~It's Weed Time Again~

What the hell is a weed anyways?

In the most general sense, a weed is any plant growing where it is unwanted. By this anthropocentric designation, even common lawn grass could be viewed as a weed if it invades a garden or a flower spot. Similarly, a corn plant might be considered a weed if it were found in a wheat crop.  Or a willow tree might be considered a weed if it were growing in a grove of apple trees.

Most often, in a precise ecological sense, weeds are thought of as floral exotics (foreign plants) that have become acclimatized  among our native plants (many of which we now culturally label as weeds).  Many exotics are introduced intentionally by farmers and landscapers for their edible, medicinal, or ornamental qualities.  Other exotics are introduced accidentally, often by means of incoming international ship ballast.

So sweet corn is a weed to Indian corn, and ornamental bamboo is a weed in America wherever it grows.

And since nothing is native to the turf of the internet, I guess we (bloggers) could all just be considered weeds stalking out of control. Truth is, everyone with a new idea is a weed groping for acceptance.

Hey! Fever

It is the banishment of pollen
That the lawnmower men contrive.
They won't let us have it any other way--
How else could they survive?
They propose homogeny as the solution
(In quest of what problem?) And so
Ever-compliant with our conformist culture,
Uniform grass we grow.

Yet, beware, lawnmower men,
Lest you get mowed down, too:
For I love my weedy knoll.

Most people think that the only way to shore up life against death is health.  Fortify one’s vigor.   Deflect illness. Bolster immunity with impunity.  Rage against the dying of the light.  I, too, acknowledge such as the conventional morticide.  Cheers.  L'Chaim.  To health.  For sure.

 

Yet. There is another way.

 

The trickster’s ploy.   

 

Posture for a passover.  Awake in the wake of the wake and  be where death is not looking: where it has already been.  Allow death to think you are already a victim.  That the sun beating on your exposed ‘corpse’ is a case of death warmed over.  That it’s beating a dead horse with a stick.  Yes. Be as Juliet: breathless.

 

Or even another gambit?  Is it worth mention?

 

Prowl in the warm steps of the predator.  Double-back and stalk Death itself.  In pursuit achieve self-stealth.  Purr dark oblivion into a yawning temporal suspense… And then?  And then?

 

See how the lateral sides now slant.  And one signs one’s signature with but a dot.

I had a good friend who used to advise me: “It’s great to be king, until you weaken.”

 

I have difficulty admitting my own shortcomings. I really do.  Hrmm. But I’ll give it a try…

 

I’ve been weakened for the last couple months with sciatica (neuralgia along the sciatic nerve) on my right side and have had incising pain from my butt down into the sole of my right foot with almost any motive activity.  I have, nonetheless, continued to run fairly unabated. 

 

The problem has been that my running hasn’t been very inspiring or fun since every step has consisted of a shot of stabbing pain and, when done, I would feel like somebody had literally kicked my ass.  I abhor pain killers other than aspirin and decided that I’d just run through the pain and come out the other side.  As if the pain was a forest that I could cut a transverse straight through without getting lost in it.

 

I needed to obtain a knee brace (about a month ago) since the pain was causing me to gimp imperceptibly yet enough, nonetheless, to throw the mechanics of my knee out. And I have ‘cut short’ a few running ventures (from 7 to 5 miles, or from 5 to 3), although I have still totaled 20-40 miles every week this summer regardless.

 

 

Over the past week or so, on the insistence of my daughter, I’ve begun stretching more rigorously both before and after running.  In particular, I’ve self-discovered that by balancing on one foot while grasping the other foot in my hands and bending my toes extremely backwards until beyond the toleration of twinge, I’ve reduced the effects of the sciatica enormously.  Today, in fact, while not totally pain free, at least I was able to run 7 miles, part of it in full stride, and put the pain aside and enjoy a certain fleetness of foot once again.  I keep telling myself: there are better days ahead.

 

My friend also used to remind me: “It’s great to be king, and then you weaken.”

 

If at all possible, I’ll run until I’m dead.

