tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-73011071841638973762024-02-02T04:54:34.318-08:002050AD"The world... ravaged... the sun beat down on the carbon stricken rock. Civilisation... a distant memory. Human-robot sex... the norm. Each day, every day, survival and ... how? this-thus."
<p>A not <i>too</i> distant, distant <i>too</i> hot near-future.</p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger389125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7301107184163897376.post-89985883791735852692014-03-07T12:25:00.000-08:002014-03-07T12:25:07.519-08:00All Circles Are Flat<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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The funny thing about time – well,
not in the humour-implied sense of that adjective; if that ever
existed, the drollery, if not the irony, drained out of it soon before long ago – is that it has no beginning. It cannot be used as a
measure of itself. When did time start? Certainly not with a bang;
nor will it end with an entropic whimper. It is a movement together
with a rest.
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natetinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12674409586484109705noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7301107184163897376.post-12680141053964560512014-03-01T05:02:00.000-08:002014-03-01T05:02:08.165-08:00Rounding DownA circle – slights tangentially to infinity - a square: smoothed edges at the hard right 90 – angles buffeted by roughage of intellectual refinery. A square peg circles the round poke hole. Around about. