Chthonic civilisation
A lot of hay was made, in the circumstances of the last Great War, of a supposed "chthonic nature" of the nazional-sozialismus of the Third Reich by the press agentsi of Roosevelt's feminine-socialism. Supposedly natsocs are bad because they want to Ragnarok the world, say the femsocs, whereas they (the femsocs) are good because they just want to spawn indefinitely until the (eminently un-Ragnaroked) world is so full of their translucent, worm-like cunt-dribble that you can't anymore see (let alone smell) neither bank nor ravine through the thick, squirming slime. Which is self-evidently so much better than burning everything down I couldn't begin to describe it to you.
But let's leave these "lofty"ii topics where they sit, on dusty shelves among dust, and instead let's go with me to buy a bong. So there we are, me holding the centerpiece in hand, when we suddenly diverge -- because I know what to say, and you don't know what to say.
"Me discuenta por efectivo ?" is what I say, meaning, do I get a discount for paying cash, the Latino conventional signal of "you're this close to making a sale, no joke".
The woman, alone in a lonely shop I might well have been the first customer to disturb that day takes me in for a second, excuses herself, calls someone on the phone and returns to announce that yes, diez por ciento, which is the Latino conventional signal of "you can have the tax and we won't report the sale". Because what, no elaborate glassware ever broke before or something ?! So there you go, suck it pantsuit government, I and some guy fucked you out of "your" tax tee hee. It's goneiii. Forever, just like that song.
At a (slightly) different time, in a (slightly) different place, a slut I own was "discounted" about twenty five bucks, which is to say approximately the same sum, because they wanted to charge her to check a bag and couldn't take cash. She wasn't about to not pull a stink over it, "says legal tender right fucking here, you MUST take it in settlement of all debts, public or private" and where's your manager and so on.
I guarantee you what happened afterwards was the manager in question decided his lunch was worth the dough, and taxed himself -- added some money out of his own pocket into the company till to satisfy corporate expectations. Because at level zero, the agent decided the matter's too much fucking trouble to engageiv and simply let it slide. And at the level one, (which is one above zero, Mrs The Mother Of That Aging Unhappy Chick Slash Career Woman, I hope you're aware your daughter's going places, and one's more than zero, yes ?) the very same agent again decided... the matter's too much fucking trouble to engage (different matter, why is there a shortage in the till", "managerial" questions dontchaknow).
Because this is what pantsuit life is all about, and this is what femsoc living always reduces to : the same choice, enacted again and again and again, "rather than engage you idiots I'd much prefer to just check out". Hence "smart"phones. Did I or did I not say to you, "the drony vomit of cult leaders you happen to follow is just as fucking stupid as the drony vomit of the cult leaders you don't like" ? What did you think I meant by it, some dude in robes somewhere, and the robes of that robed schmuck don't count ? Of course they fucking count, lol. That is the point.
The pantsuit dream, always and everywhere, is... "a thing that runs itself". Be it capt. Dana Holmes' company that runs itself back in the '40s or aspie orc's "make money while you sleep" last year, with every InterActiveCorpv in between. The idea is to... what is it ? What's the idea ?
To be, or not to be, that is the question. Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arms against a sea of troubles and by opposing end them. To die -- To sleep no more, but by a sleep to say we end the heartache and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to.
The idea is not to fucking be. To not fucking be. Ain't it!
Ain't it!
That's the fucking ideal, a walmart so stuffed of three-ring binders, "store policies", "standards and practices" manuals, "codes of conduct" that... that... that what ? That nobody notices the vapid emptiness behind the supposedly open eyes, painted on dull metal ? Is that why you need all the rules and rulemaking, to cover up for you while you're taking a (very fucking permanent) nap ? You don't want to be disturbed, you long ago checked out ?
This is my criteria for interacting with commercial outfits, you realise this by now, don't you. If there's someone there, we can deal. If there's nobody there...
The Nazis were the fucking chthonic civilisation, really ? They, not you, the maniacs that wanted everything ended, dead, finished ?
Tell it to the hand.
———Because feminine-socialism has serious problems producing any meaningful text at all while at the same time valuing the production of text above all other things, femsoc groups are unexceptionally organized around the universalization of text production (not in the sense of mandating everyone produce text, but in the sense of mandating everyone's productions, be they what they may, be recognized as text -- hence "twitter", and "believing women [speak even as they cluck]" and so endlessly on). As predictable consequences "everyone is a press agent" in female-socialist groups, while at the same time and unremarkably all text is copywritten (because the only sort of textual production in which anyone and everyone can be indistincly engaged at all times is bland commercial communication, the sort of indistinct dreck "intended to sell"). [↩]Have you noticed nothing's ever called "lofty" that's not in fact trite nonsense ? When the cult leader's drony vomit offends the spirit it's called things, but when pious fraud overtakes the same spirit -- then the same inane shit's suddenly called "lofty". What fucking lofty ? The drony vomit of cult leaders you happen to follow is just as fucking stupid as the drony vomit of the cult leaders you don't like, you realise this. Do you ? [↩]Understand the fundamentally important point here : for Bitcoin to disrupt pantsuit trade, Bitcoin doesn't even specifically have to be involved! It's not fucking fiat, to only matter where it touches, it's a Republican concept, it matters everywhere and all the time even if you don't have a fucking clue. Just like gravitation worked even before Newton, just so Bitcoin disrupts pantsuit conceits even among the very pantsuit, alone. It's enough for me to somewhere exist, it's enough for the forum to be going... very little indeed is enough and "your having signed up for it" is entirely not on the short list. The Incan empire got disrupted by Europe's age of sail, did it ? And this whether it signed up for it or not, and whether it studiously ignored the comings and goings in a "small" and "distant" and "irrelevant" corner of the Earth, wasn't it ? [↩]Hey, man -- what are you hassling me for ? This is just a gig, it's not my life. I don't know who Bozo is, what -- is he a clown ? So what's the big deal! There's millions of clowns! You should forget it! You're livin' in the past, man! You're hung up on some clown from the sixties, man! [↩]So named specifically because of what it isn't. You understand pantsuit naming conventions now ? "Department of Health" ? Yes ? [↩]
« Do you know what an unicorn is ?
The bitch doth protest two woof. »
Category: Cocietate si Sultura
Saturday, 17 November, Year 10 d.Tr.
Chthonic civilisation
A lot of hay was made, in the circumstances of the last Great War, of a supposed "chthonic nature" of the nazional-sozialismus of the Third Reich by the press agentsi of Roosevelt's feminine-socialism. Supposedly natsocs are bad because they want to Ragnarok the world, say the femsocs, whereas they (the femsocs) are good because they just want to spawn indefinitely until the (eminently un-Ragnaroked) world is so full of their translucent, worm-like cunt-dribble that you can't anymore see (let alone smell) neither bank nor ravine through the thick, squirming slime. Which is self-evidently so much better than burning everything down I couldn't begin to describe it to you.
But let's leave these "lofty"ii topics where they sit, on dusty shelves among dust, and instead let's go with me to buy a bong. So there we are, me holding the centerpiece in hand, when we suddenly diverge -- because I know what to say, and you don't know what to say.
"Me discuenta por efectivo ?" is what I say, meaning, do I get a discount for paying cash, the Latino conventional signal of "you're this close to making a sale, no joke".
The woman, alone in a lonely shop I might well have been the first customer to disturb that day takes me in for a second, excuses herself, calls someone on the phone and returns to announce that yes, diez por ciento, which is the Latino conventional signal of "you can have the tax and we won't report the sale". Because what, no elaborate glassware ever broke before or something ?! So there you go, suck it pantsuit government, I and some guy fucked you out of "your" tax tee hee. It's goneiii. Forever, just like that song.
At a (slightly) different time, in a (slightly) different place, a slut I own was "discounted" about twenty five bucks, which is to say approximately the same sum, because they wanted to charge her to check a bag and couldn't take cash. She wasn't about to not pull a stink over it, "says legal tender right fucking here, you MUST take it in settlement of all debts, public or private" and where's your manager and so on.
I guarantee you what happened afterwards was the manager in question decided his lunch was worth the dough, and taxed himself -- added some money out of his own pocket into the company till to satisfy corporate expectations. Because at level zero, the agent decided the matter's too much fucking trouble to engageiv and simply let it slide. And at the level one, (which is one above zero, Mrs The Mother Of That Aging Unhappy Chick Slash Career Woman, I hope you're aware your daughter's going places, and one's more than zero, yes ?) the very same agent again decided... the matter's too much fucking trouble to engage (different matter, why is there a shortage in the till", "managerial" questions dontchaknow).
Because this is what pantsuit life is all about, and this is what femsoc living always reduces to : the same choice, enacted again and again and again, "rather than engage you idiots I'd much prefer to just check out". Hence "smart"phones. Did I or did I not say to you, "the drony vomit of cult leaders you happen to follow is just as fucking stupid as the drony vomit of the cult leaders you don't like" ? What did you think I meant by it, some dude in robes somewhere, and the robes of that robed schmuck don't count ? Of course they fucking count, lol. That is the point.
The pantsuit dream, always and everywhere, is... "a thing that runs itself". Be it capt. Dana Holmes' company that runs itself back in the '40s or aspie orc's "make money while you sleep" last year, with every InterActiveCorpv in between. The idea is to... what is it ? What's the idea ?
To be, or not to be, that is the question. Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arms against a sea of troubles and by opposing end them. To die -- To sleep no more, but by a sleep to say we end the heartache and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to.
The idea is not to fucking be. To not fucking be. Ain't it!
Ain't it!
