Friday, July 31, 2009

On Love and Fascism, Part 2

I am both impressed by the chops this idea has - and a little edgy and nervous - where were the great thinkers about dystopia and fascism on this? Orwell didn't have a smidge of love in the book, other than by cruel irony, the Ministry. Zamyatin (We) didn't touch on emotion, but rather reason. And Huxley? Don't remember him chatting about it.

And where was Freud, the Grandmaster of Love, when the Nazi's arose? This was all his stuff, they played in HIS stadium. I'll have to look up ol' Siggie, he may have shizzled on this.




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Thursday, July 30, 2009

In Case You Don't Get It

The matter of the Arrest of Gates by Crowley dismays me terribly.  The privacy issues alone are worth discussion.  However, the case shows the absolute inability of the American People at large to detect bullshit whatsoever.  Chaplinsky v. New Hampshire is indeed fascism run amok.
But the American people first need to attune themselves to Reality and Reason before they can handle such things as discussion of an arrest. The Real World is inglorious, and the call on the case was made by Gates and Crowley, two pissed-off fellows trying to navigate the world as best they could.
The dangers of fascism do not come from the stoop of a Harvard residence. It runs deeper, and is far more our fault than we wish to admit.


Here is the fundmental linguistic form of fascism.

(subject) should be (qualitative) (characteristic.)

Negroes should be more respectful.
Police should be less racist.


Any time that a missive is entered to THEM, and a subjunctive form of the indirect order is used, then fascism has whispered.  Officer Crowley might well indeed have lost control of the spiral by offering such advice, if he did so - Prof. Gates, you should be less agitated.
If Gates heard this (which is speculation) then he probably blew up (overreacted?) and the whole thing got on the Red Line to Hell.







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A Letter to the Commissioner

Dear Mr. Haas:

I write to thank the City of Cambridge Police Department for its mission and duties. Having lived on Prospect Street in Cambridgeport for some years, I am grateful for your service to the community.

Unlike perhaps nearly every other American, I have no opinion on the matter of the arrest of Gates by Crowley. I was not present, I was not involved - therefore, I don't know anything about it. I do, however, apologize that so many other Americans are opinionated jerks and asses, and are arrogant enough to offer their opinion on what they do not know.

Please continue your good work, knowing that it is not the entire world that has gone insane. The 95% of the world who are jerks, make the rest of us look bad.




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Wednesday, July 29, 2009

On the Law of Scarcity

Being unfamiliar with the formal principle called the "law of scarcity," I have paused for an inadvertent education on the matter. My initial supposition was that with a fixed limit of product, demand which is at least equal to that product will "order the queue" of demand by means of price. One does not need to posit "unlimited" demand; rather, demand in excess of supply will suffice.

But I also learn that the price can be manipulated by threatening one's rights or property; or the alternative, offering an unearned windfall. People will not demand something as much as when they are persuaded that it is "theirs." Also, people who are persuaded that they have stumbled upon a treasure, will pursue it more ardently than if it were just offered in the marketplace without persuasion.

The "Marketing Minute" blog by a Chip Cummings offers:
Can you create a sense of urgency in your marketplace? Limited access to a conference call; only $1.2 million in this particular loan program available; offers only accepted for 7 days; only 38 people allowed access; 10% discount only for the next 72 hours…..

You get the idea - use Scarcity to get your market to act quickly. This works well with customer retention strategies, initial prospects, and special events. There are a couple of rules:

  1. Be sure to FOLLOW THROUGH on your promise! A limit is a limit. By holding your ground, they will respond accordingly NEXT time.
  2. Set clear guidelines and expectations. Be sure to TELL the prospect EXACTLY what to do!

If heathcare is perceived as a fundamental right, than people will ardently pursue its fulfillment. To some degree, they are correct in doing so, because the ultimate measure of fundamental rights derives from the rational basis of the individual. Unfortunately, the "rational" part has left by the roadside in this approach.

Canute has a bad rap these days. I read in Wikpedia the following:
Henry of Huntingdon, the 12th-century chronicler, tells how Cnut set his throne by the sea shore and commanded the tide to halt and not wet his feet and robes; but the tide failed to stop. According to Henry, Cnut leapt backwards and said "Let all men know how empty and worthless is the power of kings, for there is none worthy of the name, but He whom heaven, earth, and sea obey by eternal laws." He then hung his gold crown on a crucifix, and never wore it again.


Unlike modern rulers, he got the point on the first try. He's head-and-shoulders a better empiricist (and thus, economist) thank the DC Boys these days.

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Tuesday, July 28, 2009

Thou Shalt Know them By Their Drugs

Methland, a book I'm writing,(reading, sorry - moron moment) shows the true Drug of the Masses, the hopeless Methamphetamine.

Wish to view the End of Society?  Seek their Drugs, and see through them.

Meth joins alcoholism, porn and gambling as a way to soak up excess reality.
PS:  Thankfully, Blogging While Stupid has no criminal charges associated with it.

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A letter to Harry Goslin on Inspiration and its Lack.

In mythological terms, we fucked up.

Unbinding Prometheus for the gift of fire is one thing. Unbinding Narcissus - just because he is so good-looking and fun to hang out with - is a mistake.

I share your sense of frustration. In an era of dreg-scraping for ideas, it's hard to remain inspired. I've taken a bit of a wicked and cynical turn in my writings - generally based upon the head-smacking witlessness which suffices for public discourse.

A preponderance of all species ever in existence are extinct, and long before our species rose, too. And so is the fate of civilization and cultures, which tend to go extinct in an untidy sort of way, but for the same reasons - they could not adapt to Reality. One only needs to not breathe for a day, not eat for a year - and the prosperity afterwards is moot, because you done gone.

America seems earnestly committed to march off the cliff into the sea, I fear. 'Nother one bites the dust. And it's a shame, really - we coulda been a contender.

But we live in a labyrinth of mirrors, and the closer one gets to the center, the less one knows about the world. At the center lies the Minotaur, surrounded by the Beltway. Not wicked, indeed - in fact, quite kind; but unknowing of anything outside the Hall of Power, even where the bathroom is. (And using the bathroom after the Minotaur has to be, well, unpleasant.)

So, if you are also beset by the fog of futility when writing, that's okay - at least for you. It's a sign that your horseshit-detectors are working well, and what's out there shouldn't necessarily draw you out of your cave at the first crack of the stick. Think of the Blair Witch Project.

Psychological depression, of which apathy is a glimmer, is a protective device which now does not help us. I believe that it evolved for human existence during the late winter, a profound loss of interest - don't sleep, don't eat, don't care; at a time when there wasn't much to do, eat or care about. Springtime comes, and the torpor lifts - it always comes.



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Saturday, July 25, 2009

In Honor of the Five

In Honor of the Five

Your tales tell you schoolchildren, of the Four Founders who wished to bring their craft and lore together and into order, for the teaching of the young. This came after the Great Breaking, when the Quillen were sundered, and the Quillendal hid from the others, the Quillengoll, who were torturing and burning them.”

“Burning, at the stake. Stop to imagine that. The broiled skin, and melting, fat and stink of hair, while the victim screams. Do you understand the atrocity at Cail Orgun now, perhaps? And the collectors of the bodies, who cut down the shriveled corpses, frozen in screams, carbonized grease over bones – children!"

"And who laughed and capered in the grease-blackened smoke? Theamhann na-Shaitann, the Eater of Souls. When has That ever rested, when suffering is about? Theos kata bolos, Αυτός που ο Θεός έχει πετάξει κάτω, whom God has thrown down. Diabolos."

"But later. Of your school. Four great wizards, four great Houses. Upon the founding of this great school, the Hesperides were asked to send a learned lore-master to teach, to make the Houses Five."

"The House Hesperides did respond. Each of the Houses were confused; some were greatly offended, but others puzzled. House Hesperides would not send a loremaster, for there was little magic which the House admitted to have, worthy of knowledge and teaching. But the House asked the kind permission of the others, to send a single member to work as janitor and watchman ‘in the halls of the blind.’”

Ever since then, though you may not know, a member of the House Hesperides has worked the grounds and fields of your fine school; no day has been without a servant from our land in your great college. Little is said, and few know that it is one of our house. Most of the Quillendall do not understand our commitment, and consider it to be a perpetual insult. It is far from being so.”



