View allAll Photos Tagged arguments
Technically (according to Google ai, which is perhaps as non-technical as one can get) the collective noun for a group of grosbeaks is a "congregation". After watching a flock of over 100 at our birdfeeders all day, I think an "argument" is much more appropriate.
The water surface mirrors the world below, with constellations of bubbles bluring the line of reflection - each spherical envelope integrating a local horizon with assimilated blurred and groundless views of both sides of the argument.
Living close to the Pennine Moors I get many photo-opportunities with Red Grouse but close flight shots are still not easy. It was an argument over which was Europe’s fastest game bird that led to the production of the Guinness Book of Records. On 10th November 1951, Sir Hugh Beaver (Managing Director of Guinness Breweries) was with a shooting party in County Wexford, Ireland. Some Golden Plovers were shot at, and missed, which prompted a discussion as to whether they were Europe’s fastest game bird. Consulting reference books did not solve the issue, and it occurred to Sir Hugh that there must be numerous other questions debated nightly in the 81,400 pubs in Britain and Ireland, but there was no book with which to settle arguments about records. He discussed the matter with Ross and Norris McWhirter to see if their fact and figure agency could help. The result was the first Guinness Book of Records being published in time for Christmas 1955.
Bizarrely the question that was the reason for the creation of the Guinness Book of Records was not answered until the 36th edition in 1989: "Britain's fastest game bird is the Red Grouse (Lagopus l. scoticus) which, in still air, has recorded burst speeds up to 92.8-100.8 km/h 58-63 mph over very short distances. Air speeds up to 112 km/h 70 mph have been claimed for the Golden plover (Pluvialis apricaria) when flushed, but it is extremely doubtful whether this rapid-flying bird can exceed 80-88 km/h 50-55 mph - even in an emergency".
A couple drove down a country road for several miles , not saying a word. An earlier discussion had led to an argument, and neither of them wanted to concede their position.
As they passed a barnyard of mules, goats, and pigs, the husband asked sarcastically, "Relatives of yours?"
"yep." the wife replied, "In-Laws."
Some tea stains. So treated them and laundered. Stains all gone. But now there are different ones. Re treat and re wash. I wonder if there will be an improvement!
These are some of my friends. I bet they were having one of those endless Nikon/Canon discussions. While an obviously brave, fantastic, tremendously good and amazig Olympus was watching them... :-))
Aunque mi opinión cuente poco al respecto (me pasa como a usted o a cualquier otro, que no sé nada del secreto cósmico) mi preferida entre las que conozco es la teoría de Arthur Schopenhauer. Si a las filosofías pudiera puntuárselas como a los restaurantes, valorando en lugar de su cocina, bodega, servicio o decoración otro tipo de “prestaciones” –cosmología, antropología, teoría del conocimiento, estética, psicología, elegancia de diseño argumentativo, etcétera-, creo que la expuesta en El mundo como voluntad y representación obtendría en su conjunto cinco estrellas. Tiene una envidiable economía de principios, buenos logros parciales en algunas materias concretas (su teoría de la risa, por ejemplo, o la de la locura), concede importancia a temas esenciales pero descuidados por otros sistemas como la muerte y el sexo, combina con acierto la ausencia de esperanza cósmica y la posibilidad de serenidad personal, incluso desciende a proporcionar algunas indicaciones prácticas de interés para la gestión de la vida cotidiana. Se le pueden disculpar las deficiencias en el terreno político y cierta brumosa mística antivitalista con la que recomienda una forma de santidad que al propio autor por lo visto atraía poco (su mayor empeño personal no era anular su voluntad de vivir sino llegar a cumplir cien años) Objeciones menores si se comparan con las inconsecuencias y quimeras de muchos otros. Desde luego, no parece adecuado hacerle el reproche de ser “pesimista” por pensar que éste es el peor de los mundos posibles (la mayoría de los pesimistas que conozco se caracterizan habitualmente por estar convencidos de que toda situación, por mala que sea, es susceptible de empeorar): el auténtico y descorazonador pesimismo es el de Leibniz, que se atrevió a sostener que éste es el mejor de los mundos posibles, lo que ya ni siquiera nos deja imaginar escapatoria alguna...
(Autobiografía razonada, págs. 168 y 169) Fernando Savater
These two galahs were having a slight disagreement as to who was on the perch first. As is often the case, those on the higher ground win. The coot meanwhile, wisely decides to have no part of it all!
Forgive the odd crop - there was a signpost in the way!
"Don’t Be Swayed by Dead Arguments and Uninformed Opinions: Decide for Yourself if AI Can Help You Create Art"
- Someone once said -
This paper argues that at least one of the following propositions is true:
(1) the human species is very likely to go extinct before reaching a “posthuman” stage;
(2) any posthuman civilization is extremely unlikely to run a significant number of simulations of their evolutionary history (or variations thereof);
(3) we are almost certainly living in a computer simulation.
It follows that the belief that there is a significant chance that we will one day become posthumans who run ancestor-simulations is false, unless we are currently living in a simulation.
