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

Lay Belladonda
leashed un 2018-11-28 10:00:32
    "I've been trying to optimize my morning routine."

I sip whatever it was - most likely, ethanol with a dash of
poison  -  and impel  across  the  table  as loudly  as  is
possible to send a silent thought, that sipping a drink and
staring into space is a reasonable substitute for "YES I AM
STILL  LISTENING  KEEP  TALKING  IF YOU  HAVE  ANYTHING  TO
SAY". Who knew, maybe there'd be something said, by the end
of that next exhalation.

    "You  know, all  that  must happen  between opening  my
eyes, and closing the door from without."

Now that we'd gotten that far, and I've gotten this far from then, it's about time to prune a loop and see whether le sed's got anything to say, se ipse. I know the metaphor doesn't quite compute, but that's part of the point: if the metaphor clicked right into place, there'd be a complete subgraph of indiscreet questions (such as - "Which place? Clicked how loud? and What did it truly mean?"), whereas a dangling metaphor is almost as flexible a nunchuck as a swinging participle. Relax, bruvnator: these are tools for thought, not bullets!

As I often do, I'll avoid those baggage-laden words which only serve mental course obstruction; were you there, you may recognize yourself in the autopsy, but I'll do my best to follow Taraza's last command, here summarized ad exsecutibus: "if you're captured... burn your own heads, shatter them completely. Take the necessary precautions.".

I'll skip the question of why the above was said to me, as opposed to any other of the many heads that listen, talk, and even walk; more interesting are the implications of that technique, where a daily routine is shaved down to essentials, yet - and here I point at some context, so do a favor and fire up some more content-addressable - for what purpose is this one ritual honed, whereas the day's bulk is treated as mere mothballs, necessary stinking fluff that fills the empty spaces whence the vital style flows?

In closing, a lone crumb for none but my own amusement:

    "Sure! I know exactly what you mean. You want a morning
    routine as reflex-driven as the act of blinking itself.
    Where's that approach belong: strategy, tactics, ... ?"
How Not To Run A Museum
leashed un 2018-11-03 07:12:45

TRIGGER WARNING: Vital escense is not absorbed by the kidneys!

Hokay, so: there's the sun, which is active matter of one sort.

There are planets, or overgrown, well-behaved comets, or aggregated, annealed, aquatic asteroids, or whatever you call the rocks. You can kick them quite hard, cut your teeth on them, eat them, smash them at eachother to make more or less of them, but as far as I can tell, they're the kind of stuff the turtles swim above.

On the better-civilized parts of some rocks, are a bunch of... museums. I use that word in the Wolfeian sense, and expect audience familiarity with everything I can recall during the acts of creation, editing, auditing, and reliving, so a "museum" is not quite what you'd expect. Perhaps you know me better than I do myself, and you could define the concept more accurately than my feeble effort, so I'll let you do that yourself as an audience exercise.

One of my earliest memories involves a dispute about who'd visit which parts of a museum, under what conditions (note the omission of unpriced admission). When museums grow large enough, these disputes can heat so vigorously as to cut costs on central heating, and soon enough the tearily nostalgic demand for a thermostat gives way to the much more interesting challenge of climate maintenance. Control, as you may be aware, is naught but the name of a button or two on various antiques littering this museum; maintenance, whether by hand, foot, or nail, is a fucking career.

The incorrect way to express displeasure about museum administration is by amateurly executing the chief executive amateur.

RIP Yitzhak Rabin (b: 1 March 1922; d: 4 November 1995; c: trauma, kidney failure, life)

"oh. you have a blog"
leashed un 2018-09-28 14:56:52
14:41:11    adlai | it could be quite stable, at the right pressure
14:41:16    adlai | you need to go back to thermodynamics class!
14:41:51    adlai | start with equilibrium thermodynamics. once you're good
                    on that, fluctuations; then bounce your way up from there.
14:42:01 fogobogo | the right pressure being the mass of jupiter?
14:43:04 fogobogo | entropy. sucks all the fun out of it
14:43:36    adlai | if you like my stories, may i recommend a short one?
14:44:08 fogobogo | sure
14:44:15    adlai | http://adlai.uncommon-lisp.org:7421/tag/changa.html
14:44:28 fogobogo | oh. you have blog
14:44:37    adlai | 8k words, that's what... 8 hours reading, once you
                    dereference all the pointers? :)
14:45:06 fogobogo | Reflexive Interferometry in prose
14:45:34    adlai | ahh 8k is the bytecount, it's only 1.3k words

Perhaps it's time to state, for lack of having previously done so, what exactly this means:

  1. Nothing here is [yet, to my knowledge] notarized. That means I edit with extreme prejudice.
  2. I don't [yet, to my knowledge] exercise unambiguous control over anything worth controlling unambiguously: not your computer, not the one serving this content, and barely even the one(s) from which I cook it. Misinterpretations and disintermediations are the responsibility of those unfortunate enough to have responsibility thrust upon them, as I believe Churchill isn't around anymore to deny having said.
  3. If I wanted this to become a halfassed predecessor of the sort of arguments witnessed in the darkest recesses of Facebook, Reddit, and their ilk, I'd have included some infrastructure for leaving comments at the bottom of these posts. Since I haven't, I probably don't! I may someday add a 'guestbook', purely out of nostalgia, but only hold your breath if you're really good at that kind of sport.
  4. As for why I spend so much timeffort making haphazardly selected parts of my neverending [yet, to my knowledge] argument with myself browsable by the random passerby: "beyond the obvious financial motivation, it's exceedingly simple... because I can."

For the record, fogobogo, all that entropy is rather what made it any fun to begin with!

Requiem 3: For Teen
leashed un 2017-07-17 13:39:18
... ...awake or just a guest at my own wake
to spite the cold I play for playing's sake
from bottles cut a river flows of sake
...lest we drink our silly way to taki

touch more than just black and white they said
you play all day from fear you'll wake up dead
here now I stay at last that day is past
when loved ones see a final smile aghast

let's wager there's another way to say
ol' Woland dallies when collecting pay
smiling like a Cheshire, B cries: "words!?
my tongue's curved forkature beats nurbs!"

who could even dare to claim to write
a fitting battle tribute song tonight
A Perfect Rant for a Titledish
leashed un 2017-06-06 01:39:18

Sing to me, O Muse, not of her that slipped past, down the streetside path to God-knows-where yet here, always, forever, like the track star: gone yet never left (or from another frame, nothing but!)

Sing to me, O Muse, not of future's solvent, buffering that unmeasured measurable, mind's undustable mirror image, introducable yet never reproducable;

Sing to me, O Muse, not of idiots forgettable in days so-ber as to make mules mate...

Sing with me, for I'm losing my only voice.


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