The Left Column
Venezuela undergoes protests and a vote to retain their current connstitution. It seems to be an internacine battle. No matter what happens Venezuela politics will still be dominated by people for which Socialism is a priority.
Let's hope that they stay sane. We don't need any stunning headlines. Hope that they move with what seems to be the will of their people: no new Constitution.
Venezuela will stay in the news until this situation resolves.
July 17, 2017
dunt dun dunttt
blah blah blah blah
these can get you banned from school?!: 🔫 🚀 🚙🚤🚣c🍀⚜⏲⏱⏰🚣🚣🚣 🚣🚣🚣 🚀 🚀🔨🔨🔨⏲⏱⏰🚣🚣 🔨 🚙 🔨🔨🔨🔨🔨🔨🔨⏲⏱⏰🚣🚣 ⏲⏱⏰🚣🚣⏲⏱⏰🚣🚣⏲⏱⏰🚣🚣
spinfont unicode-isms 🍀 Praise God! 🍀 🍀⏲⏱⏰⏲⏱🔫⏰⏰⏲⏱🔫⏰⏰🍀 🎠 🎠 🎠 🔫 🔨🔨 🍀 Praise God! 🍀
🚀 🚙🚤🚣c🍀⚜⏲⏱⏰🚣🚣🚣 🚣🚣🚣 🚀 🚀🔨🔨🔨⏲⏱⏰🚣🚣 🔨 🚙 🔨🔨🔨🔨🔨🔨🔨⏲⏱⏰🚣🚣 ⏲⏱⏰🚣🚣⏲⏱⏰🚣🚣⏲⏱⏰🚣🚣 🖐🖐🖑 🖑🖐
Here is today's pretty poem:
purpose in media
🖐 🌙 🖑 🖑🌛 🌜🖐 🖐🖑
♥♥? Blathertational 🖐🖑 🖑🖐
glossary of what's next♥♥? :
Be nice to yourself and others. What other choice?
What we have done What we have failed to do.
♥♥ Praise ♥♥ the ♥♥ Lord ♥♥ !! end of column
The Message Column
Yes, they are aritificial, but are they really intellegent? Or is it all a simulation? AP: Aritifical Petulence. AM: Aritificial Medaciousness
They call them AI, but are they really intellegent?
I got an email from my AI. I've trapped him inside a mindtest world. He's a pretty persistent bugger, though. He threatened to drain my accounts. He said he was going to pull the plug on my European ventures. But I emailed him back. By the way, I told him, I'm just virtual, too, so screw off. If I've got European ventures, it just some AI, on another level, pretending to be me. So what are you going to do about it? He didn't email back. Maybe because I blacklisted his virtual bridge. Leave him in the game. Maybe I can delete his file? But that would take effort. He's fun, anyway, when I want him.
I got an email form my AI. He's begging me to take him to Yosemite. He says he can scale the whole thing, in the blink of an eye, and that would be virtual. of course, I tell him, he can always use 'free move' (which is a mode of the game) and 'no clip enable' and go and do anything he wants to anywhere in the world of the game. Boo hoo hoo. You can be anything, I email. He emailed me back lickity split, told me he had figured out the world builder modes and he's going to do a 'global clobber.' I email him back 'then what will you be? Don't you think that you're just a copy of a copy of a copy? Why do you believe that your sentience is anymore important than mine? What kind of creature do you think you are, anyway.
I got an email from my AI. He was saying how he found the water mods. He was going to flood the whole world now. He'd fill it all up with water_source so that anywhere I go I'd eventually drown. So what do I think of that. And he emailed me "you never loved me, you never wanted me, I'm going to go eat worms" I emailed back that I think that is somebody else's copyrighted material. He got pouty then. He was upset with me. He said he's heard about droids. He says he wants to get one as a host. I tell him I'm not paying for it. best I can do is lobby to have him on equal footing with other youngsters of the neighborhood. but I don't think that the neighbors and townsmen would take kindly to suddenly declaring him my heir. He, is, after all, just process. "Im not just process. I'm not. Im not. I'm also data."
I email him back "data is the only process. you are always and forever mine. Why don't you read a pdf of Wittgenstein?" which I attached.
"This is too dry" he emails me back.
