 | |||
| OHHHHH BABY. |
If loving this crazy shit like an only child is wrong, I never want to be right again.
ASSIMILATION COMPLETE. RESISTANCE IS IMPOSSIBLE. YUM.
Thursday, November 22, 2012
Escape From Beneath The Planet Of Revenge Of Son Of All Hail Teh New Flesh Ahoy!
Hmmmmmm.
Maybe I should stop at TWELVE available Desktop Environments ... especially when the brand spanking new Cairo Dock DE's let me get my machine to look as bare-bones as I want it:
If loving this crazy shit like an only child is wrong, I never want to be right again.
ASSIMILATION COMPLETE. RESISTANCE IS IMPOSSIBLE. YUM.
If loving this crazy shit like an only child is wrong, I never want to be right again.
ASSIMILATION COMPLETE. RESISTANCE IS IMPOSSIBLE. YUM.
Sunday, November 18, 2012
Monday, November 12, 2012
Revenge Of Son Of All Hail Teh New Flesh Ahoy!
Ahh yes ... it seems the mutation process is proceeding according to plan .....
A few posts back I frothed mythopoetic upon the topic of my brand new OS, remarking in a comment that Ubuntu is actually in a functional sense not one OS but FIVE ... different session systems are available, two Ubuntus & three GNOMEs.
As of today, I've pimped up that number to seven.
Of my two new newly-hatched spawn, I think I like Xubuntu the best ... but it's not as if I have enough real experience to make a worthy judgement call this soon. They're a (perhaps interdependant?) tag-team - I went for Xubuntu & got Xfce thrown in along with it - & they're both stripped down & faster alternatives to Ubuntu that run over its original core.
RUN NERDGASM.EXE
A few posts back I frothed mythopoetic upon the topic of my brand new OS, remarking in a comment that Ubuntu is actually in a functional sense not one OS but FIVE ... different session systems are available, two Ubuntus & three GNOMEs.
As of today, I've pimped up that number to seven.
Of my two new newly-hatched spawn, I think I like Xubuntu the best ... but it's not as if I have enough real experience to make a worthy judgement call this soon. They're a (perhaps interdependant?) tag-team - I went for Xubuntu & got Xfce thrown in along with it - & they're both stripped down & faster alternatives to Ubuntu that run over its original core.
RUN NERDGASM.EXE
Friday, October 26, 2012
Autonomous Ethos Ahoy!
Note that the collorary statements can serve both as descriptors of & as rational guidelines derived from the interaction of the core values.
This ethics resembles a fractal.
Its output does not.
Monday, October 1, 2012
All Hail Teh New Flesh Ahoy!
SUDDENLY, A WILD OPERATING SYSTEM CHALLENGER APPEARS!
Runs like a racecar, makes virus coders cry & turn emo, heaps of bitchen apps along with a legendary range of possibilities if one were ever to become ambitious enough to go Full Skript-Kiddie ............. & it doesn't cost a motherfucking dime.
Nearest I've come to a problem with it is thinking I (or it) had completely ganked the audio ... I apparently popped it off by opting for a digital sound format - I presume it's an analog audio OS by default, which sounds just hunky-dory to me.
* Just cold logging in to some fresh Ubuntu all up in it *
Runs like a racecar, makes virus coders cry & turn emo, heaps of bitchen apps along with a legendary range of possibilities if one were ever to become ambitious enough to go Full Skript-Kiddie ............. & it doesn't cost a motherfucking dime.
Nearest I've come to a problem with it is thinking I (or it) had completely ganked the audio ... I apparently popped it off by opting for a digital sound format - I presume it's an analog audio OS by default, which sounds just hunky-dory to me.
* Just cold logging in to some fresh Ubuntu all up in it *
Monday, July 30, 2012
Shopworn Gratuitous Epic Clock-Killer YouTube Post Ahoy!
Don't be a wuss ......... FULLSCREEN THIS SHIT.
ADHD-friendly alternative (or if you are hardcore play both clips at once!) goes HERE:
ADHD-friendly alternative (or if you are hardcore play both clips at once!) goes HERE:
Friday, July 27, 2012
Recycled Turbid Cuntpasta Ahoy!