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And of the Lands.

The traveler drank some water at the bedside; it was merry and fresh, and tasted of the little forest stream in the Forest of Moon. It was without any flavor, but bore its own magic, and brought back the colors of the room in the Hopital, bearing forth greens and browns in its pure clearness.

“Many do not believe that this land exists. The stories are as different as the searchers who seek it, it seems.

Some have wandered the land, and found it delightful, but desolate as a moor, with no sign of settlement beyond the small village of Flich. Others swear that they see naught but carven stones, Others find megaliths erect or strewn about, set into the most marvelous patterns.
For those who have been to the villages, it is much as it seems – or seemed, in as much as the people are hospitable, but deadly dull. They seem completely unaware of magic, mostly. They are simple farmers and villagers, having little modern conveniences. Most who have met them believe that they are frightfully stupid, not wizards at all, but some sort of troll-like branch of humans.

Some find only deserted sandy dunes or,” he shuddered, “ocean cliffs.”

There are some paradoxes about our land which seem to trouble our visitors,” said the Senechal. “We are open to all who seek us; but so few can find us.

We call the outlanders Quillen – puppies, you might say. But specially, meaning those puppies or small animals that are new-born, before their eyes open. They bumble about, terribly helpless. Our town of Southmarch exists for the purpose, among others, of guiding these delightful little beings about out land, that they do not fall into puddles, or frighten themselves. The Senechal laughed like the patter of sweet May rain.

“Pardon me,” replied the traveler crossly. “This puppy feels abused indeed, what with being strung up above a cliff and all. You people seem more vicious and cruel than kind, says this puppy.”

The Senechal bent forward, eyes closed, deep suffering grey upon her face. She sat quietly for a few moments, unnervingly; it recalled the silence of the Elders before the Trial. "It was hardest for you, wizard, and you are brave among the Quillendal. I shall explain what happened, if you wish; but it will not wipe such things from your memory. I came as quickly as I could, for I was Judge of the Trial.

A shocking desecration has occurred, as not been seen for many years, near the March of this Land. There was a horrible slaughter which took place, and the place is now known as Cail Orgun, and it is haunted and horrible, and none dare go near. You made note of the little stream which comes from that place, and it was strong testimony in your behalf during the trial, that you noticed that the stream still stank, even after many healings had been placed upon it after it exited that awful place.

We understand the ways of the Quillen, although many differ from our practice.” She began to speak haltingly, as though she were thinking in a different language, and translating it into English.

“You need warmth for travel and home, so you take – you collect – fallen branches and kindling, and set these – these dead wood pieces – on fire, you set it afire. And this is right, this is alright, for to keep one warm in the cold is a proper thing.” Her face seemed to struggle with the next things to say.

“And some Quillen take trees respectfully, like you take from the herd, for sustenance and shelter. You lay it aside for a fit and proper amount of time, so that it – I understand green wood does not serve the purpose of these things. And then you put it to good use in the care of one’s self and others, which is truly an honorable practice.”

“We gather wood, and use it. We are prudent, and not wasteful. We gather the harvest, the beasts of the field, and our pasturage. You know this. What is it, the great crime, where? For this you torture and try to kill other humans? For wood?


She sighed. “Wood has life in it, life that outsiders often cannot see, even after it is taken from the wind’s fall, or a tree is killed and set to dry. Some even keep their aliveness long after the physical life passes from them.”

Your wands are living wood. Do you not know, even in your – understandings, that the wand chooses the wizard; how so is that, if there is no life there?

The only wood we burn, is wood which is truly without any vital force, dead wood. We burn it not for useful things, but for respect, and in melancholy.

“We understand that the woodsman is no different than the hunter or herder. But life must be sacrosanct, and be given for further life. “

“What happened in the Cail Orgun was a desecration, in the way that murder is a desecration to all peoples – the wasting of a life. Some malign spirit with power over living wood set forth to murder that forest, to blight it and still the life; not only in each tree and bush, shrub and flower, but the being that encompasses the living of that place – its true name, in a sense.”

“And what is perhaps worse, is that it was done with the consent of murdering wood itself. A wand or twig, something with the wood that lives, was warped in some unspeakable way, that it would turn its hand against its brother.”

“Regrettably, you spoke of starting fire with a wand, with wood burning wood. That called the indictment upon you, innocent as we know now you are. But we have not heard of such things, not for a long age. We cannot risk that a murderer be set forth into our Land.”

“None of this ought you know, traveler, and none of this should you ever have seen. We do, in fact, protect the Quillendal from these harsh things. There are terrible things in our world, as there are in yours; most of these arise from malice. Our roots are deep, profoundly so, and many reach to dark places from which your people never dream. They are protected, in a sense; with an all-encompassing protection or blessing that you likely never imagine. We who know of these bitter things guard you from them, the Quillendal. We do not mock your blindness; it is the evidence of our diligence on the March of the World. For not all guardians protect only this land, but places which you may never see or imagine that they do so.

For instance, your English School.


An Awakening. The Seneschal

Awake! Open your eyes!

A voice called again, deeply - AWAKE! Unfamiliar.

He was chilled to bone. Only a flicker of warmth lay deep within. Through his eyelids, he could tell that light was here, and his face felt warm like sunlight. He opened his eyes in a merry, sun-bathed room, with the scent of fresh flowers streaming in through the window.

The elders were there, and also the speaker - a golden-cloaked woman with long grey hair and grey sparkling eyes.

You were tested. You survived.

The traveler grimaced. His mouth was full of the taste of blood and ashes. " Let me out of this God-forsaken place. And let me have my wand."

The Drussard smiled, a wan and horrible effort, as though had mouthed a spoonful of sugared vomit, and was trying to seem appreciative. "Well, you've sure been through a thing or two!"

The gold-cloaked woman stared at him, and his sickly face melted like tallow. The Drussard stepped back, and slowly crept towards the door, like a man trying to flee a burning building nonchalantly.

"I am the Senechal. I know you have suffered much."

"Lovely, madam, just. There seems to be a plethora of titles, for some sort of roles held by the idiots and liars who live in this lunatic home. Please come tell me again how gentle you people are to the Quillens. How patient you are. "

"I am deeply, grievously sorry for the suffering you have endured. It is....regrettable. Things are happening, and your suffering was not from your doing; or from ours."

"Well, once again, spiffy. It seems that I'm laid up here like a log in a bin, all respect to - what are you, mate? the Master Pourlebois? Perhaps you might stop glowering and fetch my wand now?

The Master had indeed been staring, with an odd air that he did not regret in the least the suffering of hte traveler. He, too, stepped to the door, and left.

"The Master does not trust you, that is true. But he may have, in fact, come up with the idea which saved your life."

"Jolly good, friends like him, et cetera. You may notice that my life didn't particularly need saving until I came to this rotten borough!?"

"It was the Master's idea to take testimony from your wand. Your wand, in fact, saved your life. Through his wisdom, in this and other ways, you were brought back. You were indeed warned, traveler, that this land was not safe. Lore has it plenty that it is perilous to seek us out, no?"

Cail Orgun

The room had beome softly quiet, and the traveler paused, to note the elders staring at him, fixedly, unmoving - not even blinking.  The room was stopped, still.  He looked from one face to the other, and sensed a slow paleness wash over the faces, and then to their whole presences.  It tugged at the corners of the room.

A dank chill had come on with a silent crack, and deepened, as though a killing frost.  Their eyes had become black windows, and the room was now utterly without color.  There was a slow sense of falling away of all that he could see, into uttermost black.  He gripped the arms of his chair tightly, and could feel a tingle in his hands.  To ask, to speak, was tiresome, and futile; speak to nobody, as it fell away, and a wind came up, first a draft, but swirling and greater, and slapping with icy rain out of the now uttermost blackness.  He could see nothing, not even the hands on the arm of his chair.  He thought of holding a hand before his face, but lurched with nausea at the thought, for his hands were holding all that was.