A number of other consequences of this result are also discussed.
long stories shortened... (discarded and abandoned and intertwined short stories) well..actually they are chunks and fragmets and notes of stories that never made it
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a young PhD math candidate writing his dissertation on an obscure arab mathematician from the middle ages who specialized in cycles and periods in infinite series and develops a process to determine prime number density in a large number space. (which is all and good) except this makes it an excellent tool to decrypting military grade encryption, which is based on the computational difficulty of factoring large numbers into their prime components
the arab mathematician was ultimately censured by the religious mullahs for developing tools to rationalize the infinite, which is of course the nature of Allah and for man to attempt to place Allah into a human scale is blasphemy
so the arab mathematician disappears and the young phd candidate finds that his dissertation has been suspended pending review but cant get any information on who is reviewing it
finally another young mathematician approaches him and starts a long discussion on math and the nature of numbers and the mathematicians love of the underlying structure of reality that math represents. the phd candidate is leary of this mathematician cause he wont answer what he does or where he went to school or how he knows so many cutting edge fields in math
eventually, the young mathematician offers the phd candidate a position with the NSA, National Security Agency, (where all the big crypto and high math goes on) but explains that if he accepts that he will essentially disappear from his current world. his work will be classified, he will not be able to publish in academic journals or speak in public, or talk about his work to his friends on the outside, but the compensation is that he
would be able to work unfettered with the greatest math minds in the country, totally funded, free to explore any field or fancy he thought. after a few moments of thought, the phd accepts.
then the story will go back to the arab mathematician who is also approached my a young beared mullah, who offers him a position within his group of thinkers who do ponder and explore the nature of nature reality and Allah through mathematics, but that by joining them he would need to disappear from the world, after a few minutes of thought, he too accepts...
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Daniel sipped his 6th coffee (colloidal suspension for caffeine transport) while his batch jobs on ramanet, the Indian supergrid, finished their checksum verification. His chin, a bit stubbly, itched. His eyes, a bit red, were sore. The goa trance shoutcast feed had mushed into a fast cadence drone. The flat screen monitor warped and bulged with the oscillating fan blowing on Daniel's face
'O' glamorous larval life of a PhD student...' he jotted and doodle-circled on his notepad.
Daniel cracked his neck and jutted his jaw, stretching out the accumulation of kinks, as RamaNet finished the final integrity check on his dataset. this two hour round of processing on the Indian supergrid would cost about $130 out of his precious grant fund, but you couldnt beat the bargain. 120 minutes times 150,000 PCs in the RamaNet processing collective = 1,080,000,000 seconds or 18,000,000 minutes or 300,000 hours or 12500 days or 34.25 years of processing time for the price of a video game. Calculation was commoditized now. You uploaded your pre-fromatted dataset to RamaNet. the data was packeted and sent to out to 150,000 Indians who lent a few percents of never-to-be missed CPU cycles off their systems for background processing. when their alotted package was completed it was sent back to RamaNet for re-assembly into something coherent for the buyer. in return the Indians got a rebate on their net access charges or access to premier bollywood galleries or credit towards their own processing charges. a good deal all the way around. Daniel's dataset, an anthology of complex proofs from a long-dead arab mathematician, was queued with amateur weather forecast modeling, home-brewed digital CGI for indie movies, chaos theory-based currency trading algorithms, etc. the really high end, confidential jobs, like protein folding analysis or big pharm drug trials were more likely handled by the huge western collectives of several million collaborative systems, usually high-performance machines in dedicated corporate server farms. the cost there was out of Daniel's range, but you got a faster return and better promises of encryption for your buck.
Daniel scratched his scalp and flexed his fingers. 'two months from today i will be a doctor of mathematics...and no job. damnit. i need to find something fast.' Daniel calculated in his mind how quickly the student loans repayments would kick in and completely wipe him out. RamaNet would have done it in nanoseconds, ha! he laughed to himself. Daniel had avoided the rounds of job interviews and recommendations that passed his way. he was too absorbed in his research to look ahead, and perhaps a bit intimidated by the idea of the job hunt flea market. flexing his CV, getting a monkey suit, trying to explain his research to recruiters, who were often the same finger-counting business majors in college that made his skin crawl. Daniel always felt a bit embarrassed when he announced he was math PhD candidate. folks would immediately glaze over,
tsk tsk out a 'that's interesting', and swiftly change the subject. something will come up, he mantra'd to himself over and over, something will come up. stick with ali, there is something real in there, just a bit deeper. the real problem was his thesis advisor. dr. fuentes was not returning his calls, his secretary was not taking appointments from Daniel. he had submitted his finished draft of his thesis two weeks ago, but hadnt heard back since, except for a cryptic email saying that the review committee was having some issues with his paper and that Daniel would be hearing from him shortly. Daniel was rerunning his calculations on RamaNet to assuage the gnawing doubt that he completely botched some component of his argument and that the review committee was debating some manner of telling him to redo the entire effort. no PhD and no job. that would ice the cake. Daniel started calculating his body mass and general aerodynamic resistance relative to the height of the school cathedral to figure out if he had time to reach a terminal velocity before impact...only a failed math PhD would attempt to determine at what speed his body would smack concrete, he morbidly thought to himself.
ali ja'far muhammed ibn abdullah al-farisi slipped meditatively on his cup of water, thinking about his proof. he dipped a finger in the cup and held up a droplet of water under his fingertip, watching the sunlight prisimatically splay out on the mouth of the cup. 'praise be Allah and his wonderous bounty' he mumured to himself.
the elders had been in conference all day over his proof. though the heavy doors to their chamber were closed, he would occasionally hear muffled but distinctly angry shouts. ali sat on a divan in the anteroom, served numerous cups of tea by an obviously nervous secretary. ali knew there was deep resistance to his research, but for the life of him he couldnt figure out why. he was a simple mathematician. he came up with some unique observations. he wanted to share them with his peers...