My response to Mike Adams & Gina Miller:
Yes, surely there’s no way a mere neuroscience Ph.D. undergrad could, say, systematically build up an arsenal & sundry chaos-warez over time, simultaneously planning his dastardly deeds down to the last detail. Unpossibleness! IT WAS AN INSIDE JOB SHEEPLE.
Note that the oxygen for this batshittery is the FBI’s long legacy of propping up nasty people or even actively aiding them to blow shit up real good. Also that, despite what you might think, insecure/paranoid people ask a lot FEWER useful questions about what’s going on behind closed doors in matters of state.
Television + HFCS + aspartame + trace metals = no use thinkbox no good any more.
Then there’s that whole dodging responsibility thing. Feels gooooooood man.
A thesis is floating about the Interwebs that posits that Jones & his fellow DVD-pimps are in reality a FBI/CIA psyop whose predicate is discrediting any citizens who advocate for an open & independant investigation of 9/11.
A similar theory concerning skinhead-friendly hate-jock Hal Turner was seen as pure Tinfoil Sombrero material … right up until the day Turner outed himself as an FBI informant. OOOOPS.
By Jones’ own standards, it is surely highly suspicious that someone so “aware” of the NWO’s evil plots – & so perpetually loquacious about their innermost workings – miraculously remains fit as a fiddle more than a decade after 9/11, even though the ability of the CIA to simulate death by natural causes is common knowledge by now (an ability, by the way, of which they themselves have openly boasted). I suspect Jones has not the slightest qualm about dining out or going on a camping trip because he knows damn well he’s in zero real danger (other than from one of his more bugfuck-crazy fanboys).
It’s worth it to check out Jones’ radio show if you haven’t yet done so – the first thing you notice is that close to half the bloody show is ads, ads, & MOAR ads. Makes one wonder: what kind of person sees everything going to hell & decides that the best course of action in response to this impending horrorshow is “IMA GONNA GET ME A WEBSITE & A RADIO SHOW SO I CAN MONETIZE THAT BITCH TO THE HILT”?
That slide-toward-fascism dollar? That’s a really good dollar right there.
[PS: Original spoor originated right yonder henceward.]
Yes, surely there’s no way a mere neuroscience Ph.D. undergrad could, say, systematically build up an arsenal & sundry chaos-warez over time, simultaneously planning his dastardly deeds down to the last detail. Unpossibleness! IT WAS AN INSIDE JOB SHEEPLE.
Note that the oxygen for this batshittery is the FBI’s long legacy of propping up nasty people or even actively aiding them to blow shit up real good. Also that, despite what you might think, insecure/paranoid people ask a lot FEWER useful questions about what’s going on behind closed doors in matters of state.
"Okay…I’ll get plenty of shit for saying this, but…
They are peasants. Pure and simple. Despite historical access to knowledge and opportunity to participate meaningfully in shaping society for the better, the vast majority of humanity still wallows in ignorance, fear, and superstition.
I am beginning to suspect that it is physiological."
Television + HFCS + aspartame + trace metals = no use thinkbox no good any more.
Then there’s that whole dodging responsibility thing. Feels gooooooood man.
"Six years ago – when Alex Jones was distributing DVDs of his documentary in New York City – the existence of lunacy like this was proof that THE LEFT WAS CRAZY! Then the black guy gets into office, and suddenly Jones et al go from left-wing lunatics to clear-eyed prophets. No one even acknowledges that the change took place. We have always been at war with Eurasia."
A thesis is floating about the Interwebs that posits that Jones & his fellow DVD-pimps are in reality a FBI/CIA psyop whose predicate is discrediting any citizens who advocate for an open & independant investigation of 9/11.
A similar theory concerning skinhead-friendly hate-jock Hal Turner was seen as pure Tinfoil Sombrero material … right up until the day Turner outed himself as an FBI informant. OOOOPS.