That's the fucking ideal, a walmart so stuffed of three-ring binders, "store policies", "standards and practices" manuals, "codes of conduct" that... that... that what ? That nobody notices the vapid emptiness behind the supposedly open eyes, painted on dull metal ? Is that why you need all the rules and rulemaking, to cover up for you while you're taking a (very fucking permanent) nap ? You don't want to be disturbed, you long ago checked out ?
This is my criteria for interacting with commercial outfits, you realise this by now, don't you. If there's someone there, we can deal. If there's nobody there...
The Nazis were the fucking chthonic civilisation, really ? They, not you, the maniacs that wanted everything ended, dead, finished ?
Tell it to the hand.
———Because feminine-socialism has serious problems producing any meaningful text at all while at the same time valuing the production of text above all other things, femsoc groups are unexceptionally organized around the universalization of text production (not in the sense of mandating everyone produce text, but in the sense of mandating everyone's productions, be they what they may, be recognized as text -- hence "twitter", and "believing women [speak even as they cluck]" and so endlessly on). As predictable consequences "everyone is a press agent" in female-socialist groups, while at the same time and unremarkably all text is copywritten (because the only sort of textual production in which anyone and everyone can be indistincly engaged at all times is bland commercial communication, the sort of indistinct dreck "intended to sell"). [↩]Have you noticed nothing's ever called "lofty" that's not in fact trite nonsense ? When the cult leader's drony vomit offends the spirit it's called things, but when pious fraud overtakes the same spirit -- then the same inane shit's suddenly called "lofty". What fucking lofty ? The drony vomit of cult leaders you happen to follow is just as fucking stupid as the drony vomit of the cult leaders you don't like, you realise this. Do you ? [↩]Understand the fundamentally important point here : for Bitcoin to disrupt pantsuit trade, Bitcoin doesn't even specifically have to be involved! It's not fucking fiat, to only matter where it touches, it's a Republican concept, it matters everywhere and all the time even if you don't have a fucking clue. Just like gravitation worked even before Newton, just so Bitcoin disrupts pantsuit conceits even among the very pantsuit, alone. It's enough for me to somewhere exist, it's enough for the forum to be going... very little indeed is enough and "your having signed up for it" is entirely not on the short list. The Incan empire got disrupted by Europe's age of sail, did it ? And this whether it signed up for it or not, and whether it studiously ignored the comings and goings in a "small" and "distant" and "irrelevant" corner of the Earth, wasn't it ? [↩]Hey, man -- what are you hassling me for ? This is just a gig, it's not my life. I don't know who Bozo is, what -- is he a clown ? So what's the big deal! There's millions of clowns! You should forget it! You're livin' in the past, man! You're hung up on some clown from the sixties, man! [↩]So named specifically because of what it isn't. You understand pantsuit naming conventions now ? "Department of Health" ? Yes ? [↩]
« Do you know what an unicorn is ?
The bitch doth protest two woof. »
Category: Cocietate si Sultura
Saturday, 17 November, Year 10 d.Tr.
Challenge accepted!
Fireworks don't photograph well you say ???
How do you like me now!!!
But anyway, moving on to other atmospheric, meteoric & evanescent phenomena : there's a rainbow that lives up on a hill across from my place. He comes out every now and again to check and make sure all is well. Here :
And yes, it's complete, which is to say I can readily observe both ends of it. Just in case you were in need of some pots of gold and lacked the requisite maps / digging suggestions... here you go!
But moving on, here's the official scoreboard :
So now you know. And of course...
Don Kike wishes you a top kep of the morning to yourself! Bye!
« Iti minca cinii din straita
And that, in the distance, is the ocean... »
Category: La pas prin lume
Tuesday, 23 January, Year 10 d.Tr.
Carnes, mas o menos.
Motto : Allez, venez, milor'...
Above, the proceedings of the so called "7 Edicion de Arte y Piel", celebrated (that's how they say! what can I do!) "sin discriminacion de nada", y con 3 salidas Pinup, Rockero Gothic y Traje de bano. No, seriously.
In actual cold reality the whole thing consisted of a half dozen retarded kids in street clothes posing for facebook (depicted, indistinctly above, sorta to the right) and a larger bunch of retards applauding each other for no comprehensible reasons, undepicted inside the room to the left. I saw better attended middle schooler birthday parties thrown by and for entirely impopular middle schoolers.
Among this later set one single maybe-fuckable girly, in a cheap imitation corset (or overpretentious belt, it's hard to say). As it happened Hannah was wearing her (authentic, whalebone) corset, so it made sense to me to send her over to tell girly that a) she loves her corset, b) we're going for cheesecake and c) inquire whether she wants to join us. Girly didn't want to, because she wanted to hang there with her friends. As they say, the mistake and its punishment are indistinguishable in all ideal systems ; but be that as it may, while my valkyrie crossed the floor in the middle of their "awards" "ceremony" completely ignoring the dork with the microphone and hit on some girly right next to her dude (who, predictably for the class, turned to glass, looked not left nor right nor breathed a single whisper), I was pointing and laughingi at the very pretentious "high class" blondie across the way, for holding on to a microphone and a length of wire not connected to anything. See, her cameraman left, but she wasn't quite prepared yet to ditch the trappings of her achievement. Did you know she's a reporter ? Hm ?
Well now you do.
Below, carniceria competition, downtown San Jose, Costa Rica, leat 2018. Who do you think is winning, "Carnes y algo mas" or "Carnes Milor" (which, incidentally, is almost certainly a reference to a 1950s song by Edith Piaf that has practically speaking absolutely nothing to do with anything).
Above, the definitive word on the matter -- we're totally gonna have to vape now, because chicks in almost topless!!!
Below, the Electra.
Above, good news. Maybe the Electra to come will even include a topless vape shop!
Below... well... we woke up in the sticks, what can I tell you. In case you were wondering what Costa Rican gopniks look like... well now you know. No, I have no fucking idea why they hide behind the trees either. Must be the parrot blood, ie, singele de papagal.
What do you think "slums" means ? Is it "dangerous", or is it "those people have it rough" ? Because that chick was pushing the hell out of that stroller uphill through the gravel...
Above, as all below : ain't the world pretty if you're not stuck anywhere ? Cafe pura de altura, bitches!!!
...et prenez bien vos aises ; vos peines
sur mon coeur
et vos pieds sur mes cuisses
———The crowd was getting a little angry, I guess, because they probably overheard any of a dozen "bad words", the sort that come freely out of me in social situations like so much manna and ambrosia -- but of fucking course they weren't going to actually do anything about it. [↩]
« Oregon represent!
My verbiage on #trilema »
Category: La pas prin lume
Monday, 07 May, Year 10 d.Tr.
Cabinas Genesis y otras ostras.
Hai c-am furat un negativ...
Touch the screen & save your kidneys!
Above : dead bird by ex hydrant in expired port d'autrefois. Zic ca-i bine.
Below : the face of what the fuck. Seriously, is that a dancing whale in a tutu ?! What's with the lampshades ???
Above : it's hard to put in words the profound meanings & deeper implications of orcdom for the benefit of they unfamiliar. Here's ten thousand's worth.
Below : astro-atmospherical phenomena as seen from MP's floating astro-atmospherical observatory. Spherical especially.
Zic ca-i... bine.
« People of Walmart
So I designed a block chipher. »
Category: La pas prin lume
Saturday, 27 October, Year 10 d.Tr.
Buy some scammer delinquent debt why don't you!
Ever wondered what
mircea_popescu !!rate onefixt -1 bought pirate "debt" against protorepublican consensus at the time, went bankrupt for it. there's a lesson in there.
referenced ?
If you did, you're in luck : the noobs got me digging through archives, and since I was there anyway...
**** BEGIN LOGGING AT Wed Aug 29 04:03:30 2012
mircea_popescu o hey, pirate is in default he says.i
OneFixt i noticed that
OneFixt i don't know exactly what it means though
mircea_popescu well... that he won't be paying back, i would guess
mircea_popescu at least if irl defaults are anything to go by.
mircea_popescu so how much debt had you managed to buy out ?ii
OneFixt a good amount
mircea_popescu so i hear.
OneFixt i think he'll pay back at least partially
mircea_popescu because ?
OneFixt that's the only thing that makes sense
mircea_popescu for you.
* OneFixt shrugs
OneFixt we'll see soon enough
mircea_popescu makes no sense for him to pay partials.
OneFixt of course it does
OneFixt company goes into default and all assets are divided
mircea_popescu in practical terms : even if he pays 90% he's still going to count as a scammer to the people that want the extra 10%.
mircea_popescu it just doesn't make sense to pay. this is why bitcoinica never paid.
OneFixt bitcoinica is getting raped in court
mircea_popescu so ?
OneFixt pirate is trying to wind down with the help of lawyersiii
OneFixt so i think he'll be smarter about it and pay out properly
mircea_popescu this is a story.
mircea_popescu no different in its relation to reality than the other.
OneFixt so just wait, who cares?
mircea_popescu well, nobody really.
mircea_popescu personally, i'd rather not see you go off the deep end is all.
mircea_popescu fwiw
OneFixt which deep end? crazy?
OneFixt i'll survive
mircea_popescu good.
OneFixt thanks though =)
And so it goes.
———They were friends or close or something like that. [↩]Because he announced publicly he would. [↩]It takes a special sort of something to imagine "the help of lawyers" is the sort of construction that can be played straight.
About the same sort of special as it takes for someone to attempt to buy out the "assets" of scammers. [↩]
« Auto Oracion y otras temas
The Top Brass »
Category: Bitcoin
Saturday, 21 April, Year 10 d.Tr.
Brokola. 'Nuff said.
Hopefully they get to brokola the whole fleet of "smart"phones for dumb people, and permanently.
Meanwhile in the imaginary online world...
