In a show of support for demographic shifts, the Cleveland Indians announced the change of their mascot to that of former Indian leader Nehru, the baseball players and staff adopting the Nehru jacket and matching hat for their uniforms, going forward.
Demonstrating demonstrators’ demonstrations demanding demanding changes, notwithstanding.
What if a living organism defined intelligence in a way that is not based on pattern matching?
What would it be…hmm…are not molecules a form of atomic pattern matching???
An exercise for readers until the next installment which reveals an answer that contains no matching patterns.
What is the defining moment in economic improvement?
Decrease in average unemployment?
Increase in average wages?
To finish recording events surrounding the death of my next-door neighbour…
A few days ago, my wife and I met Alice Battle and her daughter, Wendy.
Alice repeated what the building contractor had told us, that she planned to use the house and grounds, after major house foundation refortification, as a weekend retreat.
Without provocation, she stated, “I have nothing to hide,” adding more conversation to verbalise a defense of unspoken thoughts against her.
I seem to remember a few people in my past making that statement and later finding out for myself that if a person cannot sense a situation of unethical behaviour, that person will engage in activities that are unintentionally unethical, assuming it’s normal, until that person is called out by another.
Ignorance of the law, ignorance of other persons’ perception of your ethical lapses — ignorance is ignorance, plain and simple.
I’ll leave this up to our neighbour on down the street to pursue the matter further, if she so chooses.
For now, I accept what our new neighbour says, and let her actions speak louder than words.
After all, I am a businessman myself, and know many a time when closing a deal meant leaving myself open to interpretation of ethical behaviour by others.
I know many a business person in our neighbourhood who could be accused of ethical misconduct.
At the end of the day, a few of us are responsible for creating a society where we can manage the lives of others, staying within the spirit of ethicality (or theatricality, according to the spellchecker), whilst we give the majority a belief that a whole socioeconomic system can operate fully under the law and within business ethics, when we know better.
My business associates/colleagues understand what I’m saying. We know that many of us are born without a conscience, having no moral compass, and cannot be trained to believe otherwise. Who are we to deny them their right to live the way they choose?
Instead, let us hold to the belief that everyone is important and has a place in our society, even when that place contradicts our own beliefs and actions.
Plan ahead, that’s our motto.
You already know our new slogan: “Business. Science. Competition.”
Create a law that stealing is a crime. Then use those who steal to accomplish business and science goals for you, arresting and convicting them later on, giving those who believe in prison rehabilitation methods the opportunity to experiment on the conscience-less, keeping them both occupied and feeling wanted, one way or another.
Never underestimate the power of those who believe in magic that doesn’t exist, whatever labels they use to describe magical powers.
In this morning’s state of meditation, listening to the echoes of my thoughts, I, the intersection of sets of states of energy, try not to capture any one thought for conscious analysis.
I neither deny nor accept the belief sets of others whose ideas have entered my thought trails temporarily.
For convenience’s sake, I use the primary language given to me in my youth.
Otherwise, Earth, our planetary home, wobbly rotates on its axis.
Life is.
Is life?
The heat pump pushes warm air through dusty vents, stirring spider webs.
The chain hanging from the banker’s lamp wiggles in response.
A taped-together, inkjet-printed panorama of the Cliffs of Moher serves as a background image for the webs and dust, fluttering in the artificial wind.
Thoughts…what is a thought?
What makes one thought stronger in thinking/feeling than another?
What causes a person to burn/convert states of energy to perpetuate one thought set, a network of neuronal connections?
Where does “muscle memory” fit into the picture?
I say I believe a self-perpetuating set of states of energy called a living organism, a cell, if you will, is the core meaning of the trillions of cells that are involved in calling this being in front of the laptop computer “me.”
I, or one of my representatives, can create an electromechanical device that acts like a living organism, seeking a source of electrical energy to recharge its batteries so it may do whatever its main tasks may be — vacuuming dirt out of carpet and off of floors, for instance.
My laptop computer may remind me that its batteries need recharging, using me to recharge its batteries.
Where is the line that separates these two examples of self-perpetuation from what we call a living organism/cell?
The redbud tree outside the window has no main tasks that I have assigned it.
It sprouted from a seed, converted sunlight into food and eventually grew to produce flowers which were pollinated and became seedpods containing new seeds.
It feeds and is fed upon.
Our local star, the Sun, burns and burns and burns.
It feeds us. We feed upon its energy output.
Compare my energy input versus my energy output and then compare my set of states of energy to the Sun.
