Majesty (2)

asciilifeform: mircea_popescu: whatcha playing ?

mircea_popescu: majesty!

And here it is :

Majesty is a delightfuli video game, completing (together with Heroes 2/3 and King's Bounty) the most perfect triad : be a Kingly Princely Ruler in your own right!

And it looks great, too!

Unlike the NWO Heroes series (in which the player assumes complete control of a fantasy kingdom and goes to battle with, fundamentally, the slings and arrows of uncaring fate built out of moronic "independents" scattered around the map and upon an armature of resource-and-time scarcityii), and unlike NWO's King's Bounty (in which the player assumes limited control in the shape of a generalship in the realm and at the service of a generally bumbling monarch, and goes to battle with the exact same moronic "independents" constrained this time by the latent "independency"iii of his own armies, which make it so he can only have up to nine rather than than ten or more pikemans at any given level / point in time), Cyberlore's Majestyiv instead makes you a simple bureaucrat.

You don't direct heroes, you don't amass armies, you just build the marketplaces and blacksmiths where they buy their potions and rings and armors. And you build the hero housing, temples and war colleges and whatnot, and you pay for the education of confused young louts who will be going about "on their own" and "making their own decisions" as to what to do with their lives while you line the roads with guardhouses and keep the tax collectors going by on the regularv, and keep reconstructing the trading outposts the dragons / elementals / rats and shambling horrors keep eating while everyone else doesn't give a shit because they're too busy polishing that shiny new armor or delicious steak lunch a working economy got them.

Above you can admire a level 23 meat tank, strong enough to go toe to toe with a dragon (with your careful healing him with global heal spells costing 250 gold pieces per hit, of course, of course) and even kill the damned beast given enough time (about a game-week, like in the old talesvi). Whose kill is it, mine or his ? His level 23, who made that ? How did they ?

Roman legions win wars by the shovel, said some emperor whose name's forgot. Yet all shall be forgotten ; let's move on.

Above : my cleric's ruining the Minotaur's pyramid, while the Minotaurs in question are ruining my Trading Outpost. Win-win, like they say.

Below : The towers of defense, in complex combination. This "goddess of life" evercunt decided to take offense at my preferring Crypta over anything she has to offer, and opened up a bunch of portals all over my land, out of which at intervals obnoxious loud urchins spewed out and [tried to] run amok. I destroyed all portals but one (didn't want to end the game, see) and put some towerage around it, so Princess Numbskull can continue sending her "hordes" right into the meat grinder, as this story belongs going. Industry, right ? It never had nor ever could have any other serious purpose, besides the mechanized slaughter of the cuntspawn.

Anyway, Majesty's a delightful game, very much recommended if you haven't already.

You may even pick Abela if you particularly want to. She sucks though.

———The cutscene voices, incidentally, are the greatest voices I've yet encountered -- well scripted, for one thing, which is rare enough, and also excellently spoken, which permits their crowning excellence : they're lengthy! And because of the foregoing, they're lengthy in the good way, they're lengthy like slave-made chocolate cake with a side of imported Costa Rican coffee is lengthy, they're lengthy because nu te mai dai dus as the perfect if intraductible Romanian expression goes.

When, I ask you, when did you last joyfully sit through ten minute+ spoken intro voices for a level of a game you played, even going as far as to restart the whole thing if it were unduly interrupted somehow ? Compare and contrast with the azn terror, where all one could possibly do is violently click through. [↩]Remarkably life-like, this premise. Wouldn't you say ? [↩]Just another word for idiocy, really. [↩]All "online dictionary" definitions of the term are fucking broken, by the way.

Majesty is not "a title", the world intellectual does not consist of empty labels, predicates devoid of meaning, to be mixed and matched and mishmashed by any passing peon/retard.

Majesty is also not "sovereignity", there's a fucking reason for having different words : they denote different things. Yes, of course there can not be such a thing as sovereignity outside of majesty, which is why femstates are never sovereign, pretend all they will and claim all they might. Nevertheless, majesty is not sovereignity like electricity's not computing.

Majesty is the collective name for each of the particular splendors, excellencies and superiorities of the qualitatively better man -- the man who has no equal, the man who is here to rule the others much like all those others are here to follow him -- as well as the harmonious whole they constitute.

To further the elucidation, here's as fine an example of majesty on display as ever could be asked for :

Westmoreland : O that we now had here but one ten thousand of those men in England that do no work to-day!

King Henry What's he that wishes so? My cousin Westmoreland? No, my fair cousin: if we are mark'd to die, we are enough to do our country loss; and if to live, the fewer men, the greater share of honour. God's will! I pray thee, wish not one man more. By Jove, I am not covetous for gold, nor care I who doth feed upon my cost; it yearns me not if men my garments wear; such outward things dwell not in my desires. But if it be a sin to covet honour, I am the most offending soul alive. No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England: God's peace! I would not lose so great an honour as one man more, methinks, would share from me for the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more! Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host, that he which hath no stomach to this fight, let him depart; his passport shall be made and crowns for convoy put into his purse. We would not die in that man's company that fears his fellowship to die with us. This day is called the feast of Crispian. He that outlives this day, and comes safe home, will stand a tip-toe when the day is named, and rouse him at the name of Crispian. He that shall live this day, and see old age, will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours, and say 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian'. Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars, and say 'These wounds I had on Crispin's day.' Old men forget: yet all shall be forgot, but he'll remember with advantages what feats he did that day: then shall our names, familiar in his mouth as household words, Harry the king, Bedford and Exeter, Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester, be in their flowing cups freshly remember'd. This story shall the good man teach his son, and Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by, from this day to the ending of the world, but we in it shall be remember'd. We few, we happy few, we band of brothers, for he to-day that sheds his blood with me shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile, this day shall gentle his condition. The gentlemen in England now a-bed shall think themselves accursed they were not here, and hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks that fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.

Majesty, you see, is that magical attribute which grays out the white walls around it. They used to be white, right ? As white as could be wished for ? And suddenly now they're... they're not even remotely tolerably anywhere near anything that could conceivably pass for white in any sense. That, my friend, is majesty. [↩]As Hannah pointed out, it's delightful to hear them excitedly announce themselves upon entering a taxable building. "Tax collector!" they go, with all the excited pluck of Santa visiting an orphanage. Maybe there's murder and mayhem in the background, dragons spitting fire and zombies gang raping aunt Marge in the back alley, but everyone's paying their taxes on the regular, like greengrocers. [↩]There's this tradition in Romanian folklore of the fight between the girly-girl "Fat Frumos" hero-because-author-says-so and the manly badguy-because-author-says-so (zmeu), which lasts a long time as a (very feminine) proxy for its value and intensity. They're fuckfighting or something, don't ask me, I never met one of either.

So elaborately intensely important is this thing for the cuntminds that perpetuated Romanian folklore, that they came up with all sorts of typically feminine bullshit in the vein of make-up and fake eyelashes to "further accentuate" through spurious oblique means the extremely intense intensity -- there's for instance commonly a bird, usually a crow, that's asked to provide water by both participants they're so fucking exhausted by sheer boredom.

The birdy, very girly-girl like, decides to feed water to the thinner participant, so as to get to eat the fatter corpse ; while the only possible male retort to this pile of self-piling inanity would be to have the crow inquire "what the fuck are you doing, fighting or drinking water" in sheer exasperation. So now you know. [↩]

« The Professor

Kiss Me Stupid »

Category: Trolloludens

Tuesday, 18 June, Year 11 d.Tr.

Luci del varieta

Luci del varietai seems to have been made rather as a vehicle for the sale of quite forgettable Carla's commonplace body (which she doesn't even put on display properly, id est frankly). Because oh look, an adolescent female! That looks just like any other one! I fucked dozens just like her -- who the fuck cares ? Or rather, should I ask, what the fuck were they doing ? To add insult to injury, one suspects a very Romanian-like inferiority complex behind the whole thing : Napoletan peasant girl looks somewhat like Rita Hayworth (in smaller part because nature, in larger part because make-up, hairdo, etcetera) and so therefore it satisfies the deep "we too" urge of the fringy morons.

Nevertheless, Giulietta works quite well for the part of the aging wife-of-the-road. The loving one, who cooks, and cleans, and is readily betrayed -- becauseii she readily forgives (as she should -- it's not her failure this, even if readily abused). The dork she supports is no good, yes, and it sucks to be her, but dem's the breaks. Fixing cars that slide on ice isn't to be attained (or even attempted) by reducing the cylinder capacity.

Toto's straight man is ok in the role of the nice guy with a great sense of humour, and that's a tough line considering all the competition. It's been done to death, ten billion trillion morons attempted "their own personal take" on that tower of towering sadness to date, even doing an ok job's by now a very high bar therefore.

Which leaves us with the story, rather typical commedia, well done in parts, tedium in summa, what can you do. At least the backdrop's informative, who even knew what vaudeville wasiii anymore anyway ?!

———1950, by Alberto Lattuada, Federico Fellini, with Giulietta Masina, Peppino de Filippo, Carla Del Poggio. [↩]"I figure I'll have an easier time patching things up with blondy schmoopy-of-the-week than with the Soup Nazi." [↩]"What is vaudeville" asks the young slavegirl. And her Master answered : "Back in the day a lot of girls showed up at the bus station, coming from rural circumstances and trying to find their place in town. The men in the market for fresh rural cunt at the time didn't, however, have the wherewithal to visit the facts of life upon the cute little lambsies directly, and so instead took them to a show. This is the practical social need vaudeville fills, a bit of song, a bit of dance, a bit of slapstick, some sexual suggestive material -- everything very flat and all out in your face, carefully adapted to the mental capacities and the intellectual universe of a rural cuntlet seeking out her fulfillment. It's a nutcracker, if you wish, taking Kansas priss from barn to bedroom within a season or two (without -- importantly -- requiring any actual work from the limp hands that should be holding the whip but long ago withered out of it). Which is why it was time-limited, the style of independent migration from the farms of recently worthless cunt started more or less during the Gilt Age and ended sometime around WW2, when whiplash started gaining mommentum. The mere trickle of young cunt coming in found ready buyers among the well to do at first, you see, but soon enough this relatively inflexible demand was satisfied, while the river on offer kept growing and growing to deluvional proportions. Au produs pe stoc, as the Romanian expression goes, for a few decades, but eventually "reform" had to come and put a stop to that. Basically you could say vaudeville was the time-limited expression of the situation where cunt wasn't economically valuable any longer in the general, but pockets of demand could still be found here and there." [↩]

« MiniGame (S.MG), February 2019 Statement

Lo sceicco bianco »

Category: Trilematograf

Tuesday, 05 March, Year 11 d.Tr.

Lo sceicco bianco

Lo sceicco biancoi is an absolutely delightful story of adolescence.

The problem with adolescents, you see, is that they're old enough to convincingly mimic successful insertion in the adult world, but not yet quite old enough to be genuinely successfuly inserted. From their own point of view, stepping outside the -- very thin indeed -- shared ground is an exercise in incomprehensible nightmare. Yes Wanda can play the wife just as well as an adult wife in the highly stylisized environment of a Sunday family dinner with Ivan's uncle. What if she goes to take a bath and finds herself ("per un destino fatale!") thirty kilometers from Rome in the next frame, dressed as an odalisque among the gypsies populating an improvised camp ? What then ?! WHAT THEN ?!?!

Things have a way of sorting themselves out, of course, and besides -- the promises made, the oaths taken, the very "truths" spoken by children are not, fatally, fundamentally, of the same substance, of the same kind as their adult counterparts. They're simulant truths, hopeful truths, "if nothing I never saw before occurs" truths. "But you've not seen much of anything before ?!" is an interrogation omitted by those who love them (and, much to their visceral surprise, by no-one else). As long as the social womb stays flexible, there's hope for the young'uns.

What can you do ?

You can certainly watch this film. It's well worth watching, for all the round, loving curvature of it, for all the warm, caring world of it. It's a film from a world that knew no World War Two, so to speak. Were you never curious what the world would have looked like without experience ?

———1952, by Federico Fellini, with Brunella Bovo, Leopoldo Trieste (cameos by Giulietta Masina and Alberto Sordi). [↩]

« Luci del varieta

Things you didn't know about Awstats »

Category: Trilematograf

Thursday, 07 March, Year 11 d.Tr.

lyceum_and_chautauqua_ordure

« Un flic

Category: Zsilnic

Sunday, 23 February, Year 12 d.Tr.

Let's look at the mechanism of decay

I hinted at the process in the comment section of the previous article, but let's take some time and deconstruct it thoroughly, shall we.

In the beginning

If a lord promises something to another lord and then fails to deliver, the only possible manner in which war might be avoided is to have the promising lord indemnify the promised lord for whatever damage the faithful might've incurred through his faith.

This much is not merely obvious, but can be readily observed from the vantage of the King's Court, and so the King's Bench is readily created : an inner ring of lords, trusted by the king, whose job it is to look at actual disputes, and issue the actual text of the process of avoiding war. Entirely optional, you understand me, "if war is to be avoided, then this is what's to be done".

That's what the common law system ever was, back when it worked : a witness institution, a sort of promissory accounting service for the king's benefit, so he may have his "what the fuck is wrong with these two ?!" questions answered rationally.

With the end of reason

The niggers brought their usual tools to bear, and every peon found himself required to pretend to lordship. The obvious problem with peons pretending to lordship would be that they aren't lords. The important difference would be of agency (which is to say poverty) : it is meaningful to calculate what service one lord has to perform for another in token of some abstract, because lords are actually capable of service.

Peons however are noti. With quotes :

It appears to me, therefore, that the defendants must perform their promise, and, if they have been so unwary as to expose themselves to a great many actions, so much the worse for them.

This comes from Lord Justice Lindley's summation of the oldest and most celebrated case of torts : that involving the Carbolic Smoke Ball company. Then Bowen :

But it was said there was no check on the part of the persons who issued the advertisement, and that it would be an insensate thing to promise 100l. to a person who used the smoke ball unless you could check or superintend his manner of using it. The answer to that argument seems to me to be that if a person chooses to make extravagant promises of this kind he probably does so because it pays him to make them, and, if he has made them, the extravagance of the promises is no reason in law why he should not be bound by them.

You realise immediately what the problem is : the peon, unable to satisfy his obligations, defaults. Upon whom ? Well... the state changes natureii under this pressure, it becomes the satisfier of last resort of all the judgements against all the peasantry idly hallucinated into lordship. It has to grow big, and it has to take over currency, and everything else, because otherwise how is the pretense to be sustained ?

After the end of reason

Well... obviously the peons start believing themselves to be lords. After all, it works (in the usual sense peons give the term), so maybe they really are lords ?

Maybe they could actually make promises ?

Of a very different sort, of course, than the sorts of promises lords make. Lords expect to live up to them ; peons expect the state to do it for them.

And here we are : the mobile "revolution", or what consumers have come to expect. Any questions ?

———Yes, I'm aware that you flatter yourself (wholly unsubstantially) with all sorts of "self-ownership" delusions. Nevertheless, the peon does not own himself. He is owned, as a mere instrument, as trims to the land, and consequently he has nothing he can offer in any exchange, to anyone.

The "kids who are interested in a topic" don't have anything to offer in some kind of "trade". They're just properties of the topic, when I go on dating site I pick up whatever girls were there ; when I order physics or cooking or whatever else I assume whatever "practitioners" existed "prior". Like objects, in either case, like you take the furniture with the house or the fleas with the dog. [↩]No, government-alligned corporations aren't "private", duh. [↩]

« So why can't they be trained ?

Accidental death by sudden unexpectedness. »

Category: SUA care este

Sunday, 17 March, Year 11 d.Tr.

