This and That

So, how do we solve the Syrian crisis?  How do we send in people from other countries who will be welcomed by both pro- and anti-Assad Syrian citizens to prevent more killing?

A friend asked why poetry is not as popular as other written art forms (non/fiction novels, for instance).

My response:

In general, books can put us into the complete narrative of other people’s lives — fictional and nonfictional — with excruciatingly drawnout detail, which some crave for its complete escapist fantasy (pick your favourite genre), while poetry is often a snapshot or sketch of a single moment or idea, requiring the reader to use imagination to fill in the blanks.

In my youth, a pop poet named Rod McKuen both attracted people to the power of poetry and alienated those who consider poetry a higher art form.

Most people, if they think of poetry at all, hear what you call “does so much more, it says so much more, it’s so much cleverer, it requires so much more, it’s simply brilliant,” in song lyrics, which is not such a bad thing.

Another friend explains why it’s more fun in the Philippines.

DARPA wants to know your biometric habits.

And finally, have you ever wanted your personal bobblehead nodding back to you every day?

BONUS: Where’s Emma Peel when you need an appealing car model named PEEL?

A Guinea Pig for Chemistry

Even behind-the-scenes writers and not-so-fortunate fortunetellers need a break every now and then.

All afternoon, I sat in a chair at the Salon Professional Academy while a friend, Tammie, coloured and cut my hair, changing me from a white-haired guy to a ginger-haired professorial type.

Thanks, Tammie, and to your colleagues, for the fun, friendship and new hairstyle.

Now, back to the story you know will keep you in your seats…

= = =

Thanks to MailPro; Richard, Ray and Julie at Lowe’s; USPS; B&N; Jonathan at Anaheim Chili.

Congrats to the NY Giants.

To think, Old MacDonald Had a Farm, GI, GI Joe

The 1% of 1%, we don’t see the world in geographic political boundaries.

Of course, as you know, we pretend the boundaries exist, telling you stuff like “Look out for that country over there — it’s against us this year,” and “Our strategic partnership with these countries is the only thing keeping your economic livelihood stable.”

Now that more than 50% of our species lives in sub/urban areas, “free” of the bind to land-based [subsistence] living, you are all our virtual slaves, depending on our virtual chess game results to tell you what to do next.

Two steps forward, one step to the left/right, please.

And then, as previous chapters have told you, there is the Committee, which also manages the lives of the 1% of the 1%.

Finally, there is the universe itself, spinning off little eddies of atoms and molecules that collect and replicate their patterns.

You should have in your thought patterns by now the full understanding that the universe as we know it is simply revealed by a 360-degree searchlight from the point of our planet/solar system, reaching a finite boundary and creating the illusion of a symmetrical sphere in which we are the center.

Feel free to comprehend our ignorance, vast as it is and will continue to be, ad infinitum.

There is just so much that I, the individual, can bother to talk about here while supervising the construction of the interwebs of interwebs tying you to your personal supercomputers tied to everyone else’s supercomputers tied, as if all of that is a single node, to the Internet of the Next Big Things to Come.

So, to me, all military actions, no matter how we label them in nationalistic or terror group or lone wolf terms, are all one.

For instance, I don’t see an Iranian nuclear scientist killed by the CIA or Mossad.  I see us managing to control ourselves by killing ourselves.

Same for sports and other categories of diverting ourselves from our primary tasks of eating and breathing.

Let us move on to more important matters.

Details in the next chapter of the story of our lives seen from the vantage point of 1000 years from now.

Happiness and humour — share them endlessly.

Beginner Glassblower Glasses Classes

“It wasn’t always like this,” she told me.

You see, me Ma, she’s been around the block, as they say, being a marathon runner and all that.

We remember our ancestors who were awarded land by the Crown all those centuries ago.

And it weren’t too long ago, when me Ma’s Da’s Da, invited to supp with the Queen, said, “Why, I wouldn’t set foot in the same room with that German impostor!”

But seein’ as you don’t know what I’m talkin’ ’bout, y’ought to know more, right?

If it ain’t always been like this, when has it been?

Or will it?

Like last night, sittin’ in the dark, watchin’ them kids from Knoxville, Cookeville, Nashville and Texas swingin’ to the oldies, music spun up on hard disks by the DJ crew Winter Wonderland for the Huntsville Swing Dance Society…

I got to thinkin’…

Yeah, and that’s why I’m still here this morning, wonderin’ why it is that this is not what it’s always been like.

When did we teach kids to dance in low {earth} gravity conditions?

They weren’t born on your home planet.

The last direct descendant livin’ on Scottish soil had died, revertin’ our ol’ homeland back to the Crown (and yes, the Queen is still one of them German pretenders to the British throne but who’m I to care, bouncin’, as I am, out here in the hinterlands of our species’ solar system settlements?)…

Am I just a fractal projection of a 2D surface?

Or is that a holographic computation upon a 4D equestrian equation equal to none and summarisation of everything?

I think me oxygen level is out of balance with me nitrogen mix.

Besides, them dancers what celebrated the 13th birthday on Friday the 13th at KCDC, they’s got their time to shine in the sweaty spotlight.

Oh well, not like the dinner theatre in X27B is any more real than any other history, past or present tense, tension or predisposition.

But the sentiments are the same.

As me Da said to me Ma, “And it’ll never be like this again.”

Homeless shelters solve protein issue…

…feed pigeon and cat meat to residents, end animal overpopulation problem at same time, fix euthanasia moral crisis.

Note to lying, cheating scum (you know who you are) – rats are edible, too.

And that’s the news this week from our offworld colony, Nua Éire, where the whole lot is used to hardship and oppression, key ingredients for successful colonisation of harsh environments.

As one colonist noted, “We don’t need no princes, princesses or prima donnas ’round here.”

Feed me. See more.

And now, back to the story of your lives, where we explore the cosmos in search of a good place to park our flying metal boxes, build a few domiciles of native material and plant a garden for healthy living in a game called “Pick a Planet”…

Medical phrase of the day: myasthenia gravis.

Will catch up on the list of people/businesses to thank soon, I think.

In the event of human coursework

Well, I’ve waited a long time to reveal the latest development by our caged…cagey scientists in the bowels of the beast called our not so nutsy secret headquarters and here it is [drum egg rolls, please]…

After raiding the refuse bins of millions of wasteful homes, our scientists have assembled a supercomputer made of mobile phones and in the process have created the best simulation of a general brain of our species to date.

How is this possible, you ask?

Ahh…I love a good ounce of delayed gratification shaken with a dab of anticipation.

You see, one of our gang figured it like this.  To emulate the brain, you need brain waves.

Where do you get brain waves out of mobile phone circuit boards?

Well, I’ll tell you.

It’s them radios they all got inside.

And the ability to not only hook the boards into a giant, humongous, multiple parallel processor but also to sync them using instant messaging (IM, SMS, and OOA (other obscure acronyms)) sent across individual mobile phone processors via batch processing using distinct radio frequencies.

At least that’s what they told me to tell you.

I just want to know, how do I get the thing drunk enough to buy my Next Big Thing that’s as full of hot air as the last useless one I sold the previous supercomputer that thought it was so smart but couldn’t resist the easiest sales closing script known to just about everybody in the business?

That’s all for now, folks.  Gotta see if MORTIE has new information to pass you, you know, in case there’s a hot stock tip to pass your way or something like that.

Meanwhile, keep the home fires burning and the hacking hot.  We’ve got a planet to run!

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