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  • What endures, endures.  The rest is just a matter of a passing lesson in practicing living, whether or not the lesson is ever learned or even acknowledged.


     


    If you had to be one or the other... Would you rather be the first ant out of the ant hole in the morning? Or the last one in at night?  Might all depend on when and where the anteater feeds.  At all times, beware of lurking anteaters.


     


    If I could simply be ripped out of this culture, what would be left, what might remain?  Everything.  And in addition, the empty niche I once occupied.  The question is: Could that niche be better occupied?  And:  Would my successor ask the  very same or even a better question as this? 


     


    Love, romance, erotic fantasy, and sexual co-excitement aren’t a big factor in my life right now.  Notions of such that I might have entertained in the recent past proved illusionary—the maya of Buddhist teachings, if you seek a conceptual referent.  And thus inapprehensible to my gimlet eyes.  So I suppose I might better say that illusion isn’t a big factor in my life right now.  Love, romance, erotic fantasy, and sexual co-excitement just are.  Somewhere about.  I might run into them again someday.  Then again, maybe not.  I’m sure the world we dance upon really doesn’t give a fucking damn one way or the other.  Nor would I, if I were it.

  • Back to my old shenanigans in Dreamland—running 7 miles instead of just lounging in the Sun and writing.  It seems I’ll do anything to avoid the chore of writing.  There is one redeeming aspect to the running, however, and it is this: I often end up writing poetry in Dreamland after 7 mile runs.  The implication isn’t that I’m about to write anything of consequence now.  But let me close my eyes, relax in the sunshine for a few moments, and drift away…


     


    With eyes closed, I was sunning,


    poetically inspired,


    and about to stumble


    upon some dream


    -of-consciousness imagery


    lamenting the disappearance of my lover


    and her inexplicable non-fulfillment


    of a promise of beatifying attentions,


    when a bee buzzed into my ear
    and I, startled, but without fear


    reached instinctively


    for the trespassing bumbler,


    got it to crawl onto my hand


    and then slung it swiftly away,


    by chance, crashing


    into the black granite obelisk


    I had been lay-leaning against.


    The bee lay broken,


    in ruins,


    smashed (kind of like the golden promise).


    Not exactly the imagery, however, I’d ever use


    to lament  (in a poem) a lover’s blues.


     


     


    So there you have it.  Seven miles and a poem.
    Not a bad routine as far as routines go.

  • Instead of running yesterday in Dreamland, I decided to just sit in the sun and write (what’s below).  Well, that’s not entirely true.  I did run 1.5 miles first.  But, for me, that hardly qualifies as an effort.  1.5 miles is to an effort at running as a simple greeting kiss is to sex.


     


    So, this is what it’s like to be a sedentary being, eh?  Laying in the sun, not challenging one’s muscles, not punching one’s pulse into punishing palpitations.  It’s alright for a change.  It’s good to indulge occasionally in the non-athletic life even if there is no TV at hand and fridge to run to for snacks between commercialisms. 


     


    I imagine now that I am very, very old and this is all I can do—lay in view of the Sun, drink tequila, and have visions of Aztec guardian spirits lamenting the modern dilemma.


     


    What is the modern dilemma, you ask?  But, of course, you already know.  Wide-scale socially-erupting rudeness, a disrespect for differences that leads to aggravated ideological  dissension, snaking hate with pit viper intent and slashing forked tongue that won’t abate, the untimely disruption of the dissolution of a tired-of-life loneliness, the pandemic lack of relationship that could entrust itself to be god(dess)like in the clutch of love, lack of creative trust in credible dreams that otherwise wouldn’t be make-believe, lack of truth to oneself, lack of truth, lack of self(lessness), letting the demands, desire for, and exercise of war/sex occlude the possibility of being dilemma-less.


     


    You see how I can be when I imagine?  I imagine it is in the interest of most of the here-concurrent-coalesced worlds to have me forever henceforth imagine myself being very, very, very, very, very, very old and tequila-laden.


     


    Oh.  But I ran another 1.5 miles after writing (what’s above).  Hardly more qualifying as an effort at real running than a simple parting kiss is to sex.

  • War imposes and beauty vanishes.  Or is it the other way around?  I do not have to look to foreign lands but only into my own heart to find out the truth of this.


     


    How to let go of yourself?  Let go of desire.  You will find that the world is more, not less, without the need to compulse yourself.


     


    You cannot watch the Sun rise and the Sun set without it watching your soul rise and soul set.


     


    This world is haunted not by the dead, but by the living who are afraid to live, and afraid to die.  The reason it is so easy to make a zombie movie is because one doesn’t need to cast about cleverly for characters.  Almost any grab-bag sample of humanity will furnish a plethora of those who tremble in the shadows of answers to questions they are afraid to ask.


     


    Imagine, just, being a pre-historied but highly enlightened primitive and seeing something like that never-before-seen that  that numinesces most exquisitely in the sky, and realizing that the answer to the whole meaning of the universe is inexplicably, inextricably, yet totally improbably at hand.  And then professing belief-beyond-belief in some now forgotten language “Oh. My. Pre-Pagan. God.”   Seeing something like what , you wonder?  Yes.  Look to the sky.  And then imagine.  Once again.

  • I took a break from extreme running yesterday.  It was only 88 degress - too cold to run.


    At rest, my heartbeat is 54.


    DEET is my best friend.



    No, really.


    Door # I or Door # II?


    I.


    "So now that Iraq is on the verge of a civil war, what's the alternative?"
      -notforprophet, Feb 24, 2006


    and


    "Make a strategy out of withdrawal.  Withdraw and allow civil war to ensue and take its course.  If the insurgent/terrorist forces gain the upper hand, they will transform themselves, as they must, into more easily targetable regular forces and established pockets of government.  Then reinvade, pound hard, and withdraw again.  Repeat and repeat until the insurgent/terrorist forces understand we will forever deny them legitimacy."
      -notforprophet, Oct 30, 2005


    or


    II.


    Top U.S. Generals Fear Iraq Civil War
       -Seattle Times, Aug 4, 2006


    and


    "Under questioning by Sen. John McCain, R-Ariz.,  Gen Pace said he did not anticipate one year ago that Iraq would now be in danger of descending into civil war."
      -Houston Chronicle, Aug 3, 2006
     



    Xanga censored me.  Yep.  I have an alias called fuck and the Xanga Force, without any notification to me, simply rated the site X.  In other words, it is now ostracized and effectively isolated from the rest of the Xanga community.  The site was never graphically obscene and just humorously used the word 'fuck' for comic relief.  So what the fuck is up, Xanga?  John once explained to me that an unvolunteered and enforced X rating would be used rarely and only upon sites exhibiting extreme violence, obscenity, nudity, etc.  Bullshit.  Fucking Xanga censors.


    Update: John reinstated the site above, apparently having read this post and then responding in the comments accompanying this post.  I don't know if I should feel highly honored or frightened that John is watching my postings so closely.

  • Think social networking sites are already a hacker's paradise? Just wait... Social Networking Gone Bad.


    I continued my extreme running yesterday for a total so far this week of 21 miles at 90+ degree temps.  At this point, I feel I could wander into a desert warfare training camp and hold my own.


    This is the time of year that you can spot maple trees bearing fruit.  The fruit of the maple are dry, papery, winged seeds called samaras. 



    Someday, soon, you may also be able to spot a samara look-alike that harbors a chemical rocket with a sensor payload.  What?  DARPA (The U.S. Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency), the promulgator of the Internet, has commissioned the design of a nano air vehicle about the shape and size of what you see above.  More...

  • Writ in the dream of day, posted after sunset:


     


    The Sun reigns in Dreamland on this ninety-something day as I lay on the crest of a cemetery hilltop stretched out upon a paint tarp listening to an ice cream truck pipe out “It’s a Small World After All” in some populated environ away in the distance.