I find myself thinking. pondering, wondering about you on and off throughout the day in my own special, secret garden of heartfelt enchantments.  In this imaginative magical garden of mine, you shine numinously as a creature semi-divine.  But beyond that shine, there's the latent loving sensibility of a girl afar even more ablaze which so transfixes my inner gaze.   She is the one I marvel to behold and reach out toward.  She is the one subtly transforming how I perceive every new day morphing into night and back into yet another day in the spirit of an emerging hope like an odyssey underway.  O I sail, but can I arrive?  My heart says: *be watchful, stay vibrant, and thrive.*    And so I play...within this garden odyssey.

Has Microsoft Patented Frankenstein?

Method and apparatus for transmitting power and data using the human body

Abstract

Methods and apparatus for distributing power and data to devices coupled to the human body are described. The human body is used as a conductive medium, e.g., a bus, over which power and/or data is distributed. Power is distributed by coupling a power source to the human body via a first set of electrodes. One or more devise to be powered, e.g., peripheral devices, are also coupled to the human body via additional sets of electrodes. The devices may be, e.g., a speaker, display, watch, keyboard, etc. A pulsed DC signal or AC signal may be used as the power source. By using multiple power supply signals of differing frequencies, different devices can be selectively powered. Digital data and/or other information signals, e.g., audio signals, can be modulated on the power signal using frequency and/or amplitude modulation techniques.

-- U.S. Patent 6,754,472  awarded to Microsoft

 

 

And what shall Microsoft call its implementation of this technology?

 

BAN: Body Area Network?

MAN: Microsoft Assembled Network?

WOMAN: Wirelessly Organized Microsoft Assisted Neurology ?

 

So…if I’m a guy and you’re a girl and I want to transmit my “data” to you…hrmmm.   Sexually Transmitted Data?!

Every now and then, I experiment/innovate with Xanga.  

 

Some innovations were joyous community successes.  Does anyone remember BlogChat? How about the community Groupboard where all could interactively draw and save drawings?  How about the times when I’ve taken my webcam mobile (satellite) and live with a laptop server to broadcast back to Xanga from a birthday party, or Dreamland cemetery, or while driving down the highway—(with toreibjo up in Norway commenting live interactively back “turn right!”  “turn left there!”) ?  Or how about the access to the ‘God’ blog where anyone could log in and post to ‘God’ from my post without needing a password?  Do you recall the “2002 Xanga Blog of the Year” spoof where I decreed a “Contest” and then used a scriptlet to incorporate every reader’s own blog as “the Winner” heh. some believed).

 

Ah! Reminisces……………………………suck.

 

Some experiments I have and continue to conduct behind the scenes.

 

I probe. I tempt.  I push.  I pull Xanga this way and that.

 

I can’t discuss everything.  Because…well, just because.

 

Anyhow…Yesterday I did a little innocuous experiment that I periodically undertake: I grabbed the first 14 names on the Newly Updated list, subscribed to them and left a comment regardless of their content’s merit.  You know, there are some really lonely blogs out there yearning to be discovered.  Anyway, of the 14, 5 immediately commented back—about 36%.  That compares with about 25% of my "regular" subscribers who typcially find there way back to me after I comment on their posts. 

 

Is it the novelty that attracts?  The “who the fuck is this 'notforprophet'?” versus the “oh yeah, it’s him again” syndrome?

 

Yeah, that’s it.

 

Well then, it’s time to do some shaking up around here, damn it.   Going to shake things up real soon.

 

*punches out the computer screen*

 

There.

I'm cycloned.  I'm  in a whirl.  Send lawyers, guns, and money.

Although the Solstice of Summer (northern hemisphere) started yesterday, it seems that today will be the longest day of summer.  That’s because solstice started around sunset yesterday and will end around sunset today, hence the “longest day” really covers today.

 

For several days around the solstice, the sun appears to be ‘still” in the sky.  That is, it appears at the same and most northernly elevation at noon and the length of the days are almost the same.  As we move away from the solstice,  the sun will journey ever more southernly (from the earthling perspective) and be directly over the equator at noon on the autumnal equinox (Sep 22^nd, fall begins).  I don’t care to ponder what happens after that.

 

How long is the “longest day”?  It depends on your latitude. Here are some representative samples from the U.S.ofA. :

  

Nome, AK

Sunrise:  4:21 am AKDT

Sunset:   1:46 am AKDT

Length of day:  21h 25 m

Visible light:     24 hours

Tomorrow will be -42s shorter.

