A Return On The Return To Form

The band of merrymakers is about to perform.

In other words, the associates, business colleagues and computer programmers have put their heads together to coalesce, creating a cohesive network of states of energy that no longer needs any one supercomputer to set forth a future worth living within.

It is now the network of predicted futures that operate our network.

It is the anticipation of input from subnetworks which predict their own futures (that is, subsubcultural meme set projections) that drive our progress out of this moment and into the next.

It is not what is happening now that is happening now; rather, what is happening later is happening now.

The Book of the Future is twisted within its own point along its Mobius strip of a point in irreducible place and motion (that is, time).

With that said, the view from the future says that the conflict between the EU bureacracy and the EU members’ citizens is inconceivably unfixable, not unifiable.

Therefore, the way the US Fed monetary solution was implemented is not the same as the way the EU will reconfigure itself.

What is hidden will remain hidden in order to be revealed through innuendo.

To create a superculture, one need not look at past economic pastoral settings.

The EU is dissolved by being absorbed into the greater good.

Boundaries are illusions.

Beliefs are ephemeral.

Myths and legends are universal, within a few thousand years of constant repropagation.

Natural history is the clue you’ve been looking for.

Humour is the key and the keyhole.

You determine the cypher, the character monogram, and the lock, the protection mechanism, to be broken.

Royal decree is a form of indignation, is it not?

Too Crass for Top Brass Knuckles

Someone told me Ol’ Peg Leg himself, Alex Trebek, was back at work, hobbling across TV theatre stages, but without his trusty parrot, Repeatedly, on his shoulder.

Canada should be proud, I’m sure, I imagine, possibly.

The Rod Gilmore Fan Club has issued its own set of paper dolls for him.  I’m not sure what sartorial eloquence means but apparently his fans’ imaginations are wilder than a sports network’s ability to verify its morgue of information that clashes with its desire to become ever more profitable and pervasive (or should I say evasive?).

A rumour has it that Barney Frank will, as a last-ditch Congressional effort, launch an investigation into a sports network’s archives, in order to preserve journalism’s purity of investigative pursuit rather than pursuit of of the profit motive.

Like Jason Bateman’s observation of his mother’s maid, who carted furs to a storage unit that happened to catch on fire at an inconvenient time, the right Honourable Frank is alleged to have spies watching a sports network’s pages shredding and burning pages (but how do you shred and burn emails and voicemails?  Hmm…) to preserve the appearance of innocence after the fact.

Flood a hard disk factory and watch the roaches come squirming out, looking for a bit of dry land and a byte to eat.

The title of this blog entry was going to be “It’s Raining, It’s Snowing, the Governor is Blowing,” but bygones are Bygones, a species of creature so vile that those who cough up bile because their gall bladders have no gall (mainly, the Gauls who are galling) can just barely feel what it’s like to have Bygone Days (a symptom dissimilar to migraine headaches) when Bygones, smaller than a speck of dust, are squirted into the air as soon as a person innocently, ignorantly picks up an item discarded by the person in front or beside, relieving the high-pressure of Bygone capsules, kinda like stepping on puff mushrooms or overstuffed ship containers exploding on the high seas.

This week, we cast aside appearances to the contrary and visit the Contrarian, an agrarian, not a librarian, with a brain so huge (in comparison to a flea’s) that autism is a natural state, rather than the exception to the norm.  Speaking of which… Hey, Norm!

[Can you imagine being completely mental yet everyone you know and, most especially, those you don’t, call you Norm?  Par for the coarse sandpaper, eh, you say?]

Have you ever been booed?  Do you understand when your popularity was an illusion fostered by intimidation rather than admiration?

And lastly, don’t you love being part of the so-called One Percenters, with Ninety-Nine Luftballoons causing the next great war…sorry, with the remaining 99 percent of your species simply pawns doing your bidding — buying trinkets they don’t need, exchanging objects with planned obsolescence during a commercial orgy of a holiday — all for your profitable and viewing pleasure?