By Jones’ own standards, it is surely highly suspicious that someone so “aware” of the NWO’s evil plots – & so perpetually loquacious about their innermost workings – miraculously remains fit as a fiddle more than a decade after 9/11, even though the ability of the CIA to simulate death by natural causes is common knowledge by now (an ability, by the way, of which they themselves have openly boasted). I suspect Jones has not the slightest qualm about dining out or going on a camping trip because he knows damn well he’s in zero real danger (other than from one of his more bugfuck-crazy fanboys).
It’s worth it to check out Jones’ radio show if you haven’t yet done so – the first thing you notice is that close to half the bloody show is ads, ads, & MOAR ads. Makes one wonder: what kind of person sees everything going to hell & decides that the best course of action in response to this impending horrorshow is “IMA GONNA GET ME A WEBSITE & A RADIO SHOW SO I CAN MONETIZE THAT BITCH TO THE HILT”?
That slide-toward-fascism dollar? That’s a really good dollar right there.
[PS: Original spoor originated right yonder henceward.]
Sunday, May 13, 2012
CyberTerror LULZ Ahoy!
Wowie Zowie - no posts show up on my blog right now.
How special is THAT?
Does blogspot impose a "posting too slowly" death sentence for blogs now?
AFAF
UPDATE: Torpid =/= dead. It got better.
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
Salad Daze Archives Unit 10 (2001)
How I Killed Punk In Its Sleep
My talents were hired by anonymous progressives of a singularly radical bent, it seemed they wanted to warn the world of "sell-outs" taking freedoms away - or some such drivel. After fourteen centuries in the trade, one is apt to smile & nod, no matter what nonsense is provided for an excuse. One takes a 40% advance in eight figures, which is very nice indeed - & one sets to work. My medium is the dreams of my targets, fast clean & unstoppable. I never miss.
I bring them into lucidity first, if the format allows it. To lay in comfort as one brings down the rube : the acme of a noble old service.
Biafra was surprisingly smooth & easy. I nailed his whiny ass on a spoken-word tour. Popped in on some spy-noir crap & shook his hand. Thanked him for playing, & gave him a nice look at my astral machete. Did he ever scream!
Ran straight over his 18th-floor balcony railing like a real trooper. One down, six to go.
Of them all, Rollins was the most fun. For the record, the man gets - ahem, used to get - some very interesting dreams. I have to develop a bio on waketime, & dreams, for the hit to click. For someone who seemed to only ever do one "song" it was quite delightful to record ol' Hank's unconscious musings.
Of course, the wonders of apnia kicked Rollins' ass. At about the eleven-minute mark he stopped jiggling around & I felt the joy of a job well done. I've always been amazed at how easy it is to deactivate human lungs.
I could have appeared to him & rattled off some rant about a skinny little geek that was back for vengeance, in the one place where being hard isn't any use, you're a moth & I'm a flame, blah blah woof woof. I refrained - & left the poor slob to croak.
The Rotten hit was the only other worth mention, albeit a depressing one. "Who shot J.L." was his best attempt at wit. Then he tried to say he knew I would come { he didn't } & that he wouldn't try to escape { he did, sorry to say }.
Brains are almost as easy as lungs. Panic at an unreal menace was an ironic fuel for a real peril. The hemhorrage was itself tres punk : John-Boy bled from eyes, ears & nose as his homely mega-marketed mug went from deep purple to bone white. Your punchline here.
My talents were hired by anonymous progressives of a singularly radical bent, it seemed they wanted to warn the world of "sell-outs" taking freedoms away - or some such drivel. After fourteen centuries in the trade, one is apt to smile & nod, no matter what nonsense is provided for an excuse. One takes a 40% advance in eight figures, which is very nice indeed - & one sets to work. My medium is the dreams of my targets, fast clean & unstoppable. I never miss.
I bring them into lucidity first, if the format allows it. To lay in comfort as one brings down the rube : the acme of a noble old service.
Biafra was surprisingly smooth & easy. I nailed his whiny ass on a spoken-word tour. Popped in on some spy-noir crap & shook his hand. Thanked him for playing, & gave him a nice look at my astral machete. Did he ever scream!