But let's leave the imaginary online world behind and move into the imaginary "real" world :
Leaving aside the intrinsic, inescapable hypocrisy of a well organized criminal group overtly attempting to Rhodesia Russia nevertheless complainingi about their agents being hung for a plainly evident conspiracy to do exactly what they were in fact doing : I can think of no better use for a bunch of inept girlies going about with "antifa" "tulpas" in their heads than intimate contact with truck batteries.
Some time ago I played a browser game, it was something along the lines of building a porn empire. The girl acquisition pipeline consisted of propositioning street whores to move over, which could either trigger a fight or not, and if it didn't or it did and your crew won it you'd have a new employee. However, the same place also had a mugging dynamic, which sometimes included female would-be muggers, and whom you could enslave upon defeating them in baseball bat to brass knuckle combat. The infrastructure to handle such enslaved girlies involved a basement, perpetual enforced nudity, ball gags and the process of "breaking them in" (ie, turning them into an employee -- an undersirable result in game terms, for various reasons). The mechanics of such re-education chiefly revolved around forcible copulation, such as for instance tying a (LoveMaker-branded) lead-acid battery to their parts and shocking them periodically into moving as if they were fucking voluntarily.
I'm sure the FSB did nothing of the kind, and that certainty comes from the plain knowledge that it'd have been the correct thing to do.
It'd have been the correct thing to do, and the sooner this is thoroughly understood the sooner we can move away from all the inept nonsense.
Thanks.
———Somehow the "non-conspiring" conspirators had someone ready to translate "their" idiocy in Spanish and paste it on walls in between various other Pili-isms. Who ? How come ? If this is not a conspiracy, then what is ?
Such is the incredible cheek of the pantsuit : they will have you believe conspiracy is what they call conspiracy. That and no more, entirely up to their arbitrary choice, and similarily "free speech" and "rights" and whatever else. If you permit them to speak at all they'll waste no time trying to hijack language and naught else.
Be it phrased as "that there was a limit..." as in the neo-xtian "evolutionism" sects or phrased around "sin" and "forgiveness" in the traditional neo-xtian style, the readily recognizable flag and in fact the only idea of pantsuitism is ye olde cuckoldress' credo, that mainstay of "what are you going to believe, what you see with your own eyes or what I'm telling you ?".
Beatings are the solution, by the way. No questions asked, hands down, ass up, welts everywhere. Now. [↩]
« MiniGame (S.MG), June 2018 Statement
Tales de todo bien »
Category: Zsilnic
Saturday, 07 July, Year 10 d.Tr.
Bogota, a mixed bag
It was said in the place of all sayings,
mp_en_viaje: motherfucker
mp_en_viaje: i fucking hate this town
mp_en_viaje: utter fucking shithole omfg
but I can today, with the wisdom Saturday brings through distilling the experiences of Wednesday, Thursday and Friday atop the early annoyance of Tuesday, that Bogota is rather more complicated than simply a shithole. It is, if you will, a shithole with corn kernels admixed in, and mothercurds, and all manner of delicacies, which we'll be exploring in all their festive glory at great length. This article contains over a hundred images (and some wool!), not to mention words, palpitations, quashed feelings, elated hopes, great altitudes as well as dismal directions, so prepare yourselves thoroughly afore ingurgitation!
The five stari Bogota Plaza Summit Hotelii located at 100 with 18 @ 92 (but we will come back to the idiocyiii of their addressing system) is proud to offer Today condoms, should you need them. Elaine Benes is hereby notified that conceivably the best thing after the Today sponge might be the Today condom ?
As a side note -- how many 30 and 40 something pisis ladyspeedstick themselves, would you say ? Isn't this the true socialist greatness, that Trump and his deplorably peniless detractors alike rely on the same five bux' worth of deodorant ?
This is a random shot from the Candelaria, the old district of Bogota. There's a lot of pedestrian-only spaces there, and it's a favourite destination of tourism.
You are invited to locate the image above, for a one bitcent prize ; you are also invited to explain what the fuck is happening according to the artist, and how the fuck did anyone imagine psychotic depiction of live birth may somehow sell more jam -- but this, for free.
To be perfectly fair : I couldn't believe it either, the first time I saw it. But biology is fulla surprises, and they do indeedy stretch down there beyond imaginable limit.
This is a different random shot in the same Candeleria, this time at night. There's relatively little I can tell you about the famous neighbourhood, mostly on account of having spent about one hour in it, once Monday night and once Thursday evening. The notion of having a few square miles of pedestrian only spaces is great, until you implement it in the manner of Argentina (huge roadworker colonies occupying the main street, leaving two narrow spaces for pedestrians in between walls and ad-hoc metal fencing).
Nevertheless, "it's not that way everywhere". Unlike Costa Rica there's actual Casinos, where people play actual pokeriv, various shops selling various shit that wasn't evidently just unloaded from the chinaboat (such as this cute Nepalese couple that sold me a half-dozen hand made colored glass cigarette holders), the occasional interesting bar/cafe/restaurant and so following. In short, it has a soul, which is a lot more than Portland, for instance, could say for itself.
A guy was breakdancing for no apparent reason in the (very dangerous, mind you!) distance for no apparent reason, but there were too many people milling about to manage to get a good shot. Next time.
Speaking of interesting cafes, this place sold me panela tea a lemon, which was quite delicious, and a very Latino (and cilantro-heavy) sopa azteca which for some inconceivable reason they were calling "Hungarian goulash". It is out of the question, and I say possessed of all the heavy authority of one coming from the very place where Hungarian goulash was invented and to this day best made -- Transylvania, that the broth before me there was goulash ; but I do declare it'd be a great way to bother any Hungarian friends you might somehow still have.
The decor in the place was... at the very worst bizarre. I'm unsure what the item is held to represent, or what is the link between that semantic content and the white enamel teapot placed upon it, but then again not everything is made to be understood.
The bartender was this affable gay guy, who rather evidently spent the entire evening trying to decypher the encyphered signals I was sending his way (while I myself was doing no such thing, but can you argue with the lovestruck ?). The seat of his labours was chiefly that square meter of colorful trainwreck.
And now, ladies, gents and whores, we arrive at the enchanted moment of our show where we discuss the Bogota taxi system indirection layer. You see, in most places taxis count time and distance, and then spit out a price. Not so here! Here, they calculate points, which are displayed as such (for instance in the instant case -- 60 up there on the right side of the mirror) and then converted into meaning by the use of a table, printed out and hung on the back of the front seat. It is thus that we find 50 equates to 4`100 while 202 and 203 are equal to 16`600.
The whole excel spreadsheet provided would be readily approximated by a "points * 80" function, except not exactly. There exists no function that would exactly render the very strange content associated, and the implication is twofold. For one thing, you must be a very stupid fellow indeed to prefer an array representation of an underlying reality to a functional representation of the same, for the obvious reason : it takes up so much space! Humans only enjoy finite mental capacity, while reality is not similarily bound in its complexity ; and as a matter of consequence, the more cognitively heavy your representations are, the lower the absolute ceiling this places on your ability to interact with reality. Laugh at the "fits in head" criterion now, if you dare, but let it be plainly said : it is the only symptom of intelligence in live humans, now or ever.
For the other thing, you must be a very poor fellow indeed for the slight variation introduced by the index depicted over the proposed function to matter to you. The dollar in my hand was worth about 3`000 local pesos, who exactly cares that 202 * 80 = 16`160 and 203 * 80 = 16`240 (a 440 and 360 delta respectively from the "correct" 16`600 value) ? If you care about the dime specifically, and you care to the degree printing and maintaining those things is actually worth it... you've got very serious problems, let's put it that way.
Now tell me, what is the correlate between poverty and stupidity, and why exactly is "lack of opportunity" a cause of poverty ? Tell me, I'm curious, is it because I run my affairs well that idiot Cape Town subhumans managed to run themselves out of water and then believe when the wreckers tell them that "going about with greasy hair is a sign of social responsibility" instead of taking note it's yet another testament of their utterly subhuman nature ? How do I keep the happy Bogotans from making sense for themselves and towards their own prosperity ? "Lack of opportunities" indeed, because they were way too busy dicking about with taxi-point indirection layers while opportunity came, and then just as it came it also went.
In alta ordine de idei, as the Romanian expression goes, the Romanian Embassy in Bogota held an exhibition of various ancient, previously classified Romanian diplomatic material. The light wasn't very good, but I did manage to exfiltrate some bits.
Above, the local mission is informed telegraphically as to the official wordsalads to be used wrt Ceausescu's visit in Colombia. This happened in 1972, towards the tail end of Romania's prosperity and technological superiority (ie, when Ceausescu finally ended up here). If his flight pattern weren't insulting enough (Costa Rica then Venezuela first, then Colombia), he literally uses as his captatio "I came to your country like all the others". This is a wonder that the written record does little to resolve : what did 1972 Ceausescu imagine a liberal or a conservative party even were ? He met their leadership, what meaning did he extract out of the experience ?
Below, the very dismal results of the visit can actually be intuited : a lot of very elogious wood originating from the Romanian side, a keys to the city offered by the municipal council, Elena got to visit the Institute For Family Welfare or somesuch... altogether second rate an affair.
On the left, below, an item unsigned but attributed to Belisario Betancur, which includes, besides a lot of typically communist-Romanian formulae, "a world that fights tirelessly for cooperation in various fields", ostensibly starting with the wholly imagined field of fighting for cooperation and continuing imaginarily from there on. On the right, various economiasms by Lucella Ossman de Duque, at the time Colombian ambassador in Romania.
A remarkable note below from Gilberto Cruz Villegas, 1981, includes the following tidbit : "Romania has technology, our country has abundant natural resources which we must develop, and we do this with teachers and friends from your noble country". Fancy that wonder.
