Juno

Junoi is the usual contrivancy the US Faggot Identity Party keeps pushing out. Weak and centerless malesii, decisive and self-possessed females, complete and utter anti-reality in a thick sauce of an inexistent socioeconomic context wherein stripping is a sort of sport rather than a sort of survival and nobody's going to tell anyone (and especially not any woman) what's what or else!

Thanks to the exceptional writing skills of Diablo Cody, the contrivancy actually stands up and makes sense, in this case. Sixteen year old boys acutually are weak and centreless, irrespective of what they may pretend or how convincingly they may clothe that pretense. Sixteen year old girls are certainly ahead of their male age peers in terms of societal and reality insertion. Blue collar fifty year olds are often the contemplative, passive, submissive type herein depictediii. Add to that a smattering of very solid observationiv and dialogue that flows as perfectly, smoothly and flawlessly as if I myself had written it, and there's Juno.

I would definitely force anyone involved in video production to study, not merely watch this film. It would greatly benefit that large swarm of dullards and imbeciles, to be forced to notice that just because one wants to push trite cliches and rank nonsense it does not thereby follow that the dialogue has to be wooden or the story formulaic.

A little creativity, dear socialists, what the hell. Your idiocy is distinguished by that rare attribute that being nonsense in the first place, it therefore follows that any nonsense could equally be it! Given such a vast space of possibility, why the fuck are you all doing the same two-three stories over and over and over and over and over again ? Random stripper with no talent besides the intuition that there's plenty of space left did much better than any of you, in 2007. Perhaps it's time to dare to blather in novel ways, since you're going to blather anyway ?

We have here anecdotal proof that once the pretense of broad relevancy and social centrality were abandoned, "feminism" could be both acceptable and even in places entertaining. Bear this in mind.

———2007, by Jason Reitman, with Ellen Page. [↩]In Faggot Identity Fanfic the male may appear strictly as the unconditionally loving, drony father ; or else as the indescribably lame, inept youth ; or else as the superficial, inconsequential asshole. No other alternatives are possible, much in the same way the girls in more traditional blue fare are always bosomy and always a little dim.

It's war of the hacks, practically speaking. [↩]Petrus, you see, is the product of his environment in the sense that primitive, orcish societies do waste a lot of what would constitute resources in a more complex world. This is exactly the point of social organisation : maximizing resource utilization. [↩]What exactly do adults mean by "starting one's sex life" ? And perhaps more importantly : why would they imagine the categorical nonsense they invented to assuage their own terrors bears any relevancy to anyone besides themselves ? [↩]

« Being a sucker

Eulora Special Playable Character List »

Category: Trilematograf

Friday, 17 February, Year 9 d.Tr.

Jud Suss

Jud Sussi is generally discussed in this language in terms of theological investment and political tendency, with the claim oft advanced that it is somehow remarkable under either aspect.

It is not. Suss the Jew is not more heavihandedly lutheran than the corresponding production in either US or England of the time is local-brand protestant ; nor is it more (or less) heavy-handedly normative in terms of either "what people should do" or "how society should be" than the average production of the time. The contrary view is at best unintelligent, pious fraud, but in general I expect it to be made of that oldest if poorest alloy of all : a base of poltroonism with insertions of whichever-way-wind-blows-today. As such, it is inexcusable, and perfectly immoral.

Jud Suss was an actual historical character : Joseph Suss Oppenheimer. He worked for the more-or-less historically accurate Karl Alexander, Duke of Wurtenburg. Whether the historical character was factually an ambitious young man trying to exploit political change and eventually ending up swallowed by it ; or an agent of unmitigated evil deliberately torturing mankind depends entirely on the viewer's bias. He is entirely and identically equivalent to the Jews then made famous by Hollywood -- bootleggers, arsonists, pimps, gamblers. There is no substantial difference of any kind between Ferdinand Marian character's here and say James Cagney's character in The Roaring Twenties : both men with nothing but their wits, who saw a chance, and took it, and eventually died of it.

Yes, the Jew gets called "the Jew" throughout the film. Similarily the Wop was called Wop, and the Hebe a Hebe. This doesn't make the 1940s Hollywood stories about Jewish gangsters specifically about Jews (even if the matter was substantially discussed at the time, except of course not in the Jewish-owned press), nor does it make this film anything else, and anything besides an early, simplified recount of big government.ii

The Duke has aspirations, you see. He wants an Airforce One, to be important (about in the same way the kids with the smallest dicks have to drive the largest cars). He wants a ballet, because he's not me to say plainly he will entertain slaves only, but aims to ooze himself unctuously into a similar (yet deniable!) position. He wants to make dancing girls propositions they can't refuse and, most of all, can't recount, that's pretty much the whole story.

These aspirations are fundamentally uprooting -- not because "they cost money", but because the sort of neurotic society which permits the irresponsible, self-disavowing lifestyle is incompatible with any kind of common sense, any kind of productive effort, and ultimately with any statement of sanity.

But this doesn't drive the aspirations away. It would have, but in the sort of man who wouldn't have ever aspired such nonsense in the first place. The duke's no such man, and so instead the nonsense simply inflames his aspirations further. He finds a very willing agent that'll bring about the necessary dislocations, but they proceed too quickly, and without sufficient skill. As a result the earth swallows them both, and that's the end of this story of an eager fat dork and the apprentice alchemist trying to strike it out "on his own" under his wing.

A drama, if you wish, a very low rent Doctor Faustus (is that also "antisemitic" ?). Such is the fate of films, with very rare exceptions they're going to be low rent versions of extant literature. Hardly a reason to hate the genre, and even less of a reason to hypocritically purport to hide that hate under the ridiculously tiny hat of political disagreement and anti-theological chaffing.iii

I wouldn't go so far as recommending it, as it's not all that great a movie ; but the curious as to a different perspective on 1940s style idiocy is more than welcome to compare and contrast this with the versions more familiar to him. It will doubtless be instructive, and in the proper sense of the term liberating.

———1940, by Veit Harlan, with Kristina Soderbaum and Ferdinand Marian [↩]You know the story, "tax and spend", for which gotta tax, for which need a standing army and corruption of the laws, which destroys commerce, which drives the vicious circle. [↩]As an amusing curlicue, the original jew was actually hung for "trying to restore Catholicism". You know, like Thomas More.

Oh, and he was given the chance to escape through conversion, which he also refused to do. You know, also like Thomas More. [↩]

« Caligula

Salon Kitty and L'Empire des sens »

Category: Trilematograf

Saturday, 05 August, Year 9 d.Tr.

JSM, Bomba de Costa Rica

Booooooommmmmmbaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!

Sadly the title comes off a drunken shot, so you'll just have to believe me that I filled up at Jsm, which is a Bomba de Costa Rica. Here :

This little kitten was out all by his lonesome in the night, but what a splendid time it had! Catching little things and jumping around, twisting and turning with uncanny speed, voted most likely to have fun cat class of 2017!

Here's a train tunnel, because why not :

And now that the train has past, here's an ex-kitten, once-a-kitten or maybe never-a-kitten, well grown and thereby exhausted. Quite the difference a few misfortunes make, huh!

"But daddy, why does the streetwalker have an abdominal fold ?"

"Because she eats too much, son."

You know ?

But let's move on, lest we depress ourselves, to vehement opulence and other bourgeois refinements :

And here's the menu (other than freshly baked apple pie a la mode, delicious fig cake and other pork sausages) : coffee!

Yes, they have that many kinds ; yes you can actually tell them apart, we've tried.

Yes I always get the best cup. Yes I needed to pee on the way back so I had the car parked next to a bridge and took a piss straight into the water, tallest piss ever taken. Yes I had girl lick my penis clean after I was done because I don't want urine in my undies (saliva's ok though).

Yes, yes, yes. See you around!

« Le Bal

Romanzo popolare »

Category: La pas prin lume

Friday, 10 November, Year 9 d.Tr.

Jimmy Vestvood : Amerikan Hero

Jimmy Vestvood : Amerikan Heroi is a hysterical piece of pantsuit wank.

Fundamentally, the entire thing is built around the proposition that carefully selecting an exotic sounding list of names for the castii somehow confers upon the finished product legitimacy -- an argument exactly identical to pretending that an assemblage of quarterpounders with cheese and whoppers purchased in shops scattered all over Europe confers worldliness upon the meal.iii

This aside, about half the gags work (which is how gagmedyiv goes in the first place) and the half that doesn't work doesn't bother either, nor hinder nor irritate. The dude's 70s moustache and hysterical Depeche Mode era geddup make you readily forget that it's a little strange for an Irani expat to immediately know what a red car is supposed to do on a bystanding blondy, and what the whole lotion rubbing at the beach thing is all about. Did he learn it all off VHS tapes or what happened there ? And besides, chances are you're much too young to know who Gloria Guida was, or for the beach scene to scream La liceale al mare con l'amica di papa in your inner ear. Who is this Alvaro Vitaliv anyway ?!