Tenebrous clouds mulled vaguely overhead, a black-that-moved over a black that loomed, still, threatening.  His eyes slowly drew the vaguest bits of meaning from the world, as the icy slap of sleet caromed across his chill body and numbing lips.  The chair swayed or rocked a bit, a most unpleasant instability.  Sound came in, a far, far booming over the whistle and slap of the ice-laden wind.  He looked over the arm of the chair, and down, for the far-off booming seemed there.  A fine, scattered greyish line traced irregularly on the blackness, and the line moved almost imperceptibly.  A surf line, far, far below, onto rocks, it stretched now seen on both sides of Below into the unutterable distance.  A cliff of solid black, of tremendous height, ran along ahead, and to the horizon; and far below to the ocean.  It could be a mile.  Gulls crawled over the sea far below, barely moving, several thousand feet below.

All that was, were the two wooden arms of the chair, and that he was seated.  With a sickening realization, he felt his toes dangling over the open ocean.  The brief and feeble light began to wane, until there was nothing but the sleet and hissing wind out of the blackness.




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Southgate


"This village is Southgate-on-March, we call it.  It lies in that part of our lands that were called the Limbus Meridianus, a part of the March. I am its marshal - a mayor of sorts, if you will.  We call my office the Drussard.  It is a joyful calling, it is, planning the celebration for visitors and friends who return!" 
His smile bloomed up to his eyes, and twinkled.  A Christmas sparkle filled the room. 
"Hospitality is our greatest honor, especially for those who are not of this land.  Your presence is an absolute joy to our little town - it is why we exist!

I am the Innkeeper of Southgate.  The village is here to welcome our guests, and it is necessary for all visitors to stay here for a night or two before proceeding in from the Marchland.

I am the Mistral, the - oh, I don't know, constable? of this fair land.  Constables - they have something to do with crimes or criminals, so that's not at all what I do.  I wander about, along Tuvnadailla - the very outer edge of the march - to pace the bounds of our shrievalty, I think you call it."

"A what?"

"Shrievalty - that's not your word?  Sorry.  It's so hard to keep up with the modern world, and that is why Southgate exists as a special place.  It is my responsibility to watch over any of the Quillendal who come to our village.  "

Quillendal?

Outlanders - those from outside our land.  It's perhaps - the little hounds - a puppy, you call it?

I am the master of the Hôpital Pourlebois, the little building where you left your wand.

"Why are there so many magic wands still there?"

"In some cases, the wizards come to live with us, and do not need a wand in our land.  As you notice, we consider them - perhaps dangerous is the word, although not quite right.  In most cases, those who leave our land relinquish their wand to the Hall of Wood, as a gift, in a sense."

But they - they leave, and wander about, without a wand?  But - is it their choice to do so?

(The Drussard) beamed.  There is much to learn here.  We have no secrets from any being - but we do have riddles, perhaps.  It is not a sport, but perhaps the difference between your land and ours.  You are free to come and leave, with our without your magic charms.  We welcome also the Quillengoll, the  - some call them Muggles? - from your land.  Few come, and fewer still these days.  But we have friends in Flich-na-failte, our neighbors, who come by on occasion, as their parents, and parents' parents, and so on.  Had you stopped there?

I passed through.  They seemed cautious, and suspicious.  They kept to themselves, as though the village were at land's end.

The Mistral glanced to his fellow elders briefly. 
"Hospitality may be hidden, or worn openly.  The people of Flich are kind; but they, after all, have - have wizards - as travelers-by.  And they may not have our means to welcome the pilgrim, as we do.  And not all pilgrims are pleasant, either.

I did not stay in the village - I did not find Flitch hospitable.  They directed me, and I camped in the Forest of Moon by a little stream.  It was chill and dank, but I made a campfire there, which was most comfortable.

A flicker of pain showed on the face of the master of Pourlebois. 


There was a spring in that forest which was wholesome; but the river which joined it stank."
 He shuddered ot recall of the smell.  Something had died in the water, and rotted there; or perhaps a slaughterhouse had dumped a diseased animal into the water.  Putrid.
  I passed into the forest and the foulness did not follow me.  But of the travelers, how do they camp and make fire without wands?  Like Muggles, with tinder and flint, without spells?  We use a burning spell, but without a wand.....

Cail Orgun

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Friday, July 24, 2009

A Rant of Uncertain Origins

Before America's brains actually fell out its ass, which has happened progressively and spasmodicaly, in singultations since the beginning of the Republic long dust, before Advertizing got really rolling, there was Twain, and his roundhouse decking of that fop who wrote Leatherstocking Tales, and laid down America's tolerance for bullshit to a new level, that of the Westerner (which in those sad old days meant Oneida and Lake Erie), that jerk the father of Nathaniel Bumppo the Woodsman, and I can't remember his name, ah yess, Cooper.  Read how Twain thrashed him, and remember there was actually a time when words mattered, and near-words were not near good enough to the right words, and the old prairie Englishmaster, ever existed (s)he? - insisted that words MEAN something.  And now fast-forward to the mad shoveling and backlying about our economy, as we try to uncouple the last few ore-cars from the freight train, would that a half-dozen or so b'dum,b'dum; b'dum,bdum; be avoided, the sound as the wheels roll over our cranial bones, that amelioration of less a dozen will by definition, be a good thing.  Less carbon, less warming.  Won't spall the granite on our gravestones, those who still will merit them from the living.



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Planck's Constant and the State Employee

I am fortunately privy to the State and its employees, and I have arrived at an amazing quantum ethnological discovery.

The State Employee has discovered Planck's constant long before Planck did.

I see no residuum of the Legrangian scrawled across bathroom walls; no evidence of phase-space diagrammes; no rude Hamiltonians on scraps of litter or cartooned rudely in incisure by those lacking opposable thumbs.

Nevertheless, the principle that h cannot equal zero has been found amongst the blunt instruments whom we call State Employees.

When Lord Kelvin's Measure of temperature drops to zero, odd and special things happen.  Once the momentum of an object nears zero, its corresponding location in space cannot be ascertained.  The Origin repels objects to a distance of h-bar.  Therefore, the slower a state employee is, the more unlikely it is that (s)he can be found in R3 threespace.

This is mind-boggling.  State Employment may actually be a form of Bose-Einstein condensate, a new and radical phase of matter in which the various components are indistinguishable and freely exchangeable by operators.  non-abelian hotbed of elements.  They may not actually, individually, be said to "exist."

The mind reels.





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"Spending Money to Make Ends Meet" SAVES OUR ECONOMY AGAIN!

I am strangely cheered by the Mogambo Guru's quote of our vice-President in his Mogambo Missive, "Spending Money to Make Ends Meet"

“Vice President Joe Biden told people attending an AARP town hall meeting that unless the Democrat-supported health care plan becomes law the nation will go bankrupt and that the only way to avoid that fate is for the government to spend more money.”

Mr. Biden, apparently aware that he sounded ridiculous, subsequently said, “Now, people when I say that look at me and say, ‘What are you talking about, Joe? You’re telling me we have to go spend money to keep from going bankrupt?’” and he immediately admits, “The answer is yes, that’s what I’m telling you.”

Those who are not experienced professional experimental
fighter aircraft test-pilots, unlike me (you poor ground-hogs!), might not understand that Mr. Biden's speech is fraught with promise, bleakly glowering with the portents of success.  For it  is the stench of victory wafting from the Naugahyde™.

Among the complex and subtle maneuvers in test-pilot flying is "the flat spin." For those of you who have not enjoyed this experience, "a spin is an aggravated stall resulting in rotation about the center of gravity wherein the aircraft follows a downward corkscrew path." Traditionalists add the following, somewhat obvious piece of advice - "The idea of recovering from a spin is to make the aircraft fly again." 

DUH.

But "flying" is such a subjective term - is the aircraft not "flying," by definition, unless it is "on the ground?"

"(In a) flat spin,..... the plane spins on its belly around the normal axis. The empennage will feel very light and loose." I am unsure what the term "empennage" means; in context, it must mean "bowels."  COMMANDER - I JUST EMPTIED MY EMPENNAGE!

One thing to remember during a flat spin - "if the center of lift force is ahead of the center of gravity on longitudinal axis, the real number components of the eigenvalues of the stability matrix exceed zero and the poles of the stability matrix migrate to the positive half of the complex number plane."  Now, dammit - if that doesn't sound like economic analysis, I'll eat my Keynesian school notes.