To a certain degre this is true, even though when I tell local cabbies that back in the 70s and 80s a lot of mining, oil and gas development was done with Romanian materiel and under Romanian technical supervision they seem altogether doubtful. There's even a few thousand families in the country produced through the union of one such engineer and a fetching young local lass half a century or so ago. But then again... Bogota is eight million, what possible impact could a thousand make.
Above, the sad end to the Romanian imperial ambitions in Colombia : the "a lot of your resources for a little of our products" deal was denounced unilaterally by Colombia, and the ambassador, while denying any involvement and naming namesv also asks for some administrative help that absolutely needs no asking in the first place (in this case, that the girl her son wants to marry be handed over for the purpose). The relationship between mafia and socialist state could scarcely be made more evident -- regimes in which one's stuck apologizing for things that need no apologies and asking for help in doing things that not only can't possibly need any helping, but utterly need no doing! What the fuck, since when is the state involved in what woman some man takes ?! And who the fuck asked Romania's politruks whether they like or don't like that nobody wants the fucking Tehnica Navigarii cu Vele ?
Below, some indistinct wank about a "friendship house" between the two countries. Somehow the Romanian services summoned up a few dozen (mostly obscure) local names supposedly interested in such a thing, though I've no idea anything ever came of it.
Here's how the inept addressing scheme of Bogota makes announcements look. You'd think these people ASM for a living or something.
And here's the responsible parties for the urban chaos in Bogota : they have some independent offices tasked with issuing building permits, and jesus christ is the result a hot mess.
Above : two pair lobster tails, one in garlic, one a la maison. Fucking delicious, I don't recall having had lobster this tender and wunderbar in Boston even, and that was on the wharf.
Below : the bill. Lobster, steaks, coffee, almost a hundred bucks. Yes ?
Bogota is very cheap if you buy the top shelf. Even if it's a gamble whether it will be over or under standardvi, nevertheless it'll be worth the pennies.
Above : they have some strange issues with religious figures, there's all sorts of baby jesus bars and whatnot.
Below : yes, I smoke in public places if I fucking feel like it, ley whatever the fuck notwithstanding. Problem ? Shove it!
At this point... let's see if we can brew up a diplomatic incindent, why the hell not.
So, foarte simpaticul Romanian consul in Bogota, Mr. Iulian Ivan picked up a local darling. Just like that, off the street.vii My first impression was that the lady's at work, on the flimsy basis of her very fashion mag-driven attire, her unyielding disponibility to walk on four inch heels through the post-war "sidewalks" of Bogotaviii and other considerations (such as employment as real estate agent, for instance, or that he doesn't look like he could pull it off -- no doubt an ellaborate disguise deliberately displayed!).
Nevertheless, upon insistent cocktails at Pravda (which, as the first page of the menu informs, "La Verdad Lo Que Sobrie Piensa Ebrio Dice"ix) it came out that she comes from a coffee planting family of some import, and for the past decade was the girlfriend of the Russian Military attache. Who taught her to fire various weapons, to drink properly by all means, as well as a number of other state secrets she duly communicated to the Romanian side. What now ?x
We finished the night in the wee hours of the morning at Armando Records over champagne batteries. The local kids were very impressed with the girls, taking turns to ask them whether they have children, whether I'm their sugar daddyxi and so forth. In the end as we were leaving a braver one asked me something -- he wanted to know where I'm from. I told him, and by the dazed expression I infer he now thinks "Romania" is how Martians call Mars itself.
Atragem si pe aceasta cale atentia tinarului vlastar al altfel respectabilului parinte ca e intr-un gust cam indoielnic sa vizitezi coclauri obscure fara sa dai un semn cit de-o cafea reprezentantei noastre acolo. Oameni sunt, pe tine, sau ma rog, pe mine ma servesc, ce asa apucaturi ciobanesti ? Pe urma stam si ne miram de ce se cred cinci pizdute obosite cumva importante sau mai stiu eu ce minuni. Am zis asa in italiana sa se inteleaga si fara mediatori ; revenim la programul normal in limba engleza.
Above, as well as a bunch below we're going down calle 100, to pick up Alejandra. Alejandra used to be Alexandra back when she lived in Romania, and perhaps one day will fiscalia at the Hague, but meanwhile she can't find a cab. She thinks people tend to not take her quite as seriously as they should on account of her great rack, you see, but the truth is they don't take her as seriously as she'd like on account of her not having money, a point directly evinced by the great grand abundance of cabs loitering about the affluent North-Western 1% of Bogotaxii. I for instance had no trouble whatsoever picking any of the fifty or so empty cabs within yelling range of my hotel, even if they told her that everything's reserved for the next hour down there. This is something playing the district attorney is very unlikely to ever change, which is why they say youth is wasted on the young, and also why I say self-direction is a terrible, terrible idea.
The girls, at the bottom of Montserrat. With a llama! Her fur is very pleasantly soft ; the thing by the fence there is a sack of cut up carrots.
This fellow wanted to charge us 5`000 pesos for to pet his llama while inconveniencing traffic attempting to get into the parking lot, or else 10`000 for to take our picture doing it. In no mood to deny a hardworking man three dollars I paid him 10`000 with no intention of taking any photograph he might produce. How wrong was I! See that little radio box up there ? That's his printer! He literally produced a physical photo on the spot, seen below.
Also, speaking of nothing in particular : I bought myself a book, depicted below. It was a very heavily advertised item, with all the important airs attempting to suggest that something was done here, that Elisa Estevez achieved some kind of something, that Atala y Elisa is some kind of breakthrough, a success, un exito.
No such thing. The item is a dismal affair, very much in the vein of Naggum's description of books by idiots for idiots (except it's no backbreaker, with all the fluffing it's still a shade under 200 pages). The endless and endlessly pompous "acknowledgements" at the beginning as well as the general spirit of the atrocity very much evoke an idle, useless cuntlet that'd benefit immensely from a good public flogging. The intolerable self-absorption, the precious cuntlet syndrome dripping off the pages make the sad production a shameful testament of the rampant style of child abuse these days fashionable.
Please stop telling the children that they're special. For one thing, they're not special, and for the other thing it prevents their maturation, resulting in obscene failures like this misfortunate Elisa Estevez.
So we climbed this hill on the side of Bogota, which is quite literally a larger version of where I live.
I have no idea why there's a cross potent above the altarxiii, seems an odd innovation to me.
This utter imbecile (no doubt produced through the inane process of telling dumb cunts they're talented, special etcetera) tortured a guitar most ineptly through a way overpowered amplifying system. Why the fuck do people permit idiots to breathe, let alone express themselves, is the principal question before contemporaneity.
WHY!
Which reminds me -- I bought dried coca leaves, they're sold here packaged exactly like tea (which I suppose they actually are). Five bux or something.
Can you spot the little birdy ?
No ? How about now ?
Here starts the large Museo de Oro batch. Other than to say that it's evident this was El Dorado, considering they made all sorts of bearings, fishing hooks etcetera out of pure gold, I'll limit myself to pointing out that those hunks of rock actually are emeralds, yes.
Above as below, the central plaza in Candelaria, with whatever public buildings around it.
Some vaguely interesting steeples ; and with that...
Bye-bye!
———And 2017 TripAdvisor pick of the year or somesuch, no less! [↩]Isn't it high time they start giving better names to hotels ? What the fuck is "plaza summit", no fucking plaza was ever on a summit, this is like calling it Subterranean Sundial. Wake up and smell the coffee, posers : there's no intrinsically suave words, there's not a quantum of cool that attaches to words as such and you can then squeeze into your commercial lemonade. It always helps if the misfortunate phonemes you string together mean something in the arrangement. Okay ? [↩]I remembered 100 with 92, and spent an hour going about in a cab trying to find it again. Eventually we managed, but in the interim I had to keep encouraging a poor driver, who intermitently was about to be taken (by an imaginary parade) to be solemnly handed the keys of Panic City. I can't imagine what they do to such a lowly local should he misplace a revered foreigner whiteman, but in any case he kept asking his peers, who produced deeply helpful commentary in the vein of "Oh, a hotel called Bogota something ? Well... that one over there is Bogota-something...", which of course it is, because they all are, which readily takes us back to the previous note : would you please give better names to your deeply indistinct and indistinguishable palaces of great good and righteous ideal prosperity and wonderful enjoyment ? For fucks sake! [↩]I asked my local friend whether he played the game, he looked at me like I was an alien. "What, with the machines ?" "No, dude, what fucking machines. With people." "They don't have that anymore ?" "Of course they do! What the fuck, I'm not about to play poker with the machines like an idiot ; I play poker with the idiots like a machine." He so much liked this turn of phrase it is here reproduced for his further enjoyment, and in living memory of Shelley The Machine Levene. [↩]It's remarkable how very uniformly similar the behavior of the Security State was throughout. One's at pains to distinguish the treatment applied to the retiring ambassador from the treatment that'd have been applied to the same physical woman, "enemy of the people" or "suspected individual" or whatever. They give her some papers to sign, right ? [↩]The hotel, for instance, was under, with various problems (for lolz : Thursday evening the LCD in the elevator had one Internet Exploder error page up ; early Friday morning -- a different one) of the irritating rather than substantial sort. They did do laundry, they did do wakeup calls, they did ship me off to the airport and all that ; but their breakfast was miserable, and the maids had this strange half-expectant half-terrified look on their face... actually, let's render an original Romanian story in English for your amusement :
Jimmy got out of the bar and pulled his hoodie down. It was cold and past 1 am, but fortunately he didn't live very far. He walked a brisk pace throgh the ad-hoc alleys criss-crossing the projects. He blew a burp into his palms for courage.
