think tank forum

To live alone one must be a beast or a god, says Aristotle. Leaving out the third case: one must be both — a philosopher.

there is always some madness in love.
but there is also always some reason in madness.

and why should i be ashamed in the terrible moment when my entire being trembles between being and nothingness, since the past flashes like lightning above the dark abyss of the future and everything around me is swallowed up, and the world perishes with me?

i'm put together beautifully
big wet bottle in my fist, big wet rose in my teeth
i'm a perfect piece of ass
like every californian
so tall i take over the street, with high beams shining on my back
a wingspan unbelievable
i'm a festival, i'm a parade

01:32 < arun> so you're a milf hunter :p
01:33 < dannyp> she is a manager at starbucks
01:33 < dannyp> wonder if she'll hire me
01:33 < dannyp> (i just want medical!)
01:33 < dannyp> (ok maybe stocks too)
01:33 < danv12> and free wifi :)
01:33 < arun> starbucks is a super market ?
01:33 < dannyp> haha

"I'm a single partent with 3 kids. I'm talking this class so i can tranform to Cal. state
Fullerton by spring 08. I have been here for 6 semters. I would like to enjoy this classes
and i hope to have fun with everyone in this classes. Let it be a good summer." - E.V.

With our thoughts we make the world.
Speak or act with a pure mind
And happiness will follow you
As your shadow, unshakable. - Dhammapada

BEFORE YOU RUN AWAY FROM ME
BEFORE YOU'RE LOST BETWEEN THE NOTES

Methodology, like sex, is better demonstrated than discussed, though often better anticipated than experienced.

We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.

once my spiels perfected imma save you a seat in the front row
of aesop rock's twelve steps to shut-the-fuck-up seminar

We have become a Nazi monster in the eyes of the whole world, a nation of bullies and bastards who would rather kill than live peacefully. We are not just Whores for power and oil, but killer whores with hate and fear in our hearts. We are human scum, and that is how history will judge us. No redeeming social value. Just whores. Get out of our way, or we'll kill you. Who does vote for these dishonest shitheads? Who among us can be happy and proud of having all this innocent blood on our hands? Who are these swine? These flag-sucking half-wits who get fleeced and fooled by stupid little rich kids like George Bush? They are the same ones who wanted to have Muhammad Ali locked up for refusing to kill gooks. They speak for all that is cruel and stupid and vicious in the American character. They are the racists and hate mongers among us; they are the Ku Klux Klan. I piss down the throats of these Nazis. And I am too old to worry about whether they like it or not. Fuck them.

tears stream
down your face
i promise you i will learn from my mistakes
tears stream
down your face
and i--

Team. Team. Team. Team. Team. Team. I even love saying the word team. You probably think that's a picture of my family. Uh uh. It's the A Team. Bodie; Doyle; Tiger; The Jewellery Man

jesus christ, you have confused me
cornered, wasted, blessed, and used me
forgive me girls, i am confused
stiff and pissed and lost and loose

jesus christ, you have confused me
cornered, wasted, blessed, and used me
forgive me girls, i am confused
stiff and pissed and lost and loose

Nothing [Bush] does can be challenged on moral grounds, however unethical or evil it might appear, because all of his actions are directed by God. He can twist the truth, oppress the poor, exalt the rich, despoil the earth, ignore the law--and murder children--without the slightest compunction, the briefest moment of doubt or self-reflection, because he believes, he truly believes, that God squats in his brainpan and tells him what to do.

no nobody wants to be
no no one's lover
no matter what they say

lovers know they are the ones
who one day have to go

close my eyes
feeling how
i don't know how you could not love me now

you get sick of everything--
your thesis,
francis,
me,
laffy-taffy--

will the fight
for insanity
be the fight
of our lives?

now that we've lost
all of the reasons
that we thought
that we had--

WHAT
THE
FUCK
i look up anxiety, and i find this:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anxiety#Existential_anxiety
existential anxiety, which is what i suffer from, juxtaposed with an advertisement for the drug that is currently relieving my anxiety

LARZ MUGS                                                   200702222126

make a bunch of mugs that say larz
keep them at cafes like the leaf and bean that keep regulars' mugs
try to populate all cafes in bozeman

PEOPLE TO KNOW                                              200701042219

1. peter drucker
2. ram das
3. ray kurzweil
4. tom peters

                        (ken cunningham)

AIM LOG BOOK                                                200612311439

create a novel from all my aim logs

CREATE!                                                     200612311430

write a book on love, or sketch, ...
write the story (as a screenplay?)
make a photo album or scrap book
resort/organize photos (incl. mta 103 photos)
organize/reference negatives
make more monuments (l.i.c. and ded-to-others!)
make geocaches
paint the lr posters [ref: 200612311416]
ttf, wlw/life, cloudframe

LIVING SPACE ENHANCEMENT                                    200612311416

new desk                                                    NO
stumptown coffee
print the elephant kiss poster for the wall
create the lr paintings
cheap foodstuffs/thrifts/hobo-man
white board?