     


    The 5 mile run I undertook—prior to digging my laptop out here and sipping on a beer—I vocalized again and again at the finish as “just fucking brutal.”  I had actually to reawaken a huge dose of mental toughness (that I had let somewhere along the way slip off sleep) and drive myself mercilessly into anguish in order to complete the last couple of miles.


     


    However, the payoff comes now, afterwards, as I lay in the Sun, slow my metabolism, and cool off as my sweat-drenched t-shirt takes on a light summer breeze.  (It’s true: I brag. Most people I know are blatantly oppressed by the heat that I now find refereshingly cooling.)


     


    Everything is so far from here, so far from here.  Even the Sun—which seems to affect everyone so dramatically on such a blistering summer day—is a star away.  Alas, all that my heart yearns to embrace seems even farther than that “star away.”   Hence, the Sun, even as distant as it is, is surrogate, and remains my guide… day upon day upon day.


     


    The Sun gifts us radiance and heat.  What complaint should we ever have?


     


    If it gifted us not, where would we be?

  • I am damned for not paying my bills.


    I am damned for not answering my phone.


    I am damned for being over-erotic.


    I am damned for not disliking the 90 degree-plus heat but instead taking the opportunity to run in it.


    I am damned for running late in the cemetery and e drinking beers afterwards.


    I am damned for drinking Milwaukee’s Best Ice.  They say the ‘e’ in Best is a long vowel.  I say 36 cents a can is cheap.


    I am damned for learning how to hack into websites the only way you can—by hacking into websites.


    I am damned for walking by a pretty girl the other day in a one-on-one situation begging for salutation and not even smiling or saying ‘hello’,


    I am damned for listening to the songs of birds and watching the flight of dragonflies rather than indulging in the din or rampant humanity and taking flight from reality though immergence into pop culture.


    I was damned for being too brilliant in my youth and still damned because I pretend I haven’t aged.


    I am damned for caring when I should have just fucked things off and damned for fucking things off when I’m expected still to care.


    I am damned because Alfalfa once wished Cotton was a monkey.


    And I’m damned because baby organ-grinder monkey fuzz on a girl’s forearm so turns me on.

  • Still running miles am I in the summer heat and not complaining one bit about the weather.  Running and adjusting to, accepting the heat makes me stronger and less dependent on certain comforts that many consider essentials.  Don’t need no air conditioning.  Can ration my take on water.  I avoid shade when possible.  And love to write after running in the blazeful Sun.


     


    In the cemetery, after hours but before sunset, there is no one for company.  It’s alright though.  I’m easing back into a childhood condition of solitude and a sense of psychic sentience.  If ever I’m to be an assist to mankind, it will probably be viewing the world from just such a cast into the cosmic far-reach. 


     


    O how alive is the Earth—and we, the emoting.


     


    This post is not completed.  No, it will never be completed.

  • I’ve run 25 miles in the last five days.  Felt strongest on the 25th mile.  *yawns*  I’m not tired.  I’m about to wake up.


     


    Are woman getting stranger?  In my opinion, yes, they are.  And so is my opinion.


     


    I can’t believe that when I  was a teenager my fondest wish for death was to die in a supernova.  Do you have any idea what the implications were for the rest of you?


     


    I bring my intelligence to bear… I bring my intelligence to a bear…  I bring my intelligence to bare…  oops, I’m naked.


     


    I live in hyper-obscurity, bet accept it.   It is, of course, the reason that I’ve been able to be so psychic-active most of life and yet stay subliminal to the fated powers that wonder and search and stab in the dark at me.


     


    I’m going to sneeze.  *sneezes*  Another prophecy come true.


     


    I’m going to have sex. *waits…*


     


    Oh well, prophecies are much too over-rated.

  • Forsaken but not forlorn, I understand the weakness of those who have parted company.


    Alone but not lonely, I have all of Nature as my companion.


    Still but not silenced, my unspoken musings are a freshness spontaneous, unpracticed, unperformed.


    Challenged but not defeated, I make a sport out of everything.


    Horny but not demonized, I sometimes draw glances as if I were the once great Pan.


    Childlike but not childish, I laugh at folly knowing that I’m next.


    Bartered but not bitter, I  get on, get off the Great Merry Go-Round.


    Desireless but not Nirvana-devoured, my Path ahead still promises adventure.


     

  • My running in Dreamland (Lake View Cemetery) is well-recorded on this blog.  For instance, if I remark that I ran 19 miles in Dreamland last weekend, many of you will have heard of such reports before.  (It was still true, nonetheless.)  But what I’ve never spoken about before are the little self-tricks that I often submit myself to in order to get the running done. 


     


    For instance, last Sunday I ran seven tortuous miles in horrendously humid 90-degree air under blazing Sun.  I doubted, shortly after my start, that I’d finish even two miles, though I had set out with an intention to run five.  And so, underway but faltering, I re-challenged myself to run three at a minimum.  And pushed on.  By lessening my expectation of myself, I was able to heroically push on. 


     


    When I finally reached the shirt-soaked two mile mark I had initially doubted I could finish, I told myself: “Okay, those two were just the last  two miles of the five you originally started out to run—now you’ve still got those first  three to run.  But only three.  Remember: you re-challenged yourself to those three.  And three are all that are left—the first  three.” 


     


    O what a sleight of mind!  Ah, what tortured self-logic to get tricked by!  My hope and expectation remained three.  I stayed in the ‘three mode’.  I had been doing three.  I could still do just three.


     


    However, after weltering on and on and finally as I was  nearing completion of those cunning, treacherous, interposing three miles, I suddenly re-attained my senses, came intellectually clean, and acknowledged my self-delusion: “Okay, so those first two miles weren’t actually the ‘last two’ and these three are clearly not the ‘first three’.  They are, in fact, only the middle three.  So run two more now just for pretending to be so clever with yourself.” 


     


    And so, self-chastised, I did.  Had I started out, however, to run 7 miles and counted straightforwardly up, I would have faded after just a few without a doubt.


     


    Do you ever delude yourself to achieve a greater end?

  • :never sniff for glue

    You break in two.
    I am a witness.
    I sniff for glue, get a whiff,
    but get too high before I can harness it
    and to your break apply.

  • I have seen fragile and intrepid auras .  Unexpected, previously unexamined auras of living, embodied, possibly like-you spirits.  Before, in this life.  I have.  And marveled most immaculately at such mysterious immediations.


     


    Something tells me I’m about to embark upon such aura-sightings again.  Like…woo.  


     


    I’ve never seen an aura via blog before.  Except (almost, if almost counts) for MommaRose, who once appeared me to in a delirium of flu I was suffering about 3 years ago as a preeminently ‘nothing but the Music’ fluctuation of internetted light.  I didn’t even share that with her.  Go figure: I’m such a recluse when I go vibrational mystic.


     


    Most romantics proclaim: “Light of my Life!”  But I ponder: the life of my light.  The perpetually scopic.  The drunken photons emanating from the Sun.


     


    True imaginative intercourse.  I wonder what the hell that is.  As I find myself ever always alone, under the gun, on the run.

  • Unassorted Thoughts

    Ooops.  I woke up this morning and remembered that I had this thing called Xanga.  Funny how in (going on) 6 years here this thing called Xanga has faded from total frontal constant consciouness into a luxury outlet available to me only when I'm not otherwise preoccupied.


    I'm still running, running in the heat, running in the soaking-ocean humidity of mystical Dreamland.  Miles and miles and miles...  Dreams and dreams and dreams... 


    I really don't like the state of Israel.  It sucks and play off of the United States much too much.  Still, I can't blame it for the current new violence in the Middle East.  Not at all.  Wish I could, but I can't.  It's doing exactly what I would do if I were responsible for directing retaliatory operations.  Fucking copycats of my mindset.  Bastards.