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Overview: biotech researcher discovers a new life-extension technology and is murdered. He is cryogenically frozen for 150 years. When he is
revived he must stop a dark corporate conspiracy – and find his murderer.
Summer 2015 - Hot genius free-lance biotech researcher unravels the key component of a radical life-extension gene therapy that will ensure 300 years of robust life to its recipients. The researcher is murdered shortly after he hides the critical component. His distraught friend has him cryogenically frozen. 150 years later, the researcher is revived by the same major bio-med corporation for which he had originally been working.
Quickly he realizes that their motives are less than altruistic: his modification of the gene therapy is needed to resolve an unforeseen debilitation now creeping up in the recipients of the life-extension process. The recipients, now nearing 125 years off added life, are decompensating into psychotics. The researcher at first tries to remember and reconstruct what he did with the hidden critical component, but stops in disgust when he learns that in the past 150 years the life-extension therapy has been reserved solely for the ultra-affluent and has created an extreme and cruel global gerontocratic elite. He voices his disgust to his corporate minders, who cease being beneficent and show their true colors as trying to gain control of this critical technology in order to control the elites.
In the process of dealing with the corporation, he learns about his murder and begins investigating.As he comes closer to the identity of his murderer, he uncovers a wider conspiracy and is the target of more murder attempts.
He was killed by a friend in 2015. The friend was the CEO of a small bio-gen firm that the researcher was doing the LET work for. The CEO, a biz-head with a genetics academic background, took the researcher’s work and exploited it as his own, in the process growing his small firm into a bio-med powerhouse and him into one of the world’s wealthiest individuals.
The CEO also was the first recipient of the LET and is now 190 years old, but doesn’t look a day over 45. Smart, urbane, ruthless, the CEO used his wealth and position to start the cabal of Ultras. It is a faction of the top 50 smartest and wealthiest people in the world who have ‘ascended from the world’ (faked their demise) and control the global economy with their vast coordinated wealth. Perhaps they will call themselves ‘The Ascended’. We need to decide how the cabal lives. Are they sequestered on a luxurious island compound, or do they live in the open, surgically re-sculpted after each faked death, or do they live in the open.
Also we need to figure out what the world will look and feel like in 150 years.
As the ultras decompensate into psychosis, the CEO orders the researcher to be revived in order to find a cure. The CEO had the researcher’s lab notes decrypted and figured that the he was close if not successful in finding the missing component to stabilize the LET.
Tiberius Syndrome: the decline into cruel psychosis experienced by the ultras, named after the roman emperor Tiberius’ degenerate behavior after he sequestered himself on Capri.
The ironic twist might be that there is no cure, no stabilization. The psychosis is not the result of the LET alone, but also due in part to the unfettered ego/wills of the ultras. Absolute power corrupts…
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a brazilian hacking syndicate was subcontracted by a st petersberg crew to run interference on a hit on SWIFT, the global currency clearinghouse notification network. The UniFavela clan was going to run a multi-flank raid. They specialized in fast propagating virii and had created a custom mail-in virus that exploited a few microsoft vulnerabilities that they had discovered and kept mum. Their target was a Latin American PR spokesman listed on the corporate web site for press queries. The PR flak would be just the sleepy guard on the wall for their virus to slip past. 30 minutes after opening an inocuous spoofed email from a French e-trade publication requesting clarification on the SWIFT-Indentrus partnership. the virus would port scan and map its entire site LAN, salmoning its way up the router paths till it found the deep waters of the main corporate campus network in Brussels. Shortly, the internal LAN at Brussels would be suffering switch and router buffer overflows and traffic would gasp, ack, and sputter. UniFavela would then towel whip out a vanilla DDOS on the main company web site, any INTERNIC-registered addresses, and any other system in the IP block reserved for SWIFT that had previously port scanned as interesting, or ,even, as nothing. Mongols charging the village gates and tossing flaming torches on thatched roofs. IT Operations would be running to and fro, trying to figure out the internal bandwidth crunch and if there was a bleedout causing the external net problems.
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The Post-Human Story of Minos:
the CEO of a powerful commercial combine is bore an illegitimate son by his indiscreet wife in retaliation for his own dalliances. the son has a hideous deformity but is fantastically brilliant - brilliant enough for the father overcome his own repulsion of the child - as a bastard and a freak. the father sequesters the child in an elaborate virtual domain. the child, a hacker savant, is used to breach competitor nets. but as his power in the digital realm expands, the child transforms into the tyrant-monster. using the nets, he lashes out at people who have caused him pain, then evolves into enjoying the taste of terror and fear. He becomes the Minotaur.