is your bed made?
is your sweater on?
do you want tah?
like you know i do
like you know i do

no excuse to be so callous
dress yourself in bleeding madras
charm your way across the khyber pass

stay awake to break the habit
sing in praise of jackson crowther
watch yourself along the arch of glass

[02:06] phiclassic: The 15th and 16th centuries had AMAZING diseases and pandemics.
[02:06] phiclassic: What do we have? Widespread STDs.
[02:06] phiclassic: LAME
[02:07] detrs is my name: Dude, we've got stuff like Hep E, Harlequin fetus, and stuff. We're not doing baad.
[02:07] phiclassic: Hep E is pretty awesome.
[02:07] phiclassic: ...
[02:07] detrs is my name: Plus, looming superplagues like a new birdflu, ebola, and that microbe that lives in water and can kill you in a day.
[02:07] phiclassic: From a purely AWESOME point of view.
[02:08] detrs is my name: Objectively, it is awesome.
[02:08] detrs is my name: That is not in question.
[02:08] phiclassic: But, c'mon, Dancing Plague and the English Sweat.
[02:08] detrs is my name: Very true.
[02:08] phiclassic: They came and went like that *snaps*.
[02:08] detrs is my name: As plagues go, those are bad ass.
[02:08] phiclassic: And were absolutely INSANE.
[02:09] detrs is my name: Dude...we've got better natural phenomenan.
[02:09] detrs is my name: The Bloop, those russians that died mysteriously in the mountains.
[02:09] detrs is my name: And that one other thing with the people and the stuff.
[02:10] phiclassic: But those have always existed.
[02:10] detrs is my name: YEAH BUT WE FOUND THEM NOW!
[02:10] phiclassic: True
[02:10] detrs is my name: So fuck the past, bunch of losers.
[02:10] detrs is my name: "ooh, look at me! We just discovered how to temper steel."
[02:10] detrs is my name: And we're all like 'FUCK YOU FOURIER TRANSFORM FTW'
[02:11] phiclassic: You fail.
[02:11] detrs is my name: If the past is so awesome how come it still isn't going on?
[02:11] phiclassic: 'FUCK YOU SUPERCOLLIDING BLACKHOLES FTW"
[02:11] detrs is my name: ANSWER THAT.
[02:11] detrs is my name: Yes!
[02:11] phiclassic: Man, the past gave BIRTH to the present.
[02:11] phiclassic: It spit the present out of it's putrid, dank cunt.
[02:13] phiclassic: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bangungot
[02:13] phiclassic: WHAT THE FUCK IS UP WITH SUDDEN DEATH SYNDROMES?!
[02:13] phiclassic: FUCK MOTHER NATURE
[02:14] detrs is my name: Sids, that one that afflicts teenagers, the one you showed me earlier.
[02:14] detrs is my name: Old age.
[02:14] detrs is my name: That's sudden.
[02:14] detrs is my name: I mean, technically they were alive just a few moments ago.

i wake up without warning and go flying around the house
me and my sauvignon, fierce, freaking out

$ du -sh audio
439G    audio
$ find audio | grep .flac | wc -l
   19853

0x00FACE
bwahaha
YES
you can has HEX!

shape the pain into something great
disintegrate and reintegrate
let's go live like sunday morning cartoons
grow christmas trees from tombs

And those were the days of roses, poetry and prose
And Martha all I had was you and all you had was me.
There was no tomorrows, we'd packed away our sorrows
And we saved them for a rainy day.

Sometimes, too, just as Eve was created from a rib of Adam, so a woman would come into existence while I was sleeping, conceived from some strain in the position of my limbs. Formed by the appetite that I was on the point of gratifying, she it was, I imagined, who offered me that gratification. My body, conscious that its own warmth was permeating hers, would strive to become one with her, and I would awake. The rest of humanity seemed very remote in comparison with this woman whose company I had left but a moment ago: my cheek was still warm with her kiss, my body bent beneath the weight of hers. If, as would sometimes happen, she had the appearance of some woman whom I had known in waking hours, I would abandon myself altogether to the sole quest of her, like people who set out on a journey to see with their own eyes some city that they have always longed to visit, and imagine that they can taste in reality what has charmed their fancy. And then, gradually, the memory of her would dissolve and vanish, until I had forgotten the maiden of my dream.

...
rh: what person doesn't have free will?
lr: if a person doesn't have free will, they can't control anything
rh: but all people do
...

php > echo(gmmktime(5,35,0,3,18,2009));
1237354500

THE CURRENT UNIX TIME STAMP (EST, -5 GMT w/DST)

1237438420

...seconds since Jan 01 1970.

Feb 04 '09 (5:40pm)

I loved our--
I loved.