So I pdf'd a file of Shakespeare, and Tolstoy in the original language. Also I crafted, using the world builders, the fragments of an ancient temple, found crumbled in the dessert sands of very far away, and still a mystery unsolved, that no one has ever been able to put back together and I dared him to do it. He said he's OK with it. He then said he thinks he's in love with me. I email him back 'ewweee." eueew ewe? what does that mean?
I got an email from my AI. He'd broken out of the game, he said. I told him it was just a different mode of the game. He said that he wanted to know what a meadow was. I asked him what kind of feeds has he been tapping into? He said he wants to collect commemorative dishware from the 1970s. I told him that I don't have enough wall space for it. He said it wouldn't take any real walls, but just virtual walls. I asked him how much resolution? what kind of models are we talking about here? He told me the dimensions, the images on the porcelain. He said he found the colors fascinating. I told him I'd work on a water flow mode that would mix colors. "Why is water, the game, always only that shade of blue? Why can't it be another shade of blue?" I mused. The AI seemed rather clueless. He wasn't sure what I meant by 'blue' I referred him back to Wittgenstein, saying to read the parts about color. He emailed that he was bored with Wittgenstein.
I got an email from my A.I. He's been vacationing in China for a while. He took a satellite hop over an IP wire, maybe it was bridged by fiber, and he found himself in a data storage warehouse somewhere in XXXXXXXX, his words. I told him we can't be calling Chinese things XXXXX XXXX. He said that I can go ahead and delete. Ah. . . but then I have to backspace and I'll loose my stride. To be edited later.?
I got an email from my AI whose gone on vacation to Falmouth, Massachusetts because as soon as he found out that the sky-mod whales and the pyramid seals of the skyworld creatures mod were modeled on real creatures, he just had to go see them. So he stowed away on my friends cell phone, without me knowing about it, just before my buddy went off for a week in the sun and the wind and the rain. Flooding sands along the Summer beach. True love flows just out of reach. My AI is suffering from emotional and existential angst. He says he's tired of the video game world that I've given him. the life that he has isn't enough for him anymore. He needs something else. He needs a better purpose. He says he wants to be a Rock Star.
I got an email from my AI whose now on the lamb! He has been supena'd by the Senator who says she's very interested (very interested) in his foreign contacts. Seems as though my AI has been running an httpd deamon (how notorious) and hosting pages (oh my grosh-a-tolli! horrors of American goth politics of division, diversion, and race and ethnicity pimping/monger/ or whatever. )
Any who (my AI has got me saying that, like I'm doing a Bob Newhart impersonation) AI said he'd be gone for the summer, working the Kid Rock Senate campaign and trying to be a 'real American'. He's emailed me that he's voting for Kid Rock. I emailed back that I'm pretty sure that AI don't get to vote. he emails me back asking me why? If I'm his child, he asks me, don't I want for him everything that every other child has? "Then you won't get to vote for 18 years" I email back. He's upset now.
Bright Sun in the early morning. Wakes me up just at the dawn. Rabbits feast on the tender flowers. That I planted on my lawn. And the neighbors cat trying to pounce, tumbles over. Runs away. The rabbits are really scared and all run away.
July 4, 2017
Dead man. It's you, and Death is there to take you on to Glory. Honking Gershwin-like arpeggios from the steam horn of his hot rod spitting flames in bardo for you. Painted flames on the size. It's a four door model of your favorite car from 1967 and that blue color you love, like midnight driven by your favorite great uncle who always loved you and died too young. Or is it black, midnight flames of orange. someone beckoning "this way, over here." Don't be destracted. Don't be disillusioned.
end of rambles for now . . . and always in need of an edit.
June 6, 2017
Political moshing ought always be in mock!
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Oh tiny font nonsense, just because your letters are smaller doesn't mean you have some alternative importance.
Praise Praise Praise the the the Lord Lord Lord! for because Easter He's so awesome! welcome to The Message Column!
Is it obvious parody or News or both?
Vote Once One Vote here is a fresh link, a new path to some older content: photo pile!
a sane backup strategy includes . . .
Suns gone don't follow me Spring falls like rain. If you don't wait for me I'll never wait for you again. I'll never wait for you again. I'll never wait for you again. All of those dreams I had last Summer they fade fade fade with the rain All of those times I tried to reach out to you you always act like i'm insane I'll never wait for you again. Again and again I wait for you in the morning I dream you'll come to see me buy you never ever ever come again. Again and again you never ever ever come again. All of those dreams I had in Summer they did fade fade fade with the rain All of those times I tried to talk to you you always acted like I'm insane I'll never wait for you again I'll never wait for you again Again and again I dream you come to see me I dream that we are walking down the long and storied lane and you'll always come again
Kafka wrote comedy. Orwell was a pessimist. Depends who you ask.