We can't all be cultured and we can't all have refined taste. But even the precious few among us who are, and do, which is to say me in preference of you, nevertheless can, if so inclined, readily enjoy nonsense in this vein. And so it goes -- as an option for some, as choicelessness for most.

———2016, by nobody starring a very hot TV starlet (Deanna Russo, no relation to Rene, whose sister's name is Toni) & nobody else. [↩]Except, of course, for the pizda, because apparently (and contrary to evidence) there exist no hot Irani women.

(Rather the problem is obviously that Irani women are [permitted to be] exceedingly coy, which makes them useless and their society miserable, but why tackle serious problems in art. Cinema is for wanking and nothing above that, after all. Right ?) [↩]This was offered as such in a very important result of ESLtard cinema, and for the very good reason that while perfectly defective it is nevertheless utterly specific. Americanski Girl, teh sweet rose of Alabamy, has heard of a country named Hungry, but Turky ?!

Speaking of which, one of the dumbasses just asked "me" if I live in Duluth. Here :

Self-centeredness to the point of plain blindness is one thing, but for fucking Duluth ?! Really, dumbass likes more temperate climates ?

Now estimate the chances navelgrazing idiot actually reads this ; and when you're done with that 0%, estimate the chances she actually comprehends how fucking broken she is ; and when you're done with that 0% read Diana Coman's next installment of the EuCrypt story, to see right there plainly that no, it's not just some dumb ho. It's you. All of you. [↩]Gayngel!! [↩]You know he's still working, by the way ? [↩]

« The Hippopotamus

We shall now read Anathem... »

Category: Trilema Presei

Friday, 29 December, Year 9 d.Tr.

Jewish Cuckoldress & Husband Tim celebrate 10 years' wedding aniversay.

For our tin aniversary we went with JCi to Pompodoro, the Italian Restaurant. Have you heard of it ? Everyone in Evansville knows it, the best damn Italian Restaurant in all of Indiana. Well, except for people from Indianapolis, which everyone in Indiana knows are assholes. Just like New Yorkers, you know ? You have to get reservations well in advance to even get in, but we had ours back in May so there was no problem.

As we were sitting at our luxurious table chatting after the delicious high quality pizza replete with delectable choices such as crispy pork sausage, bacon, ham, all kinds of things, and much more, a black man in a very elegant three piece blue suit vehemently approached our table. He had a sort of chalk pattern squarely everywhere, like old time taylor fitting if you know about that. This is very high class because it's what boxers wear. I understand a lot about black culture, I myself rapii, I have a studio in the garage and everything.

The man extended his hand to JC, saying, "Hi, my name is Joel". What a strange name! JC just giggled and said "Howdy, Joel!" This is very unlike her, I have never heard her say that before. But what came next surprised me even more, because the black man shook her hand and then said "I'm going to the toilet now, and I don't like to use toilet paper. Would you like to come with me and kiss it clean after I've peed ?"

It's a very strange thing to ask a woman in an upscale restaurant, I think you agree, and besides you have to get your reservations well in advance to even be there. But to my shocked surprise and rage JC simply said "Sure!" and stood up to follow this unknown black man to the gent's restroom! But before they left he said to her "leave your shoes", and she did! She pushed her red high heels that I bought for her right off her feet under the table and paddled behind him to the restrooms barefoot in her pantyhose only.

I was floored and flabbergasted! I didn't even know what to do. I always know what to do, I am even famous at work for it, "Ask Tim, he always knows what to do", but here I was drawing blanks. It might have been because I don't so often go to upscale Italian Restaurants, we usually eat at Applebee's or another good quality and value chain like that.

After a while the waiter came to ask me if I'd like something to drink, and I realised that what he meant was we should be getting the check. How could I ask for the check when JC wasn't even there ? So I had to have something to drink there was no way out of it although I normally don't drink and besides why buy drinks at a restaurant when you could just buy a bottle at the Walmart. So I told him "yes" but he wouldn't go away, instead he started telling me all the drinks he had which none make any sense (this was an Italian Restaurant). I ordered one of them Marparis whatever they are, a kind of Italian fortified wine. But then when JC still wasn't showing up almost three quarters of an hour later or more I had to order another one, and eventually after that there was no way out of it, I had to go use the restroom.

I thought about going into the ladies' instead, but to be honest I've never done that in my life, and besides it was on the other side of the restaurant, it would have made it too obvious. As I approached the restroom I could clearly hear JC grunting, and once I stepped in I couldn't believe what I was seeing. There was JC, completely naked, her left wrist in a handcuff the other end of which was tied to an exposed pipe by the urinals, almost completely naked, all her clothes in tatters, sucking some guy off! The original black guy was nowhere to be seen among the crowd of men crowding around her, and I noticed that every time she finished one he's tear a piece of her clothing, as if to take a memento for the occasion of our Tin aniversary!

She must have given that black guy one hell of a cleaning with her mouth, I thought! and then I felt faint. As I was resting against the wall to catch my breath I called for the manager!

"Yes, I'm right here", came the answer, from an older gentleman with round spectacles among the crowd. "What do you need ?"

———Yes I find the titulature hysterical. I understand what produced it, the keyword push is a thing in porn copywriting. Nevertheless, I noticed (as I've no doubt everyone paying attention's noticed) a significant relationship between sexuality and race awareness (and in fact you can't even produce an explanation for race outside of sexual preference and endo/exogamy trouble). Yet, most people males preoccupied with semites in a sexual sense tend to call the Rachel hussies jewesses rather than jewish. I dunno, it tickles better apparently. Perhaps because it's an exotic derivation mechanism to match their exotic big tits and imaginary red hair ? Except here it was interdicted by the absence of an alternative to decline cuckold, you can't very well say jewess cuckoldish, it makes no sense there. See how sadly limited English is, you're stuck using the -ish of things to denote the -(r)ess of women ? Tsk tsk.

Anyway, I can almost see the author's tongue sticking out of his face as he's trying to muscularily push the suffix where he feels it belongs notwithstanding the requirements of syntax preclude the perceivedly correct arrangement. EEeeehhhnnnn! [↩]By now you perhaps noticed this, like so many other Trilema pieces, is a reference bonanza disguised. I'll give you the third one for free. [↩]

« The Day of Failure Trilemma

The Goodbye Girl »

Category: Cuvinte Sfiinte

Thursday, 31 August, Year 9 d.Tr.

Jduuuu!

In Costa Rica, which is the country of coffee, you have to be careful what you say.

Specifically -- if you go sit down and ask for a cappuccino, they will bring you an excellent cappuccino.

If, however, you, for whatever reason, such as that you've no Italian module loaded that day, or momentarily feel like the naming's too pompous or whatever else, tell them to bring you cafe con leche, then they are obligated by law as well as long standing custom and the incessant nagging of displeased women expecting them expectantly in hell by the grosse to bring you this :

Above depicted in an unsteady hand, the Government Mandated Standard Issue Cafe Con Leche Set (GMSICCLSi). It contains one porcelain cup for the end product (with saucer and spoonlet -- not visible in the above depiction because I think I might have inserted it into one of the companeras there present), one metal stein with lid and spigot for the coffee, and one metal jug for the warm milk. PER PERSON. NO EXCEPTIONS. Plus, of course, the usual accountrements. Before ordering you must make sure you have an adequate table, because la gerencia no se hace responsable for any sudden loud pops and/or fusion reactions that may be sparked by unconformant spatial tightness.

Put that in your covfefe cup and smoke it!

———Don't you find it beyond fucktarded how these idle twerps keep misusing words for the sake of a "good" acronym ? I do. [↩]

« The Strange Case of The Red Stapler and Other Related Stories

The boundless burden »

Category: Zsilnic

Friday, 16 June, Year 9 d.Tr.

Items

So I went to San Pedro, which is sorta the campus here in San Jose. The first stopi was at the mall! Wherein,

You know, just like the Slut Breastplate, but for athletes not for warriors. Outside of the Bimbo it's really a good shirt!

But fret ye not, there's also a bright future of intelligent whiz kids and whatnots! Behold :

The mall hackerspace, what more can you ask for ?

This completes our mall visit, let's head to the actual destination of this trip, the by-appointment-to-MP chocolate shop :

And now time to tally the purchases :

Two blackhats for the blackhats, from eKono ; one white-ish hat for me, from a little handmade shop. It cost three times what the blackhat pair cost -- and let that be a lesson to you. A pound or so of locally made pralines , for good girls, if we ever find any. Plus some imported Belgian shells, plus other sweets. Then there's the butt spanker with squeaky ball -- it has a great squeak, and a scary fucking burn. Then the hard gel handcuffs, which can also sting a bum for five minutes per application. I really recommend these, what "tug of war" dogtoys, are you kidding me ? They're the bitches' tug of war enders is what they are, try for yourself.