    Do wildfires really 'rage'?  I mean, are they angry, ya think?  I think they are just over-excited.  I'm tired of hearing all the time about "raging wildfires" out west.   Why not just add a little variety now and then and say "quaking wildfires", "dashing wildfires" or "consuming air-suckfires"??  Anyway, I wonder what it feels like to be a healthy tree burning to death.  "Why me?  Why me?!"   I wonder if Pando, the largest and longest-living organism on Earth, ever burned to a crisp what its last sentiment would be?  Maybe "I'll be damnned."  Or possibly "It's about time."


    It's hard not to be over-imaginative.  But I'm trying really hard.  The real problem is distinguishing between genuine psychic intuition and wishful/dreadful fantasy.  If challenged simultaneously by both, you must embrace one and let entirely go of the other.  It doesn't, and yet it does, matter which.  Both hint, suggest, lead into emerging realities and away from matters of fact.  It all depends on who you intend to be and what world you choose to unseal your fate.

  • Repeat: This blog is not I (though sometimes about me)
               This blog is a reflection,
               A narcissistic upwelling
               And not my identity.


               If I am the microcosm
               And the cosmos the macrocosm,
               This blog can serve to span the chasm
               Of all that constitutes my self
               Or selflessness
               Enswirled by the reality (and un-)
               Of the infinitely intervening phantasms.


     times 10.  Then take two pills (one to make you big, the other small), and call me something else in the morning.


    By the way, Narcissus as a mythic character is very much misunderstood.  Today we refer to ‘narcissism’ to describe a psychological condition characterized by self-preoccupation and lack of empathy.  Basically, someone 'full' of his or herself.  And, indeed, the ‘common account’ of the myth of Narcissus describes a youth so preoccupied with the beauty of his own reflection in a pool that his worshipful female admirer (would-be girlfriend) Echo, fades, in her unremitted love, to the precipe of nothingness.  (She was, however, mercifully immortalized by the gods to live on forever in the mountains as—an echo—what else?!)  And in punishment for his own self-infatuation, Narcissus eventually falls into the pool and drowns.


    But the true myth of Narcissus depicts a youth who falls in love with the face he encounters while peering into a pool—an image that he is not aware is either an image or himself.  In other words, he believes he is looking out into a strange magical world and seeing and loving ‘another’, though we, as omniscient observers, are aware that it is only his own reflection.   When, however, he realizes that the person of his fascination and fixation all along was himself, in horror he submits to the water’s seduction and slips away from life as the only honorable course available.  He was a lover, a true lover, though totally deluded, who found subsequent new enlightenment in a liquidy submersion.  And like many in myths who find demise going underground or underwater or into the underworld, he re-emerges reborn as fresh as a—flower!  Such is the power, if pursuing one’s true fate.


    So my advice, if you find that blogging is becoming larger than life, is: find (or write) a mantra like mine above and spin it on your prayer wheel 10 x 10 x 10 googolplex times.  Or go take a leap into your psychic pool…and to the watery element submit.


  • This morning I planted a tree in Dreamland.


    In an 'old', mostly forgotten section of the cemetery.



    Acer palmatum (Japanese Maple)

    'Inaba Shidare'

    'Cascading Leaves of Rice'



    In memory of Marnie's Dad, Jim Malone of The Diamonds, who died several months ago.


    It was something I promised to do back then.  I admit I'm slow, tardy even, but I try to make good on my promises.


    Then I ran 7 miles, kicked back for a reflective few moments to drink a beer, and hit the road. 

  • Damn right North Korea deserves world condemnation.  It’s obvious that what they are up to is trying to kill endangered species of innocent whales in the Japan Sea and that’s a most odious thing.  Save the Whales!  Attack North Korea!  Make Communism extinct!


     


    -This divides what’s written above from what’s written below-


     


    *looks at the divider above*  You know, I’ve been looking for a good succinct standalone blogging-thought divider.  I used bullets yesterday, but since I’m somewhat a pacifist (Really?  Since when?), I generally abhor resorting to bullets.  I don’t like line dividers, decorative or non-decorative, or boxes either.  So maybe I’ll just stick with my declarative divider of above.  Or shorten it to:


      


    -This divides what’s above from what’s below-


      


    If my feelings were intermediated as colors, I’d become an artist/painter.
    If my feelings were intermediated as sounds, I’d be a musician.


    Since my feelings are intermediated as words, I am a blogger/writer/poet.


    If my feelings weren’t, I’d lay in the hay all day.


    If you see me laying in the hay, you are welcomed to plop and join me.


      


     -This divides what’s above from what’s below-


     


    I’m going to plant a tree in memoriam in Dreamland this weekend.  It’s something I promised someone.


      


    -This divides what’s above from what’s below-


     Redone


    with just pinkies intertwined we lay down side by side
    under summer stars, in a cemetery, to watch the world swirl
    far away from the bare touch of our share.
    life takes to life—and now look what i’ve found.


    i think: if the stars could fall,
    they’d fall as i do into love:
    not out of the sky, but into each other.
    but it is the night that falls and not the stars.


    darkness into darkness gathers
    across the scape of crypted land
    as I snuggle into the warmth that you provide
    and likewise you unto my manness scending.


    our closing moments suddenly seize eternity by the balls—
    oh my god, no, that was your  hand!
    ha ha ha what are you doing, baby?
    don’t stop…don’t stop…don’t stop…


    the cemetery surges:
    while spirits rise,
    the frenzied scent of heated love decants
    across the shaken firm of earth.


    yet for all the eruptions of rapt emotions,
    our pinkies remain entangled
    like the strands of ivy (clinging to embedded tombstones)
    over which we roll, and roll, and roll…


    it’s then that I realize
    that we’ll never, never again be apart—
    for even death, as a voyeur, unearths upon our thrill
    and a gathering of ghosts is already clamoring for an encore.


    and so, like good actors upon a mortal stage, we oblige and bow
    once again in perpetual animalistic unison,
    with the trail of stars overhead too much confused,
    yet our pinkies still, and now forever, entwined.


    • What the hell is up with foam always falling off the Space Shuttles at launch?  I just cannot believe that they don't have a superior material available that doesn't fall off.  Would you fly on airplanes if everytime they took to air you were informed that some bolts were falling off?  hrmmm...*wonders if the bolts are falling off and we are just not being informed*

    • Scientists can be very, very weird.  Here's a study where they put one group of ants on stilts and partially amputated the legs of others.  Damn thing is they discovered something amazing about ant navigation. 

    • Ever sit on one of those automated sensor flushing toilets and get up or move to adjust yourself only to have it flush before you're done?   I've run into too many of them and wonder why they don't just program a delay into them so that if you get up or move around a bit but don't leave the vicinity immediately then the flush gets suppressed.  Damn things can flush 3 or 4 times just because you take the time to zip up your pants.

    • The internet is truly a trip.  Just found an online scientific journal article in Chinese from China where I'm listed as one of several scientific sources.  The chances of ever becoming aware of such a mention without the web are infinitessimally small.  Can you imagine, someday, an omniweb linking together all the intelligent life in the universe capable of recording information?  ha.  I wonder if humanity would be considered for inclusion?!

    • A posionous chameleon snake was recently discovered in Borneo.  Apparently, it is extremely rare for a snake to display any chameleon behavior:

      "The discovery of the 'chameleon' snake exposes one of nature's best-kept secrets. Its ability to change color has kept it hidden from science until now," said Bambang Supriyanto, a WWF specialist on Borneo. -CNN

      But the "what's wrong with this story" aspect leaped at me when I read:

      "I put the reddish-brown snake in a dark bucket," said Mark Auliya, a reptile expert and a consultant for the group. "When I retrieved it a few minutes later, it was almost entirely white."

      Duh!   Aren't chameleons supposed to 'blend in'?!  If it changes into a contrasting color, then scientists should have discovered it long ago! 

  • Happy Fourth, y'all!


    Solitude,of a time past...


    Sitting, still soul, in Dreamland, beholding my own body,


    realizing it really is my fucking body.


    Or not so fucking, but mine nonetheless.


