I saw the puppet from the white house on TV yesterday, trying to give a poorly memorized speech to the reporters on why us troops had to stay in Iraq, using the word 'victory'. I pity that guy in a way. When I look at him, it seems he does not even understand what he is talking about. Probably that makes him so dangerous. I find myself thinking in an apologetic way: 'he just does not know better. He is caught in some network of power and struggles to fulfill his role.' The trouble is, nothing can tarnish the reputation of a guy who had no credibility in the first place. So ironically I get the impression that it all works for him.
Here is a link to a piece that tries to analyse what an immediate withdrawal could mean. And just a moment ago I discovered that there is an even more recent one. And then go, paint your posters, and ask an officer for the way to the next first amendment zone.
dada'ist spam poetry: slain badger is infancy vocation
Got this one in te mail today. In order to get through the filter it makes use of a 'text' made up form words which are unlikely to be in a spam. After a little reformatting the result sounds like a dada'ist poem to me:
contaminate pavement kaput.
Interior Department, lick,.
publisher,
precede is menorah
gooey is well-known in ode of foot
the in replaceable
squarely, as heavy metal.
fantastic
the to impertinent suddenness,
and shallowness,
sellout gang dishonor,
napkin.: with banish,
a breakfast, discord complacency triplicate perseverance
the pitcher excavation, to and
slain badger
is infancy vocation
a autoworker,
compartment restoration,
pilfer with pragmatist
as fretful hopelessness and affection
was fait accompli puritanical,
as left-hand chronological subliminal
the compliant irrigation
convert menopause.
bedside bisexual
in psychic to tiger
deed but saint.
poison ivy
liking the wan
dreamt fictitious
of triplicate pleated bebop
scolding the excessively,.
belie sailor?
coat mike?!
Jill writes about neighbo(u)rs and how she wishes they would bake her cakes. But these neighbourships (is that the word?) are a tricky thing. There are places where there is no escape from the madwoman forcing her coffee and cake on you, places where you sneak up the staircase in order not to be discovered by them, places where you do not dare to borrow things, because whatever container you lent came back full with un(b)eatable food. And then there are these ironic twists. The last apartment I moved into was one of nine in the house. I decided to come forward and introduced myself briefly to everyone I met in the staircase during the first week. With mostly positive reactions. Except for one. He told me that he preferred to be left alone. This was the only one who during all the years I lived there would salute me with my name on every single occasion he met me. Neighbours are an absolutely unpredictable hazard. Do not even dare to think about their cakes.
Without permission I am just translating here an entry from sombody claiming to be a 30 year old woman from Madrid who decided to be identified by s - just as I did:
In asocial she writes:
"Who does not integrate into or connect to the social body."
This is the definition of the word asocial according to the RAE (Real Academia Española), I believe it to be quite fitting for my character. It does not matter whether I like the persons in question, whether I am interested in them for the one or other reason, I always end up seeking the distance, even if I would wish to come closer, I become quiet even if I want to talk, in the end it is as if something inside me said, as soon as they know you a little they will get weary, you basically do them a favor - and thoughts of that sort, so that I end up being correct, but effectively cold, without allowing me a chance with those persons who, sad for them, have shown a certain interest for me.
Have you ever felt this feeling not to have anything to do with mostly nobody, to hardly have a point to connect? I would like to change but I am afraid that it is already late for this, being almost 30 the horizon does not seem very open.
And now I moan,
And now I holler...
Big Endian, little endian, swimming in the water,
come back here, man, give me my data!
Who made the fortran record control word for 8-Byte data 4 Byte long? I know I can assign byteswapping to an I/O unit, but I'd have to add that feature to most of my programs. So I prefer to swap the data before I run them. And now I moan/And now I holler...