What is the ratio of sets of states of energy that feed upon me to the sets of states of energy that are fed by the Sun?
Today, answers are not what I seek. I simply plant seeds in my thoughts for analysis at a later date and time, in order to observe the first living organism that was created by me or my representative, then compare it to me and to the Sun.
Perhaps, it is time to get back to writing about the Committee, the business associates/colleagues, the assassins, the asinines, the cosines, the cathodes, the anodes, the annotated and the collated.
Tending the garden that is one planet feeds me which feeds the storyline.
That is life.
Life is that?
With a nod to an American atomic bomb scientist, while we’re at the blame game.
How long can a person take verbal abuse, over and over again, hearing the blame game, the excuses that everything is his/her fault, and finally say, “I’ve had enough! I’m making a change in my life, no matter how much it contradicts the teachings of my youth.”?
What if the images/visions of a positive, radiant future in one’s thoughts were manifested in more than neural reality?
There’s a lot I have to consider of the past 26-30 years of my life and see if I have the energy to make significant changes for my health.
Am I really as unimportant as I try to convince myself I am?
Is it, instead, the result of years of accumulated personality bashing?
I will tell you a story…
When a man first got married, his wife would get sick (regular cold/flu type conditions), insisting that the man stay home from work to care for her.
They both had good-paying jobs.
One day, the man was called into his boss’ office and told to see the Head of Payroll.
The Head of Payroll, a “tough broad” and a “Number One Bitch,” she called herself with pride, sat the man down.
“I hear you got married a few months ago.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And since then, you’ve taken four days off, which exceeds our expected rate of sick pay per quarter per employee. Let me ask you a straightforward question. You don’t appear to be sick. Are you and your wife trying to have a baby?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Is there any chance she has gotten pregnant?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Well, in my 35 years of working in payroll, I can tell you what I’m seeing here. Your wife is trying to manipulate and control you at the start of your marriage. If you don’t put a stop to this, she’ll walk all over you for the rest of your years together.”
The man raised his eyebrows.
“Yes, I know what you’re thinking. ‘What’s an old maid like me giving advice to a married man?’ Son, it doesn’t take a genius to know what another woman is thinking. Half of us are man-haters by default and the other half is lying to itself. If you don’t put your foot down now, you might as well hand your balls on a plate to your wife and have ’em locked away for good.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“What are you, some kind of Boy Scout?”
“Yes, ma’am. I am an Eagle Scout.”
“You ever been to a girlie show?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Well, I just went to a male stripper show and I can tell you that the women in there were happily married women in public but hiding their sexual frustrations a’plenty. They hooted and hollered at the strippers like they’d never seen a naked man in their life before. Your wife ever been to one?”
“Yes, ma’am. Once. But she was turned off by the blatant display of male sexual aggression.”
“She was, was she? Hmm… Son, your problems are worse than I thought. I’ve got to get payroll processed by this afternoon but I want to talk more to you about this. If I can save you, I can save this office from becoming a bunch of henpecked men.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And quit being so kind to me. You should have argued with me at least once or twice by now, defending your honour rather than letting an ol’ hag like me badger you. We’ve got a lot of work to do! Now, go on out of here before I get in trouble for not getting complacent employees like you your paychecks on time! You aren’t one of those guys whose wives take their paychecks from them before they can spend a cent?!”
“No, ma’am.”
“Well, there’s hope. Go on. Scoot!”
[Cryptic Teasing Headline inserted here]
[Byline of over/underpaid author added here]
[Headquarters of news agency/geographical source of news added here]
[Sensationalised lede added here]
[Supporting paragraphs added here]
[Unimportant filler paragraphs/charts/photos added here]
[Sensationalised summary paragraph added here]
Rinse and repeat
= = = = =
You, too, can become a news publisher/editor/reporter by following the simple steps above.
For more details on turning this into an exciting yet profitable career, buy my new book which details the secrets of creating the creative empire based on nothing but convincing people I am a convincing person whose wealth accumulation became its own source for more wealth accumulation — alchemy with mere words, I tell you!
In light of the fact that a social networking website pats itself on the back for having 1 billion fake friends (not to mention all the paid “like” button presses), this latest bit of news fell into the shadows.
Parents all over the world are shocked and upset that their children, whom they loved and cared for selflessly, are creating criminal “mug shot” photos of themselves for the social media profile pictures.
The children are also adding fake arrest records to go with the photos.
The photos are works of art, with makeup jobs created by amateur FX painters/sculptors who turn the children into bruised, scraped, bloody, drunk, high versions of their normally-behaved faces.
