"Why," you ask, "do you not discuss the Australian floods or the news about Chinese stealth fighters?"
Have I not been talking about them in the abstract?
States of energy are fully connected.
Sheng Keng Yun's "The Longevity Book" is connected to Spalding Gray's "Impossible Vacation" is connected to A. V. Gronicka's "Essentials of Russian" is connected to Bob Mullan's "Mad to be normal: conversations with R.D. Laing" is connected to Saban's timbre in national television talk that reveals nervousness about possible alleged recruiting violations.
Some have begun celebrating the 150th year after the start of the American Civil War (a/k/a The War Between The States; a/k/a The War of Northern Aggression).
Meanwhile, Sudan looks to break in two.
Flux.
Solder.
Glue stick.
Thread.
Business cards.
Chatterboxes all over the virtual...strike out the last phrase.
Our species will do what our species does, communicate via all means possible.
If my DeathClock is still tracking my average end of life, I have 14766 days to catch up on my sleep.
While I read over the extensive set of results that my computer programmers gave to help me sleep, I have to ask myself if I need to read the results anymore.
Should I follow the example of financial experts and punch my analyses back into the computer network as a feedback system that generates parameters for the next set of simulations?
Would that be the best way to get myself off the Committee of 7.5?
We already simulate just about everyone with any direct or remote connection to modern society.
We already actively tweak simulations of you on the fly, getting closer and closer to anticipating your occasional random acts of kindness/violence (as I have shown you here every once in a while).
I have no secrets worth keeping from others because I know that hidden information constricts/restricts the optimisation of the system of states of energy we call our species' interaction with the global ecosystem.
I know, also, that we can't put the average four-year old in the cockpit of a modern jet fighter and expect a perfect carrier landing.
There's a difference between systematically suppressing information from most people and providing information to a person as that person's readiness to understand increases.
Civilisation is a fiction we agree to perpetuate together on an individual basis.
The hours, minutes and seconds of a day do not exist, from which we could infer that a day does not exist, but circadian rhythms do so what do we say then?
Do-be do-be do, of course!
I have practiced this style of spiraling circular writing for almost 40 years now. It is my form of self-deprecating, society-referential humour to keep me from laughing in the face of people trying to convince me how seriously right/correct they are (including myself, of course).
When death no longer matters because self no longer exists, well...life is just a matter of the interplay of states of energy - politicians are the same as Persian rugs and squeezing more productivity/profits out of employees is the same as picking the right book for bathroom reading.
Often, the narrative of our social connections reads like a poorply-written play [sic]. This blog attempts to rewrite the script, removing time as a key element.
Every moment teaches us a lesson when we're paying attention.
What can you see outside the recurring themes of your comfortable life? Most of us don't even if we can and that's okay. We're born that way.
Enough from this chatterbox today - time for lunch!
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Monday, January 10, 2011
The Biggest Loser
Whoever made the decision to put the turf down the way it is at the BCS championship game needs some professional landscaping help. It's slicker than ice in an Alabama winter storm. Or slicker than somethin'...
Skylight Covered With Snow
Heat rises? No, hot air exchanges places with colder, denser, heavier (more gravity-prone) air.
In this case, an electric radiator heats the space around it, resulting in a rippling effect distorting my view of the 5-7 inches of snow on the back deck between me and the airspace over the radiator.
A redheaded woodpecker works on freeing up peanut butter spread onto and soaked into bread stuffed into a suet feeder.
I wear a knit cap advertising the Munster rugby team.
Icicles form along the edge of house gutters.
Tonight, the penned ultimate annual showdown of officially anointed collegiate football teams that meet in the desert to demonstrate how young men can be convinced to display warrior traits in simulated battle situations.
Can we remember being 18 to 22 years old and representing?
There will comparisons between men on that field of play to a man in Tucson and men in real battle situations elsewhere.
Maturity and concentration play key roles today.
And I have to consider the weight of these words.
I assume no one reads them because they are the random mumblings of an old man rambling through memories, observations of current events and intentionally obscure nonsense to show that in total this is a set of satirical humour to offset so much seriousness in our lives.
States of energy can be simulated in their actions by algorithms only when we remove our anthropocentric anthropomorphic tendencies.
Life is life, being neither exclusively scientific nor inclusively religious.
I am a tired old man today but I am happy.
Tired of the obstinate conflicts but happy that we often find ways to resolve them.