L'avare

I can't believe I never reviewed L'avarei. Apparently I promised it back in 2013, but never honored my promise. Well -- six years'd be still better than two weeks, so let's see here!

The parts written, directed & played by Louis de Funes are exceptional ; the scene where Harpagon is opressed and hounded by old women bearing empty sacks is emblematic, not merely for French cinema, or for cinema in general, but for life on Earth altogether, and from a time before writing. Indeed, those insufferable cheesecunts going about ambushing people are a worse curse upon the place than any veneral disease could ever hope to be. Worse than almost anything else befouling what'd otherwise be a very pleasant place, with, perhaps, the exception of the many sour fruit of the ars longa, vita brevis tree. Furthermore, his unmitigated joy in the closing scene, when he gets, among the other things he must get, also a new set of clothes, of happy, joyous, but very personal clothes... Harpagon lives through de Funes as a wholesome, complete, integral choice. He's not merely a credible character, but actually a truthful type, he is what, while none of us are (nor could ever be, choice irrespective), precisely all of us are.

Unfortunately, the Moliere play also includes a bunch of other people, which Funes (true to part) has very little use or need of, in the film. It is with genuine tedium that one perceives the camera perspective has switched, and now it's going to follow that stupid cuntlet about for a while. Not even competent nudity could save her part, nobody gives a shit, just get the fuck lost and let's get back to Harpagon! And that's not even mentioning the various dudes, never has there been a more intolerable crew of inamorati known to man! Which situation precludes the end product from being a film, you realise this, it's closer to a vivacious interview of Louis de Funes than anything in the cinematographic vein.

Yet even so broken, it endures, the parts that are good being so very, very good we don't even miss their being mere parts, bare fragments of a supposed whole. What if the multi-ton hunk of Ozymandias remaining is the best part of the whole statue-cum-town ensemble ? It is, after all, the portion that survived, is it not ?

———1980, by Louis de Funes (aka Jean Girault), written by Louis de Funes (aka Jean Girault). With Louis de Funes (no Jean Girault). [↩]

« The Truebeliever Socialist

My very own, never before published, slut-famous, crab dip recipe »

Category: Trilematograf

Wednesday, 27 March, Year 11 d.Tr.

La Paz, adica pacea.

Motto: so apparently took >1k pics

on latest harem outing.

wtf am i gonna do ;/

I suppose that's yet another straight question rendered rhetorical by significant expenditure of labour. It occurs to me it could be a fine measure of a society, this -- the count of questions rendered rhetorical coupled with the means whereby they were so rendered.

Incidentally... do you recall the celebrated community of Division ?

Good ; but none of this has anything to do with it. Instead, I give you...

Above : curve. Pentru ca sunteti.

Below : coffee plantation.

Above : speedster.

Below : trail.

How do you like the Trilema Wordrarium ?

Above : rooves.

Below : below.

Above : colibri.

Below : photograph taken through the glorious hole of a telescope. It's the next best thing to being a sniper, this, you realise. Shooting through the telescope!

Above : vase.

Below : petals.

Warning : Both above and below items are displayed in arrangements intended for illustrative purposes only. Your own delivered vase/petals may differ.

Above : butter, with flies.

Below : bugs, packaged separately.

Warning : Both above and below descriptions include references that are not necessarily transparent.

Above : bugs

Below : butterflies.

You see what I did there.

Above : bugs.

Below : bird.

Ha-HA!

Above : end of bird section.

Below : beginning of new bird section.

Did you miss the commentary ?

Above : stair.

Below : morel.

No, seriously.

Above : birdfeeder with waterfall in focus.

Below : waterfall with birdfeeder in focus.

Warning : differences are never going to be the same.

Above : lions. Waterfall included.

Below : lions. Waterfall excluded.

Waterfal makes a lot of differential!

Above : the end of the big cat section.

Below : the beginning of the medium cat section.

Above : butterflies, eating.

Below : butterflies, sleeping.

Warning : no, we're nowhere near done. Very nowhere near done.

Above ends the live section.

Below begins the undead section.

Above : end of the merely dead section.

Below : beginning of the deadly yet live section.

Above : counterintuitively perhaps, the deadly but live section includes plants. There's something caught in there, you realise, and it ain't never coming back out again (unless you count coming out as a bud a proper metamorphosis endpoint for a bug's lifecycle).

Below : dead deadly.

Above : my meagre faculties for classification being well overwhelmed.

Below : yours, also.

Above : very large ash-white butterfly.

Below : very large carmine-red butterfly.

Warning : they have more. Even some butterflies with transparent windows on the wings, exactly reminiscent of an EEPROM.

Above : time to close the critter section.

Below : time to open the parrot section.

Warning : you thought I was kidding with not being even remotely done, did you.

Above : solitary walking duck, an etude.

Below : walking ducks, a pair.

Above : the duckly spirit of inquiry.

Below : indignation.

Above : very small yet colorful bird.

Below : very attentive yet surprised duck.

Above : tiny shy bird.

Below : toucans.

Warning : lots and lots of toucans.

Further warning : different species.

Above : extremely shy falcon of some sort.

Below : more colibris!

Above : end of flying tinybird section.

Below : beginning of orchid section.

Above : enough orchids already. By the way, did you know some orchids smell ? Such as, for instance, the vanilla orchid ?

Below : cows.

Warning : No, seriously.

Above : outside shots from this re-enaction of an early 1900s upper-middleclass costa-rican home. It's built out of what they call here "cypress", specifically a varietal of European yellow pine that was imported in the 1600s and utterly took over the mountains. It's so much better wood than anything the local overgrown grasses can provide, the apellation's not even misplaced.

Below : ancient bug.

Warning : no, we're not quite done just yet.

Above : old rifle.

Below : century old interior (reconstructed).

Above : bottlebrush.

Below : inflorescence.

Above : trout lake. Literally, there's trout there, to be eaten fresh whenever someone feels like it.

Below : the waterflow keeping the trout happy. And yes, you can go for a swim. There's even a hot-tub attached.

Warning : I didn't mean you as in yours. I meant you as in mine.

Und so weiter.

« Freddy Got Fingered

A vvord on Shakespear »

Category: La pas prin lume

Wednesday, 30 January, Year 11 d.Tr.

La omu' sarac...

... nici boii nu-i trag,

ii pica si pita-n cacat,

si cind fute da de cui.

Above : the Romanian notion of a store. I don't mean a notions store, I mean stored notions, how shall I put this...

And lest you imagine this is in any way singular : it's not. You should see the place I bought power cables from : not only a rat's nest of indescribable depth (presided over by a very engineer-ish fellow), but composed of onesies, and those uncategorized in any systematic manner. The process of buying something consists of naming the wanted item, which (if spoken with enough imperium) impels the fellow to rummage through the piles until he finds something. That's it. He doesn't know what he has there, if there's a fire he couldn't produce the list of what was lost (unless, I guess, you permit him rummage through the ashes). There he had antique handwritten lists of (doubtlessly long disused) part ids, on notebooks yellowed by the passing years...

The alternative, of course, is the chains. Which go about it much simpler : they simply fail to stock. It is my educated guess (on the basis of buying about fifty families yearly "cos zilnic" in the past month, that as much as one third of all items all Romanian supermarkets nominally carry are not actually on the shelf at any arbitrary point in time you wish to check. Go for it.

And then there's also the intermediate, between the faceless corporate 3-ring binger called Carrefour and the batshit insane owner-operated junkpiles with spurious store signs affixed. There's the woman with a roomfull of mattresses she can't deliver thinking she's participating in some kind of economic activity ; there's the perpetual "no!" answer to anything and everything -- including eminently this case where I went one day and bought a power adapter (very nice, transforms all kinds of power plugs into all other kinds). A week later stopped by to get a few more, except the kid at the desk said they don't have such a thing. As I glare at him in disbelief, "I bought one here last week" he pompously explains (in the familiar style of these idle retards), that blood-curdling sort of pretendingly self-assured and supposedly reassuring if idiotic sufficiency that no such thing could have occurred, that he's been working there for over a year and a half and never have they carried such a thing, so unless my week's antiquer than a coupla years... but I lose focus on the disjunctly eyefocused moron, because the item's right fucking there, behind him. So I go around him like I go around the piece of furniture he stands behind, grab it for myself, lay it flat in front of him and inquire why the fuck is he talking nonsense ? At which juncture Dorkster McRomanianson mumbles that he must've not understood something. I pay but do not leave just yet -- not because I don't believe his hollow assurances that the one item's the only one item they have (as I don't believe them one whit, but I also am not about to walk into the fucking warehouse) but because someone else came in, and I wish to see what happens.

What happens is that the someone else sets a part on the counter and asks "do you have this ?" and the dork returns "no!" with all the celerity you'd expect. So the bimbo burts out her world famous cackle and we leave. This. This is the place and the country and the long and the short of it.

Below : more failed femstate.

Above : double steak, about to go into the oven. Ain't it pretty ? I very much recommend the Dutch (or I guess, Roman) oven to any and all. There's nothing quite like it for the little it costs.

Below : the doughmonster's huntin' a rabbit.

Above : ciresica are mere...

Below : admire the slave's leg. This is how womanly legs are supposed to go, ten thousand bruises and marks and scrapes and the grind around the kneesi

Once you're done admiring, start peeling potatoes, I guess...

Above : instant Romania.

Below : aspirational Romania. As you can perhaps tell (for instance, by the anchor that's the red car) these are actually the same place.

Above : "say bimbos, did you hear this place's the cultural capital of something or the other ?"

Below : something specifically for Alf. Sovok day over at Russki Dom, yo!

Above : studying the synnergy of facts and the meanderings of the concrete.

Below : the results of the study above. Karadjordje snitzelna, it's a thingna.ii

Above : little girl desserts.

Below : adult woman desserts.

Above... well... that'd be me.

Below : context -- Belgrade's finest.

Above : omfg, he's a dragon!iii

Below : omfg, she's a slut!iv

Above : Beograd night life, outside shot. Be careful!

Below : Beograd night life, inside shot, close proximity to yours truly. It doesn't look anything like that if I'm not around, I'm afraid.

The fin.

I hope you've enjoyed my nail.

———As I'm typing this, I say "come kneel over here". Because I'm too lazy to straighten up and fetch my own water off the little coffee table a foot away. The couch is just too embracing, so let her kneel and serve me, what! And let the entire hotel lobby gaze in disbelief at that truly rarest thing known to "civilised" society, a woman worth her daily bread. "Do you realise there hasn't been a hotel you've not been walking around naked through for a while now ?" [↩]Hanbot's got pork in plum sauce. The plums were smoked pre-saucing. Aaamazing. [↩]The drink's the local equivalent to Romanian pelin (artemisia absinthium decocted port, more or less) -- approximately speaking, socata de sampanie (European elderberry fermented drink). [↩]Team lesbo pisi in the background, all peroxided the same way, all wearing the same style of tights, leather jackets and white running shoes, suddenly were very very busy for some reason.

Nici pisi nu mai is ce-or fost. [↩]

« Diccionariul Banacean -- de lucruri, fapte si locuri imdepartate si inportante

Naked sluts in hotel rooms, a frank discussion of harem sexuality, the warm pubic reception of the general public and other typos. »

Category: La pas prin lume

Saturday, 04 May, Year 11 d.Tr.

Kiss Me Stupid

Kiss Me Stupidi is... well how shall we put this ? A Jewish boy's family wanted him to be a lawyer only he ran away from that to be a journalist in Vienna, eighty years ago. Then he ran away from the whole WW2 mess, ended up working in the United States, made a bunch of films, this is one of his last.

Oh, not what you were looking for. Okay, let's try another tack :

mircea_popescu: BingoBoingo ever seen "kiss me, stupid" ?

mircea_popescu: kinda what all these are derived from, hardblown, method-acted comedy. it's a cinematic adaptation of a roadshow style of entertainment (much like the "high class production" fred astaire / frank sinatra etc were in try to steal broadway for the studios)

Also not really, though the point about production lines rather than "genres" or "styles" as commonly discussed perks your ears and you'd like to see detail. Whatever, I'm lazy. Let's stick to the topic at hand.

Kiss Me Stupid is the story of a man who wants something. This is rare nowadays, the California alt-Bollywood is all about men who don't really want anything anymore. It was not rare thenii, pretty much all English-spoken films of the '60s are about men that want something.

This man, however, understands that in order to get something, you gotta give something -- and the giving's upfront whereas the gettin's a whole song and dance away. More importantly -- most importantly, really -- so does the author. And so, when opportunity strikes, he whores out the wife, under a mask. A mask which the wife turns out for him, and whores herself out, right and proper. For him. And it takes, too!

This mask device, on the first pass appearing both spurious and obnoxious, so very much in the vein of coy misbehaviour & assorted "notreally-ism"s, so recognizably a signature of our failed colonies in the North Atlantic as they are the signature of every corralfull of neglected little girls -- turns out to have been the only way this concept could be played out, because it permits consent, in the only possible meaningful sense of the term. The husband may drive her all the way there, but it's the wife that has to reach out for the proboscis and slide it inside her. Which she does.

And then, the scene at the end, where the cynful whore and the married whore split their loot... so endearingly perfect, round and rotund it utterly carries in itself the seeds of that world's claim to eternity. Like a grape.

Like a grape that's destined to one day be a raisin ; but at that point in time isn't a raisin yet -- moreover, like any grape that's not a raisin yet it very well appears like it never is going to be a raisin at all. At least not likely. Perhaps.

This is a great film that the actors kinda get in the way of, but blessfully not enough to actually ruin it.

———1965, by Billy Wilder, with Dean Martin, Ray Walston, Felicia Farr and Kim Novak. [↩]Of course, this is a remake, in English, of an Italian film. Which is kinda funny considering the plot device of the paroxistically bad, amateurish re-write of an Italian song.

Not to mention the part where they're going to import parts from Milan for what is essentially a glorified Dodge. [↩]

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Category: Trilematograf

Thursday, 20 June, Year 11 d.Tr.

Kiev, the continuation.

Above : the advertising for the "Teatr Opereti", which is an Eastern thing kinda like what you'd call a musical, I guess.

Below : the Kiev market ; not quite as expansive as Minsk's, and arguably not as well supplied -- though I did find some absolutely excellent salmon, salmon roe, well ripe tomatoes etc. You won't starve here, that's for sure. You'll just get so fucking furious it'll require CPR ; but you won't actually die.

Above : where they weigh the young females being put on the market. Come on, big boy, two bucks a pound!

Below : this bar/club thing the sluts spotted as possible point of interest inside this "Arena Citi" mall/club-complex thingi. We ended up trying it (in between the wanna-be strip club and the... other wanna-be strip club, both located in the... construction around it) ; and ditching it within three minutes because a) the music was way too loud and b) it... smelled weird. (Incidentally, I've been doing more ditching of places because of odor-related reasons in this one week of Kiev than in the entire fifteen years since I last visited Cairo.)

Above : they're seriously advertising this. I have no fucking idea what they're thinking either, though in fairness the natural body form of the local girly hounds does closely approximate a little boy. "If they're that flat might as well roll them in goretex", I guess ?

Below : Indian food at the one place voted most-likely-to-be-the-best by a large cross-section of the locals, in the company of a bunch of loud and obnoxious American-Indian dudes with cheap rollexes on one arm and cheap local dollies on the other arm, yet somehow still going slackjawed when I come in -- who knew females don't work any better as amulets than clockwork mechanisms. Easily the worst Indian food I've ever had -- though in fairness I only go to the better sort of Indian restaurant. I wouldn't say it was terrible or anything ; but the "best in Kiev" claim will remain undisputed, I'm not trying another one.

Above & below : meanwhile moved into the luxurious penthouse, I have the entire floor to myselfii, have some views!