Out of one of the dismal tenements, some 50 meters ahead, some chick emerged and proceeded approximately in the same direction. She looked okay from behind. She probably came from some dood's bed. Or maybe she just hung out with some female friends over a bottle of wine, thought Jimmy. It's pointless to stereotype random bypassers. As he was mulling it over, the distance between them narrowed -- another 20 meters and he'd be next to her.
The chick turned and gave him a worried look. Then she started faster. Jimmy felt insulted. He was just going home like anyone. Why should she suspect him ? Jeez, women. You can't go about your business without some chickie figuring herself important. He could have slowed down, let her gain some distance and feel safe.
But it wasn't fucking fair. First of all, she was already safe, feelings or no feelings. Second of all, he went with the same speed since he started going, why should he change in this cold just to cater to some dumbass afraid of bombs ? Anyway, it made no difference, he was going to turn here and their ways will split up. Let the madwoman see the whole world's not about her.
Shit.
She took the same turn. Before him. What a dumb coincidence. She's going the same way. Jimmy turned after her. He had briefly considered whether he shouldn't go around, but it wouldn't have been efficient.
On the other side, the chick stopped a moment and looked straight at him, watching him turn. She was obviously scared. She started trotting at her best clip on heels through the sidewalk craters, looking around for people. Jimmy imagined some burly dude could show up at any moment, or even a cop. The dumbass'd go over and say "this suspicious character's following me!" and he'd have an argument on his hands made out of sheer self-centered idiocy. What an idiot. No, the matter must be dealt with.
"Missy, this is to notify you that there's no danger!" croaked Jimmy in her general direction, his voice ravaged by the cold. Then he realised he made a mistake. It'd have been exactly what some shady rapist'd have said. There literally was no sane way out of the situation.
She yelped, threw off her shoes and started running.
Now everything really looked dumb, pathetic and ridiculous. Jimmy understood that whoever'd have seen him, would have necessarily believed he's the sort of nut that follows women down the street. And the dumbass ran ineptly, legs apart and with strange jerks. She stepped on a stone and yelled out in pain, then fell on her knees, but picked herself up quickly and continued her chaotic run through the hypabyssal sidewalk, like she was in danger of life.
Jesus, what a dumbass. And with all of this, that run of hers was still slower than his brisk walk.
What idiotic misunderstanding. Just like that, he was hurrying home like anyone and some dumbass, out of sheer coincidence, happened to walk the same way.
Jimmy mumbled something and started after her. He closed the distance in a few paces -- somehow sexually panicked women move even slower than they do otherwise, if that were humanly possible. He grabbed her wrist firmly. She turned, mute with terror.
"Miss..." he started, and then stopped, understanding there exists no possible phrase he could utter that'd calm the situation. Things had gone too far in a direction he had not the vaguest notion of, initially. But pragmatically speaking... he was already there, 80% of the job was already done. So he grabbed her by the scruff of her neck and dragged her to the closest gang.
You know ? Shut the shit down. [↩]Their mutually-agreed upon story is pretty good, but we're getting to it in a moment.
So, we were set to meet at five in the afternoon, after his work is done, and have a cup of coffee or a beer or something at this public house on the corner of some major street cutting through Parque Virrey. Once there and no sight of Mr. Ivan, I asked one of the waiters for his phone, which he gladly provided, and had Hannah call. They spoke (in Romanian!) and it came to light he's stuck doing some work or somesuch. We rescheduled for six and split.
He worked double time, was done twice as fast, and arrived there half past five or so, only to not find us. So he proceeded to call Hannah, only to discover that some guy who has no fucking idea what's going on is on the other end of the line and can't help him. Now we come to the mutual story : at some point after five thirty plus whatever the calling took, he noticed the lady besieged by a very dangerous looking barbone while trying to have a cup of coffee, and none of the other customers nor the waiters were willing to help! She begged him to intervene, which he did, by sitting down at her table, shooing the danger away and continuing his interconnected life.
At six we showed up, sat down, and the poor waiter came running to tell us that during our absence the fellow called! But he didn't know what to say, and didn't understand him so well. He has a very strange accent!
It's not strange, it's Romanian, I explained. You see, I'm from Romania, and the fellow is our consul here. Oh, Romania! Offered the waiter. I have a friend from Romania! Dragnea! Valentin Dragnea!
"What, the son of the Romanian politician ?" I asked incredulous. He confirmed that yeah, his friend's daddy is some kind of big fish, and I am inclined to believe him, on the grounds that what, he's a twenty-something year old kid in Bogota waiting tables by day and then spending his nights reading up wikipedia pages on political arrangements in obscure countries just in case such a foreigner happens to fall upon him at the restaurant ? Seems the height of improbability, Romania is broadly speaking so obscure in Latin America pretty much every time I travel their training system triggers and some other immigration officer than the one I ended up with gets shown my papers -- which is to say at every point there's at least one person working there that's never before seen a Romanian passport.
Just as this was concluding the two lovebirds showed up, directed by another waiter towards our table, and so the story may continue, but not before I recount the poor fellow's utterly confused reaction to my, "Hey, wanna meet Dragnea's son ? The waiter can hook you up". Because why the hell not, or do I repeat myself ?
There, all recounted, back to the main thread. [↩]The place looks exactly like Rahova cca 1995, God love 'em. [↩]They also had it in Russian (note the obscurity). [↩]Asa incit, atentie Neculaescu/Gheorghita : dati-i cetateanului de munca, pina nu-si gaseste altceva de facut. [↩]"Are you by yourself ?" "No, actually, that's my Master right there." "What's that, like a sugar daddy ?".
Actually... it's like opposite of a sugar daddy. It's an alum daddy, let's say. [↩]This city is approximately square shaped, 60 or so km on the side. Here's a map :
The airport is in the South-West ; a thin sliver of the North is the affluent side, with the business district approximately on the West side of the sliver, while the old city / places where tourists walk rest on the East side of the same sliver. The item in the middle is the whoring area, marked for me by the very jolly commander-general of the Mayfair restaurant. We had a grand ole time together once I sprawled out this map on their buffet table. His waiters crowded around offering suggestions and producing sharpies, we discussed the matter to the tune of his hearthy guffaws, we soon enough established that yes we used to be military men, after a fashion, and haha zee Panzers!
The truth is that it's relatively easy to have a grand old time, if you know what you're doing. [↩]Let's delve. First off, potent means "crutch" in this context, because the Latin word for power had come to denote a prosthetic device by the early Medieval period, when the item was thus christened. Geddit, the cross christened ? Aaanyways, consider that the whole "god will download kungfu into my brain when needed" thing isn't in any sense novel, or invented in our dismal colonies. On the contrary, through the desperation of "reform" (known mostly as "retcon" these days) the symbols of power came to be associated (through the device of "vanity") with an implicit lack (from the perfection that one's somehow, magically, due). This is how the cycle goes for stupid people : first, great men (that aren't them) band together ; then this band forces the whole world on its knees, and extracts its juices ; then, the better cunts among the subjugated are used as bed warmers, with a clear understanding of their relative disimportance that sadly does not pass from father to son ; the sons not merely fail to appreciate correctly the relative position of their mothers in the grander scheme of things, but also the actual process through which their relative prosperity was created (and especially fail to understand the absolute bars that process places in principle to their participation, because why the fuck would they, who ever wants to understand his own inferiority, especially if absolute and insurmountable) and so come to believe "all are equal" and "all are perfect" ; confronted with myriad daily practical contradictions of these batshit insane theories borne by sheer necessity, they resolve the implicit cognitive dissonance by creating this dismal device whereby the symbols of power are shameful crutches for manifest insufficiency and so following. It's really quite sad.
Second off, the design is absolutely pre-historic, at the latest Neolithic. Which is not to say that its medieval name has no bearing -- its christian usage has no bearing! Just like the swastika's unimpressed by your fascination with burnt up jews, just so the crutched cross is not a cross in the first place, let alone the crutches. [↩]
« The Man Versus The State
No Such lAbs (S.NSA), January 2018 Statement »
Category: La pas prin lume
Saturday, 03 February, Year 10 d.Tr.
Boboban
Motto : Ima fucking spec this.
1. Map.
The map is a a tiling of hexagonal spaces proceeding from a center. Thus a 3-map would consist of 19 hexes.
Every hex on the map may contain at most one object, and may have attached at most one hex property.
Hexes will be addressed via (a, b) where a denotes the radius (1 is the center square) and b denotes the radian angle [1,1] is the center hex, [1, 4] is the bottom-most hex in the 6-ring and so on).
The map defines the base damage for player spells and melee (either of which can be 0), the coin cost for each step taken as well as the base experience and coin drop for NPCs.
2. Hex properties.
Victory hex. When all victory hexen are occupied by victory objects, the player wins.
Grant hex. When player first steps on hex player is granted (item, spell, experience, health, coins).
Teleport hex. When player or NPC steps on hex, player or NPC is teleported to another hex.
3. Map objects.
Impassable object. "Rock".
Trap object. Passage damages passer.
Destructable object. Player can destroy it, like PCB in supaplex.
Victory Blocker object. Exactly identical to destructable object, but victory is impossible until it is destroyed.
Movable object. Player can push it, like crates in sokoban.
Victory object. Other than its victory magic, exactly identical to passable object.
4. Items. All items will have at least one and at most three properties selected from the defined list (provided a slot-indicating property is always chosen), with an associated charge (from 1 to 100) that is decreased by 1 every time the item is used, arbitrarily divided in "common" (gray), "rare" (white), "mystic" (green), "epic" (blue) and "legendary" (orange) fifths. Once the charges of a property are drawn to 0, it is deleted. If the slot property is deleted, the item is destroyed.