     


    On the top, hot step of a dark-stoned mausoleum I perch.


    Ran 5 miles.  So what?  I do it all the time.


     


    Love and relationship fantasies find play in my mind. Amuse me.  Move on.


     


    There’s that one about being a Clyde to her Bonnie.   But I am so much more a man than Clyde ever was and I have yet much the better part of myself to be.  How silly a notion for me to so imagine me—though I can see her as Bonnie still.


     


    And there’s another who’s the carnate core of copious romantic yearnings and the prompt of my most passionate poetic confessions.    It’s all about the poetry.   Here’s hope that the verse, at least, endures.


     


    Alone, free, and radical, I find it’s now time for the Sun to set.  Orange rays, long shadows are cast.  Birds hush.  The night prepares to awaken.  Home, in the cemetary, at last.


     


    Sometimes a glance back instucts the future.  I needed that.








  • Visit notforprophet's Xanga Site!  Happy Aphelion Day. 


    I am Cog.  In the Machine.  Disengaged.  Hence, utterly alone.  But I am Cog.  The Great Cog.


     


    Do you believe in Fate?  Perhaps, you know it by its cousin, Kismet?


     


    I think we all believe in Fate.  And we all don’t.


     


    Something about it…that’s undeniable.  Yet something about it…that’s indeterminable.


     


    The problem is that Fate as a monastic entity, i.e, as a monad, or existing alone in and of itself, seems too entirely obsessive to constitute an aspect of genuine human existence.


     


    But what if Fate existed only as Fate1 or Fate2 or Faten—any number of fates but Fate Itself, The Great Fate.  And, instead of Fate (the Great) flinging you like a rag-doll to an unavoidable predestination, there were several, or even a great number of fates—Fates!—competing to guide you to a final well-defined destination?


     


    Thus the looseness of doom, the fuzziness of choice, remains:  Many Fates are competing for you.  Yet until you open the door and allow free passage to the Fate that happens to be at hand, only life becomes you, as miraculously inventive as the pattern of a  wave’s wash upon ever-shifting sand.

  • I need to start paying attention to more important matters like continuing with my long-neglected ghost-written story about Rumya and stop paying attention to the little things in life like sex, drugs, and money.


     


    Those and other little things have been consuming my time, psyche, and energy inordinately lately and it really is a shame.  Yet I’ve no one but myself to blame.  I cannot exist as who I am, after all, unless I’m entirely self-disciplining.  Nor can I count on anyone to pick me up and nurture me when I fail to live up to my life’s visions. 


     


    There was a book of poetry I remember from my youth called “The Man Whom God Forgot”.  That could well be me.  In the Tao Te Ching, Lao Tzu proclaims: “I am different.  I am nurtured by the Great Mother.”  Maybe that’s my only hope.  The philosopher Santayana has observed that “it’s not the dark that kills, it’s the cold.”   The cold of unknowing, the cold of unfeeling, the cold of unloving.  The ever-unrelenting cold.  I wish people were warmer.  I wish they had it in their hearts not to project upon the macrocosm of us the coldness that kills (you and me). 


     


    Just got done running 7 miles under a hot Dreamland Sun.  Feeling fantastic and wondering what state I’ll find the rest of the world in after I finish my post-run brewed potable and stealth back into the social milieu that constitutes the rest of you.


     


    Oo oO  The dragonflies and butteflies and damselflies are all back at once on the wing in Dreamland.  Soaring on the breeze.  And my spirit’s now soaring with them.


     


    Spirit.  It’s all about spirit (here in Dreamland, and for you-me?).

  • What am I doing this Holiday weekend?


    Running...


    Drinking...


    Cavorting in the Sun...


    Developing new paradigms for practical existence...


    Ya know, just the usual same-old kinds of things.

  • Though far from being a scientific test, the popup Ratings module (code provided by Sean) I placed on this site a couple of days ago suggests that the only way to get Ratings due attention is by making the module visible.


    # of site ratings on my site before visibility: 2
    # of site ratings on my site after visibility:    6


    So, in just two days my rating numbers tripled.


    For the sparse traffic I get here, that 6 compares pretty well with the 18 site ratings number that TheTheologiansCafe currently has from his hidden Ratings module.  He gets about 10 times the attention that I do here but has only 3 times the ratings number.


    Moreover, TheTheologiansCafe last five posts have a combined 1 rating, while my last post has 3 of itself.


    Again, all of this is not statistically scientific, but suggestive.


    Caution: Ignore everything written below unless you want your brain to hurt.  Take a shortcut for grabbing comment links and read Sean's solution to my convolutedness.   However, Sean's solution works only for comments on one's own blog.  If you want to feature comments from another's blog, convolution rules.


    Unrelated note:  A couple of posts ago, I made a link to a specific comment by John.  Do you all know how to construct such links?  Here it is:


    http://www.xanga.com/notforprophet/500376003/item.html?nextdate=1118297115&direction=n#1118297115


    If you click on it, it takes you directly to John's comment on my post, not just the top of the comment page itself.  I think this is nifty (did I just use that word?) when you want to bring attention to another's comment in the original context without forcing your readers to search through all the comments on a post.


    The first number (in this case, 500376003) is the unique number (uid) assigned to the post itself on the comment page URI (Uniform Resource Identifier).  If you click to comment on any post, you'll see that post's uid in the URI in your browser's address box. 


    The second and third numbers (in this case, 1118297115) refer to the specific comment of interest (John's, in this case) on that page.  I obtained it by looking at the source code for the comment page (in most browsers, View, Source or View, Page Source), locating the specific comment, finding the number (maybe it's called a 'cid', comment id?) asscoiated with it, and then using it in the second and third number positions to create the link above.


    You find the specific comment id # associated with a person's comment in the (example):


    <a name="1118297115">


    code that directly precedes the comment.  (As a side note, the first comment on a post doesn't get a number to reference but simply reports <a name="firstcomment"> !)


    I only wish there were an easier way to identify a comment's id and to constuct such links dynamically.

  • Is Xanga a good internet neighbor? 


     


    Xanga.com: The Conclusion (2), a follow-up story to Xanga.com: A Plagiarism Nightmare? (1) ,  suggests otherwise:


    "In the end, we can not count on Xanga as an ally against plagiarism or, sadly, other kinds of abuse. This could mean bad things for the future of Xanga, especially as splogging branches out to new services, and certainly means nothing good for the rest of the Web." (2)


     


    The problem?  According to the Plagiarismtoday.com, Xanga could do be doing some things better.  Like registering itself according to the requirements of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act:


     


    “First, I discovered that they were not registered with the U.S. Copyright Office, a requirement of the DMCA (PDF), and then sought out to contact their abuse team, the typical next step when official contact information isn’t available.” (1)


     


    And mention is made that the fax number that Xanga has registered with its domain is misleading:


     


    “It was then that I began to consider sending a fax to Xanga in hopes that leaving a paper trail my garter more attention. I returned to the whois page and made a startling discovery: The fax number is false. Instead of a legitimate fax number, Xanga listed simply "123 123 1234".


     


    While a fax number is not a requirement to register a domain name and private registrations are common (Plagiarismtoday.com uses one for that matter) all contact information provided is supposed to be a valid means of getting in touch with the individuals in charge. So long as the service that handles my private registration is functioning properly, all information in my whois serves as valid contact data.


     


    Large companies, generally, are held to a higher standard than private individuals when it comes to registering domains. Since they host content for other people, they have a higher responsibility to be transparent for the sake of copyright holders, law enforcement and anyone else that might need to contact them.” (1)


     


    But the core trouble, according to Plagiarism.com, is that Xanga lacks the manpower to deal with reports of abuse.  Too many millions of accounts (45 million by some estimates) and too few employees (12 to 20 according to estimates) to investigate reports of abuse.


     


    Let’s look at these claims.  