Above : nude & rude "Fuck you America ; get bent pantsuits!" advertismentiii on (one of) my AC units : "contains fluorinated greenhouse gases covered by the Kyoto protocol". That's it & fuck you.

Below : a bidet. 'Muff said.

Above : very nice khachapuri place. We ordered their entire menu, something that evidently never occured to them. Portions pictured with spurious titexposing dress (something else that evidently never occured in Kiev ever before). Fun times.

Below : slut in slutstore. We were evidently their only custom in a while, and they got so excited about our buying the whole warehouse antics they kept offering things, and generally having a jolly good old time -- especially this one chick, absolutely incredible Holstein fucking tits (sadly backed by a very motherly waistline, because otherwise she'd be coming with us to Poland). In bimbo's words "if you come back tomorrow she'll probably have her daughter lined up in there". I believe it is possible ; but in any case the Brazerie store on Velyka Vasylkivska (like two blocks down from the Olympic whatever) is more of a party scene than the specialist "gentlemen's clubs" downtown. This is a fact (and yes, the occasional fatties straggling in with their momsters to sorta-maybe-notrly try things were very bothered by us and cleared the fuck out ; good riddance).

Above : the "this stately, three level, decaying brick building" mentioned in despatches. Seriously, would you not go to a BDSM party organized by squatters in there ? I totally fucking would.

Below : Stagnant water in schoolyard. I kid you not. Now tell me again local 15yo would be worse off licking my girls between the legs than going to school. Hm ?

Above & below : recently belted bimbo ballet. She's not allowed to rest her heels on the floor.

Above : on way out to partay!

Below : trying out the hotel's own strip club (spuriously called "cabaret" and other various things in that vein). Honestly... it's not that bad, in a very narrow sense : there's no better to be had anywhere, for hundreds of miles around. The frontgirls know the price (700 grivna, about the most such a thing can cost here) but they wanna show you the place, they want you to have a good timeiv, they're trying to work, they'd love to do a good job. They're broadly unprepared for what the fuck the job may be, however, and bereft of any experience worth the mention. In one representative incident, the tall, pretty, dumb blonde working reception ran off to get our things from the wardrobe, because she wanted to have some measure of interaction with the strange alien beings of pure energy and finally worked up the courage on our way out -- exactly like her grandmother might've rushed to wave in the wake of the departing tsar's procession, so it won't be the case she missed it entirely. But she simply couldn't locate my stick ; the sharper brunette that originally made the sale kept telling her, "the stick, it's a shiny black stick" while blondy kept producing outward umbrellas and inner fluster. There wasn't going to be such a thing as a gentleman's silver capped walking stick in the world, by her lights, what! Not a possible object. She didn't even believe it once the other walked over and produced the object for me ; I've no doubt she still didn't believe it well after I had already walked off.

The place is remarkably tiny : two poles total, one stage, no satellites. There's also a Dali lipcouch in the middle there that they never really usev. The serving girls are on the button, however the cocktails are pretty terrible (and we kinda suspect they have to run off to the bar 8 floors below to get them, which is kinda... well, typical of the place, I guess).

The dancers... well... they're local girls, so nice slender legs, no ass to speak of, 12 yo tits (with the exception of one in the nine girl line-up that had modestly sized but prettily shaped fakes bolted on -- she was the only one with some kind of figure at all, and doubtless not from here). They all do the exact same thing, which consists of mostly walking about, maybe the occasional hold-bar-firmly-with-both-hands-lift-feet-off-ground-briefly, land on other side a second later sorta deal. They do topless only, there's no cunt, there's not even the concept of cunt (so much so that they'll wear body suits and simply take the tits out, in a most domestic configuration of a lactating mother, and "dance" while their straps dangle confused about their midsection).

In a word, I dunno who would want to be there, which might explain why there was absolutely nobody else there at all. Nine girls, stuck living off my four thousand grivna for the night, because they can't, on their own strength, pull in the custom to justify a decent burial.vi

Above : she has but one mouth and she must scream!

Below : bimbo with an attitude, fellows that were in the mood... don't just stand there, let's get to it, strike a pose, there's nothing to it. Vogue!

Above : we're going down below, where a Kievan scared slut shall be asked to take our picture, do so and then run away.

Below : Bitch, I'm Dodona.

Above : do we look scary, would you say ?

Above : there's a foreshadow in this pic, you just don't know what it is.

Above : Moved on to "Bad Girls" party, over at some "Carribean" club thingee ; though honestly I brought the only bad bitches in the joint, everyone else's The Milquetoast Maids.

Below : I got drinks... they're mult-plyin', an' I'm looosin' controo-ool...

Hence the expression, to multi-ply someone with alcohol.

Above : this derpy chick (the one with the nice ass, in white) was there with some older woman dressed in a granny caftan. They were kissing and shit, yet we never could quite figure out if she's working the granny (ie, the granny hired her, making the granny the punter) or if she's working for the granny (ie, the granny hires her out, making the granny the pimp). A complete absence of the many and varied other clues besides fucking kissing entirely precluded some sort of romatic relationship ; then the girls reported that at some point she lifted her skirt all the way up to show herself to this... weird dude watching from across the floor. "Wait, so you saw her snatch ?!" "Oh, no, she was wearing panties. A pity, too." Of fucking course. Finally, she kept crowding my shots, every time I got the camera up she'd move into the frame, but not ever make eye contact, or you know, come over and kneel like a normal fucking woman that's sane in the head.

Below : the very derpy local chicks universally gave my sluts a wide berth. Phemale Phear, I could smell it from the table. What can you do ? God forbid you come over and kneel like a normal fucking woman that's sane in the head, oh no, not that, anything but that. Dorks.

Above : Little did I know the rather boring "two overdressed dudes pretending to be gay dudes pretending to be dancing" act was about to get way the fuck better.

Below : Aforementioned act getting better and better.

Above : Who's got the pleasers ? Answer me that, smart guy, who's got the pleasers ?

Below : two dorky chicks tryina be hot in pantsuits. It doesn't work.

Above : wanna-be sluts in "NC-17" format. They literally ran off once my professional sluts engaged them. Too much pressure, I'm sure, they didn't sign up for this etcetera. Basically, the world consists of fakers tryna fake it 'till they've faked it.

Above : The Lipsyncing Blondy act. She wasn't obnoxious principally through not being overloud ; it was also kinda cute to watch her fluster every time the hussies hollered "take it off" and "drop the pants" and "show your tits" and whatnot else at her. Seriously, what's the big deal, take your clothes off. Jiiz.

Below : Naughty little girl.

Above : personally, I think the visibly filthy heel makes it all the better.

Below : "bad kittens" act or some shit, by then we had utterly stopped giving a shit.

Above : seriously, this is a thing here, two dollar perfume dose in the dude's bathroom -- the chicks have no such thing. Because absolutely, what one wants in the wee hours of the morning is the olfactory assault of drunken impulse choice.

Below : I dunno, envy & haet ? Moet & Chandon ? I was gonna do a sum-up, but then I drunked it. Or perhaps I rolled it up and smokered it. The kittens ated it ? In any case -- it's gone.

Par-tit.

———It's sadly impossible to use anything but ad-hoc labels when one tries to describe things here because the things one encounters in Kiev are entirely dissimilar to entrenched practice in the civilised world. Frankly, it all looks made up. [↩]So if I want to take the nude whores out for a "exposure risk" walk I gotta use the elevator! [↩]Speaking of which : my agent just exchanged Bitcoin for in excess of ten thousand dollars, in cash, without presenting any form of ID, without pre-arrangement of any kind, with one of numerous agents involved in this specific trade. Walk-in, off the street, you understand me ? A good number of the local exchange houses will provide this service ; as far as I currently know you can, as a factual matter, walk into any one of these and walk out with a suitcasefull of benjis any time (between 10 am and 6 pm) you feel like. So much for that theory, huh. [↩]"So can you take our picture ?"

"Oh, no, no pictures here. Can not take pictures."

"Not even of us ?"

This gives her a pause. "Ok, but please, you have to be careful."

"No, I mean, you take a picture of us" I hand her the camera. Because I'm not fucking interested in photographing the local hounds, tyvm, did that enough for twelve lifetimes.

"Oh, no, no, I can't do that." she recoils in horror.

She thought I'm "not even of us" in the self-obvious sense of, "what, you expect such a thing as a rule attaches to my group", not in the incidental sense of, "we're to be the object of the shot".

Funny, huh. Funny how ? [↩]Pro tip : the couch is for girls to safely interact without practicing. It's generally hard for dancers to touch each other while dancing without hurting each other unless they practice the moves specifically in advance ; but on a couch it can be done okay because a fixed point of mutual reference is present. [↩]Pro tip : when the soiled dove aka Pearl de Vere died suddenly, a "secret admirer" sent the people of Cripple Creek a check for a thousand dollars so she could be buried in her extremely valuable gown, rather than having it sold to pay for the funeral. Think on that for a bit if you will. [↩]

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Category: La pas prin lume

Thursday, 01 August, Year 11 d.Tr.

Kalvaryja, Minsk

There's a number of calvaries here in the capital of Belarus.

One of them is trying to eat out. We met phf for what was supposed to be sushi, smack drab in the centre of town (vul Lenina, I mean...) at this pretentiously posh place we never tried before that had... miserable roadside grill "teriyaki", sad "eggplants" saturated in oil to the point of disgustingly melting in the mouth, an inept selection of stale old fish... terrible. So we retraced familiar ground, this "chill cafe" thing with sorta-decent finger food. Considering the excellence of raw suppliesi, the staggering incidence of terrible eateries is simply unaccountable.

Another calvary is... well... Look around you. What do you see ?

This'd be the end of the newer (Awtazavodskaya) metro line -- Kamyennaya Horka ("stone hill"). Whatever it might be that you see, you're nevertheless fortunate in that you... don't smell. The whole damned thing reeked, discreetely so therefore even more insufferably, of animal excrement. There's a pig farm the size of Hungary somewhere nearby, there must be, everything's bathed, permeated by it.

This is exiting towards Cunt Sawshchyna (the cunt not depicted). And it still reeks.

What is the point of even being a young woman, if the very air around you stinks of pig shit ? Past the obvious question as to "why even bother dressing", or "combing your hair", what exactly is the fucking point of even existing ?

Get the fuck out, yo. Get the fuck out now, at your age you've got no time to waste.ii

After a brief foray in the aftermath of porkcalypse, we ran back inside, and only emerged for... more of the same! It's Spartywnaya by now, faux marble interiors and the wafts unabated!

It may look like the long forgotten temple of an underground sect of demented dwarves, but it's really Pushkinskaya, wherein resides yet another Calvary!

Can you spot it ?

No, this is not it, this is the alien improved chicken coop. Scroll down.

Yep, that's right! Kalvaryja cemetery, an old(er) catholic camposanto more recently famous for... the "scandal" of the administration tearing down old graves to sell the spots to more current rich folks. As fucking if there's any other way to run a cemetery, for Chrissakes!

Soul reservoir. You know, for souls.

The sign says, most profoundly, "timely" (which in Russian works as "temporary", but you must agree is not quite the same thing) resting place for scrap metal. See, the souls of the crosses, their ideal portion, the meaning and thereby recognizable pattern and structure's back in the tank. What's here is merely the ashes & dust of material, the scrap metal portion of scrap metal. See what I mean ?

Yep, that's a small astroturf rectangle, cut so it doesn't fit the intended socket.

Above : I bet you this is the oven.

Below : Pole by the ovens.

Most peculiar angel statue ; recent make though rather art deco-ish in appearance.

Riga Crypto & his merry band of shrooms and fungi are pretty much the happiest denizens of Minsk. I don't just mean the cemeteries either, Belarus is firmly mushroom country.

That family name reads... Vaginii.

What do you wish a girl that moved on aged 21, but only after having what's evidently a live Panda pet ? That you'll be as cool as her, obviously, for yourself ; but for her ?

Above : streetwalkers doing their thing -- a calvary of its own, I'm told. I don't know, I just get to enjoy the finished product.

Alright, well, I'd say that's enough Calvary for one single day, let alone one single article.

Laters!

———Not including, for some incomprehensible reason, bread. I'd have expected all sort and manner of mindblowing pumpernickels etc, but no such luck, Minsk seems to be the wonderbread capital of the world. [↩]People are always pretending they don't understand why youth is in such a hurry.

Let me fucking explain to you why youth is in such a hurry, and old age has all the time in the world : by the time you're old, if you've made it (which you have, or else you're no topic of conversation), the moats and walls protecting your achievement from the blind, random efforts of nude life are so damned incomprehensibly tall, five minutes dun make a whit of difference. Whereas when you're young, there is no moat. Any other dumb cunt from the equal and idempotent spawn of exactly identical dumb cunts can replicate any achievement of yours in, literally, the time it takes to down a sandwich. So you haven't the time for any sandwiches. Makes perfect sense, dunnit ? [↩]

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Category: La pas prin lume

Saturday, 20 July, Year 11 d.Tr.

#joketime

You know what's so great about Europe ? I'll tell you : it's the little things. I don't care about no royale with cheese, of course, but I do love me a good joke -- and nobody in the sad new world does jokes worth an European goat's shit.

So let's write down what we remember from this weekend's crop, three or four parties not to mention cab drivers, random waitresses, bums in the train stationi and so forth. Without further ado, let's get to it :

The Easter bunny's climbing the stairs to a hruscheba, and runs into Santa Claus who's hurrying back down.

"What the fuck are you doing here ?!"

"Man... whatever you do, don't start talking with that old hag in 19F."

Zorro sees a knockout hottie hanging out by the fence of a construction lot. To impress her, he pulls out his foil and in two fell swoops spells Z right next to her.

She's very fucking impressed by the display : "Wow, Zuperman!"

What should you do for a hippo with diarrhea ?

Make room.

What's the difference between a suicidal dude and a 16yo virgin chick ?

The dude's trying to dy, the chick's dying to try.

I soliti ignoti break into a bank and manage to open the safe. They notice it's kinda fucking cold in there, and on top of everything all they can find is yoghurt.

So... what can you do, they drink it all and get the fuck out of there. A few hours later, they're walking by the corner of the block the bank's on. Lotta cop cars, flashing lights, the works. They go up to one guy guarding the perimeter sorta to the side, and ask him

"Did they make off with all the dough ?"

"What dough, this is a sperm bank."

Dude stops in a gas station, and when the attendant comes over he asks for five drops of gas in the tank and three drops of oil in the engine.

"Would you like me to try and fart a little in the tyres, too ?"

Kids' first day at the kindergarten, so the teacher asks him what he wants to be when he grows up.

"A billionaire, like my daddy."

"Is your daddy a billionaire ?!"

"No, but he wants to be."

Today was a sad day, we had to disconnect granny from the life support machines. Nothing doing, we needed that socket to plug the phone charger.

At a bridal boutique :

"Do you have any teracotta bridal bouquets ? Or anything in brick ?"

There were more, but there also was palinca, not to mention butts, so what can you do.

———And by the back alley next to the club,

"You stole my hat! Hey! That's my hat!" yells after me some barbone in three torn coats by a supermarket cart bent in two dozen places, fulla plastic bags and whatnot.

"Daddy-o, this hat's from Columbia, you ever heard of such a place even ?"

"Of course I heard! I have kids there!" he sticks to his shtick.

No, I didn't give him my fucking hat, but it's sure nice to talk to people who can think of something to say besides "cuidado". [↩]

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Category: Zsilnic

Monday, 15 April, Year 11 d.Tr.

Jason's folding.

"Hi Jason. How are you enjoying yourself ?"

"Um. Are you supposed to be here ?"