Feb 04 '09 (5:40pm)

I'm not sure, as I said

In the rings of her silk, in the hinge of her thighs,
Where I have to go begging in beauty's disguise.

sleep 11pm - 6am (7h)
study 6am - 9am (3h)
exam 9am - 11am (2h)

the english are waiting
and i don't know what to do
in my best clothes
this is when i need you

Seriously, Burton is all like "ooh, look at me I'm all dark and I make pussy jokes" and I'm like "Fuck you, asshole, you're just an asshole wearing sunglasses and telling me it's dark out." Whereas the Schumacher film has a guard loudly exclaiming that his shoes are melting because he's in a bank vault filled with boiling acid. Why is that acid boiling? FUCK YOU that's why. WHO GIVES A SHIT. IT'S BOILING MOTHERFUCKING ACID.

A friend of mine sent me a picture of Evo Kurt from an episode where he's trying out new images on his inducer and one of them is female. Lipstick, tits. The whole thing. Just an image though. I found it kind of hot if only because I'm still picturing fuzzy blue balls inside those simulated panties. Oh, and some Steve Gordon (did the character design for X-Men Evolution) art that has some of the chicks in bathing suits. Yeah, Rogue, that's what you should be wearing to the beach. I think an almost rape gone wrong has a lot of comedic potential.

That is not a sentence I ever expected to type.

Oh, yeah. I found a really horrifying Monsters vs. Aliens fanfic about Susan (the giant lady) getting her period. Aptly titled "The Bloody End."

lol if you don't care you really are horny right now 3:12:39
everything is a good idea when your'e horny 3:12:43

It's 4:30 in the morning, it's always 4:30 in the morning.

... don't wait for the good woman. She doesn't exist. There are women who can make you feel more with their bodies and their souls but these are the exact women who will turn the knife into you right in front of the crowd. Of course, I expect this, but the knife still cuts. The female loves to play man against man, and if she is in a position to do it there is not one who will not resist. The male, for all his bravado and exploration, is the loyal one, the one who generally feels love. The female is skilled at betrayal. and torture and damnation. Never envy a man his lady. Behind it all lays a living hell

There's nothing to mourn about death any more than there is to mourn about the growing of a flower. What is terrible is not death but the lives people live or don't live up until their death. They don't honor their own lives, they piss on their lives. They shit them away. Dumb fuckers. They concentrate too much on fucking, movies, money, family, fucking. Their minds are full of cotton. They swallow God without thinking, they swallow country without thinking. Soon they forget how to think, they let others think for them. Their brains are stuffed with cotton. They look ugly, they talk ugly, they walk ugly. Play them the great music of the centuries and they can't hear it. Most people's deaths are a sham. There's nothing left to die.

but there is genius in their hatred
there is enough genius in their hatred to kill you
to kill anybody
not wanting solitude
not understanding solitude
they will attempt to destroy anything
that differs from their own
not being able to create art
they will not understand art
they will consider their failure as creators
only as a failure of the world
not being able to love fully
they will believe your love incomplete
and then they will hate you
and their hatred will be perfect

Bien est verté que j'ay amé
Et ameroie voulentiers;
Mais triste cuer, ventre affamé
Qui n'est rassasié au tiers
M'oste des amoureux sentiers.
Au fort, quelqu'ung s'en recompence,
Qui est ramply sur les chantiers!
Car la dance vient de la pance.

People I can't look at without thinking about her: Elizabeth Banks, Harvey Milk, Seth Rogan, Shannyn Sossaman, Tom Waits, Voxtrot, Leonard Cohen, and Wall-e.

There's no place on earth with more dumb girls per square foot than a College
in California.

Man, fuck those guido, wop fucking sentimental neo-realist faggots. And fuck you for liking The Bicycle Thief.

I loved when Bush came out and said, "We are losing the war against drugs." You know what that implies? There's a war being fought, and the people on drugs are winning it.

The idea of getting a, y'know, syringe full of heroin and shooting it in the vein under my cock right now seems like almost a productive act.

That's a negative Ghostrider, the pattern is full.

They want Obama to represent me, say what? They want Hilary to represent me, say what? But only dead presidents can represent me.

I wrote down “tea ski.” What the fuck kinda joke is that? I have no clue. Tea ski, what the fuck? Oh yeah, I remember. I wanna go to a lake and put tea bags in there, for like a hundred of ‘em for like a week, and then I’m gonna tea ski.

Can't gouge 10,000 eyes from a single head so I think we should observe a sentence that will serve to satisfy both a sense of function and poetry: so you will spend the rest of your days drenched in sweat, with your face drawn in a rictus of terror as you remove another buried land mine fuse. Meanwhile, 100 yards back behind the sandbags, a legless foreman pulls the trigger on a red megaphone. Squelching feedback. Drunken laughter. Broken English. His dead daughter's picture. Time and tide, no one can anticipate the inevitable waves of change.

