This blog covers war, lies, medicine, drink, school, spielwort, prose, crumbs, geography, family, changa, fremdsprache, friends, music, plagiarism, theology, shards, charity, quotes, time, truth, sports, venom, meta, robots, le sed, history, verse, people, her, rant, oneirotics, space

Travel back to 2019-12, 2020-01, 2018-08, 2020-12, 2020-09, 2019-11, 2018-09, 2020-02, 2020-10, 2018-04, 2019-05, 2018-10, 2019-04, 2021-01, 2019-02, 2018-02, 2019-01, 2017-07, 2018-11, 2017-04, 2017-06, 2018-01, 2017-12, 2019-03, 2018-12, 2018-03, 2021-02, 2019-06, 2021-03

The Sport of Life and Death Threats
leashed un 2021-02-21 Power Washing AM
``Don't hate the player; hate the game.,,
  -- Полиграф Полиграфович Шариков

This ain't quite an obituary, for I disqualify myself from writing those about people of whom I only first learned by reading those written by others; for, however often professional journalists may discover that, contrary to chasing dreams of shattering records in composition of the primary sources, the formal funereals are their responsibility, and I am neither paid nor well, and not much of a reporter, either. If only I could write one for that pastime!

Baseball has done a lot for me,
given me an education in meeting
other kinds of people...
It has taught me that regardless
 of who you are and how much money
  you make, you are still a Negro.
 - Henry Aaron [quoted in the link]

Individual pinnacles of athleticism frequently speak louder than arbitrary rulesets, especially when doing so in the face of adversity, yet I am puzzled as to why a man no stranger to the limelight, would credit so strong a lesson to the whims of a nation; it's just a pastime, after all, and far too measured and quantified for consideration as a game like football (either kind, really!). So you may rightly ask, who did teach that lesson, if not the grassy diamond? Definitely not the upper management, and probably not the wastes of oxygen, nitrogen, and other assorted fuels of capitalism that kept Aaron's spam chute balanced; perhaps it is merely evidence of the man's humility, likely strengthened adversely by societal biases against a man who had the balls to spare the four seasons that'd let him walk to commencement, instead actually spending his every hour of youth honing the skills that payed his bills. Let's hope that future teachers, regardless of their pedigree, academic and otherwise, are less hesitant to claim a lesson as simply found, written in their own life story, that merely happened to be buried beneath the behaviors of fans and fanatics.

Do Zombies Dream In Neutrino-Speak?
leashed un 2021-02-05 garbage collection, AM
Vincent: I don't know how to thank you.
Jerome: No, no; I got the better end of the deal:
   I only lent you my body; you lent me your dream.

from the movie Gattaca

Nearly two years have elapsed between the timestamp appearing in this shard, @2019-04-17T03:12:19+02:00, and the date that appears above, and although the mental missile keeps on keeping its course, regarding nothing other than its lightcone, and whatever bits of divine intervention dribble coherently across the abhorrent vacuum, there gradually surface remnants of the mind, fragments discarded by previous processes with concern for neither precision nor parallelism of a hyperballistic garbage collector, and eventually their finalization must be considered.

In the most general sense, everyone dreams, since that word encompasses everything ranging from the happy hopes of an idle moment, to the murky unlanguageables that haunt the sleeping mind. One of this site's recurring undercurrents is the interpretation of the latter, for they frequently hold a mirror to both the collective unconscious, and unconscious the individual, through which the conscious recollector may one day remembrance. The pleasant ones tend to leave a wistful longing, where the waking state is dominated by a nostalgia for actual past events, frequently confused with those of the dream; nightmares, however, rarely invoke that emotion, and instead tax the simulator's abilities with mimicry of both the world's behavior, and the electromechanics of the protagonist's own motions, to the point where the lucid mind is no longer fooled, and rips through the illusion into wakefulness.

Of course, the categories aren't always so mutually exclusive, and occasionally a challenging experience entices, while a happy one is dull; most relevant to the action taken by the woken individual is the simplest of questions: would you rather remember, or forget?


Powered by Coleslaw, Hunchentoot, Clozure Common Lisp, Available Energy, Generosity