The strangely rat-like man gave a manic chuckle. His hunch, his paunch, the conic shape of his face, the tiny eyes far apart on his face and the tinier teeth now and then glinting at the corners of his very unconvincing smile forced the impression of an overgrown rat upon a neutral bystander ; but then again there's no such thing as a neutral bystander, nor was there anyone else present.

"Uh. Hum. Who are you ? Aren't you too old to be here ?"

"No, and neither are you. Not too old, and not too young. Just right."

"Whatever, weirdo. I'm out of here." he tried, with debonair that rung hollow. The man lunged, and slamed back shut the door Jason had begun to crack. Jason paled some, and shuffled to the side, out of the way, his arms distancing from his trunk in the universal gesture of disinterested confusion.

"What the... hey! Whatever..." he rambled, trying to regain his mental balance.

"You'll walk out of here once I said what I came to say. Is that clear ?"

"Jesus. What do you want from me ?!"

"I want you to pay attention, because I'm only going to say it one time." the man stopped a moment and glared for effect, then continued very warmly, almost paternally, "You understand Jason ? Just one time."

"Man, I'm not sucking your crazy ass dick, leave me the fuck alone."

"I assure you, my dear boy, I couldn't be any less interested in that. I have a job to do, that's all."

Jason perked up a little, his first rush of panic driven by the slamming of the door dissipating with the celerity of youth. "A job, huh. Is it the job of talking boys into sucking your dick, huh ? Is that it ?"

"Not mine. I am a harvester for the Organization. A very good one, too! Maybe the best. In any case, they send me in first for the more promising twinks."

"The what who... what the fuck did you just say ?!"

"The Organization has been fighting the government for many, many years. At least a hundred. It's been winning, too, for about as long. Not all the time, of course, but by and large it's been winning an inch or two each year."

"Aham..." Jason nodded, putting all of his choicest "irony" into the vocalization. He rarely did that, because he falsely believed such application has the magic power to stop anyone in their tracks and he didn't welcome proof to the contrary. But for such a weird occasion...

"For some god forsaken reason I'm sure nobody even remembers, the government has a fetish for putting random people inside. You know what prison is, right ?"

"Yes, crazy, I know what prison is."

"Not yet you don't. But anyway -- there's really not that much difference between inside and outside, for the Organization. A room's a room, right ? Chow's chow, who even cares."

"Bet they can't get laid."

"Actually, they can. That's where you come in."

"Me ?!"

"Yes, Jason. You. For the next three years, you will undergo a preparation course."

"A pr... a prepppp... a prrr..."

"That's right. You'll grow tits, and wear make-up, and get used to skirts and shaving and whatever else you faggoty boys do."

"But I'm not a faggot!"

"That really makes no difference."

"Honest mister. Sir. I never even look at gay porn. I swear!" Jason's voice had switched camps, and now carried all the plaintive little boy he could possibly stuff in there.

"But you do look at porn ?" the ratman evidently enjoyed toying with his... victim, customer, whatever it was.

"I... I..."

"Well, so what the hell's the difference, porn is porn, all the same anyway."

"But there's no cocks!"

"You'll get used to it. Here, take this phone." Jason's eyes widened. "Now and again you'll get instructions on it. You follow those. And don't fucking lose it! That's all."

"No... fucking... way..." the boy enunciated, in a complete panic. "No fucking way. No way. No!"

"Jason, Jason. What are you going to do ?"

"I... I'm going to tell on you. That's what!"

"You're going to what ?!" the man could somehow barely contain his glee.

"I'm going to tell. Fuck you. I'm calling the police. I'm going to the school counseling office tomorrow. Fuck! "

"You're going to go to the counselling office and tell the fat nigger sitting on the clock there that some guy you don't know gave you a phone ?"

"That's right!"

"While you were at an unauthorized party, drinking and whatnot ?"

"Umm... No... Not that part."

"Right."

"Fuck you. You're going to jail!"

"If I go to jail, the Organization will take care of me. Actually, after so many years, there's probably a huge bonus in it for me, if it happens. Meanwhile... what will you do ?"

"What the fuck ? I'm in school. That's what I'll do, I'll go to school."

"Where was it, Lincoln High ?"

"How the fuck do you know that!"

"That's my job. Tell me Jason, does Lincoln High have a zero tolerance policy on bullying ?"

"Of course."

"Does it work ?"

"..."

"Let me explain something to you, numbskull. I'm not the only harvester. There's tons of them. The one thing that sets me apart, and the reason they send me first, is that I prefer talking to the meat. The others... they do a whole lot less talking. Like show & tell, you know ? I tell ; then they come along, and they show."

"What the..."

"You've got nothing on me, so it doesn't matter. But if you don't do exactly what I told you to do, they'll send someone else. Maybe a van stops on the side of the road as you're walking home, they drag you in and you spend the rest of the week sucking cock chained to a pole in a bathroom somewhere. Or maybe some married woman picks you up, and then her husband 'accidentally' finds you with her, and fucks you both like two little whores. Or maybe you get a little dizzy at some party and then wake up somewhere you don't recognize at all. Or... in the end, what the fuck difference does it make ? It's gonna happen, it's a given ; and once it happens you'll have something on someone, odds are. At that juncture..."

"I go to the police."

"Right. They'll maybe get the guy, or guys, or maybe they won't. Maybe whoever they get is convicted ; or maybe they walk. Maybe they have a great time of their life -- they likely will, Organization men usually do. Meanwhile you... what's the best outcome for you ? Maybe you're famous for a week, at most two. Then everyone forgets, and you're just another little whore. They're going to protect you, of course, of course. That's what they'll say. They'll remember it, too, for the week or two."

"Umm..."

"You can't go back to being just a little schoolboy. That's the point. You can't, you'll be known. You'll be the little whore, so it'll happen again. Maybe you'll go to the police again, and maybe you won't. Maybe they'll listen to you, maybe they won't. Maybe you run into some Organization cops and they enjoy your holes for themselves. What are you going to do, send the whole world to jail ?"

"I don't understand..."

"Yes Jason, you do. You do understand. That's why I'm even bothering talking to you : because you're smart, and you understand." the man paused, took in the whimpering boy before him, and continued "The world is old, you see. Maybe in the time of your gramps' father it was all new and shiny and open. Maybe a hundred years ago being a smart boy meant whatever, education and career, and being a luscious hottie meant having kids, simple things like that. The simple life. Not anymore ; not for a long time. The world is old now, second order effects dominate now. If you're smart all it means is you'll make a willing prison sissy whore, nothing more. There's no empty room, my boy. There's no space, you see. Everything's taken, you have to bend to fit in, now."

"That... that..."

"Not what they said ? Well... they lie."

"If I don't do exactly what you tell me to, you mean... with the phone ?"

"Exactly."

"What will happen to me ?!"

"Funny you should ask. Actually... you're going to jail."

"I am ?!"

"Yes. After you complete your preparation course, which I'm pretty sure you'll ace, you will be just turning eighteen. You'll be 'convicted' by the government, and so you'll spend the rest of your days in prison."

"What the fuck will I do there ?!"

"Oh, I'm sure they'll find something to use you for. Plugging your holes, most likely. Hiding the salami, the game of gargling whorebois... there's lots of activities just waiting for you!"

"I'm going to be a sissy prison whore for the rest of my life."

"That's right."

"But..."

"But what ?"

"I... I... huh. I mean..."

"Yes ?"

"Is Cassie in on this ?"

"The short redhead with the large boobs ?"

"Yeah. Cassie."

"Yes. She set you up. It was never supposed to be a date, it was just supposed to be your moment of destiny."

"But... but..."

"Hm ?"

"But why ?!"

"I don't know. I think she likes seeing young boys fucked up."

"I thought... she said..."

"Yeah, yeah, puppy love, whatever. You can forget about that."

"Will I... do I have to wear... is it..."

"What!"

"Do I have to wear the cock cage ?"

"Of course. Masturbation the normal way is counterproductive for your kind."

"But... but I mean..."

"Yes, you can still masturbate, they'll show you how. You have to use your asshole instead."

"Like... with a suction cup dildo ?"

"I think so. Hey, didn't you say you don't watch gay porn ?"

"I don't watch much... I mean..."

Jason was interrupted by an unfamiliar buzzing. He looked at the phone in his hand like it were a ghost. Like it were some long dead notion, the epiphany of childhood past. The message read "take your clothes off bitch boy!"

Jason looked at the man in a panic.

"Do I... do I have to... everything ?!"

The man nodded disinterestedly. "Probably. Best be sure, you know ? Better safe than sorry."

Jason started sobbing as he pulled his tshirt over his head. He grabbed his shorts with his thumbs under the waistband and, catching his underwear too he just pushed the whole mess down, in a sort of rushed panic. He realised his predicament once he couldn't get his pants off because of his sneakers, but couldn't reach to undo his sneakers because of the crumpled mess fastening his ankles together. He blushed profusely. The man snickered, and slapped his bare buttock as he let himself out the door.

Jason, bent at the waist, naked but for his socks, with the remainder of his clothes hobbling his feet together, tears dripping from his eyes and precum dribbling from his entirely soft, immature penis, moaned faintly. He was all alone, for now ; but be wasn't going to be alone for all that long, nor ever again.

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Category: Cuvinte Sfiinte

Wednesday, 13 November, Year 11 d.Tr.

In psychology and psychiatry...

Psychologyi is the collective name of the structured attempts at systematic classification of descriptions, notations and proposed explanations of human behaviour. It is not a science, lacking necessarily and as a matter of courseii two fundamental aspects of scientific activity : prediction and completeness. Psychology, being by its very nature fragmentary and very weakly predictive, stands as a sort of taxonomy, rather than as a sort of physics. It is however a scholarlyiii activity, because its flow through history immitates a V tree, which is the criteria for intellectual lifeiv.

Psychiatry is a medical specialty, brought into being in the modern period through the process of linear extensionv of medicine as a concept, by the needsvi of the post-WW2 restatement of the newly invented "democratic state". See the originalvii Ballas piece for details.

To put it simply : one's a lunaticviii and the other's a bureaucrat ; there's no such thing as "psychology" or "psychiatry", they're just the respective lunacy an' the respective bureaucracy of a certain lunatic or bureaucrat. That's all.

———This article started life as a footnote in another piece I'm writing (no, it has no title yet). Here's an ilustration, for the historically inclined :

The first time I needed a footnote in this ever-sprawling megapiece, I hacked it in at the end (the first second footnote here (duh, meanwhile made the intro a footnote too!) was originally the closing paragraphy of this article, back when it was itself a footnote) ; but by the time the "fixing of logreference" came about and faced me with the need to either put proper footnotes into the footnote or do something else... I caved and did something else. This is that something else. [↩]Oh and by the way, this regression could proceed ad infinitum, I might now explain what the difference is between "necessarily" and "as a matter of course" in the 2nd paragraph : cars require fuel necessarily, as pre-ordained before any cars were made, by the laws of thermodynamics ; but cars are run on highways as a matter of course, meaning that theoretical considerations aside, highways arise in practice from the practice of using cars, they're the natural result in the common course of the respective whateveritis. Suffice then to say, that my words are well an' specifically chosen, everywhere, and move on. [↩]There are such massive an' self-obvious similarities between the practice of psychology and the practice of literary criticism (similarily the collective name of the structured attempts at systematic classification of descriptions, notations and proposed explanations of written texts) that I find it ludicrous these haven't yet formally merged ; god knows in practice they long ago have.

I suppose the explanation is somewhat similar to why astrology and astronomy are still pretending to reciprocal independence : much like psychology, astrology clings to a hopeless pretense of explaining stars in the odd terms of their supposed personal relevancy to the reader, something that can never be ; and also perceives the ready liberties astronomy takes with knowledge in pursuit of its state-mandated missions unsavory. (There's entirely no need to explain here why the other side deems itself reciprocally independent -- they're spelled out in each an' any of the grant papers.) [↩]As opposed to sexual life, the other typology of human activity. Fucking in the present does not require reference to any previous fuckings to work, happen, become & exist -- yes all four of those, they happen to be the four aspects of modern reality : productivity, phenomenology, gnoseology an' ontology. Because access to reality is always mediated, an' these are the forms of mediation known, or at least known enough to merit mention. [↩]Might as well fix here the logreference for this matter :

mircea_popescu let's take this one at a time. do you in fact understand what hole i see in "reproduce airplanes through egg laying" ?

asciilifeform dunno what's the formula being sought, but how about that they don't, that can go to where built and see that it's factory and not farm ?

mircea_popescu right. let's formalize : "the notion that airplanes could reproduce through laying eggs is merely a naive extension, in the vein of 'object A has properties a and b ; object B shares property a and therefore it is reasonable ~~~on a first approximation~~~ to expect it exhibit proerty b'. nevertheless, artifacts differ from nature in that one fundamental aspect, that they're inefficient, and therefore to achieve same ends end up heavy, and in the case of staying airborne, weight kills. so therefore, it makes way the fuck more sense to have iron bird's ovopositor on the ground, and construct a btcbase.org/log/2014-11-26#934786 rather than attempt a trilema.com/the-complexity-of-life-a-triad "

a111: Logged on 2014-11-26 00:46 asciilifeform: have to understand, jet fighter is not really a complete machine. it is a tentacle of the larger industrial slave empire which produced and employed it.

This isn't to say naive extensions "are bad" or anysuch nonsense. Naive extensions are fine on the first pass, and also constitute the bread and butter of scientific research in particular and of any exploratory activity whatsoever in practice. The only caveat is that they must be reviewed, they can't be permitted to simply stand forever, perhaps even to the point where they take a life of their own (which is also one of the many reasons this piece is seminal in the history of human thought : never before was psychiatry seriously reviewed). [↩]These needs are carefully and systematically disavowed, as (perhaps correctly) perceived necessary precondition of the continuation of the fantasy. For good measure they're also projected, upon the imaginary category of "the public", the arbitrarily declared font of legitimacy and everything else in current socialism. [↩]Meanwhile itself disavowed. [↩]A lunatic does not simply denote the insane (though we must admit there's an undisguisable fascination psychology exerts on they more or less but always somewhat broken in the head). A lunatic is the fellow in that story where Newton fell into a ditch by the process of walking while looking at the stars ; and the peasant who dug him out inquired how he expects to figure out the movement of stars when he can't figure out his own movement enough to stay out of ditches. That's a lunatic (Newton I mean, not the peasant). [↩]

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Category: Gandesc, deci gandesc

Sunday, 03 November, Year 11 d.Tr.

Il corpo della ragassa

Il corpo della ragassai is principally designed as a vehicle for the visual exploitation of 23 yo Lili Carati's perfectly average body.ii

As you'd perhaps expect the whole affair's crowned by the usual pantsuitist attempts at re-stating the world in their own terms, what with the ingenue declaring prostitution "a beautiful job, poorly organized" (because, you've guessed it, "the girls should be choosing") and then with the perfectly (if inexplicably) trained slavegirl leaving her Master & owneriii, as fucking if that were how it worked, and so following. It all fails in the usual manneriv, whatevs.

Nevertheless, the film is remarkable on two counts. One is the exceptional old whore : disabused but calm, cynical but warm, and loving. Her voice's a soothing pleasure to hear, and her presence a blessing. While she expects nothing of the future nevertheless her golden soul's three thousand years old, the very Stoics of the old republic speak through her, inform her every move. I knew and loved women like that, nor can anyone sane know them and not love them. The actress is not even famous! Venice, you see, more to it than just the name.

The other's the exceptionally bad teacher. Never have I seen a worse teacher nor could one be readily imagined (without recourse to systematic stupidity such as our colonies of late produce -- at issue here is naturally occurring idiocy, rather than the deliberately manufactured sortiment). It happens to work well in the film because it makes (by accident, I suspect) the point that the best of teachers are naught confronted with the best of students. The teacher, authority to point out the books and the tools and the experiments and so following -- that's mostly useful for, and mostly needed by, the mediocre. Thales had no teacher to point out the shadows to him, nor is a falling apple muchly professoral. And yet...

