God did it to himself
There was a woman ; and she went and prayed to be married.
As she left the prayery, a man saw them ; and then married her.
The woman returned, to pray for having a baby.
She later returned to thank for her daughter ; and to pray for another baby.
She then was back regularly, to pray for her daughters to be healthy and grow up happy.
Eventually she prayed for her daughters to be married.
A brickmaker married one ; and a cabbage man married the other.
The daughters, following the glowing example of their mother, both went and prayed :
The one married to the clay worker for sunny weather, such that their bricks may faster dry ;
And the one married to the gardener for rain, such that their cabbages may faster grow.
God really did it to himself.
The end.
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Au rebours »
Category: Cuvinte Sfiinte
Friday, 06 March, Year 12 d.Tr.
Gli stornelli nun canti piu...
Notto : Stop your ramblin'
stop your gamblin'
stop stayin' out late at night
Go home to your wife & fambly
stay there, by the fireside bright
Eh ?
I had already plainly stated last week the plain, self-evident facts of the matter -- the current "hysteria"i is self-obviously and quite transparently a ploy by the older womanii to gather male attention she "feels her due" but "feels isn't getting". That Trilema's the only place this was stated is neither surprising nor extraordinary : Trilema is the only place, it comes with the territory. If such a thing as "somewhere else" in fact existed, the truth could perhaps be found somewhere else. Even if only by accident, yet nevertheless it could be. But as there isn't...
Anyways, here's the problem with the wishings by the immature : you get what you wish for.
The kids are at home now. The husband's at home too. Are you the center of that attention you so utterly yearned for ? How is it panning out for you ?
I can kinda tell, actually. There's queues out of the parking lot at all drive-through mcdonalds, because "the lady of the house" is barely qualified to the (significantly lower) standards making a lady of the night -- she sure as fuck can't cook. Can she now ?
What, you thought all those "women of old" cooked because "they didn't have a choice" ? Right you were. The choice they didn't have wasn't, however, in a wide selection of white goods. The choice they didn't have was being so fucking enrapturingly interesting enough as to maintain the focus of family life without cooking.
Come to think about it, you really don't have anything meaningful -- let alone, let very, very far & distantly alone anything remotely interesting -- to say to all these people. Yes, you thought you had, I'm sure you did... but then that "endlessly long list" was gone, not even with the dawn. It was gone in mere minutes. And then... there's another minute. After it... comes another. What now ?
Here's another minute. What can you do with it, to justify so much unbearable attention ?
Oh, "everyone should simmer the fuck down" ? I'm sure. The funny thing is, the man had warned about this, quite correctly and rather specifically (though what words mean over spans of time always requires adjustment) :
Give women the vote, and in five years there will be a crushing tax on bachelors.
Yeah, that's right : you were given the vote. You didn't take it, you were given it, like a sick child to nurse, like a pair of old socks to darn, like all the other garbage you're given as per your traditional role in society and point of existence altogether. Not like you can give it back, nobody the fuck wants it, actually strike that : nobody the fuck's even left to take it.
What now ? You got your vote, you got your attention, now what ?
Look, there's another minute, what of it ?
What tricks can you do, old gal ? Shall we watch tissues sag together ? Paint dry ? Flies fuck ? Can you dance ? For how long can you dance, Salome ?
Is all this really too much pressure ? Seems to me divorce rates are set to a magnific explosion this yeariii, the clerks will stamp five years' worth of paperwork in six months, but all the better, right, it's good for the economy just like pissing yourself to keep warm is good for the pants.
What now ?
for' de porta 'n carozzella
a balla' la tarantella
Nannarella nun venghi piu...
E li fiori a la loggetta
co' le spighe,
e la rughetta...
———Do you know what hysteria denotes ? Not really ? Well... what's a hysterectomy ? [↩]Really gals : there's exactly one way what you want can be achieved. Exactly one way. Start training the young sluts for extraordinary competence in proportion to your extraordinary "expectations" & desires or get lost. I don't give a shit how "inconceivable" you wanna pretend like "it seems to you" -- the game of seemings didn't work for the retarded bois either, an' it ain't gonna work for you. [↩]Let's take a moment to discuss a specific. I expect the "experience of the crisis" is going to turn out in retrospect the breaking point for Costa Rica's erstwhile very Latino-catholic worldview. It's a watershed moment, up until Spring 2020 ticos actually thought "home life" is a desirable if not always or necessarily tangible ideal. I expect come Summer 2020 they will have stopped thinking so, and even if the unwind takes a century, the "family" as lived by women now alive (in common with women dead for the past three to five centuries) will never again be met by any ticas. For the ones yet young it will survive as memory, a distant, cherished memory ; for the ones yet unborn it'll not survive as anything. Progress, you know ? [↩]
« The problem of human existence...
Gomorrah »
Category: Zsilnic
Wednesday, 25 March, Year 12 d.Tr.
Girl, interrupted
The film itselfi is hardly worth the mention in the direct. Yet another one of those, pantsuit-made transparent agitprop wanna-be edgy, controversial, captivating the youth and so on. Programele Casei De Filme Unu Pentru Pionieri Si Soimii Patriei -- Sub Deviza "Tot Inainte, Spre Decenii De Impliniri Marete!".
The reason I'm mentioning it has everything to do with happenstance, and coincidence : as it happens, coincidentally, sitting through a screening of the atrocity amidsts a very sad harem (various variously painful nails of "no, you're not a girl anymore" having recently been driven mercilessly under whatever nails and assorted accretions) it occured to me -- there's yet another red thread going through all the pantsuit agitprop pieces.
Have you noticed how all discussion of teenage female sexuality in pantsuit media necessarily snaps to the very narrow guiding line of... dicked girl gets her pseudo-maturing into the pantsuit atrocity (also called "careerwoman" in-universe, much like weirdo cults call their deranged "leadership" inspired or whatever nonsense, touched by the vorlons) delayed, by "unnecessary", as well as "wrong" excursions into some version of "ultimately failed" but in any case charicatured womanhood ?
It occurs to me that this isn't in the slightest coincidental. It occurs to me that the batshit crazy delineation is an actual thing, and that it informs pretty much everything these idiots do. It occurs to me that the pantsuits well know pantsuitism has entirely no chance of flourishing in places where the useless females are turned to breeders by age 16, like those evil Catholics do in SouthAsia. Pantsuit-flavoured socialism needs their useless females sterile "careerwomen", like they do in NorthAsia, can't have catholic social practices taking hold in protestant lands, right ?
So a narrative is constructed, always on the same fundamental lines : yes, you're biologically worthless, society's in the business of dealing with the loss you represent, but let's do it like "writer/barrista in small storage box", and not like "baby factory", okay ? We're not set up for doing it the southern way, and what's more, what's infinitely, indescribably worse : other people would be handling that situation, in different ways. Don't you love your niggerii ?! Don't you want them to do well in life, don't you want the nigger class to flourish ?! What, you don't care if its those handlers or these handlers, the matter of cattle ownership's rather indifferent to the cow herd ?! What heresies!
I obviously don't care so much what music the respective cattle farms play in their cattle pens ; but I do feel rather amused at whatever females with aspirations to humanity that genuinely mistook this lulz as some sort of deeply personal, intrinsically meaningful piece of art. I know they exist, through direct experience not to mention statistical considerations ; it's a little bit like the kid volunteering to lead a cavalry charge on the basis of his experience with stick horses at home. What's he to do if his noxious parents won't have real horses around when he was kiddingiii ?
What's he to do ? Why, he's to be amusing, of course! Unintentionally, of course, but then again agency's not for pantsuitism by-products, nor ever could be. It'd go against the whole principle of the entire thing.
Agency's reserved for the actual women within the bunch, always and everywhere necessarily a minority. It is my considered oppinion that these few, these happy few, these band-of-sisters are better served in practice by one rather than the other environment ; but then again... what the fuck do I care, the chief defining characteristic of the woman is that she womans out, irrespective of what her girlyhood was like. If she makes the cut she made the cut, and definitionally satisfies that criterion ; and if she doesn't make the cut she's no part of this conversation anyways. It could be perhaps argued that making the cut from the North is a lot more painful, hard work ; but then again nobody really suffered for painful, hard work in the past. The suffering associated with these is always in the present, and stays there.
In the end, they say wisdom is when you understand how the world works so well, you correlatively perceive there's not much if anything needing any fixing. Because... well, what can you do.
———1999, by James Mangold, with Winona Ryder, an Angelina Jolie before her going completely off the deep end, and a "Clea DuVall" which to me looks almost exactly like Val Kilmer's feminine side.
Don't you find ?
Anyways, if you don't you don't, that's it for her, she didn't exactly age well. Born '77, baiting by 96 (above), HD'd by 1999. A life. [↩]Here represented, comedically enough, by a coincidentally-black but utterly nigger (just review her career) Whoopi Goldberg. And my oh my, with what hosannas is that representation stuffed, good lord, never a mary sue has received such glorious portrayal (for the obvious reason that in general mary-sue-pushers make the mistake of giving the avorton a central role, which is incompatible through volume with success in its line). I suppose the work's worth seeing just for that, like that recent Disney atrocity about a "preditory race" -- figure it out, blacks, America's gypsies, the cowardlier breed ever seen under the sun, "preditory" -- that's "trying its best" to "live in harmony" with a herbivore majority, but they're mean and oppress the poor darlings. I don't intend to, for myself, but then again I am not employed at sifting through socialist garbage. [↩]As in the continuos form of the verb describing the action of being a kid. Right ? [↩]
« Notes upon notes and comments of comments, for now and forever, Amen.
Tuesday after Christmas »
Category: Trilematograf
Saturday, 13 June, Year 12 d.Tr.
Get back to me...
This article was originally going to be a comment, like the other ; but then as I wrote it down I became entangled by degrees, and soon discovered I can't eschewi the use of footnotes, soii...
Well, for starters I actually thought we were trying to assess - given the focus on pragmatic and the question itself, which inquires as to why not use it, not as to why isn't it good quality - a very practical fitness for purpose that includes therefore both quality and usability as it stands.
In a word... no.
Let's revisit the film of events to resync here. So, the client for playing Eulora, an item that started its life for practical purposes as an alpha back in 2013, received a couple minor upgrades in the following three years, yielding version 1.2 in 2016. Since then, until lo now 2020, it's received one or two even smaller, letter-denominated touch-ups, so its called 1.2b.
The history of client versions is however a terrible proxy for the history of an online game -- changes to the client merely signify inconvenience to the player (who, in this schematic, is actually prototyped by me, and god knows nobody wants to inconvenience meiii), whereas actual game improvements should occur as changes to the server, which aren't reported to the userbase. In fact, the design as such calls specifically for an end to client versions altogether, as a thing the player needs to be aware of, hence all the moves on how to handle data.
In fact, during all these years, a lot of various work went into the server, as reported (though not everything was in fact reported) through the common means of the S.MG monthlies and then quarterlies. This started exploratorily, as you caught up speed with cpp-gramming (if that can be called programming, we'll discuss some other time) and familiarity with the codebase ; and continued conservatorily, because it was my policy to discourage what at the time I recognized but did not understand as alfisms.
Starting circa 2017/2018iv I relaxedv, and we decided to actually attempt what had for a long while at that point been mostly a dream, a thing in the future, a coming of ye Jerusalem as it were : giving it a major revision, making an Eulora 2.0.
This is something that was always going to eventually happen, as a matter of necessity ; the question had always been one of when, not one of if. So we gathered all the things, thought it through, and came up with a plan : since we'll be changing the client might as well have a new comm protocol, since we know it'll be new might as well make it good, meaning include proper crypto, meaning things in turn. A large, sprawling tree, but it seemed, at least at the time, that whether we're ready or not, it'll be worth trying in any case.
Of course then S.NSA critically failed almost immediately, obviously (now, in retrospect) as the necessary as well as only possible product of moron involvement. But, since it had made self-important and falselyvi reassuring noises at that point for years (only to immediately sink weeks within anyone trying to step on the hallucinatory bedrock), I (mistakenly) opted to attempt remedial, rather than apply the more appropriate means of dealing with ghouls, vampires, zombies & assorted such varmints of the dark.vii Predictably (no, not in retrospect, it was just as prospectively predictable) it didn't take -- but that's a discussion that long exhausted its piddly mommentum elsewhere (and will nevertheless be brought again and again and again because... well...).
We continued, but things did eventually come to an impasse :
mircea_popescu diana_coman, let's restate this, so currently work on nailing down the comms protocol is stalled on a definitive universal data model, which is stalled on graphical use in the client, that about it ?
diana_coman mircea_popescu: yes.
That was the closing note of 2019 ; there was some probing of possible approaches, specifically
mircea_popescu diana_coman, the way this coming to a head is working out in my head is as follows : you have practically speaking the option to either a) go trawl the entire internet, drag out ~everything~ that's conceivably useful (submit expenses report for stuff that's behind reasonable paywalls i guess) and then we systematize the pile ; or else write a possible-lifeform-generation machine and see what you want it to save.
When things weren't resolving two weeks later, I decided to cut the kitty : forget Eulora 2.0 for now.
It's a momentuous thing, obviously. If you set sail for a voyage to some place that's expected to take a year, or maybe more, then however desirable the destination might've been at the onset, the pains and labours of self-movement are daily, unrequitting ; the ideal's distant, sparkling faintly, there still, but... it takes an exquisite sort of soul to manage to maintain that balance. The one thing you don't want to be saying to such people, especially not a year or two in, is anything like, "you know... our maps were wrong, it wasn't one but eighty years away all along" or "you know, our velocimeters were way off, we didn't go most of the way, but most of a percent of the way" or any such thing. Yet... well, what can you do ? Not tell 'em ? There's a footnote above dealing with that.
It makes sense, though. You go while the going's good, and once it turns sour you either go somehow else, or else you go somewhere else. As things stand I don't happen to think it's either sane or feasible to expect much resolution to be had here, in the strong, abstract sense it was discussed.viii
It was perhaps hasty, but the problem with modern conceptions of hastiness is that they're much akin modern conceptions of "value of human life" : in that they're unbounded they're also perfectly useless. Meanwhile the one thing you can't do is sit your ass down in the middle of the road and check out while you "consider" what there's to do.
None of this is novel, nor does she have much need for me to point it out to her, this whole thousand-word discussion happened implicitly, upon the minute support of a dozen or two lines in the logs ; but since we're now on the blog might as well make things explicit, and in the process save ourselves the need to carry all the elaborate procedural generators along for the ride. Trading time for space and both for mechanical complexity, what else is life ?
And now, for our labours, we're finally at a point where we can address the perceived disconnect! Aren't you happy ? Aren't you proud ? Congrats, you've made it far enough.
What I said was,
mircea_popescu Pretty great list of accomplishments, really.
mircea_popescu diana_coman, reading all this all over again, it makes regret quite palpable.
It means exactly what it says : that I sat down and read a portion of the story of the voyage, and it rather screamed out to me : "Are you sure, MP ? You're always wrong, and so you'll be again, but are you at least sure, before we turn about ?"
So I went and looked : am I sure ? Is it indeed time to call it a day, shelve the work of the past year or two, and get back to wearing our dirty laundry from before ? Is it a factual, inescapable truth that indeed washing machines don't exist and can't be used and so on, we're ants, tiny little helpless ants inexplicably captive in human bodies for some reason, and doing laundry's just not within our horizon of capability ?ix
The look dredged up something : we didn't actually explain why we can't just take the data model such as it is and use it in the Eulora 2.0 such as we wanted it. Not saying that we can or we can't, but we never even discussed it. Why not ?
It wasn't a big deal at first ; it however became a big deal through the process such ever happens : it struck me as somewhat odd that not only the thing I seem to perceive wasn't perceived (which can happen as per the definitions of perception) but that once pointed out it apparently wasn't perceived still! There's something amiss here, what is it ? How come ?
No, I very well don't mean anything like
Well, for starters I actually thought we were trying to assess - given the focus on pragmatic and the question itself, which inquires as to why not use it, not as to why isn't it good quality - a very practical fitness for purpose that includes therefore both quality and usability as it stands.