The point is, our economy is in the econo-jock equivalent of a "flat spin." This is a much better maneuver than the "hi-angle-punch-in." (HAPI, pronounced "HAPPY") Almost all fighter pilots wind up six feet under the sod. The challenge is to avoid having this happen all at once, in the absence of a liturgical audience.

One helpful tip is during an unexpected aircraft "maneuver," look straight ahead and slightly upwards. Blue is good, green is bad. If you see a cloud of picnickers racing away like terrified wildebeest, identify a central spot from which they seem to flee.  Avoid that spot.

There! I have given you enough aero-tips that you can be Fed Head or Treasury Secretary, assuming that there is a difference.

The most important point is, it's good to be in a flat spin - because that gives you more time than a high-angle punch-in. And if you turn your head to the left quickly, you might actually get the chance to kiss your ass good-bye.

WHEEE! This economy stuff is FUN!

PS: Author is reverse-engineering a pirated Malaysian computer game, "FRIGHT STIMULATOR" to turn it into an econometric Gameboy, "FED SIMULATOR!"



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Thursday, July 23, 2009

Chapter Four. A Visitor Arrives.

The path gently rose onto the crest of the long, serpentine hill, and upon it at the very top of the rill stood a doorway in stone, two rude rises capped by a lintel, and all from the uttermost black stone. Beyond lay a valley floor, where the drumlin rolled down unto the plain, all indistinct with mist.

As the traveler approached, a grey-haired woman appeared from behind the left stone of the doorway, and waited patiently as he toiled up the path.....

He crossed the gate into the land of the Hesperides.  The mist leapt away, and the valley rang forth with beauty.  He felt an overwhelming fatigue, and a  sense of success.

"You are upon our lands.  Do no magic."

A small branch of the path veered abruptly to the left, Down a bit, and off a few hundred paces, lay a small wooden hut, capped with thatch, with a wide doorway of oak, and beamed also with a great wooden lintel pierced with logs, almost appearing American in its build; but very ancient, not a design, but a solid and primeval air.

She spoke again. "This is the Hopital des Bois, the Travelers' Rest. Enter as a respectful guest, please." Thy strode across the open doorway, and came into a small room awash with yellows and browns of the live woods, a faint greenish, endlessly moving light as in the forest. There were two wrought wooden chairs that almost cried out to be touched; so they sat.

There was a great and slightly untidy pile of wood along the leftmost wall of the cabin, as though for firewood. An enchanting door of wood lie opposite the bare doorway of the entrance. He studied the pile, and saw in it wood that was of many forms and colors; great logs and rotten stumps; finished wood and plank, loose bark and sea driftwood, stream flotsam and leafed branch. A small bird entered with a twig, and lay it atop the pile, and flew away, as though it were a great nest.

With a start, he saw wizarding wands scattered throughout; some shattered, some hale. "Whose wands are those?" he asked with great alarm, reaching under his vest for his own wand.

"Shhh!" she scolded. "This is a sickroom. Have respect." She frowned like an irritated librarian. "Do no magic upon our land. It can only bring you harm. Bring forth thy wand, but give no command!"

"Why?"

"That thy wand might hear, and see." He brought it forth, and it shined and twinkled under the light of the invisible canopy.

"When hast thy wand looked so? When it was new-made?"

He had to admit, it had never looked so fresh, and what's more, it felt alive. It called to his hand, like a faithful hound calling to master.

"What say that twig to you?" as it strained against his hand, docile but insistent, like a well-trained hunter. _may I go master?_ he heard in his mind's hand, and he doubted, clenched for a minute, and then relaxed his grip. The wand flew onto the pile, and he heard a silent cheer and applause, followed by many voices; all in the silence to the human ear.

"Your wand will stay as an honored guest here during your visit to the House Hesperides. Now shall we talk."

"Why the silence and hurry to this house?"  He asked.
"The suffering called forth too loudly for us to speak."  She answered. "Relief and refreshment must come before all else.  This is the obligation of the host.

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Wednesday, July 22, 2009

Hesperides

Afar, along the wrath-wracked sea,
A wizarding clan there may dwell,
None seems to know. Hesperides, they say.
More ancient than England's eldest line.
They greeted the Cruithne, of the Circinn, Fotla Cait and Ce they will regale;
and built the brochs and crannogs
And tell of the time when the Great Ice left.
They tell of the hunt of Airlann and the taking of the great segh,
And of other things they would tell.

They are perhaps somewhat feared and shunned, although the wizareds of England would not tell so; they are rather dismissed, as a primitive clan, although with magic of great power. There is no attraction to them from outside. Perhaps it is their magic which would have it so.

They send no teachers, but curiously, they send their children who have no magic to work at the universities and schools in England.

To be continued.





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Monday, July 20, 2009

Going Ga-Ga over the Moon, continued.

Charles Krauthammer is a loony. He wants to go the moon. Your dime.

Yes, we have a financial crisis. No one's asking for a crash Manhattan Project. All we need is sufficient funding from the hundreds of billions being showered from Washington -- "stimulus" monies that, unlike Eisenhower's interstate highway system or Kennedy's Apollo program, will leave behind not a trace on our country or our consciousness -- to build Constellation and get us back to Earth orbit and the moon a half-century after the original landing.

Why do it? It's not for practicality. We didn't go to the moon to spin off cooling suits and freeze-dried fruit. Any technological return is a bonus, not a reason. We go for the wonder and glory of it. Or, to put it less grandly, for its immense possibilities. We choose to do such things, said JFK, "not because they are easy, but because they are hard." And when you do such magnificently hard things -- send sailing a Ferdinand Magellan or a Neil Armstrong -- you open new human possibility in ways utterly unpredictable.
Try something REALLY hard, Chuckie. Leave people's money alone.

Gary North offers, in more sane terms:

The "put a man on the moon in this decade" program was the most spectacular and most beloved peacetime boondoggle in the history of bloated government programs. It achieved nothing of lasting value for the taxpayers – nothing that they would have paid for voluntarily.

The Apollo program was funded by tax money extracted from Americans who would otherwise have spent their money on unmemorable goods and services. These goods and services would have been higher on their list of priorities than the Apollo project. That is why it took coercion to fund the program.

The Apollo project was like a huge fireworks display. It was impressive at the time, but it is long gone. Even the tapes of the event are long gone. NASA erased them. No one knows why. What we see today are enhanced versions of video broadcasts.

To assess the value of the moon program, we should apply Frédéric Bastiat's principle of the fallacy of the thing not seen. Except for those of us at Rushdoony's Bible study, Americans with television sets saw the first moon walk. What no one saw were the products and services that would have been offered for sale from 1961 to 1969, had the government not taxed the public to fund the moon program. What inventions would have been discovered? We cannot know.
I call it the "chilling effect. Nobody sees, for example, the price of warrantless wiretaps, for they do not see the chilling effect on business communicaiton, say. Or the TSA on making air travel more cumbersome.

We pretend that NOTHING has a price - so we can just go ahead and do it. Walk on Mars? Let's.

The "stagflation" of the '70's was due in part to the deficit spending on Vietnam - and yes, NASA. American equity melted - and savings banks could return less than was lost on interest. Thus, the great American middle-class movement into stocks. Now, we see the result.

America has discovered something more noxious than taxation, and that is deficit spending. It is the doom of all governments. It is the promise to produce in the future what cannot be done in the present. There must be a damned good reason for deficit spending. But we don't know what it is.

Sunday, July 19, 2009

Apres moi, le deluge.

The epitaph of the Bush Presidency should be this, for the deluge of dollars awaits us.

Our Washington fools believe that the "credit crisis" came from not enough money, and now add priming to the pump. The credit crisis was merely when the bar bill came due, and the price of continued credit financing outpriced what the wise entrepreneur would pay for it. During good times, one can pay handsome (extortionate) prices for money, for one can return it at the same rate from one's business profits. Now, people realize that they can't. Hence, the "Credit Freeze."

The dollars will flood us, drown us. China and the rest of the world are longing to "return" overseas dollars. Your paltry tens-of-thousands worth of savings will be worth squat, when the price of land in suburbia hits $100,000 per empty lot.