The only way I know how, through keeping tabs on our tendencies, tweaking and adjusting the simulations of ourselves as much as the changing limited parameters representing your free will will let me.
I'm me, a body decaying like the sounds of a rung bell.
These are chapters in a story that goes on and on like a writer with ADD who can't stay on subject for very long.
I see the outline that determines the general flow of the railroad cars of short stories and poems connected in a network of narratives that every writer works with to entertain readers, paying or mooching.
Imagery.
Take this for anything more than that and you've entered the twilight zone of your own thought set, not mine.
The best stories use your thoughts as props.
That's why religious books like the Bible, the Quran and the Bhagavad Gita are so convincing.
Give form to unformulated thoughts.
The thermometer tells me the air should smell like it's 54 deg F.
Observe and report.
No witchcraft involved.
Although it can feel like magic sometimes.
Pray/meditate and accept that whatever happens is supposed to happen because it did.
I don't control anything in this world. The accepted concept of "I," that seems to come so easy to a thoughtful conclusion without much consideration in the moment, is the result of years of exposure to testable theories.
I am alive as a system of systems because the systems have no autonomy. They cooperate (or co-operate, if you will accept a hyphenated unhyphenated word as an obvious reference).
Plagiarism is not flattering and it tends to flatten the fullness of the original.
Time to read a report and look for places to drop pebbles in the pond where we bond together.
Is humour a sense like smelling or a type of observation as in a sense of humour?
In this case, an electric radiator heats the space around it, resulting in a rippling effect distorting my view of the 5-7 inches of snow on the back deck between me and the airspace over the radiator.
A redheaded woodpecker works on freeing up peanut butter spread onto and soaked into bread stuffed into a suet feeder.
I wear a knit cap advertising the Munster rugby team.
Icicles form along the edge of house gutters.
Tonight, the penned ultimate annual showdown of officially anointed collegiate football teams that meet in the desert to demonstrate how young men can be convinced to display warrior traits in simulated battle situations.
Can we remember being 18 to 22 years old and representing?
There will comparisons between men on that field of play to a man in Tucson and men in real battle situations elsewhere.
Maturity and concentration play key roles today.
And I have to consider the weight of these words.
I assume no one reads them because they are the random mumblings of an old man rambling through memories, observations of current events and intentionally obscure nonsense to show that in total this is a set of satirical humour to offset so much seriousness in our lives.
States of energy can be simulated in their actions by algorithms only when we remove our anthropocentric anthropomorphic tendencies.
Life is life, being neither exclusively scientific nor inclusively religious.
I am a tired old man today but I am happy.
Tired of the obstinate conflicts but happy that we often find ways to resolve them.
The only way I know how, through keeping tabs on our tendencies, tweaking and adjusting the simulations of ourselves as much as the changing limited parameters representing your free will will let me.
I'm me, a body decaying like the sounds of a rung bell.
These are chapters in a story that goes on and on like a writer with ADD who can't stay on subject for very long.
I see the outline that determines the general flow of the railroad cars of short stories and poems connected in a network of narratives that every writer works with to entertain readers, paying or mooching.
Imagery.
Take this for anything more than that and you've entered the twilight zone of your own thought set, not mine.
The best stories use your thoughts as props.
That's why religious books like the Bible, the Quran and the Bhagavad Gita are so convincing.
Give form to unformulated thoughts.
The thermometer tells me the air should smell like it's 54 deg F.
Observe and report.
No witchcraft involved.
Although it can feel like magic sometimes.
Pray/meditate and accept that whatever happens is supposed to happen because it did.
I don't control anything in this world. The accepted concept of "I," that seems to come so easy to a thoughtful conclusion without much consideration in the moment, is the result of years of exposure to testable theories.
I am alive as a system of systems because the systems have no autonomy. They cooperate (or co-operate, if you will accept a hyphenated unhyphenated word as an obvious reference).
Plagiarism is not flattering and it tends to flatten the fullness of the original.
Time to read a report and look for places to drop pebbles in the pond where we bond together.
Is humour a sense like smelling or a type of observation as in a sense of humour?