They say if you give a man a fish, he'll eat for a day, but if you teach a man to fish.... then he's gotta get a fishing license, but he doesn't have any money. So he's got to get a job and get into the social security system and pay taxes, and now you're gonna audit the poor cocksucker, cuz' he's not really good with math. So he'll pull the IRS van up to your house, and he'll take all your shit. He'll take your black velvet Elvis and your Batman toothbrush, and your penis pump, and that all goes up for auction with the burden of proof on you because you forgot to carry the one, cuz' you were just worried about eating a fucking fish, and you couldn't even cook the fish cuz' you needed a permit for an open flame. Then the health department is going to start asking you a lot of questions about where are you going to dump the scales and the guts. 'This is not a sanitary environment', and ladies and gentlemen if you get sick of it all at the end of the day... not even legal to kill yourself in this country. Thanks again John Ashcroft you weird bible addict, can't even handle your own drug. You were born free, you got fucked out of half of it, and you wave a flag celebrating it. [audience member]: Hey, don't hold back! [Doug]: You got an argument? [am] No, keep goin'!..The only true freedom you find, is when you realize and come to terms with the fact that you are completely and unapologetically fucked, and then you are free to float around the system.

We're all going to die, all of us, what a circus! That alone should make us love each other but it doesn't. We are terrorized and flattened by trivialities, we are eaten up by nothing.

Write a book. Or an ebook. Write poetry and publish it on the web. Create interesting, lovely or funny videos, put them on You Tube. Be passionate. Write a web app that will solve a problem in people’s lives. Become a watchdog to replace the faltering newspapers. Explore the world, and blog about it. Try something you’ve always been afraid to try, and put it on video. Be yourself, loudly. Start a new company, doing only one thing, but doing it very well. Start a business that does a service you’ve always wanted, or that you are frustrated with in other companies because the service sucks. Put your heart into something. Say something that no one else dares to say. Do something others are afraid to do. Help someone no one else cares to help. Make the lives of others better. Make music that makes others want to weep, to laugh, to create. Inspire others by being inspiring. Teach young people to do amazing things. Write a play, get others to act in it, record it. Empower others to do things they’ve never been able to do before. Read, and read, and then write. Love, and love, and then help others to love. Do something good and ask others to pass it on. Be profound. Find focus in a world without it. Become minimalist in a world of dizzying complexity. Reach out to those who are frustrated, depressed, angry, confused, sad, hurt. Be the voice for those without one. Learn, do, then teach. Meet new people, become fast friends. Dare to be wrong. Take lots and lots of pictures. Explore new cultures. Be different. Paint a huge mural. Create a web comic. Be a dork, but do it boldly. Interview people. Observe people. Create new clothes. Take old stuff and make new stuff from it. Read weird stuff. Study the greats, and emulate them. Be interested in others. Surprise people. Start a blog, write at least a little each day. Cook great food, and share it. Be open-minded. Help someone else start a small business. Focus on less but do it better. Help others achieve their dreams. Put a smile on someone’s face, every day. Start an open-source project. Make a podcast. Start a movement. Be brave. Be honest. Be hilarious. Get really, really good at something. Practice a lot. A lot. Start now. Try.

People are so defensive, especially women, ya know. C’mon ladies. I offered a girl a tic-tac one time. Ya know what she says to me “Oh do I need one? Is it my breath? Do you think I need one?” I’m like, I’m just trying to be nice. If I was going to give you something you needed I would give you mustache wax and a t-shirt that says ‘One Cock at a Time.’"

It's hard to stay mad when there's so much beauty in the world. Sometimes I feel like I'm seeing it all at once and it's too much; my heart fills up like a balloon that's about to burst, and then I remember to relax and stop trying to hold onto it. And then it flows through me like rain and I can't feel anything but gratitued for every single moment of my stupid little life.

14:33 -!- lucas changed the topic of #bsd to: game got real
14:33 < lucas> :o
14:34 < lucas> anyone can change the topic?

The table was wiped with a cloth, Madame F. brought more litre bottles and loaves of bread, and we settled down to serious drinking. There were more songs. An itinerant singer came in with his banjo and performed for five-sou pieces. An Arab and a girl from the bistro down the street did a dance, the man wielding a painted wooden phallus the size of a rolling-pin. There were gaps in the noise now. People had begun to talk about their love-affairs, and the war, and the barbel fishing in the Seine, and the best way to faire la révolution, and to tell stories. Charlie, grown sober again, captured the conversation and talked about his soul for five minutes. The doors and windows were opened to cool the room. The street was emptying, and in the distance one could hear the lonely milk train thundering down the Boulevard St. Michel. The air blew cold on our foreheads, and the coarse African wine still tasted good: we were still happy, but meditatively, with the shouting and hilarious mood finished.

By one o'clock we were not happy any longer. We felt the joy of the evening wearing thin, and called hastily for more bottles, but Madame F. was watering the wine now, and it did not taste the same. Men grew quarrelsome. The girls were violently kissed and hands thrust into their bosoms and they made off lest worse should happen. Big Louis, the bricklayer, was drunk, and crawled about the floor barking and pretending to be a dog. The others grew tired of him and kicked at him as he went past. People seized each other by the arm and began long rambling confessions, and were angry when these were not listened to. The crowd thinned. Manuel and another man, both gamblers, went across to the Arab bistro, where card-playing went on till daylight. Charlie suddenly borrowed thirty francs from Madame F. and disappeared, probably to a brothel. Men began to empty their glasses, call briefly, "'Sieurs, dames!" and go off to bed.