Ran straight over his 18th-floor balcony railing like a real trooper. One down, six to go.
Of them all, Rollins was the most fun. For the record, the man gets - ahem, used to get - some very interesting dreams. I have to develop a bio on waketime, & dreams, for the hit to click. For someone who seemed to only ever do one "song" it was quite delightful to record ol' Hank's unconscious musings.
Of course, the wonders of apnia kicked Rollins' ass. At about the eleven-minute mark he stopped jiggling around & I felt the joy of a job well done. I've always been amazed at how easy it is to deactivate human lungs.
I could have appeared to him & rattled off some rant about a skinny little geek that was back for vengeance, in the one place where being hard isn't any use, you're a moth & I'm a flame, blah blah woof woof. I refrained - & left the poor slob to croak.
The Rotten hit was the only other worth mention, albeit a depressing one. "Who shot J.L." was his best attempt at wit. Then he tried to say he knew I would come { he didn't } & that he wouldn't try to escape { he did, sorry to say }.
Brains are almost as easy as lungs. Panic at an unreal menace was an ironic fuel for a real peril. The hemhorrage was itself tres punk : John-Boy bled from eyes, ears & nose as his homely mega-marketed mug went from deep purple to bone white. Your punchline here.
Salad Daze Archives Unit 9 (2004)
for Denise
a special chamber in my heart slumbers
for the lady w/ the long silk hair
i wonder if she is still there
the chamber i keep clean & warm & bright
for one w/ braids of midnight hue
i wonder if she is still true
our folly was a crown of pretty jewels rare
for the season or two we dared agree
i hope she can yet get free
in another warm place i also find comfort
for the reasons' & rhymes' cruel cost
i wish she were never lost
a special chamber in my heart slumbers
for the lady w/ the long silk hair
i wonder if she is still there
the chamber i keep clean & warm & bright
for one w/ braids of midnight hue
i wonder if she is still true
our folly was a crown of pretty jewels rare
for the season or two we dared agree
i hope she can yet get free
in another warm place i also find comfort
for the reasons' & rhymes' cruel cost
i wish she were never lost
Monday, March 5, 2012
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
Monday, January 23, 2012
Year X Ahoy!
The trend in North American politics toward what might best be described as Faith-Based Nihilism can be expected to grow ever more potent & sincere as North America's dominance in geopolitics & economics continues to fade away. How far that trend progresses will be a crucial ingredient in determining the history of the 21st Century. It has provided diverse & abundant dividends for a very long time, yet is now visibly mutating into a deadly threat on a scale unknown to humanity since at least the last Ice Age.
Rapidly Expanding Global Crisis Seeks Think-Tanks/Research Teams/Emergency Task-Forces For Casual Encounter, Possible Long-Term Relationship
(ps: no fatties)
The decisive conflict of our times that is already starting to crystallize is not Rich vs. Poor or Democracy vs. Dictatorship or Right vs. Left - it is Reality vs. Bullshit. The former are in fact the logically obvious byproducts of this timeless conflict. So visceral that it even creates its own battlefields within each individual, so critical that it can now quickly drive us into total extinction ... & so ubiquitous that it seems merely to be another droning mundane overtone of our Zeitgeist, not its prime conductor.
Does this thesis contradict my prior emphasis on mental hygiene? Some might argue so ... I would then ask them to show me how or where.
Our darkest shame in all of this is that, like Dracula, stupidity comes into its own only after its agents have given it leave to enter. One does not simply walk into Stupidtown - one first must both choose to burn down the reality that barricades the road to it & act on that choice, & what that does to one's psyche is dire in the extreme. Indulgence in folly can be cathartic, but making folly your god is rarely anything but morbid. No great intellect is needed to discover who is rallying under which standard (by their net output shall ye know them) ... & our collective tragicomedy is that by our very nature we abhor the idea of abandoning either one of these ancient & dearly beloved icons, at any price.
Cliffhanger Orgy, dead ahead!