The focus on pragmatic is a node further down, it can't constitute the context for this node further up. Here we sit examining whether we did correctly decide to move down to that node, did we actually exhaust the possible avenues of approach, do we in fact have to return.
So, in the simplest of terms : why can't Eulora 2.0 use all the files Eulora 1.2 currently uses ? The protocol as specced for Eulora 2.0 allows for file transfer, why can't I reference an icon, say, the client doesn't have, but which it dutifully downloads, and when it's started again now... has ? Yes, I'm aware this is exactly how Windows works -- now guess why it is that Windows works that way, how come it came to be, whence and wherefore ?
Unlike the retards, however, we do indeed have the option to get out of it. In time, and with work, of course, but...
I do see now at least the sort of practical approach you have in mind, basically more of a sidestepping/working around the limitations of the client rather than solving them (unless absolutely having to).
Not even that restrained, but going as far as to simply deem the extant client what it is : the fucking enemy ; and to use it, roughly and with no concern for its own soul. Treat it like paste to be extruded, since it's decided not to be a mechanism, that can be respected. That's, ultimately, the choice of life, isn't it ? Since it has no god, by having no proper tree structure, it therefore is a paste.
Otherwise, specifically to "what's the tension" - it rears up in more concrete detail down the line but perhaps you either don't call it tension or don't assign it to this root: all the formats/models, such as they are, focus on organizing something fixed (a set of whatever, from a set of bones if we talk of cal3d's format for meshes for instance to assets as such if we talk of CS's format for "library", hence all the raster formats and references by filename and enumerations of whatnots) while our focus is on modeling (in its proper sense of extracting the underlying model, not the mess CG made of this poor word; hence vectorial for instance).
I expect this is very true ; but I also want you to take a day or two, and look at it again, and see. Is it indeed true it can't be fucked ?
Sure, we don't "care" about the original focus in the abstract but its concrete results can't be ignored and do clash with what we want. We can sidestep it perhaps as above at the user end but sidestepping it similarly at the format level seems to me to be pretty much along the lines of don't use their format, make your own and then write some converter for the client basically (what I even mention anyway for where there's no direct fit, since I don't see anything else really).
I expect this is very much so -- but I do not deem the work of writing such convertors wasted, because, in fact, they're the alpha versions of what we'll be even doing in the first place. You don't get to have good sex by keeping yourself pure for X future time ; you get to have good sex by having lots and lots AND LOTS of terrible, bad, dubious, kinda ok sex at first. It progresses from there, the only way to have great relationships is to fuck lots and lots and lots of women, the only way to cook good food is to cook lots and lots and lots of food and so following ad nauseam (which I expect is not far off, with all them lots).
There is also otherwise a GIMP plugin for dds still in C, possibly smaller but still an unknown/unexplored.
I actually explored it back in... ugh, 2015 ? It worked fine, but couldn't be arsed then to write a scheme automater for it.
They are made...
I am most satisfied by this answer.
the original PS seems to have had a whole "weather manager" mushroom on the side of which possibly only some tendrils (still a mess) remain.
Ah yes, you know I have a vague recollection as to how this was involved in the stability issues the game had.
Anyways... get back to me!
———Yes, I always try to. [↩]It strikes me that this is the perfect differentiation criteria between comment and article, at least for my needs, for the time being. [↩]See, this right here is clear an' self-evident footnote material, that at the time this was being written to be a comment had been hammered flat, to fit within simple (rather than a double) paranthesis. On re-read this is evident, but I also can't be arsed to inflate it back into shape, so leave it then stand as is : nobody in his right fucking mind expects to inconvenience me and live. [↩]Was something like that, Q4 / Q1 sorta thing. [↩]The atmosphere was a lot different back in those days, if you recall there was even talk of touching that other set of granny pistols. [↩]Mind ye, that live with a cat who owns the place and pompously call it "pet" while you're the quarry in the arrangement -- mind ye I say that speaking words to "better describe" (in the misguided sense of "better" I suspect you might be well familiar with) never yet fixed things, nor ever will it. The words just come back home to bite, that's all, the magic of "let's call it" never yet delivered anything. [↩]It is perhaps worth "nothing", in the sense of insistently underscoring and underlining until the virtual paper's run through by the virtual ball point of the virtual pen, that had I taken out the wooden stakes, pitch, tar and fire then, "everybody" 'd have agreed being wrong in the same ways for the same reasons, just, much more strongly so, and likely strongly enough to not be able to see the stupid for being too close to the eyes. [↩]God knows she had to spend months to do something that "had already been done", by two to three generations of utterly spurious, entirely useless males of the sort they have now, fucktarded drones good for nothing -- I tell you truly just thinking about history makes my skin crawl.
Moreover, the atmopshere within the republic greatly changed : in losing a great many things we never had we also made some important discoveries -- chiefly, how utterly worthless a shipful of "engineers" is for any purpose besides idle blather. Such discoveries are chilling, but then again cold reinforces, it's... an engineering trade-off, let's call it.
So... whatever, what seemed perhaps within reach in 2017 became self-evidently intangible by 2019, we'll go about things differently. No skin off my back this once, like it wasn't all the previous onces, I don't specifically care whether the goose honks or sings Grand Opera. It cares, as well it should, seeing how well honking goes with schmaltz (and no, nobody's born with a right to life, nor anything even remotely similar -- though yes, I understand why losers like to fantasize about such things), but otherwise it dun make so much difference. [↩]Have you ever wondered about this, by the way ? Why don't the maggots in the grave lift the corpse up back again, why don't they go to and fro with it as it used to before -- it's all there, right ? All the parts that made the dead miner, riveter, truck driver or whatnot are all there, and miners, riveters, truck drivers are what built everything around the graveyard. So why don't the grave maggots move the corpse around, why don't they fix it, repair whatever the fuck was wrong with it and carry on, why aren't there grave maggot-built subways and space programs ?
Doesn't it strike you as something that should work ? [↩]
« I'm developing pictureitis.
The woman who wasn't insulted, the lord who accidentally unearthed the political stone, the scary that was always there and no Santa-Moroze whatsoever. »
Category: S.MG
Thursday, 23 January, Year 12 d.Tr.
Fun, together
A tall woman is bent at the hips over a piled jumble, her large breasts swaying this way and that as she's rummaging through. From behind her butt sways, smiling a little cunt now and again.
"What are you doing ?"
"I'm going to beat the young'un. Seems like she needs it."
"Ah."
He says no further, she selects a clankering assorted armful and leaves, plainly. Some curlicue could of course be hung from that readily accessible, self-presenting nook ; but the problem with rituals and courtly life in general is that it rapidly becomes tedious, and thereupon meaningless.
A little later the sounds of implements meeting flesh, and of flesh being met with implements -- namely, various whacks and divers moans -- filter through the distance. Awkward at first, searching, testing, but soon enough finding a rhythm and a reason of their own, and then altogether rhyming quite well. Another little while later he finally stands up, and walks over to watch the proceedings.
He finds the young'un in question on all fours on her bed, handcuffed and blindfolded, hindquarters well grilled. He plays a little with the author of the welts, fondling her tits, whacking her a few times lightly, then selects a vibrator and stuffs it into the aching cunt parting the zebra hide, a part apart therewith. It's a pink caterpillar-looking thing, vaguely reminescent of a succession of doughnuts impaled on a stick. It's thick enough and its counterfit animus quite right, because an even littler while later the receptacle's begging to orgasm as he's driving the thing into her like it were a double-clutch stich shift. You know, the stick stirring the gasoline as the old expression goes.
The squirming subbie's allowed her release eventually, and then presently -- not large a while later -- forced to beg for it again. As it turns out coaxing sexual paroxism out of bound womanhood's quite trivial (if you know what you're doing). He's playing with the other one, disinterestedly stuffing the quivering cunt with one hand, sideways. "Suck my cock, I want to fuck the dumb whore in the ass" he offers, and as his stick's being eagerly worshipped therewith he continues, languidly : "make it big and hard, so it hurts her".
It's a purely stylistic addition, obviously, but style has its place in the world -- and usually that place is up some dumb whore's asshole, as it happens. Then he orders the cocksucker to lube the other up, and as the girl bends over to do his bidding he impales her, authoritatively, patriarchically. She moans and bites her lip. She has a lot of difficulty lubing an asshole while being fucked standing, but her difficulty is certainly his enjoyment, and so she perseveres.
"Hold it in her cunt, I want to fuck her with it in" he says, and the human fucktoy squats on her ankles, holding the silicone fucktoy firmly in place inside the other human fucktoy. Other animals besides man play, it is true, but no other animals besides man play quite as elaborately. Penetrating the overstuffed midsection of the handcuffed slavegirl is challenging, the vibrator's already, at its thickest, deepest pushed in... the vibrator's already at its most demanding asking slightly more than her vagina'd readily offer on its own ; to now receive and entertain a whole other penis... room has to be made, out of nothing something must be made. As it has to so it's made, of course, but...
The vibration rather numbs them both, it's a strange sensation. Neither much use that kind of toy, they're not inhabituated to them nor are their nerves damaged in the manner typical of magic wand afficcionados. He compliments the holder on her excellent form by pointing out he'd like to see her from behind. Knees far apart, butt jutted out, held an inch above the ankles... she very much looks exactly like what she is, the opposite of posing it could be said.
Eventually he spends, the victim is released, they move on, life regains its common pace. Yet it's the first time the young'un had an orgasm, and it's the first time she had to beg for release for having it, and it's the first time he fucked her ass with a vibrator burried in her cunt, and it's the first time...
They have fun together, it's not exactly deliberate, but nevertheless it happens. It's also quite far from a coincidence, of course. It's just what happens, at the interplay of novelty with well established structure they have fun together.
« Jojo Rabbit
Temporary ornithology »
Category: Zsilnic
Saturday, 27 June, Year 12 d.Tr.
Hai sa studiem gramatica impreuna
Verbele la greci au o proprietate numita aspect. Pentru a intelege discutia e preferabil sa abstractizati cu totul notiunea, privind-o ca o proprietate in sens generic : asa cum obiectele au proprietati, de exemplu forma, culoarea sau mirosul lor tot asa verbele au aspecte. Nu-i indicat sa procedati prin analogia pe care probabil v-au predat-o la masteratul de teoria gramaticii (ca la undegrad parca nu se mai predau chestiile astea, de cind cu constanta imbunatatire a nivelului intelectual si capacitatilor cognitive ale studentilor la litere si-n general, da' s-ar putea sa ma insel).
Nu-i singulara la greci chestia numita aspect, ea se manifesta in mai multe limbi indo-europene in acelasi fel in care se manifesta si la greci (nu, nici la romani nici la latini nici la turci, dar de exemplu la bulgari) si in toate limbile intr-un oarecare fel, nu neaparat similar celui din limba greaca.
De exemplu, aspectul aorist al verbelor din limba greaca se foloseste la infinitiv pentru a descrie o actiune trecuta intr-un mod general, sau ca un eveniment incheiat. De asemenea, si oarecum natural si de asteptat, e metoda folosita de limba greaca ca substitut pentru timpul gnomic (timpul verbal al aforismelor si adevarurilor universale). Indeobste in translatiile si explicatiile pedestre (sau simplificate pentru nevoile intelectelor deficiente), aspectul aorist e numit "timp", ca de exemplu "Limba greaca are patru timpuri verbale principale : prezent, viitor, imperfect si aorist". E fals, totusi, aspectul aorist nu-i un timp verbal, ci un aspect verbal.
Care-i diferenta dintre timp si aspect ? In general, desi atat timpul cit si aspectul verbal noteaza ceva in legatura cu timpul, timpul verbal pozitioneaza stari sau evenimente in timp, in timp ce aspectul ofera alte informatii despre situarea relativa a componentelor situatiei in timp. Complicat ? Hai sa incercam cu exemple.
"Eu mancam" - Actiunea se petrece in trecut (si deci timpul verbal este trecut). La momentul trecut la care se petrece actiunea, ea se afla in desfasurare. Aspectul verbal este deci progresiv.
"Eu mancasem" - Actiunea se petrece in trecut (si deci timpul verbal este trecut). La momentul trecut la care se petrece actiunea, ea se incheiase deja. Aspectul verbal este deci perfectiv.
E limpede ca si imperfectul si perfectul simplu sunt ambele forme ale trecutului. Care este un timp verbal. Cele doua aspecte ale timpului trecut, si anume cel progresiv si cel perfectiv se noteaza in limba romana prin niste alcatuiri numite "imperfectul" si "perfectul simplu", si botezate generic timpuri verbale, chiar daca ele sunt o sinteza aproximativa intre doua categorii gramaticale distincte, timpul si aspectul.
Mai corect ar fi sa spunem trecut perfectiv si trecut progresiv. Se intampla insa ca nu de ieri-de azi, ci de la inceputurile sistematizarii limbii romane acum vreo doua sute sau cam asa de ani persoanele care s-au simtit chemate de aceasta nobila indeletnicire n-au avut competenta necesara pentru a intelege corect si complet subiectul pe care aveau pretentia sa-l sistematizeze, o traditie continuata de altfel cu succes pina in zilele noastre (1, 2, 3 etc). Ca atare, avem o groaza de inventii originale, dizgratioase si dizarmonioase, care ne ajuta sa fim exact atat de prosti precit putem. Pina la urma, ce nevoie avem noi de constructii si structuri corecte, care sa ne ajute sa fim cit mai aproape de cit de destepti am putea fi ? Nu ne vindem tara!
Toata aceasta introducere isi are insa un rost mai practic, dincolo de problemele teoretice ridicate. Hai sa studiem direct cu exemple, ca altfel ne cufundam intr-o mie de cuvinte abstracte si ne pierdem. Deci :
"A merge e placut" - Timp prezent, aspect gnomic pentru oamenii normali, sau infinitiv (care-i teoretic "neverbal") pentru romani. E verbal a merge dragilor ? A, e verbal "este" in mod "copulativ" impreuna cu a merge. Zau asa, bravo. Si nici o alta limba nu mai are "mod copulativ", si nici un alt popor nu-i asa de viteaz si de primitor precum noi si-a noastra ? Bravo, bravo, de trei ori bravo. Sa va dam un spor la salar.
"E greu de mers" - Timp prezent, aspect prospectiv pentru oamenii normali, sau "supin" (care-i tot teoretic "neverbal") pentru romani. Cum adica dragilor, sta verbu' pe spate ? E cracanat ? Si ce-i aia ca are "aspecte substantivale" ? Ne-am propus cumva sa facem o varza cit mai mare din gramatica, ca sa demonstram cit mai clar ce putin am inteles noi din ea ? Aspect substantival al unui verb. Bravo.
Insist si subliniez cit de grav e sa vorbesti de "aspect substantival" la un verb cind tu te pretinzi specialist in gramatica unei limbi : e o dovada clara ca nu pricepi ca termenul de "aspect" e un asa-zis "term of art", un cuvant rezervat in cadrul disciplinei respective, care are un sens anumit si-o folosire codificata. Cea mai sigura cale de-a demonstra ca nu cunosti o disciplina, oricare ar fi ea, este sa incepi sa-i folosesti in mod "creativ" termenii de arta. Pentru asa ceva eu, si alaturi de mine orice profesor competent te noteaza cu 2, sau respectiv cu F, sau in tot cazul cu cea mai mica nota la dispozitie. Pentru ca meriti.