Ahhh-h-h-h-h…if one must be a particular set of states of energy, let it be this one, water dripping from the gutter and snow falling in the air on a late November day, with fellow citizens helping you pay your alleged tax burden and paying homage to civil [dis]obedience, where the military cannot hold you indefinitely outside of the protective, and nearly universal, laws of your land, where the current popular occupation, a member of Occupy [your locale], relives the Revival spirit of religious-toned gatherings and camp meetings of centuries past.

You know, the Bygone days, a golden era when everyone got itchy and excited due to Bygone infestations, wanting to jump and shout in unison with others, turning to the alpha members of the group, the leaders (often the driven or wannabe members of the One Percenters), to interpret the purpose of their feelings toward their medical afflictions and infections.

[Yes, this should have been called “Ode to a Bygone” but who’d’ve read it?]

Do you wonder about our fascination with the Roman god of war and agriculture, Mars?

When your descendants settle on the planet Mars, will they construct a monument to the mythological deity as a token of thanks for giving them a new home place to sprawl out upon?

After all, we’re prone to building edifices, one of the strange habits of our species.

In your locale, are there more monuments to peace or war?  Is every edifice — skyscrapers, museums, or schools, for instance — a monument?  Will the Arab Spring and Occupy movements have their own monuments one day?

=v=v=

Thanks to Dr. Brooke Uptagrafft, Dr. Karen Lamb and many more, such as Shelby at K-Mart, Ben at Zaxby’s, and Buddy’s BBQ.

Paper Dolls for Christmas

Hey, while you recover from just one more attack on society to effect change (that is, enrage those in uniform to kill you with relish and mustard (gas)), take a moment to solemnly remember the holiday where Santa Claus cradled the baby Jesus before carving a bunch of nutcrackers for little boys to torture their little sisters with.

But seriously, instead of shopping the hectic malls and midnight madness sales, jump on over to Martha White’s favourite cook, Rhonda Vincent, for a set of paper dolls.  She’ll be glad you did.

Y’all be sure to stop by next week, when we’ll surely have a hot batch of buns in the oven…and we don’t mean the football team’s been raiding the sorority houses again!

RHEL 6.2

In two days, my wife and I will sit down for Thanksgiving Day dinner without her mother present, the first holiday when both her parents are no longer alive and available to make new memories with family.

If we live long enough, most of us will experience this same circumstance.

I can still see my mother in-law’s face — her jaws apart, her mouth wide open in the same stance when she gasped for one last breath (no, two) after her heart stopped — as her skin colour went from pinkish-white to yellow while the oxygen-processing cells in her body slowly died, her body turning cold on the hospital bed.

In the casket at the funeral home, my mother in-law’s face was fleshed out and powdered with makeup, leaving a blemish or two showing (possibly a hematoma?) to give her a natural look, albeit one from 20 or 30 years ago.

Reminds me of my friend Monica, now living in Singapore, who followed in her grandfather’s footsteps and became a mortician in Mississippi.  She embalmed her great-grandmother — as a mortician, who better do you trust to make a family member look her best at her own funeral?

Monica handled the usual variety of funeral cases — open caskets for badly-mangled automobile smashup victims (a mortician is one-part special effects artist and one-part magician), Christian services and Jewish burials — that you’d expect to find in a small southern U.S. town, and anywhere else professional funeral services are provided.

But she left the business a long time ago, at least two decades by now.

Modern technology has entered the funeral business.  Software development simplifies the memorial process for departed loved ones – posting funeral service announcements via online memorials, for instance, allowing those who cannot attend a service in person to post comments for family members and friends to read about their recently deceased, partially replacing the old method of mailing sympathy cards.

In two days, we’ll remember what we have to be thankful for:

  • We have the Internet.
  • We have a planet relatively free of galaxy-sized catastrophic interferences.
  • We have one another.

What else do we need besides food, clothing, shelter, clean air, and protection from our worst behaviours/habits?

As a set of states of energy, “need” and “want” are terms readily understood in the here-and-now, in this moment, terms for which we can describe thankfulness and know generally what that means.