I also bought a little green party hat not depicted here, as well as some fraction of a ton of various Automercadoii stuffs, not depicted because too much fucking work to.

In other words : I shed a million colones in one afternoon, and in exchange I got all sorts of itams. That'd be all.

———Well, technically the first stop was at the "Sexy Shop" next to the Retro Bar that serves no coffee (sampled on a different trip) where they had no dildos / buttplugs (my original purchase intent). It's a Sexy Shop, see, not a Sex Shop. They sell overpriced nothings, poor quality lingerie and whatever other crap to people who don't have any specific needs past you know, being all transgressive just like us cool folk. Picked out a modest facemask, plastic and feathers, worth maybe a buck. They wanted ~25 bux for it, so they get to keep it. Capitalism at work -- capital good goes to whosoever can maximize its utility. [↩]It's technically a supermarket, but very well appointed, and very well staffed. Do you know there's in general three people dinging, bagging and dragging my stuff to the car ? Costa Rica has a splendidly service-oriented workforce, I'll tell you that. [↩]

« Il merlo maschio

Mimi metallurgico ferito nell'onore »

Category: La pas prin lume

Wednesday, 15 November, Year 9 d.Tr.

Items from my newspaper

It says Lunes, 10 de Abril del 2017, so it may be slightly out of date. Or not.

CACIQUE MILAGROSO AMARRO

hago gritar llorar a su pareja sentira necesidad, deseos hacer el amor solo c/usted

8461-9285

If this helps anything, the illustration depicts a middle aged fellow in a hand-made imitation of a war bonnet (you know those stereotypical "native" feather cap things random dorks wear to faires / festivals / etc).

CHAMANES HAITIANOS VEA RESULTADOS HOY MISMO

Atamos Ligamos Dominamos a su pareja que se vuelva loco llore, grite por usted, que no tenga paz para comer ni dormir. Que esta misma noche llegue a su casa pidiendo perdon. Tumbamos trabajos destruimos al amante que nunca mas regrese. Hoy mismo usted va los resultados 101% Garantizado. No cobramos trabajos.

8647-8955 / 2221-5396

Who knew there was a market in other people dominating your pareja, hm ?

BRUJERIA

MAGIA ROJA Y MAS

6156-5309

Apparently there's more colors to magic!

INDIO CIPRIANO VER PARA CREER

No Sufra Mas. Regreso, Amarro, Ligo. Apoderate de quien tu quieres en hrs y de por vida. Pare de sufrir elimino todo mal y brujerias, si grande es su prob mayor es mi capacidad. Pactos p/suerte y loteria trab a larga distancia. Ver p/creer. Ojo la donacion es voluntaria al ver resultados! El que sabe no cobra. 24h

2221-7381 / 6121-3549 / 2666-1739 / 2471-1060

Another dude in a headdress, this one with wampun et al. I suppose Cipriano was a traditional redskin name or somesuch.

ABECEDARIO DE AMOR

Masajes L-D Heredia Centro 9-7pm

6220-8607

The funny thing being that prostitution's legal herei, yet they still do the whole "massage" thing.

PS. You dial 506 to call Costa Rica. Yeah, like North Maine / New Brunswick, what can I tell you.

———I'm at whatever Casino, looks more like a pre-retirement home than anything (not my expression, the chick I was with came up with it). I wonder idly what'd they do if I have her take off her cocktail dress, she comes back with "Do you want to find out ?"

I pass, and she observes in passing that prostitution's legal here, so probably nothing much at all. See, I pick up legal expertise in the most unlikely of venues. That's why I'm an expert at law. [↩]

« A man and a woman...

Tuesday Medley »

Category: Zsilnic

Tuesday, 25 April, Year 9 d.Tr.

Is it still rape if I write "science" on my penis first ?

The whole intellectual underpinning of modernity finds itself balefully corroded by Geoffrey Suprani personally, as well as hordes upon hordes of faceless, nameless imbeciles indistinguishable from him. Let us then pour a drink for people long dead and evidently never replaced, and revisit their supposedly eternal and in practice long forgotten memory.

First off, there is no such thing as "science", minuscle or majuscle notwithstanding. The impression of science-as-a-thing-that-exists comes from poorly designed training environments, which overrepresent the retrospective fallacyii and as such is the sole appanage of children. The notion that "science verb adverb etcetera" is exactly of the same kind as "Santa verb adverb etcetera".

Second off, there is no belief whatsoever involved in the scientific activity. If something appeals to your belief gland that something is called religion, without exception, and equally without exception scientists never do so appeal. The core of the scientific activity is the scientific method, which is exactly as the name implies a method and absolutely nothing more. What scientists engage in, without exception known in the centuries of practice so far ellapsed nor possible in the endless voids of abstraction in the future to be unfurled is a methodical behaviour. Nothing more. Nothing less. A dog who always drools when he hears a whistle and never drools when he doesn't hear the whistle is just as much of a scientist as the best human example anyone could ever think of, today or forever.

There is nothing else, and nothing more to scientific activity than the application of the scientific method. You are not asked to be impressed -- that is for the arts, the craft of actresses and whores and the whole menagerie in between. You are not asked to believe -- that is for priests and "reformers" and "progressives" and whatever you call the charlatans this time around. You are not being persuaded, or entertained, or catered to or antagonized or anything else. You don't enter into it. At all, to any degree and in any way. Science has nothing to do with you.

Third off, the entirety of the scientific method consists of playing liar with reality. The largest and longest running society game known to mankind is this peculiar situation where reality silently pretends to be coherent and we keep trying to catch it slip up. Sometimes we do catch it ; but then it usually turns out we hadn't actually understood something, and it hadn't really slipped. There are some still open questions on this score, but enthusiasm on the topic is drastically moderated (even among the people sufficiently gifted with intellectual power that they can follow the actual point in discussion) by a terrible track record over many centuries to date.

This is why science is a rewarding activity, for they sufficiently human to engage in it. This is also why science as an activity (as opposed to science-as-a-pretense-to-get-laidiii, or as a religion, or as an excuse to write on the unemployment applicationiv and keep the dole running) does not need "being incentivized"v nor needs justify itself in terms of utility or entertainment or anything else. It's there because it is fun, and for the people for whom it is fun. Everyone else -- sandwiches, kitchen.

To sum up : a scientist is someone who applies the scientific method ; "science" is not a thing ; you are cordially invited to do something useful or shut the fuck up.

———This subhuman -- literally, subhuman, like the red skins found by the Spanish, like the black slaves in the South, like the chinese the British found, like the chuka and the eskimo and the whole rest of the cvasi-monkeys out there, principally and in most cases only distinguished by the sad circumstance that he appears like he could have been human yet very pointedly is not human -- is nominally recorded here because of a choice quote in the logs,

"We're really trying to send a message today to Mr. Trump that America runs on science, science is the backbone of our prosperity and progress," said Geoffrey Supran, a postdoctoral fellow at Harvard University and the Massachusetts Institute of Technology in Cambridge, who studies renewable energy, to the Associated Press.

but otherwise is not distinct nor distinguishable from the postmodern horde of religious scientism worshippers.

What he aims to say is that economic extraction in the name of Science (the religion) is the backbone of his own personal prosperity and upward social mobility. This is of course true, as true in the heathendoms of today as it was in the valley of the Nile sixty centuries ago. "The Sun" was, as far as the carefully shaven priesthood was concerned, "what the Empire (of the Sun) ran on", as well as "the backbone of their prosperity and progress" (and conceivably also the backbone of the world not being eaten by baby space turtles, why not).

I have no intention to dispute this particular troglodyte's views, principally because I am not inclined to engage in insane behaviours such as pretending to hold conversation with inanimate objects. I will however state that outside of the whip and the burning stake there is absolutely no place in the world (not this world, not the world of the future, not an ideal world but very pointedly the world full stop) for him and his (numerous) ilk. [↩]If Napoleon flips a coin and on the basis of tails coming up decides to invade Egypt and succeeds, inept history teachers barely qualified to wash the bodies of the children under their care, let alone furnish their minds will declare that because he was going to be successful therefore Napoleon invaded Egypt. This is rank nonsense. It stays rank nonsense when applied to the history of scientific endeavour in a ridiculous (and anti-cultural) attempt to distill a "science" from that accumulated pile of coffin liners.

I am aware that you are should be capable to produce an ad-hoc "systematic history of applied philosophy", drawing a path from whatever arbitrary primitives to Bannach spaces and Cauchy Bunyakowsky Schwarz. Nevertheless, this narrative does not constitute a science of mathematics anymore than any observational comedian's bit constitutes comedy. It may be comedic, but it isn't comedy -- much like your room may be spacious but the collection of objects that you placed inside of it and thereby allow you to decide it is spacious in the first place aren't space themselves.