     


    It does appear that Xanga is not listed with the Directory of Service Provider Agents for Notification of Claims of Infringement.   Is it really a legal requirement?   I don’t know for sure.  But it’s also clear that not all other major blogs and social networks are registered either.  MySpace is but Friendster isn’t.  LiveJournal is but Blogger isn’t.  So what is a realistic expectation for use of this resource?


     


    And, yes, Xanga has a phoney fax number.  Personally, I don’t care!   But I suppose for some it might be more helpful either to remove it or provide a good number.


     


    And the manpower issue?  Undoubtedly true.  Xanga is absolutely overwhelmed by abuse reports and violation of terms of use reports and concerned-with-my-child’s-safety reports.  But is the solution just to throw more ‘manpower’ at the problem?   Or, as John is hoping, will the “Wisdom of Xangans” , that is, the Xanga community en masse  rating and flagging itself, provide enough concise intelligence so that current staff (or just a modestly expanded staff) can come to grips with this controversy of non- or untimely response to complaints?


     


    Technically speaking, I believe that John and the Xanga programming team can close some serious loopholes and make the Flag and Ratings systems viable.  But the real question is: how many Xangans will actually make use of these feedback systems? 

    In talking of the wisdom of crowds, John mentions an example where 800 people collectively and accurately guess the weight of an ox.  But 800, statistically speaking, is a large number!   Large sample numbers, like 800, especially if they represent a random sample  of an even larger population are, indeed, accurate predictors of true population parameters.  But small sample numbers, like 1 or 10 or 20, are questionable as accurate predictors or indicators.


     


     Will the average Xanga site get 800 ratings?  Or 80?  Or 8? 
     


    (The remaining discussion here below refers to the Rating System only.  The Flagging System has related but not precisely the same issues with response numbers.)


     


    As a statistician (I was a stats prof in a college graduate program for many years), I knew and taught how response size has huge implications for statistical significance.  Really small sample numbers (most statisticians suggest this means less than 30) are notoriously less reliable for inferring accurate indications of values or trends from a large population.  So if only an occasional self-selected blogger leaves a rating, then ratings will not be accurate indicators of anything. 


     


    Hence, the whole Rating System scheme is hedged on a huge (big number) response to it. 


     


    I’ve only gotten 2 site ratings so far and that is statistically useless.  And if it takes me 2 or 3 years to amass 30 ratings or more, then that’s useless, too, since then you are averaging “too old” ratings with “too new” ones and, over that 2 or 3 years time, I might have transformed myself from current meekness to future EXplictness.


     


    Can Xanga expect a huge response to Ratings?   As currently constructed, I don’t believe so.  The Rating module is hidden (only linked, not presented on the page) and 1 too many clicks away to ever really be popular.


     


    Can Xanga structure a huger response to Ratings?  Well, yes, I suppose it could force you to rate a site and/or a post before you comment upon it.  That undoubtedly would make Ratings responses hugely more numerous, but would compulsory ratings seem too imposing and heavy-handed? 


     


    As a compromise between the current ‘hidden’ Ratings module and a compulsory one, perhaps Xanga will decide to make the Ratings module a non-compulsory nag: something like a pop-up that says “You haven’t rated this site yet.  Please rate it now and contribute to the Wisdom of the Xangans.”


     


    There’s a lot at stake here.  If there’s going to be any Wisdom, there’s got to be a huge response.  If there’s an insufficient response, Xanga will remain mired with too many complaints, too little staff, and not enough intelligence to deal expediently with the situation. 

  • It’s the second full day of summer and arguably still a match to being the longest day of the year.  This is, of course, the time of Midsummer that Shakespeare immortalized.


     


    There have been wicked storms here on the North Coast for the last three days and nights.  The weather has broken open for the better now, however, and the sun in shine is reaffirming its preeminence.  I thus decided to spend the late afternoon and evening outdoors engaging in some rewarding activities 


     


    Just finished running 7 miles in Dreamland.  I’m sweating like a hound that’s been chasing its tail around and around and around out in the noonday sun.  Haven’t sweated like that since I was in Scottsdale, AZ ten days again.  It feels good to be back to a sense of heat.


     


    I’ve been feeling naughty and not feeling all so nice lately.  Certainly is due to the fact that I’ve been relying on externalities and projections for a sense of fulfillment rather than finding my own decency and worth in my own heart and soul.  Change.  Change does come.  Ever-change, never-end.  Time, as Thomas Merton once suggested, to sink my roots and not shake my branches so much. 


     


    So I prepare to grow deeper, more studious, meditative, and intuitive,  Should the psychic winds of warpdom whip at me I shall not become alarmed.  I prepare to achieve all that I can imagine.  Yet I will guard against letting my imagination run amuck casting havoc recklessly about.   I prepare to come to full but not closing terms with my inescapable mortality.  And thus I will let trees of Dreamland speak to me and whisper how ephemeral indeed I am. 

  • Xanga Ratings and Xanga Flags are all fine and dandy (well, maybe fine but not dandy, sometimes dandy not quite fine...). 


    However, it's obviously easy to defeat the intent of those tags at the top of the page by adopting a custom layout such as this self-proclaimed 12 year old on Featured Content has here.  Do you want to flag her as underage (Proof of Under-13 User flag)?  If you're really determined, you could still send xanga form-mail, I suppose.  But you'd think that Xanga could lock some code down that MUST appear on every page or have the page fail to display at all.


    hrmm...EXplicit nudity.  Once again no rating or flagging capability.   This crap is easy to find: just use the Xanga search and some juicy conjoined terms. 


    Here's another loophole:  A site self-rated EXplicit which can't be accessed by self-declared minors or anyone else not willing to provide proof of age eligibility.  However, this entry  on the site is viewable by minors since the entry isn't self-rated at all.  So a minor can't get to the portal page (www.xanga.com/x_a_n_t_h) but could, like I did, run across a particular entry that's indexed by and encountered in Xanga's own site search.


    Yet another way to defeat the ratings system: Load so much EXplicit porn on your site page that it never does get finished loading and anyone trying to rate the site (i.e, the Wisdom of the Masses) has their browser hang forever.


    Another concern is that even though a self-rating of EXplicit such as x_a_n_t_h has blocks frontal unqualified access to the weblog, the photoblog http://photo.xanga.com/x_a_n_t_h remains wide open.  Granted, there are no pics there is this particular instance.  But Xanga is providing a 'Site Rating' of EX that doesn't cover potentially the most graphically EXplicit outlet on the site.  Perhaps that's even why there are no pics there: x_a_n_t_h may realize the coverage is incomplete and is conscientious enough to avoid an indiscretion.

  • If someone out there is dying to talk to me and doesn't already have my number, they could use the info below to dial me up for 25 cents a minute!







    notforprophet

    1-888-MY-ETHER ext. 01660566


    that's 1-888-693-8437 ( I hate it when someone mnemonics a number.)
    (hint: click the card above for even more info)

    Ha.  Ether is a new website with a business model that permits arranged anonymous calls between parties for 15% of a fee set by the recipient party.  Here's how they describe how it works:


    How it works
    We all have something valuable to say. Whether you're an accountant, a computer expert, a blogger, or a good gossiper, you can earn money selling what you say to others over the phone ...



    1. Get your Ether Phone Number.
    2. Set your rate.
    3. Take calls only when you want to.
    4. Spread the word.
    5. Phone me the money.

    The drawback if you want to make a call to a seller (like me) is that you have to setup an initial account with Ether yourself - either through their website or over the phone during your very first call - and provide a credit or debit account to charge (in this case, 25 cents a minute). 


    hrmm...now why would someone want to pay to talk to me?  