At that scale, this blog entry closes — let us put off, until later, readings of the Book of the Future which show timescales that make any language, and thus, words and sounds, indecipherable.

How would pepper spray have affected Geerat Vermeij if he had been sitting with protesters on the UC-Davis campus recently?

Supporting the right to protest and the right to preserve peace within a community is what makes any sociopolitical system flexible enough to survive turmoil and grow.  Conflict resolution is an inherent component of nature, including us.

Never too late to read a book

Novels in November:

1. “The Boy Who Harnessed the Wind,” by William Kamkwamba and Bryan Mealer
2. “The Man Who Loved Books Too Much,” by Allison Hoover Bartlett
3. “Even Silence Has an End: My Six Years of Captivity in the Colombian Jungle,” by Ingrid Betancourt
4. “The Information: A History, A Theory, A Flood,” by James Gleick

Take nothing for granted, granite included

If I knew that our solar system was packed with living things (at least in the way we choose to define the term “living”), would I feel as compelled as I do to encourage us to devote xx.xx% of our resources toward populating the cosmos with living things from Earth?

The WordPress front page displayed a link to a blog entry titled, “Off the Couch and Into the Streets.”  Rarely do I feel compelled to comment on a blog entry but I added one to Coleen’s:

Your blog entry popped up on the front page of WordPress, and the title “Off the couch and into the streets” caught my attention because I’m looking for a fun way to lose some extra weight. Thus, my expectations were different than you might have expected when you wrote this blog entry.

The Occupy [your locale] movement, Arab Spring, and any/all protestations against the common/established social structure are perennial, which usually fall under the label “counterculture.” I encourage you to feel and act differently, supporting your subcultural beliefs no matter how much you may feel crushed/oppressed by the common culture under which you live and socialise.

Having grown up during the 1960s global counterculture movement, my perspective, as a child at the tailend of the Baby Boomer generation, has taught and continues to teach me that those who protest will encourage others to act in less obvious, newsworthy manners, to effect longterm change.

I’m glad you have a job which gave you the flexibility and courage to join those who wanted to voice their displeasure with the current state of our common culture [one] day on the streets of Denver. Hopefully, through your job and with your friends, you can be the change you want to see today and into the future.

How do we express ourselves daily?  In other words, do we carefully consider the words we use in social exchanges?

Saying I am the “99%” or I am the “1%” or any other label automatically establishes an artificial barrier.

Reminds me of taking the Myers-Briggs personality profile test as a requirement of working in a certain department at a company full of a variety of personality types, including conformists and nonconformists.  After taking the test and, with another person who had gotten the same personality profile, saying that the test results were bogus, was informed that those who received that particular personality profile were prone to say the test results were bogus.

I feel the same way about the Occupy movement.  The participants brag about how diverse and unlabelable they are — yet, they quickly chant about the “99%” and the “1%” without blinking a self-conscious inner eye.

Another commenter said, “It’s like telling a child “You just like to argue” and the child keeps saying “Nuh uh!”.”  The same goes for those who are being labeled by the diverse Occupy movement participants.

To be frank, when I hear the Occupy movement chants through mass media soundbites, all I can think is, “Well, what if I’m one of the 1%?  So what?  Didn’t I earn my place in this financial position by saving (using the old adage of “pay yourself first”) and spending wisely?  Sure, some of my Nike shoes or my wife’s Kathy Lee Gifford designer clothes were made using kids paid ‘slave wages’ but I stopped buying those items after I found out about their manufacturing sources.  The University of Oregon and Stanford University, home to some students who have protested, didn’t refuse Phil Knight’s donations nor did the students refuse to attend those universities.  Regis Philbin, a person apparently beloved by many, didn’t stop being Kathy Lee Gifford’s friend.  I don’t have all the time in the world to investigate the raw material source and manufacturing location of every item I buy but will make reasonable changes when I find out.  Some parts of me are just as susceptible to instant gratification and buyer remorse as anyone else in the 1% or 99% (i.e., all seven billion of us).”