You don't say "space is my desk and that crusty old sock on the floor and the air between them". You generally understand that even though you laughed, what you laughed at may have been comedic but isn't comedy itself, even though by now we're starting to lose each other. Make a superhumanidiot cognitive effort and grok that any particular narration of the history of scientific endeavour isn't science, because science is the hole not the filler. [↩]Have you seen that terrible (and very unfunny) flick with Janine Garofalo and the "astrophysics professor" ? [↩]Yes, all those "grants" the academitards keep filling and filing are nothing else, but I mean absolutely nothing else than glorified unemployment slips. They get more dole than others and for longer intervals, but it's still dole, and it's still bad for them, and so on. [↩]You can't "get" ten more scientists because you want to.

You can't get ten more scientists because you built the Obelisk of Science Level 10 in your city -- that's how you get ten more priests, maybe.

You can't get ten more scientists because you got together with your girlfriends and decreed "science is sexy". You will get a bunch of confused, centreless dorks with bad haircuts -- but then again in fairness you would have gotten that anyway.

You can't "get" ten more scientists because patriotism or there's a war or there's a peace or there's a good show on tv. Scientists aren't something you get, and in general the efforts of the cattle to manage the ranch are welcome from a humorous perspective only. [↩]

« MP's wonderful primary school furniture item idea

The Storied Cupcake and other stories »

Category: Gandesc, deci gandesc

Thursday, 23 February, Year 9 d.Tr.

Integration is bad for Bitcoin.

A marginal player in the USG remittances space which spuriously pretends involvement in and relevancy to Bitcoin announced it is "working to wreck the damned thing".

In itself the announcement is entirely pointless -- they've been working non stop, day after day, every day and since the very first day to try and wreck the damned thing as much as humanly possible. In any practical sense Bitpay announcing it's working on wrecking Bitcoin is about as interesting as your pet kitten announcing it's working on aerobic respiration. You don't say ?!

Nevertheless, for the entertaining of the peanut gallery, those people who "I just want to understand how the news relates to me" (notwithstanding that being poor and stupidi is an absolute bar to the news ever relating to them), here's two major problems with this particular wrecking attempt :

I. Re-introducing imperial barnacles into the Bitcoin protocol is of no service to the Republic and something the Empire is entirely dependent on. There is absolutely no conceivable reason you might have to open a ssl connection to whoever you're paying. If you're willing to do that, which is to say : if you're willing to include the Great Inca in your payment structure, just fucking send a wire. It will be "cheaper"ii and "safer" than dicking around with Bitcoin, which evidently is not for you.

II. Giving minersiii pretexts to break the protocol is not in anyone's interest (miners themselves included). Excluding a validly signed transaction for any reason is breakage of Bitcoin, and should not be tolerated for the directly obvious consideration : the reasons will change down the road.

So no, integration is not good for Bitcoin, irrespective of whether you mean "integration of NSA into your payment flow", or "integration of merchants and customers", or "integration of payers and miners" or any other kind. Bitcoin is valuable and powerful for being fragmentary, not for being unitary. There already exists such a thing as the unitary payment stack, and not only everyone hates paypal but moreover we're here in the first place because we wanted an alternative. Which we now have. What's the grand idea, "take these torrents and make them moar like netflix" ? That's not much of an idea, is it now!

Needless to say, the reference Bitcoin implementation as maintained by the Bitcoin foundation (not to be confused with various scammers' phishing attemptsiv) will never implement or support such nonsense. I suppose, given Bitpay's absolutely minuscule size we don't even need to revisit 2015-era points about who's got the money and therefore who makes the rules.v

Never forget :

Bitcoin is valuable today because for the past five+ years I've been intransigently sinking each and every attempt of all the scum and barnacles sticking to its mighty hull to make it "more acceptable to governments" which is to say useless and stupid.

It was true in 2015 like it was true in 2013 like it is true in 2017 and like it will stay true in 2019.

———Wouldn't you be worried if your grand strategy and 2017 tactical moves run into rebuttals written 2012 ? Really, five years wasted for the Empire, this is your progress ? Schmucks. [↩]Doh, why did you think it's important to raise the miner fees, huh ? [↩]You recall, those people who weren't paying kakobrekla to not attempt to cover up their inexistent cartel at the time. Yes ? [↩]Riddle me this : how does the Empire's "safety infrastructure" protect you from reading nonsense as it were fact on Empire-sponsored phishing sites ? Oh, it doesn't ? Wow! Such a useful boondoggle to have around the house, then! [↩]Ahh, remember delicious two years ago, back when the imperial slavebois still thought they might challenge that point ?

Such good times. [↩]

« TQTKM

Let's revisit the Google-is-irrelevant discussion. »

Category: Bitcoin

Saturday, 02 December, Year 9 d.Tr.

In case you were wondering where all the worthless Nuland drones ended up

FC Avintul-Prabusirea is a recurrent football team in Romanian folklore that best captures the sad story of Victoria-Infringerea Nuland, an obscure C lister you probably never heard about.

That aside, let us point out for the record that Wisdom is the only guarantor of Liberty, both in actuality and in potentiality.

The only thing headcount (doublespoken as "our" "Democracy" or however else) guarantees is a lot of loud noise to be filtered out, a lot of residue left behind on all available surfaces to be washed off and so following.

Misunderstand this fundamental rule at your own peril.

PS. Yes, they're pullulating around here too, with all the usual ineptitude, "we gotta talk about gender bla bla" and whatever else. Something tells me it ain't gonna last.

« Gaslight

Hiking, Inc. »

Category: Politica si Prostie

Thursday, 13 April, Year 9 d.Tr.

Il merlo maschio

Il merlo maschioi is, on the direct surface a montage of Antonelli's pretty tits against Toscanini and other musical exertions. This isn't a bad premise, cinema is after all a plastic art, it has no deeper substance than its form.

The structure of the montage is loosely provided by the turmoil of the mediocre man, seeking identity in a world that keeps him rural, against his (uncomprehending) wishes. Eventually he falls upon the classic methodology, the misuse of his missus as passport into the new world.

Lando Buzzanca is a miserable actor, a sort of Adriano Celentano who can't sing. As a result Antonelli overacts the piece massively (she's a rural Veronese girl with the strongest accent of her natal Pula you could conceive). Her role as she constructs it is very much coherent, and stands as a type of womanhood that was historically better represented than say "the career woman". It could be said that the film is worth watching just for this much, if you're afflicted with the ESL curse : to see how womanhood worked as an alternative to the "only way" your nonsensical brand of socialism univocally purports.

She's always cooking la polenta, in complicated, busy kitchenwear that matches the busy wallpaper ; and he's got a camera. The psychanalitic construct flows convincingly and in parts fascinatingly -- imagine that scene where he, the anodyne, he, whose name all forget eventually forgets his own name in a bout of amnesia triggered by his wife's connivance turning against him (I do all these shameful things you ask because I love you -- do you love me too ? then how about not asking me to do the shit anymore!) and then wandering the streets in the hopes of running into any familiar scene, into any familiar one who might recognize him until eventually, in the morn, exhausted rests on a stone in the plaza by his house only to be found by the very wife in question, concerned, "Niccolo!" "Oh god damned it, that's what it was! I had it on the tip of my tongue the whole night!"

Imagine what this means, the wife went and found and cured her husband! And found him close and cured him easily, what fairytale this became ?

If only...

———1971, by Pasquale Festa Campanile, with Lando Buzzanca, Laura Antonelli.

In English "Secret Fantasy" for some inexplicable reason. They massacre all Italian titles with a dedication worthy of a better cause, and with results that are an amusing commentary on the poverty of that culture. If you look at what's being transcribed and what it ends up transcribed as, you can not possibly avoid the funnel impression, "so this is how to write numbers in roman notation, is it ? what do you do about reals ? oh, you ignore them ? neat!" [↩]

« Galati Yachting

Items »

Category: Trilematograf

Tuesday, 14 November, Year 9 d.Tr.

Il coccodrillo amico dell'uomo

So let's go together on a little trip, shall we ?

Honk honk!

First stop, the "that's the most ghetto thing I've ever seen" family of at least eight, who came to have a relaxing picnic while taking in the views... on the side of the road.

That's right, you, blighted denizen of the inner hells, sick and tired of all the exposed concrete, halogen lighting and assorted chippings of an overstretched and overstretching postindustrial world may go out to take in... the sights. You know, like fishes or sunsets or gulleys or whatever, a lone solitary tree captured within a cast iron prison among the pavement of the corner "park".

They, however, blessed denizens of the inner jungles, equally sick and similarily tired of all the ubiquitous leaf and and and river and whatever may also come out to take in the sights. Except in that what qualifies as sights for them, the proud owners of a belabouredly earned conveyance on two wheels, may very well not be what would qualify as views for you, the disabused owners of those strange two-motorcycles-welded-together things they have now.