Sunday, January 9, 2011
Pre-antecedental Period
Because time is meaningless the words will not end on a single point of fact that we really have no perception outside point of birth to now of self of subculture of civilisation of planetary phases of solar disc formation or galactic notational timekeeping track of what we will never see in the lifespan of our species inward turn of cannibalistic thought consumption eating away at the foundation of each succeeding subcultural generation of nonsense to the next spiraling down and down and down up the circular escalator reading of symbols out of context out of time immemorial forgottenly stamped in permanent me-mory getting it right only because the moment is always right for the moment does not exist except by comparison to everything that does not exist in the period that wills not itself into existence because meaning is timeless period
Border Collie Collar Boarder
She stood in the grocery supermarket aisle talking with a neighbour.
She stood on the front porch of the family farmhouse.
She stood for something.
She lived in a cycle of intersecting tricycles, quadriceps and quintuplets.
She tried to recall the definition of pronouns.
She counted the count.
What she stood for, that something, had changed.
A member of the Chinese Triad made peace with a member of a Japanese keiretsu.
She did not know this fact.
Yet she did.
No, not "woman's intuition."
Something older, predating gender differences.
Drapes in the wind of the heat pump's output.
Sensing change.
Call it science and sterilise it, like grocery market plastic packaging removing all the smells of fresh produce so that one has to read labels to guess what one has the choice of buying for nourishment.
Call it the call of the wild.
Untamed and undomesticated but not uncouth.
The method doesn't change but the messages do.
The courage to call it the way she sees it to someone for whom the something matters.
Knowing that hypnosis works only after someone has been told that hypnosis exists.
Otherwise it's just called living.
Sensitive to vibrations in the air.
She doesn't "have to" believe.
She is.
She is no longer she.
She stands outside the place and time of species-specific roles.
Where does she stand?
Don't you know?
You're her.
She stood on the front porch of the family farmhouse.
She stood for something.
She lived in a cycle of intersecting tricycles, quadriceps and quintuplets.
She tried to recall the definition of pronouns.
She counted the count.
What she stood for, that something, had changed.
A member of the Chinese Triad made peace with a member of a Japanese keiretsu.
She did not know this fact.
Yet she did.
No, not "woman's intuition."
Something older, predating gender differences.
Drapes in the wind of the heat pump's output.
Sensing change.
Call it science and sterilise it, like grocery market plastic packaging removing all the smells of fresh produce so that one has to read labels to guess what one has the choice of buying for nourishment.
Call it the call of the wild.
Untamed and undomesticated but not uncouth.
The method doesn't change but the messages do.
The courage to call it the way she sees it to someone for whom the something matters.
Knowing that hypnosis works only after someone has been told that hypnosis exists.
Otherwise it's just called living.
Sensitive to vibrations in the air.
She doesn't "have to" believe.
She is.
She is no longer she.
She stands outside the place and time of species-specific roles.
Where does she stand?
Don't you know?
You're her.
Deflates for easy storage
In a few minutes, frozen precipitation will fall onto the ground around me.
Soon, my wife and I will eat homemade potato soup. For dessert, I will munch on some See's Candies Toffee-ettes (r).
I thank Stephen King for mentioning Microwave Dave and the Nukes.
I thank Moe's BBQ for last night's dinner and Beverly at the Broken Egg for great service at lunch today. Walmart and Publix provided emergency supplies for the next few days of cabin fever (a good kind of fever as in "Fever in the morning, fever all through the night," etc.; not the cabin fever of "The Shining"). Mike's Merchandise provided some fun stuff to play with at home, including coffee cups to use for hot cocoa and an inflatable back rest to keep my back from popping out when I lay flat on the bed.
Thanks to the young woman at Merriam-Webster for the video on the word "gridiron."
Thanks to Tony Jones for stepping up and leading the young men at the University of Tennessee in their performances on the basketball court for an octet of games.
Thanks to the Muslims acting as human shields during Coptic Christmas.
Thanks to the 10-year old Canadian who discovered a new feature of our view of the universe around us.
Always thanking people for their past actions, have you noticed?
Instead, I'll thank the police officers living on my street for their future good deeds.
I thank the parents who will give their children positive encouragement to lead others into the fantastic future ahead of them (Rainbow, that includes you).
I will be lost in thought for the next few days so if I don't thank you for your actions around me in the moment, know that I appreciate what you're doing even if I don't mention it here.
The Committee reminds me there's a world to run in this solar system and I won't always have time to see and remember the people, places and things within my normal stimuli range.
What a shame, isn't it?
If I can't be the person I was born, how can I be the person I am meant to be?
That's enough of the words on a page. Time to get lost.