Available properties :
"of the Tractor" (charges). When activated by player, a tractor item will pull whatever movable object drawing one charge per step.
"of Healing" (charges). Adds 1% of player HP to player on each step, drawing one charge.
"Cursed" (charges). Substracts 1% of the player's coins (but not less than 1) each step and draws one charge. If player has no coins, one health is substracted instead.
"Spyked" (charges). Returns a tenth of melee damage to attacker.
"of Mirroring" (charges). Returns a tenth of magic (ranged) damage to attacker drawing one charge.
"Staff" (charges). Halves incoming melee damage, drawing one charge per hit. Right hand.
"Orb" (charges). Halves incoming magic damage, drawing one charge per cast. Left hand.
"Axe" (charges). Doubles player's melee damage, drawing one charge per cast. Right hand.
"Wand" (charges). Doubles player's magic damage, drawing one charge per cast. Left hand.
"Helmet" (charges). Substracts 6 from any melee damage incoming and draws one charge. Head.
"Mail" (charges). Substracts 13 from any melee damage incoming and draws one charge. Chest.
"Cuisses" (charges). Substracts 10 from any melee damage incoming and draws one charge. Legs.
"Hat" (charges). Substracts 6 from any magic damage incoming and draws one charge. Head.
"Robe" (charges). Substracts 13 from any magic damage incoming and draws one charge. Chest.
"Hosen" (charges). Substracts 10 from any magic damage incoming and draws one charge. Legs.
5. Spells. All spells have 3 levels, Novice, Advanced, Master.
Missile. Goes straight, delivering 1x / 2x / 3x damage to 1 / 2 / 3 enemies or objects in path.
Fireball. Goes straight, explodes once it hits something for 1 / 2 / 3 damage in a 1 / 2 / 3 radius and 1 / 2 / 3 burning damage for 1 / 2 / 3 turns.
Lightning. Hits closest enemy 1 / 2 / 3 hexes away for 1x / 2x / 3x damage and then jumps to closest enemy or object at a similar distance up to 1 / 2 / 3 times.
Ice Spray. Hits 1 / 4 / 9 adjacent hexes, reducing speed of enemies inside by 1 / 2 / 3 for 1 / 2 / 3 turns.
Jump. Moves player 1 / 2 / 3 hexes against gravity vector plus 1 hex in a random direction after that.
Teleport. Moves player 2 / 3 / 4 hexes in any direction, through any obstacles.
6. Player. Player base health is 100, Player accrues experience for killing NPCs. Every 256 experience increases player level by 1, adding 1 skill point to be used for any skill of player's choice. Available player skills :
"Bruiser". Increases player melee damage by 1 (in addition to map base).
"Wizard". Increases player spell damage by 1 (in addition to map base).
"Tough". Increases player hitpoints by 1.
7. NPCs. Map defined, must specify their name, skills, spells, items, hp, coin and experience drop as well as a movement / use model. Can be aligned with Player or not, and don't have to be aligned with each other.
8. Campaign.
Acyclic graph of however many maps, think v. Alternate routes are permitted.
Defines icons to be used for all objects / npcs etc inside all maps.
Defines whether health replenishes at beginning of map or not.
Defines whether shop is available in between maps and what it may contain.
Defines whether maps can be replayed or not, and what to do with the results (player keeps whole thing, or only delta from last run, if positive).
Defines gravity vector (6 possible directions, or no gravity).
Evidently, both classical Sokoban and classical Supaplex can be reimplemented as subsets of this design ; so my question is twofold : who wants to build the engine for this ? And, who wants to translate the two datasets for it ?
« You know who the best US president was ? How about Andrew Johnson ?
Iguanapost. I guanapost ? Igu an apost ? I guan a post! »
Category: S.MG
Monday, 09 April, Year 10 d.Tr.
Bettyond the Forest
The poster says "nobody's as good as Bette when she's bad", and for once the poster gets it right.
Beyond the Foresti is a shambling atrocity of a scriptii directed by King Vidor. Lol. The necessary trainwreck is stopped single-handedly by what I'm coming to believe was the best actress the silver screen ever produced : Bette Davis!
I used to think Liz Taylor's my favourite, but honestly that thought's acrumblin'. Davis young, dat ass, dat waist, dat range and dat intensity, it's unmatched -- then or hence. Yes Lizzie can purr, but Bette can grit! That scene when she grabs hold of the two balustrade pillars and bites at the airy bit in her mouth is now a harem standard. We do these little scenes and figurines for private amusement, you know, and it's a high bar to reach.
The film is terrible, altogether, but the film also doesn't matter one whit. If you've not seen this thing, you've not seen Woman, and as the (other) man said... that'd be a pretty sad way to be.
———1949, by King Vidor, with Bette Davis. [↩]Lenore J. Coffee, I'm talking to you : go bleed your last in a ditch somewhere, mother hen of hackineptitude extrrraordinaire! Who the fuck told you this pile of spaghettied nonsense amounts to a fucking script. Rather, who the fuck told you to waste paper, there's an assembly line short a goat somewhere, fucking git! [↩]
« Frank the experimental biologist
The snows of ten years ago (almost) »
Category: Trilematograf
Monday, 26 March, Year 10 d.Tr.
Best in the world!
Meet the little tractor that could! "1950s household" and all that, amirite ?
Above : best cab in the world.
Below : do you know what a parabolic reflector is ?
I honestly love this land.
Above : those guys kept winking at me, I tell no fibs.
Below : achievement unlocked!
White chicks code, naimean ?
Lulzily enough, the one on the left was nearlyi rescued from the clutches of a dangerous international cult by the concerned fambly.
In any case, I have it on very firm authority that the FBI is now involved! You know, those people.
———Unexpectedly, the use of violence didn't actually take, this time! Who knew it doesn't work equally well for everybody ?! [↩]
« Three rivers. Approximately.
Deranged neets... »
Category: La pas prin lume
Sunday, 16 September, Year 10 d.Tr.
Auto Oracion y otras temas
So I was walking by this Teledolar place, which teleports dollars (mostly to Nicaragua, San Salvador, and other locales that had the misfortune of the Great Inca "helping" them -- you know, like they helped Ukraina, Syria, Iraq etcetera), and I noticed the advertisement : "envio dinero". Well... why just dinero, you know ? Why not trinero also ? You know, money, dueney, triney...
Aanyway. Here's some luxury, opulence an' prestige (am I the only one to find the [clearly unintentional] virgin reference amusing ?) :
Meanwhile in the park...
He was kinda whoring, in the sense of trying to ferret us out for nuts or treats or something. What can you do...
It's spring in Costa Rica...
Just in case you were looking for the kiddie store, may I recommend these fine folks here. They're specialists. I can't say I ever bought a kid there myself, but a history stretching back to the concentration camps in my eyes speaks for itself!
Above identified, a strange property of neoprotestant sects : as the women age, their stockings get thinner. Must be a faith thing.
Below, something for the A True Church followers in the audience : the drive-through chapel. No kidding.
That'd be all for now! I pray that the Lord will richly reward your ministrations to Him!
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Buy some scammer delinquent debt why don't you! »
Category: La pas prin lume
Wednesday, 18 April, Year 10 d.Tr.
And today in Fetlife updates, sad news.
Let's quote yours truly, preserving something of the dour formatting of the original venue for the sake of nothing in particular :
Am I a person ? Or am I just a thing ?
LordMPofTMSR's Writing 37M Master (San Jose, Costa Rica)
Journal Entry | 1 Loves It | about 23 hours ago
The question is a perfectly valid one ; if you've asked yourself whether you're a person or not quite before you can rest easy : your brain is functioning correctly.
If you never have there's exactly two possibilities : either you're much, much too young to be here, or else you're very, very severely developmentally delayed.
Just like normal, healthy boys and girls get certain bodily changes with the onset of puberty, just so normal, healthy brains ask some questions with the onset of puberty. If yours hasn't... well...
Developmental delay is, of course, regrettable. The reason it is regrettable, however, is specifically and quite strictly that it can't simply be wished away. Developmental delay negatively, and permanently, affects the prospects and future flow of the afflicted's life. Sucks, huh.
Contrary to what you might've been manipulated into unexaminedly believing, the question is not automatically answered. You're not a person merely for the asking, or merely for existing, or merely for drawing breath. Both a gramophone and a television set can (and do) "ask" questions while remaining entirely disinterested in the answers. This half-assed asking doesn't make gramophones nor television sets persons. All sorts of things exist, including chairs and cups. Their existence doesn't enact them into personhood. All engines draw air from the atmosphere, yet this peculiarly close approximation of the living still doesn't make an engine a person.
Instead, the question happens to have a very simple answer : if what I say could change who you are, then you're a person. If however nothing I say could change who you are, you're just a thing -- precisely like the chair you're sitting on, or any of numerous cups of coffee available, or the assortment of engines in the parking lot.
So : if you already know what's what, if you sit on a raftload of preconceived nonsense and pre-decided bullshit, if you've got a three-ring binder of "company policy" at the ready -- you're a thing, a mere object, about as interesting to other people as a drawing of a bone is to the average dog. (And yes they can tell. Of course they can tell. What, you thought it's not obvious ?!)
If you're trying to figure things out, and not merely pretending to, if what you hear can (not necessarily does, but necessarily can) change who you are, then welcome aboard, you're a person just like the rest of us!
So now you know.
'Twas said, somewhere among the endless sprawling "pages" of the all-text that
[...] history can readily be re-read without missing a drop as a lengthy string of stories of people and groups aiming for a status that has little to do with their aim.