Pretty soon, the line between real criminals and fake criminals will be as blurry as the line between real friends and fake friends on your social network.
Feel free to add an authentic robo-like to that one!
“Grasshopper, what lesson have I taught you today?”
“That biting my fingernails is a sign.”
“And…?”
“That biting my toenails is also a sign, a sign of flexibility, but one need not always be flexible.”
“Very good.”
“Thank you, Master.”
“You are welcome. It is time we look at broader subjects. Have you ever heard me talk about our enemies?”
“No, Master. You have told me one must never have enemies, only opportunities to learn from those whose beliefs complement one’s own.”
“Very good, Grasshopper.”
“Thank you, Master.”
“Remember, little one, I have told you many times to call me Mister.”
“Yes, Master Mister.”
“[Sigh.] Very well. I will not reinforce your habit of mastering your subjects, including me. Let us proceed.”
“Yes, Mister Master Mister, Master.”
“As you recall from a previous lesson, we observed two people in opposition. What did I tell you?”
“That one should adopt the best traits and best people, allowing others to demonise the remaining traits and remaining people so that one may concentrate on pure joy, happiness, and meditation of best-ness.”
“Indeed. Grasshopper, you do well today. But do not bite your toenails. We are not animals.”
“But, Master, you bite your toenails.”
“Only after I have cut them from my toes do I use my toenails as ‘toothpicks’ when wood is unavailable to remove rice hulls from between my teeth.”
“Yes, Master.”
“Remember, one must be resourceful yet maintain one’s harmony with one’s true sense of self.”
“Yes, Master Mister Master Mister, Mister.”
“What else did you learn from that lesson?”
“By observing how one’s colleagues make enemies out of other people do we learn their true nature.”
“And…?”
“That pizza is a delicious late-night snack when meditating upon 24-hour sports network viewing.”
“Where did you get such an idea, Grasshopper?”
“From you, Master, Mister, Master. You, yourself, have said your round belly of wisdom should be called the Pizza Palace of Peace.”
“You pay attention to too much of my humorous asides, Grasshopper. Telling and understanding jokes is the deepest of wisdoms one attains through years of listening to others’ foolish behaviour. One must not confuse wisecracks from wise observations.”
“Master, I do not understand, Mister. Are they not both kernels of wisdom?”
“Very wise of you to say that, Grasshopper…”
“Do you not use my name, ‘Grasshopper,’ as both a serious reference to my body and as a joking reference to my impermanence, in addition to my insignificance as an insect in comparison to my body?”
“Yes, Grasshopper. We have discussed this many times in your decades of training. At 50 years of age, you are well past the time in one’s life when one should leave this training center and pursue one’s destiny. So your name is both a reverent label and an irreverent joke about you overstaying your education.”
“But, Master. You have never left these walls. Are we not both trapping ourselves within imaginary walls around our true destiny?”
“Grasshopper, your wisdom is beyond your years and yet beneath you. One must never say more than one feels.”
“But what does one feel about walls? I have no emotional ties to the kiln-dried bricks and mortar.”
“Grasshopper, let us put off that lesson until tomorrow. I am feeling tired and very, very old.”
“But, Master, you, Master Mister, are only five years old. How can a Mister Master like you feel old? This is the time when Masters like you usually feel playful.”
“Grasshopper, you know that wisdom is not measured in years. Look at the golfers who play in the Masters. Some master their skills at an early age and some do not find the master to hone their skills for them until they are much older.”
“Yes, Master. We both need our rest.”
“Indeed. And please, please, please, call me Mister, not Master, not Master Mister or Mister Master, or Master Mister Master, or Mister Master Mister, or…”
“But, Master, it is my joke I play on you. Can you not see that?”
“Yes, Grasshopper. But like the lesson where we keep the best traits of our perceived enemies for ourselves, let us give the worst jokes or the jokes that have grown old to our perceived enemies, too.”
“Yes, Mast…err, I mean, Mister.”
“Thank you, Grasshopper. You may return to your eight-hour duty of raking the autumn leaves that fall upon our gravel path.”
“The leaves never stop falling this time of year.”
“Yes. A lesson you have taught yourself over and over for how long now?”
“Forty-eight years, Mister.”
“That’s right. I forgot you were a late bloomer, two years old when you were brought here.”
“Yes, Mister. That’s why I have not left. My previous Master told me that blooming late is my specialty.”
“A wise Mister Master, indeed!”
treetrunkdings 