The exceptionally gifted slavegirl once known as Terezin opens her eyes to the world, and discovers that she is alone. The end.

———1979, by our old friend Pasquale Festa Campanile, with Enrico Maria Salerno, Renzo Montagnani, Lili Carati and Marisa Belli. [↩]If neither this premise nor the title gave it away, yes it's a consummately Lombard product. They even do the accents. [↩]She leaves, hold on to your shorts, to work, which is to say satisfy the femstate worldmodel, and in the house of some boring inconsequential people.

Actually, hold on to whatever's left of your shorts : in the house of the family unit consisting of the older woman that couldn't compete with her as a slave, and so resorted to the usual old woman stupidity on the topic : "are you doing this for money???"

I don't recall if I ever recounted this story or not, but anyway -- many years ago my mother met my slavegirl. It went like so.

"Mom, this is Hannah. She is my slave. Would you like to see her naked ?"

"No, nononono, noty." (then aside to me) "Is she on drugs ?!".

It's not that the quivering bundle of many future joys was anything but the coldest sober before my mother's eyes ; nor is it that I had ever used anything up to that point ; nor is in fact the case my mother even knew what the fuck drugs were to any degree of specificitiy whatsoever. But an explanation there must be, you see, and it can't fucking be that she, my mother, failed at womanhood -- whereas this girly hadn't. That explanation, at all costs, must not be looked upon.

So yes, "is it the money", that's what she fucking asked. I don't even mean the tired old bag in the film -- not two weeks ago I was out with the girls buying shoes, and an older woman approached asking bimbo whether those platforms aren't uncomfortable. I intercepted and retorted that it doesn't matter whether she likes them, it matters whether I like them, to which ye oldie (who, by the way, had a very joyous and pleasant manner about her) made no retort, but then aside inquired with said bimbo whether "it's for the money". Wouldn't a young but accomplished slavegirl abandon her cage to go engage in more socially acceptable activities in the house of such women ?!

Aww, but why not! Down with the patriarchy!!! Don't you know that before dumb old broads gave you your hunchback you were living in chains ?!?! [↩]A quick run-down of this : Visconti, Vicario, Kaye, Almodovar, you name it. [↩]

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Category: Trilematograf

Thursday, 14 February, Year 11 d.Tr.

Il bidone

Il Bidonei is one of the best films ever made, nothing less than that. In its field of interest it is doubtlessly the best ; as it happens that field is of little consequence even though perhaps it sometimes commands a little more (but not so much more) attention than it warrants, especially among the new.

Il Bidone tells the tragic story of the con man. The problem with being a swindler, you have to realise (as sooner or later you will, if you give the matter any consideration at all), is that deceit is not a free option one writes himself. You don't get to choose, freestanding and independently, whether to tell the truth or to lie, just like that. It's not even that you "have to" at the same time also be the sort of person that lies or tells the truth. You don't enter in it at all : if you choose to tell the truth in any whatever instance you perceive this wholly hallucinated choice before you, you therefore told the truth, but therefore just as much were he that told the truth. There's no cleaving of these, if your room is well lit there's also light in your room, you can't have a well lit room with no light in it. See ?

The swindler, the con-man, Il Bidone... he gains something for his trouble. A professional perk, or call it racial ability if you prefer : he is now immune to the civillian, to the man in the street, to the random nobody without a clue. The woman can no longer hold him down with her common, everyday lures, sufficient entrapment for so many others. The workshop or the orchard, the field or the forest hold no spell to him, speak not to him, draw him not one whit. Nothing anywhere can lay any claim to him, he's, after a fashion, free. And they pay him rent, all these things, a day's work readily lifted off a poor, old man working a gas pump. A year's toil, offered willingly by the old man, saving to give his crippled daughter a capital, so she may eat after he dies.

The swindler also loses something in exchange. For all that grandiose immunity to the world, the con-man pays, perhaps dearly : he is now vulnerable, to other con-men. It'd be poetic to say "to himself", but not particularly truthful. There's no "himself" left, you see. Existence is predicated on activity, which is to say interacting with the world. The only thing properly called "existence" would be the smoke that raises when one's toil meets the resistence of the medium. If the world's lost all capacity to hold one down, if there's no friction left anywhere... how's one to exist ? In what sense would you say he exists, and how close to madness is this existence ?

So no, it's not that the con-man ends up swindling himself. It's rather that in the end, there's nothing left. Not in any meaningful sense, at any rate. And so it goes.

This thing truly should be the official film of the Republic.

———1955, by Federico Fellini, with Giulietta Masina, Broderick Crawford, Il Matto (Richard Basehart). [↩]

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Category: Trilematograf

Friday, 08 March, Year 11 d.Tr.

I think it might be the case I'm becoming pretentious.

Just look at that title, aite ? And who even needs footnotes, for crying out loud, people (and by people we mean "scientists" and aspirants thereof) use them because they have to, same way they put that index list of unread books at the end. Who the hell adds footnotes to perfectly good text for naught besides his own perverse fucking pleasure ? And who even says "naught"!i

I mean, there's all sorts of

asciilifeform so, asciilifeform's resistive loss is ~80%. mircea_popescu's is, let's suppose, 1%, however much time he spends tying his shoes and operating the levers of his outer empire

mircea_popescu actually the girls tie my shoes.

mircea_popescu believe this or not, i reach such levels of chinese emperorhood.

asciilifeform a+++ louis xiii

in the public eyeii, hiding away all sorts of private

"you know what would be an improved ballgag ? make the ball transparent, so you can fill it with spiders or whatever and she has to hold it in her mouth."

"that poor girl! why can't it be something nice, like chocolate ?"

"you know what... that'd be the height of pretentiousness, only eat chocolate pralines that have been carried in transparent ball gags by slavegirls for a day or two"iii

plus a list longer than the arm of what is allowed in the kitcheniv and what to do when and where and...

There's articles written in three random languages for no fucking reason at all, a translation would have worked just as well (no it wouldn't) and then all that jazz about inequality and the list of thousands upon thousands of perfectly usable dumb cunts that got a curt "get lost, dumbo" & block, I mean, come on! Who blocks chicks on social media! By the thousand ?! It sure as fuck was the very first time it happened in each of the precious cuntlets' lives, we could even say I deflowered their online vagina ; and if we said that we'd almost be as pretentious as I am.

Plus all that jazz about creating new dictionaries and "words mean what I use them as", and in general...

I was looking for a particularily pretentions way to close this, and it finally occured to me : do you know anyone more fucking pretentious ?!

No ?

Well then... I guess you don't.

———"We should bring back betwixt. Such a better word than between. Lot of good words starting with be, like benighted. I've been using words on a Dr. Seuss level!"

~anonwhore, cca 2019. [↩]It's true, by the way -- they do. And it gives bystanders quite the pause whenever I have them do it in public, on the street. It's a different flavour of pause than for instance when I make them carry heavy loads while I walk about hands in pockets, whistling : that usually enrages a small subsection of older women, whereas this is more of a medical-concerned "oh poor guy, he's got bones growing in stomach" or somesuch. People are more than willing to "explain" their environment to themselves, hence all the guessing.

Speaking of which, it occurs to me the whole "guy got tattoo in Chinese thinking it meant X but it really means Y" is such a trope in English because of the English speaker's wholly inappropriate naive extension of a rule of English (that strings have definite, specific meaning), a property Chinese does not actually share.

But all that notwithstanding -- they do it because they love me, and because there's nothiong more satisfying in this world than doing something for someone you think the world of. The fundamental conundrum of the human (as opposed to divine) condition is that if you let them do it, you're thereby pretentious. (And yes, I'm outright saying that egotism is why Retard McMoron doesn't have Debby Doanything do his shoes for him. He's afraid it might make him pretentious, and that self-love muchly trumps in his own mind his concern for her needs -- such as the unmitigated and unmitigable need to serve.) [↩]I don't know if you know (tho I expect you don't) that there's two drawbacks to wearing the gag for an extended period : on one hand the jaw muscles start to hurt, and it's quite painful ; on the other hand the lip commissures get irritated, and there's a specific (and peculiarly irritating) sore that develops the next day. [↩]Very visibly observant Jewish doctor pointed out he only eats at home because he follows "very strict dietary rules" within earshot of girl, who managed to not explode laughing, "oh, he follows very strict dietary rules, har har". Because yes, ten millenia of Torah haven't managed to create the web of insane complexity I secreted in a scant few years. [↩]

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Category: Oda Superbiei

Wednesday, 09 January, Year 11 d.Tr.

I suppose we could call this a State of the Sadness ; or other things

Other candidate titles included "Hey there, Republic. How goes ?" "Well... you know..." (in the style and after the manner of Goosey Boyi) ; some kind of reference to the history of the ur-Republic (probably something to do with the Marian revolt / destruction, because connivance to those idiots' nonsense pretty much fucked it) ; some kind or manner of reference to previous Trilema articles (to which a few hold remarkably good claim, as it is) ; and other such inspirational materials. But in the end... what's in a title ?

There's a lot in coincidence, though, as well as in header images. I find it quite appropriate today's piece comes out under the guise of my sampling a rosebud seated on gilt chair afront a golden door an' a golden mirror (in which the concentrated face of my slave the photographer concentrates in a corner) -- yet as a factual matter I absolutely had no hand in "helping along" this fortuitous fatuousness (or, for that matter, any other). I merely sit and don't particularly mind observing, which is entirely and completely how "these things" seem to "keep happening to me", I swear. Other people mind observing, which is why it never happens to them, and that's the whole truth of the matter.

I wouldn't even necessarily have bothered saying anything -- there's genuinely not that much to say. Unfortunately "the flow of events" so greatly overconcentrated power in my feeble human hands, not saying anything as the non-events facially merit would in itself, for and by itself stand as a positive act, with legislative powers nobody'd even much feel like probing (for the self-strengthening reason that no discussion of stupidity was ever all that tempting to any participants), thus silently enacting silence into some sort of statutory mandate it can't possibly enjoy.

So then, let's talk about nothing -- god knows this is long standing practice on Trilema (and now you well know why).

Since June, a pretty month that soon followed upon the Sixth Edition of the yearly Lordship Listsii, or if you'd rather since the 81st day of my Harem's Grand European Tour 2019iii we've lost (counting only the heading chapters) the Republic's only ever Trishop, this shy guy with intelligent eyes who couldn't express himselfiv and... oh, pray tell, please say, do aid my aged, trembling hand. What have we lost, last night ? What was it that we lost ?

Talking with Stanislav always bore this troublesome relationship to talking in one's dreams : like in a dream there never was any predictable relationship between the sayings of what's said and the doings of what, apparently, was thereupon done. You'd sit down in a corner cafe, solidly credible as such, with chairs shaped like you've seen in one, many, all of them, with waiters sporting French mustachios, and vests, holding white linen folded over one arm, sett road continuing into horizon. Look where you might, indeed you were in a cafe. You'd order, say, coffee. Later on the waiter might return, bearing (as a forinstance) a three eyed half-chicken pitbull impaled on a flaming spike, and, about as often as not, would turn into fantastically tattoo'd barbarian as he broke into a run towards you for no apparent reason and flung his strange, miss-shod javelin in your general direction, supposedly, yet missing by six paces. Then he'd perhaps return, imperturbable, vest back on, linen on arm, to inquire how you enjoyed the flat white. Well ? How did you enjoy it ? Was it perhaps... confusing ?

Yes, it was. Quite confusing. And yet... like in a dream, exactly like in a dream, all proceedings perpetually proceeded on circular orbits, spinning around the same centers of gravity, regularly, predictably, their supposed precession always faint, like in a Kafkian novel, always at the very margin of perception, where mind wonders whether it's actually seeing things of its own into the eyes or whether it turns blind eyes to actual events. But for all that faintness of precession, the regularity of circumvolution never much avoided anyone's notice. It was in fact strictly impossible to watch Stanislav for more than a few weeks at a time and not notice, then soon enough predict, "now it's going to go by this, now by that"v...

We've lost, it pains me to say, a great many things we never had. The reasons for which we never had the things we never had might be perhaps even made to stand ennumeration ; permit me to begin : in losing the things we never had, we first lost the top part of the things we never had, followed by the middle part, and then the bottom. As to the top part of the things we never had that we nevertheless somehow lost, at first the top part of that top part was lost, and then the middle, and thereupon the bottom. And as to...

At this juncture I suppose you may suspect I'm not all that pained, foregoing declaration notwithstanding. You're right, it's true, you got me, I'm really not all that pained, what can I do ? In part I am not all that pained because I do not tend to get all that much invested in the ongoings of the worldvi ; in another part I am not all that pained because I don't have a particularly short memory, I'm not one of those shop girls that falls in love with the delivery boy for repeated presence and then's heartbroken six weeks thence as supply routes or their servants change -- the whole arrangement was predicated on the promise of performance, not anything else (and absolutely not my inhabituation to endless blather, be it acquired over weeks or years). It's sad, I suppose, that "trying" (however defined, usually by the alleged trier) is not exactly the same as performance ; but then by this same token one will soon find themselves sad over dreaming not being the same as believing and who knows what further nonsense.

Last of all (though I suppose not necessarily least of all) I'm not all that sad because the lengthy trip (and, let it be mentioned foremost, my slavegirls' exertions therein) yielded quite remarkably in terms of youthful cunt ; and with it notices and observations and a picture of the world. Leaving aside the physical, incarnate proof of perfection possible & still imanentvii, as unlikely as that may on whatever basis seem, nude exemplary and therefore readily excluded in any statistical discussion : it seems to me the kids are very much unlike their parents. As I was observing privately, the supposed great beneficiaries of the Great Socialism and its grandiose fruit look yet again quite ready to stab their "loving" parents in the eyes for their blessing, as this usually works. I may be a great fish, which definitely comes with some disadvantages ; but it also permits me a faint sampling of the world as a substance, as a medium -- and it's very palpably evident to me that the medium's discontinous, abruptly discontinuous, over time. In short, I don't so much tremble over the past millenium's offspring turning out syphilitic, however systematic the assonautism turns out to be it bothers me none because times change, and my widely thin whiskers do perceive sweetness in the distance.

Then again it could readily be pointed out that as the attempted republic spirals ever further out of any hope to even faint relevancy... oh, you "never noticed" that, huh. Try and recall : at first we were going to do Bitcoin development ; then we were going to build the tools for eventual Bitcoin development ; by now we'll be lucky indeed if we manage to select and educate future makers of the tools of even future-er Bitcoin development. While this endlessly cheezy pie keeps stretching, Bitcoin somehow magically manages to keep ongoing. Ever wonder how that happens ?

What, it has a lot of friends among the retards that would very much be powers in the world, you think ? God himself loves it, so you can mind your love of circumvection undisturbed while He does all the heavy lifting for you (but as per tradition He'd still better have the common decency to disappear suddenly in a mist when the credits are about to roll by, and it's "your turn" to step into the picture). The most recent attempt at breaking my wordsviii, undertaken yet againix by the entire might & power of "the civilised world" or however the fuck the arrayed muppets call themselves this season was again defeated in the field ; as the twopence republic well explained its desires last time anyone talked to it about anything of import -- it wasn't included in the flow of events to any degree this time, as all the uncounted times hence. How many of them were there ? Who knows... who, among ye who wouldn't have known this one but for my pointing it out, knows ? What is it that you know, what can be known on a servant's weekly discretionary shilling ?

Think, if you will, that this makes an uninterrupted eighty months of my word&deed driving this space, and with it the entire world ; then tell me again why I should give shit one over some rando shithead or other's inability to leave the safety of mommy's basement. Really, you think I should care ? Well... I don't.