China, now, is expected to re-boom the world by CONSUMPTION as well as production. Ha. Let's see how THAT bubble goes.

Saturday, July 18, 2009

Why the pseudo-recovery?

In about twelve weeks, give or take three or so, the bottom falls out of the economy - again. The "stimulus" was only designed to let those in the know get their assets safely hidden before the big crash.

Why?

Thursday, July 16, 2009

How we Became an Empire

To measure the course in history, the steps by which America became an Empire, one need only consider a few simple tenets of government.

We follow one variant of what we call limited government, but which is not by any means limited.

Some people believe in government which can expand or contract, in the semblance of a living organism, based upon the vicissitudes of the moment.  Government in times when all is well may remain small and unobtrusive; but when Great Events call, the Government must transform, in the manner of the children's toys, to meet the threat.

In a sense, we have a kept Republic, a pet form of representative government, that is quietly cared for by the Government.  The Senate and House may be thought of in the manner of the Smithsonian's other exhibits - a living museum of actors who go about their business in an orderly manner, to remind us of what government WAS.

The show is suspended, though, when crises of the present moment arise.  Extraordinary Government measures are what is necessary when things are afoot.  And, as any fan of GI Joe or Rambo knows, there are times when the law just doesn't apply.

We ceased to be a Republic and became an Empire when the planning for Extraordinary Measures took place.  Now, the history of empire snaps into focus.  The New Deal lead us into it - the time when the slow and ineffective Republic was left behind for the speedy now-now! form of limited totalitarianism.  The Bomb cemented it into our nature.  Jefferson, Washington, Franklin - who would have been comfortable with the President holding the Weapon of Great Destruction in his solitary hands? 

And yet, any American who pushes forth world-wide build-down of nuclear weapons is considered a loon.  The concept that nuclear weapons are "radioactive" to limited governments is seen as daffy.  "WE" must have them - we being the "Leader."  With this ultimate measure of the Leader's trustworthiness, the concentration of power in Government trickles down.  Yes, of course, it is reasonable for the Parks Service to have a SWAT team, for after all, "WE" trust Government with nucular weapons, don't we?

The question of what consists of a Governmental State of Emergency long remained inchoate.  George W. Bush simply reminded us of the definition:  that Government has a State of Emergency whenever the Government says so.  Few leaders were rude enough to mention that before; Mr. Bush had no scruples preventing him from doing so.

Limited government ended when the Government acquired its emergency powers; not by the paper Constitution, but by the English manner of Constitution, the unwritten rules which fell into place after the "Glorious Revolution."

In our case, though, our "Glorious Revolution" had the effect not to disempower the King, but to celebrate the coronation thereof.






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On a Varnish which Imparts the Merriest Finish onto Ordinary Wood

Even the most ordinary wood may bear a striking and pleasurable finish. Here is a method for hot varnishing which does so.

Onto a Wood which has been thoroughly saturated with raw linseed oil, pour the following admixture. Since it is sparingly soluble, it may be set in the sun to dissolve. Otherwise, the Balsam of Peru will clump unto the Brush, looking like strandy diarrhoea, and appearing brown and nasty - reminiscent of Wanda Sykes.
  1. One part ceresine wax, white.
  2. One part Balsam of Peru
  3. Three parts Terebinthine Oil (gum turpentine)
  4. One part raw linseed oil.
A clothing iron should be obtained and dedicated to the workshop. Add water to it, and set it to the coolest temperature at which it will readily steam. Press the admixture into the wood, adding an occasional spritz of water from a spray bottle if necessary. The surface oil should sizzle merrily in the manner of cooking bacon, but should not discolor.

After the application has ceased, judged by the breadth of spread of the hot varnish, set aside the iron and allow the surface to cool for about one beer's worth of time. There will still be cooled oily liquid on the surface of the wood. Sand through this standing oil with 400 grit sandpaper until the surface is smooth. Wipe the surface with a clean dry cloth.

This will impart a most lovely range of browns, from yellows to deep mahogany, across the wood commensurate with the grain. The Balsam of Peru will impart a pleasant scent, reminiscent of a lovingly-cared-for violin.

(The warnings below also apply to this. Don't come running to me.)

Wednesday, July 15, 2009

On the Preparation of a Novel Form of Ebonite

A novel form of ebonite for the coating of wood with a natural, hardy and durable surface, from items readily available to the handy-man.
  1. Over Flowers of Sulphur, pour a quantity of the raw un-heated oil of Linum usitatissimum so as to cover them.
  2. Over this mixture, pour an equal quantity of terebinthine (Gum Turpentine).
  3. Gently agitate so as to stir the mixture.
  4. Allow the Flowers of Sulphur to come into solution as much as they will.
Whilst awaiting the slow solubility of this material, perform the following:
  1. Coat the desired wood with a concentrated water solution of Copperas.
  2. Rinse the wood gently.
  3. Cover the wood with a solution of Lime Sulphur. The Lime Sulphur should immediately turn the wood a deep blac.
  4. Rinse the wood and allow to dry.
  1. Admix a small quantity of Peroxide of Benzoyl into the oil-sulphur mixture.
  2. Upon the dried wood, swiftly paint the oil-sulphur mixture thickly
  3. Allow to dry in the Sun.

Another useful & innovative approach:
  • Steam an aqueous solution of Copperas unto the wood. 'Ware the fumes.
  • Iron the Flowers of Sulphur onto the dried wood. The heat should be enough to melt the Sulphur, but not enough to burst it into stinking flame.
  • Cover the admixture with ozokerite, one that tolerates a high melting temperature.
  • Hide the ruined Iron from one's spouse.

These techniques, in fact, be merely theory of the Troglodyte, and comes with no surety or recommendations.




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Tuesday, July 14, 2009

Civilization is a Drag, man.

One of the eternal gifts of the Baby Boomers is the conviction that civilization is a drag. Combined with the perpetual desire never to grow up, the Rousseauvians have gone old and soft in the belly, still convinced of their eternal role of the Chosen Generation. As they stumble into the history books along with every generation, their epitaph grows longer.

WAR, actually, is a thrilling and primitive way to bang the drum and roll in the mud, release one's Inner Hominid and generally having a good time. Some of the other cultures seem to object to this, because war causes people to get real dead.

John Galt was always a drag; John Bradshaw and Iron John, effete; let's go John Wayne. Embrace illusory masculinity. The macho keyboard commando vows - SURRENDER IS NOT AN OPTION! But in fact, during wartime, surrender is everywhere. The only ones who will not run are those who have not gone to fight in the first place.

Sunday, July 12, 2009

A little ray of Sunshine.

There is a lovely and positive site for Filipina women to share their strengths - read it! filipina images, it's called.

When will Atropos cut the thread?

In classical thought, each person was given a life according to measure, and the Fates executed the due and necessary stages.  So too, nations and cultures have their existence for a time.  How much longer for America?
During the bubble years (1945–2007), more and more credit produced less and less real prosperity. It was as if you were borrowing more and more, to invest in your business or merely to increase your standard of living, but your income didn’t rise fast enough to keep up with the interest payments.


The contraction will continue as long as there is hope.




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Wednesday, July 8, 2009

On the Passing of Robert McNamara


It seems disconjugate to condemn primitive thinking, as below, and then launch into Catilinian calumny of Robert McNamara, the former Secretary of Defense of the United States.

Some years ago, an apology would not be needed. Robert McNamara was seen as an awful person a generation ago. But America has perfected the art of Political Redemption which, coupled with the insectile attention span of most citizens, allows us to be benignly puzzled by all the fuss about this old man. As long as we perfect the skill of forgetting wickedness, thus will it give us the gift of repeating it. George Santayana thought that the forgetting was due to mere accident and ignorance; it is not. That which is loathsome may either be cleansed through expiation, or trundled along with, neglected until the Last of Days.

Somewhere in the guilt assuaged by the fixation of magnetic Chinese "SUPPORT THE TROOPS" bumper stickers, is the weight of the burden lain down upon us by the Best and Brightest. Some hideous thing has been stuffed under, mouldering - and we have not done the Last Thing to end it.