Meriti, meriti amplu, pentru ca nimeni nu are timp sa citeasca textele de specialitate cu ochi, uimiri si viteza de incepator, cu atentie si migala si "oare ce-a vrut sa spuna autorul" la fiecare cuvant. Nu-i fictiune, nu-i roman, e text stiintific, si se citesc cate zece mii de pagini pe an minim. Pentru a sustine eficienta muncii in stiinta se folosesc anumite cuvinte si structuri fixe ale caror sensuri se dezbat amplu, se fixeaza definitiv, si apoi toti participantii la discutie le folosesc exact. Folosiri creative creeaza confuzie, si sunt de fapt principala bariera intre profesionisti si amatori in orice domeniu. Atunci esti admis ca profesionist in orice disciplina cind lumea considera ca ti se poate oferi increderea ca nu vei folosi niciodata, nicicand, niciunde, nici un termen de arta in sens impropriu. De asta se fac patru ani de scoala la drept si opt ani de scoala la medicina, creativitatea prost aplicata poate costa vieti, darima poduri, nenoroci destine. E INTERZISA.
Exact la fel cum e interzis sa scrii rahaturi precum if ($if) {} sau for ($for = 1;, si exact din aceleasi motive. Dar sa revenim :
A fi e placut. - Exact aceeasi situatie ca-n cazul verbului a merge, doar ca folosind a fi in loc de a merge.
E greu de fiit - Noa hat. Poftiti cu drag dragilor, lamuriti-ma. Cum face a fi la participiu ? Si, daca-i pina acolo, ce-i ala un participiu ?
Poftiti cu incredere. Exemplu concret de folosire comuna in limba aveti aici, acu' hai cu gramatica.
« Poftiti la tribunal - partea a treia
O suta de cuvinte - LXXIII »
Category: Trilenciclopedia
Saturday, 28 August, Year 2 d.Tr.
From the boardroom to the livingroom
diana_coman ahaha, neata! am mai mesterit aici la torenti si in fine, i-a luat ~3 minute sa primeasca toate fisierele curente (sunt 6, undeva pe la 8-9M in total). macar m-am linistit cu asta adica cel putin deocamdata atata e. cam cred ca o sa mai fie diverse acolo dar nu acum
mircea_popescu noa, pai nu e rau. adica pe de o parte poti zice "phoai, da' ma popescule, cind te-ai uitat la versiunea curenta de diablo (adica poe ala) acum recent dupa ce acolo sezuse 6 luni, avea 27 de gb de extra de downloadat cica. adica el crescuse de la 15 la 42 gb, plm. deci daca ar fi sa dai 42gb atunci ar dura 500 de ore ?!?!?!" da' pe de cealalta parte plm, a) cine vrea 50gb si pentru ce anume respectiv b) aia sa fie si problema, ca are eulora 50gb de assets, vai vai ; respectiv ce mare problema, doara nu le vrea simultan. 6 luni is de fo' 10 ori 500 de ore. asa ca oricum o intorci eu zic ca e in grafic.
diana_coman da' nimeni nu opreste onor-comuuuunitatea sa le puna apoi undeva si sa le downloadeze rapid, de-un ex.
mircea_popescu si asa mai departe. chiar nu is brobleme aici. nici nu am eu nici o incredere in eficienta lor. din urmatorul motiv : jocul X, face ceva cacat in 2020. pe urma din 2020 toamna nu il mai foloseste. garantat il gasesti in bundles downloadate si in 2025. jocul eulora, face ce pofteste, inclusiv pune manifestu' lui' mao. bun, si in 3 zile nu mai e cam prin nici un cache. si gata. adica noi avem si excretie, built in, si functionala. ceea ce e o noutate absoluta in orice software, nu ca la jocuri.
diana_coman cam totul e noutate absoluta, ca oricum atata-s restul de re-hashuri obosite de nu se poate.
mircea_popescu amin.
diana_coman in tot cazul, ce ziceam mai sus ca imi pare ca va mai fi de aranjat la el e mai mult asa: 1. probabil prioritati dupa tipul de chestii ca una e sa astepte dupa alea pt un sector si alta e sa astepte dupa cum arata tichia acu' 2. inca n-am pus absolut nimic re defaults adica daca n-are sa trimita gui sa foloseasca primul de-l stie de tipul ala. dar cum ziceam, nu acum.
mircea_popescu 1. nu stiu ca una e. plm, sa-si faca prioritati care si cum pofteste. io nu prea ma vad stind sa analizez adevarul acestui amanunt insumi. adica, io cre' ca tu ai vazut foate clar filosofia cit si ideologia activitatii, nu aici ci in general. daca nu-s motive sa suspectez ca poci oferi o solutie mult mai buna (unde prin mult se intelege practic CIT SI structural) nu ma apuc sa-mi pierd vremea. iara daca is motive, ma apuc nu dupa "citi ierbivori, ca simplu numar, '''ajuta'''", ca nu conteaza aia, ci cit e de interesant, adica departe de experienta comuna.
diana_coman drept. oricum clientul nu prea e in sine treaba smg de slefuit acu', oricum.
mircea_popescu ceea ce e si ea o etica absolut revolutionara, ca nu s-o mai vazut asa ceva in organizarea activitatii, in tata filosofia sistematica nu intilnesti. numa' situationisti si alti clovni respectiv plicticosi si alti philasteri. da' moving on : 2. nu prea pricep conceptul de defaults aici. ce am de gind sa fac eu este ca daca nu are obiectul x.y.z.k.r sa foloseasca un x.y.z.k.*, de ex ultimul pe care l-a primit, sau cel mai putin folosit, sau ales aleator.
diana_coman hm, daca retii am discutat mai demult ca fiecare client isi poate bine merci stabili drept "default" prima chestie de-a primit-o. pai aia, lol
mircea_popescu noa, deci nici asta nu e de fapt o problema, din cit ma duce mintea.
diana_coman da' nu-s probleme ci doar ca inca n-am implementat nimic la ele, atat.
mircea_popescu nici nu vei, ele sa fie sanatoase.
diana_coman a, lol. bine, nu e nici un pericol sa raman fara chestii de implementat altminteri, clar
mircea_popescu ba da tu, exista acest pericol.
diana_coman da? si zici ca ma paste asa? lol
mircea_popescu tot citeam ieri despre stele, main sequence theory si alea, si ase m-o apucat o tristete nesfirsita.
diana_coman da' de ce?
mircea_popescu nush cum sa-ti zic, tu-ti dai seama ca alea amaritele de stele, acolo stau ele ? deci pur si simplu, mor incet asa, fara sperante. fara activitati. stau si mor. tie nu ti-i mila ? adica, pricep ridicolul situatiei, s-o gasit asta sa-i fie mila de stele. bun, ok. da' hai sa trecem peste : daca tu traiesti 100 de ani si ciinele 20 aia-i tot TOATA VIATA voastra. a ta de 100 de bucati si a lui de 20, da' la fel de toata. cu ce-l incalzeste pe ala biet ca toata viata lui e "lunga" ? tat moare ca orice ou lasat in soare.
diana_coman pai nu, ca nu mi-e clar ca le deranjeaza cu ceva cum ar veni
mircea_popescu pai si aia conteaza, sentimentul propriu al deranjului ? pe tat prostu' cu ce-l deranjeaza ? si de el ti-i mila.
diana_coman da' nu mi-e , lol
mircea_popescu mie cam mi-e mila de prosti. ca daca nu mi-ar fi as face RAF nu Kommune 1 pe-aici.
diana_coman am citit ca daca erau prin anii '90 cand am vizitat eu, acu' au luat-o inapoi spre '80
mircea_popescu cine ?
diana_coman tico ai tai ca ziceai ca nema electricitate.
mircea_popescu a, bine, intre timp si-o revenit, citva. dar cam da. e foarte trist asa, ei se radicalizeaza bietii, da' nu din vina lor. adica, si-or ales ca fraierii guvern de copchii. tati ministrii is cacanari de-astia de 30, generatia de picati la bac, picati la tmsr, picati la tat. si fix ca si aia, is si astia : ei nici nu-si iubesc, nici propriu spus nu-si inteleg, defapt nici nu-si prea concep tara lor.
diana_coman pai nu mi-e clar ca ai ce altceva "alege". care nu-i din ala nici nu cred ca vrea neam sa fie "ales" in asa chestie.
mircea_popescu ce concep ei aitita ii, ca sa le zica "mami" adica o baba proasta ce tine multe pisici ca "or facut bine". gen prezidentu' republicii cu muista aia de karen-usg.. auzi draga legenda, s-o dus ea in 89 in state "sa-si creasca copiii" si o reaparut in '94 mare agenta de influenta. "nu se stie" cum si nu se mentioneaza a cui, e asa ea pizdi independenta. ca s-o si vazut asa ceva la tocilare de-astea.
diana_coman ahahaha
mircea_popescu bun, si-acum din cauza magarilor astora, care literalmente aplica planu', 1. isi fut tara si 2. o vind ieftin.
diana_coman ceea ce au facut de altfel cozile de topor dintotdeauna, in fond
mircea_popescu i-am si explicat la omu' de imi face intendenta pe mosie pe-aici : bai, deci daca io vin la tine acasa si-ti interzic sa iti mai folosesti patu'. adica patu' tau, in care stai cu femeia, bun ? ca asa am citit io prin ce biblii/almanahe citesc eu ; dupa care 2. vin sa ti-l cumpar, da ieftin, 'ca tu oricum nu-l folosesti, nu ?' tu pe urma ce zici ? mi-l dai ? ase s-o blocat. ca noa, el e ciine de paza ca spirit asa, era cam nervat pe astia sarmanii manifestantii. da' acu' sper ca i-o trecut. revenind : se radicalizeaza astia amaritii, din cauza gunoaielor in chestie. si e cel mai trist lucru, pentru ca inca 4-5 milioane de imbecili sudafricani/americani is complet ne-necesari, intre rhodesia si argentina is deja miliardu' de prostalai de-aia, "aspri in saracie". in timp ce ticii bietii is asa, un gen de oameni care -- fa-ti numa' idee!!! -- intr-o prima faza l-or batut pe-un politist de l-or mototolit saracu', ca pe sac or dat pin-o cerut ala apa rece. dupa care li s-o facut mila de el, l-or suit in MASINA LOR PERSONALA TU si l-or dus la spital. ca ala saracu noa, era acolo pe jos "au au au".
diana_coman imi inchipui adica da, ii vad in stare. mai degraba am probleme sa vad partea cand l-au chiar batut
mircea_popescu asta is, si nu stiu daca se schimba costa rica in puerto rico/san salvador/guatemala/etcetera "salvate" de karen-usg, da' mi se pare ca se aduna 5 milioane la un miliard, si se scad cinci milioane din maximum fo' 10 total. deci practic, pierde biodiversitatea, sau ma rog, socio-diversitatea imens de mult de-aici. ca si cum ai lua 500 de tigri si ai face din ei 450 de furnici. pai de aia era nevoie pe lume, inca 450 de furnici ?!
diana_coman ma rog, teoria era ca ori erau din start tigri ori furnici,nu-i ca poate ceva/cineva face din una alta nici-nici.
mircea_popescu e o laie.
diana_coman da' in fine, practica ...
mircea_popescu pe asta mic al tau, el e asa, din nastere al tau ? daca-l bag in republica centafricana, sa stea cu aia "soldatii" de 9 ani toata ziua, tat asa, face matematica ? daca il cresc lupii tot engleza vorbeste ?
diana_coman pai nici nu, da' nici chiar lup nu devine daca o creste cu lupii; cel mult un cvasi-lup
mircea_popescu pai cvasi-lup, da. e destul, mai mult nici nu tre'. dar da, eu pe-aici am trait din fragmente 10 ani, si-am vazut oameni batindu-se de doua ori. a doua oara, un grup facind arsice un politai, care ma rog, cuvintul enerveaza lumea ca aia din us tre' inpuscati asa, toti, la pluton direct. da' astia de-aici, is ceva... n-ai vazut politie mai ideala ca pe-aici decit in povesti.
diana_coman din ce-am priceput "politai" in US e cu totul alta decat oriunde
mircea_popescu cam asa. ma rog, si in europa is destul de orbaznici. adica nu is overt ostili, da' is cum sa zic, patrunsi asa de importanta lor. da-ti numa' seama ce discutam : asta aici daca ma vede ca vin lansat mi se trage din drum, ca noa. stiu io ce fac.
diana_coman ahaha, din categoria "daca-i hotarat, apai o sti ce face" ? lolz
mircea_popescu is ceva tu, nush cum sa zic, io inca nu am intilnit motiv de nemultumire. ma rog, limitind discutia la astia din drum, ca investigatii si asa is vai de ei, da acuma undeva tre' sa limitezi. da-ti seama, io sa n-am obiectii, ma si mir singur. da' asa e. aici ar trebui facute cente de re-educare pentru anarhisti. sa vaz io asa de curios cit rezista mental unu' de-asta hotarit fata cu politia locala. cre' ca face cu nervii INVERS.
diana_coman ahaha
mircea_popescu tu rizi, da io vorbesc serios. ma ia risu la recitire si pe mine, da' tot serios am zis.
diana_coman mie imi pare ca obiectii nu prea au cum sa fie in sensul ca nu prea exista nimic, deci nici nimic la care sa poti avea obiectii, cum sa zic.
mircea_popescu e si aia. noa, in fine, mie de romania anilor 80 nu m-o parut rau. da' de costa rica anilor 90 imi pare inca, si la cum merge imi va parea rau si de costa rica anilor 2000-2010.
diana_coman ei sunt asa, parte din peisaj mai mult, cum are acolo jungla copaci si apa crabi sau in fine ce mai are, are si cr bipezi blanzi si doritori de pura vida.
mircea_popescu bun tu, da' negi ca astia asa "nimic" cum is ei is totusi MAI MULT decit deceniile de impliniri marete ? adica ro 1980, "obsedantul deceniu" plm.
diana_coman da' nu neg nimic, eu nu-i ca mi-e mila ori dor de ro 1980, pfuai.
mircea_popescu cu ce criteriu vrei. fac mai multi bani, fut mai bine, au ce vrei tu, ma rog, n-au mecanica fina nici la nivelul cugir 1950, da' enfin. nu prea stiu scrie chiar bine, nu ieste teatru nici cit era in 1940 in bombardament, etc etc, da' ... noa plm, ce sa zic. grea viata. tat n-as schimba. ca nu-s chiar asa de curios de aferatiile lu' romancierii de mare valoare, "sa fiti atenti cind va plimbati sa nu calcati in ce creati".
diana_coman numa' imi pare ca acolo o fi de mers mai in urma si eventual asa mai punctual diverse comunitati din astea linistite, sa gasesti sa-ti para rau de ceva in ro.
mircea_popescu o fost daca o cauti, macar puteai umple o camera cu pizdute de-or citit sartre asa, direct, cu navodu' la navodari. da' ma rog.