It could readily be pointed out that as the attempted republic spirals ever further out of any hope to even faint relevancy one will necessarily turn to his private sphere, and to the future. This is true ; but this theoretical truth is not what drives the empyrical observations above -- much like the man climbing into the bus he was waiting for will always be also climbing into "the first bus that showed up" over some interval of observation. Rather, the future set of human resources are markedly better than the current set most likely because of reversion to the mean -- you'd be (and in fact, you are) hard pressed to find worse shit than that which composes the current crop of shamblers about.

It's what it is, what do you want me to do about it ?! Please don't tell me I should pay teh seventeeb bitcoin again, or somesuch nonsense ; at least that much could be learned from the succession of hateful mean-ness an' toxic facts also formerly known as "history".

———A gent, you don't know him. [↩]For my curiosity ; name, if you will, what TMSR hath produced in that interval. Do you recall ? Anything ? Anything at all ? [↩]We're now on day 210, which comes remarkably close to the factual substance underpinning a conviction for vagrancy. Who do you know that can afford six seven months' hotel stays, and a sustained hundred miles' daily average travel ? I don't even mean financially first, or foremost -- actually, try doing it and see what I mean, why am I explaining things to 23 yo intellectuals over here. [↩]Do you know the dog-engineer joke ? I mostly ask for the humorous effect ; who indeed, even remotely acquainted with the affairs of this last poor & feeble attempt at sanity among the (happily!) doomed morons, could not well know it by now. It's like asking anchovies fishermen if they're aquainted any with plain salt, and yet...

... does it have to be ? [↩]What's even more, inconceivably yet observably more, his own recollection of his own past always without exception found expression in the same manner. Events supposedly fixed into the past nevertheless animatedly spun around their pre-ordained circles, following along the spinning of the main top, and so by turns they'd become one thing, then another thing, then a third, then back the first... [↩]It's called stoicism, it's a philosophical outlook, which is to say a set of answers to the specific problems of existence, basic things like "wut do when phenomena diverge from sense" and so on. Look it up sometime. [↩]Despondency follows from loss of faith ; and loss of faith always consists of a diminished expectation of encountering perfection, driven without exception by experience : he who long hasn't seen perfection loses his faith in its possibility, and with it any will to live -- it's how statuaries and penitentiaries are supposed to work, though on opposite ends of the human oxcart. [↩]For amusement's sake, find where I said 10k is a permanent floor, shortly prior to that "surprise offensive".

You're missing out on most Bitcoin lulz these days, you know that ? [↩]A somewhat regular occurence since at least 2014. Ah, remember back in the day, before I shaved my dog's ass and taught it to walk backwards, back in the day when that Krugman clueless poser was "respectable economcian" ? [↩]

« The squares, and the holes.

The dazzling array of angles -- a celebration! »

Category: 3 ani experienta

Tuesday, 29 October, Year 11 d.Tr.

I give you... Something New!

Well... somewhat new, at any rate.

To quell curiosities : the above bill, say 200 bucks with tip, covers, technically, a meal for six (we just had doubles of everythingi, out of sheer perversity).

The restaurant itself is excellentii, both in relative terms (I suspect it might be Budapest's finestiii) and absolute (I don't specifically know if it's starred, but would not in the slighest be surprised if it were -- I certainly had worse at Michelin's favourites). So no, Budapest is definitely not an expensive city, at the top end of the scale. At the bottom end of the scale everything's the same everywhere anyway ; as to the middle, that ever vanishing, evanescent middle... well, frankly, I have no fucking idea. Maybe it is expensive, yes.

Budapest happens to have the oldest metro system in Europe, and in some places this kinda still shows -- downtown line 1 is eminently stupid, for instance, as it provides no crossings. You have to go underground in the right direction or no dice. Whatever, I'm sure it was pretty impressive back in 1895.

Hooters went out of business. And can you blame them ?

Fortunately for everyone involved, Timisoara is the cultural capital of the European Union. Because totallies.

Saluti a tutti!

———For the incorigibly curious, Borjupaprikas x3, Baranyfarto x1, Lassan sult Stefania x2. [↩]Best entertainment I even recall. The waiter, let's call him Lajos, was this lanky fellow, deeply (if unintentionally) humorous through his brusque inadequacy. Behind us sat a bunch of retarded old women, definitely EU bureaucracy, talking English with a thick French accent, utter structured bollocks, bullshit and such nonsense as they are wont to sprout. Just as I was considering asking to be moved -- I have no fucking idea who the fuck can bear pantsuits while eating, but they have a stronger stomach than I -- Lajos intervened. He asked the annoyant-en-chef if she's from France, which she confirmed. He asked where in France, and she chortled Paris. He assured her that in his oppinion, the Parisians are the truest Frenchers there are ; moreover that he himself visited Paris, and could see with his own eyes what truly French people there dwell. Except, he continued imperturbably, at the periphery -- god knows what dwells there, all sorts of arabs and things. They're not even very white, how do you say this, their skin is funny.

Believe you me that took care of any further "let me tell you what ze Americains need" and such gunk -- in no small part because I was laughing my ass off, and openly commenting the encounter for my own girls.

The stupid old cunts left within ten minutes, hopefully to go drown themselves in the darkest river they could find. And always remember -- if you don't make old women's life a living hell, they'll make yours. #NoMercy. [↩]Certainly the other patrons seem to think so, what with all the dainty popping the question tables for two and careful ordering all around. [↩]

« Am mers-n puli, sau Dekadentismus Nudapest-NDSM

The fungus »

Category: La pas prin lume

Wednesday, 22 May, Year 11 d.Tr.

I don't get it...

As it turns out, lots (and lots and lots) of people read Trilema over the new yeari. Nothing wrong with this, I guess ; and considering what the average "traditional family" is like and what that self-same eyesore works like I can't even blame them.

But then again, just how much Trilema can one read ? I rarely manage the dozen articles in one sitting ; but then again I wrote it, and to me it's neither surprising nor threatening. To plenty of people it is just thatii, and they engage consequently in binges that can last many days, to the exclusion of sleep at first, to the neglect of personal hygiene I imagine...iii

Leaving people aside, there's of course the bots. Those never sleep, and so it's not much wonder they'd be there, pounding away, come hell or high water, morning, noon or night, Yarmulke, Foller de Pascoa or Trinity (I hope I got the names right). Take for instance the case of 37.187.150.139, that was mentioned before. It lives over at the OVS pigsties, those vast people-of-walmart online equivalents, so there's entirely no suspicion it might be anything but one of the new cheap voters.

Now let's see what it's been doing, the first twelve hours of the first day of this happy new year!

cat 'trilema.com-Jan-2019' | grep -c "37.187.150.139"

21217

That's really a lot more than you or me could ever hope to get through, isn't it.

cat 'trilema.com-Jan-2019' | grep "37.187.150.139" | grep -c "bg_iul2011.jpg"

1

It did load today's header, and exactly once. Isn't that impressive, just like a browser that caches, right ? Now let's check out the referrers.

cat 'trilema.com-Jan-2019' | grep "37.187.150.139" | cut -d' ' -f11 | cut -d'/' -f3 | sort | uniq -c | sort -n