So they, just like you, came and lay out their blanket. Except they watch the highway traffic for a pastime. Perhaps they keep separate count of buses and of trucks, perhaps they have an elaborate point system to credit rare sights, perhaps they even keep an oral tradition collective blog somewhere past the papaya trees. Who knows...

But tell me, have you ever flown about in a helicopter ?

Me either ; or at least not recently. Well, not very recently at any rate.

But mind your step, for we're about to... are we actually about to land ?

Yeeeah, that's right.

To quote from the logs,

mircea_popescu aaand in other nacht und nebel, i find this morning that yesterday i went skinny dipping a few kilometers off costa rica's principal concentration of crocodylus acutus.

mircea_popescu apparently surfers routinely lose limbs to these guys.

mircea_popescu i think this now qualifies as the superlative bender, retrospectively.

asciilifeform next i suppose is to visit forest where jaguar ?

Zoos are for alfs, we here at MP Enterprises will not be satisfied by anything but teh genuine article itself!

I bet you've never seen down a crocodile's throat before. Have you ?

So there you go, you've now acquired your Trilema qualification in Crocodilia Otorhinolaryngology!

How about ever seeing one of the almost-a-ton beasts walk ?

Yeah they have this derpy crawl, almost like disco dancing I guess. Their legs are evidently not intended for land mobility.

And now, all that (closely) behind us, let's go check out some beach!

All that outdoors effort expended on the liminal spaces of the marine element does stoke one's appetites, I must confess, so therefore is it perhaps time for a snack of some sort ?

I hope you like tuna ; and I hope you had a great time as well!

PS. I bought a mason jar's worth of "Conserva de Chiverre", an "Productos Caseros" item "hecho en Costa Rica por Elena Rojas Arrieta" from a merchant on the side of the road. Did you know such a thing as fig-gourd jam exists in this world ?

If not, I warmly recommend the defloratory services of Elena Rojas. Gotta expand your horizons, you know ?

« 1950s Cretinetti : I soliti ignoti & Il vedovo

Appassionata »

Category: La pas prin lume

Monday, 30 October, Year 9 d.Tr.

Il Burbero

Il Burberoi is fine Italian comedy.

The guy's a Gypsy-looking lawyer who isn't particularily interested ; the gal's a very comme il faut ditz -- simple, loving in that simple manner, fully convinced to the marrow of her bone that all she has to do is sit that way for petting, stand that way for feeding and c'est tout. If the buttons don't work clearly something's wrong -- with you. A kitten, if you will, of convenient size for certain purposes.

The writing's altogether miserable, a lengthy, drawn out, cheesy story of vague noir. Spaghetti noir, if you will. The device of the testaferro foil is so very strong, however, so incredibly powerful that it carries the whole production, #1 por quantidad the queso por porcion screenplay &all.

To spoil some of the better jokes, from memory :

You know, you're not all that bad, deep down.

I'm great, and if I had any friends they would confirm.

Why do you keep asking me for help ?

Because you're the only person I know in Florence.

Ok, but promise me that after this you will meet some more people.

You know, I lied about my husband being ill.

Was he dead ?

My fatty plants ?

They've flowered.

But did they telephone ?

Smartass! How would I have tied myself ?

You're a born liar. It comes to you naturally. You had it as an infant. You could have done this and more.

What a beautiful silver artichoke.

It's not an artichoke, it's the seal of Florence. And it's not silver, it's white gold.

I need help.

I don't help anyone.

How do you get all these ideas ?

I have a subscription to Il Giallo Mondadori.ii

Good girl. You guessed it, even if I suggested the answer to you.

Are you crying for all the money you lost ?

No.

Then why ?

Because our story is finished.

It never started.

Then I... I don't mean anything to you ?

Nothing. Zero. Actually you know what ? I've always disliked you.

And so on and so following. Definitely worth the coupla hours (made for TV movies, what do you want), which is a lot more than can be said for the piles upon piles of contemporaneous US crap.

Make Made-For-TV Movies Great Again!

———1986, with Adriano Celentano, Debra Feuer (Mickey Rourke ex). Also released as El Fierecillo Domado 2 in some markets because of name conflict with the original (Il Bisbetico Domato). Entirely no relation with the Goldoni 1771 play. [↩]Long running Italian mystery novel series. [↩]

« Cool it, Carol!

Walks among the congenitally weird. »

Category: Trilematograf

Saturday, 21 January, Year 9 d.Tr.

Il bestione

Il bestionei is a very correct comedy describing the adventures of a pair of truck drivers -- an older guy whose even older previous partner got retired by the doctors, and a younger Sicilian jus' tryna make it in dis biznis.

For one corectness, sexual relations. There's this down to fuck brunette waitress that serves them an ample dinnerii, and then jumps the older guy's bones like that's what she was waiting for all week. In fact she even says so. Then there's this random farm girl that happens to see the younger guy piss, so he takes after her. She doesn't speak Italian, he doesn't speak German, but he plugs her in the barn like the most natural thing in the world. After all, the dick goes into the slit, neh ? It is the most natural thing in the world.

Then there's this blondy girlfriend of the older guy, who picks her up from her place of work as the most natural thing in the world while the younger one's spying (he was lonely!). After the young'un fails to find any tail on his own, he visits his good friend, who is laid flat by alcohol and fucking, so he lays into the girl. Who's all for it, notwithstanding she barely speaks Italianiii and she barely got done being worked over by the other one. But you know, "mi piace moltissimo".

The older guy finds out (by discovering a lost scarf) and then they fight, but you know, like friends fight. It's just fucking, you know ? The older guy also has a daughter, who falsely tells her mother she's taking classes from some neighbour woman in order to one day be a schoolteacher ; but in reality is out whoring the whole time, and for the plainly, explicitly stated correct reasoniv, at that!

The younger guy converts her naturally, and effortlessly. This may seem entirely mythological to you, any and all portions of it ; but then again so does everything European seem to the misfortunate USian, the cheese, the air, everything. Euro cunt works correctly, unlike UStardian preciously worthless cuntlet, what can I tell you. Or at least used to work correctly, back in 1974. Especially if Corbucci directed.

For another correctness, timing. I don't merely mean comedic timing, which is indeed judicious. Nay, the piece's tragic like all good comedies ever are, and the flimsy equilibrium between laughter and tears is entirely a matter of precise timing.

Definitely a film that must be watched. Preferably, if at all possible, in the company of well trained whores, but if those aren't available then some proper mates, whether truckers or not, might also work. If ever a film captured the essence and substance of working class solidarity and this isn't it, I'd very much like to hear which the hell other is it supposed to be!

———1974, by Sergio Corbucci, with Giancarlo Giannini, Michel Constantin [↩]Did you know by the way that back in 1974 TIR drivers drank a whole bottle of wine with their lunch and then drove the truck, and somehow cancer was lower than today nevertheless ? Incredible what four decades of progress can achieve, wouldn't you say. [↩]She's learned off records, she loves Italian pop. Imagine that! [↩]She says that she feels she has to whore out because otherwise she's never going to meet the cool guys nor will she ever be rid of the suffocating idiocy her mother secretes. Smart girl. [↩]

« The final gasp : Two for the money

Macedonia visual : Quesos de Turrialba ; Rios de Costa Rica ; El Volcan Irazu ; La Tarantula Vial ; Otras Temas ; y mas! »

Category: Trilematograf

Wednesday, 01 November, Year 9 d.Tr.

I think they might be overdoing it in places.

This is the English version of an older Romanian article : Cred ca pe alocuri se exagereaza.

I was talking with Razvan somewhat ago on messenger and I was saying that I want first of all for my readers to know my opinion about something, and not that I should always come up with something new. The context was the fact that I had written nothing new on the article with Bin Laden, but simply stated my opinion. I don't know if something new was needed, I didn't really understand that part. He told me : don't call them readers then! I had this article in my mind for a long time, and now is the time to partake it with you.

What do you think is the difference between a reader and a crazy for traffic ? because here I lockjaw a little. I have people who read my blog daily, without habing a site/blog from which to gain the attention of other visitors. I therefore consider them the true readers, but those with a blog who come either daily like the readers or now and again and leave a comment, after which if they see I don't return the favour -- what are they ?

Readerseekers ? -- of traffic ? -- wanting comments ?

It's somewhat hard to understand, all this. I know the fact that in the blogosphere anal licking and favours exchange is on the trend, but I don't agree with it. Every man that comments me, I want to know that he does it with arguments and has what to do it on. I read my whole blogroll constantly, I don't hesitate to end up on other blogs, and where I feel my opinion must be stated I state it. You can give me 1000 comments, the blog isn't dofollow, so it's for naught, and if I find nothing interesting on your blog, sorry mate, but you'll have to work more on subjects.