By half-past one the last drop of pleasure had evaporated, leaving nothing but headaches. We perceived that we were not splendid inhabitants of a splendid world, but a crew of underpaid workmen grown squalidly and dismally drunk. We went on swallowing the wine, but it was only from habit, and the stuff seemed suddenly nauseating. One's head had swollen up like a balloon, the floor rocked, one's tongue and lips were stained purple. At last it was no use keeping it up any longer. Several men went out into the yard behind the bistro and were sick. We crawled up to bed, tumbled down half dressed, and stayed there ten hours.

11:01 < AccessExcess> i think i told you before :P
11:02 <@andre> my mind selectively deleted that
11:04 < AccessExcess> how orwellian of you
11:13 <@andre> sine
11:13 <@andre> just read asemi's orwell quote at ttf :)
11:13 < asemisldkfj> :)

Metaphors are our way of losing ourselves in semblances or treading water
in a sea of seeming. In that sense a metaphor is like a life jacket. And
remember, there are life jackets that float and others that sink to the bottom
like lead.

20:00:17 lucasreddinger: dude.
20:00:18 lucasreddinger: :(
Day changed to 10 Nov 2009
10:09:55 bluet: ?

atlas% mailq
-Queue ID- --Size-- ----Arrival Time---- -Sender/Recipient-------
5A6BCBD4D 3555 Sat Jan 16 11:17:22 MAILER-DAEMON
(host mail.bresnan.net[69.145.248.18] refused to talk to me: 421 Too many connections for 98.127.43.84)
ab0123@gmail.com

-- 3 Kbytes in 1 Request.
atlas%

I think that the closer you are to a flame and the more you see people getting burned, the funnier you get, if you’re at all human. Or you put a gun in your mouth. Either you laugh or you cry. -David Simon

(02:13:56) lucas: you need to take more classes
(02:14:06) lucas: slam the know with larz
(02:15:00) jk: fuck you

Word Mark LARZ
Goods and Services (ABANDONED) IC 009. US 021 023 026 036 038. G & S: virtual computer software programs that are delivered through the Internet which include - 1) a form-based publishing system, 2) searchable lists such as calendars- e-mail directories, and research indexes, 3) web page transfer from a personal computer to a local web site, allows a user to domain and register its Internet e-mail address, 4) allows a user to announce its web site to other Internet search engines. FIRST USE: 19960401. FIRST USE IN COMMERCE: 19960401

doom 666/tcp #Doom Id Software
doom 666/udp #Doom Id Software

It was true that I didn't have much ambition, but there ought to be a place for people without ambition, I mean a better place than the one usually reserved. How in the hell could a man enjoy being awakened at 6:30 a.m. by an alarm clock, leap out of bed, dress, force-feed, shit, piss, brush teeth and hair, and fight traffic to get to a place where essentially you made lots of money for somebody else and were asked to be grateful for the opportunity to do so?

My dad had to crash at my place last night and we shared my bed. I woke up this morning only to discover him gone and $40 left on my nightstand. I feel like a hooker.

rh: can I please just point something out
dp: yes please do
dp: abate my douchebaggery

mom: she got it in the rear. but I don't think she even noticed.
me: that's what she said.
mom: *quizzical look*
mom: ...that's what who said?

She knows I'm here
And she readily rebukes her sister
She treats me with a sudden respect
Suddenly she calls me mister

But just as soon, I soon forget
And start poking around in the trash
Talking myself into outer space
And watching the reactions on her face

"Complaining that a comic is drunk is like going to a titty bar and complaining because your lapdancer is a communist."

...54 translations later we get:

"However, Objections and the reasons for the sport and is a symbol of communism."

Original text:

"i love you so much"

...10 translations later we get:

"I have"

Original:
Get me out of here!

10 translations:
I am out of control!

Original text:

"I love you."

...25 translations later we get:

"I love you."

AFRIKAANS : My lepel is te groot!
Back to ENGLISH : My spoon is too big!
ALBANIAN : lugë im është tepër i madh!
Back to ENGLISH : My spoon is too big!
ARABIC : بلدي ملعقة كبيرة جدا!
Back to ENGLISH : My spoon is too large!
BELARUSIAN : Мая лыжка занадта вялікая!
Back to ENGLISH : May spoon is too big!
BULGARIAN : Май лъжица е твърде голяма!
Back to ENGLISH : May spoon is too big!
...
Back to ENGLISH : gongeulipnida too!
WELSH : gongeulipnida hefyd!
Back to ENGLISH : gongeulipnida too!
YIDDISH : גאָנגעוליפּנידאַ צו!
Back to ENGLISH : Gongeulipnida to!

