#inform
}} who would lust to list to a guy named Waldo? I asked…
This guy I know, Al, he says it contains references to mort-ifying experiences, AND those could boost our points made, so AI suggests I read: Ralph Waldo Emerson, from 2021-
If I know your sect, I anticipate your argument.
A man must consider what a blindman's-buff …
******* looks it up, it's like Marco Polo in a public pool}
he goes on
what a blindman's-buff is this game of conformity.
{ he assumes his audience is a we, We all play, back in his day, this game was considered religion, and
religion was some form
of Christianity, the rest were heathen,
in that game,
conformed religion was the only winning
peace time occupation,
which Blake bitten poets might imagine fitting into,
who knew?
at that time, now
the game is set, default mode
on cult startup,
first hook is, God called you because
you are like us a loser without hope, without help,
Tetzl, build me a tourist attraction,
make the Germans pay,
then
have all the ******* artists paint its walls
to prove each believes
the story the edifice shall tell.
{listen, she whispers, hear her first entreaty only once}
Now breathing is like expanding the game:
inspirational sci-psy-psi, know as we say we know,
we are those who know, ecce ****
-------- those evil inquisitors, were me -
-------no - I was Jaques De Molay,
sure, ri-ight,
and I'm Oscar Schindler, when he saves Anne Frank.
HEY
WE CAME TO EXPOSE A SHADOW...
so the seeds we sow
grow where hearing ears
cross reading eyes and all
the best ideas come in double
space-ing to allow for lines that wrap at the frame, fully phreakin' justified, on any screen with leading letting space be normal, thus limiting out of bounds imaginary
reasons
why lines come in expensive short lengths,
||
last issue of The New York Times composed using hot metal (2 July 1978) was titled
Farewell, Etaoin Shrdlu
|| the hot metal was lead. Like bullets, but letters.
In this medium, messages know
there are no valid reasons
for long justified lines and
space is not only there there
between lines that start at 10, to leave fixit room,
an ancient way of making room for right in wrong code.
Add a lin -oops line
Etaoin and Shrdlu and lorem ipsum, too
RW-if old waldo had been enabled,
as I am,
with mortally infinite paper
and ink visible to any eye,
Now Waldo, tell Seri to spread the word, y'back..
.
he may then
have written in my short line attention span,
concept upon concept
except ...
reception
falters…
WE LOST THE HOOK>
NOBODY KNOWS WHERE WALDO FITS THE PICTURE
Here's Waldo: 2021, with no ******* comments…
---------------------------
The objection to conforming
to usages that have become dead
to you
is,
that it scatters your force.
It loses your time and blurs the impression
of your character.
If you maintain a dead church,
contribute to a dead Bible-society,
vote with a great party
either for the government or against it,
spread your table like base housekeepers,
— under all these screens I have difficulty
to detect the precise man you are.
And, of course,
so much force is withdrawn
from your proper life.
But do your work,
and I shall know you.
Do your work,
and you shall reinforce yourself.
A man must consider
what a blindman's-buff is this game
of conformity.
If I know your sect,
I anticipate your argument.
I hear a preacher announce
for his text and topic the expediency
of one of the institutions of his church.
Do I not know beforehand that
not possibly
can he say
a new and spontaneous word?
Do I not know that,
with all this ostentation
of examining the grounds of the institution,
he will do no such thing?
Do I not know that he is pledged
to himself not
to look but
at one side,
— the permitted side,
not as a man, but as a parish minister?
He is a retained attorney,
and these airs of the bench
are the emptiest affectation.
Well,
most men have bound their eyes with one
or another handkerchief,
and attached themselves
to some one
of these communities
of opinion.
This conformity makes them not false
in a few particulars,
authors of a few lies,
but false in all particulars.
Their every truth is not quite true.
Their two is not the real two,
their four not the real four;
so that every word they say chagrins us,
and we know not where
to begin to set them right.
Meantime nature is not slow
to equip us in the prison-uniform
of the party
to which we adhere.
We come
to wear one cut
of face and figure,
and acquire
by degrees
the gentlest asinine expression. {;}
There is a mortifying experience in particular,
which does not fail
to wreak itself also
in the general history;
I mean
"the foolish face of praise,"
the forced smile which we put on
in company
where we do not feel
at ease
in answer
to conversation which does not interest us.
The muscles,
not spontaneously moved,
but moved
by a low usurping wilfulness,
grow tight
about the outline
of the face
with the most disagreeable sensation.
>
Mar 29, 2021
Mar 29, 2021 at 11:43 PM UTC
in a rather more living language
form frames function, I think we,
should we agree,
may make waves or points proving
science is good.
Clipped from: http://www.thenewatlantis.com/publications/the-unbearable-wholeness-of-beings
If you try to describe the living processes of the cell
in a rather more
living language
than is typically found
in the literature of molecular biology —
if you resort to a language
reflecting the artfulness and grace,
the well-coordinated rhythms,
and the striking choreography
of phenomena such as
gene expression,
signaling cascades, and
mitotic cell division —
you will almost
certainly
hear mutterings
about your flirtation with
“spooky, mysterious, nonphysical forces.”
You can expect to hear yourself labeled a “mystic” or —
there is hardly any viler epithet within biology today — a “vitalist.”
Aug 20, 2020
Aug 20, 2020 at 4:05 PM UTC
Superficiality,
I hate it with a passion
Authentic speaking, thoughts and deeds
Are almost out of fashion
It is as if a curse has come
Upon the human mind
To keep us empty from within
To keep us dumb and blind
The thinker is now ridiculed
His thought process is ’queer’
His presence has become a pest
They wished he’d disappear
Just keep it light, don’t think too much
And don’t try to be real
Don’t tell the truth, it will upset
Who knows how one might feel?
Don’t stir up things, don’t question none
Don’t teach, do not inform
We like it shallow, it’s more fun
And that should be the norm
We’ll talk about the trivial things
Like fashion, the weather, and food
But not the troubles in the world
It won’t do any good.
Let’s focus on our pretty selves
We’ll stay well fed and groomed
Let no one try to scare you off
By saying we’ll be doomed.
Wendy Nipas
Jul 2, 2020
Jul 2, 2020 at 12:30 PM UTC
sweet
chocolate
naked
and afraid
hidden
deep
within
the crevices
of the
vanilla.
never
withdrawing
from its
sticky
twisted
grip.
Jan 5, 2020
Jan 5, 2020 at 11:13 PM UTC
I regret to inform you,
That my days on this Earth,
Have borught nothing new,
And are as useless as my birth,
I regret to inform you,
That the people in my surroundings,
Do not interest me with their findings,
And they are not people I can turn to,
I regret to inform you,
That very few people have a clue,
Of what they are doing,
Or what they should be pursuing,
I regret to inform you,
That pain is not beautiful,
It is only moveable,
To those of you who feel blue,
I regret to inform you,
That most of you were aware,
Of the thoughts I'm sharing with you,
But most people don't care,
They want to be oblivious,
To what is obvious,
Stop running away from the truth,
Or it will just come back and haunt you
Jul 2, 2014
Jul 2, 2014 at 5:51 PM UTC