What about you, what opinion do you have and what methods do you use moderating comments ?

The kid there depicted, Anghel Adriani be his name, quoted above in integrum lest you suspect me of manipulation through omission, wrote an article where he sets out his opinions and ideas about matters.

This isn't bad in itself, but it seems to me they might be overdoing it in places wrt subjective positioning. To speak plainly : Anghel Adrian's opinions do not interest, in the direct vein, absolutely anybody. His ideas interest even less, provided we can thus abuse the possessive towards the ideas, calling the poor darlings "his". They certainly aren't. The average youth can't possibly have "his own" ideas just as the average bus rider can't have "his own" house : there's too many youths and too many bus riders in this world compared to relatively few ideas. To not even go into the relative difficulty of producing such a thing, which in turn vastly overwhelms their wispy powers.

To make another step and use the possessive to discuss readers is entirely absurd. Qntra has, maybe, some readers of its own. Trilema has, maybe, some readers of its own. Anghel Adrian has no such thing. He might have some parents and other relatives who also read him. They aren't his readers who are also his parents, they're his parents who are also reading him. He has some friends and acquaintances who also read his blog. They're not his readers who happen to be his acquaintances, but on the contrary : they're his social circle that happens to also read his blog. If they stop reading it tomorrow, they'll be exactly the same thing.ii

Obviously everyone went nutso with that Seth Godin guru guy and it's all about "one's tribe". Still, there can't be more tribal chieftains than the total population, there can't exist 100 "tribes" in a fishing village of 50 souls. The bulk of people online will be someone else's readers. And sure, they'll all have their own blog, read chiefly by friends and family, perhaps now and again read by someone else's readers. When lightning strikes, like it struck for instance today.

It's a good idea to keep a blog, as an exercise in self improvement. Similarily, it is a good idea to run each day, it keeps the blood going and it adds from what I understand about ten years to the active life of the individual (and not to life in general, I can't imagine who'd care to have years added at the end, the idea is to add between twenty and thirty). But from here to imagining that on the margins of the dusty country road or suburban alley you see mounted police, security forces and anti-riot barriers straining to contain an immense public is a long way. Quite a very long way. About as long as to take you from sanity to psychosis, it'd seem to me.

It's a good idea to keep a blog precisely because it's a good idea to confront, honestly, flatly, your own intellectual platitude, your own lack of flair and intuition, your own fundamental inability of producing text worth reading. Because this honest confrontation is the very first step on the very, very lengthy way towards writing a bit of text that even vaguely may be worth reading. Which is barely the very first step on the very, very lengthy way towards having some readers.

So far, whatever opinions Anghel Adrian may have about Bin Laden interest no one. They couldn't. Does he know Bin Laden in some particular manner, that'd put him above the other eleventy billion bloggers who also have a blog and an imagination and therefore can "imagine" "realities" ? Does he know the USians particularly, does he have specific insight into the moment ? What's to recommend him to write on this topic any better than I could program a script to write about anything ?

With the answer to the questions above may follow the second step. Good luck!

UPDATE, May 10 : Because in the digestion of this article by the revolutionary youthiii there's a lot of bile secreted wrt matters discussed in the article on New bloggers and old bloggers (the Spring 2011 installment) while at the same time the same revolutionary youth (very intelligent, of course, and very capable in principle to contribute invaluable gems to the public discourse in Romanian) nevertheless don't also display the capacity of finding on their own power an article from three weeks ago, I guess it can't hurt if I were to give them... let's say the blackberry straight in the mouth.iv Mazel tov.

———There seems to be some new marketing-ish thing started last September at the same address. The archive is gone, however. [↩]Which should explain rather plainly, for the ear tuned in, why the "socializing" nonsense doesn't "bring traffic" : it will expand your social circle, if you need it. If you already have enough friends it's a waste of your time. [↩]Yes, this is derogatory in Romanian. Not everyone was born yesterday, you see. [↩]Yes this is very derogatory in the original. [↩]

« The male orgasm

Google Ycombinates also! »

Category: Meta psihoza

Sunday, 15 January, Year 9 d.Tr.

I love her, or, Collection des billets-doux cca 2017.

Me to her :

Mkay, I guess I must be the most generous person alive or something, because I'm gonna let you off the hook.

Here's what you do : you buy yourself a good half pound of bitch kibbles and a metal doggy dish. At 1 you go have lunch, wherever you normally go. You ask for water, you set down your dish, you fill it and you eat it. No forks, no hands, let everyone see what a bitch you've been. If anyone asks, you tell them, that you've been punished for not asking a girl back to your room. Beg them not to kick you out if it comes to it. Once this is done, you're back among people. Proceed to meet your girl, close a place Monday, all that jazz.

Don't make me think myself foolish in retrospect.

Her to me :

I did my penance, first at the vietnamese restaurant where I met the black gal. They didn't say anything except asking if I wanted to order, then I asked the waiter if he'd pour more water for me (be brought a big carafe and two little glasses) because I couldn't use my hands, and I was being punished for not asking a girl up to my hotel room last night. He said he didn't want the customers to be bothered, I said I'd try to hurry and please let me stay and finish. He came back a few minutes later when I was ~halfway through and asked me to leave, I begged him to let me stay, he said it was disgusting and getting too weird and insisted I leave, so I left. I went to the hotel's restaurant, (il gatoparro, alain delon portrait observing everywhere, i've eaten there, more often even). Waiter asked me immediately what was with the dog food, I told him I'm a lifestyle slave and being punished for not asking a girl up to my room last night, and I have to finish this dog food, could he please bring me some water? They let me stay and finish, it was very difficult (226g is a lot in bone meal/asshole terms), I ate every kibble, I am very humble and thankful for the very generous reprieve. Meanwhile Kendy has confirmed, and I'ma go do a good job of not holding back. I hope you've rested well. I love you.

Her offense, for the record, was the obviously high crime of not being sufficently forward with girls she had just met. This is a thing, somewhere.

I'm in love, what can I tell youi. It's a great way to be.

———I can tell you that obedience is the most important sexual characteristic by a very wide margin. [↩]

« The slaves of 1935

Fake news are just one tail of the failed female state »

Category: Oda Superbiei

Monday, 13 March, Year 9 d.Tr.

I fucking love science, or why "global warming" wouldn't produce "superhurricanes"

trinque: relatedly, it's been lulzy listening to all the new houstonians re: "holy shit global warming superhurricanes"

trinque: uh? ever heard of texas folks?

trinque: it tries to kill you.

trinque: if you let it win, you lose.

All movement is the result of the working of some engine somewhere, which is why a girl getting a good booty shake going looks like she's got motorized.

All engines obey thermodynamic laws, and work on the following principle : they take energy from a hot source and transfer it to a cold source while transforming some of it into work (aka movement, but not necessarily).

There are no exceptions to the foregoing ; and if you imagined otherwise that flight of fancy would count as a symptom of your being retarded and nothing more. Do have it looked into, I hear getting a glimpse into how retarded you are is rare and expensive, and shouldn't be squandered.

The proposition that "global warming" translates to an increase in perceived movement, predicated on a very bovine "well heat is energy and if there's more energy to go around some things will get bigger, specifically the biggest things of all" falls down the moment one realises that an increase in hot source temperature wouldn't happen by itself, but only in tandem with a corresponding (in fact : greater) increase in cold source temperature! Global warming wouldn't make more energy available to the existing engines. In fact, in comparative terms it'd make less energy available.

Consider an arbitrary example with imaginary units. If at time t0 the hot source temperature is 9 and the cold source temperature is 2, then 7 degrees would be available for whatever engine to convert into movement. That's almost 80% of the available energy in this system!

If at time t1 "global warming" has increased hot source temperature to 19, and cold source temperature to 13, then 6i degrees would be available for whatever engine to convert into movement, which is about 30% of the available energy in this new system!

An increase in temperature does not produce increases in comparative intensity of motion, but on the contrary! It produces a decrease in the intensity of apparent motion relative to the intensity of Brownian motion. This is another aspect of the ever marching thermic death of the universe : the further away you get from 0 Kelvin the less excitable everything gets, "majesty of nature" y compris, eventually leading you to prefer a whole new world to the farted up old one. Just like irl.

The fact that you had imagined otherwise, and especially the fact that it never occured to you that "global warming" would muchly improve the Gini index of poor little oppressed atoms belabouring under racist legislationii says something about you. Why is it that you see the problems with equality just as long as your stupid ass isn't in the equation and then only ?

Moreover, the fact that you had imagined that energy works like a sort of ersatz fiat currency, acumulating in the ganglia of that decrepit system like so much pus is also very indicative of the broken mind your unfortunate body is cursed with.

Start cleaning up some of the shit between your ears, would you ? "Global warming" ain't gonna do it for you ; nor is reading the Cliffsnotes going to do it for you.