Something happened between the Nüremberg trials and the McCarthy hearings that kindled some small spark, that has slowly been nurtured and burst into flame. It consumes one of our greatest treasures - the American Conscience. Were the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution to burst forth into fire and be consumed to ashes, in our National Archive, no patriot would long suffer the loss of those parchments - for the parchment is a thing, and the ideals are what matter. But the death of the Conscience? Nobody mourns.

The Examination of Conscience is a due and proper ritual in Catholicism. It is a ritual which ought to persist, even in the separation of the non-Catholic Christian sects, for it is a worthy thing in and of its own right. It is is the element of the Act of Contrition, an action by which one remedies one's discoveries. For those with a more sturdy and energetic pursuit of their Christian faith, there are the Exercises of Loyola, which enable a more thorough spiritual hygeine.

These concepts are absurd in America, as is the fundamental concept of Conscience itself. You win if you get away with it. But the predominance of Will over Conscience will always fail, for it takes an absolute and unbreakable Will to dominate; and in any mortal person, the will can flag. Those without conscience, whom we often refer to as psychopaths, often have such such power of will so as to dominate others. History has catalogued them; they all, eventually fail. Whether there is a fellow with such sapient evil and power of will to carry on an eternal struggle of Will, that is in the province of theology. Suffice it to say that we have chosen Will over Conscience, and we bear the marks of it.

Some have even wandered into the understanding of the group psychology of will, conscience and societal evil. I offer Scott Peck and Lobaczewski as references in the study of ponerology.

With the passing of McNamara, we pretend, so goes this burden of guilt. But the damage runs greater than the few dead in Vietnam, or even the more who were wounded, or the many Vietnam vets who were spat on and despised and homeless. The embarrassment and failure of the Generation of the Baby Boomers derives from his war. This could have been the greatest generation in America. Now, perhaps, it will go down in history as its assassin, America's Brutus, condemned to Dante's Ninth Circle of Hell for those who have destroyed Republics.

Grief and meditation should be foremost in the passing of this awful man; not for him, but for the Republic.

Why Fascism is all about LOVE.

One critical political fact lay undiscovered by William Shirer and the other brave men who dissected the horrible corpse of Fascism and Nazism, and that is LOVE lay at its heart. Less so with Stalin and the horrific descendants of Lenin, who were far more practical and less moony than the Europeans. Tatars and Georgians and Central Asians tend to deliver their message straight-up, from the bottle, and don't need the mushiness and moon-shine of Goethe and the romatics. A head, that is severed, on a pike - what more is there to say? Stalin, Lenin, Trotsky - honest men. An ice-axe through the head on the other side of the Earth! Now, that's a statement for you!!

But, the Europeans. Truly, Fascism and Nazism could not have come to pass, without love. Hitler had the absolute Midas touch that every gay man, I'm sure, would give his soul for. He could elicit love - yes, tender, passionate love - from heterosexual men. And who can be crueler than a person in love? All one needs, is the beloved - and a threat against him (or her.) Those Jews, then - they would not have been so passionately condemned, were they a threat only to some little politician. But against the Fuehrer, mein Gott! It was no great surprise, I am sure, when the inner circle of the Nazi Party discovered Ernst Roehm's homosexuality - the very leader of the Browshirts, the dreaded bullies of the SA - a homosexual!!? (was it ever not known by the inner circle?) It only became important when the time came for the Night of the Long Knives - and Roehm was expendable, and quickly dispatched.

But it must be love - that deep, passionate love in which the eternal truth rests - that people will do all sorts of moronic things in the power of love. Stupid women become accessories in crimes of their vicious men - because they love them so. Whatever that might mean, it is a force which must be reckoned with.

And it must indeed be deep and profound love - "true love," the kind which sweeps you up on angels wings. This sort of love must be transformative, not only of the magic beloved - but also, in reflection of the Self. It must literally make one's self New Again. The love of Hitler gave transformed the German Empire into the Aryan Reich. What power, that man's love had!

And, that's what's needed to form the triangle - the Beloved, the Threat against the Beloved, and the Transformed Self. I see many Americans mewling around and bitching like estrogen-soaked teenagers, loving love and waiting for the Beloved to come. Those on the right act like jealous, bitchy junior-high-schoolers, wrathful at the evil Bitch Obama that all of the Left seems to think is the Hosanna Savior, they hate his guts for it. Want to find this behavior in literature? Read the Sorrows of the Werther by Goethe - there's enough whininess in there for a dozen TEA parties on Independence Day.

America, somehow, used to be much less European in character, but became more so. THAT was the continent of failed ideas, and newcomers were asked to wash their feet before treading on the doorstep, please. In a place where political parties were suspect, kings and leaders despised, and independence admired, once upon a time - now we have a bunch of mewling cats in heat, looking for L!O!V!E!

The Republicans are especially jilted nowadays, as many of their "possible candidates" look like ass-holes. They certainly are not the Beloved. Passion still holds for Sarah Palin, who may break the Glass Ceiling of Fascism and become am ersten Fuehrerin. She could, too. She's got the chops, and she's crazy enough.

And that's why I think America's too damn good for Americans, these days.
______________
Freudianism is well-criticized these days. One of the chief critiques - which applies to Ayn Rand as well, is that if he were so smart, why did so many morons follow him?

But except for being right frequently, Freud has little to say for himself. The dynamic of European-style Fascism is easily jiggled into the Oedipus configuration - and maybe not so wrongly so. The primitive Loved Object, the primitive Bad Object, and Melanie Klein's off and running.

One's essential Identity derives from the result of the struggle between the Loved Object and the Bad Object, in both Freudian terms, and in the history of Nazism - clearly. Are we Great, or are we Small? Are we not Nordic Aryans? Is it only the Jews that keep us from realizing our Full Potential?

Americans are carefully trained by advertising and the media to remain thoughtless meme-bags. One of the most critical elements is the ability to inspire Love - and that is what the media does in spades. We are in the middle of an outpouring of undeserved love (and undeserved scorn) for a child singer from Gary, Indiana, who became both very rich and very crazy. The Jackson 5 were the first American Idols.

Other mechanical memes with significant life-events are Farrah Fawcett, a Texas model and beauty queen made famous for her abilities; Sarah Palin, another made famous for her lack thereof; a moony South Carolina Governor who lost the struggle between Christianity and tumescence (leaving a rather smudgy lesson for those parents trying to enforce the primacy of the first over the second), a Senator self-confessed of staff-porking; and other movies played upon the screen, with cues to the Chorus how to behave. Drama! Love! That's how we operate.

Gone are the days when we ran our own souls, took in what we honored and discarde what had no merit. Now, forcibly opened to the slush we call media, we pour it in. Do we love Miss California? Do we hate Miss California? What of what she said? Was it right or wrong?

Many years ago, mankind had little to do than watch the scurry of the ants, and perhaps they chose one or the other in some sort of bet - who will return to the anthill first? That's the best they could do for entertainment. And that whips our ass today.

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Tuesday, July 7, 2009

Palin to be Raptured by Space Aliens.

Breaking news from Roswell, New Mexico
Sarah Palin to be repatriated by space aliens who sent her as a "living probe" of Earth Culture.

July 6, 2009 is PRECISELY 40,000 Earth Days since the Crash at Roswell on July 8, 1947.  This appearance of UFO led to increased awareness of Earth life in intergalactic culture.

The Earth Day Iteration factor has never occurred during July since the Roswell Incident, until July 6, 2009 - tomorrow.  It is hypothesized that the position of the Earth in Cancer nears the gravitational node of a black-hole gravitational lens, which accidentally allowed for a displaced path of travel in distant galaxies, onto Earth orbit - a "Hamiltonian Bypass", so to speak, with devastating consequences..  In addition, the planetary positions of the Sun's other planets, which affects the fine positioning of the gravitational lens, is EXACTLY identical to that of the Incident in Roswell.

The triad of planetary positioning of Earth in its orbit, gas planet positioning, and earth diurnal phasing, occurs approximately every twenty years or so.  There was an occurrence on February 11, 1964.  Due to orbital variation, there was no similar event during the 1980's.