"Everything is OK"

...54 translations later we get:

"The"

"The ratio of people to cake is too big."

...54 translations later we get:

"Section in the kitchen."

Original:
Please take care of your butthole

10 translations:
Please take care of her butthole

"Life is pain."

...54 translations later we get:

"Living patients."

The film teaches us that the only choice the aborigines have is to be saved by the human beings or to be destroyed by them. In other words, they can choose either to be the victim of imperialist reality, or to play their allotted role in the white man's fantasy.

Boss: C'mon guys let's go ... I gotta be back up here at 4AM.
Me: I got two words for you, man.
Boss: Getta life?
Me: No, that's three words. Three comes after two.
Boss: Shut the fuck up.

"I don't know how you could not love me now" (Lost in Translation Soundtrack)

...20 translations later:

"I do not know, I do not know."

you sold me some cheap ecstasy
so you could have some sex with me
i don't want your body

me:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Empty_set
they have a huge pic with two opposing brackets
EMPTY SET
i think that might be worthy of a tattoo

bsdlite:
not many things are
but that might be
the dude who made my subway sandwich the other day had the objectivist manifesto tattooed on his arm
i gave him props
but no tip

\documentclass[12pt]{article}
\usepackage[letterpaper,margin=2cm]{geometry}
\usepackage{fix-cm}
\usepackage{mathpazo}
\begin{document}
\begin{center}
{\fontsize{128}{128}\selectfont $\{\}$ } \\
\vspace{1.0\baselineskip}
EMPTY SET
\end{center}
\end{document}

Society has good reason to fear the Radical. Every shaking advance of mankind toward equality and justice has come from the Radical. He hits, he hurts, he is dangerous. Conservative interests know that while Liberals are most adept at breaking their own necks with their tongues, Radicals are most adept at breaking the necks of Conservatives.

Using encryption on the internet is the equivalent of arranging an armored car to deliver credit card information from someonone living in a cardboard box to someone living on a park bench

As for hat storage, a restaurant should be prepared for the possible onslaught of civilization, and so, if there is no proper storage, one should ask the host, hostess or waitperson where one might temporarily store one’s hat. If the facility provides no suitable accommodation and no unused chair is handy, a gentleman is justified in leaving it on, at a rakish angle proportionate with his degree of displeasure.

There is no such thing as laughing at something you shouldn’t. You should laugh everywhere you can find even the slightest glimmer of humour. Life is a series of heartache, tragedy and injustice, punctuated by a few cocktails and that one trip to Reno. The more you can laugh at the ugliest parts, the better off you are

Good morning. Here is a spreadsheet.

I would like to pick up the word resign and throw it out the fucking window
Fuck being resigned to anything.

that's like
pouring salt in the wound
and then setting the whole thing on fire

His eyes. His blue eyes. His blue imperfect eyes.

"More than one more day," he had whispered, another part of our family shorthand. The reference was to a line from a movie ... "I love you more than even one more day," Audrey Hepburn as Maid Marian says to Sean Connery as Robin Hood after she has given them both the fatal potion.

Why do you always have to be right.
Why do you always have to have the last word.
For once in your life just let it go.

I opened the book. I looked at the dedication. "For Dorothy Burns Dunne, Joan Didion, Quintanna Roo Dunne," the dedication had read. "Generations."

I had forgotten this dedication. I had not sufficiently appreciated it, a persistent theme by this stage of whatever I was going through.

Once in 1968 when I needed unexpectedly to spend the night in San Francisco ... John flew up from Los Angeles so that we could have dinner together. We had dinner at Ernie's. After dinner, John took the PSA "Midnight Flyer," a thirteen-dollar amenity of an era in California when it was possible to fly from Los Angeles to San Francisco or Sacramento or San Jose for twenty-six dollars round-trip, back to LAX.

I thought about PSA.

All PSA planes had smiles painted on their noses ... PSA represented a time in our life when no one thought twice about flying seven hundred miles for dinner.

When Quintanna at age two or three flew PSA to Sacramento to see my mother and father she referred to it as "going on the smile". John used to write down the things she said on scraps of paper and put them in a black painted box his mother had given him.

"Where you was?" she would say, and "Where did the morning went?" He wrote them all down and crammed them into the tiny secret drawer in the maple desk.

The Broken Man was what [Quintanna] called fear and death and the unknown. I had a bad dream about the Broken Man, she would say. Don't let the Broken Man catch me. If the Broken Man comes, I'll hang onto the fence and won't let him take me...

These fragments I have shored against my ruins

him- Hey you look nice. You look kinda like someone I know.

me- Oh?

him- Yeah...my sister. I mean, I have a younger sister.

me- Ah.

him- I just got out. I did 24 years for murder.

*I look at him*

*He looks at me*

me- Did you kill someone?

*he keeps looking at me*

him- I'll show you a picture of my brother.

me- Ok.

*he takes a book out of nowhere and carefully pages through it*

him- Here.