 

Fargo, ND

Sunrise:  5:32 am CDT

Sunset:   9:25 pm CDT

Length of day:  15h 53 m

Visible light:    17h 13 m

Tomorrow will be -6s shorter.

 

Madison, WI

Sunrise:   5:18 am CDT

Sunset:    8:41 pm CDT

Length of day:  15h 23m

Visible light:    16h 34m

Tomorrow will be -5s shorter.

 

Cleveland, OH

Sunrise:   5:53 am EDT

Sunset:    9:04 pm EDT

Length of day:  15h 11m

Visible light:    16h 19m

Tomorrow will be -4s shorter.

  

Miami, FL

Sunrise:    6:30 am EDT

Sunset:     8:15 pm EDT

Length of day:  13h 45m

Visible light:    14h 37m

Tomorrow will be -3s shorter.

 

(Want to get your own stats for your location?  Go to the wunderground.)

 

 

Woohoo!  I get to run 4 seconds longer tonight in Dreamland (cemetery) before they lock me in.  I actually got locked in last Friday night.  But as the gatekeeper was leaving, he saw me out of the corner of his eye and returned and set me free.  They are supposed to lock the gates at 'dusk'.  Obviously his 'dusk' and my 'dusk' are not quite in synchronicity.

i.

I lost track of my shadow a long time ago
but found it today   it knew just what to say:

but waited till dusk

and then blurted: “Where the hell have you been?”

 

ii.

I once had twelve fingers, now only ten
Two vanished in a battle, don’t remember

where or when

only that the enemy smote the freak

out of me and now I want him dead.

 

iii.

Having forgotten altogether more

than I currently know

I hang onto remembered dreams as if the wisdom

of all ages  swings precipitously out over a cliff

toward abeyance and I must grip the wit

or be dimmed.

 

iv.

People are a lot like the underwear

they wear    too fat or thin or tight or

stained with the blessings of sex

or less than popular transgessions of life

someone could probably (and may well) make use

of your dress or pants or shoes

but what market is there for your underwear

once your dead?

Happy Summer Solstice.  Tonight, pre-sunset, marks the transition. 

Oh, and go by and wish X a happy birthday. Seems she's a child of this passage.

The Western Drought Is the Worst in 500 Years

Beats the Crap Out of  the 30’s Dust Bowl 

          -CNN

 

Good.  Finally the Earth knows what I feel like when I’m horny out of my mind.

a notfor-prophecy of 2 years ago...

By now we should realize that Xanga’s a Movable Feast.  A la Hemingway-esque.  I don’t think anyone’s been with me shoulder-to-shoulder Xangawise since my incipience.  Nor am I ineluctably faithful to anyone else’s daily blog without a miss.   We move.  We wave.  We tide as if we are a tsunami of incredible self-discovery.   Oh, how I wish I were you.  For one moment, just you, whoever ‘you” are (and not the Xanga “You”—I’ve already hacked that account—LOL, and also not the “xxreaderxx” “you” which, thanks to seanmeister’s  lead, I formally reified), but the you who is entirely “I” but never me and exists regardless of whatever hype be.   Regardless of “new servers”.   Regardless of my paltry yet often sultry words.  Regardless of guards against regardlessness.  he-ha-ha-ha-he.  

Do you realize, I do believe, that we, in our reflection upon our own participation in mankind, may be blazing the forefront of humanity’s evolvement by uncovering and rediscovering true community?!   Damn the “professional bloggers” et. al. and their sundry in the popular epistemological blog-speculating press who seem to see individual blogging personalites but forever ignore us as a phenom.  Even John, our self-sacrificing administrator, seems in his passionate advocacy of ‘blogging as a business model/evolving form of journalism” to ignore (by omissive mention) the significance of our very own community.   But fuck.  We aren’t Shakers who are about to disappear.   We are the awakening of Walt Whitman’s Blades of Grass in this newly conceptualized blogosphere.  Each of us: a glistening blade of grassy expressiveness.  So shame on those who purport “blogging” as a new form of decentralized expression and ignore our individually collective contribution to a fundamental reawakening of comaraderie.  

So...have I missed the mark?!