SARAH PALIN'S "BIRTHDAY" WAS FEBRUARY 11, 1964

The documentation of her birth by certificate is suspiciously unavailable at the Registrar's office.  She was brought here for a forty-year mission.  She is about to return.
GOD BLESS YOU, AND SPEAK WELL OF US, SARAH!  WE SHALL MISS YOU!
And how did she get away undetected during her 62-year sojourn?  "They never picked me up", states perky extraterrestrial.  "I was almost blazed on by that Zbornian assassin disguised as InterHack Perez Hilton, but I redirected fire onto Miss California.  That was the only close one!" stated chipper galactic voyager. 
(ed. note.  Zbornians are sapient motile vomit that reside on the planet Ipkak)
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Bleeson Marfan writes BTrog - "You got the dates all wrong.  It's 22,547 days after the Roswell landing, and 16,583 since Sarah Palin's birth."  Thanks and go to hell, Bleeson.
Calie Whipple offers - The anagram of Sarah Louise (Heath) Palin is "Hello, Euthanasia Parish!" or "Authorize Sailplane?  HAH!"  That's right, Liberal, just keep-on keeping-on.  Laugh all you want when the Aliens come back for you.






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The Cult of Certainty - Global Warming and Intelligent Design.

Americans don't do well with problems that are difficult to solve. They especially suffer frustration when a problem can be demonstrated as insoluble.

Physicists and mathematicians live quite comfortably in the world where questions are proven to be unanswerable. Most other people do not.

For those who are intrigued by the concept, and wish to learn more about it, it falls under the description of epistemology, the knowability of things, an element of metaphysics. One approach to things which are unknowable is to simply shrug them off as being thus trivial or not worthy of further study. This is referred to as Logical Positivism. It is a respectable branch of philosophy.

There is an interesting paradox in human nature. When a problem cannot be solved by rational means, people often wander into the irrational and superstitious to concoct an answer.

There is an interesting interface between Theology and Science called Intelligent Design. It is posited in two ways. The weaker basis states that if there is clear and convincing evidence, which can be methodically assembled, that a process can be best described by means of sapient planning, then this is a priori evidence that it was planned by a sapient being. Since humans cannot perform this sort of planning and operation, it is taken as evidence of a higher being. The stronger basis states that if there is NO means by which a process can be described using materialistic explanation, that means that there is Intelligent Design. Obviously, the weaker basis will produce more examples than the stronger.

The squabble over intelligent design may originate in the same mistake that got the Catholic Church in trouble with Galileo. Sit ergo ita Deus esse factus est, is the assumption. If it is, therefore God made it to be. The error comes when people elide off the beginning, wear it down by time and tradition, and come up with the stub, GOD MADE IT TO BE THUS. If indeed the planets orbit the Earth, God made it to be so - and Galileo would be unbothered. But when by usage the assumption was worn down to fact, and the error, THE PLANETS ORBIT THE EARTH, was made, and wrongly so.

Paradoxically, one aspect of atheism borrows freely from the assumption of the Intelligent Design folks in their insistence upon the absence of God. Atheism can be divided into two classes regarding the history of religion. One holds the assumption that religion arose sua sponte from the thoughts of people on their world. Another holds that religion itself is a form of INTELLIGENT DESIGN, by those who wished to attain and exploit a position of power. Atheists often unwittingly (I assume that it is unwitting) cleave to the concept of the weaker basis of Intelligent Design - if it can be demonstrated that Religion can and/or has been used as a method of exploitation of people (and that's not a tough one to prove) THEREFORE it is proven that Religion is only a certain type of political manipulation. Ayn Rand was most certainly an advocate of this form of aggressive atheism.

This exhaustive prequel brings me around to the central interest, that of global warming. Some people are willing to take a strict "atheistic" view on Global Warming, and insist that it is a hoax. Gary North, a fine columnist, offers an essay entitled "It's Not Just That Global Warming Is Fake. What Matters Is Why This Fakery Is Being Promoted" You may read it here.

Mr. North cleanly advocates the above argument of atheism, here applied to Global Warming. It is untrue because of fraudulent advocacy. My beef with Mr. North is not about the sincerity or legitimacy of the advocacy, but from the inference that Anthropogenic Global Warming is thus and therefore false.

The problem is worse than that, Gary - so much so, that hardly anyone with an opinion, pro or con, on Global Warming, wants to address the most worrisome reality of the situation.

Here are some solid postulates, which are easily demonstrated:
  1. Global weather systems are strictly and formally chaotic, by means of mathematical proof.
  2. Chaotic systems can demonstrate regions of great order and predictability; and also regions of absolute unpredictability.
  3. The current stage of the Earth is in an interglaciation period of a cycle of ice ages. Examination of recent temperatures shows that we are in a region of unpredictability.
  4. There is no quantity of data which can be assembled today, to predict anything about global temperatures in the future.
  5. The ability to estimate a difference in effect - or the lack thereof - caused by Anthropogenic Global Warming, is DOUBLY unachievable, and will remain so, no matter how much data we can assemble.
Here are further ugly premises about Global Warming:
  1. We cannot affirm nor deny that Anthropogenic Global Warming is occurring.
  2. Assuming the truth of AGW - we cannot reasonably estimate the amount by which we must reduce carbon emissions to make a significant effect. (That would be three orders of randomness!)
  3. We do not therefore have a means by which to calculate the negative effect upon civilization produced by diminishing carbon emission, against the positive effect desired, that of "preventing AGW."
Here are a few more nasty issues:
  1. Life on earth is hardly at risk if global warming occurs. A vast majority of all species have survived a period of global warmth during interglacials, equivalent to the dire period of warming predicted by AGW.
  2. Almost all species have survived a period of ice-free Arctic Ocean already.
  3. The species most at risk for AGW is Homo sapiens.
  4. The risk to Homo sapiens is not to his existence, but to his cultural structures. Right now, Scandinavia is too cold for a long growing season, as is Siberia and Canada. Global warming will enhance the agriculture of the northern regions, at the expense of the southern regions. During periods of hunter-gatherer existence, geographic boundaries were the only elements of note for migration, not political ones. Nowadays, global warming threatens only political structures.
  5. Fears of Global Warming come from an illogically conservative mindset. Anthropogenic Global Warming threatens political change, which ought to be comfortable and intriguing to progressives, and distressing to those who wish no disruption in the order of things. If Canada becomes more prosperous, and the US less so, what will happen if we become their "Mexico" especially regarding emigrants? Those things terrify the conservative soul, which wishes no change.
Clearly, we are not discussing the very hard issues, which center on irresolveable uncertainty. We intend instead to bash each other over the heads with metaphorical clubs.

AGW is a test of human civilization. So far, we're not doing very good on the test.

Sunday, July 5, 2009

Palin to be Raptured by Space Aliens.

Breaking news from Roswell, New Mexico
Sarah Palin to be repatriated by space aliens who sent her as a "living probe" of Earth Culture.

July 6, 2009 is PRECISELY 40,000 Earth Days since the Crash at Roswell on July 8, 1947.  This appearance of UFO led to increased awareness of Earth life in intergalactic culture.

The Earth Day Iteration factor has never occurred during July since the Roswell Incident, until July 6, 2009 - tomorrow.  It is hypothesized that the position of the Earth in Cancer nears the gravitational node of a black-hole gravitational lens, which accidentally allowed for a displaced path of travel in distant galaxies, onto Earth orbit - a "Hamiltonian Bypass", so to speak, with devastating consequences..  In addition, the planetary positions of the Sun's other planets, which affects the fine positioning of the gravitational lens, is EXACTLY identical to that of the Incident in Roswell.

The triad of planetary positioning of Earth in its orbit, gas planet positioning, and earth diurnal phasing, occurs approximately every twenty years or so.  There was an occurrence on February 11, 1964.  Due to orbital variation, there was no similar event during the 1980's.

SARAH PALIN'S "BIRTHDAY" WAS FEBRUARY 11, 1964

The documentation of her birth by certificate is suspiciously unavailable at the Registrar's office.  She was brought here for a forty-year mission.  She is about t o return.
GOD BLESS YOU, AND SPEAK WELL OF US, SARAH!  WE SHALL MISS YOU!
****
Bleeson Marfan writes BTrog - "You got the dates all wrong.  It's 22,547 days after the Roswell landing, and 16,583 since Sarah Palin's birth."  Thanks and go to hell, Bleeson.
Calie Whipple offers - The anagram of Sarah Louise (Heath) Palin is "Hello, Euthanasia Parish!" or "Authorize Sailplane?  HAH!"  That's right, Liberal, just keep-on keeping-on.  Laugh all you want when the Aliens come back for you.