*he points at a guy facing forward in one image and off to the right in the next*

him- He's cute, huh.

me- Yeah.

him- Yeah...

him- He's a killer.

*we both look at the photos again; I realize they're mug shots*

me- He looks nice...

him- Yeah.

him - Well, I get off at this one.

*he cradles the book under his arm, looks at me for a long second, walks unsteadily off the bus*

Being born is like being kidnapped. And then sold into slavery.

Weiner is resigning today because in America you can lie about a war, but if you send pictures of your dick we can't trust you.

You know, I'm doing my very best to keep my positive attitude, but.....I'm having.....a problem.....

Man fuck that guy! I can't tell if he's a robot or not...*sad voice*

(09:20) some_dude: Q: As a java developer why does an IM client need to use 4 gigs of ram..
A: because.

me: you need spankin'
becky: oh hell yes

I'm a hunter for hire
with no plans to retire
and all the sucka MCs
can call me sire.

him: BTW, did you see the posting for our new position?
me: No, actually I didn’t…is this a hint Leo??
him: Hint? Hell, It’s a plea.

Nostalgia? How could she feel nostalgia when he was right in front of her? How can you suffer from the absence of a person who is present? (Jean-Marc knew how to answer that: you can suffer nostalgia in the presence of the beloved if you glimpse a future where the beloved is no more; if the beloved's death is, invisibly, already present.)

Why did I hope we would be happy abroad? A change of environment is the traditional fallacy upon which doomed loves, and lungs, rely.

Solitude was corrupting me. I needed company and care. My heart was a hysterical unreliable organ.

... sex is but the ancilla of art.

How strange it is, how moving, that this hardness should be so fragile. Nothing can interrupt it yet all can break it.

Anny made the most of time. When she was in Djibouti and I was in Aden, I used to go and see her for twenty-four hours, she managed to multiply the misunderstandings between us until there were exactly sixty minutes before I had to leave; sixty minutes, just long enough to make you feel the seconds passing one by one. I remember one of those terrible evenings. I was supposed to leave at midnight. We went to an open-air movie; we were desperate, she as much as I. Only she led the game. At eleven o'clock, at the beginning of the main picture, she took my hand and held it in hers without a word. I was flooded with a bitter joy and I understood, without having to look at my watch, that it was eleven o'clock. From that time on we began to feel the minutes passing. That time we were leaving each other for three months. At one moment they threw a completely blank image on the screen, the darkness lifted, and I saw Anny was crying. Then, at midnight, she let go of my hand, after pressing it violently; I got up and left without saying a word to her. That was a good job.

Certainly, I would go to see her. I still respect and love her with all of my heart. I hope that someone else has had better luck and skill in the game of perfecting moments.

He smiles foolishly, all the while close to my face, like a nightmare.

But this richness was lost in confusion and finally was no more because it was too much.

We live in a world where people will have a GPS and a crucifix on the same dashboard — and you want me to have hope for these fuckin' monkeys on swing-sets?

It's amazing to me how many people think that voting to have the government give poor people money is compassion. Helping poor and suffering people is compassion. Voting for our government to use guns to give money to help poor and suffering people is immoral self-righteous bullying laziness.

...

I don't believe the majority always knows what's best for everyone. The fact that the majority thinks they have a way to get something good does not give them the right to use force on the minority that don't want to pay for it. If you have to use a gun, I don't believe you really know jack. Democracy without respect for individual rights sucks. It's just ganging up against the weird kid, and I'm always the weird kid.

"Sex seems very complicated, but it's not. A man puts his penis in her vagina. He ejaculates. She dies."
"She--she dies?"
"Oh, I'm sorry, I was thinking of something else."
"..."

Lester Richards is dead. And aren't you glad it wasn't you? Don't you wish you felt something? How many men here are attracted to Shelley, his lovely wife? She's a babe. And how many women here wish that their husbands would drop dead and leave them a big fat insurance policy? Yes, I thought so. Hell, it'll be years before you figure out what Lester's death really means. So let's forget the blah blah blah, and go have a drink. Amen.

There should be no jails. They do not accomplish what they pretend to accomplish. If you would wipe them out there would be no more criminals than now. They terrorize nobody. They are a blot upon any civilization, and a jail is an evidence of the lack of charity of the people on the outside who make the jails and fill them with the victims of their greed.

No disrespect to our Native American friends, but this is where you hang a bloody scalp over the gallery rail. You hang these four Republican scalps over the Senate rail and every other Republican senator looks up and sees those scalps and says, ‘my gosh, I’ll be hanging up there beside them if I don’t stay with this pro-family stuff.’ And that’s exactly what has to happen.
- David Barton

It's like if "womanizing" were to be measured in "Clintons". A Slightly lustful thought might equal 6 mClintons

Only the mediocre are always at their best.

— Jean Giraudoux

I immediately split the crowd. I thought about coming on every night and shouting, "Gay pride, white power!" just to confuse people.