1 1.bp.blogspot.com

1 addons.mozilla.org

1 ajax.googleapis.com

1 americanacolyte.tekcities.com

1 a.optmnstr.com

1 api.w.org

1 apple.stackexchange.com

1 archileno.blogspot.com

1 arduino.stackexchange.com

1 auth.telegraph.co.uk

1 bitcoin.stackexchange.com

1 blog.nature.org

1 blogs.wsj.com

1 bloom.bg

1 blowercartoons.newsprints.co.uk

1 blueprints.launchpad.net

1 books.telegraph.co.uk

1 cayobuay.wordpress.com

1 cdn.polyfill.io

1 chemistry.stackexchange.com

1 chinthaasakalam.blogspot.com

1 christianity.stackexchange.com

1 cloud.google.com

1 cloudinit.readthedocs.io

1 cooking.stackexchange.com

1 cs.stackexchange.com

1 cstheory.stackexchange.com

1 d2xuupin39grhy.cloudfront.net

1 d3c3cq33003psk.cloudfront.net

1 datascience.stackexchange.com

1 data.stackexchange.com

1 dba.stackexchange.com

1 deadspin.com

1 developers.google.com

1 discourse.ubuntubudgie.org

1 donate.wikimedia.org

1 drupal.stackexchange.com

1 dsp.stackexchange.com

1 electronics.stackexchange.com

1 english.stackexchange.com

1 ethereum.stackexchange.com

1 getpocket.com

1 ghettohikes.tumblr.com

1 gis.stackexchange.com

1 help.vimeo.com

1 hostessatheart.com

1 ibb.co

1 itunes.apple.com

1 ja-jp.facebook.com

1 japanese.stackexchange.com

1 jesuschristsiliconvalley.tumblr.com

1 jobs.telegraph.co.uk

1 juggalocoin.org

1 kosovasoftwarefreedom.org

1 law.stackexchange.com

1 lh3.googleusercontent.com

1 lists.ubuntu.com

1 manac.biz

1 maps.google.com

1 mathematica.stackexchange.com

1 math.stackexchange.com

1 mechanics.stackexchange.com

1 money.stackexchange.com

1 optasportsdata.telegraph.co.uk

1 ott.vimeo.com

1 packetstormsecurity.com

1 pbs.twimg.com

1 photobucket.com

1 photo.stackexchange.com

1 physics.stackexchange.com

1 play.google.com

1 pt-pt.facebook.com

1 pt.stackoverflow.com

1 puna.upf.edu

1 puzzling.stackexchange.com

1 releases.ubuntu.com

1 salesforce.stackexchange.com

1 sb.scorecardresearch.com

1 schemas.xmlsoap.org

1 secure.i.telegraph.co.uk

1 security.stackexchange.com

1 sflogo.sourceforge.net

1 skeptics.stackexchange.com

1 sourceforge.net

1 static.telegraph.co.uk

1 stocks.about.com

1 superuser.com

1 telegraph.newsprints.co.uk

1 telegraphuk.disqus.com

1 tex.stackexchange.com

1 tickets.telegraph.co.uk

1 tr-tr.facebook.com

1 ubuntuforum.s3.amazonaws.com

1 uk.pinterest.com

1 unix.stackexchange.com

1 ux.stackexchange.com

1 video.arstechnica.com

1 webapps.stackexchange.com

1 webchat.freenode.net

1 webmasters.stackexchange.com

1 wp-rocket.me

1 www.ad.nl

1 www.af.mil

1 www.apple.com

1 www.bizapedia.com

1 www.blubrry.com

1 www.books.telegraph.co.uk

1 www.civilbeat.org

1 www.cranework.com

1 www.discourse.org

1 www.elcomsoft.com

1 www.fourmilab.ch

1 www.greenpete.co.uk

1 www.guambusinessmagazine.com

1 www.htsindia.com

1 www.incidentalcomics.com

1 www.linkedin.com

1 www.mail-archive.com

1 www.myzimtube.com

1 www.nature.com

1 www.nvidia.com

1 www.osdisc.com

1 www.outbrain.com

1 www.reuters.com

1 www.rsa.com

1 www.securitybeacon.com

1 www.securityledger.com

1 www.spaceweatherradio.com

1 www.tensorflow.org

1 www.tozny.com

1 www.ubuntuforums.org

1 www.urbandictionary.com

1 www.wewill.city

1 www.wpzoom.com

1 youtube-eng.googleblog.com

1 yui.yahooapis.com

2 30yearsofmatt.newsprints.co.uk

2 android.stackexchange.com

2 api.stackexchange.com

2 ar-ar.facebook.com

2 archive.is

2 archive.ubuntu.com

2 area51.stackexchange.com

2 arstechnica.us1.list-manage.com

2 askubuntu.com

2 besteirasdainternet.wordpress.com

2 bicycles.stackexchange.com

2 biology.stackexchange.com

2 bitcoinpete.com

2 bit.ly

2 blender.stackexchange.com

2 blog.qnology.com

2 bloomberg.com

2 books.google.fr

2 b-otc.com

2 budgieremix.files.wordpress.com

2 bugs.launchpad.net

2 bugzilla.mozilla.org

2 cdn.api.ooyala.com

2 cdn-image.travelandleisure.com

2 certification.ubuntu.com

2 chat.stackoverflow.com

2 chemistry.about.com

2 cipslim.wordpress.com

2 codegolf.stackexchange.com

2 code.launchpad.net

2 codereview.stackexchange.com

2 condenast.com

2 contacts.google.com

2 crypto.stackexchange.com

2 dev.launchpad.net

2 dianacoman.com

2 disqus.com

2 diy.stackexchange.com

2 docs.google.com

2 docs.maas.io

2 ell.stackexchange.com

2 emacs.stackexchange.com

2 en.wikiquote.org

2 fantasyfootball.telegraph.co.uk

2 feedback-form.truste.com

2 gamedev.stackexchange.com

2 gaming.stackexchange.com

2 gardenshop.telegraph.co.uk

2 graphicdesign.stackexchange.com

2 hbr.org

2 hi-in.facebook.com

2 images.mix.com

2 instagram.com

2 it-it.facebook.com

2 iwantmyname.com

2 jamboard.google.com

2 jigsaw.w3.org

2 judaism.stackexchange.com

2 kopywritingkourse.com

2 lcorg.blogspot.com

2 l.facebook.com

2 link.mix.com

2 lubuntu.me

2 magento.stackexchange.com

2 mathoverflow.net

2 mbjguam.com

2 meta.stackexchange.com

2 mix.com

2 movies.stackexchange.com

2 music.youtube.com

2 networkengineering.stackexchange.com

2 pages.email3.telegraph.co.uk

2 platform-api.sharethis.com

2 polyfill.io

2 radiichina.com

2 rarehistoricalphotos.com

2 rpg.stackexchange.com

2 ru.stackoverflow.com

2 scifi.stackexchange.com

2 securityofthings.com

2 serverfault.com

2 sharepoint.stackexchange.com

2 shop.telegraph.co.uk

2 softwareengineering.stackexchange.com

2 softwarerecs.stackexchange.com

2 solus-project.com

2 stackauth.com

2 stats.stackexchange.com

2 support.mix.com

2 thecartoonsite.newsprints.co.uk

2 theexceptioncatcher.com

2 thegeeksreadinglist.com

2 thewhet.net

2 translations.launchpad.net

2 travel.stackexchange.com

2 ubuntugnome.org

2 ubuntustudio.org

2 validator.w3.org

2 vimeo-spotlight.myunidays.com

2 worldbuilding.stackexchange.com

2 www.27bslash6.com

2 www.aboutads.info

2 www.bloomberg.com

2 www.brighttalk.com

2 www.canonical.com

2 www.digicert.com

2 www.digitalcolorlabs.co.uk

2 www.edziu.me

2 www.faa.gov

2 www.forbes.com

2 www.head-fi.org

2 www.idstronghold.com

2 www.latimes.com

2 www.podfeet.com

2 www.readerprints.co.uk

2 www.schneier.com

2 www.standard.co.uk

2 www.stitcher.com

2 www.talamua.com

2 www.ted.com

2 www.theatlantic.com

2 www.ubuntuidaho.org

2 www.ubuntukylin.com

2 www.vanityfair.com

2 www.vimeopartnernetwork.com

2 www.wwe.com

2 xkcd.com

2 youtu.be

2 zh-cn.facebook.com

3 bigbangtrans.wordpress.com

3 blogs.discovermagazine.com

3 cdn.theatlantic.com

3 community.ubuntu.com

3 dating.telegraph.co.uk

3 discourse-cdn-sjc1.com

3 es-la.facebook.com

3 my.telegraph.co.uk

3 puzzles.telegraph.co.uk

3 s6.tinypic.com

3 schema.org

3 soundcloud.com

3 stackexchange.com

3 wehadnoidea.tumblr.com

3 www.bbc.com

3 www.bbc.co.uk

3 www.etsy.com

3 www.npr.org

3 www.privacyshield.gov

4 goo.gl

4 help.launchpad.net

4 player.vimeo.com

4 s.b-a.link

4 secure.gravatar.com

4 secure.telegraph.co.uk

4 securityledger.wpengine.com

4 securitynirvana.blogspot.com

4 www.androidpolice.com

4 www.condenast.com

4 www.dare.org

4 www.mvariety.com

4 www.torontosun.com

4 youtube.com

5 cdn.arstechnica.net

5 cdn.securityledger.com

5 perldoc.perl.org

5 player.ooyala.com

5 ro.wikisource.org

5 s.imgur.com

5 tutorials.ubuntu.com

5 www.eastwestcenter.org

6 cdn.sstatic.net

6 hashcat.net

6 i.vimeocdn.com

6 media.npr.org

6 premium.telegraph.co.uk

6 www.paypal.me

6 www.twitter.com

7 assets.ubuntu.com

7 forum.12oclockhigh.net

7 t.co

7 www.googletagmanager.com

7 www.pacaf.af.mil

7 www.w3.org

8 cdimage.ubuntu.com

8 linuxcommand.org

8 logs.bvulpes.com

8 yt3.ggpht.com

9 log.bitcoin-assets.com

10 blog.ubuntu.com

10 github.com

11 f.vimeocdn.com

11 i.imgur.com

12 support.google.com

12 theidco.com

13 cf.eip.telegraph.co.uk

14 btcbase.org

14 wiki.ubuntu.com

14 www.omgubuntu.co.uk

15 blogs.telegraph.co.uk

15 launchpad.net

15 s5.tinypic.com

16 aozoeky4dglp5sh0-zippykid.netdna-ssl.com

16 wot.deedbot.org

17 ubuntubudgie.org

18 www.reddit.com

20 static.xx.fbcdn.net

23 answers.launchpad.net

26 www.facebook.com

27 plus.google.com

28 en.wikipedia.org

36 imgur.com

38 help.ubuntu.com

38 www.ubuntu.com

39 www.stumbleupon.com

41 arstechnica.com

41 twitter.com

44 vimeo.com

54 spark.telegraph.co.uk

56 www.pireport.org

57 accounts.google.com

68 securityledger.com

73 stackoverflow.com

144 i.ytimg.com

155 tinypic.com

188 www.youtube.com

262 community.imgur.com

289 www.underarmour.com

742 www.telegraph.co.uk

2956 ubuntuforums.org

14867 trilema.com

Isn't that impressive ? Bothering to load the largest image on a site once per session is elegant, I agree. But making sure each and every single GET has a referrer set, and then picking out of a list at least hundreds of items longiv by a power law ? They're not even randomly distributed, they cluster. You'd almost think Trilema is being discussed on ubuntuforums or by the telegraph or some shitv.

Which also suggests the only possible explanation to this entire production : mayhap for some reason one of them "traffic generating" bots ended up thinking Trilema is a paying customer ? There's absolutely no reason on this side for such notions being entertained ; but then again who knows, some data entry monkey fucked up an excel spreadsheet somewhere. It's been known to happen.

Because outside of that, I confess I don't fucking get it. It's not simply an overengineered archiver because an archiver wouldn't need to

3 zsilnic

4 bitcoin

4 feed

5 continut-platit-no-more

6 a-lunatic-with-a-bloodied-axe-could-be-ringing-at-your-door

6 dragii-mei-avem-o-problema

6 me-they-say

6 oda-superbiei

6 prepare-to-be-insanely-incredibly-very-very-jealous-with-envy

6 revelatia-de-miercuri-dimineata

7 how-does-one-list-on-mpex

7 minigame-smg-november-2018-statement

7 no-such-labs-snsa-november-2018-statement

7 romanian-dicelist

7 the-community-of-division-or-puteria-y-verduleria

7 themes

7 the-stupidity-ratchet

8 adnotated-words-of-wisdom-on-the-topic-of-online-fraud

For one thing, trilema.com/themes isn't even linked anywhere ; for the other thing there's no reason to save six copies of a category untouched since April (and before that, 2017), or four copies of the feed. Or eight copies of an article from 2012. That's just not how archivers work, is it now.

I suppose the original theory ("MIRCEA POPESCU IS AN ASSHOLE!") might also carry water, who ever heard of a blog that can serve multiple requests per second without even noticing ? Certainly not a ridiculous hand puppet calling itself Brian Krebs, rite ?

Aaanyways. I suppose in the end I will simply wish you a traditional "who cares", and a happy new year!

———And no, it's not even to find out if they're gay, or other Romanian-interest topics. I understand you'd have expected so. Me too. Nevertheless... [↩]It doesn't have to be hostile to be threatening, you realise this. Obviously plenty of people have the stinking shit in their brainbox violently contradicted by the pristine perfection that is my blog ; yet plenty more have the yearning glimmer of hope and sanity they carry through a world of shit sweetly supported by that self-same pristine perfection. For both of these Trilema is vitriolically threatening : just as its continued existence implies the irreality of the idiocy of the former, just so its possible disappearance implies the irreality of the sanity of the latter. "You can't win", so to speak : great things will be threatening by their greatness, not by their direction. [↩]Obviously the Internet is full of shit ; yet also not so very difficult to classify.

Yes, anyone can write a script to load web pages ; yet you can trivially tell whether an IP is allocated to home consumers or datacenter usage, and then there's the universal side channel of timing. You can tell lots and lots about the other end if you bother to examine delays, to build histograms, to compare instants to means and medians and averages and in general, actuarial science is an actual science, unlike "social science", "economy" or psycho"logy".

You can even compare the native reading speed of populations in say North America, Australia and the UK, and thus obtain, through the relatively cheap venue of keeping a well read blog, much better information as to the relative quality of educational systems the world over than any "CIA" can possibly ever provide (not to mention up to date maps of the current state of outer space bogonic irradiation underway).

Because such is the glory and the luxury of existing in the future, and in the abstract, and in the Republic : you get all sorts of magical powers the lesser beings can, after a fashion, almost imagine. [↩]Last month's list is even thicker :

cat 'trilema.com-Dec-2018' | grep "37.187.150.139" | cut -d' ' -f11 | cut -d'/' -f3 | sort | uniq -c | sort -n