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America, curb your BRATS!

Americans lust after fame. It is the coveted position in which one may be gratuitously rude and disrespectful to anyone. Every mean little bureaucrat, in the manner of the defunct Peoples' Republics, lusts after a rubber stamp, by which he or she may lord over others and make them miserable. The concept of using power to cause good things to occur, is largely lost in America, as it was in the Soviet Union days ago.

People are concerned by the amount of handgun violence in America as compared to other countries. Really, I am surprised that it is so low. Social interactions exist for most Americans for the purpose of being horrible to each other.

This brings us to Sarah Palin. She is the Poster Child of the "Common Man," or "Joe Sixpack," or "Joe the Plumber." She came to the forefront of politics by accident, by the dearth of intelligent people with ideas. A well-trained prole, she started putting on airs as soon as the limelight illuminated her.

This is the riddle of American Idol, and the name is not poorly chosen. It is not the capacity to demonstrate powerful and amazing talent from the rank of the lumpen; but rather, to raise up a contestant to the role of "being someone," rather than "being nobody." This lust ensures the success of the miserable State lotteries, as well.

As for Governor Palin she was annoyed that she was treated rudely as a public figure, so she quit her Governor job. Rather than tolerating disappointment over her behavior, she slammed away at those who criticized her - "the liberal media."
And the Republican apologists chimed along in song.

No American politician would tolerate for a minute the disdain given the Prime Minister in England. The House is brazenly suspicious and nosy; the people, disdainfully contemptuous and disrespectful. In America, the Senate and House merit you political divinity.


Even Kim Jong-Il has his apologists to explain his incomprehensible actions. But he doesn't seem to get sulky over the criticism - he relishes it.

Neither the Left nor the Right are saintly about this. It is endemic to the US Culture. Sorry. And we do not understand why the world does not shower us in rose petals. Buncha assholes.

The secret to American thought is, there is no such thing as American thought. Americans generally vomit forth memes upon stimulation, in the manner of the stereotypical regurgitation of seagulls when they feed their chicks.
One of the advantage of spewing memes instead of thought is that one's next spoken phrase is pre-determined. Americans love "TV political debate," which consists of exorbitantly rude people shrieking over each other, belching out the meme of the day for the party. This is called a "TALKING POINT." It is a memorized thing which should be issued when talking is called for.
Those who are skilled in this Art of Rudeness are TV Personalities, and thus are Famous.



There has been a most illustrative exchange on one of the Yahoo sites. It asks:
Why do cons who complain about "big government" rarely mention the waste in the military?
The answers were incredibly illuminating and sad:
  1. Oh, and there is also corporate welfare.
  2. It is worth the risk of doing the job.
  3. Because Liberals hate the military.
  4. Better than wasting money on tax cheats like ACORN.
  5. Don't ask when our troops are fighting in the field.
  6. Hey you are anti-American and love big government so don't complain.
  7. Being a vet means your life was on the line the entire time you wore the uniform. Why was their life on the line? Because they were protecting the rights of ignorant imbeciles like you to go out in public and bash them even though they were fighting on your behalf. As far as being an unwed slut that got pregnant, well if you cant see how that is a drain on our economy then you need to crawl back under your rock. If it werent for vets we would still be kissing the feet of some tyrant from another country. Or better yet we might be speaking Japanese or German right now.
  8. Because it is the only thing in government that does what it is supposed to do.
  9. we just don't have the same solution the Libs do,which is basically disarm and possibly disband the Military.
These answers all orbit around the same hypothesis - we don't want to think about it, thanks - we're AMERICANS, dammit!

WHY LEARN THE MATERIAL, WHEN A C+ IS A PASSING GRADE?

People ask why the high school completion rate is so low. Many Americans ask, why bother? Don't try, don't ask, don't fail. So as Americans continue to get stomped by India and China, not because the people work cheap, but also they are willing to DO the unskilled and LEARN the skills so that THEY can be the skilled producers. "Having a problem with that? America's falling behind? Not a problem for me, Jack - I'm a patriot!!"

One small voice of wisdom remains and lingers:
You know, all the hatred being whipped up by the lie merchants of talk radio has me worried. Don't let the lying posters on here define you. We both know what a neocon is, and it describes the base of the Republican Party, once a fine institution of classic conservatism.

Polite discourse is long gone. I'm an old man now, and if any of these neocons try to make good on their threats, I can and will become violent. This new age of irrationalism is worse than when Clinton took office.

I endured 8 years of misgovernance by Bush, which included a friend being blown in half in Mosul. He was so lucky, according to neocon thought, he was able to die while watching his intestines spread across the floor.

I fear for my country, and it's because of the irrational right wing. The late Sen. Barry Goldwater is one of my personal heros. He would be sick to his stomach. Goldwater's maxim was "Disagree without being disagreeable."

Goldwater would be run out of the party today.




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Saturday, July 4, 2009

How to Just Say No.

Was Sarah Palin showing signs of drug abuse during her speech?

Seriously.
Watch this, please, from YouTube.



All kidding aside - was Sarah Palin tweaking while she gave this presentation? I've seen people get out of cars on COPS! who are more coherent than this lady.
She's twitchy and incoherent - somewhat reminiscent of the 2004 Bush during his re-election speeches.
Has Sarah been messing with Meth? Maybe I'm just a God-Damned Elitist, but I don't have any friends who scramble their brains on illegal substances. All of the tweaky, sprockety jibberish and yammering, with facial tics, sure as hell sound like a speeder to me.
Dick Freaking Nixon had his mud together far better when HE announced his resignation - and he looked like Myocardial Infarction In Progress.

******
OGOD that's it:

Sixty-two years ago. Her people are about to come back for her. The stories about the lizard people from another galaxy - it's all TRUE, ITS TRUE!.







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On to Richmond, in the name of God and Country!



The spirit of '76 is there - or perhaps, the spirit of '61, when America was awash with righteous indignation, confronting an unjust foe, and ready to loose the forces of righteousness awash with wrath, with God on our side.

In the name of God and Country.

At a time when bravery was cheap, and honor was the thing shouted over beverages to admiring throngs, and blood was the thing seen in the flushed faces, but not clotted about icy rocks, YES!

In the name of God and Country!

All things horrible and desperate begin this way. These brave warriors do not think of Stalingrad, or death from consumption at Valley Forge. They do not know Andersonville, or Gettysburg, or the Hornet's Nest.
ON TO RICHMOND!
The men and women who once shouted this lie long dead in their quiet graves. We know from their words, and from inference about their human decency, that they were long shamed by those words, and hoped never to hear them again; unto the very moment when their last breath passed. And they were the lucky ones.

Yes, we are brave! Yes, we are true - for we know it in our hearts! And righteous wrath shall prevail, in the Name of God!

They carried their Sharps rifles, and were outfitted in the most modern manner for any combat soldier - part Special Forces Ranger, part GI Joe. Even the Armies of the World could not equip a combat soldier in the manner these proud American volunteers were rigged out - a complete contrast from their fore-fathers with their fowling pieces, a ragged commissary sack, and home-made shoes.

And so they died, in the Virginia mud, covering a retreat. For this was war.

During the moments of honor, the words NO RETREAT! NO SURRENDER!! peal from the lips of the brave. No doubt, these words were shouted from the Congressmen's carriages as they trundled down the road to Manassas, to set out for a picnic and jolly good show for a languid July summer's day. Perhaps not a shot will be fired, and the Rebels will run - and we'll chase those rabbits to Richmond, so don't let the horses over-graze and get lazy, for there's a sprint a-coming!

That day, it became a war. For the skeedaddle happened, and it was the skeedaddle of the fortunate, who still had legs, and it was a run towards Home and Mother, because, by God, the Hand of the Lord did not smite the enemy, as the proud fire-breathers promised in the whiskey houses and taverns. This was war.

War sucks. Careful what you say.