The digital revolution has degenerated into an underworld of organized crime, dirty tactics, black ops and terrorism, said science fiction writer and cyberpunk pioneer Bruce Sterling Tuesday.

Keynoting a morning session of Gartner's 10th Annual IT Security Summit here, Sterling said, "This is the birth of a genuine, no kidding, for-profit, electronic, multi-national criminal world. The global criminal world of oil, narcotics and guns now has broadband."

And, according to Sterling, they are fully utilizing the technology.

"These are not all old-school hackers. This is organized crime activity. They are profit driven," he said. "These are crooks. The crooks that in the future that are going to elbow the hobbyist kids aside and settle in for a nice, long vampire slurp from our e-commerce."

    - internetnews.com

Damn.  Negative publicity.  And here I was about to open a CafePress Xanga merchandise store to slurp, I mean, sip from a small revenue stream flowing from the great Xanga Empire.

            XangaMug: $10.99

 

       XangaDog Shirt: $13.99

            *mmm* : $12.99

 

Maybe it's time for a new cap.

~~Xanga and the Seven Dirty Words~~

 

Xanga has a quirky policy about the acceptability of usernames.  First off, not all are acceptable!  You just might go to register a username and get one of a few responses:

 

Your username must be at least three (3) characters long.

 

Username can only contain characters 0-9, a-z, A-Z, or _

 

Username is invalid.

 

The first two are well-defined rules, both instructive and easy to comply with.  That is, once you understand the limits of either of these rules, you’d have to be an idiot to try or retry establishing, for instance, a 2-letter username (‘Me’) or one that looked like ‘~~!!!me!!!~~’ .  The key is that once you understand the rule, you know beforehand what’s acceptable and what’s not.

 

But the third response, ‘Username is invalid.’, is not a rule at all.  It is merely a report of  what appears to be an attempted violation of some rule.  But what rule might that be?  How can we be sure beforehand what is valid and invalid?

 

It appears that ‘Username is invalid.’  occurs in at least two instances: 1) usernames with the string ‘xanga’ in it (for example, ‘xangaboy’ or ‘xangagirl are currently invalid—although some others like ‘XangaGina’ and ‘xangaholic’ are ok!), and 2) some so-called ‘dirty words’. 

 

We’ll get back to the ‘xanga’ exceptions in a moment. But first…

 

On to dirty words.  We all know what those are, don’t we?  Or do we?  (And even if we assume we do, we’ll surely still find a broad difference of opinion amongst us about their acceptability.)  So is the Xanga rule: ‘No dirty (i.e., offensive) names allowed.’  ??  Let’s assume it is.  Then surely we might expect the infamous ‘Seven Dirty Words’ restricted by the FCC on TV and radio to find disfavor here also:

 

1) shit

2) piss

3) fuck

4) cunt

5) cocksucker

6) motherfucker

7) tits

 

Guess again.  Of these seven, only ‘cocksucker’ is disallowed on Xanga.  The other six are valid usernames (and I have one of them).  Funny thing is, though, many (though not all) of the variants on some of these are disallowed!  Hence, ‘motherfucker’ is ok, but ‘uglymotherfucker’ is not.  ‘fuck’ is ok, but ‘dumbfuck’ is not, and so on.  Although it appears that all variants of ‘shit’, ‘piss’, and ‘tits’ are currently allowed.

 

So, what do we know so far?  That Xanga doesn’t ban the ‘Seven Dirty Words’ per se (only one of them), but it does ban some variants, and some that are probably less generally offensive than the root word, i.e., ‘dumbfuck’ generally being considered less offensive than a simple ‘fuck’.  It is very hard to discern a rule here!  But here is what I speculate:

 

1)  Sometime early in 2001, Xanga ‘grandfathered in a few ‘dirty word’ accounts that existed prior to making certain usernames (and variants) invalid (e.g., ‘fuck’, est. 12/28/2000), but  banned all subsequent unclaimed names and variants of such thereafter until...

 

2) October 2003.  During the month of October 2003, it appears that many then currently banned names became allowable!  Yes, October 2003 was The Great Diaspora of Foulness in Xanga. Heh  Lots of ‘fuck’ names (e.g., ‘motherfucker’) , ‘bitch’ names (‘bitch’ itself), even ‘xanga’ names (‘XangaGina’ and ‘xangaholic’ mentioned above) were claimed.  But if you personally didn’t get yours then, forget it.  It appears that the door has since again been slammed.