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'there was a mad scramble amongst all the big spook governments, dark side corporations, and the privacy maccabees once it was determined that quantum computation had left the tidal pool of academia, grown legs and air-breathing lungs, and was headed for the nat sec intel highlands. all previous encryption models were rendered obsolete, and worse, exposed. QC became an undefiable xray spotlight, laying bare any encrypted secret with a ease of opening a mathematical candy wrapper. And for a while it swung the advantage back to the state in the digital Boer War against the freecon partisans.'
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The Oort, to the Intras, looked as one people. Extra-stellar hillbillies, ekeing out a subsistance existence on extracted organics from the frozen crud comets and other planetesimals of the Oort Cloud that slung around the solar system in a 1K AU circuit. To the Oort there was no Oort. Each station, each kampong was distinct and seperate. Seperate dialects, traditions, norms, goals. Some were scientific collectives, some were tired mining operations, some were intense sectarian cults - they shared little between themselves beyond necessary trade links for scarce commodities.
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A young prince is disgraced in an internal court scandal and sent into a quasi-exile on a worthless mission. On his travels he builds the wisdom and learns the skills necessary to be a just and effective leader.
His exile was a gambit by his patriarch to remove Genji from the arena of pointless court intrigues and develop him as a real leader. The patriarch dispatched a team of loyal praetorians to discreetly follow and protect Genji on his odyssey.
Genji was sent as an emissary to the Oort system. He must pass through the Martian-Saturnine corridor, populated with industrial trading guilds and their private militias.
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Genealogy becomes paramount in a closed culture; hierarchy by heredity. Reference the roman patrician class’ death-grip obsession with lineage, or the medieval Japanese imperial court’s strict intra-elite caste system.
But in an era of extreme genetic engineering, how can bloodlines retain their importance? Perhaps this is the wrong question. Perhaps in an era of extreme genetic engineering, authentic bloodlines can only retain their importance. The longevity of an unchanged gene line demonstrates success in evolutionary competition. Over time however, the fitness of a rigidly enforced and ‘sequestered’ gene line will degrade. Consider the hemophilia of the European royal strata.
I would not want the imperial court of the inner system to be pure blue bloods, eschewing genetic manipulation. Rather I would have them take the opposite tack – and embrace genetic engineering in the pursuit of perfecting particular socially valued or distinctive attributes; a roman nose, elongated refined fingers, even the possession of certain ‘noble’ afflictions (for ex., the aforementioned hemophilia as a sign of noble lineage).
The elites should pursue genealogy with the same passion and gusto as horse breeders; studs and mares and percentages of bloodlines, enforced and suppressed gene expressions, surrogates, and gene modes des saisons.
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a bum finds a the wallet and keys of a man who jumped from a bridge
he goes to his townhouse to find something to eat or steal
is impressed and overwhelmed with the man's townhouse
showers, eats, gets cleaned up, finds some clothes
is ready to leave when he helps a woman wrestling with groceries at her door
she thanks him, but looks stunned.
‘are you the man in #560? umm..i have lived here for 3 years and have never actually seen you. you seem to leave so early in the morning and get
home so late and keep to yourself.’
they spend 30 minutes talking, having a generally warm friendly encounter.
‘well, I am so glad to have finally met you. Hope to see you soon.’ As she closes her door, the bum turns to leave but pauses and thinks for a moment, then goes back into the man's townhouse
he pours through the man's papers and keepsakes and learns that the man has no family that he speaks with, no friends, lives off a well-endowed trust fund
and
the bum moves in and takes over the mans identity
he brings warmth and sincerity to the man's identity
what makes a hermit tick? what lengths do they go to to remove themselves from society? does it become a game to avoid contact, trying to become a shadow, a phantom? does society dissolve away as a mental force in their thoughts, atrophy away or does it become an amputated impression?
what divsion line stands between a hermit and convict in solitary? the hermit, by and large, chooses their isolation, the convict has it enforced upon them. at what point does the human need for society or socialization collapse? is there anything left that we can inspect and evaluate? a hermit, however, is able to maintain walls against the Great Other, which would imply that they are seeking refuge from the world. a schizo or an autistic will be physically surrounded by others but unable or incapable of making contact.
when does the will to contact die? what is left over? do humans require contact to retain our humanity? can you love and sacrifice in a vacuum?
what defines humanity? oooh, a big question...
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genetic engineering will continue to deconstruct the human species
there will be catastrophic disasters: gene sequence specific viruses engineered to attack 'types' of people. Der Genkampf
petroleum will be replaced- hydrogen-powered locomotion and green power (in the wealthy states). the poor states will continue to be held hostage to oil politics
(cultures and civilizations do not move forward uneringly. they spasticly jerk forward and fro, in clumps andgrains, never ever as a lemming death drive.)
developed economies will be netized. a new state structure will be needed to manage and dsitribute resources. the corporate structure, the commercial backbone of the capitalist democracy, will replace the republic. it is flexible to markets and political forces, insistent on accountability, it provides a sufficient compromise between individual representation and republican government. they will begin their political evolution as projects in community development. assurances of an educated workforce by charter education. assurances of uninterrupted utilities by running their own power/water etc. net-based marketplaces create corporate agoras. employees are in fact de facto citizens of the corporation. citizenship, or regular employment, will be a reward for merit, stock shares will count towards suffrage.