That’s why using or not using labels is important to me.  Also why I lump us all together into the label of “seven billion of us.”  We’re in this thing as one.  One planet, one global infrastructure, one solar ecosystem.

How do we train ourselves and one another to seek rewarding goals that limit destructive and detrimental effects on others, regardless of our entrenched differences?

This time of year, I look out the window and bare trees expose the view of row after row of shingled suburban rooftops.

The mortgage on my house has been paid off.  The majority of mortgages for the rooftops out there are probably still being paid for.

Shall I blame or thank the finance/banking industry for suburban sprawl that makes my skin crawl?

Shall I adjust my view to show myself the people occupying those suburban boxes are paying taxes that support the roads that allow me to drive to unoccupied parks and forests set aside for my enjoyment via local/state/national proclamation and financial support?

If, as one person said, the rich have enough money to pay for half the population to control/kill the other half, where does that put me?

Well, I know where it puts where I want to be.  I want to be one of the rich and when I get there, I don’t want to have to redistribute my wealth unnecessarily.  I admit I like having the total population of my species at my control.  I want to be Phil Knight and say, “Yeah, so what if my products have been made in sweat shops?  My personally-directed donations are creating a whole new crop of those who will rule from the top”.  If I’m going to be labeled as part of the 1%, I want to be Bill Gates, Carlos Slim, Pierre Omidyar or Vladimir Putin, not a homeless person as part of the poorest 1%.

Tiny leaves float through the air outside the window.  A woodpecker hops up and down tree limbs, presumably looking for hidden insects to munch upon.

Both public and private money has given me the time to sit here and make these comments.  It’ll take 100% of us to improve our conditions, if we so choose.

Yes, our global economy is not perfect and never will be perfect.  It displays characteristics of both an open and a closed-loop system, subject to the advantages and disadvantages of each.

Can we show how unselfish we are and share our wealth, of knowledge and financial gains, accordingly, while some of us compete against each other in the chess game of life to make things better for our descendants?

Live happily in the fact that today’s 1% will not be tomorrow’s 1% nor will today’s 99% be tomorrow’s.

If you don’t like what’s going on, take the opportunity to change it.  If you don’t like accumulating massive debt to pay for a college education, find a company that’ll hire you for your current skills/talents despite the lack of a diploma.  I did.  But I eventually got around to completing a bachelor’s degree just to prove I can (and got my company to foot the bill – hey, I wasn’t born yesterday – which set me up for a career ladder promotion that wasn’t interesting to me, but that’s another story).

Nothing is set in stone, except perhaps your date of death, and even that fades with time and exposure to the elements.

Think the members of the U.S. Congress who sit on a supercommittee can cut over $1T from the U.S. government budget and make everyone happy?  Wanna make a bet?

If it was me, I’d spread the cuts proportionally to those who are expected NOT to vote in the next election.  Hey, it’s only fair, is it not?  The U.S. is a democratic republic where lawful citizens have the right to participate in electing legislative, executive and some judicial representatives.  Those who choose not to participate, or vote, get less of the government pie to eat – isn’t that one of the tales we learned in kindergarten?

We’ll see what we see when the time comes…

Confession

I have a confession to make.

I’m hard of hearing.

My tinnitus, or ringing in the ears, makes every sound around me a little fuzzy.

Some voices are harder to hear than others.

Thus, I partially read lips.

And, when looking at lips, I sometimes forget to pay attention to the context of the words I’m hearing, paying attention as I am, a red-blooded American male, to the lips of the person talking to me at the time, especially the opposite sex.

For that, my inattention in the moment, I apologise.

It doesn’t happen all the time.

Only when my 1) guy meter, or 2) curiosity factor is overactive, thinking:

  1. “Wow! Those are pretty lips.  Natural or lipstick-enhanced?”
  2. “Hmm…chapped lips.  I wonder if that person has thought of lip protection from wind and sun.”

Wait, what was that you were just saying?