Time to do some actual work, for once in your life. Now git.

———Yes, cold sources get more of the temperature increase than hot sources in reality ; this has to do with stuff Bolzmann discussed, look it up. [↩]It's not just here that the ideology of stupidity turns out to argue strictly against sanity. It's everywhere. Why do you think that is ?

To put the matter in simple terms : yes "all problems can be solved by an indirection layer". But not by you. They can be, yes. But not by you. For one thing, it'd take someone who understands the context is "problems of representation", not problems generally. You do understand there's a difference in principle there, yes ? [↩]

« Qntra (S.QNTR) August 2017 Statement

Donald Trump speaks before the American Judges Association »

Category: SUA care este

Wednesday, 06 September, Year 9 d.Tr.

How to take control of your provider, a guide for whores.

First off, let's define our terminology.

A whore is one of the two things a little girl may grow up into. The other one's a cow. There are no exceptions to this dichotomyi, nor are there allowances for hallucinatedii exceptionalism. The transformation is complete around the age of 13 or so (except for the developmentally retardediii who might take a little longer), which is to say sooner than the young female is capable of fully undertaking any of the social roles associated with her gender type. Nevertheless, if the 13 yo female regards her mother (or mother-substitute) as a definitive authority you are necessarily dealing with a heiferiv, whereas if she regards herself as the only possible authority you are dealing with a loliv.

A provider is a beta male -- fortunately we already had that discussion so we can just reference. Imagine what length Trilema articles'd end up in a vacuum! Commonly, the first provider in every whore's life is her fathervi, but once that sweet tit runs dry arrangements where whore-meets-cow are not unheard of even though the fashion currently is for the whore to fixate on a single replacement provider -- doing multiple is ill regarded for no particular reason (though this may well be changing).vii

The most important point is that it's never too early to be what you are. Start right now.

A second, and rather minor point is that technology supports you very strongly, and that you are fortunate in living in the best possible world your needs and talents might've conceived. Never before was it such a great time to be a whoreviii, and conceivably never again will it return. So make the most of it, today!

All the foregoing tedium finally exausted, let's move into the actual topic. But first... let's take a detour through microbiology.

The most successful organism ever seen throughout the whole known history of life -- on Earth as well as everywhere else -- is a bacterium called Wolbachia. It is the most widely distributed infection known, with about half the species ever described carrying it. It happens to be a sexually transmitted disease, and numerous species would either be incapable of reproduction or outright unable to individually survive without the good offices of this microbe. That's something, isn't it ? Look it up sometime, it's quite the wonder of nature.

Because the male contribution to reproduction (sperm) is incapable of carrying it, Wolbachia very severely favours females. In numerous species it significantly alters the proportion of born females, and in a few cases it even allows sexuate reproduction between females directly, with no males involved at all! Its effects on the males are somewhat grimmer : in some species it either feminizes them, resulting in more or less functional cvasi-females, whereas in others it neuters them, resulting in bugs-going-their-own-way basically speaking.

The path to success is copying success, and that's exactly what you will be doing. There are three elements involved in the success of Wolbachia : 1) control of reproduction together with either 2) feminization of males or else 3) neutralization of males.

You don't have millions of years' worth of evolutionary adaptation on your side like the bacterium does, selecting and refining proteins for its purpose. Nevertheless, what I said before still goes, you have technology on your side. Here it is :

Weird looking thing, isn't it. Nevertheless, the cock cage is the golden standardix of provider control and consequently all your efforts will be centered into getting noobs safely ensconced on one hand, and in training chastised providers to wear their cage well on the other.

The most important thing you must understand about males is that they do not actually dislike having limits placed upon them. On the contrary, enforced limitations are protective for the male psyche, because they offer a very credible and very accessible explanation for incompetence.

Consider the problem : no matter what one does, that one must do something specific. This is a fundamental limitation of nature, you can't do something in general, you must do a specific, certain thing. Meanwhile, the universe of possibilities is indeed vast, meaning that no matter what actual specific thing one does, there could be a better thing one could be doing. If one could do anything, then one has to explain why he isn't doing something better. If however one couldn't do "anything", then one could perhaps enjoy living his life.

Every male you ever run into will be looking for an excuse, to explain to himself, and to "everyone else" as he represents that in his head, why he isn't doing, more, better, etcetera. You happen to have an exceptional answer, and one that he is extremely eager to receive from you. For this reason you are to expect no fundamental problems, it's not like you might run into a male that doesn't want to find himself in the safe, protective confines of your steel gift. They do want to, all of them do. Impediments, such as exist, all come from circumstantial happenstance, you have to be careful not to pinch their delicate skins putting it on -- and mind that for every inch of physical skin males have miles upon miles of mind-skins enveloping them like a far-reaching cocoon. Once on, you'll have to make sure it doesn't rub wrongly, and especially teach the captured male how to behave so it doesn't rub wrongly. Example suffices, he will perhaps protest but certainly learn and definitely change to fit the limit on his penis. It's not like he's not very eager to alter his behaviour so he can maintain that sweet, sweet delicious cage for longer, for as long as possible, forever. Whatever he may say, it's all window-dressing for that simple, fundamental fact -- he's happier neutered than on his own.

We will skip over specific strategiesx to get various males locked, not only because the topic is indeed vast, but because this is really your place to shine as a competent whore. Read him, understand him, engage him. Cage him on his own terms, but cage him nevertheless.

Once the cage is in, you've satisfied the 1st element of success. Choosing which of the two to add to it should be mostly decided on the basis of the sexual interest of the provider. You must bear in mind that providers come out of one of two possible situations : either an overactive father (or father substitute) oppressed them ; or else an overactive mother (or mother substitute) spoiled them.

Consequently, if once locked in he loses interest in sex altogether you know you've satisfied the fundamental function of the overactive father (castration) and will use his guiltxi to direct him to best provide for you. If once locked in his interest in sex maintains or increases you know you've satisfied the fundamental function of the overactive mother (fixation) and will use his shamexii to direct him to best provide for you. The good news is that even if you forget which providerxiii specifically you're dealing with, he never does, and so by his reaction to a misplaced linexiv you can immediately adjust ; whereas even if you insist no particular harm is done. The reaction curve is a sharp exponential whereas the damage curve is a strict logarithmic, making this arrangement one of the most stable, and also one of the most convenient things in nature.

We won't be discussing how to use your control over your providers. The hope is that if you have enough sense to fill in the blanks above effectively, you'll also have enough sense to, in a quote, use him rather than hurt him.

Enjoy!

———It should perhaps be pointed out that intelligence is entirely uninvolved in this dichotomy, arbitrarily intelligent cows do exist -- that's how you get female doctors, for instance, they "focus on their career" for 8 + 7 + 7 = 22 or so years starting at the age of about 7. I expect I needn't point out arbitrarily dumb whores also exist, for some reason this lobe is very insistently hammered by the fake news and lame mass-media bogon agglomeration.

It should perhaps also be pointed out that neither lobe is specifically or particularily pathological. On the contrary, they each have their fully flowered crown of pathologies, common pitfalls etcetera. Fully realised strands of humanity, what!

It certainly is a very terrible idea to try and arbitrarily decide "which of the two" "you wish to be" and then attempt to... "evolve" that way. For one thing, you aren't in a position to make such decisions, nor could you ever be in that position. For the other, these two don't even exist, they're not realised for you. Yes, I'm aware if you speak this language you've probably been fed a whole lot of utter bullshit about self-determination and the power of bla bla. It's bullshit, forget it. In actual reality what you encounter is always one plus some echoes of the other. No more. Your options are limited to either existing as what you are and perhaps doing a good job of it, or thoroughly wasting your life chasing echoes. [↩]This means that yes you will form the notion that "it's different in your case", as a natural byproduct of the dysfunctional workings of your immature brain-ersatz, exactly in the same way and exactly for the same reason you formed the notion that "Santa Claus" (and at about the same mental age).

Nevertheless, everyone does. Just like your tits : yes you got a pair, but guess what ? So did everyone else! Just like "falling in love" immediately thereafter. Don't tell me, let me guess, it made your heart beat all fast and your mouth dry and your palms sweat a little ? But who could have predicted, and come to think of it, how could I be able to describe the superficial symptomatology of the functioning of the autonomic nervous system without having met the boy in question!!11

Really ? [↩]It is important for the practician to distinguish oppresive environments (such as insistent religious cultishness) which might drastically repress the expression of the whore from cases of genuinely weak genetic stock producing actual delays in normal development. [↩]Term denotes a nulliparous female cow. [↩]Term denotes a subjectively innocent whore, which is to say one that's not yet aware of the foregoing discussion. [↩]Yes, the father is definitionally a beta male. For one thing, he isn't fucking her, is he ? For the other thing, he's rather far from "can't be bothered", is he ? So then!