great corporate collectives will arise. housing, education, security...all the needs of the middle class will be absorbed in the corporate state. the tradtional state will cede roles and responsibilities to the corporate state as their resources dwindle. a few isolated violent reactions (military or legal)by the republics against the corporate states, but they will fail over time. against, or more so, in conjunction with the homogenized corporatsists wil be the diasporae, non-corporates will glom to other modes of networked alignment, ethnic allegiance will become stronger over time - as the chinese, indian, and jewish disporaestrengthen as a formula for a successful competition against/with the corporates.
the american state, succored by its overwhelming techo-military supremancy, loses its mission, its vision - substitutes will to dominate for will to excel - and falls into the deep narcotic, insulated slumber of the unassailable. GE, nano, and the banknote net weaken the mythic cohesion of the american spirit. we are no longer united by common experience (mass-mediated or otherwise) the promise of science to make us stronger, smarter, near immortal is held like a manifest destiny or a divine IOU for services rendered to humanity.
Tal día como hoy de hace un año se publicaba en el B.O.E. la tan esperada inclusión del lobo (Canis lupus signatus) en el Listado de Especies Silvestres en Régimen de Protección Especial -el LESRPE- de toda la población española, incluida la que habitaba al norte del río Duero. Aunque la protección que ofrece esta figura es inferior a la aportada por el Catálogo Español de Especies Amenazadas, representa un paso importante para la conservación de la especie. Principalmente por dos razonamientos.
El primero porque unifica el marco legal en todas las Comunidades Autónomas españolas. Era absolutamente injustificable desde el punto de vista biológico y de conservación que se gestionara de modo distinto según decidieran los gobiernos autonómicos; en una comunidad podía estar catalogada en Peligro de Extinción (caso de Andalucía) y en otras se la podía tirotear por diversión (caso de Castilla y León). Era una gestión irracional y psicópata, ya que el mismo ejemplar de lobo que estaba catalogado también en Peligro de Extinción en Portugal, con medidas de conservación y dinero público invertido en su protección, podía cruzar la frontera y caer en un pueblo zamorano a manos de un señorito que había pagado una importante suma de dinero para divertirse. Esto no es un modo de hablar, ha sucedido así.
Y el segundo porque prohibe de facto su caza en todos los supuestos, exceptuando casos suficientemente argumentados en los que las administraciones podrían matar a determinados ejemplares concretos que causaran especial conflicto.
Aquellas viejas políticas rancias de nuestras CCAA, más propias de las Juntas de Extinción de Animales Dañinos de la época franquista, basadas en el tiro preventivo, en el tiro por diversión o en el tiro por recaudación conseguían normalizar en la sociedad española que "no pasaba nada por matar unos cuantos, que seguía habiendo más lobos". Se educaba en que matar animales es un buen modo de gestionar la naturaleza. Y en el culmen de la perversión dialéctica se llegaba a convencer a la ciudadanía desinformada que gracias a la gestión cinegética había crecido la población de lobos y se había extendido por más territorios. Si matar ayuda a que haya más ejemplares, pongámonos todos entonces a matar linces, osos y quebrantahuesos, ¿no? No sé vosotros, pero qué diríais si se mataran osos porque atacan colmenares y cerezos, o águilas perdieras o linces porque se comen las perdices y conejos de los cazadores. Un dato: en el censo de 1988 se estimaron 294 manadas que ocupaban unos 100.000 kilómetros cuadrados. En el publicado 26 años después -en 2014- se localizaron solo 3 manadas más en una superficie de 80.000. ¿Dónde está la expansión del lobo? ¿Alguien me lo puede decir?
El caso del lobo es el mismo que el de osos, linces o rapaces. Y os voy a dar tres buenas razones también para convencerse de que matar lobos es una mala idea. La primera porque matar lobos desestructura las manadas y provoca más daños en la ganadería, dado que a menos adultos con experiencia menos facilidad tienen los que sobreviven para cazar fauna salvaje que puede ser difícil o peligrosa (ciervos o jabalíes, por ejemplo). Ello provoca que se fijen más en especies sencillas como el ganado doméstico. La segunda porque después de siglos de matar lobos se ha demostrado que no soluciona los ataques (de hecho los incrementa). Pues entonces, tío, sé inteligente y cambia de estrategia: PROTEGE MEJOR TU NEGOCIO, no se lo pongas fácil. Y la tercera porque matar lobos provoca un exceso poblacional de herbívoros silvestres capaces de causar no solo graves perjuicios en la agricultura sino también transmitir enfermedades infecciosas al ganado. Todos pierden con su muerte.
En definitiva, seamos inteligentes, dejemos la testosterona para otros menesteres y usemos las neuronas.
Myself and a Friend Tony Nixon have set up a Woodland feeding station in our local woods and we attract a large variety of birds visiting each autumn, winter and spring. We are able to put out different perches and props,allowing us some great photographic opportunities.
This female Blackcap was a regular visitor a couple of years back and on this occasion she was showing the Siskins who was boss !