And now again, this time in your idiotm :
diana_coman Hahaha g'mornin'. I've been tinkering here s'more, and in the end it's about 3 minutes to receive the whole data pile (6 files, about 8-9 MB total). At least I've put this concern to rest, meaning at least for now it's what it is. I expect further trouble in the line but not now.
mircea_popescu Not bad. I mean on one side you could say "damn, Mr, when you checked out the current Diablo version (which is to say PoEii) recently after it had sat undisturbed for half a year, it wanted a further 27GB downloaded. So it's apparently grown from 15 to 42 GB, fucking hell. But therefore, if your data pile were 42 GB then it'd take 500 hours ?! But on the other side, fuck it, a) who wants 50 GB worth of data and what the fuck for and b) let that be the problem, that Eulora has 50 GB in assets, poor us ; and moreover what's the big deal, not like anyone wants that simultaneously. Six months are 10 times 500 hours, so whichever way you turn it I'd say it's within tolerance.
diana_coman Nobody is getting in the way of the right-honorable comoonity, let them seed and torrent, as a forinstance.
mircea_popescu And so following. There's really no problems here ; nor have I any faith in their efficiency, for the following reason : game X does whatever bullshit in 2020. Then by 2020 autumn it stops using it. As a matter of certainty you'll still find it in game install bundles by 2025. Eulora, does whatever the fuck it pleases, up to and including including mao's manifest. Ok, and in 3 days it's not left in any caches, and that's it. I mean, we actually have excretion, built-in and functional, which incidentally is an absolute noveltyiii in the field -- of software altogether I mean, not merely video games.
diana_coman Pretty much every aspect's absolute novelty, seeing how the rest consists so thoroughly of tired re-hashes it's mindboggling.
mircea_popescu Amen.
diana_coman Be that as it may, what I meant above by expected problems is rather in this vein : 1. probably prioritiation by type, as it's one thing to await basic sector data and another to await the mesh of someone's hat ; 2. there's no provision for defaults yet made, such that if the item's absent the client just uses the first it knows of. But as we were saying, not right now.
mircea_popescu I don't know that 1. is a thing. Let them all prioritize as they please, I don't really see myself poring over the matter myself. I mean, I think you've clearly seen both philosophy an' ideology of activity, not just here but in general. If there's no reasons to suspect I can offer a much better solution (where by "much" is meant both practically as well as structurally) I'm not liable to waste my time. And if there are reasons, I invest myself not by the criterion of "how many browsersiv, as a simple number, '''it touches'''v", for that doesn't matter ; but how interesting it is, which is to say distant from common experience.vi Which in itself is absolutely revolutionary ethics, for no such thing's been seen actually organizing activity, nor is it mentioned in the whole corpus of systematic philosophy -- all that's there are situationists and other clowns vz boringists and other Philastersvii
diana_coman True. Anyways game client optimization is not really S.MG's task.viii
mircea_popescu But moving on, re 2 I don't readily grasp the concept of defaults in context. What I intend to do is that if object x.y.z.k.r is missing, any x.y.z.k.* should be used, such as forinstance the last received, or the least used, or randomly chosen.
diana_coman If you recall we discussed a while back, that each client can set as "default" the first item of the kind it receives. That, yes.
mircea_popescu Alright, so there's no probelm here either that I can see.
diana_coman Not problems really, just, holes, I've implemented nothing there.
mircea_popescu Nor will you, let them be happy.ix
diana_coman A lol. Okay, not like there's any danger for me to be left without anything to implement, sure enough.
mircea_popescu Wrong, you. There exists such a danger.
diana_coman O, yeah ? And you're saying it's impending ? Lol.x
mircea_popescu Ixi kept reading about stars yesterday, Main Sequence theoryxii, and I was gripped by such unbound sadness...
diana_coman But why ?
mircea_popescu I don't know how to tell you this, but do you realize those misfortunatexiii stars, there they sit ? Just like that, pure and simple, they die slowly, without hope. Without activities. They sit, dieing. You don't feel pity ? I mean, sure, I can see the ridiculousness of ths situation, look who's found himself to pity the very stars. Okay, fine. But let's move over it : if you live a century and a dog lives two decades, that's still your whole life, for each of you. Yours of hundred parts and its of twenty parts, but just as whole. What's the poor sod's consolation that his life is "long" ? Still it dies like any egg left broken on the pavement.xiv
diana_coman Well no, but it's not clear to me it bothers them any, as it were.
mircea_popescu And that's what matters, the subjective feeling of botherhood ? Idiots aren't bothered either, and you pity them.
diana_coman No I don't, lol
mircea_popescu I rather pity idiots. If I didn't I'd be making RAFxv rather than Kommune 1 hereabouts after all.
diana_coman I read that if they were struggling with the challenges of the 90s when I visited, now they're falling back into the 80s.
mircea_popescu Who ?
diana_coman Your ticos, you were saying nema electricity.
mircea_popescu Oh, yeah. Meanwhile it recomposed itself, somewhat. But rather yes. It's very sad, really, they're radicalising, the poor darlings, but it ain't their fault. I mean, they've elected like suckers a government of children, all the ministers are cocksuckers in their 30s, the generation of Bacalaureat rejectsxvi TMSR rejects, everything-rejects. And just like those, also these : neither do they love, nor properly speaking understand their country. I truly don't think they even conceive it.
diana_coman It's not clear to me there's something else to "choose". Whoever's not that ilk never wants to "be elected" in such latrine.xvii
mircea_popescu What they concieve of only goes as far, as "mommy", which is to say some dumbass old cunt raising a lot of stray cats, telling them that "they're good". Such as the relation transparently uniting the republic's predident and that usg.blue Karen mula. Check out the mythology, cocksucker went to the US in '89 to "raise her children" and re-emerged in '94 in the shape of a big deal influence agent. "Nobody knows" how and there's no mention of whose, she's just like that, floating about on her own farts, Cunti McIndependent. Because that's something ever seen in these scumbags.xviii
diana_coman Ahahaha.
mircea_popescu Okay, and now on account of these assholes, who literally just apply the plan, 1. fuck up their own country ; 2. sell it cheaply.xix
diana_coman Which is what axe handles always do, after all...
mircea_popescu I've explained to the guy doing intendency here on this feudal domain of mine : guy, so if I come over to your place and forbid you from using your bed anymore. That is to say your bed, in which you lay, with your woman, okay ? Because that's what I've read in some bibles/almanachs I read ; and then come by later to buy it, but cheaply, because 'you're not using it anyways, right ?' what do you say ? Let me have it ? He stuck on that for a bit, because well, he's very guard-dog like, in his spirit, and therefore rather pissed with the manifesters. But now I hope he's over it. Back to the point : they radicalise, the poor dears, because of the garbage "leading" them. And it's the saddest thing, because another 4-5 million imbeciles of the south african/american style are entirely spurious, between rhodesia and argentina there's already a billion idiots of that kind, "principled but poor" or whatever. Whereas the poor ticos are a kind of people that -- just to give you an idea!!! -- firstly brat the shit out of a misfortunate policeman, kicked him like a sack ; but then took pity on him, stuffed in their own car and drove him to the hospital. Because that poor dude was, you know, on the ground gowing "owie" and what can you do.
diana_coman I can readily see it, I mean yea, I totally see them do it. I rather have trouble imagining the beating part.
mircea_popescu It's what they are, and honestly I dunno, but it seems to me turning Costa Rica into another Puerto Rico / San Salvador / Guatemala / etcetera shitholes as "saved" by Karen-USG is rather like adding five million to a billion, and substracting five million from at the very most ten. A loss of biodiversity, practically speaking, or whatever, socio-diversity, and an immense loss at that. As if you took 500 tigers and made out of them 450 ants. What the fuck, is that what the world truly needs, another 450 ants ?!
diana_coman What can I say, as per the theory they either were tigers or ants to begin with, nobody can make them anything either way.
mircea_popescu Like hell.
diana_coman But what can I say, in practice...
mircea_popescu Your kid, is he "yours" like that, by birth ? If I take him to the Centrafrican republic, so he spends his time with those nine-year old "soldiers", is he gonna keep at math ? If wolves raised him he'd still speak Enligsh ?
diana_coman Not at all, but nor does he become wolf proper ; at most a sorta-wolf.
mircea_popescu Sorta-wolf is good enough, no more is needed. Indeed I've lived around here a decade of parts, and I've seen people fighting twice. The second time, a group making mashed policeman, which... I mean, the word irritates in this language because the US variant should absolutely be lined up and shot, wholesale. But the police here, they're something... you've not seen police more idealised even in fairy tales.
diana_coman By my lights "police" in the US is different from anywhere else.
mircea_popescu Rather. Though in Europe they're cheeky as well. Not overtly hostile, but... how shall I put it, permeated of their own notion of their own importance. Picture what we're here discussing, these guys if they see me coming deliberately get the fuck out of the way ; because, well... I must know what I'm doing.
diana_coman Ahaha, under the heading "if he seems decided he probably knows what he's doing ?" lol
mircea_popescu They're something... I don't know how to put it, I've yet to find cause for complaint. Whatever, limiting the discussion to the streetwalkers, because investigation-wise they're hopeless, but a limit has to be drawn somewhere. Imagine if you will, me without complaint, I'm amazed myself. But it is true ; what they should make here are anarchist re-education camps. I wish to see, for my own curiosity, how long does one of them manage to mentally resist here, confronted with local police. I suspect there'd be a lot of reverse mental breakdowns.
diana_coman Ahaha
mircea_popescu You laugh, but I'm serious. It's making me laugh too, on re-read, but nevertheless, I still mean it.
diana_coman It seems to me objections aren't possible given there's nothing there, and so nothing much to object to, how shall I put it.
mircea_popescu That's true too. Whatevers, I didn't miss 80s Romania ; but 90s Costa Rica I do miss, and at the rate it's going I'll be missing 2000-2010 Costa Rica soon enough.
diana_coman They're rather, part of the scenery, as the jungle has its trees and the water its crabs or whatever it has, so Costa Rica has tamexx bipedals, desirious of pura vida
mircea_popescu Fine, youxxi ; but can you deny that as "nothing" as they are yet they're more than the decades of grandiose accomplishments ?
diana_coman I deny no such thing. It's not like I either miss or regret the Romanian 80s, pshaw.
mircea_popescu On your chosen criterion. They make more money, they fuck better, they've what you want... well, they've no fine mechanics not even on the level of Cugir in 1950, but whatever. They can't really write all that well, there's no theatre not even as much as there was in the 1940s under enemy bombardment, etcetera etcetera, but... What the fuck, what can I say, life's hard. I'd still not trade. Because I'm just not that interested in the aferations of "great value" novlesits of ye "mind when you walk not to step in what you create".
diana_coman It seems that there it'd be required to go further back in time, and deeper in the social fabric, to find punctually various small, quiet communities where you might find something to miss about Romania.
mircea_popescu There was such, if you're willing to go spelunking. At the very least you could fill a room with chicks that had read Sartre easily, fished out of a small seaside village.xxii. What can I say.
C'era 'na'vorta tutto quer che c'era
Povera Roma nuostra furastieeee-era...
———Apud Jena. [↩]Path of Exile -- apparently still not a flash in the pan. [↩]Not even fucking kidding. [↩]Ierbivori in the original text literally denotes browsing herbivores. [↩]In the metaphorical sense, as seen in "touched his soul". [↩]How about that, the world's first example (at least since the glory days of 1700s Fugger, say) of an actually ethical corporation, which is to say a corporation whose activity is informed by an actual ethical stance. This is what it is, and this is what it looks like ; and I'm proud of it like you've no grounds to be proud of anything else. [↩]Apud Jena, 1800s. [↩]Long standing policy oft discussed, I won't bother to rehash the truly ample documentary material. [↩]Romanian transcribes "I couldn't give less of a shit" with "Let it be healthy", because Romanian is a lot less scatological than the omnipigdin. [↩]The sarcasm here involved works immensely better in the original ; in fact by contrasting counterdistinction it seems to be working so poorly in English I feel the need to mention explicity that's what's goy vey. [↩]The word "tot" (all, whole) is ambiguous in context, to the point of uninterpretability.
Because it is an ("unrecognized", but widely used) verbal auxiliary, it could therefore mean "I kept at doing whatever the verb following discusses", making the action continuous imperfective (the word is here derived not from the term "perfective" as used in the context of verbal aspect, but from the perfect/imperfect pair inherited from the aspect-tense ammalgamation) -- this being a device that's ubiquitous yet studiously ignored. In English, where plain imperfect's translated by a continuous form ("ea citea" becomes "she was reading"), as there's no properly speaking English imperfect, the concept is generally rendered through a layered (or double-continuous) form, such as seen in "she kept making dinner" -- also "unrecognized", also widely used, perfectly distinct (and in practice readily distinguished by the common speaker) from either "she is making", "she was making", or "she has/had been making". In encouraging signs re the obsolescence of organized idiocy pretty much all online translators manage the pair correctly, even though no grammars I've seen mention either the continuous imperfective tense nor the double-continuous English make-do.
Because it is an (similarily snubbed) conjunctive auxiliary, eminently visible in "ca tot..." constructions ("since ... anyway" in English) it could then also mean that the sentence connects contextually (an elided "ca") with the foregoing (the elided "since" is frequently seen in English also, especially in well written, ie terse, text).
A translator other than the author simply can not resolve this ambiguity, no matter how approached, except on "probabilistic" (properly speaking, authorial-substitutive) grounds ; fortunately for us I am the very same author, and therefore I know what I meant to say. [↩]Yes, I'm aware it doesn't call itself a mere theory. Hurr. [↩]"Amarit" in Romanian, literally "embittered", denotes the worst degree of misfortune, not in it being great but in it being hopeless beyond possible respite, and then generally small enough to bar tragedy besides. Because not even the satisfaction of grandiosity is allowed the poor sod attainted by "amarit", no prisoner on death row is ever amarit, the word's reserved for Fefeleaga and other such socially isolated, aging parents of handicapped children. [↩]There's even a "fried egg" dieing star, to make this just as elaborate as it can possibly get. [↩]Fraktion, okay ? Not "faction", 'tu-va-n creieri de neam de grebla. [↩]Major topic in Romania, because whichever way you look at it the only true thing "joining NATO and the EU" brought the country was (and sadly still is, triple-continuous form) the complete collapse of education standards and education products, jointly.
In 1980s academic terms, which still do and still for a while will represent lived history for Romanian speakers, the current crop of highschool graduates aren't worth hanging, let alone going on to college ; in fact it's altogether dubious if fifty kids each year have what it takes to make it on the supplementary places occasionally available in communist-era universities -- a standard everyone in everyone's milieu readily, basically satisfied, because who the fuck was going to hang out with proles back in the day. It's a shock, what can I say. [↩]She definitely has a point. [↩]The original word used is the derrogatory term for low-value rule followers in strong academic settings, the sort that can't satisfy the exams but occasionally pass on attendance record and gross flattery. [↩]The plan. [↩]The original word is the same as in Hadrianus Augustus' "animula vagula blandula", and for good cause -- fancy that wonder, an ancient emperor's dream come true in the jungle across the seas. [↩]The vocative pronoun usage in Romanian is too colorfully complex to be detailed here. [↩]Lotta thems went there, deliberately and by convention ; it made everything easier for everyone. [↩]
« Flirt
On democracy, the electoral process, electoral legitimacy etcetera »
Category: S.MG
Friday, 09 October, Year 12 d.Tr.
French toast -- the making, the eating, and the fucking of.
I'm sitting here bespokedly relaxed, thoroughly satisfied, and also spent. This is because we just fingertrapped Hannah, but before going into excruciating detail on that topic (it's an in joke, you'll get it later) let's start with the actual French toast.
That'd be the item in question, depicted above. It's what I call "New World"-style French toast. To make it, you will need (besides the usual eggs, milk and homemade bread, which all go without saying) very good quality molasses infused with ging-seng, carao & cuculmeca (no, I'm not even kidding, that's what I fucking use), cold-extracted almond oil, preserved maranon fruits (you probably know the cashew nut ; but those cashew nuts come in an eminently edible fruit!), cinnamon flowers (yes, I know you "just get the powder", but...) and a splash of the world's best sipping rum. The requisites once providedi you mix them in with the egg and the milk, you soak the bread and cook it on a very hot plate as per usual, then once it's done and you're taking the slices off the heat you finely grate the world's greatest chocolate upon them ; and serve.
Which'd be why it's "New World"-style : the particular balance of flavours I effortlessly manage evokes to my own, most discerning palate the distal continent better than any written word. Because I'm a pigglet, what can I say.
Hey, remember Crumb ?
Think he'd like my gal ?
Yes, that's right, those'd be her Crumb socks on her Chinese Imperial Court servant slippers, because what the fuck are we doing here if not exactly that!
Which said, it's time for an etude en bimbo (also French pronounciation -- try it outloud by the way, it's loads o' fun!)
Nodoby'll ever bevile me, but these aren't posed shots. They're candids. Because yes, that's right, this is how she looks when she cooks. Not all the time, of course, I mean she's got other geddups, what the hell, the majority of theatrical companies currently active in this world have less costumery & assorted gear in their trunks.ii
I run the world's foremostly equipped theatrical trouppe, and it's all private shows!iii
Oh right, speaking of geckos : they've had babies. The whole house is full of these tiny fnas now, because the gloriously great big ducks are back, and everything's back with them -- the enchanting lights, the rivers of food, the glorious glory of gloriousness... oh, happy days!
Oh, only to be a gecko ; and only to live, once more, those happy days.