Naive children become doctors "to save lives" or lawyers to "fight for truth" and end up cynically working the grind, such as it is. Indeed the moral notions that send the average 17 year old to law school are quite unmappable on the ethics observed in the average lawyer, and MDs working 18 hours shifts and killing their patients "because it's what's done" are quite a far cry out from the intellectual independence you'd imagine to see from the members of a medieval guild that to this day are pretentious enough to swear an oath.
People generally wish to be rich for all sorts of reasons and mental constructions that scarcely survive the transformative process which becoming rich entails, why'd a society be any different ?
I went to Costa Rica for pride and stayed for the climate, the US Army went into the Gulf for the oil and stayed for fear, things change. Of course they do, and what part of this'd be at all disputed ?
'Tis true. For instance : I went to a sad Literotica for bitches and ended up with sows.
I went there to take and I ended up giving! Do you realise this is the absolutely first time I ever published a snippet that long on a venue I didn't specifically owni ?! Ye olde discussion of corruption as carried in the Republic is very much apropos -- here I stand, having been corrupted in the strictest of senses. It's not that I wrote 100%ii of the content of Fetlife for the past week, month, however long you have -- it's that an epsilon of my overwhelming, deluvional manufactory of ideal products ended up "contributed" as they call it. Sure, on a large enough time horizon all things happen once, you could say that. Say it, what do I care.
"The man that goes and the man that comes is not the same man at all", or however that went. What can you do ?
PS. Oh, you thought I got "banned", or shall we call it "just-average-guy-with-great-sense-of-humour-apostrophe-d" ? Sorry to tell you sir, but... not in this life. It's just not possible, see, nothing "bad" in the sense an dork'd expect can possibly happen to me (or for that matter to anyone else). I trust you understand why.
———In the sense ownership takes in the Republic -- of having made. [↩]That's not a random number ; it is precise ; I'd know. [↩]
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Category: Gandesc, deci gandesc
Saturday, 25 August, Year 10 d.Tr.
And that, in the distance, is the ocean...
Nope, not even kidding.
I live in this enchanted paradise whereby you can actually sit atop a mountain in a perfectly manicured garden and watch the ocean in the distance. It's something else, the camera can't even capture the shades of hue.
Hue hue hue hue.
Strange tree cactus succulent guy. I guess he's a little confused.
La Catarata!!! They make a big deal of it, "largest in the country" and whatnot. It's not really such a big deal, but whadda ya want, tiny squirt of a country, they do what they can.
As I was saying...
Some kind of sap suckers, I've never seen them before.
I don't recall this guy's name, though he kept repeating it. Krrr-kling or klinnnn-krrr or somesuch.
I'm pretty sure you're not ready for this, and I don't think there's any good way to break the news to you, so Ima just say it.
That thing above, looking like a piece of jewelry, Cartier-does-pearl is actually an egg.
It is the egg from which, in about five day's time, a Monarch butterfly will sally forth.
It resides in my humble (yeah, right) abode, affixed to the wall on which monitors sit. It will come out one of these days, you realise.
It cost me two bucks.
Various frogs follow. The tiny guys are poisonous.
Very valuable rare legendary pepe. Please do not steal.
These are a pair of ~hybrid~ macaws. They are sterile, and as you can see very good friends.
This guy, known locally as Antonio Banderas, is a masked treefrog. Because he kinda has like, a mask and everything, see ?
This is the flower of the cocoa fruit. Because they grow like this, straight from the trunk.
This guy really, really, really did not like me. At allllll. I eventually felt compelled to leave after he lunged at full speed only to be repelled by the glass with a dry thud and a squink of tooth.
I have no idea what I did to it, but he was having absolutely none of it in any case!
And with that, my very good friends, we bid you all a very guarded farewell!
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Category: La pas prin lume
Wednesday, 24 January, Year 10 d.Tr.
And in today's lulz, the obnoxious cocksucker.
Whereupon,
**** BEGIN LOGGING AT Thu Mar 8 23:44:02 2018
* [xnite] (sid129583@gateway/web/irccloud.com/x-twgyqibhjkitjvfg): Robert Whitney
* [xnite] rajaniemi.freenode.net :Helsinki, FI, EU
* [xnite] is using a secure connection
* [xnite] is logged in as xnite
* [xnite] End of WHOIS list.
Mar 08 23:44:03 <mircea_popescu> hey
Mar 08 23:44:18 <mircea_popescu> are you the irc-source owner ?
Mar 08 23:44:47 <xnite> ohai, yea is there something that I can help you with?
Mar 08 23:45:37 <mircea_popescu> perhaps. suppose i push some bitcoin dust your way and you replace the bs patreon links with a "sponsored by Trilema" footer link instead ?
Mar 08 23:57:25 <xnite> It's tempting, but I can't do it. Thanks for the offer, but we already have methods of becoming a sponsor. I'd like to give that opportunity to up to 10 groups/companies/people through patreon. I hope you'll understand.
Mar 08 23:57:58 <mircea_popescu> you really figure you're big enough 10 different companies will give a shit ? nuts. anyway, gl.
**** ENDING LOGGING AT Thu Mar 8 23:58:07 2018
Don't be this guy. Seriously now.
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Category: Meta psihoza
Friday, 09 March, Year 10 d.Tr.
And another day dawns, or Multipicture Megapost
Good morning!
I find it most interesting how reliable the sea is, when its meta-properties are considered, especially considering how incredibly many moving parts it consists of and how poorly specified and utterly unspecifiable they are.
This is a little crab doing a crab-gang gesture. He relies on not being seen, which in context...
This is the promenade in Puntarenas. The whole place existsi as a tendril of the "tourism" chumpatron. As this ebbs and wanes, so do its outer nodesii, and so Puntarenas is half-abandoned, "valuable" real estate that is not valuable on its owniii power slowly rotting away, "inexplicably".
There was a small cruise ship in port, "Island Princess", whose pictures I will omit deliberately, as an act of damnatio memoriae of this Jewish idiocyiv, complete with the "safety" circus at a makeshift gate on the dock, and busses backing up slowly, and poor locals lining up their fares that are "typical" in no sense having anything to do with anything besides "what these allogenv idiots imagine local would be", most of them made in China and the rest made out of Cargocultism. All sorts of inept signs of the Washington-Oregon orthodoxy, about the environment and love, or rather what those provincial fuckwits imagine what they heard of California's masturbatory mental explorations would be like. Retired jews from small towns paying cheap third world labour to put up a mock display of what they thought New York might've been all about without ever visiting it, a sadder notion could scarcely be devised -- no wonder the whole "tourism" shitfire is going away.
There's lots and lots of various lizards all over Centroamerica. This is one of them.
Complicated social game practiced by pelicans.
People have needs, and often enough they satisfy these needs through driving nails through trees. The trees don't mind, but often the wounds thus inflicted become infested, which the birds then have to sort out. An ecosystem is a complicated thing.
Finally, an actual hut. A place for each thing and each thing in its place, I say.
Mr. Bartholomew went on a boat ride! The second time, after that lengthy adventure of being carried across from Europe...
This guy, believe it or not, had absolutely no idea what peanuts (in shell, unsalted) were. Simply looked sadly at the ground in the general direction for a while, then moved on.
The excellent boutique resort of a fellow by the name Mark W. Nelson.
And here we come to whore's point.
If you wonder why it's called that, look a little closer.
As they say, "she who finds them let her wear them", and with that... see you next time!
———See the "fighter jet is only a part" discussion, it's fundamental. [↩]You probably do not appreciate just how dangerous, directly for your own life, the nonsensical position of abandoning slaves and women to their fate actually is. Consider this image, to drive the notion home :
There depicted is a "modern", ourdemocracy version of the oldest mechanism known to civilisation. The previous, actually functional version, that is also no longer available, contained a rubber tube which was inflated, and then protected by the outer, steel reinforced rubber shell. The current system uses just the shell, which is to be inflated directly.
The "reason" given for the replacement of the time-honored functional with the dysfunctional toy version is, of course (have you guessed it ?!) "security", which is to say a tyre explosion in the properly tubed wheel is entirely spuriously perceived as "dangerous" because it's loud and the car recoils. Meanwhile in reality the phenomenon is very rare.
The replacement does not work, however, in that you can reliably go for only a few hundred kms before you need air, instead of the thousands upon thousands you could trust the previous system. As an added bonus, the tyre gets utterly destroyed within half a kilometer once it loses air, as the sad object depicted above can bear testimony. Yet nobody sells the old style tyres anymore, and everyone pompously advises against their use "because it's not safe", not that they'd fucking know! Show me the cemeteries where lie buried all these countless victims of tyre explosions, because I can readily show you the endless repositories of planned-obsolescence "good for only a few trips" bullshit "modern" tyre arrangements, clogging up all of Africa under their deadly pressure.
This is what happens, you end up with "better" tyres that are stuck doing two contrary jobs as single items because... "it's safer" which is to say cheaper and dumber, and much more fragile. And evidently they'll cost more.
Do you know what the latest and greatest next generation is to be ? Full rubber tyres, no inflation at all. Yes, exactly like in the toy items we had as children. Progress, you see, the sad decay that occurs when you stop beating your wife. Don't ever fucking do that, for the love of all that is holy, the woman in question especially included. [↩]By which of course we mean the abilities, capacities and interests of the native locals. [↩]Think for a moment -- what do all the idiots ever do ? That's right, try and retire into some kind of solipsism where their idiocy need not be idiotic anymore, but could merely be misrepresented as "being misunderstood".