Get lost, Rick! Haha.
Soon, my wife and I will eat homemade potato soup. For dessert, I will munch on some See's Candies Toffee-ettes (r).
I thank Stephen King for mentioning Microwave Dave and the Nukes.
I thank Moe's BBQ for last night's dinner and Beverly at the Broken Egg for great service at lunch today. Walmart and Publix provided emergency supplies for the next few days of cabin fever (a good kind of fever as in "Fever in the morning, fever all through the night," etc.; not the cabin fever of "The Shining"). Mike's Merchandise provided some fun stuff to play with at home, including coffee cups to use for hot cocoa and an inflatable back rest to keep my back from popping out when I lay flat on the bed.
Thanks to the young woman at Merriam-Webster for the video on the word "gridiron."
Thanks to Tony Jones for stepping up and leading the young men at the University of Tennessee in their performances on the basketball court for an octet of games.
Thanks to the Muslims acting as human shields during Coptic Christmas.
Thanks to the 10-year old Canadian who discovered a new feature of our view of the universe around us.
Always thanking people for their past actions, have you noticed?
Instead, I'll thank the police officers living on my street for their future good deeds.
I thank the parents who will give their children positive encouragement to lead others into the fantastic future ahead of them (Rainbow, that includes you).
I will be lost in thought for the next few days so if I don't thank you for your actions around me in the moment, know that I appreciate what you're doing even if I don't mention it here.
The Committee reminds me there's a world to run in this solar system and I won't always have time to see and remember the people, places and things within my normal stimuli range.
What a shame, isn't it?
If I can't be the person I was born, how can I be the person I am meant to be?
That's enough of the words on a page. Time to get lost.
Get lost, Rick! Haha.
Ask yourself...
...are your children abusing teeth whitening products?
Sometimes "the government" is not to blame for your problems.
Sometimes, the use of parentheses indicates one should shift one's perspective on the use of labels.
Seven billion strong.
That's all I ask of our species.
It really is as simple as all that.
Anyone who tells you otherwise has a personal agenda at which you should look more closely and ask if you want to perpetuate someone else's (accidental or intentional) divisive actions.
Sometimes "the government" is not to blame for your problems.
Sometimes, the use of parentheses indicates one should shift one's perspective on the use of labels.
Seven billion strong.
That's all I ask of our species.
It really is as simple as all that.
Anyone who tells you otherwise has a personal agenda at which you should look more closely and ask if you want to perpetuate someone else's (accidental or intentional) divisive actions.
Frees Sticky Mechanisms
Knowledge in the hands of the uninformed is the phrase on the table in front of the Committee this morning.
I want to disagree with the general consensus in the room that centers around levels of training.
I have the report from my programmers to present.
I also have a deadline to meet.
I have a chapter to finish writing that's supposed to be fully researched and linked to the chapters I've already submitted.
How do I connect Chabrier's España to Aure Atika and WD40 without sounding quirky?
How do I maintain the narrative that seven billion can understand while disconnecting myself from the narrative's influence on the surroundings through which I choose to take the path toward/from natural end of life?
After all, that which cannot be named cannot be named.
Maybe the truth is the same way.
Maybe I'm still carrying the tiny portion of the message that can only be understood 10,000 years from now, no matter how much I want to be the final messenger (the last part an indication of my burden of narcissism, hypnotised by my own wonderful/marvelous/handsome reflection of the message that is not mine?).
I want to stop seeing life from ten steps forward and ten steps back, not be able to project 1000 years into the future, throw away all my electronic gizmos, drop my network of associates and say I have no clue what's going to happen next.
And remind myself that this is a blogged storyline about a parallel universe that appears to line up with the real world.
But at the same time remember that this blog and these words are part of the real world they try to repudiate or separate themselves from.
The continuous, humourous hall of mirrors showing us the distortions that hopefully make us laugh at ourselves, macabre or normal as we can appear to each other at times.
If not, then there's no reason to be here.
I don't always get what I want and usually I'm cool with that. When I'm not, I'm not, no reason to do more about worldly wants and desires.
The Committee Chair has called us back to order.
Talk to you later.
I want to disagree with the general consensus in the room that centers around levels of training.
I have the report from my programmers to present.
I also have a deadline to meet.
I have a chapter to finish writing that's supposed to be fully researched and linked to the chapters I've already submitted.
How do I connect Chabrier's España to Aure Atika and WD40 without sounding quirky?