Freestyle off of some ideas that I had been working on in my head and a little on paper. I'm not really sure but I think that this was from 2007. It is actually unfinished. This was a bad day for myself and my crew. I actually walked from this piece due to an argument that I had got into with some crew members over some bullshit crew politics. The wall was put on by some toy ass writer that wanted to use the crew to make himself look good. I had made it clear to the crew that I didn't want to paint the wall and I didn't think that the crew should unless this toy had come up with paint and some money for the crew. Some of the guys weren't really cool with that because they had worked with the guy in the past and were friends of his for many years. I stood firm on it until the day of. I had some guys on my side but they just wanted to paint and this wall is one of the best walls in the city. So, some of the members called me up and asked if I would come out. I agreed and came with my own paint only because I wanted to rock with my boys. Unbeknownst to me, this guy had showed up and was aware of my position and instead of stepping to me like a man, he stepped to some of my crew members and was like "why is EROS on the wall?". I was completely unaware of the issue and just kept painting until I was finally approached by one of the crew. I just kept painting. Finally, it came to a head because this dude just kept pestering the crew members that were his friends and they approached me to see what was up. It got kind of heated when I was arguing my point and felt that some of the crew members were siding with this toy. I really never wanted to paint the wall to begin with and in order to prevent the situation from escalating, said fine, "y'all can have the wall" and went to the bar to get to a beer. All in all, later that day, I spoke to the toy running the wall and broke it down for him. We parted ways with the understanding that if he ever puts the crew and myself in a situation like that again, it was on and that I wasn't going to work with him unless we got paid. He agreed and asked me to finish the piece but I thought it better to just leave it unfinished to always remind myself of the days events. It's always amazing to me how easy some writers will just give up their power and the ability to make some money, for paint and a good location to paint. I know I've been guilty of it in the past and have always felt bad about it afterwards. Nowadays, I find it real easy to say "No" to things to save myself feeling that emptyness in my gut, from the feeling of being taken advantage of. It's one of those things that until we see our art-form as a real commodity in todays modern society, I think it will never get the respect it deserves. On that note, Fuck 'em, WE'LL get it one way or another!
Robert A Heinlein
I have been tagged by Louisa Hennessy and Coco Rose so here are ten things about me:
1.When I was four, I was the May Queen at nursery school.
2.I hate bananas. My mom says I liked them when I was a child and has a photo to prove it. She misses the point that I am crying in the photo. I have always hated bananas.
3.When I was maybe four or five, I wanted to understand how my memory worked. So I invented a character that lived in my head and she filed away every scrap of information I ever got. When I wanted to remember something, she would go to her filing system and bring the information out, just like a book at a library. As I got older and wiser and more into technology, my librarian upgraded from a manual card indexing system to a computerised one. She uses Windows, so it crashes quite a lot these days and, more often than not, we find it incredibly difficult to retrieve any information at all, or we get the wrong things out altogether. Perhaps we should go back to the old-fashioned way or remembering stuff.
4.When I was a kid, I’d play at my cousins’ place a lot (sadly it is now an hotel, www.fanhams-hall-hotel.com/, but this is where I did most of my growing up). It was a pretty big place with acres of grounds and in it, there was a “mountain” (it was really a man-made ornamental Japanese hill but it seemed very big to us). You could climb the mountain using the path or scramble up the sides, the hard way. I liked to use the hard way more often than not, it was more rewarding and I always felt a sense of achievement having made it to the summit.
5.My first bicycle grew from a rusty nail that my dad planted in the garden one night. He said a magic spell over it, planted it in the vegetable plot at the side of our house, and in the morning – hey presto! a bike! I was pretty damned pleased with that. I still plant rusty nails on the off-chance…
6.I had a rabbit called Bobo when I was three. He became she when she had baby bunnies and we called her Bobette. My dad told me one Sunday lunchtime that we were having Bobo for lunch; he had a pretty weird sense of humour. I didn’t eat lunch, and I went off meat in a pretty big way. I am a vegan now and this is a way of life for me, so I have my father to thank.
7.My parents split up when I was ten and although it was a relief after all the rows and arguments, I had to grow up really fast to help my mom because she became a bit of a basket case for a while.
8.I grew up an only child but I always, always would have liked older brothers, I thought this would be pretty cool. When I was twenty and had moved away from home to get my own flat in London, I found out that lo-and-behold! my dad had been married before he met my mom and I had two older half-brothers!! They are great and I love them both hugely.
9.Spending most of my childhood at my cousins’ place, I developed a passion for all things Oriental. The gardens where we played have had a massive impact on how I see the world and inspired at an early age a desire to travel. I took my first solo trip abroad when I was fifteen…to Paris. Admittedly I stayed with my pen friend and her family, but I was let loose on a plane and an airport and I was hooked. I moved to Paris a couple of years later, I really like the place a lot. Since then the travel bug has always been with me and even though I’ve had to spend time in England, I am always off somewhere, be it in my head or for real. The next big trip is always around the corner…
10.My dad taught me a lot. He was an artist and he taught me to paint, to look at art works and to form my own tastes and opinions. He engendered in me a love for literature. He hadn’t travelled a lot but through reading he had been around the world many times. He taught me how to have my photograph taken and to never be afraid of the camera but always to be wary of the person behind it because they may lack the skill to make a beautiful or meaningful picture. He gave me my first cameras, an incredibly huge Polaroid and several disposable cameras.
Suffering, in all it's varied forms, is what exactly?