 

So today we have certain restrictions on naming with lots and lots of exceptions.  The question is: Why was October 2003 so special?  Why were so many exceptions then allowed that had been prior and have since been banned?

 

Enough speculation for me (though I encourage you to do so in comments).  Here’s two lists.  Which, if either, do you find more offensive?

 

Some non-existent and currently disallowed Xanga Usernames  ("Username is invalid.")

 

orgasm

orgasmic

penis

xangamom

blogbitch

bastard

pussy

shitfuck

cumfuck

bitchwhip

littlecunt

tightpussy

pussycats

cocksucker

uglymotherfucker

dumbfuck

 

Some perfectly good existing Xanga Usernames

 

piss

shit

fuck

cunt

cunt_rag

cum_guzzler

coitus

bitch

fuck_off_bitch

shitandshutup

cummonster

pussycat

tits

cock

motherfucker

goddamn

 

What’s that story about Pandora’s Box?!

 

Okay.  So how’s this for a rule:

 

 ‘pussy’ is offensive—nonexistent and disallowed,

 ‘pussycat’ is apparently fine and allowed (October 18 2003),

 ‘pussycats’ is now offensive—and disallowed!  

 

Dirty, dirty pussycats!

Some things that I like to do that I don’t (get to) do often enough…

 

Play in puddles in bare feet after a summer storm.

 

Walk with my eyes closed outdoors estimating the distance to a landmark before opening them up. Then see how close I’ve gotten.

 

Play on elevators (not pushing buttons, but turning around in circles or stretching or dancing about) when the only one aboard for the ride.

 

Catch things that are flying or falling in the air while running (leaves falling from trees, dandelion puffs floating in the air, the *first* snowflake of the winter).  The goal is to keep them from touching the ground!

 

Ponder and identify all the stars and constellations I can on a clear night.  Learn of those I can’t recognize.

 

Get up before dawn and watch the sun rise.  Stay up all night and greet two sunrises in a row.

 

Hunt for fossils.

 

Forage while camping. (Both are underindulged.)

 

Run in the woods during a lightning storm.  Best if tree branches are crashing down in temporal proximity.

 

Target shoot my compound bow. (It’s been a long time.)

 

Help people with crossword puzzles. (Though I don’t like doing them myself.)

 

Find lost money and abandoned treasures that I can claim as my own.  Even better if the treasure is not generally acknowledged by humanity as such.

 

And, of course, comment around on other’s blogs.  heh

 

~4 egg mushroom cheese omelet: $1.65~

~grande Starbucks: $1.09~

(from my work cafeteria, I kid you not)

I was passing along the shore of the lake last night and became transfixed by the display at twilight.  I stopped and snapped this in a hurry from the side of the road—the light was fading quickly!  Immediately afterwards, I approached the strangers in the pic and showed them this take.  “Wow.”, “  Thanks for sharing—that’s awesome.” came two voices from faces that could barely be seen.

 

Update: frejaluna, the (l)una bomber, has been acknowledged as the "Miss Xanga" winner in an (un)official contest held by fellow xangan Fongster8.  Whoohoo congrats are quite in order!

I’m not me.  Not whom I seem to be.
Can’t identify with my mind, my thoughts, my feelings.

(“What else is there?” asks the myth of modern man.)

Though I fully own them,

I know they are capable of the Lie
And being lied to.

So I can’t let them absorb my entirety

Must acknowledge that my mind can be lost,

My thoughts can be scattered,

My feelings can be crushed,

And let nothingness rush

In and wash me clean

From time to time.

 

So if I’m not me, who am I?

I’m the creature ever pushed to be born,

I’m the doubter always tortuously torn,

I’m the fight that will never die.

~90° heat index (88° actual), post 5-mile run don't-let-this-tree-fall-down-on me pose~

I own the Xanga blog  'fuck' . So if I stop by wanting to 'fuck' with ya, don't be shy.

Helter-swelter. Going to hover around 90 today.  With high humidity, add 'heat index'.  Conclusion: I must remember to hydrate thoroughly before running in the sun.