A little bit of shopping, also. We're pretty much the only ones left keeping these poor wrecks in business. I don't mean one shop or another, I mean literally and unquestionably the whole god damned country. Nobody goes out anymore, nobody buys anything anymore, this poor little country, terra pobre chei di amor, is going to have such a hard time of it this year...
Check out Paseo Colon all empty in the distance. This is a rare sight indeed.
And speaking of paseos and colons : after the French toast was made, and after the girls ate it, as you no doubt expect and imagine it dwelled inside them for a little while.
Then, as we were riding back home, they proposed "once we're back, we're going to shower together and put buttplugs in..."
I found this a marvelous idea ; and further contributed that after they're done with all that, Nicole can put her pink cock on (she's got this fabulous insertable, fit for hurting a porn queeniv) and Hannah can suck on it while I fuck her ass.
So we played with buttplugs a while, turning the bathroom floor into a lake, and then I fucked the tiny holed slut while the other one was choking her on a good three pounds of molded silicone, and as I was saying... bespokedly relaxed, thoroughly satisfied, and also spent. As you can see, the (New World-style) French toast had a time of it!
PS. No hannahs were hurt in the making of this intricate adventure, there's no blood anywhere, she's just a natural born fingertrap is all. Well, not exactly for fingers, but that's okay.
Doesn't that look like a (quite very public, of course, of course) wardrobe malfunction just waiting to happen ?
———I added blue macha just to mess with the (captive) audience, because of course I would.
I also left cloves out on the counter so they'd just assume cloves went in there -- but in fact they did not. Too Indian for this particular new world, we're not doing West Indies (pronounced as the port official says it in To Have And Have Not, "le French Ouest Ondiez"), we're doing New World, get your racisms straight, you know ? [↩]You think I'm kidding ?! Besides the octopus hats and the swastika mirrors, you've got another thing coming. [↩]To get a further glimpse of this enchanted, purely intangible world (intangible if you're not me, I mean) -- this very morning Nicole was discussing Hannah's sleep in a certain, particular context. "She makes those little moany yelps, you know ?" she inquired with me ; but as she was asking that I was already enroute, delivering a beautiful metallic blue beetle to her exposed bosom. The bug's crawling on bare skin elicited these particular moany yelps out of her, answering the question seamlessly just as it had been asked. So we laughed and we laughed and... even the geckos joined in the hysterics!
Because it's funny, what. The problem films, plays, movies, music videos etcetera all share is that their peaks tend to come in below our average. Not so much a problem for me & mine, obviously ; but definitely a problem for them & theirs. [↩]Like a virgin... touched for the very first time... Like a vi-i-i-i-r-gin... [↩]
« Big City
Here, dear bois... »
Category: Zsilnic
Saturday, 02 May, Year 12 d.Tr.
Forms y nudos
Initially the title was going to be "lifeforms", but it ran long.
Speaking of life-forms : do you realise that, along with mithochondiral DNA, human immunity is chiefly inherited along the female line ? I bet you didn't, did you, but it's true : in the first days of life the newborn's immunity is entirely composed of remnant antibodies synthesized in the mother, not in the neonate. Afterwards it starts making its own, copied after the ones the mother had left behind. There's some personal contribution, mostly through deleting (and some unintentional misinterpretation), exactly like in the perpetuation of "culture" through hand-copied manuscripts ; later in life actual genetic factors permit the expression of genuinely personal -- and in the context of actual antibodies novel variants -- however by and large human immunity is a motherly thing.
Which brings us to the interesting point : males, especially organized in armies, especially if carried over large bodies of water on rickety wooden implements animated by sails are a biological weapon sui generis. It's not the hundred Spanyards with one cannon that crushed the whole Incan civilisation as such, but rather the combination of trivial diseases the stupid cunts of their mothers hadn't prepared the simpy Xoxo (or Koko or Dodo or whatever dumb shit they caled themselves) for, along with the trivial notions and behviours the stupid cunts of their mothers hand't prepared them for (through the age old self-indulgency of uppity cunthood), such that the congregated morons wanted to be like... friends and shit. They "just wanted to get along", because life's the most important thing and so on, inane bullshit in that vein.
I only mention this because it's possible the history might repeat itself, or however you say "believe women" in dead languages.
Oh btw, isn't my great and fabulous luxury of saying whatever the fuck I fucking feel like quite the enviable priviledge ? God knows your "President" or whatever you call the scapegoat these days can't afford it, to say nothing of "you yourselves" (whathever that even is these days) ; and if you were in any sort of danger of becoming a thinking person you'd at least suspect it's the foremost issue. But...
Nudos, aka knots. Or as the Romanian expression has it, noduri si coarde.
This being one of the best cartoons I've seen in a long while. The problem with contemporary cartoonery is its insufferable boyishness. Too loud, too "arresting", too garish in any case, much too driven and sharp and tense (asides from being outright stupid). It creates great demand for the alternative approach ; and if you take a moment to notice the old woman with a portrait en duello the eye inescapably slides to the little boy bereft of an anticipated party, and thereupon the entire edifice of female self-inflicted sadness unravels, complete.
Doesn't it suck living in a world populated by little girls ? (Yes it's your fault, of course it is. Did you rape any girl into womanhood today ? So then.)
Above, as below : fake hills in the distance, consisting of but clouds.
It's true, too!
This gas station has stood abandoned, in a prime real estate spot, for eons beyond rememberance. I'm pretty sure it was slowly decaying the first time I came here, fifteen years ago. Perhaps it may survive us all.
The "concerned parents" / Karens-someone-gave-"secure"-plasticars-to at work.
Yes "salida de emergencia" means emergency exit, yes that's a school, yes the only reason they've parked the monstrosity (illegally, by the way) there is because their children go to that school. They wouldn't be there otherwise, duh.
And it has to be parked in the very fucking door, of course. Because being male-neglected (therefore fat, lazy and stupid) middle-aged women they think walking is bad for them (who knows, someone may rape them on the way!!!), and besides, moo-moo.
Don't you hate living in a world populated by little girls ? It wouldn't even be so bad if you hadn't given the white goods all sort and manner of white goods, but...
#MakeThatBitchWalkEverywhere
« The Seven Laws
His Girl Friday »
Category: Zsilnic
Friday, 18 December, Year 12 d.Tr.
Flirt
Flirti is not nearly as intolerable as one'd expect. For one thing, [a very young] Kidman's the unsympathetic character (inasmuch and insofar as she can't possibly help it ; and not a darned iota more!!!) -- a very welcome and certainly refreshing break from her usual Mary Sue tedium. Such a sad thing, this deeply, womanly pleaser stuck with no real male structure among which to find something to please herself pleasing.
For another thing, the black girl, the butt of the "animalistic sexuality" fetishistic expectations of the social milieu, the "sophisticated" teenager who "met Sartre -- in Paris" and "told him about marriage" is perhaps a difficult role, in the abstract ; but it's written remarkably tightly and overall workably here. What's more that little squirt carries it through quite excellently. To make it all stick quite as sweet a smile, quite as languid a certain regard were required, though I have little faith I'd have known before seeing it done.
In the end, a film called Flirt's seductive in chief because the particular interplay of well remembered, anthropologically sound, fairly if ideally universal human youth stretched out, displayed, deconstructed and dissolved against the second order effects of its self-same itself : human "society", what the recently departed adolescents of yesteryear construct for "the benefit" of today's ex-children, now teen-aged, future ex-adolescents, "as best they can". Everyone there was the same thing at some point, and will be the same thing at some future point, and so on. Difference's entirely imagined, insubstantial, mere happenstance, coincidence of timing ; beyond it only ritual, remembered form self-recomposing itself out of the ebb and flow remains, and it is why the lined-up girls whinning like mares facing the lined-up boys, teetering like colts, carries such immense power : it's purely imaginary, ecco la sua forza.
Not a film to miss.
———1991, by by John Duigan, with Noah Taylor, Thandie Newton. [↩]
« A full deck of beach cards
From the boardroom to the livingroom »
Category: Trilematograf
Friday, 09 October, Year 12 d.Tr.
Fixing the Trilema reference base.
The title originally read "fixing the Trilema trackbase". Then I altered it to "pingbase". Then I realised I don't know why the other should be excluded, so I changed it again, to "trackbase & pingbase". Then it finally dawned on me : there's two poorly defined terms in use, let's fucking define them!
So : a trackback is a type of comment, like a spam comment or an interesting comment. Its top node is comment, and like all comments it is published at the bottom of an article, it has a specific url pointing back to it and it gets a count in the comment stream etcetera. Pinging back, meanwhile, is the act of sending the information that'll be processed such that a trackback is perhaps eventually producedi, and therefore a pingback is that evanescent set of packets, and therefore a blog will contain a machine for turning pingbacks into trackbacks, much like it has a machine for turning comments (in the sense of -- strings people sent) into comments (in the sense of -- strings published on the blog). Don't ask me why there's need for two terms -- ask instead yourself, how the fuck did you live before I showed up to disambiguate your world for you.
But anyways -- these can collectively be referred to as the reference base, and it occurs to me that while Trilema pretty much invented this in any practical sense, it also could stand some improvement. Such is the life of those who "invent" things in the practical sense : they can always improve on them. Everyone else's stuck with perfections.
Specifically : some trackbacks substantially repeat, because at some early point as the trackback url format changed to permit selection, the p-t engine failed to identify two substantially identical but formally different urls as identical. Some trackbacks are missingii, also. Finally, and most importantly : none of the 14`537iii trackbacks currently extant actually use the new selection scheme.
What they do have, of course, is the original date when they were sent. I do not believe this carries much value in self-referential terms, however. For one thing, trackbacks are sorted at the end of the comment section anyway, meaning a trackback however old will still come after a comment however new. For the other thing, all trackbacks link back to an article, which has a publishing date -- people confused by the situation wherein an article from may 2016 was apparently pingbacked by an article from june 2017 in 2020 have more pressing matters to resolve than any involvement with Trilema at all.
So therefore : I am contemplating this measure whereby I will delete all trackbacks sent from Trilema to Trilema ; and then reinstate them with the novel machinery. The list is all readyiv ; it comes off a reviewed versionv of ye venerable trackback fixer
On the downside, this is expected to generate as you can see, upwards of 50`000 "new" comments on Trilema, as far as the RSS readers are concerned, that aren't however new in any substantial sense. Sorry for the inconvenience ; the fix is intended to go in sometime tonight, so with apologies for the noise,
I remain your most faithful,
first,
&foremost
etcetera.
———Tracking back, counterdistinctly, is the possibility of following the pinging blogs from the pinged blog, on the basis of the trackbacks it has published. [↩]Sadly, I still don't have a good solution to this problem. What's even sadder is that... well... I don't expect a good solution will be possible on the current TCP/IP infrastructure. [↩]Here, for the minutiously curious :
mysql> select count(*) from tril_comments where comment_type="pingback";
+----------+
| count(*) |
+----------+
| 14537 |
+----------+
1 row in set (0.07 sec)
And since we started :
mysql> select count(*) from tril_comments where comment_type="pingback" and comment_author_url like "%trilema.com%";
+----------+
| count(*) |
+----------+
| 12630 |
+----------+
1 row in set (0.08 sec)
That'd be about 86.9%, 2009 - 2020. [↩]
cat pings.sh | wc -l
86133
cat pings.sh | grep -cv "trilema.com/xmlrpc"
67963
Look at that, 78.9%. I wonder what this means!
What say you, Ringo, what does it mean ? Does it mean that I'm the righteous man, with Mr .45 here protecting my righteous ass in the valley of darkness ? Or does it mean it's the world that's evil and shellfish ?
Or is the truth simply that you're weak, and so imagine tyrannies of "evil men" ? How is it that after well over a decade, the outbound still beats the inbound, how is it that your entire world is still so much smaller than my hand, my writ and my deed ? [↩]Here you go :
<?
// Db connect data, fill in your own.
$db_name = '';
$db_user = '';
$db_pass = '';
$table_prefix = '';
$nconnection = mysql_connect("localhost", $db_user, $db_pass );
mysql_select_db($db_name, $nconnection);
// Index of post at which script last ran. Script won't look through earlier posts.
// You have to update the value manually.
$last_run = 90949;
// Part one : select all the articles that contain a link.
$query = 'SELECT YEAR(post_date), post_name, post_content FROM '.$table_prefix.'posts WHERE post_type ="post" AND post_content LIKE "%<a href=%" AND ID > '.$last_run;
$record = mysql_query($query);
while ( $row = mysql_fetch_array($record, MYSQL_NUM)) {
// Construct the pinging url from that data
$post_url = "http://trilema.com/".$row[0]."/".$row[1];
// Parse the dom of the article pinging, to extract links out
$dom = new DOMDocument();
@$dom->loadHTML($row[2]);
$xpath = new DOMXPath($dom);
$hrefs = $xpath->evaluate("/html/body//a");
// For each such link, output the corresponding magic strings that will allow curl to send the needed pingbacks
for ($i = 0; $i < $hrefs->length; $i++) {
$href = $hrefs->item($i);
$url = $href->getAttribute('href');
// Eliminate article links to itself (these pingbacks don't ever yield trackbacks)
// Also eliminate links out to a .jpg image -- the list can be readily extended.
if ((parse_url($url, PHP_URL_PATH) != parse_url($post_url, PHP_URL_PATH)) && (substr(parse_url(url, PHP_URL_PATH),-4,4) != ".jpg")) {
echo 'curl -A "Mozilla/5.0" -r 0-4096 --connect-timeout 30 --max-time 10 "http://';
echo parse_url($url, PHP_URL_HOST);
echo '/xmlrpc.php" --header "Content-Type: text/xml" --data "<?xmlversion="1.0"?><methodCall><methodName>pingback.ping</methodName><params><param><value><string>';
echo $post_url;
echo '</string></value></param><param><value><string>';
echo str_replace("'","'",$url);
echo '</string></value></param></params></methodCall>"'."\n";
}
}
}
?>
[↩]
« The magics of cereal boxes
Eulora changes, or "Hey diana_coman..." »
Category: Meta psihoza
Sunday, 05 January, Year 12 d.Tr.
Fenwalkin' bimbo
Oh, right! First, we had pae
Mmmm, delicious warm apple pae. Do you know what warm apple pae tastes like ? Well... it's just like... sex!i
Then I took the bitch out for a walk. Originally I was gonna put a collar on her too, but then I was liek... naaah.
Fenwalking is this activity for young women where they go out into the bounteous bosom of ol' mother nature, leave their artifices (like clothes, purses, shit like that) somewhere and then proceed thus freed an' unencumbered thence, circuitously goin' around an' about to eventually retrieve the pile. If it's still there. It's all about vulnerability an' submission an' things like that, properly an' healthily at the very core of the female experience of this here world an' its phenomenological train.ii
Then I was like, take the shoes off, slut!
So her socks got a little ruined. They were all pretty and sparkly and unicorn-y, too! But... honestly now, don't they look way the fuck better ruined on her than any clean vanilla out socks out there ?
I think they do.
That'll be... enough of that.
Also, I made her carry her shoes while she walked barefoot (well, technically, sockyfoot) all through the little town, which she confirms was pretty humiliating. But hey, I enjoyed it :D
And with that flowermonster wishes you a good time.
———Not even fucking kidding, three pretty eager tarts sucking under a big round fat belly! Ha-HA! [↩]Not in the sense of choo-choo, but in the sense of the portion of the dress that drags on the ground. [↩]
« Princess Babydoll and the lures of captivity
The problem with Bostrom's trilemma »
Category: Zsilnic
Monday, 09 November, Year 12 d.Tr.
Eusocial talk
People Idiots are reliably preoccupied with insect "eusocial" behaviour, a faux fascination manifesting itself in the very peculiarly limited sense of tendentiously misapprehending irrelevant details culled among the physiology of inferior lifeforms and repackaging them as purported "science" at the ready to support imagined "arguments" that aren't really arguments thrown like so many shitgrenades at more economically relevant fields (in the limited "rent extraction" sense of "economic"), such as public policy.