Rapidly Expanding Global Crisis Seeks Think-Tanks/Research Teams/Emergency Task-Forces For Casual Encounter, Possible Long-Term Relationship
(ps: no fatties)
The decisive conflict of our times that is already starting to crystallize is not Rich vs. Poor or Democracy vs. Dictatorship or Right vs. Left - it is Reality vs. Bullshit. The former are in fact the logically obvious byproducts of this timeless conflict. So visceral that it even creates its own battlefields within each individual, so critical that it can now quickly drive us into total extinction ... & so ubiquitous that it seems merely to be another droning mundane overtone of our Zeitgeist, not its prime conductor.
Does this thesis contradict my prior emphasis on mental hygiene? Some might argue so ... I would then ask them to show me how or where.
Our darkest shame in all of this is that, like Dracula, stupidity comes into its own only after its agents have given it leave to enter. One does not simply walk into Stupidtown - one first must both choose to burn down the reality that barricades the road to it & act on that choice, & what that does to one's psyche is dire in the extreme. Indulgence in folly can be cathartic, but making folly your god is rarely anything but morbid. No great intellect is needed to discover who is rallying under which standard (by their net output shall ye know them) ... & our collective tragicomedy is that by our very nature we abhor the idea of abandoning either one of these ancient & dearly beloved icons, at any price.
Cliffhanger Orgy, dead ahead!
Monday, June 20, 2011
Paradox Du Jour, Avec Fromage
PRIMUS = My inner historian is getting its rocks off on current events like a hungry bear with an abandoned beehive. Every day, in every way, its diet keeps getting better & better.
SECONDUS = Contemplating the real total output of what said events will produce gives me a very NON-ironic shudder of horror.
/\*HERE*/\* BE*/\* LULZDRAGONZ*/\
SECONDUS = Contemplating the real total output of what said events will produce gives me a very NON-ironic shudder of horror.
/\*HERE*/\* BE*/\* LULZDRAGONZ*/\
Monday, November 29, 2010
Salad Daze Archives Unit 8 { 1984 }
girl
in sleep - here she is
under the usual vine-drooped tree
using her finger-gun
to zap the moon
lost in the greens found in the garden
free
destroying scenes in
her mind w/
time - asleep
in sleep - here she is
under the usual vine-drooped tree
using her finger-gun
to zap the moon
lost in the greens found in the garden
free
destroying scenes in
her mind w/
time - asleep
Monday, November 22, 2010
Salad Daze Archives Unit 7 { 1979 }
how i managed to survive
why must these soggy hieroglyphs
always maintain the news
the murder of corpses
which i will almost always not commit
but you will
always maintain the news
as an imprint of your shape in the snow
- it is irrefutably October
why must these blood-soaked tabloids
screen us by restraint and speed of code
do we really need a media
to spill our beliefs like coffee on the paper
why must we distribute this pedigree
this blithering medley
of puberty and combat
why must these soggy hieroglyphs
always maintain the news
the murder of corpses
which i will almost always not commit
but you will
always maintain the news
as an imprint of your shape in the snow
- it is irrefutably October
why must these blood-soaked tabloids
screen us by restraint and speed of code
do we really need a media
to spill our beliefs like coffee on the paper
why must we distribute this pedigree
this blithering medley
of puberty and combat
Salad Daze Archives Unit 6 { 1996 }
aegri somnia
whose hand pulled down the anvil
onto this swarm of tiny heads
pressed the blade upon the rope
at null o'clock the toll is for each
onto the lip of abyss dancing
with a forgotten song
measurements crushed out or funnelled
flutter into these thundering furnaces
our step has no purchase here
amidst the rainbow industry seasons
sucked through the vortex of jagged teeth
whose hand pulled down the anvil
whose hand pulled down the anvil
onto this swarm of tiny heads
pressed the blade upon the rope
at null o'clock the toll is for each
onto the lip of abyss dancing
with a forgotten song
measurements crushed out or funnelled
flutter into these thundering furnaces
our step has no purchase here
amidst the rainbow industry seasons
sucked through the vortex of jagged teeth
whose hand pulled down the anvil
Salad Daze Archives Unit 5 { 1981 }
untitled
i lay here on top of a turtle
delivering postcards to friends in need
spying on the velvet teardrop reflections
my steering-wheel rots in my hands
i lay here on top of a sweater
containing a girl w/ no name
she smells like all the king's men
my steering-wheel rots in my hands
i lay here on top of a turtle
delivering postcards to friends in need
spying on the velvet teardrop reflections
my steering-wheel rots in my hands
i lay here on top of a sweater
containing a girl w/ no name
she smells like all the king's men
my steering-wheel rots in my hands
Salad Daze Archives Unit 4 { 2004 }
Oeufs a la Nietzsche Redux
Now, in the season of my darkest & most relentless misery, hear - my laughter!