For instance, the Scientology nut spent a decade atop the exact item I was recommending alf, for the exact reason. Jews, being fucked in the head by the sad masquerade of a "culture" that is their sadder still, and utterly misguided stab at a religion they misuse as an ethnic identity, attempted a typical (read : socialist) implementation of the same "solution" -- what if instead of addressing why nobody likes them (o no, it's because of barbarity, of course! the goyms be jealous hurr), what if instead they banded together and made a great jewish floating country at the sea ?! So the "cruise" was born, and it's about as fucking stupid as the dumbasses that spawned it in the first place.
PS. Reform judaism is how you say "unmitigated idiocy", just like any other "reform" anything. Gaon Teitelbaum tells you so. [↩]Means, alien, irritatingly so. [↩]
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Category: La pas prin lume
Friday, 19 January, Year 10 d.Tr.
Algorithmics problem seeking experts
Emboldened by recent discussion (did you know that algos is how you say "pain" in Greek btw ?), I should like to propose a problem to the kind readership.
Recitals. As you probably know, Eulora is a Bitcoin-based MMORPG published by Minigame, the MPEx listed corporation which during the years has effortlessly acquired both intellectual (example, further example etc) as well as market-share leadership (example, further example etc) and so following. Economics is a major focus, and realism is a fundamental consideration. Their interplay leads to exactly what you'd expect -- Eulora constitutes by far the most approachable model of industrial activity (and, in many cases, the only remaining). Consequently, the sort of problems your fathers and grandfathers resolved for the military and large commercial concerns, you may either resolve for Eulora or not at all. It's what it is.
The Problem. Most stackable items in Eulora have an associated quality, with 100 considered "average", 1 as a minimum, and 100`000 or so the maximum seen to date (as with most things in Eulora, an actual cap is not known to exist). Two stacks of the same kind can be mixed, and the resulting quality will be the count-weighted average of the two rounded down. It is here that the fun begins : if you mix a stack of 10`000 Coarse Frangible Thread quality 100 with a stack of 10 Coarse Frangible Thread quality 99 you will get a stack of 10`010 Coarse Frangible Thread quality 99. Rounded down, yes, and in the process losing one quality point over 10`000 units, or roughly 100 normal units equivalent. Ouch.
The [current] Solution. Currently, stack mixing relies on a "Towers of Hanoi" approach, whereby given a selection of mixable stacks, the outliers will be mixed so that equal size stacks of the same parity are mixed together until no stacks satisfying these conditions remain. You can review dpb's specification or Mocky's implementation (botactivity.cpp ln 632+) if that helps. The advantages of this algorithm are that it always terminates ; that it works well with any set of stacks of whatever qualities (ie, reasonable performance throughout the space) and that it goes reasonably fast in the general case (I don't recall any practically encountered set gnarly enough so as to take more than a few hundred iterations).
Matter sought. Can you come up with a better algorithm ? Bear in mind that calculation is (relatively) cheap whereas permutation is (relatively) expensive as it requires talking to the server, getting a response etc. Alternatively, can you prove that no better algorithm exists ?
Thanks for reading in any case!
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Category: S.MG
Wednesday, 22 August, Year 10 d.Tr.
Adventures con velas, and other things.
Check me out, I shop at Walmart!
The above bill of sale, good for something in excess of a benjie (~0 Bitcoin, rounded to the closest integer) covers no less than 16 kilograms of... of... velas (which in Spanish meeans candles). Because that's how shopping goes, what can I tell you.
I also bought a bunch of agate slices, polished semiprecious stones etcetera at a little specialist shop. They sadly didn't have fine grained pirite, or I'd have bought some of that too. All these, together with the many complicated shells and interesting other objects the ocean of its own free will provides, go towards beautifying my ever complexifying waxdrop altars, because I am an artist at heart. Plus it all looks pretty cool.
To set your mind at ease : I have anal hooks suspended from steel beams and other such needful furnishings & accountrements, to permit a most relaxing and... loosening, shall we say, mystical experience.
Velatorium ftw (which is how the Spanish speakers denote the place where women cry lots and lots and lots).
The local Centre Culturel Francais announced a screening of Un Prophete, which we went to check out. As you can see, absolutely nobody there ; we left soon thereafter because the chairs weren't comfortable, the room wasn't ventilated, and who gives a shit about the French anyway -- not like I don't have a private print of the film not to mention proper cake at home.
The sortie wasn't without benefit, however, because it permitted me to introduce a very genuinely French experience to the girls : there were, in no particular order : a) an abandoned guard's table, with an abandoned croissant by a cup of coffee on it -- because French guards can't even fucking guard their own croissant ; b) an overpowering odour of decaying wood while all sorts of metrosexuals of either gender moved aimlessly up and down narrow corridors fucking around with their phones ; c) nothing of interest whatsoever. If this isn't 100% contemporary France I have no fucking idea what would be.
But who knows, maybe some iliterate schmuck from Tunis shows up on time and makes the whole pile worthwhile.
These are just some things, both above and below, both incomprehensible as improbable, bothering absolutely no-one. Biodiversidad ftw!
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Category: La pas prin lume
Sunday, 15 July, Year 10 d.Tr.
Actual anthropology, yet another minor function of the functioning harem.
It all started with her asking me "why would they make a toaster with a cancel button ?"
Because indeed, the toaster has a cancel button on it, and because indeed her training makes her mind free to wander, and to inquire, and to follow things to their conclusion, and to thereby gain and improve and... you may say it's remarkable that lifetime slavery is the necessary ingredient of freedom. Such notions are the necessary byproduct of your never having considered the matter at all, because if you stop and think about it a moment it readily comes into focus as the obvious necessity it always was.
I tended to my soupi and she continued, "Apparently toasting bread is an anxious activity for most people these days..."
It's not, said I, there to cancel anything, you realise. It's there to assuage the hallucinatory worldview of the contemporary moron, these schmucks that go about trying to pretend as if whether "they signed up for this" matters in the slightest. They constructed this conceptually broken image of the world where things can be "cancelled", unhappened, and the button is there to make the toaster mentally digestible to them. How bad can it be, right ? Yes it's an actual, physical, pussy-grabbing, bullying, animal torturing, women hating, non-queer and cis-binary toaster, it's true... but at least it has a cancel button. It's somewhat app-aware, it's the next best thing to it having a "Code of Conduct" affixed. The amusing part in all of this being that there's entirely no difference between these idiots and any other cultish clique. They herp and hurr about "rational" and "scientific", but when push comes to shove the muslim's "ins'allah" stamped toaster is entirely the same item as the fundamentalist xtian's toaster built with a sin forgiving button, or the calvinist xtian's toaster with its "cancel" buttonii that doesn't cancel anything.
She was evidently very impressed at all this interesting new learning, because yes, that's a large part of why my presence is entirely irresistible -- there's this something, like a wind blowing around me, that tends to re-arrange the everything into fascinatingly ordered shapes and structures. Most thinking people find it irresistible ; and because I like her I took the trouble to even go on a furthering detour.
This is why, said I, people like Boas are so thoroughly ridiculous and entirely outside any possible scholarship : they say patent nonsense like "In some cases I can guess what is wrong but I had rather have you correct it than use my own uncertain knowledge of Kwakiutl", and in general defer to the participants of a culture as if those were somehow better informed, or in a better position to understand their own participation or the thing they're participating to. This is absolutely wrong and strictly ridiculous, endless generations of the morons that produced the toaster with the cancel button could have looked upon it as a "toaster" rather than understand, and certainly rather than say "look at us morons, we're making amen toasters now!" Understanding is strictly the empire of the understander, who is generally the powerful, the structured, the priviledged, and generally not the experienced. Certainly nude experience puts the experiencer in no better position whatsoever than he was before having it, which is why the "you could never understand for not having been there" nonsense so regularly spews out of the sort of mentally nil mammies that manage to navigate through their own history like ducks through water, without getting in the slightest wet of it ; whereas scholarship puts the scholar in the position of understanding abundant classes of experiences he's never had, which is why subatomic physics and gedankenexperiments are a thingiii.
You see ?
Do you ?
What do you see ?
———Which she had made, through the process of attempting to copy something we had at a restaurant -- except with her own hands (that I own) in her own kitchen (that I own), using for one thing our own ingredients (which she buys by intricate criteria I have instilled, starting many years ago with an absolute ban on buying anything she's not personally seen me buy and refined over the years to a deep, subtle understanding of what may be eaten and what's not fit for being in my house) and (more importantly) using sane processes that she similarly acquired. This had the remarkable (but, through insistent recurrence in practice, unsurprising) result of producing such a delicious copy that not only it far outstrips any merits of the original but also costs the restaurant its direct driver of business. Once she's done copying what we liked we still go there by pity as it were. We condescend to go even though we could really make it better at home. What can you do ? [↩]'Cause they're "moderate", see, the calvinists, in the specific sense of doing things halfway. Can't even get a proper sin forgiving button put in, they're so dedicated to pretending they're not religious fuckwits they miss out on all the robes, chanting and incense and gain ~nothing for all their trouble. [↩]A thing the mammies haet. [↩]
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Category: Cocietate si Sultura
Thursday, 08 November, Year 10 d.Tr.
This is Trilema post #80808 and I'm running out of passible titles.
Above and below : serving soup in bread crust became ragingly fashionable here, apparently. Two separate incidents out of as many attempts in the past week. What can you do ?
Party!!!
This guy was so fucking big, the focus finder failed on its humongous size. That's three to four ounces of moth right there, you understand me ?
Tellingly, he was parked by a fitness center. He knows.
Above, Hannah's remedial gpg, irc &tc class. So far, nobody's passing.
Below, hooters! I really took the shot mostly for the beautiful landscape past the glass wall, but such overwhelming light as the equatorial sun can provide managed to drown out everything besides the tits. What can you do ?
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Category: Zsilnic
Thursday, 23 August, Year 10 d.Tr.