A compounding of fractured soul, so matter-of-factly,
She said that He Himself said,
That surgery is an art gallery of faith instead
Masterpieces where health invariably decreases
Swan songs of broken hearts where love ceases
To enliven home truth's of carefree surrealism
One empty soul does not make another idealism,
Minimal is the grey day that paves the way for darkness
Looming on the horizon of unseen weathering blackness
A colossus of sky with the upper land
Nature the only card, saviour, and prophet to hand
Fear may only be a feeling, but the feeling is beyond fear itself
As they say, depression is expectant as we each try to find oneself
In the mire of news, be it the betrayal of the health of our citizens
Or just the assassination of natural resources wealth, that bloody well glistens
In the headlights and highlights of our obit we now live in memory alone
"A Song for Departure" plays upon the mind that cannot find adequate words to bemoan
The lack of attention paid to the well-being of Mother Nature, ageism spammed!
We are seeking the revolution for the revolving Earth whose door's are jammed
By the annual quagmire of festive exposure by all means time is spent!
Here by the grace of God, we breathe in life, in a place, in grace Heaven sent
It's tempting to stop reading, as it is to cease listening, turning a blind eye as well, why not?
But dare I say, it's nigh on impossible for very long to do the whole damned lot!
Mother Nature, She is suffering can't you see upon this obdurate land
We tune-in to be deceived, ghost hunters and faithful followers of a new kind of religious brand
Detect only what the illusion alludes to in the lost art of heart and soul
In part, life is already obfuscated with it's own toxins, we're the decade on parole
1988, 1998, 2008, I remember well, the future that is coming too soon
Here before tomorrow ever knows what to do with itself, we must find the answers to be in tune
Petty arguments wage wars within the minds of boys whose toys have been confiscated by ignorance
A belief of faith cannot be true if it sees red at every turn, nor can it bring hope for the children in whom we bestow what kind of continuance?
Benevolence is awaited with a youthful eagerness that has grown old waiting on the wings of fighters
Knives replace fists that substitute backs for tables in the cities full of such blighters
Intervention risks life and death for the removal of compassion brings the hooded underworld
That has now come up to grab society by the ruddy throat twirled
A society indeed, un-policed and unappeased the x-factor of fearless nerves
Can no longer meet with the supply, that which steals warns of what it serves
We're a breed apart though we never used to be and never should be
Walking tall when we should be down on our damned knees begging for forgiveness until we all finally agree
So the trepidant beggars of belief peaceably fly in the face of popular opinion,
For the standards of today will invariably fail the tests of time and ever-changing dominion
If you feel the force of scientific tribulation, will it numb the senses of tomorrow
Can the government's diet, passed fit for us all, sustain us through political sorrow?
If a smile should pass your face someday, cherish it's presence upon the lifestyle that forgot how to use it
Wear yourself well, but for the love of life we must address what does reciprocally befit.
by anglia24
09h55: 02/10/2008
©2008anglia24
Many accuse me of indifference and passivity when I refuse to go into hiding; they say that I have given up. They say everyone who can, must try to stay out of their clutches, it’s our bounden duty to try. But that argument is specious. For while everyone tries to save himself, vast numbers are nevertheless disappearing. And the funny thing is, I don’t feel I’m in their clutches anyway, whether I stay or am sent away. I find all that talk so cliché-ridden and naive, and can’t go along with it anymore. I don’t feel in anybody’s clutches … They may well succeed in breaking me physically, but no more than that. I may face cruelty and deprivation the likes of which I cannot imagine in even my wildest fantasies. Yet all this is as nothing to the immeasurable expanse of my faith in God and my inner receptiveness. I shall always be able to stand on my own two feet even when they are planted on the hardest soil of the harshest reality. And my acceptance is not indifference or helplessness. I feel deep moral indignation at a regime that treats human beings in such a way. But events have become too overwhelming and too demonic to be stemmed with personal resentment and bitterness. These responses strike me as being utterly childish and unequal to the “fateful” course of events. (ET 2002, 487)
-Etty Hillesum
66553 seems to have had an argument with most of its consist as its all loaded towards the rear of the train. Still it was extremely pleasant to have a wander about the river bank again. 4O71 16:28 Wentloog Freightliner to Southampton.
Día 6 de Abril de 2013... Dos años ya!!!
Y de nuevo parece ser que esta primavera, la floración de los cerezos en el Valle del Jerte está siendo una explosión blanca, pacífica y de una sobrenatural belleza.
Y de nuevo me la estoy perdiendo... De nuevo.
Por razonables que sean los motivos, por serios que sean los imponderables, por evidentes que sean los argumentos...
Qué mal se tolera perder cosas!!!
Música recomendada: "Éblouie par la nuit". Zaz.
So, as I am in the middle of my squirrel induced “exercise while you eat” routine (this is really exhausting and I don’t know how long I will be able to keep this up) out of the corner of my eye (I take supreme pride in my peripheral vision which comes in really handy in traffic) I catch this movement in the back. Could it be … sure is. I have been thinking a lot about these guys lately but never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that three of them would want to pose for me. Am I going to argue with three of them? No way, and the shoot was on. Can you guess which one is the boss? Yes, correct, that’s the middle one. I even managed to keep the dogs under control … just call me Cesar :-) You know how they say that smoking is detrimental to your health. No argument here and perhaps a safer place for me to indulge in this activity now would be ….