Hey, have you heard about this "Miss Xanga" contest that's going on over at Fongster's  ?  Well, I read the 'fine print' and it's only a preliminary to some 'Final' competition. heh  Grueling.  Anyway, go vote for your fave and mine, frejaluna .

Here's my take on Xanga contests:

I won my share in 'my time' (heh): "Emperor of Xanga" contest, "Most Provacative Blog of the Year" (2001? 2002?...don't remember!) contest, "Who's the 'Real' Bianca Broussard, Spamstress of Xanga?" survey.  And maybe even some I wasn't even aware of.

The price of popularity is the pressure to retain a hyper-active blog presence.  Peeps show their 'love'.  Ain't it natural to want to show your gratitude?  It's a blogwhirl that sucks you in. Pretty soon, you're not in Kansas anymore.

I don't have one damn thing to show for any of them.  Other than the sports car in my driveway,  the solid gold eProp trophy on my mantle,  and a silver eProp ring.

While not 'fixed', not one of them is severely uninfluenced by multiple pseudo-voting.  Many of the new and younger crop of Xangans have as many aliases as wardrobe combinations in their closets.  Think: American Idol.

The 'thrill' of winning is about as exciting as winning $1 on a $1 instant lottery ticket.

I'm the odds on favorite to win the "Once Among the Most Popular Who has Sunk to the Most Obsure" contest, if ever there is one.  Maybe I should hold this contest?!  I could vote for myself...and win.

Well, I've got to get back to work: setting policy for wireless security on the emerging World Wireless Web.

Instead of marmalading over the highly eulogizable life of President Ronald Reagan, I thought I just bring back to light a couple of ad-hoc mentions I made to him in previous blogs.

Was a Reagan backer when most Republicans still considered him an undesirable fringe *Conservative*.

  —202 Things About Me (only half of which are true)

That was very true.

After being born on this earth, isn’t it strange what becomes of each and every one of us?  I mean, when I joined the military, it was with the most fervent intent to fight in a war of liberation.  And quite possibly die.  I was almost certain of the assignment—and that was my rationale for joining.  But then the Iran-Contra affair and Col. Ollie North blew a hole in the looming conflict. And the battle that I joined to enjoin was averted.  And the non-aftermath flattened my conscription out into a few tours of peaceful duty. 

       —April 12, 2003

My certainty of the assignment was based upon my assessment that Reagan would become president and go immediately to war to free our hostages in Iran. The Iran Hostage Crisis began Nov. 4^th 1979 during the Carter administration, but Jimmy Carter proved incompetent to end it.  I joined before the 1980 presidential election and graduated basic training on the day of Reagan’s inauguration, Jan. 20^th 1981,  fully expecting orders for the Iran battlefront.  All during basic training, our drill sergeants screamed at us to prepare for the looming war in Iran—and that to the trepidation of most my other fellow enlistees, but it served as a reassurance to me.

So my confidence in enlistment was my certainty of Reagan’s ascendance.  My passion for joining, however, was that all during the hostage crisis, I was psychically cast into that hostage world.  Though stateside, I was, nonetheless, telepathically included in that 444 day siege of anguish far, far away.  Death and dungeons.  Power and peril.  I felt it all.  Somehow the abduction of the hostages had also involved a seizure of my psychic-prowessed soul.  I had no choice: to free myself, I had to go…

But Ronnie saved the day!  Of course, I was jubilant when the hostages were freed in the first moments of the Reagan presidency.  But the ‘Lt. Dan’ in me (“Now, you listen to me.  We all have a destiny.  Nothing just happens, it's all part of a plan,”  –from the movie Forrest Gump)  protested.  Reagan, the peacemaker, had averted “my war.”   Grateful double-damn.

Last night I happened upon a tear in the fabric of consciousness. The seams in my normal raggedy andy ragdoll head are usually well-sown, but last night a few became undone and allowed an influx of otherness. Though it was probably lost to me, I imagine there might have also been a leaking outflux to the universe of my own shadowy threshold ragdoll intimations which would probably otherwise have come to constitute a Xanga blog! Oh well, all’s a tradeoff in the balance of energies and nothing’s ever really lost.