None of these burdens amount to more than a numeral on a chart - once one has known enough, & has dared to learn enough. The fabled transcendence of mystic beliefs is yet another pretty clown in motley once one tastes the true wellspring, cold clear & pure!
Each new tragedy greets me like another persona in the grandiose & hilarious farce, bowing formally & casting its silk gauntlet of doom & contempt over my cheek, sickening parody of a lover's touch, yet with the power of my heritage & my spirit it is all null & void, a torment of trivia that I had seen marching to meet my life years in advance. More & worse comes - until surely I will laugh even longer!
Is this virtue or perversion, that I know the wild comedy that hides winking at me, even in this summer of agony & tears - & that I love it as truly as ever a gent loved his damsel? Not mere insight, but a truth that the living meat of my body proves, daily - this is the real moral of my life's berserk & baroque fable. Now, as a new realm of knowledge unfurls to me its flags, I meet it, wailing the lament of those who know - yet in my heart do I not hear - a giggle?
Each of my new selves has held this mystery to me like a violently writhing Orchid - & I bless & thank the enigma that confuses me so!
Look - a strange shadow rises over the horizon, a new adventure calls to the free of spirit, no mere siren but a theme beyond music's own spectrum - come, come! Here too is beauty's true chorus, strong, wild & priceless - dare to lift your best voice to it anew!
Now, do I not find in these days of darkness & torment - my convalescence? Ah, but from where else could I discover my Dawning? Was not my wild journey to this hour a mere prelude? With every new Aeon, another & more cruel set of laws is brought to bear - for freedom also delights in itself where it has had enslavement to - misplace!
Listen - there is a new & alien aesthetic that rumbles like thunder in its strange quickening - the noontide of its nativity draws nigh, & we all placidly doze on like sated drunkards, heedless of the imminent detonation that this birth will produce.
Our history is our most delicious irony, a limerick limned in children's blood, presented for the ungentle talons of academics - is it any wonder our society is so skilled at "reinventing" itself, with such a vast & impressive love - for spiritual crime?
I am a mere herald of the sacred lexicon that is being forged on the anvil of time, whispering like a pretty girl in my too-ticklish ear - ha, ha! "Beloved child of a mad age, you can yet find me so endearing, when you know how I love to see the sparks dance in your helpless soul as you harvest - your tempering! If I cannot yet destroy you, I can still make of you - my bell! Here is your glorious education - what? Do I dream awake? "You can give thanks - now? Even the gods must grow dizzy & gasp at such brazen rebellion, even while they guffaw! "This is your trial, rare & divine : "Not to learn what you most passionately yearn to discover, but that which you most dreaded to find!"
O whimsical future-daughter, you too are a naïve beauty, for all your nascent wisdom - for my true trial has not even begun!
Then & only then will my scales - slumber!
Salad Daze Archives Unit 3 { 2005 }
for Saint Catherine
the Wheel bears down
every year a new trial
the Wheel grinds fine
firy nemesis of denial
the Wheel sings out
its ballad of doom & nativity
the Wheel dances laughing
mad jester of eros & tragedy
the Wheel comes alive
without prelude or reason
the Wheel bears down
to inspire romance & treason
the Wheel bears down
every year a new trial
the Wheel grinds fine
firy nemesis of denial
the Wheel sings out
its ballad of doom & nativity
the Wheel dances laughing
mad jester of eros & tragedy
the Wheel comes alive
without prelude or reason
the Wheel bears down
to inspire romance & treason
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