    Expert computer technology and computer security advice?  Nostradamus-like psychic insights into the future?  Phone-sex?  To learn about the many dark-n-dirty-Xanga secrets I harbor in my head but won't commit to public blog?  ha.


    afterfthought, another use: 


    Setting up temporary anonymous access at a purely token fee, say 10 cents for 2 minutes and then additional minutes free, so that you can talk to someone for a certain period of time (say a couple of days, 10 cents each call) and then either abandon the account thus terminating your availability to them or provide them your actual phone number.  Useful, perhaps, in very short-term business relationships where privacy of both parties is desired or essential.  Or useful in getting that "first" phone call from a potential romantic interest without immediately committing to sharing your permanent number with him/her.


    note on usability: I was able to set up multiple different accounts with the same phone number, thus permitting abandonment of any one of them in either of the two afterthought scenarios above as a trivial concern.

  • Alas.  I have hit bottom.  Like a submarine at the bottom of the ocean.  But neither have the jagged bottom rocks scathed me nor has the pressure placed upon from above crushed me.  Challenged and self-challenged, yes.   Defeated no.


    Look for a new freshness here soon.  To reflect new inspirations. 


    *drinks a beer while disinfecting three computers in an unnamed location of a collective 60 viruses/torjans/worms and 200 items of other deleterious malware*

  • Just created X(anga)-Word One (hint: click, if you can't see it below).  No need to work it.  Magister Ludi be you.


    Why the effort?  Cause 'a game' was the best metaphor for expressing the tempo of my life at writing time.  If no thunderstorm intrudes, back to running in the summer-like heat later on this afternoon.

  • While John is trying to assure the appropriateness of assorted Xanga posts for minors through implementation of the new rating sytem, SmutVibes, a new full-featured weblog startup, has gone to the other extreme of simply prohibiting minors (ineffectively, of course, through mere registration affirmation of being at least 18 years old) and strongly encouraging "adult" nudity, naughtiness, and nookie-pandering.

    The funniest damn thing is that the parent company for SmutVibes is also the host of ChristianVibes, "a Christian social network.".  I guess it's the 'Vibes-thing' they have in common.

  • Leaving Arizona.  Going to miss the incredible inedible heat, the incredible sometimes edible (and hallucinogenic) cacti, and the Truth-Serum-of-Self  induced by running midday up/down a desert mountain.  That's all.


    Going to be a long travel day today, a crazy re-acclimation day to Ohio tomorrow, and a reinvention, a revamping of self in the light of the clarity of realizations (self and otherwise) attained during the course of this sojourn.


    Much love to you all.

  • I ran out of the Phoenician Resort (Scottsdale AZ—where I’m attending a Computer Security Institute conference) this morning, down Camelback Rd, left on Invergordon and on up to the Cholla Trail.  And then I proceeded on the trail up Camelback Mountain.


     


    Going from the coziness of the oasis resort to starkness of the desert mountain was akin to transitioning from hell to heaven, with heaven residing on the sun-soaked, cactus-kissed mountain and hell remaining resident with the improvised, unnatural posh solitude of the resort’s air-conditioned accommodations where nature only invades as a cut red rose served with room service.


     


    I stayed out, mostly running though sometimes simply hiking up (then down) the steep slopes, for a couple of hours in 100 degree heat.  Without any water.  (Please withhold all admonitions: I already know you think I’m crazy.) 


     


    My weight dropped from 197.5 lbs to 189.5 lbs. during those two hours—a moisture loss of 1 pound every 15 minutes.  (I have already regained more than half back re-hydrating and eating.)


     


    There were several other hikers on the trail, too.  Most were young, and if female, hot and muscular, and if male, buff.  Hint to me: they all had water!


     


    I didn’t quite make it to the true summit of Camelback Mountain today—stopping at the steepest incline ¾ of the way up—due to time and water restraints.  Tomorrow morning I intend to make the same run/hike again but earlier and with water packed,  And then proceed all the way to the summit. 


     


    I suspect there’s a hot girl hiker (with glistening muscles and organ-grinder baby monkey fuzz sun-shimmering on her forearms) up on that summit just waiting for me. 


     


    Hey, I know it’s only my fantasy.  But I still have to disprove it.

  • Jottings while flying across the country today...


    Someday there will be a major league pticher who's capable of pitching both left and right-handed with equal fluency.  That will spur the next revolution in participant functionality.  After that there will training camps for kids in dual-armed hurling. 


    - while over Ohio


    It is more important to be happy than to feel in love.  If in love but not happy, you may never, probably never will be happy.  But if happy and yet awaiting love, there remains high hope for you.


     


    - while over Ohio


     


    I had to refrain today from pounding and slapping and hitting infrastructure things as I typically do while touring on my daily travels.  For today I proceeded to the airport to catch a flight.  And I had enough sense to realize that while I can walk along a downtown block on the way to work and slap a building or punch a tree, hitting, kicking and pounding structures in the airport would likely run me into problems with security.


                                                


    - while over Indiana


     


    “Enjoy the flight.”  You have got to be kidding.  I am all tensed up.  I’m pretty sure there’s no air marshal on this flight so I’ve appointed myself sub-superhuman avenger.  Damn bumpy ride is terrorizing the crap out of me.  But how does on apprehend an updraft?

    -while over Indiana


     


    There’s an old Zen instruction that mandates “Never carry excess baggage.”  Accordingly, on my four day trip to Scottsdale AZ, I am carrying no luggage beyond strapping on my computer backpack (with my two computers, of course) and utilizing the rest of the space for some spare clothes.  Yes, it’s good to be a guy.



    -while over Missouri


     


    Surprise, surprise.  My flight had to return to St. Louis—where it had a stopover—ten minutes after it had taken to the air again.  There was an emergency—a malfunction in a baggage compartment door seal—which could have caused the plane to decompress had it become fully breached in the upper atmosphere.    The pilot claimed on the intercom that the return landing was the “hardest” he ever had—“exhausting all my brain cells”.  That due to the fact that the plane still had nearly a full complement of fuel and that passenger planes are designed to land much “lighter” with fuel stores relatively more depleted.  Hence, "heavy" they are harder to control and stop.  Lost time, but did not lose compression.  That was a fair tradeoff in my estimation.


     


    - while over Kansas


     


    There’s a 15 pound cat named Jack in New Jersey that chased a black bear up two different trees yesterday.  Now that story inspires me more than most anything I’ve heard lately.  In many ways, I can see myself, like Jack, intrepidly confronting challenges along my way.  Jack had so much heart that he prevailed despite his deficiency in size.  Here’s to heart, for God knows that my deficiencies vis-à-vis the challenges that await me are immense.


     


    - while over New Mexico


     


    Finally, over Arizona, and feeling light and playful.  Like being home once again.  But then, it was (once my home), so (in a sense) I am.


     


    - while over Arizona

  • You must love the world in order to be free.


    Now, fly me to the stars.

  • If Hong Kong is any indication, the brightest possible future for Xanga lies in expanding quickly to China.


    See Xanga vs. Myspace trends here.  Then click on the 'Regions' tab.


    Also, my undefined site, which holds the Xanga Best record (determined by the Xanga dashboard) for Most Footprints, displays a preponderance of hits as originating from Hong Kong.  So many, in fact, that I'm contemplating putting some click-thru ads in Chinese on the page in order to ride the Hong Kong wave.


    I asked John in a phone conversation a while ago if Xanga had any plans in expanding to China.  And he indicated that negotiations with Chinese representatives were being considered sometime in the near future.  There's always the Chinese state-sponsored "censorship" issue.  hrmmm...a touchy subject.


    I studied Chinese for several years some years ago.  I've been brushing up on my reading and speaking skills in this area lately.  By the end of summer, I should be ready for China.  Bring it on, Xanga!


    Oh yeah, by the way, "Xanga" is the name of an ancient Chinese tribe


    In my opinion, not a coincidence!

  •  


     


    It (the sentence directly above) is completely true. 


    And if you don't see it, it's because you were specialscript-excluded because I'm talking about you.

  • I know I don't keep the kind of blog here that let's you really know what's going on much in my personal life.  I'd rather aim for higher goals than that!


    But stuff does go on.  Some of it significant.  Some of it shocking.  Some of it world-shaking (well, it shakes my world - and everyone is part of my world, so I'd suppose there are reverberations sensible, however minutely).


