing the fruit of wisdom borne upon the winds of thought." To this end many many many many many many many many many many many many many years ago (where many is a freaking lot) a bunch of stuff died. Then more stuff died. Then lots of this happened over and over and over again. Pretty much then we came into the picture. But LO!!!! we were not alone. Indeed the flora and fauna had passed unto the ground and become oil. Sweet, dark, black, viscous, dripping oil. For here in the land of the free amongst the cans of spam and aisles of flaked potatoe based products has arisen the ulitimate consumer. The S.U.V., maligned, beloved, and encountered by all. In the quest to conquer and to arrive both quickly and before anyone else this king of the road became the penultimate consumptor of carbon-based fuels. Along the way, exploitation, profit, greed, sex, smoking, debauchery, learning, greed, and altruism sprang into up along with countless puppet governments designed to fuel the appetites of the mighty SUV. These efforts have proved to be in vain. The bottomless maw of consumptive power fueled by the expansive parking lots of the Wal-Mart narco-industrial complex further deplete the rapidly diminishing quantities of sweet black crude beneath the gentle folds of mother earth.
Enough backstory. Now for my plan for energy independence for all....
BIO-FUEL
Clean, renewable, sustainable energy, available to all! I of course speak of nothing short of powering our SUVs using the excess poundage present in the mammoth girth of the SUV drivers themselves. What solution could be cleaner than using the very same drivers of SUVs to fuel SUVs in the first place? Nothing. Like the proverbial snake eating it's own tail, the cycle of waste not, want not, would (so to speak) be crushed beneath the weight of unlimited bio-mass fuels. In every way, the problem IS the solution. You see, unless you are daft, yet not punk, that all I am proposing here is cutting out the middle-man. In this instance father time. Why wait several million years for all this potential energy to be converted into oil. Lets get with the new century, move fast, execute, and say yes! Yes to alternative fuels, yes to a reduction in bio-mass, yes to fueling our vehicles with fat! Grudnark. out.
Enough backstory. Now for my plan for energy independence for all....
BIO-FUEL
Clean, renewable, sustainable energy, available to all! I of course speak of nothing short of powering our SUVs using the excess poundage present in the mammoth girth of the SUV drivers themselves. What solution could be cleaner than using the very same drivers of SUVs to fuel SUVs in the first place? Nothing. Like the proverbial snake eating it's own tail, the cycle of waste not, want not, would (so to speak) be crushed beneath the weight of unlimited bio-mass fuels. In every way, the problem IS the solution. You see, unless you are daft, yet not punk, that all I am proposing here is cutting out the middle-man. In this instance father time. Why wait several million years for all this potential energy to be converted into oil. Lets get with the new century, move fast, execute, and say yes! Yes to alternative fuels, yes to a reduction in bio-mass, yes to fueling our vehicles with fat! Grudnark. out.
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
Blogatician
Welcome you who are reader of these paltry word reflections of my thoughts. Some people view themselves as secretaries, garbage men, mothers, fathers, priests, morticians, world leaders, impressarios, game developers, or animal trainers. These people don't know jack about beauty school, nor rumor. Blogaticians however, full well know the impact their words and thoughts have on their readers. They have a keen appreciation for the careful blend of humor, rumor and insight which must be mixed in a magical quanity to keep the attention of a informationally overloaded audience jaded enough to ignore the public flogging of Martha Stewart by a bunch of sex-starved psuedo-lesbian inmates whilst lathering it up in the shower during her stay in minimum security detention. Let me just say it, here, now and forever. "I HAVE STANDARDS." Stooping to the point of writing a small treatise on my keen observations on what is wrong with government, society, my fellow man, France, virus borne plauges, television, the internet, indeed even extra-martial affairs with aliens (illegal or otherwise) is well within the intellectual grasp and capacity of most Blogaticians... but for myself... these things are abhorrent. I will endevor to discuss interesting things, things which matter to you, me, and people you and me know. These are the things of which I will speak. Things of import, things such as the looming humanitarian crisis in potato chip consumption as related to the wild spread of potato blight and radical decline of the genetic diversity of our potato crop. Things such as these keep me awake at night... and dear reader, they should keep you awake at night as well. Until we as a collective group or organized individuals move forward in a mutually beneficial way on these matters I fear that the consumption of potato chips has nowhere to go but down.
Monday, May 08, 2006
Build a raft, become a cannibal
Given the level of gravitas generated due to extreme amounts of age based retirement anxiety, today will detail my plans for the future in hopes that they may both inspire and lead you in the coming years. It has been said that "there is no such thing as a free lunch". This is simply not true. There IS abundant free lunch if your are a proficent head-hunting cannibal. Sadly, the advancement of civilization has lend to the over gentrification of the average individual in our society. Here's the genius of my plan, with one simple change to your life you can solve both the problem of not being a proficient head-hunter and the pending financial ruin induced by entering retirement. So you, my dear reader, need to learn to build a raft. This raft serves two purposes, first it allows you to reach areas still inhabited by headhunters, secondly it allows you to reach expensive island resort/retirement communities (which will undoubtedly be teeming with overweight fat-laden humans). At this point it should be obvious to the astute readers of this diatribe that the said cannibal, the posh retirement communities, and your raft equals unlimited food! So, you may be asking about why use a raft, why not a boat, ship, or aircraft? Very simple. Stealth, cost and simplicity. Your raft will cost you near to nothing to construct. Your raft doesn't attract attention and having no motors or other noisy apparatus of our industrialized lives will not warn others of your approach. Your raft will allow you to approach and befriend head-hunting cannibals much more effectively than say a snow-mobile or hovercraft. Your raft along with your newly made cannibal friend (who by the way is drooling at the prospect of being shown the valhalla like glory of herds of fat, slow, retirees easilly found and trapped in their villas) can approach and land in isolated and quiet retirement beach communities with a minimum of noise, attracting little to now attention. Hopefully it has become clear to you the benefits of making your own raft, befriending a cannibal and setting sail for your nearest oasis of unlimited culinary delights which awaits you should you choose the bold and couragous path to both financial and foodly freedom.
Wednesday, May 03, 2006
Shout Out
Yo, hommies, I here to put a shout out to my good and very often syntactically challenged aquaintence over at Loquatious Toaster. Keep spelling, speller.
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