In a functioning world it would be pointless to point out that the word "social" used in contexts such as "social insects" has absolutely nothing usefully or meaningfully in common with the word "social" used in contexts such as "human society" ; or that "insect behaviour" is similar to "human behaviour" in the exact sense "square wheels" are similar to "square heads" -- purely formal, entirely meaningless, mere coincidence driven by paucity (or terseness) of notation.
We do not however live in such a wonder as a functioning world ; instead we're stuck with hordes of utter imbeciles which were taught the alphabet, and naught else besides -- enough of the tools of thought to cause trouble but not actually enough to help themselves at all, let alone positively impact human reason in any meaningfully measurable way. So we are stuck pointing out that it doesn't the fuck matter at all whether "eusocial behaviour" has appeared twice, fifty times, or only once in the genus Bombus (the bumblebees) -- because whether it did or whether it didn't, socialism is still the collector of the dumbest of the dumb, the ideology of idiots by its very nature ; and "altruism" is still a recent coinage of little substance or import, its meaning and intension purely stylistic, like "out of sight" or "wicked" ; and so following.
In which vein, let's point out three important lines in which bees aren't merely dumber than Jews (in itself quite the accomplishment, even for insects) but outright not meaningfully social at all :
Theft. All animals are practically described by a numeric, scalar value : their fitness value. This is the great contribution of the theory of natural selection to the world of thought (and the thing about it that non-"scientific", usually religious thinkers so abhor). For human females this fitness value is the fabled sexual market value, the scalar which resolves practical dilemmas such as ignore-or-capture. For bee colonies this fitness value is the ratio of the bee resource value versus the honey resource values in the beehive : beehives with a lot of honey and few weak bees are weak in this sense, whereas beehivess with lots of strong bees are strong in this sense (irrespective of how much honey they actually hold, for practical reasons -- bees don't accumulate wealth past certain limits within their natural purview). As part and parcel of their eusocial beehaviour, older bees are not usually allowed back in the nest unless they carry significant honey income. This creates the situation where their own life isn't worth anything to them unless they manage to get some honey, and in conditions of limited available natural resources they will attempt to simply steal honey from other nests. If they attempt to steal from a strong beehive they get killed, which is the intended functioning of this "social" arrangementi, but if coincidentally they attempt to steal from a weak beehive (or one which happens to have otherwise allocated its bee resources) and some make it back home, they will readily enlist other, non-old bees to follow! Such an ad-hoc invasion army will cause very lively battles, which result in casualties, on both sides. That the process weakens the already weak beehive is the lesser concern : the thieving beehive, the one where old bees managed to involve normal bees in the theft, also loses some bees -- and for its efforts gains honey. This double whammy lowers its value exponentially. More honey with less bees equals disaster, as a new weak beehive was just formed ; and because "eusocial" means some specific things in context -- in the context of insects -- the success of old bees from the previously normal, now weakened hive in their activity encourages old bees from other hives to repeat the process, except this time with the last theft's invader on the invaded side. If left to their own devices, hundreds of bee hives in geographic proximity can be reduced through this mechanism of pure eusocial bee-haviour into utter oblivion within the week, leaving behind something like three or four decimated, barely holding on to life queens, a bunch of larvae dying from neglect for lack of workers and well... The winter is coming.ii
Mites. Varroa is the destroyer of bees, a crab-like little mite that lays its eggs inside the bee egg cells. The fact is that the bee upon which the mite feeds can not -- for very good reasons derived from necessary engineering choices and unavoidable optimizations driven by the extreme constraints of the design -- rid itself of the parasite. You'd be exactly in the same position if you got a tick between the shoulder blades, it's simply something you can't reach and that's that. So what do you do, should you get a tick between your shoulder blades, a pimple in the ear, a certain itch about the frenulum etcetera ? Why, you ask your "partner" to scratch it for you ?! I wonder why the bees don't, eusocial as they are ; because in point of fact there couldn't be such a thing as varroa if the bees had enough fucking sense to, you know... see something, say something. Or at the very least bite the something. It's not like the mite has any defense whatsoever to another bee besides its host lovingly embracing it with its maxilae. So maybe that's the correct response to rape in the female herd, then ? If you see some visibly distressed chick being thrown about by some jerks, just walk away ? Pretend nothing's going on ? It's how the bees do it, after all!
General fucktardedness. There's a moth whose larvae feed on the wax, the bees could readily kill, but do not. There's been plans to vote for change, and pick a black bee to be the queen, because no black bee has ever been queen in fifty thousand million years, but the bees don't seem interested. The no bee left behind programme hasn't even been voted on, in fact, bees don't even vote at all to this day, and so following.
How shall I put this daintily-gingerly enough for the moron crowd... Here's a thought : lay off with the pretense to "open minded"ness, you're not some kind of vastly informed, greatly regarding, super-horizon'd meta-intellect of the comic books. You're a sad schmuck with nary a clue and no perspective to speak of, and that's precisely what you'll stay.iii
Okay ?
———So presumably, following the idiot logic, old people should be sent to conquer Russia -- not because they have a chance, but specifically because they don't, eh ? It's how the bees do it!!! [↩]Since absence of natural, forageable resources is a key ingredient in the "socio"-disaster, Winter is indeed coming. [↩]This isn't a discussion of your behaviour, but of your substance, there's no "how-to" de-schmuck-ification guide because there can't be. [↩]
« I look, I laugh, I leave.
As far back as I can remember... »
Category: Cocietate si Sultura
Sunday, 04 October, Year 12 d.Tr.
Eulora changes, or "Hey diana_coman..."
I started writing a missive, yesterday. Because we were talking about Eulora, and well... breaking shit down is nice and good, I'm sure, yet... at some point you gotta start giving out something positivei, or else. It's just not possible to run an organisation on dismantlings only, even in post-civilisational scavenger worlds such as ours.
So I started writing down the positive, and the result was going to go into the red machinery, to be encrypted and forwarded... hm. But why ?
That "why ?" thread of gadflies led (like they do) to this article (through the unsurprising intermediary of "I guess I'll just pm her"). Yet... why had it started out as a gpgram in the first place ? Apparently you and me, we have the same impulses, you just don't know enough of the world and yourself to back out in time ; if it weren't for all the elaborate machinery of thought keeping me afloat, I'd be out there, passing gpg-balls back and forth all day too. Why ?
I only ask because I now know, obviously. Do you ? It's because the positive has to be protected, isn't it. It's because the ample world, the endless world, the non-simple complexity world is mean, isn't it ? It's the world that's evil, ain't it Ringo ? You hide whatever's left good in your eyes like lichens hide water under the mid-day Sun, in the deepest recesses you can come up with, lest it's instantly vaporized by the unforgiving rays above, don't you. In any practical sense an all-out nuclear war'd have really been a lot less damaging than the computer bomb detonation turned out to be -- at least in the physical extinction case you'd have still had your thoughts.
Remember, back when you still had your thoughts ? Back when they lounged outside, taking in the (back then) loving Sun, nude and happy ? Back when they didn't have to cower, in private, back when...
A lot has happened in the meanwhile, as they say. Then again, "a lot has happened" since Euclid, too. The only possible definition of culture & civilisation is precisely this : "selective passage of time" ; some are immensely rich, so unfathomably wealthy in fact they can still afford culture, and civilisation. So here we go, the most obscene display of all : yes, I'm aware the complexity quasar long ago dessicated your mental universe, evaporated the last droplet of water, dissociated the last molecule, blew off the last hydrogen atom, leaving behind a sad mess incapable of recovery even should hostile conditions be remediedii. Nevertheless...
Now that the thousand word intro is out of the way, Hey, diana_coman, here's the thing : I don't expect the part about many sectors to be such a big problem. Currently the game has a conception of a sector, so it'll be expanded to take two int64s, and then server-side things such as resource maps can obviously be handled by the server without problemiii ; we have teleporters already tried and tested in that obama house thing, all the machinery for object attachment to arbitrary sectors' mostly in place already, so if some guy drops a table in sector -8, +3 it won't appear in all the e38 other sectors too, we're mostly good here. Difficulties such as "the client nevertheless expects a number, from 9 to 55, because reasons" aren't even problems : nobody said the client has to know what's happening ; I don't propose to deliver the true sector position any more than we deliver the true BP/HP/stats etc. Why teh fuck would we -- let the playerdom figure it all out, that's why the fuck they're even playing in the first place, rightiv ?!
But don't be concerned : that not promising to be so much of a problem doesn't mean I can't make some! Specifically : crafting as it stands expects to take a recipe, which is an item, which then tells it what type of table is needed and what specific item is needed for worktable, and what items go in and what items go out, specifically.
I take umbrage with this sanity on multiple levels, and I require elaborate insanity forthwith ; nothing else can quench it for me!
For the simple part : I desire an indirection layer, such that a recipe will not specify "rickety reeds", but merely "branches", which'd be a category of items rather than a specific item indication, and such that any items that are branches, such as reeds, rickety or otherwise, will work as ingredients in the recipe. And the thing that comes out, while it'll be a "sword" as a categorical type, will nevertheless be potentially entirely novel (if no player yet made a sword out of three tin foils and one titanium sheet), so the players should get to name them. None of those "infinity-1" sword names anymore, mkay ? No more of Diablo's sad "named uniques" bullshitv, let the players name items. Now, self-obviously the game doesn't have a mechanism for this to happen in-game ; but frankly the man who didn't mind making accounts doesn't mind naming things, what the fuck can I do ? Nubile development, right, by the time the tension between the legs becomes too great to bear the young woman will do something about it. At least, that's how I like to think about it.
And now for the complex part : I am unhappy with the notion of skill, such as it is. I do not believe skills should be something set up by the developer, and therefore simple, stiff and rigid. I believe skills should be player-defined. No more of this "weaponsmith skill". No, let there be a list of all the properties, let the player hook them up in any mix he likes, with any basis he likes, let the game compute a cost for his selection and charge him a registration fee and there you go. There's no rule some player can't go through the game with a single skill, which yes, as per above they should be able to name "Being Fabulous" or whatever the fuck else. What "balance problems", holy hell, what "player forums" with "recipes", "first you max your Weaponsmith then your Blade Mastery" nonsense ? We have no hope in hell of breaking this overarching problem unless we use the idiots against themselves. So we will, not like it costs anything.
With which extension, recipes above very self-evidently become also a "well, player wants to make a sword out of mud and pies, let him, it'll suck but it'll be his". Who exactly came up with "oh, and to make an infinity-1 sword you need three amethysts and a dragon's ballsac" and why did they ? What, "players exploring the crafting space" should consist of "dump ingredients in here, maybe something comes out, maybe nothing does, so rather than lose materials go read the wiki for known recipes" ?! Fuck that, reality doesn't have such wunderbar negative feedback, so you know you've fucked up. No, let them make anything out of anything, let it work as well as it does, and then let them sort it all out. We're writing a game here for the players to play, not for us to have mostly-played by the time they get to play it, I ain't summarizing by hand ten trillion quadrillion possible universes to figure out indeed infinity-1 sword takes violet quartz and large chicken ballsacs.
So practically, we'll have to restructure the db in terms of hooks, and things hookable. Any given item should be one of an enumerated list of categories, which we do pre-define, type Sword or type Powder. Everything else should take hooks, such as "Right Hand Slot may take type Sword, type Bow, type Staff.." also in a pre-defined list. A recipe, a skill, a limb all become the same thing in this sense, with individual skills becoming... items, like any others, a different type but nevertheless. So you loot some Swordsmanship (item, type Skill), take it home, use some Paper and Ink (in the general, maybe you use Vellum and Cockatrice Spit, maybe you use Flattened Wasp Nest and Menstrual Blood) to add it to the Round Shield skill you found yesterday, set the base on the first to 10.95 and on the 2nd to .375, and there you go, you've created Joe's Doe, you can equip it now and level it up. For as long as you bash things with a sword or get bashed on a round shield with it in mind you gain xp and benefit from the effects, and once you gain enough you level it up -- or you can just learn it, and then it becomes part of you (at least for now). Whenever you bash anything with a sword the xp gets divvied up among all the learned skills referencing it and that's that!
Does all this make any sense to you at all ?
———This is not perfectly true, technically I had already emitted one positive, whereby the Eulora world is to change from the current "single sector" world as you know it to a (practical) infinity of them, in a 18`446`744`073`709`551`614 by 18`446`744`073`709`551`614 matrix, from -9`223`372`036`854`775`807 to 0 and then on to 9`223`372`036`854`775`807 on each side. (Incidentally, doesn't it strike you as self-evident that if the negative lobe is as ample as the positive, therefore there's a bit lost somewhere ? Yet... inquire with your local LLONG_MIN and LLONG_MAX metaconstructs, see what they say.)
What do you think, will you manage to finish exploring Eulora in the ~billion years or so left until the Sun makes global warming an actual reality ? 3.4e+38 maps versus 3.1e+16 seconds in a billion years, hm... I wonder...
Practical infinity, this is the gift computers have given us sometime in the past twenty years, yet nobody seems to have noticed. Somehow, nobody seems to have noticed.
There used to be a time back when computers were relatively weak and inept, and the best minds congregated around the spire like there was no tomorrow, literally, no tomorrow possible outside a half mile limit out from it. Do you remember those days, by the way ? Those days of yore, those days way back, those days of husband-and-wife spending their summer vacation huddled around the ZX-80, making games with infinity worlds in them ? You ever played Acornsoft's Elite back in the 80s, by the way ?
But meanwhile, the gap sparked through. As expected (by those in the know) computers indeed brought such variety and complexity into the world as to defy the best and brightest ; no longer is the world a dull, tiresome, endless simplicity, like it was back in the day (which was why all the dedication -- back in the day). No, nothing like that anymore. Now the world is such detritus of exploded complexity, people can't even find each other anymore among the remains. The distances meanwhile became so great, the spaces so impossibly vast (given all the possibility they're pregnant with) that he's stuck in the "den", fantasizing about her in the company of his fantasms, hallucinated "others", but others-lite, others-bearable, others dull and tiresome and made of endless simplicity like in the good old days ; while she's stuck in the vacated bedroom fantasizing about him.
Yet none of this is an acceptable excuse. That you meanwhile became petrified of the "disaster" you wrought, that the satisfaction of what you had asked for and thought you wanted now scares you shitless is not an acceptable excuse. It is here, like it or not, and it must be used now. That's how it goes. You're not fooling anyone with all those "here's a 66,856-planet '''universe''' simulated on 64 bit systems" self-stroking levies against the flood, you realise that.
Then again... who knows, perhaps I'm lying. It'd certainly be easier if I were, wouldn't it. [↩]How's all the blown-off H supposed to return ? There's no mechanism for that in reality. [↩]Hah, you thought identical sectors means identical resource maps ? Mow why would you think such a thing. [↩]Time to bring back ye olde MMO maps, folks. Does local Office Depot even have 340`282`366`920`938`463`463`374`607`431`768`211`456 sheets of paper ? No ? Oh, it closed down meanwhile ?
Well... I guess you'll figure something out. Try Radioshack, what can I tell you. [↩]Diablo, the original (and to an extended degree Diablo II) had the only item system worth the name known in computer gaming to date. It was good because of specific properties ; and then they went and "extended" it by adding more of what wasn't those specific properties until it collapsed under its own accreted stupid, giving birth to such nonsense as the signalling threadmill, where at first the simple sound of a ring dropping was enough to get your endorphins pumping, but then there being enough rings the sight of color was enough, but then they oversupplied color so the name became a thing, except of course...
Dumb. In the same line, Cotnari, the first and for a while foremost Romanian vineyard is now producing "Bule", cheap chemo-fizz, under its once venerable brand. Easily the cheapest, most offensive bum whine now available in Romania (I doubt it's exported anywhere), this thing attested anno 1448 (that's before "America" was yet invented). Because such is the burden of brand, see, if you have the know-how, methods, people, places, everything needed to turn ten Bitcoin's raw materials and labour into a hundred Bitcoin's worth of wine, and also a brand perception that adds a hundred Bitcoin worth of value to any wine you sell, what are you going to do ? Are you going to modestly turn ten to a hundred, thereby maintaining the brand ? Just like thirty or so generations modestly did, to bridge the way back to the 1400s ?