Confinement jour 42 / Lockdown Day 42
En direct des studios de confinement
Photo : Après le PQ, pénurie alimentaire ?
Non, simplement une épicerie ouverte qui est restée fermée (le Covid brouille les codes)
L’info du jour :
Un extrait exclusif de la conférence de presse d’Edouard Philippe, ce mardi (c'est donc un vrai "scoop") :
Question 1 (France Inter) :
- Monsieur le Premier Ministre, ça sert à quoi un masque alternatif ? (question culturelle et éducative, très “France Inter”)
- Je veux d’abord expliquer aux Français qu’un masque alternatif n’est ni un masque qui fonctionne sur le courant alternatif, ni un masque qu’on n’a le droit d’utiliser qu’un jour sur deux
(rires dans la salle, quel boute-en-train, cet Edouard !)…
Ensuite, il faut que les Francais sachent qu’un masque alternatif ne sert quasiment... (silence) ...à rien !
(stupeur dans la salle)
Mais le Gouvernement veille sur vous et a tout prévu…
En hiver, vous portiez des chemises à manches longues, je vous expliquais que les masques étaient inutiles, et je vous préconisais simplement de tousser dans votre coude…
Hélas, les beaux jours arrivent et vous allez porter des chemisettes à manches courtes…
Et c’est vraiment pas classe de tousser sur son bras nu, bandes de crados !
En matière d’hygiène, vous me faites honte !
Le masque alternatif est donc une sorte de coude en tissu que l’on s’enroule autour du visage et ainsi, grâce à nous, vous pourrez désormais tousser, cracher, éternuer, ou même vous moucher dans votre masque au lieu de le faire dans votre bras…
Merci, qui ?
Les journalistes (en chœur) :
- Merci, Monsieur le Premier Ministre !
Question 2 (RMC/BFM) :
- Monsieur le Premier Ministre, pourquoi, alors que nous sommes le pays le plus fiscalisé au monde, n’avons-nous toujours pas de vrais masques, pas alternatifs, comme tous les autres pays européens en ont déjà à disposition, tout en payant moins d’impôts !
Les bras m’en tombent donc je ne peux même plus tousser dans mon coude !
Vous devez la vérité aux Français, Monsieur le Premier Ministre !
(Et il frappe sur la table, le Jean-Jacques Gourdin ! Dommage qu’il s'écoute tellement parler qu'il en oublie d’écouter les mauvaises réponses à ses bonnes questions)
- Parce que l’argent des masques, dont nous a généreusement fait cadeau le contribuable, et je l'en remercie chaleureusement au passage, a été intégralement dépensé pour implanter les nouveaux radars à 80 km/h, et les panneaux neufs sur les routes nationales.
- Et pourquoi une telle erreur stratégique sidérante ? Les Français veulent savoir, Monsieur le Premier Ministre !
- Parce qu’un radar rapporte davantage d’argent qu’un masque ! Et pas qu’un peu, mon neveu ! Et y’a pas photo, mon Paulo !
- Effectivement, l’argument est imparable et donc recevable ! Mais alors pourquoi ne pas utiliser l’argent que rapportent les radars, pour acheter des masques ?
- Parce que les gens sont confinés et ne se font plus piéger par les radars ! Réfléchis un peu cinq minutes, imbécile, avant de poser tes questions idiotes ! Pour acheter des masques il faut encaisser des PV et pour encaisser des PV il faut d’abord déconfiner... C'est un cercle vicieux, un peu comme le gouvernement !
(nouveaux rires dans la salle, il est vraiment tordant ce Philippe !)
Edouard poursuit :
- Et n'oubliez pas aussi qu’il faut économiser un peu d‘argent pour payer Sibeth Ndiaye, et une poignée d'autres gigolos qu'on a embauchés par erreur et qui ne servent à rien…
Au gouvernement, on fait aussi du social, et on applique déjà le revenu universel d'activité pour les plus défavorisés...
Sans la fonction publique, ces pauvres gens ne trouveraient jamais de boulot ! Soyez un peu humains et généreux, ça vous changera, bandes d'égoïstes !
(la salle, conquise, se lève et applaudit vivement la qualité des excellentes répliques et l'humour grinçant et décalé, quasiment socialiste ! Si ça se trouve c’est le tandem de comiques troupiers, Benoit Hamon et Manuel Valls, qui lui écrit ses textes)
Le Premier Ministre (ravi et saluant la foule) :
- Autre question ?
Les journalistes (ravis aussi, au sens de “ravi” comme le ravi de la crèche):
- Non tout est enfin clair, merci Monsieur le Premier Ministre ! On se revoit le 11 mai...
Le Premier Ministre conclut : - … Le 11 mai... ou une date alternative !
P.S : C'est de l'humour (très noir et en forçant un peu le trait, je vous l’accorde) mais c'est quand même très triste car tellement proche de la réalité...
Coluche, reviens, tu serais sûrement bien meilleur que moi dans l’exercice de la satire...
Bon confinement et "Take care"
Le journal complet du confinement et des chroniques de la guerre :
Playing my d*mn records too loud and got into trouble ;P
OMY Brando @ TMD
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