1 1.bp.blogspot.com

1 access.redhat.com

1 accounts.theatlantic.com

1 acrossdifficultcountry.blogspot.com

1 ad.adriver.ru

1 addons.mozilla.org

1 adevarul.ro

1 af.reuters.com

1 agrigorev.ru

1 analepsis.files.wordpress.com

1 arcanesentiment.blogspot.com

1 axisofeval.blogspot.com

1 b.elegram.ru

1 bimbo.club

1 bits.blogs.nytimes.com

1 blackhattactics.net

1 blog.qnology.com

1 blogs.wsj.com

1 bolshoi.by

1 borianm.livejournal.com

1 cascadianhacker.com

1 cdnc.ucr.edu

1 cdnjs.cloudflare.com

1 census.gov

1 chemistry.about.com

1 chromefetus.blogspot.com

1 claudecozycloud.typeform.com

1 code.google.com

1 community.imgur.com

1 contravex.com

1 crm-analytics.imweb.ru

1 cr.yp.to

1 cvsweb.openbsd.org

1 cyberleninka.ru

1 dealbook.nytimes.com

1 deutsche-wirtschafts-nachrichten.de

1 developers.rambler.ru

1 digg.com

1 education.github.com

1 elibrary.ru

1 enacademic.com

1 en.m.wikipedia.org

1 es.wikipedia.org

1 facebook.com

1 fima-psuchopadt.livejournal.com

1 flashgamesite.com

1 flipboard.com

1 fonts.googleapis.com

1 freedom-to-tinker.com

1 funcall.blogspot.com

1 ghettohikes.tumblr.com

1 globaldossier.uspto.gov

1 golang.org

1 gorskie.ru

1 help.github.com

1 hosted.ap.org

1 hr.wikipedia.org

1 i.li.ru

1 img-fotki.yandex.ru

1 inmueble.mercadolibre.com.py

1 io9.com

1 ip.fri-gate.org

1 irdial.com

1 jiriki.kapsi.fi

1 jobs.aviationtoday.com

1 kupcov-ag.narod.ru

1 lambda-the-ultimate.org

1 lichteblau.blogspot.com

1 linux.slashdot.org

1 load.qrator.net

1 magboss.pl

1 magzdb.org

1 mignews.com

1 mirageswar.com

1 mk.wikipedia.org

1 motls.blogspot.com

1 m.theweek.com

1 myaccount.google.com

1 myfhology.info

1 nanog.kaskadian.com

1 news.duke.edu

1 noperapon.livejournal.com

1 nouveau.lurkmore.net

1 nplus1.ru

1 obzor.westsib.ru

1 packetstormsecurity.com

1 patentimages.storage.googleapis.com

1 p-cos.blogspot.com

1 philip.greenspun.com

1 platform.twitter.com

1 plouffe.fr

1 premium-publishing.ru

1 prince-consort.livejournal.com

1 professionalrakeback.com

1 pt.wikipedia.org

1 pypi.org

1 radio.mediametrics.ru

1 richardkulisz.blogspot.com

1 rnd.cnews.ru

1 romanoff.1nsk.ru

1 ru.m.wikipedia.org

1 s0.videopress.com

1 scripts.dailymail.co.uk

1 search.bbc.co.uk

1 share.flipboard.com

1 shiko-1st.livejournal.com

1 shop.imedia.ru

1 shrani.si

1 sk.ru

1 sks-keyservers.net

1 sk.wikipedia.org

1 sooo.2x2forum.ru

1 soundcloud.com

1 sourceforge.net

1 stocks.about.com

1 store.steampowered.com

1 studioht.burpees.fr

1 support.google.com

1 szhaman.com

1 thesophisticatedinvestor.com.au

1 thetarpit.org

1 t.me

1 to1ne.gitlab.io

1 tourssud.burpees.fr

1 travisgoodspeed.blogspot.com

1 tvrain.ru

1 uk.wikipedia.org

1 upload.wikimedia.org

1 ushinskij-konstantin-pisatel.larec-skazok.ru

1 versu.com

1 waronline.org

1 widgets.sprinkletxt.com

1 winrar.com

1 wp.theintercept.com

1 www.addthis.com

1 www.amf-france.org

1 www.aviationtoday.com

1 www.bitstamp.net

1 www.bizapedia.com

1 www.cfda.gov

1 www.chrishowie.com

1 www-cs-faculty.stanford.edu

1 www.cyc.com

1 www.dreamsongs.com

1 www.eulorum.org

1 www.feasta.org

1 www.freebsdmall.com

1 www.g-loaded.eu

1 www.google.com

1 www.google.fr

1 www.googletagmanager.com

1 www.heritage.nf.ca

1 www.idstronghold.com

1 www.independent.co.uk

1 www.interfax.by

1 www.interfax.ru

1 www.irz.ru

1 www.itnews.com.au

1 www.kommersant.ru

1 www.laverdad.es

1 www.leonacraig.com

1 www.mediawiki.org

1 www.mobile-review.com

1 www.msnbc.com

1 www.museumofhoaxes.com

1 www.news.com.au

1 www.niknews.mk.ua

1 www.niquette.com

1 www.nosuchlabs.com

1 www.pinterest.com

1 www.radioscanner.ru

1 www.rambler.ru

1 www.reuters.com

1 www.rust-lang.org

1 www.slate.com

1 www.songworm.com

1 www.souz.co.il

1 www.sqlite.org

1 www.telegraph.co.uk

1 www.templeos.org

1 www.thewire.com

1 www.tinaja.com

1 www.trademarkia.com

1 www.utro.ru

1 www.uzi.com

1 www.warbirdalley.com

1 www.wikimediafoundation.org

1 www.worldcat.org

1 xahlee.org

1 yandex.ru

1 yt3.ggpht.com

2 1010.co.uk

2 actupnorth.com

2 ad7zj.net

2 ajax.googleapis.com

2 america.aljazeera.com

2 api.mindbox.ru

2 apis.google.com

2 api.vo-media.ru

2 ar.wikipedia.org

2 baseball.fantasysports.yahoo.com

2 bash.im

2 bitcoinpete.com

2 biz.cnews.ru

2 b-ok.org

2 booktracker.org

2 bugs.gentoo.org

2 bugzilla.mozilla.org

2 bvt-trace.net

2 ca.wikipedia.org

2 cdn.onesignal.com

2 chat.li.ru

2 client.qrator.net

2 cluborlov.blogspot.com

2 colonel_sokker.livejournal.com

2 connect.ok.ru

2 cozy.io

2 cs8.pikabu.ru

2 de.wikipedia.org

2 dianacoman.com

2 doc-00-bk-apps-viewer.googleusercontent.com

2 donate.wikimedia.org

2 drive.google.com

2 fa.wikipedia.org

2 fexpr.blogspot.com

2 fi.wikipedia.org

2 freesoft.ru

2 gawker.com

2 git.gnupg.org

2 glonass-gps.blogspot.com

2 grimnir74.livejournal.com

2 habrahabr.ru

2 he.wikipedia.org

2 hi-tech.mail.ru

2 institutrobotov.ru

2 ir-ingr.livejournal.com

2 iwantmyname.com

2 ja.wikipedia.org

2 juggalocoin.org

2 kazak1971.livejournal.com

2 kopywritingkourse.com

2 ko.wikipedia.org

2 lib.rus.ec

2 lifenews.ru

2 likemore-go.imgsmail.ru

2 linux.org.ru

2 listado.mercadolibre.com.uy

2 lj.rossia.org

2 logs.minigame.biz

2 lurkmore.co

2 lurkmore.so

2 marat2012.livejournal.com

2 melpa.org

2 mobile.flibusta.is

2 mobile-review.com

2 moronlab.blogspot.com

2 mwomercs.com

2 nakamotoinstitute.org

2 net-livejournal.livejournal.com

2 nosuchlabs.com

2 oglaf.com

2 ok.ru

2 openid.net

2 orwell.ru

2 pages.cs.wisc.edu

2 photomatt.net

2 phuctor.nosuchlabs.com

2 planet.wordpress.org

2 plasmastik.livejournal.com

2 play.google.com

2 pl.wikipedia.org

2 prod-cdn.wetransfer.net

2 prog21.dadgum.com

2 ravkooktorah.org

2 regnum.ru

2 relap.io

2 ro.wikipedia.org

2 s06.flagcounter.com

2 shushpanzer_ru.livejournal.com

2 support.fri-gate.org

2 sv.wikipedia.org

2 telecom.cnews.ru

2 tiomkin.livejournal.com

2 top100.rambler.ru

2 top.mail.ru

2 twobithistory.org

2 unenumerated.blogspot.com

2 validator.w3.org

2 w.b-a.link

2 wiki.bitcoin-otc.com

2 wiki.liveinternet.ru

2 wiki.teamfortress.com

2 writersblock.livejournal.com

2 www.03.ru

2 www.adacore.com

2 www.apple.com

2 www.artsy.net

2 www.bay12forums.com

2 www.bbc.co.uk

2 www.bloomberg.com

2 www.books.ru

2 www.coindesk.com

2 www.contravex.com

2 www.darkgrot.ru

2 www.darwinawards.com

2 www.daveswarbirds.com

2 wwwen.zte.com.cn

2 www.faa.gov

2 www.farmtek.com

2 www.forbes.com

2 www.fourmilab.ch

2 www.gamewoods.ru

2 www.imi-israel.com

2 www.linux.org.ru

2 www.li.ru

2 www.liveleak.com

2 www.math.columbia.edu

2 www.math.rutgers.edu

2 www.militaryparitet.com

2 www.modernlib.ru

2 www.mosis.com

2 www.mvd.ru

2 www.old-games.ru

2 www.openbsd.org

2 www.phpbb.com

2 www.playhawken.com

2 www.sbir.gov

2 www.softwareforscreenprinters.com

2 www.spaceweatherradio.com

2 www.speedyshare.com

2 www.staedtler.com

2 www.subrayado.com.uy

2 www.svobodanews.ru

2 www.technohelp.ru

2 www.thedrinkingrecord.com

2 www.thesitewizard.com

2 www.torontosun.com

2 www.vanityfair.com

2 www.yandex.ru

2 x4.fjcdn.com

2 xc3.services.livejournal.com

2 zen.yandex.ru

3 anime-rus.ru

3 bigbangtrans.wordpress.com

3 bitcoin.org

3 blockchain.info

3 blogs.discovermagazine.com

3 cryptopals.com

3 darwinawards.com

3 forum.topwar.ru

3 fr.wikipedia.org

3 gmpg.org

3 gunter-spb.livejournal.com

3 id.wikipedia.org

3 i.ibb.co

3 lh3.googleusercontent.com

3 logs.bvulpes.com

3 l-stat.livejournal.net

3 mihaistanescu.wordpress.com

3 on.msnbc.com

3 redthreaddesign.ru

3 search.bitcoin-assets.com

3 ship.bsu.by

3 smart-lab.ru

3 unqualified-reservations.blogspot.com

3 wikimediafoundation.org

3 www.americanthinker.com

3 www.bbc.com

3 www.dare.org

3 www.deepstorm.ru

3 www.dianacoman.com

3 www.etsy.com

3 www.huffingtonpost.com

3 www.jeg.ro

3 www.mail-archive.com

3 www.newsru.com

3 www.nytimes.com

3 www.odnoklassniki.ru

3 www.openwall.com

3 www.wikidata.org

3 www.with-emacs.com

3 xkcd.com

3 yastatic.net

3 zh.wikipedia.org

4 assets.rbl.ms

4 bit.ly

4 community.livejournal.com

4 cs.wikipedia.org

4 dadatroll.wordpress.com

4 danielpbarron.com

4 doctor.ru

4 fr.anco.is

4 gunter_spb.livejournal.com

4 iland.tv

4 instagram.com

4 jesuschristsiliconvalley.tumblr.com

4 libgen.io

4 nl.wikipedia.org

4 pizarroisp.net

4 purl.org

4 rarehistoricalphotos.com

4 schema.org

4 thescientificshrimper.wordpress.com

4 wordpress.org

4 www.blogger.com

4 www.digitaltrends.com

4 www.elobservador.com.uy

4 www.gnu.org

4 www.postgresql.org

4 www.webcitation.org

4 yaplakal.com

5 4.bp.blogspot.com

5 88isp.net

5 books.google.ru

5 chrome.google.com

5 commons.wikimedia.org

5 deadspin.com

5 lurkmo.re

5 ossasepia.com

5 pbs.twimg.com

5 therealbitcoin.org

5 toursnord.burpees.fr

5 wot.deedbot.org

5 www.instagram.com

5 www.theatlantic.com

5 www.trustedsec.com

5 www.xach.com

6 forums.xkcd.com

6 foundation.wikimedia.org

6 g.liveinternet.ru

6 imgprx.livejournal.net

6 log.mkj.lt

6 radar.qrator.net

6 thewhet.net

6 web.archive.org

6 www.livejournal.com

7 imgur.com

8 bitcoin-otc.com

8 i.imgur.com

8 it.wikipedia.org

8 lenta.ru

8 mc.yandex.ru

8 solutionsforscreenprinters.com

8 www.dailymail.co.uk

8 www.windytan.com

8 www.yapfiles.ru

9 inmueble.mercadolibre.com.uy

9 vk.com

9 www.urbandictionary.com

10 t.co

10 www.reddit.com

10 youtube.com

12 accounts.google.com

13 d3nevzfk7ii3be.cloudfront.net

13 putnik1.livejournal.com

14 plus.google.com

15 l-userpic.livejournal.com

15 upnorthmedia.nl

16 b-otc.com

16 mediametrics.ru

16 www.facebook.com

17 fri-gate.org

19 s.b-a.link

20 qntra.net

22 bash.bitcoin-assets.com

24 github.com

25 archive.is

26 autokadabra.ru

26 log.bitcoin-assets.com

27 p.bvulpes.com

28 i.ytimg.com

31 qrator.net

43 topwar.ru

46 www.popmech.ru

56 irreal.org

58 twitter.com

60 www.youtube.com

68 www.loper-os.org

69 upnorthmemorabilia.com

83 youtu.be

115 www.liveinternet.ru

161 flibusta.is

167 www.yaplakal.com

176 en.wikipedia.org

186 btcbase.org

411 strangernn.livejournal.com

580 ru.wikipedia.org

1194 lurkmore.to

19228 trilema.com

Consider how the two diff : 490 vs 366 elements, and otherwise

comm -13 spam1.txt spam2.txt

1010.co.uk

4.bp.blogspot.com

88isp.net

access.redhat.com

accounts.theatlantic.com

acrossdifficultcountry.blogspot.com

actupnorth.com

ad7zj.net

ad.adriver.ru

adevarul.ro

af.reuters.com

agrigorev.ru

america.aljazeera.com

analepsis.files.wordpress.com

anime-rus.ru

api.mindbox.ru

apis.google.com

api.vo-media.ru

arcanesentiment.blogspot.com

ar.wikipedia.org

assets.rbl.ms

autokadabra.ru

axisofeval.blogspot.com

baseball.fantasysports.yahoo.com

bash.bitcoin-assets.com

bash.im

b.elegram.ru

bimbo.club

bitcoin.org

bitcoin-otc.com

bits.blogs.nytimes.com

biz.cnews.ru

blackhattactics.net

blockchain.info

b-ok.org

bolshoi.by

books.google.ru

booktracker.org

borianm.livejournal.com

bugs.gentoo.org

bvt-trace.net

cascadianhacker.com

ca.wikipedia.org

cdnc.ucr.edu

cdnjs.cloudflare.com

cdn.onesignal.com

census.gov

chat.li.ru

chromefetus.blogspot.com

chrome.google.com

claudecozycloud.typeform.com

client.qrator.net

cluborlov.blogspot.com

code.google.com

colonel_sokker.livejournal.com

commons.wikimedia.org

community.livejournal.com

connect.ok.ru

contravex.com

cozy.io

crm-analytics.imweb.ru

cr.yp.to

cryptopals.com

cs8.pikabu.ru

cs.wikipedia.org

cvsweb.openbsd.org

cyberleninka.ru

d3nevzfk7ii3be.cloudfront.net

dadatroll.wordpress.com

danielpbarron.com

darwinawards.com

dealbook.nytimes.com

deutsche-wirtschafts-nachrichten.de

developers.rambler.ru

de.wikipedia.org

digg.com

doc-00-bk-apps-viewer.googleusercontent.com

doctor.ru

drive.google.com

education.github.com

elibrary.ru

enacademic.com

en.m.wikipedia.org

es.wikipedia.org

facebook.com

fa.wikipedia.org

fexpr.blogspot.com

fima-psuchopadt.livejournal.com

fi.wikipedia.org

flashgamesite.com

flibusta.is

flipboard.com

fonts.googleapis.com

forums.xkcd.com

forum.topwar.ru

foundation.wikimedia.org

fr.anco.is

freedom-to-tinker.com

freesoft.ru

fri-gate.org

fr.wikipedia.org

funcall.blogspot.com

gawker.com

git.gnupg.org

g.liveinternet.ru

globaldossier.uspto.gov

glonass-gps.blogspot.com

gmpg.org

golang.org

gorskie.ru

grimnir74.livejournal.com

gunter_spb.livejournal.com

gunter-spb.livejournal.com

habrahabr.ru

help.github.com

he.wikipedia.org

hi-tech.mail.ru

hosted.ap.org

hr.wikipedia.org

id.wikipedia.org

i.ibb.co

iland.tv

i.li.ru

img-fotki.yandex.ru

imgprx.livejournal.net

inmueble.mercadolibre.com.py

inmueble.mercadolibre.com.uy

institutrobotov.ru

io9.com

ip.fri-gate.org

irdial.com

ir-ingr.livejournal.com

irreal.org

it.wikipedia.org

ja.wikipedia.org

jiriki.kapsi.fi

jobs.aviationtoday.com

kazak1971.livejournal.com

ko.wikipedia.org

kupcov-ag.narod.ru

lambda-the-ultimate.org

lenta.ru

libgen.io

lib.rus.ec

lichteblau.blogspot.com

lifenews.ru

likemore-go.imgsmail.ru

linux.org.ru

linux.slashdot.org

listado.mercadolibre.com.uy

lj.rossia.org

load.qrator.net

log.mkj.lt

logs.minigame.biz

l-stat.livejournal.net

lurkmo.re

lurkmore.co

lurkmore.so

lurkmore.to

l-userpic.livejournal.com

magboss.pl

magzdb.org

marat2012.livejournal.com

mc.yandex.ru

mediametrics.ru

melpa.org

mignews.com

mihaistanescu.wordpress.com

mirageswar.com

mk.wikipedia.org

mobile.flibusta.is

mobile-review.com

moronlab.blogspot.com

motls.blogspot.com

m.theweek.com

mwomercs.com

myaccount.google.com

myfhology.info

nakamotoinstitute.org

nanog.kaskadian.com

net-livejournal.livejournal.com

news.duke.edu

nl.wikipedia.org

noperapon.livejournal.com

nosuchlabs.com

nouveau.lurkmore.net

nplus1.ru

obzor.westsib.ru

oglaf.com

ok.ru

on.msnbc.com

openid.net

orwell.ru

ossasepia.com

pages.cs.wisc.edu

patentimages.storage.googleapis.com

p.bvulpes.com

p-cos.blogspot.com

philip.greenspun.com

photomatt.net

phuctor.nosuchlabs.com

pizarroisp.net

planet.wordpress.org

plasmastik.livejournal.com

platform.twitter.com

plouffe.fr

pl.wikipedia.org

premium-publishing.ru

prince-consort.livejournal.com

prod-cdn.wetransfer.net

professionalrakeback.com

prog21.dadgum.com

pt.wikipedia.org

purl.org

putnik1.livejournal.com

pypi.org

qntra.net

qrator.net

radar.qrator.net

radio.mediametrics.ru

ravkooktorah.org

redthreaddesign.ru

regnum.ru

relap.io

richardkulisz.blogspot.com

rnd.cnews.ru

romanoff.1nsk.ru

ro.wikipedia.org

ru.m.wikipedia.org

ru.wikipedia.org

s06.flagcounter.com

s0.videopress.com

scripts.dailymail.co.uk

search.bbc.co.uk

search.bitcoin-assets.com

share.flipboard.com

shiko-1st.livejournal.com

ship.bsu.by

shop.imedia.ru

shrani.si

shushpanzer_ru.livejournal.com

sk.ru

sks-keyservers.net

sk.wikipedia.org

smart-lab.ru

solutionsforscreenprinters.com

sooo.2x2forum.ru

store.steampowered.com

strangernn.livejournal.com

studioht.burpees.fr

support.fri-gate.org

sv.wikipedia.org

szhaman.com

telecom.cnews.ru

therealbitcoin.org

thescientificshrimper.wordpress.com

thesophisticatedinvestor.com.au

thetarpit.org

tiomkin.livejournal.com

t.me

to1ne.gitlab.io

top100.rambler.ru

top.mail.ru

topwar.ru

toursnord.burpees.fr

tourssud.burpees.fr

travisgoodspeed.blogspot.com

tvrain.ru

twobithistory.org

uk.wikipedia.org

unenumerated.blogspot.com

unqualified-reservations.blogspot.com

upload.wikimedia.org

upnorthmedia.nl

upnorthmemorabilia.com

ushinskij-konstantin-pisatel.larec-skazok.ru

versu.com

vk.com

waronline.org

w.b-a.link

web.archive.org

widgets.sprinkletxt.com

wiki.bitcoin-otc.com

wiki.liveinternet.ru

wikimediafoundation.org

wiki.teamfortress.com

winrar.com

wordpress.org

wp.theintercept.com

writersblock.livejournal.com

www.03.ru

www.adacore.com

www.addthis.com

www.americanthinker.com

www.amf-france.org

www.artsy.net

www.aviationtoday.com

www.bay12forums.com

www.bitstamp.net

www.blogger.com

www.books.ru

www.cfda.gov

www.chrishowie.com

www.coindesk.com

www.contravex.com

www-cs-faculty.stanford.edu

www.cyc.com

www.dailymail.co.uk

www.darkgrot.ru

www.darwinawards.com

www.daveswarbirds.com

www.deepstorm.ru

www.dianacoman.com

www.digitaltrends.com

www.dreamsongs.com

www.elobservador.com.uy

wwwen.zte.com.cn

www.eulorum.org

www.farmtek.com

www.feasta.org

www.freebsdmall.com

www.gamewoods.ru

www.g-loaded.eu

www.gnu.org

www.google.com

www.google.fr

www.heritage.nf.ca

www.huffingtonpost.com

www.imi-israel.com

www.independent.co.uk

www.instagram.com

www.interfax.by

www.interfax.ru

www.irz.ru

www.itnews.com.au

www.jeg.ro

www.kommersant.ru

www.laverdad.es

www.leonacraig.com

www.linux.org.ru

www.li.ru

www.liveinternet.ru

www.livejournal.com

www.liveleak.com

www.loper-os.org

www.math.columbia.edu

www.math.rutgers.edu

www.mediawiki.org

www.militaryparitet.com

www.mobile-review.com

www.modernlib.ru

www.mosis.com

www.msnbc.com

www.museumofhoaxes.com

www.mvd.ru

www.news.com.au

www.newsru.com

www.niknews.mk.ua

www.niquette.com

www.nosuchlabs.com

www.nytimes.com

www.odnoklassniki.ru

www.old-games.ru

www.openbsd.org

www.openwall.com

www.phpbb.com

www.pinterest.com

www.playhawken.com

www.popmech.ru

www.postgresql.org

www.radioscanner.ru

www.rambler.ru

www.rust-lang.org

www.sbir.gov

www.slate.com

www.softwareforscreenprinters.com

www.songworm.com

www.souz.co.il

www.speedyshare.com

www.sqlite.org

www.staedtler.com

www.subrayado.com.uy

www.svobodanews.ru

www.technohelp.ru

www.templeos.org

www.thedrinkingrecord.com

www.thesitewizard.com

www.thewire.com

www.tinaja.com

www.trademarkia.com

www.trustedsec.com

www.utro.ru

www.uzi.com

www.warbirdalley.com

www.webcitation.org

www.wikidata.org

www.wikimediafoundation.org

www.windytan.com

www.with-emacs.com

www.worldcat.org

www.xach.com

www.yandex.ru

www.yapfiles.ru

www.yaplakal.com

x4.fjcdn.com

xahlee.org

xc3.services.livejournal.com

yandex.ru

yaplakal.com

yastatic.net

zen.yandex.ru

zh.wikipedia.org

A 77 element overlap would tend to suggest a list of strings to choose from at least in the thousands. [↩]Which of course it's not, slug knows no scarier salt. What next, hallucinated optionality poseurs admitting their existence to date was not just lame, but necessarily lame ?! And then what ? Making amends ?! Laissez. [↩]

« The problems

What is meant by AI ? »

Category: Meta psihoza

Tuesday, 01 January, Year 11 d.Tr.