Or are you going to buy into the accounting fiction whereby your brand value is an asset on the books, and therefore it must earn its rent, and therefore sell ten for two hundred, one for the wine, one for the name, and thereby introduce & promote the inflationary basis of ourdemocracy that'll in short order turn you around to observing that "in these hard times" of desperation and poverty (that you, with the other like-minded merchants, did not usher in but outright created -- they never existed anywhere "outside" of your sheer stupidity) one has to economize, and so simply turn around and sell the brand only, dispose with the ten that "was only adding to costs" and thus be able to sell Cotnari "50% off" : 100% off on the wine, and 50% off on "the price" (that you had imaginarily aforedoubled for no reason).
The only solution is to stop thinking you can have the cake you ate, in the localized version of "stop putting brand value on the books, monetization of meta factors is how you spread democracy". It'll provide unexpected advantages you don't even realise you're not expecting, though you absolutely should fucking have in the first place. [↩]
« Fixing the Trilema reference base.
I'm developing pictureitis. »
Category: S.MG
Sunday, 12 January, Year 12 d.Tr.
Essentially...
One sunny, breezy day of Spring a chattering, giggling gaggle of young girls happened upon an orderly orchard. The trees were mostly cherry, while the girls... the girls were mostly cheery ; but albeit and beyond their differences they made do with what was there present and available : the future luxury holes rolled and fed in the sweet, zesty grass ; the future luxury furniture shot squirts of Earthly delights up and down its plurious, slender trunks, and rained petals of unmitigated joy upon the pluriform (if quite orderly) beast of unbridled enthusiasm falling over itself below.
By mid-Summer the trees had ripened, their branches heavy at the crook with delicious, redolent cherries. Like the trees so the girls had ripened, their thighs heavy at the crook with their species' single, heat-glowing cherry. As chance would have it the same (mostly) girls and the same (mostly) trees then met again ; and during the proceedings of their meetings an' encounterings a single, solitary cherry left the branch that spawned it, the branch upon which it had first seen a dusk, and then a dawn, the branch upon which it had first (and ever thence) wallowed in the wind and danced in the breeze, the branch upon which it had first been kissed by a bee, and by a raindrop, and by a sunray, and by a moonshine, and by all the things that cherries in their ripening by degrees kiss. It left it far, distantly and ever at an increasing rate further and behind ; in a blink the branch was gone, and then there wasn't the branch anymore, but just merely a branch, seen from afar and needfull now of distinction and differentiation provided separately, apart and alongside, like toys and batteries. An entirely different thing altogether, from what it was, or rather, it had been.
The wayward cherry fell, with a delicate plop, red little dollop of delicious color among the other dollops of otherwise delicious but just as color, and they all noticed it, and gathered 'round.
"Hi!" the cherry offered, excitement strangling its small, cheery voice.
"What are you doing here ?" asked one of the girls, furrowing her brow like she'd seen the Ladies do, cherry red lips parting slightly like the blood driving it all demanded from them.
"I want to be one of you guys!" the cheery cherry squeaked, enthused.
"But... how ?" wondered outloud a dark angel of a different faith.
"Essentially!" came, unexpected, the right answer.
The girls were no racists, and readily accepted the supernumerary cherry among their cheery midsts, even if just essentially. Tolerance of impossible arrangements is a foremost female virtue ; and so they jointly (if approximately) did what they all ever do, while flesh be willing even if the spirit week ; but as late afternoon began giving way in to the early rays of dark, the Master an' proud owner of both herd and orchard came riding, and slaughtered the lot. Most cherries he just splayed open with his pointing, ruling stick, leaving but moans and an indistinct itch behind ; but the essential cherry he put in his mouth and, squirting its zests in the purpose-made fleshy basin, deftly separated the pulpy flesh from the stony seed, and spit that latter out.
The essential remains of what had been the cherry, essentially, fell unto the ground. Then it fell dark, and all fell silent. And thus as ever falls The End.
« The ties that bind, the ties that tie... generally speaking, a tie's a tie.
I woke today... »
Category: Cuvinte Sfiinte
Saturday, 30 May, Year 12 d.Tr.
Erik and other stories
"What the hell happened to you ?!"
"You won't believe if I told you."
"Try me."
"Ok, so I ask the damned idiots, 'if there's three crows on a line, and I shoot one, how many are left ?' and, of course, nobody says peep one so I eventually have to call on Erik."
"Erik Sofofloufakis ?"
"Yeah..."
"Oh, man... Hand up waving in patterns and everything, right ?"
"Right. 'In the unlikely circumstance...' "
"Nuts. That's an exact quote, too. Isn't it."
"It is. 'In the unlikely circumstance you can actually shoot a crow from far enough they stay on the line rather than fly off laughing,' he says, you know, with that accent on 'you'"
"I keep wondering what his parents do."
"'then there will be no crows left because one crow's dead and the other two flew off.'"
"So what did you say ?"
"What the hell could I say ? I said I was looking for two for an answer, but I like the way he thinks ?"
"And do you ?"
"The way's alright, I guess. It's the volume that gets obnoxious."
"Preach it, sister."
"So then, he says, 'Now let me ask you a question. In a classroom there's three little girls, and each has a lollypop. One little girl is nibbling her lolly, another little girl is licking her lolly, and the last little girl is sucking her lolly. Which one is married ?'"
"Holy mother... he actually said that ?"
"That's exactly what he said."
"So what did you do ?"
"I figured it's better if I answer and move on."
"Bad idea."
"I know."
"So what did you say ?"
"I said 'the one that's sucking her lolly ?'."
"And then he said 'no, the one with a ring on her finger ; but I like the way you think', did he."
"That's exactly what he said."
"He's been doing it all morning."
"He has ?!"
"Yep."
"Someone should do something about that kid."
"Mrs. Banks took him to the principal's office earlier."
"O really ? What happened ?"
"He spent the remainder of the period talking poor Mr. Whitehead in circles. 'He only does it because speech mannerisms aren't that far off from speech impediments, and what is this i-like-how-you-think nonsense.' and things like that. 'It is entirely devoid of notional content' and 'he comes to school for the exact opposite of that activity' and on and on."
"Lawd's mercy..."
"Someone will have to break down and suck him off."
"They're third graders!"
"The rest of them are. Erik is from an army experiment or something..."
"I bet you he won't even be interested. Something as pedestrian as a school blowjob, the indignity. He's probably into BDSM or some shit..."
"What's that ?"
"When they tie the girls up and beat them and things like that."
"That's a thing ?!"
"Of course it's a thing, look it up. B-D-S-M."
"Do you... I mean..."
"What do you think."
"Can I... I mean... maybe... sometime..."
"I'm going this Friday, there's a club about an hour."
"Do I... I mean do you have to..."
"Nah. You can just look around or whatever, hang out."
"Maybe we should take Erik too. Just stuff him in the trunk."
"No way. They'll freak ; and besides -- he'll probably break the trunk, too."
"In an hour ?"
"Plenty of time. Besides, I don't want the worlds colliding. I only started going because of that damned kid..."
"Really ?"
"Yeah, really. Rosie asked some highschool kids if they knew what 'altruism' is named for within Erik's earshot, so in the silence he came back with 'but do you know what masochism is named for'."
"So... ?"
"So I had to look it up."
"Oh hi girls. What's new ?"
"Same old."
"What's new with you ?"
"Oh, you don't wanna hear."
"Sure we do."
"My boyfriend's boss... you remember my boyfriend, right ?"
"Yes Ray, we remember your boyfriend."
"How could we ever forget."
"His boss is a total asshole, right ? So last week he tells Johhny, he says 'Look, I gotta have your ass. Here's what we do : I throw a grand on the floor, you bend to pick it up, by the time you're done I'm done.'"
"Wow. The balls on that guy..."
"I wish someone said that to me, actually."
"Sorry honey, he's not into girls at all."
"So what happened ?"
"Well, we talked it over, you know, and I was like 'so tell him two thousand dollars, and make it real quick, he won't even have time to take his pants off, that wanker'. Right ?"
"Bad idea."
"I know that now. Anyways, so Johhny goes to work Friday like normal, then he doesn't come home by six, like normal. Or by eight. Or you know, it was getting dark. So I call and he's all panting on the phone, you know, and grunting, and I'm like 'Loverboy, what the hell happened ?!'"
"What did he say ?"
"He says to me, he says, 'Nickles and dimes, Ray. Nickles and dimes, that's what happened.'"
"Oh, wow..."
"And to think, it was your idea to make it two thousand."
"I know, right!?"
"Anyway, I have a period now. And thanks goodness it's not third grade. See you guys."
"See you."
"Did Erik do something again ?"
"I don't want to talk about it."
"Hi Ray. Anna."
"What's new, Jo ?"
"Oh, nothing much. We went to the art exhibition yesterday, Peter and I."
"That's nice."
"Anything good ?"
"There was this striking painting, three men on a parch benk. Completely stark naked."
"That's modern art for you."
"They were black, though."
"Interesting..."
"That's not what's interesting. I'll tell you what's interesting : the guy on the left, he had a penis up to his knee, all black. The guy on the right, also up to his knee, also all black. But the guy in the middle..."
"He had a white guy penis ?"
"Well, I mean it was also up to his knee, but yeah."
"We'll have to go see this."
"So what happened ?"
"Nothing happened, we read the note. Apparently they were coal miners, the three guys, on their lunch break."
"And the guy in the middle ?
"He went home for lunch."
"I thought it sounded like a set-up."
"It's a setup alright, but the painting's there, see for yourself."
"Ok you guys, I have to go call Johnny."
"What, he's still not done yet ?!"
"Done doing what ? Who's Johnny ?"
"Oh hush. See ya."
"His boyfriend."
"So what was he doing ?"
"Nothing, nothing, he wasn't doing anything."
"You never tell me anything. I always tell you everything. What am I, minced meat over here ?"
"Ray just thinks Johnny might be having sex with his boss, is all."
"Oh, really ? Why would he think that ?"
"You know Ray..."
"Oh by the way, I read on the internet there's a massive epidemic going around, but it only affects men. Especially younger men, it seems."
"Wow, what ?!"
"Yeah, the main symptom is penises turning orange."
"You and penis colors, what are you, a penile symbolist ?"
"No, it's real. They project that unless the economy recovers or the internet goes out, in another five-ten years most penises will be completely orange."
"Orange and tasting vaguely of cheetos ?"
"M-hmmmm."
"By the way, did you hear Mary quit ?"
"No, which Mary ?"
"The big black girl, curator."
"Oh ? No ?"
"Yeah. Apparently they had to let one of the two night curators go, and Mr. Whitehead said to her 'I can't decide whether to lay you or Jack off'. So she got upset and told him to get some vaseline, she doesn't need the crummy job anyways."
"That Mr. Whitehead."
"I don't think he even figured out what happened."
"Oh, but did you hear he expelled Stacy McAllister ?"
"Eleventh grade, pretty girl but always in those Canadian lumberjack shirts ?"
"That's the one. She was caught red handed -- masturbating during period."
"Oh, that's just..."
"Hey there gals!"
"Mr. Whitehead...."
"We were just talking about you."
"Really ?"
"As a matter of fact, we were."
"You know what Mary told us ?"
"No ? Did she tell you something about me ?"
"Yes, she said you told her 'Nothing is better than sex.'"
"I did not!"
"And then you continued 'but masturbation is better than nothing, and so...'"
"Lies. Lies and slander. She just quit, that's all."
"Oh, Mary quit ?"
"Yes, she and her boyfriend were going into business and she just didn't have the time to come nights anymore, is all."
"What kind of business ?"
"Catering something, I don't know. Anyway, I've got to go"
"See you, Mr. Whitehead."
"Yeah."
"How could you say that to him!"
"Hahaha. Did you see his face ?"
"I just hope he didn't see mine. I could barely hold it in."
"You're actually much better at that than you give yourself credit for."
"Oh really ? Thank you darling! What a nice compliment."
"Look who's coming!"
"Brenda! How are you darling."
"Hi girls. I'm... it's just terrible."
"What's terrible ?"
"Today was my first day back in the office."
"Yeah, how's the baby ?"
"Fine, just fine. Alex' mother has him most days so I can come to work."
"That's nice."
"It's the opposite of nice. It's terrible. The seniors are starting on the application forms, and good god... you know what Shwoyneeaqua did just now ?"
"I can't imagine."
"She shows up, with a sex:M circled on her form. I'm all 'honey, you have to circle the F, you know ?' and she comes back with, hold on to your butts, she says 'I would love to, but I'm single again'."
"That's priceless."
"That girl ? Priceless nothing, more like fiddy bucks."
"Amanda!"
"What! It's true, ain't it ?"
"Even if it is..."
"Dumb bitch is making more than I do."
"But she doesn't get any satisfaction from her work."
"Don't say that. It's just too depressing to think about."
"Alright, see you Brenda."
"You're leaving ?"
"Bye!"
"Yeah, I'm going to take a walk through the park, check the trees for branches."
"Hey, wanna hear a joke ?"
"Sure Jo, I would love to hear a joke."
"This man goes to the doctor and says, 'Doc, you gotta help me!'. The doctor says, 'What's your problem?' The man says 'Every morning I wake up with my morning flagpole. I give the missus a sound trashing, then I'm off to work. On the way to work I carpool with the next door neighbor's wife. She either sucks it off or just rubs it all the way there. Once I get to work I do some things but then by morning tea time I go into the photocopy room and have it off with the one or the other of the young hussies there. They got some fine pieces of ass office girls where I work, let me tell you. For lunch I take my secretary out to eat at this hotel restaurant we always go to and after the meal I give her a good seeing to upstairs. Then on the way back from work I usually stop by the boss' house and fuck his wife nice and slow. Then go home and usually slip the maid a few inches... I like to do her while she keeps on working the vacuum or whatever. Then at night I give the missus another screw...' The doctor interrupts, "'What is your problem?' 'Well', the guy says, 'it hurts when I masturbate.'"
"Haha. Not bad."
"Yeah huh."
"I'd like to meet a guy like that."
"I think you must meet seven dwarves first, and maybe also a wolf or two."
"Oh, already met those."
"Haha."
"By the way, did you hear about the new study ?"
"No ?
"It found that 80% of women masturbate in the shower. But do you know what the other 20% do ?"
"No, what ?"
"Heh. I figured you'd ask."
"Oh... oh, you!"
"But do you know what's long and thick and hard and has cum inside ?"
"A... a..."
"That's right, A... A... cucumber!"
"Stop, stop! You're making me blush."
"Hello, ladies."
"How's it hanging, Maurice ?"
"I just came back from the hospital..."
"What happened ?"
"Well, you remember Sheila ?"
"The girl you weren't going with ever since she was a sophomore ?"
"Yeah, what happened to that girl ?"
"We were married. Two years ago."
"Oh. That's... nice."
"So who's in the hospital ?"
"Sheila."
"Oh my god, that's terrible."
"What happened ?!"
"We were in bed having sex a couple nights ago when she turned and gave me this look, you know, and then said 'turn the lamp off and stick it in my butt."
"Didn't work out ?"
"I guess it might've worked out better had I let it cool down first..."
"Hahahaha..."
"You idiot!"
"... next you're going dream you're eating a huge marshmallow, and when you wake up you won't have a pillow anymore."
"Is that what happened to you ?"
"Oh, stop! Just stop it you two."
"He told this joke before, you know."
"I did ? Are you sure ?"
"Yeah. You don't remember, we were at the Summer Mixer ?"
"I'm sorry, I've had amnesia for as long as I can remember."
"Oh god!"
"By the way, did you hear what Bevelaqua's come up with ?"
"No ?"
"What now ?"
"He's decided he's always been a transleander and so now he's identifying as 'thin'."