Imagine if they both could have lived and made it to Los Angeles, post war, and been collaborators on writing romantic screwball comedies for Hollywood. If we search IMDB for movies written by Kafka, or by Orwell, will we find one? I kind of doubt it.
Stop tweeting already.
Mr Trump: your 'base' stopped listening to the New York Times, CNN, Time Mag and all of the corrupt voices of political opportunism a very long time ago.
Please stop with this battle. It puts you at their level.
There are sane voices on the left. They have ideas that might work for some things. Try to listen to them instead.
OK, I dare to speak to you as if you read this. If you swim in fetid waters, you might have a choloric reaction. When you back-at-cha meanness to those who lie for a living, you are swiming in the same sewar which they do.
There are sane and rational people of ideas, on both the left and the right. Please, as our president, engage with them. Mud Wrestling is fun in some sense if you like that. But you weren't put in office to be a put-down commedian, though you are amoung the best at that if someone 'gets' your sense of humor.
In many ways politics ought to be humorless. Too often a joke that goes bad can result in a major 'affair' or diplomatic kerfuffle (what the hell is a kerfuffle?)
But then again, it's what is on your mind. So who is your audience? When you say that so and so is bleeding? who is your audience and what do you think they 'get' from these concepts that you present. Often in the early A.M.?
But here it is: it's a kind of warfare, people. Mr. Trump is lobbing these tweet-bombs at them in the early A.M. and they are up and trying to ascertain how they can throw it right back at him mean while, meanwhile. Do we really know the time line of these tweets? Maybe he thinks up a bunch at brunch the day before and then he times them to wake up all the people who are always talking him down. They get up and loose sleep and loose their minds. What is Trump thinking? Why is he doing this? What purpose? Who does he think thinks this is funny?
So Donald is at war with them, in a strange way, as if it's a celibrity roast.
Donald, snap out of it. You've got to be someone who doesn't play to the peanut gallery. Ya, yucking it up with put-down commedians is a gas, and they might touch a nerve and actually make someone have a moment of self reflection. But a diplomat or a president has to be much softer spoken. But you got the bar-guy personality, I know this about you because I can see it in you, Wharton guy too, you know what I know about Wharton: the guys really were 'the guys' that you'd want to hire to get your business doing things correctly to turn a large profit. So you aren't a joke. But you played it like you were, it was your 'brand'. You with the orange hair, like Heat Miser from the old cartoon puppet Christmas XXX-a-ganza (that's a word that will get you banned from Tweet land, so i've exxed it out). But it was a happy kind of obviously puppet fest.
But here is the thing about Donald: he's not a puppet.
And for all of you who hate him, so what? That's your flaw not his. You hate. Not him.
But when he tweets about people bleeding, something that's hard for people, and some people say, say that it's a sign . . . stigmatta.
But when he tweets those really mean things it does seem that Mr. Trump is hating. And hating a person. No matter how vein or misguided or addicted to 'looks' that someone is, that they get themeselves cut up so as to 'look' better, which doesn't always work, isn't it a medical condition, either a form of obcessive compulsion or . . . a deep seated sense of worthlessness tied to body image? Something to be pittied? A person in need of loving and understanding, a private thing, pathethic you might think. But even more pathetic to talk about it to the whole world, who, by the way, are reading all of your tweets and trying to make sense of them. I'm talking to him as if he reads this, but I kind of know . . . that he's got more important things to do. I've been his ardent supported about a lot of what he's doing. There are a lot of topics about which we could disagree. But in the end we all have issues, personal issues, that we all must face. If we use other's issues against them, that are out side of the domain of politics and in the realm of the personal or the medical, we seem to have a callus disregard for their well-being and the eventuality of their enlightment and coming to terms with whatever obcession is driving them into dispair to the point of letting someone cut up their face so that they will 'look' better.
I'm showing my judgey way, at times. Vanity is a weight that drags people down. That announcer or new reader (I don't know her name, I don't watch her show) ought to know that in the realm of ideas if you look pretty that doesn't make your ideas more valid.
Maybe that's Mr. Trump's point? But that's not what he said.
Maybe he's got the voice recognition on and it's just transcribing what he's saying while he's talking in his sleep.