    Just some personal "for instances" for a change...


    I practically went blind in one eye a few months ago.  I had an ulcerative infection (probably caused by Renu's Moisture Lock product) in one eye that threatened to spread to the other.  I was immediately put on three antibiotics that created such light hypersensitivity in me the first day that I felt like a vampire seeking comfort in eternal darkness.


    I'm going to a CSI conference in Scottsdale, Arizona next week.  Some of the classes I'll be attending: "Forensics Goes Mainstream," "The Insider Threat," "What Hackers Don't Want You to Know,"  "Back Hacking Live."  I'm looking forward to running in some 110° F heat.


    I went for a one mile highly rambling walk in the cemetery yesterday before I realized I had lost my cellphone somewhere along the way.  In backtracking, I  tried to recall my precise footwork, struck a beeline accordingly, didn't directly encounter the phone immediately, but stopped suddenly at one headstone that seemed "sensitive" and decided to search around it in about a 15 foot perimeter.  Found the cellphone hidden in tall grass out of the immediate view!  And that was my first stop along the way back - about 3/4 of the entire distance.


    For most of my life I've disliked sleeping.  Immensely.  In the last year or so, I've come to enjoy sleeping.  There's something in me I still dislike about enjoying sleeping.  If I can put my finger on it, I'll return to my old ways.


    In transitioning from my workplace to Dreamland cemetery (where I run), I'll undertake a complete outfit change.  In my vehicle.  My vehicle is usually cluttered with clothes. And empty coffee cups.  And pennies tossed under the seats.  If cleanliness is next to godliness, it's clear that God is not, nor will He soon be, sitting in my passenger seat.

  • Although I don’t talk about it much anymore, I still do it.  And am doing more of it more often as the summer now unfolds.


     


    And I still immensely enjoy doing it—actually in some ways more than ever before.


     


    It’s not dangerous, but it’s taboo.  If detected doing it, I’d be sought.  If intercepted in the act, I could be arrested.  But likely as a first-time ‘caught’ offender I’d likely be chastised and advised to desist.


     


    Many of you believe me crazy for doing it.  Many of you aren’t crazy enough to try.  I’m probably too habituated to stop.  But why should I?


     


    Used to be, in a less constraining time and culture, that I could do what I’m talking about right up to the set of Sun with society’s blessings.  But anymore, now that money talks louder and laws squawk broader, I’ve crossed the line of impermissibility in keeping true to the old ways of “it’s okay until your shadow dies.”


     


    Yes, I am running in Dreamland (Lake View Cemetery) toward and sometimes including of the Sun’s set.


     


    Yes, running “until dusk” has been the central focus of my summertime activities since almost before blogging was invented in the last millennium.


     


    Yes, running “until dusk” in the summertime here is now taboo because the cemetery association (read: business interests) have for the first time in forever determined that keeping the cemetery open “until dusk” in the summertime is not financially lucrative.  So the gates now clank closed, as they do the rest of the year, at 5:30 PM.


     


    It’s okay.  Other than a rare and quite occasional after-hours ‘trespasser’, it’s just me, a majestic array of exotic flora, a quixotic expression of unusual fauna, a quarter of a million resting souls, and more beauty than a walking stick insect could shake all of you at.

  • Who needs Reality TV?   Soon you will be able to go online and catch illegal immigrants on border webcams and report them to authorities even while you drink beer and wait for the pizza delivery guy to ring your bell.  Story here.

  • Xanga's 'most popular' site is a freaking accident.  Literally.


    Sean may remember me stumbling upon 'undefined' and employing it to enhance his reflective identity trick javascript.  That was a long time ago...


    'undefined' is now on its own: more popular than ever and going nowhere.

  • 6150 Footprints here so far this week as of post time (38% of Xanga's 'best').  Only 46 Comments (2% of Xanga's 'best').


    A lot of walking.  But not much talking.

  •  


    This was the sophisticated ciphering system I devised for keeping track of how far I ran yesterday.  Each time I completed a lap, I added a stone to the road.  Each lap was .3 miles.  I found this to be very self-entertaining.  Gives you an idea of how easily I am entertained.



    I talked with John, Chief Visionary and CEO of Xanga, for a lengthy time today (each stone equals aprrox. 3 minutes) about the new Rating System and other things ... like Photobucket and Myspace and censorship and vibrators...and even some of you!  While he shared with me insight into some of the future details of ratings (like the assessment and function of cross-ratings, the display of ratings, under what conditions Xanga might intercede, etc.), what was most interesting - what became most clear to me from our discussion - is that John is a public service hero attempting to save Xanga at any cost from the type of descent into censorship that we now see on Photobucket and Myspace and Friendster, etc.    The other social networks make it easy on themselves: they scrutinize everyone, censor the questionable, and push on.  They are succumbing to a huge special interest on the internet demanding broad censorship "to protect our kids".   John, on the other hand with the Xanga Rating System, is bucking that censorship system.  He is attempting to stratify rated content with a matched-up content viewer - believing that by leveraging discretion with a Xanga demographic (Age), Xanga can eliminate the need to resort to broad censorship. 


    I hugely hail his effort. 


    And if, down the road, Xanga devised DFC - Discretionary Featured Content - featuring only those who are proud to be discretionary and whose content reflects it, then maybe I'd find (D)Featured Content an interesting feature again.  Hell, might even be like old times     ...naw.

  • Honeypot


     


    I envision Xanga’s Rating System as actually assisting skillful child exploiters with winning the trust and confidence of certain gullible kids.


     


    How so?


     


    The child molester initially sets up a cute and fuzzy and good-feeling ‘A’-rated site.  This is the honeypot.   He then goes about seeking potential child victims and comments and subscribes to attractive children-targets.  These children-targets, in turn, visit the honeypot, like what they see and, in turn, subscribe. 


     


    Parents are aware that Xanga has this new Rating System, but may nevertheless want initially to confirm that their young teenager’s subscription selection of an A-rated site is, indeed, A-Xanga compliant.   The honeypot, still in the child-gathering mode, of course, is.  So the parents approve of their child’s selection and rest more assured because the Xanga rating system appears to be functioning correctly as a content-filtering system.  The kids, believing that both their parents (initially) and Xanga (continually) are ‘looking out for them’ have more reason to trust the sites they have subscribed to than they would have if ratings didn’t exist.


     


    One day, the honeypot becomes ‘ripe’ for the child exploiter.  It’s time to shift from the fuzzy child-gathering mode where it remained A-compliant with the blessing of parents/Xanga to a delicate child-manipulative mode where non-A rated content starts to creep in.  Some children, believing that Xanga is assisting their parents in protecting them, aren’t as wary as they might otherwise be.   So as the honeypot's A-content becomes C-content mutates into D-content and finally exposes as EX-content, the most gullible of kids, though they may be somewhat guilt-ridden in being led into a taboo, nevertheless rationalize it as “but Xanga is protecting me and my parents have approved of it.”


     


    Or course, other kids, more savvy, may start flagging and negatively cross-rating the tactics of the exploiter’s site gone into its manipulative mode.   The exploiter knows he has to act quickly: the site must go into an acquisition mode—harvesting the most gullible, acquiring private contact information, arranging for extended means of continuing contact—before Xanga reviews the inpouring flags and contra-A cross-ratings. 


     


    How long does the child abuser have?  Days?  Weeks of gullible trust before Xanga intervenes?  


     


    If the molester plays it right, he may even be able to complete his harvest (let’s say by arranging for a face-to-face meeting)—before Xanga responds to the danger signs—and convert his honeypot back to its original A-compliant mode.  Given that Xanga is going to have to deal with a huge volume of very bad ‘false positive’ cross-ratings and flags anyways, the molester may come in under the radar: out of sight, out of mind.


     


    In any case, the child exploiter feels a great sense of gratitude to the Xanga Team—realizing that the Ratings System hugely assisted him with winning the trust and confidence of his next delicious victim.