"Thin according to whom ?"
"That's what I want to know!"
"Anyway, I have to go."
"Yeah, I'm off too."
"See y'all"
"Bye!"
« The kids know words, or The post-lulz festival of pointless imbecility
Il Divo »
Category: Cuvinte Sfiinte
Friday, 10 April, Year 12 d.Tr.
Due soldi di speranza
Due soldi di speranzai is principally notable for including maybe the only, in any case one of the very few genuine and bona fide female heroine roles. It's just grand, not to mention quite how rare, to have a female hero, credibly rather than conventionally, truly and properly there, altogether and all there.
The film further further benefits from the presence of Maria Fiore, the seventeen year old debutante that fills (and in places stretchesii) this role of a fifteen year old true human who happens to have been born female, but to no detriment and indiscutably just as human as ever could be.
Otherwise there's always the perennial documentary value of these things, leftovers of many decades hence, made at a time when, while just as dead, nevertheless the impression of life was close enough still to reproduce, to immitate, to credibly describe. So, quite just so is how it worked, being young, being poor, being from there, being in love, being indigent young women and young men in love. Just so it works, and it'd have to, the interplay of sense and sensibility thus whips flesh and whiplashes all reason, it's there, well captured, correctly taxidermied -- you're more than welcome to follow its cuts and workings, anatomy and physiology ; and in so following derive the usual benefit of learning : understanding.
I do not believe one's claims to living can be entertained seriously who's not seen Due soldi di speranza. They may perhaps be alive, I've no argument there ; but living's quite a different thing altogether.
———1952, by Renato Castellani, with Maria Fiore, Vincenzo Musolino. [↩]No tits on her more than on last week's chickens, no ass on her more than on any pine of your choice -- and yet she fills, and she stretches. In the immortal words of an excellent celluloid psychopath, "you've got a lot of heart, kid!". She does, and it stretches everything around her to fit. [↩]
« San Jose Vive and other narrative fancies of the failed female state
Il delitto di Giovanni Episcopo »
Category: Trilematograf
Thursday, 30 July, Year 12 d.Tr.
Dr. Strangelove (or, How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb)
Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bombi is probably Kubrick's best movie. Somehow the implausible goofiness doesn't detract, perhaps because Sellers' rather ad-hoc, improvisationist style purifies Kubrick's psychomania like some sort of magical filter taking out the wormwood oil out of otherwise "perfectly fine" samagon. In any case, it's not that model airplanes filmed banking while the interior shots depict straight and level flight poses any problems -- I even suspect if the inside were engineered to actually match the outside I'd have proposed it be reshot incorrectly. That's the bane of human life : correct incorrectness utterly blows out of the water the merely, unadornedly correct.
Supposedly this is "dark satire" or whatever ; but earnestly the darkest part is the suspicion (which I can't imagine buds in my own mind alone) that the depicted undesirable course there avoided was, in fact, preferable to the supposedly desired direction we've been bumblingly following ever since. Imagine, if indeed they put one guy to ten (well endowed) gals down each mineshaft back in 1964 and then glassed the surface, would aspies still be a thing today ? Yes, you couldn't live off the land, then as now. But at least you wouldn't be stuck with all the extras getting in the way. Would that have been so bad ? Truly ?
For the first time since as long as I can remember, I look upon nuclear holocaust as rather a missed opportunity than anything else. Imagine, had it happened we'd have to be drinking bottled water and... ummm... I mean, self-quarantine, right ?
What a terrible loss!
———1964, by Stanley Kubrick, with Peter Sellers, George C. Scott. [↩]
« Nazism in the days of the cholera
The grape of wrath »
Category: Trilematograf
Friday, 20 March, Year 12 d.Tr.
Desperation in desolation
Have I used this title before ?
Apparently not. Great, I'm using it now, then.
How about that doghouse for an "Architecture" University, by the way ? Here I thought Argentina is an outlier in its ridiculous butchery of this once-noble profession ; but you should see the inhuman atrocities that somehow, inexplicably, unconscionably, pass into construction around here!
Architecture might be the one professional endeavour that most suffered under the post-apocalyptic retard regime. I can attest that at some point, back before "the digital revolution", architecture was both an actual professional endeavour, a perfectly respectable liberal profession, and a fulfilling artistic approach to life and the central problems of human existence. All that's gone nowadays, which is sad sufficiently and supersufficiently ; but the fact that nobody else seems to even be aware is outright mindmelting.
Seriously, everyone! How the fuck can you turn a blind eye upon the contemporary atrocities ? We readily join in not giving any shits about however many jews, poles, tutsis, bosnianiakekes or whatever the fuck they're called being butchered in the socialist era, inconsequential hordes of nobodies, unimportant, readily replenished by their mothers ever-lubricated lubricity. Fine. But the buildings ?! How can you pass these horrors at all, let alone in silence! No human age to date has been anywhere nearly as miserably intolerable as its utterly fecal productions make socialism. Not one percent of one percent of newly erected misery is fit for housing ants, wasps and bumblebees, let alone human beings. How, just how can all this vomit in concrete stand ? How, just how do you put up with the seemingly endless dyarhea of sheer ugly ?! Have you no conscience ? Have you no taste, no culture, no higher calling whatsoever, no higher function at all ?
Until the buildings markedly improve, I shall omit an' decline any sort of statement of belonging with you lot -- and quite understandably so. Building "for the people" has got to fucking cease, the buildings are even uglier than those "people" in headcount only, if that were somehow possible. I can't imagine how it'd be possible, but apparently somehow it is. Enough already!
You'll have to excuse the visual-textual mismatch, by the way. I've literally ran out of anything even remotely more adequate to describe my daily life, regular activities an' generally speakin' gestalt, so... I'm stuck scooping up the opposite end of the spectrum.
Besideswhich, as photographic proof doth attest, nature's continuing architecturally undisturbed. More power to it, really.
Above depicted, young coffee plants. I've come to the realisation that coffee is probably the prettiest cultivation choice available ; I know of no other human farming stock that's quite as pretty, nor fits so well in the environment, to the point of almost always actually improving it, rather than the opposite. I'm a great fan of coffee for purely aesthetic reasons, I don't like nearly as much drinking it as I like the pretty coffee fields. Not that I dislike the brew or anything, but...
Where do you get your fresh cunt, anyways ?
I'm democratic, in this limited sense, that I really don't care where she grew up. I believe this course to be the only wise approach ; the alternative is dangerously concentrating power in the wrong hands.
Ah, right! Speaking of insect architecture, how do you like this wonder!
Hannah licks things.
What's your guess, by the way -- can she fit that ?
Your eyes don't lie : yes, these little bastards routinely capture small birds. In the present configuration, webs layered atop layers of webs, they might even be capable of tangling up a lamb or two.
Nicole's favourite coffin store. "Who has favourite coffin stores ?!" shall be a question left for later.
Bimbo's favourite hamburger. Can you believe this bitch ate pretty much nothing else for two decades until I enslaved her, yet the hamburgers I feed her occasionally are (and by far, allegedly) the best she's ever had ?
Oh no, wait, that's not right. She also ate pizza, it wasn't only hamburgers for two decades ; and yes, the pizza Hannah makes, as well as the pizza we buy at the few establishments cleared for this purpose is... also the best she's ever had.
What's the point of even having an [United States of] America anymore ? Why even bother with the pretense, at this rate ? If I can just enslave your daughters and then feed them the best whatever-your-things-were-supposed-to-be... what's it even supposed to be for ? Seriously, nobody cares, give it up. If you admit tomorrow there's nothing there absolutely nothing will change worth the mention, it's not like the whole echafaudage serves any kind of purpose or delivers any kind of benefit. You'd be just as destitute an' unhappy as a Mexican colony or a Canadian province, if Cuba invaded nothing at all would change. A state run to give the poorest the cheapest slop with least possible effort's not even worth a name, it has nothing substantial to it, there's nothing to distinguish it from... any other exactly equivalent vacuous hole. Nothing at all.
I was looking through pictures from the DDR's 40th anniversary earlier, and... well, do you realise that sad hole looked better, both architecturally and culinarily, than your sad hole does, today ? Give it up, life punishes those who whatever Gorby said.
Oh, right, I also went to the beach. Again.
Relaxin' for a minute while those pleasantly smelling honeysi haul the fixin's an' assorted materiel from the baggage train into deployments an' configurations as required and per the manuals.
Needless to say the itinerant seller of watery coconuts and other beach delights was rather perturbed (to not say shocked in his very core an' seed of being) by the proceedings -- doubtlessly wonders he never had before his eyes afore (the local bitches being as they are shockingly indolent an' self-indulgently lazy, on the firm if regrettable basis of the local pimps not having been actually born yet). Just as needless to say he kept his perturbation to himself, and minded his own fucking business, which is, ultimately, the greatest expression of personal valour in the servile class : an even-keeled and unperturbed awareness that nobody asked any of them anything, nor ever likely will.
Da life.
Yes, that's a slight erection ; for which reason we shall take some time off the camera.
I don't remember what I had them do while I went for a cup of coffee (possibly sunbathe, I forget).
I mostly bought the icecream for this shot, to bother the bimbo with it later, once she saw the pictures -- because no, she didn't get any. I didn't bother eating it myself, in any case, even though it's got a cherry on top.
So does everything else, you know ?
Truly tis better than it looks. Not only because all experience's sweeter experienced in fact rather than vicariously ; but mostly because common experience does not furnish the tools to represent my priors, so far outside the narrow limits thereof they fall. In plainer English I very much doubt you've ever had food as good as what I wouldn't touch, as pompous as that may well sound. It doesn't sound pompous for being pompous ; it sounds pompous for your station being so miserably decayed meanwhile.
The bimbo's skirt is short enough that it doesn't take any bending at all to expose herself pubis to coccis (I'd know, I picked it for her), but it's the damndest thing : after a few minutes spent showing herself unabashedly, the moment I got my camera out she stopped doing it, like she somehow magically knew she was being captured. Do you suppose it's pure coincidental happenstance ? Or do you suppose bitches have a sixth sense for such ?
Them delicious (American-style) chocolate pancakes I might've at some point mentioned. Fluffy and fabulous, with all the fruits and all other things! Si cu pizde, in pizda goala bien sur.
Boss cat bossin' dat spot!
Mind calling up an' inquirin' what the cufk's a "citizenchris" ? Let me know, kthx.
Thus ends this day's foray ; and don't forget now : for everything you need or want, there's facebook!
———To contrast with yet another wanna-be MP's stinkin' whores. No joke, either -- I suspect I currently own (actually stored on the very premises) more perfume, essential oils and such matter than at least half the specialist shops in existence. [↩]
« Pimp. By Robert Beck aka Iceberg Slim. Adnotated without permission. Last chapter & epilogue.
A letter from somewhere »
Category: La pas prin lume
Friday, 23 October, Year 12 d.Tr.
Profesorul si minora
Sa ne intelegem de la bun inceput pe-o chestie : imi displace felul imbecil in care "presa" repeta papagaliceste ca "Tribunalul Bucuresti" a facut si-a dresi. Tribunalul Bucuresti e o institutie. El sade. Nu face nimic. Diversi magistrati fac chestii, in numele si cu autoritatea Tribunalului. In cazul concret al masurii de arestare preventiva pe saizeci de zile (peste cele douazeci si noua deja consumate) nu "Tribunalul Bucuresti" a dat o decizie contrara atit precedentelor in concret cit si Justitiei in ideal.
Dosarul nu apare pe sistemul eCris, ca sa va pot spune cu nume si prenume cine a dat decizia contrara precedentelor si Justitiei, asa ca-l tinem ad interim vinovat pe presedintele sectiei intiia penala, Constantin Marino Marin. Sa spuna el. Iara daca presa era compusa din jurnalisti si nu din guvizi, spuneati voi, leprelor.
Lepre nu doar pentru ca vai, "Tribunalul Bucuresti a", ci mai ales pentru ca minora in sus si minora in jos. Fata avea vre-o saptesprezece ani acolo, era eleva de liceu nu de gimnaziu. Minora auzi. Minora si cu Tribunalul Bucuresti. De-asta nu va ia nimeni in serios, bai infrintilor.
Incercarea de-a acredita impresia ca discutam aici de-o problema de lumea intiia, ca adica o fata a fost abuzata de-un profesor si vai vai cum nu mai putem noi sedea pe scaun de raul acestor trepidante probleme ale lumii civilizate, vai vai cum suntem iata si noi in rind cu vestul si vai vai cum avem aceleasi probleme ca si americanii e ridicola. E ridicola, mai ales pentru ca impostura-i evidenta.
In primul rind, ca nimeni n-are nici un fel de problema in a fute minore, in Romania. Eu fut minore, tu futi minore, el fute minore. Toti futem minore, sau macar am futut minore. Iar daca se gaseste unul care sa nu fi futut macar o minora-n viata lui, e garantat din cauza ca nu l-ar fute nici ciinii, nu din cine stie ce inalte considerente. Opinia unanima si universala-n tara romaneasca e ca minorele sunt numa' bune de pula, in particular, si ca femeia-i capabila s-o ia sub coada de indata ce-i capabila sa umble, mai in general. Restul sunt sclifoseli.
Poate ca-i bine ca futem minore, poate ca-i rau ca futem minore, dar sclifoselile sunt sclifoseli, indubitabil. De asemenea indubitabil este ca nu "presa" va schimba futerea minorelor in Romania, precum n-o vor schimba nici babele, si nici nimeni decit eventual minorele insele, da' si asta-i dubios. Pentru ca pizda minora are o certa putere de atractie, realitate constata experimental.
In al doilea rind, pentru ca problema reala de-acolo nu tine de postmodernism, feminism, genderism si alte isme, ci tine fix de feudalismul inca incomplet digerat in Romania. Un baiat iubeste-o fata, se fute cu ea, tatal afla si face scandal, pentru ca el e bogat si baiatul sarac, ori in planurile lui pentru fata nu intra un ciochist de profesoras suplinitor de sport. Vechea poveste, copila-si evalueaza pizda dupa alte criterii decit i-o evalueaza proprietarul, ca asta-i problema in discutie aici, asta se chinuie Dan Octavian Visan si cu Constantin Racovita sa stabileasca : cui ii apartine pizda Oanei Racovita, lui Dan sau lui Costi ? Nu e problema ca i-ar apartine Oanei, ca sa fie clar din capul locului, s-o dea ea cui vrea. Pai de-aia o bagat tac-su bani in ea ca-n depozit ?!?!?!
Si iata ca in Republica Feudala Romania sistemul statal se intromisioneaza in aceasta disputa de proprietate asupra pizdei minore inca fragede (o fisura anala, pai ce-i aia, se vindeca) in sensul bagarii la racoare a putoiului, ca-i tinar si cine se crede el ? Doara voda-i prieten cu basibuzucul Costi.
Asta-i problema reala, asta se transeaza aici : ceva taran s-a culcat cu fata arendasului care s-a plins boierului care-a vorbit cu comisul si iata-l pe taran la gherla, batut bine si cu bune sanse sa taie sare pina-si uita cum se foloseste organul.
Ca peste aceste probleme de Canterbury valeat 1300 se incearca a se suprapune mantia unor forme, preocupari, mecanisme scl ale postmodernitatii, sigur ca da. Se incearca, de ce nu s-ar incerca, doara incercatu-i gratis. Indiferent insa de toata ipocrizia si indiferent de toate sclifoselile, singurul violator din toata discutia asta este tatal fetei.
Cam asta-i tot. Distractie placuta cu minorele, si retineti : nu-i viol daca ai mai multi bani decit tac-su. Cel putin nu in Romania.
———Imi displace pentru ca tinde sa ascunda raspunderea concreta a unor judecatori la limita analfabetismului sub o mantie colectiva, procedeu care-i si primul ingredient si garantia iresponsabilitatii. [↩]
« Cum citesc eu ziare
Insuficientele victorii »
Category: Cocietate si Sultura
Saturday, 17 December, Year 3 d.Tr.