I was prepared to totally indulge in the psychic trepanning thus visited upon me, but it seems that a secret seamstress pulled my rag-thread seams back tight but a little further into the night. And with that nurturing I fell asleep. Damn that nurturing! But something tells me that it was a reflex to conserve sanity and stop my shadowy threshold ragdoll bleeding. Damn that sanity!

There are doors of perception to other worlds. Worlds yet strange and un-unified with our “own.” And I seek their opening. Much as the microscope prior to its invention was the unknown key to an unknown world that there before, except by some mystical visionaries, was considered pure chimera and fantasy, so too, do I believe, that we are on the threshold to finding new doors to unseen worlds providing new discovery.

For there is always new discovery, in this, our Golden Eternity.

Deceptions in the News

(please pick your favorite deception)

  

Deception 1: Operation Bodyguard kicked into full swing exactly 60 years ago today and remains possibly the biggest deception of all time.  This military operation was the campaign of disinformation fed to the Nazis to get them to believe that D-Day, aka the Normandy invasion, was merely a diversion and the real invasion was yet to be staged.  Operation Bodyguard was possible because the Allies cracked the German codes (Abwher and Enigma), knew all the German agents in the West, and killed or imprisoned any who didn’t become double agents for the good guys.  Without Operation Bodyguard, the note of defeat that Gen. Eisenhower wrote the night before D-day to read “just in case” would have likely spelled the 'concession heard round the world' and marked the beginning of the Allies end.

 

Deception 2: Tenet resigns the CIA.  Of course, this deception involved not duping the enemy, but the American people.  I think providing a “slam-dunk” guarantee that civilization-threatening WMDs (Weapons on Mass Destruction) existed in Iraq as a pretext for invasion, whether willfully deceptive or not, is second only to Nixon’s “I am not a crook” for hoodwinking the good people of America.  Bush is really the one to blame.  He pressed Tenet to provide him “intelligentised” propaganda since the real intelligence, fairly assessed, was unconvincing.  Once again, the CIA has become the Concentrated Imbecile Association.

 

Deception 3: Houdini’s tricks are revealed.  I love Houdini.  But I am glad whenever ‘magic tricks’ are demystified.  Only when a thorough atmosphere of demystification about all things prevails in our society will the remaining phenomena that withstands the scrutiny (true psychic instances, bonafide UFO sightings, and whatnot) receive the serious attention they deserve.  Besides, when Houdini is stripped of his 'tricks', he shines forth even more awesome: Any old magician could use the old side-door trick to escape from a box.  But who else but Houdini could get out of a tied canvas bag, handcuffs, tied rope nooses, and the trick box in just 3 seconds?!

 

Deception 4: The FBI cites sightings overseas in the past few days of the terrorists it last week indicated were an imminent terrorist threat to America as proof of its claim of “Credible Intelligence.”  Duh!!!  If they are OVERSEAS, it would seem to me that are NOT a threat here.  Unless authorities are dumb enough to let them in.  Hey, wait, that could happen: though “resigned”, Tenet isn’t leaving office until mid-July.

You’re irresistible: I’m drawn,

quartered and impaled with raw desire

for you.There’s no abeyance.
I require immediate conveyance

to your licking realm,

to your queendom of lapping

and overlapping pulsations.

 

Damn the clouds, the wind, the sun.

Damn the local murder of crows and my muses, too.
I’ve commanded them all to take me

to you but none

avail.

They simply ignore me, cast me
as a madman a-wail

(-ing) in vain.

 

Okay, gonna check for the next flight.

If nothing open, I’ll take the train.

Neanderthals are extinct.  At last check.

To 'meander' means to stroll about slowly often without precise direction.

Put them together and what have you got?

The Xanga Synapse, Discovered

The proximity to major religious nodes is perplexing.  The absence of related major search engine nodes is telling.  Compare to blogger.com which appears to be much better centered in the 'blogosphere'. 

Yet Xanga, though much more 'isolated' than blogger.com remains preeminently more popular:

Take Xanga out of the blogosphere
and put it in the Amazon.com world of printedness and what do you have? ...

The Pig Who Sang to the Moon!  heh

My thighs are 24.75 inches in circumference, my pockets are 9 inches deep,  my fingers can stretch 9.5 inches, and my pupils are 2.5 inches apart.

 

*puts down ruler*