Francis Beaufort Edgeworth [...] "was a restless philosophy student at Cambridge on his way to Germany when he decided to elope with a teenage Catalonian refugee he met on the steps of the British Museum. One of the outcomes of their marriage was Ysidro Francis Edgeworth (the name order was reversed later) ..."

Not cleaning is a Nash-equilibrium game...

-1, -1 -1, 0
0, -1 0, 0 <---- not cleaning

You owe the companies nothing. Less than nothing, you especially don’t owe them any courtesy. They owe you. They have re-arranged the world to put themselves in front of you. They never asked for your permission, don’t even start asking for theirs.

Greenpeace Guy: Hey, man, would you like to donate money to us?
Me: I don't financially support any organization, sorry.
GG: But we do a bunch of good work, blah blah blah.
Me: You don't blow up enough coal mines and logging companies for me consider what you're doing good.
GG: ...
Me: I mean, maybe I would donate if I was sure that my donation would go towards funding Earth First! or some ELF cells... but if not, sorry.
GG: ...

I know I’m not sufficiently obscure
to please the critics-nor devious enough.
Imagery escapes me.
I cannot find those mild and gracious words
to clothe the carnage.
Blood is blood and murder’s murder.
What’s a lavender word for lynch?
Come, you pale poets, wan, refined and dreamy:
here is a black woman working out her guts
in a white man’s kitchen
for little money and no glory.
How should I tell that story?
There is a black boy, blacker still from death,
face down in the cold Korean mud.
Come on with your effervescent jive
explain to him why he ain’t alive.
Reword our specific discontent
into some plaintive melody,
a little whine, a little whimper,
not too much-and no rebellion!
God, no! Rebellion’s much too corny.
You deal with finer feelings,
very subtle-an autumn leaf
hanging from a tree-I see a body!

What we do, as a conscious species, is set markers for ourselves. Once we reach one marker, we advance to the next--as if we were playing a board game we think will never end, despite the fact that it will, like it or not. And if you are too conscious of not liking it, then you may conceive of yourself as a biological paradox that cannot live with its consciousness and cannot live without it. And in so living and not living, you take your place with the undead and the human puppet.

And humans will persist in dreaming of salvation and affirmation and a new Messiah. Yet when many saviours have been nailed to trees and stoned on the city squares, then the last Messiah shall come.

Then will appear the man who, as the first of all, has dared strip his soul naked and submit it alive to the outmost thought of the lineage, the very idea of doom. A man who has fathomed life and its cosmic ground, and whose pain is the Earth's collective pain. With what furious screams shall not mobs of all nations cry out for his thousandfold death, when like a cloth his voice encloses the globe, and the strange message has resounded for the first and last time:

"- The life of the worlds is a roaring river, but Earth's is a pond and a backwater.

- The sign of doom is written on your brows- how long will ye kick against the pin-pricks?

- But there is one conquest and one crown, one redemption and one solution.

- Know yourselves- be infertile and let the earth be silent after ye.

And when he has spoken, they will pour themselves over him, led by the pacifier makers and the midwives, and bury him in their fingernails. He is the last Messiah. As son from father, he stems from the archer by the waterhole.

One night in long bygone times, man awoke and saw himself.
He saw that he was naked under cosmos, homeless in his own body. All things dissolved before his testing thought, wonder above wonder, horror above horror unfolded in his mind.

Then woman too awoke and said it was time to go and slay. And he fetched his bow and arrow, a fruit of the marriage of spirit and hand, and went outside beneath the stars. But as the beasts arrived at their waterholes where he expected them of habit, he felt no more the tiger's bound in his blood, but a great psalm about the brotherhood of suffering between everything alive.

That day he did not return with prey, and when they found him by the next moon, he was sitting dead by the waterhole.

In The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, Douglas Adams mentions an extremely dull planet, inhabited by a bunch of depressed humans and a certain breed of animals with sharp teeth which communicate with the humans by biting them very hard in the thighs. This is strikingly similar to UNIX, in which the kernel communicates with processes by sending paralyzing or deadly signals to them. Processes may intercept some of the signals, and try to adapt to the situation, but most of them don't.

many of my visits are like tonight's--i see a beautiful girl, and i struggle with how to approach her, let alone what to say. once i was going to get a cherimoya, and a pretty girl was fondling them, so i joined her. she started chatting with me, but i took the conversation nowhere fast, and she soon walked away.

i like this latina cashier with tattoo sleeves. she always makes conversation with me, whether hating on sports, discussing my food choices and preparation plans, or just smiling.

at the end of almost every day, i wonder if i should leave. i don't know if santa barbara is the place for me. the girls i like the most here are the latinas with the tattoos. but they don't typically like the skinny white boys who study all day. the pretty white girls are a mirage of a time past. skinny love doesn't suit me well.

on a recent hike, i passed by a man coming down. he asked if i knew where i was going. i said no. he was worried that i didn't have a flashlight with me and advised me at length about which route to take. i think he mistook me for someone else.