  • INTRODUCING XANGA RATINGS...  We hope this system is a good alternative to a model based on censorship!   -John


    My response:



    If Xanga had started out with required self-ratings, with no opt-out of self-rating that didn't incur a visitor dropoff, I'd have certainly just passed Xanga forever by.   I would have just felt too stifled just by having to "type" myself.


    I realize this is a "service" that you may feel you need to provide.  But I see it more as a way to cover Xanga's legal liabilities (lawsuits from distraught parents) rather than providing any real protection.  I sympathize with your legal plights.  But ratings do nothing for me.


    And 'EX' requiring a credit card?  Total kiss of death.  Who the EX will want to provide credit information, or take any additional step, just to read a post?  This is blogging: one additional step = hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of less (even qaulified) readers.


    (okay, I just read your 'EDIT' and see that you've already abandoned the credit info thing.)


    Besides, I have written 'EX' posts from time to time as streams of consciousness, published them 'in the moment, from the field' in states of euphoria, and would have been incognizant or incapable of rating my site or the posts (that is, being rationally self-reflective) in any manner whatsoever in those moments.  So...if I don't rate my site 'EX' at the outstart (kiss of death) but fail, due to a transformed non-rational state of consciousness, to rate something 'EX' that the coming subcultural of 'Xanga censor/raters' overwhelmingly will deem 'EX',  then I guess I'll end up on your shit list. 

  • I'm currently under a short-term drug regimen to inhibit my continuing irritation from and (over)reaction to a flea-biting attack upon arms, torso, legs, etc. that I suffered two weeks ago as I lay in a field of uncut grass under the Sun for half an hour or so.  


    I should have known better than to lay in that uncut grass, but I did so desperately in response to an overwhleming sense of achiness, lightheadness, dizziness, and general weakness that suddenly gripped me after running just a couple of miles in Dreamland (Lake View) Cemetery.


    At the time, I assumed that I was suffering a rapid onset of a bout of flu.  I was wrong.  Dehydration had caught up with me. The fact that I had run about 30 miles in 5 days and had been drinking only coffee, diet cokes, and beer pretty much accounted for my demise.


    So now I'm consciously drinking more water and gatorade. 


    And taking a glucocorticoid (adrenocortical steroid) to heal from the biting fleas.


    So this particular medication has an unusual precaution.  But I don't know how to take it:


    "Psychic derangements may appear ranging from euphoria, insomnia, mood swings, personality changes and severe depression, to frank psychotic manifestations."


    Actually, I could use a good dose of euphoria right now.


    By the way, has anyone noticed anything strange about me lately?  Doesn't hurt to ask.  Well, actually it does hurt, but who cares?  In any case, your answers don't matter to me.  But I'm still interested.  At least I was when I started this paragraph with that silly question up above.  What was I thinking?  Never mind ... *focuses on euphoria*

  • There is a place for peacefulness even here in my soul where wars are yet waging.


     


    There is beauty even in these fields of desolation that I must solemnly traverse by treading upon.


     


    There is a waft of a spring fresh scent in the air even though the stench of the mortalized heaped about is mostly overwhelming and ubiquitous where the populations of density once lived.


     


    I’ve seen a glimmer of hope in a surviving young girl’s eyes even though the eyes of most survivors are severely darting about assessing the grid, evading danger.


     


    Everywhere are the farms unattended, and the grass of suburban houses feral and uncut.  But the wildflowers blooming in those  pastures and fields and lawns are ever so amazing after all.


     


    The geography of the world is, no doubt, changed—with no capability yet of assessing it.  Somewhere new discovers await a day to venture forth and re-acquaint mankind with this earthly recombination.  Who would have ever thought?


     


    We were in control.  We thought.  Until the Earth suffered a bout of schizoid depression, began to believe it was its sister planet Mars, and decided to relinquish the hammer of gravity for a few existential moments of inexplicable cosmic warpdom. 


     


    The phrase  “We were warped.” is now used to explain it all.   But it explains nothing.  We are as helpless to explain as we were to prevent it in the first place…or to predict or prevent its reoccurrence.


     


    It has been left to the newly wandering warrior-poets, such as I, to forge a crystal vision of tomorrow.  Check back with me tomorrow.


  • Only from the waist down, baby.

  • Some thoughts about Xanga's Footprints...


    First, Xanga's tracker - Footprints - is the ONLY tracker that cannot be defeated by simple anti-tracking counter-measures.  That's because it is a SERVER-side control and not a BROWSER (client) - based control like ALL of the rest of the 3rd party Xanga trackers.


    All client/browser -based trackers can be ever so easily circumvented by proxies, disabling browser settings, etc., and thus permit an unquantifiable amount  of stealth activity to go undetected.  Server-side controls are enforced on the server - you'd have to breach server security to to defeat them and Xanga is betting that no one will.


    Xanga's Footprints, however, currently has one 'hole' purposely left open to afford those of us who may feel restricted or spied upon by a requirement to leave footprints: you can choose not to participate in Footprints and you currently will not be trackable by your username, though you will be tracked by those employing Footprints by country/state.


    Initially, my reaction to this hole, left on Mary's post was harshly negative:


    "You should either provide the service with full integrity (and as a server-based service, it is the only tracker capable of full integrity) or junk it.  A lot of Xangans who will use your tracker will forget that Xangans can always opt to go under the radar.  If you do continue with it in this wounded form, you should put a very strong, large, and bold verbal and graphic reminder on the Footprint Page to that effect."


    John  responded to my comment in a personal email and asked me:


    "Is your sense that the Footprint optout is too stalker-friendly?"


    He also suggested a couple of compensating controls for this 'hole', one of which would be a Footprint User Lock.


    Concerning his suggestion of this Lock, I responded to him with the following:


    "OR...as you suggest, having a compensating control to close the hole.  You mention a "User Footprint Lock".  I imagine this to be a mechanism used in conjuction with Xanga Lock and Footprint to lock out anyone from one's site that decides to opt-out of Footprinting.  If you can devise such a mechanism and it is 100% reliable, then I believe that you will have a perfect blocker-tracker: some people can opt-out (of being tracked and tracking) and still visit some Xanga sites (of those not enforcing the User Footprint Lock);  other people can decide to lock down their site so only those who comply with being Footprinted can visit.  In that case:


    If I agree to Footprinting, I may or may not utilize the Footprint logs, may or may not enforce Xanga Lock and the User Footprint Lock.  If I do use Footprinting with Xanga Lock and User Footprint Lock, then essentially I am creating a "Qualified Protected Environment" with the key being a Xanga username: provide a username to be recorded and you'll be let in.


    If I opt-out of Footprinting, I realize that I won't be able to visit users who employ Xanga Lock with Footprinting and User Footprint Lock.


    Am I getting your sense of User Footprint Lock right?"


    John's response to me?   ...








    "Cool, yah that's exactly how a Footprint Lock would work."


    So my hope is that John and the Xanga Team go ahead and start to compensate for the tracker hole they are affording as an opt-out by developing this User Footprint Lock and keeping us notified of progress in this area.


    To summarize, here's how the tracker security now works, followed by a vision of how it would work with a viable Footprint Lock in place...


    Currently, if you are using Xanga Lock and Footprints and other users are...



    • Not Signed In: they cannot see your page.  
    • Signed In and Not Participating: you'll see their Country or State.
    • Signed In and Participating in Footprints: you'll see their username.

    If, in the future, you are using the Xanga Lock, Footprints, and the Footprint Lock, and other users are... 


  • Not Signed In: they cannot see your page. 
  • Signed In and Not Participating: they cannot see your page. 
  • Signed In and Participating in Footprints: you'll see their username.

    Nobody will be forced to participate in Footprints, but you will have the choice of whether or not you want a Footprint to be an entry token to your blog.


    This works for me.  


    John:  Keep us posted!

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