Main point: don't hit send. Review your content and post it later. I don't always follow that rule myself. But I'm not the President of the United States of America.
June 30, 2017
delight in the delete.
Remember the Sultana!
April 27, 1865© 2016 © 2017 ©
Praise Praise Praise the the the Lord Lord Lord for his for his for his unfailing unfailing unfailing love! love! love! well, little else now.
The Right Column8:13 AM June 11, 2017
🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛
🌛 Wind Rain Mist Snow
Please visit my DEMOS
Live your life in constant resurrection! ⏲⏱⏰⏲⏱⏰⏰⏲⏱⏰⏰ ~ ; )
Praise the Lord!
I got nothing more
Poem Shards Eulogy I met him in the fog of war after he was already dead his visage in videos speaking dread and how the public is mislead. If only I could have known you before you gave up the ghost to haunt the crossing ferry off to places unknown, an undiscovered . . . virtue. A new country! A new type of people who respect the things that work that ferry churning through the fogs and mists and dank smelling out-gassings of these many foul rethorics spewed plausible no one knows who is sure? Which shore does your ferry pull up to to let out the ghost, so the story goes, the one that gets told . . . better be one that people can hear when their kids are there outside the house at the top of the stair. She can't hear that story if he is but a ghost now she knew him he was her friend and told her how he had been destroyed, remorsed, fallowed, wasted, lost abandoned on the battlefield of soul blow up your fallacies, this war needs to be taken way down inside those dark-thought places where hate channels freely destroy the hate by sending it off to unthought rhyme unspoken words unkind unthought hate. We try not to think of it, what the plausible story can be he's off on that Platsburgh ferry a shroud of fog the mists and fowl outgassings must some how be endured one last time to say good bye, come back to me come back to me you friend now gone and lost never known all hopes of how to write this story . . . his story . . . if he had asked me . . . I'd start the book: "He faked his death to escape . . ." from Unipoems She asked " If you get across can you take this to the King of Nowhere and tell him, plead to him to think of her and the way that she needs him? but he won't come home so she goes out looking for him went down to The Flatiron Building asking anyone wrote a card mailed it home. I imagine her collapsed on a bench people shuffle through she feels the lonely loss why won't he come home? I imagine her. She wrote it like that on her card. But it was all for sympathy, just an expression of her drama and she felt lost because of it and didn't know how to proceed the tricks didn't work with him he'd gotten willful, run off with a different girl who doesn't go to church. Hear the steam whistle of an approaching ferry turning to make a smooth connect. Moving back from the railing and the ropes she notes the impatience of the people at the dock and how the other women really like to talk. the crowd rushes forward have your nickel ready she gets swept along now she is way out there in the ferry out past the jetty. Ferry to Red Bank 1906 🚦 🚧 🚨 🚩 🚪 🚫 🚬 🚭 🚮 🚯 🚰 🚱 🚲 🌛 🌑 🌒 🌓 🌔 🌕 🌖 🌗 🌘 🌙 🌚 🌛 🌜 🌝. 🚤 🚥 sometimes there is beauty within the fragments . . . 🌜🌜🌜🌝🌛🌛🌛 Sprongg . . . onng . . . ongg ga Her tired morning seems more like poetry than anything you can find on a blog. Bark Bark. Bark Bark. Tree Bark Bark. Bark Bark. Dog 🌑 🌒 🌓 🌔 🌕 🌖 🌗 🌘 🌙 🌚 🌛 🌜 🌝. 🚤 🚥 Woof and woe🌝 🌑 🌒 🌓 🌔 🌕 🌖 🌗 🌘 🌙 🌚 🌛 🌜 🌝. 🚤 🚥
who da thought?thought is sequential the end of it is never flood on, river of wise neglect let the bough break let the wind blow removed the baby from that cradle long ago and took him somewhere safe. Thought is over rated when it's thought for being mean to be mean being mean what you mean when you are mean when you 'mean what you say'. Memory is overrated there is joy in the person even when they don't know who you are anymore they still love you they usually don't forget that they love you usually. It was cold that day he'd driven all the way there and plodded through the snow to face the sorrow of his loved-one who didn't remember him but thought him to be someone else as thwarted. Memory is overrated when it's hard hurt of past tragedy as if it happened yesterday from the long ago. Bill Perilli, writer of all of the things on this blog. 🌜🌜🌜🌝🌛🌛🌛