How do I maintain the narrative that seven billion can understand while disconnecting myself from the narrative's influence on the surroundings through which I choose to take the path toward/from natural end of life?
After all, that which cannot be named cannot be named.
Maybe the truth is the same way.
Maybe I'm still carrying the tiny portion of the message that can only be understood 10,000 years from now, no matter how much I want to be the final messenger (the last part an indication of my burden of narcissism, hypnotised by my own wonderful/marvelous/handsome reflection of the message that is not mine?).
I want to stop seeing life from ten steps forward and ten steps back, not be able to project 1000 years into the future, throw away all my electronic gizmos, drop my network of associates and say I have no clue what's going to happen next.
And remind myself that this is a blogged storyline about a parallel universe that appears to line up with the real world.
But at the same time remember that this blog and these words are part of the real world they try to repudiate or separate themselves from.
The continuous, humourous hall of mirrors showing us the distortions that hopefully make us laugh at ourselves, macabre or normal as we can appear to each other at times.
If not, then there's no reason to be here.
I don't always get what I want and usually I'm cool with that. When I'm not, I'm not, no reason to do more about worldly wants and desires.
The Committee Chair has called us back to order.
Talk to you later.
Character Assassination
In a world of words and images in which craziness is a type of norm, people ask if we should Stop The Madness.
All I can do is tell my thought set to find symbols with which I can comfort myself, such as Urmi's place.
And ask if there's a comedian in a Venezuelan night club who's getting a laugh without resorting to hateful stereotypes.
Other than that, enjoy the silence, contemplation, meditation and general happiness.
All I can do is tell my thought set to find symbols with which I can comfort myself, such as Urmi's place.
And ask if there's a comedian in a Venezuelan night club who's getting a laugh without resorting to hateful stereotypes.
Other than that, enjoy the silence, contemplation, meditation and general happiness.
Saturday, January 8, 2011
Lloyd would be proud
How many remakes and sequels can one actor put on his CV?
To compare the original to the remake, watch the new "True Grit" at the theatre this afternoon and catch the original on AMC at 8 p.m. Eastern / 7 p.m. Central tonight.
Maybe I oughta find my autographed copy of "The Dog of the South" and read Portis' self-styled humour again.
Gotta drag my feet through Mary Roach's space book first... still can't decide if I like her writing or Marion's better (or Marion Barry, to use Mary's FHMS-style of tangential humour).
To compare the original to the remake, watch the new "True Grit" at the theatre this afternoon and catch the original on AMC at 8 p.m. Eastern / 7 p.m. Central tonight.
Maybe I oughta find my autographed copy of "The Dog of the South" and read Portis' self-styled humour again.
Gotta drag my feet through Mary Roach's space book first... still can't decide if I like her writing or Marion's better (or Marion Barry, to use Mary's FHMS-style of tangential humour).
Infinite Curiosity
A piece of the puzzle? You decide. Old but interesting news:
One more from the CDC:
Temporary Shortages of Fluoride Additives
Fluoridation Chemical Shortages and Rising Costs
One more from the CDC:
Temporary Shortages of Fluoride Additives
Philosopher's Stony Forecast
Someone please ask Socrates, Portugal's Prime Minister, if hemlock is a viable choice for politicians/bankers/investors who contributed to their country's decline.
Now that's a game show many average citizens would sit and talk about for hours!
Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to another exciting weekly installment of "Who Takes The Rap?"!
As you remember, in last week's episode, through archival film footage and hidden cameras, we watched unscrupulous leaders trade the livelihoods of their citizens and customers like pawns on a chess board make of Swiss cheese.
Tonight, your vote determines which dastardly villain takes Socrates Secret Potion and is eliminated from the show.
Don't forget, in the final episode, the winner will be revealed by our pollster-obsessed producers and sent on a one-way trip to Mars!
Now that's a game show many average citizens would sit and talk about for hours!
Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to another exciting weekly installment of "Who Takes The Rap?"!
As you remember, in last week's episode, through archival film footage and hidden cameras, we watched unscrupulous leaders trade the livelihoods of their citizens and customers like pawns on a chess board make of Swiss cheese.
Tonight, your vote determines which dastardly villain takes Socrates Secret Potion and is eliminated from the show.
Don't forget, in the final episode, the winner will be revealed by our pollster-obsessed producers and sent on a one-way trip to Mars!
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