Oh, don't tell me, pure and Platonic love, is it ? Funny, that's exactly what Mathieu says as well! [↩]Yes, I'm aware Lamers, Inc. purport to have taken over the terminology to use it towards their own goals, and so among the Empire of Stupid a "whore" is the female who keeps multiple rather than fixates on a single provider as "is right and proper".

This absurd misuse of vocabulary isn't driven, as you'd expect, by a desire to control the behaviour of actual whores. The driver is actually a subjective intolerance of the cow-whore dychotomy. What I am saying is that the abuse of language isn't prospective, it doesn't aim to something ; on the opposite, it is defensive.

To understand each other, consider the situation of a man and a dog, the man inside a house, the dog outside. Suppose you notice a certain subset of such men never ever go outside. You may be excused from projecting agency upon what I called a man, and thereby imagining some projection is going on, some goal is being served. However, if the man be an idiot it'll not be a case that he wants the dog to come indoors so he doesn't go outside ; it's the case that the idiot IS AFRAID OF GOING OUTSIDE, period and full stop, and this controls his behaviour : he won't go, come hell or high water. This leads the dog to come inside as often as it doesn't, and so accidentally provides "experimental proof" for the agency theory, but all that's irrelevant. The idiot does what he does because of objective limitations within himself that prevent him from doing anything else, not as a modulation of behaviour with intended results.

So, idiots call multi-provider whores "whores" because they can't confront the whore-cow dichotomy, not because they aim to discourage whores from keeping multiple providers. Whether such discouragement is the result is altogether dubious, but also not of much interest to us here. [↩]In fairness it's just as great to be a cow, too -- never before were the tit suckers so firmly yet velvetittily attached, their functioning so complete and yet without residue, their hum so comforting.

It's a great time to be alive, what. Well, except for beta males, of course, but who gives a shit about them. [↩]Women of antiquity were stuck with the much less effectual and much more labour intensive approach of sexual exhaustion in order to obtain sexual control, which is where folksy bits like "a real woman doesn't let her man leave hungry or horny" originate.

The march of progress however has resolved that erstwhile unsolvable problem and so unlike your predecessors you aren't stuck rendering him impotent through hard and constant usage. You can render him impotent with a well placed tiny bit of surgical steel. Isn't it wonderful ? [↩]In young males it should be very simple an affair : encorage him to hit on you, respond positively but moderately and lovingly (young men are very mother-sick) then after a few encounters show him the item and explain you would very much like to frolic nude with him, but he must wear the cage. Odds are he will, after which a steady diet of caressing your body, eating you out etcetera should permanently seal the deal.

In older males you will have to account for their baggage, which means you'll have to do a lot of directed listening (this is where you ask questions to help him do what he wants to do but doesn't know how -- that is to say beg you to cage him). It can be sold as a challenge ("hey, you're so much better a man than all the other jerks for putting up with this") to the libertard, it can be sold as rational science ("hey, it makes our life better, you gotta wear it!"), it can be sold as anything that works -- but sold it must be in any case.

It's not so hard to tell, because both he and nature want you to figure it out, being specifically built that way and for this purpose -- so if he cums a bucket every time you suggest you might flirt with that one coworker he gets all competitive around you know. And if ten thousand other similar tells, you also know. Generally speaking, unless you're deliberately blind (you know, like a cow ?), you'll know. [↩]Yes, all those "penis mockery" fetishists are an example of this. [↩]Unsurprisingly the bulk of fetishists are interested in this rather than the other venue. Read the internet pornz, they cover just about every possible wrinkle of male self-experience. [↩]After not so long a time they do melt into the anodyne nothingness that actually constitutes them, so you can't really tell them apart anymore. [↩]Like telling the shame-driven provider that you have to go fuck real men because his is all caught up in its cage ; or like telling the guilt-driven provider that you're going to make him stay naked while your girlfriends visit, and maybe they'll ask him questions so best have his diary ready. [↩]

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Category: Gandesc, deci gandesc

Monday, 10 April, Year 9 d.Tr.

How to deal with little girls

Youngi femalesii are anxiongeniciii. This is why functional societies see young women hanging themselves in the eve of an important exam ; this is why dysfunctional societies inevitably end up massively neuroticiv.

The reinforcement of anxiety in young women consits of anything intended, destined or expected to reduce their anxiety, or help them cope with their anxiety, such as for instance making exams "less stressful" in any mannerv. A fine example of this would be introducing of the scoring mechanism whereby if the exam question asks for item X with property p, the examinee gets some credit for coming up with item Y with property q, because you knowvi. This particular bit of nonsense will drive a flavour of anxiety whereby the misfortunatevii female will construct endless collections of mostly meaningless drivel, to have in hand just in case. Just in case what ? Just in case!

Such nonsense may superficially be identified (by the same sort of people as they penning the "revolutionary" booklets) as "a thirst for knowledge", but by the same token a duck could be identified as Quetzalcoatl. Hey, it has feathers, and it's... kinda scaly. On the feet, right, as long as they're where the scales are it's ok for serpents to have feet, innit ?

The correct solution, of course, is to markedly, deliberately and explicitly handicap anxiety in young females. "Here is the exam sheet, my dears, and anyone who's worried about it will have to take it standing up". On occasion you will get the poor soul who is so strangely composed as to actually terminate itself over the untenability of anxiety in such a world ; but you won't get any of the sad, amputated, tortured souls who ended up intertwining the anxious behaviour with their rich and colored emotional life to the point where that beautiful butterfly exists principally as a life support system for the maggot that shouldn't have ever been.

The correct solution is also difficuly to apply, and besides it requires ingredients (such as men) which can not actually be produced in a sufficiently neurotic society, so I suppose we needn't worry ourselves with all these considerations in this language.

It's all good, though : now we can worry together about all the other languages which don't have this problem, and therefore will outlive us. Wanna call them terrorists ?

———This article discusses the article in question as it comes from the factory. Whichever way young females may be, the way adult females are depends for the most part on how well this article is understood and then applied to the article in question. [↩]The statement is neither descriptive of nor prospective for the female gender. That means it neither tells you how all females absolutely and universally are ; nor how they should be. The statement is introductory for the article, meaning that it modulates the article's domain of application : if your girl isn't as described, she's an outlier, and the foregoing doesn't apply to her ; if your boy is as described, he's an outlier, and the foregoing does apply to him. [↩]This doesn't merely mean they "secrete anxiety", but that the mechanism of anxiety exists altogether in human culture and the human mind because of them. They are the mothers of anxiety much like lazy adult females are the mothers of stupidity -- in everyone, from puppies to POTUS, not just in themselves. [↩]Neuroticism is the fully bloomed plant which you should have known by the root, called it anxiety, and extirpated in its youth.

Anxiety as a behaviour can either be encouraged or discouraged ; anything other than a strict check from the outside is an encouragement. Understand this well : you can't, as an individual agent by yourself "resolve" your anxiety problems, this isn't "autodidacticism". The only, strictly and absolutely the only thing you yourself can do to your own anxiety is improve it. You'll make it harder to be noticed by others, more difficult to be engaged meaningfully, more resilient in case it is engaged. Whatever the effect, it will never be in the lines of "I got rid of my anxiety". That is not something you can do in the manner of currently fashionable UStardian puritanisms as found in the perennially revolutionary cheap booklets on "how to make friends, introduce people, and get to heaven through not spitting in the street or saying any words from this list".

As far as the invidual is concerned, the only winning move is not to play ; and the field in which not playing is a meaningful choice is without exception created by others. So, if you are genuinely bereft of anxiety, this will be the result of your having made the right choice, in the right environment. It so happens that the choice is easier to make the earlier it's made, but it also so happens that the choice can never be made in meaningless environments. For a female of any age (and any sex) to manage to shed her anxiety, she will have to live in a world which is complete (meaning it integrates all the things) and correct (meaning not self-contradictory). In any other worlds (meaning, subcultures) it is impossible for the female to stop playing, irrespective of any other considerations. As complex incomplete dysfunctional societies usually end up including a statement of their own neuroticism, a positive feedback loop emerges whereby efforts to limit the effects spread the behaviour until the maximal cognitive load possible is dedicated to maintaining the anxious thought patterns, at which point populists start winning on a "MAGA" ticket / the whole thing collapses in a pile of its own rubble because holy shit you can't keep a society running if all anyone ever thinks about are things that don't actually exist. [↩]The exam is fine. You fuck with it, it only get heavy, and you still don't hit largest side of barn. Instead, go to firing range, practice with many magazine of cartridge. [↩]I mean this "because you know" quite literally. Because why ? You tell me, it makes entirely no sense and yet you do it, so because why ? [↩]To have been born among the idiots in question. [↩]

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Category: Cocietate si Sultura

Tuesday, 24 January, Year 9 d.Tr.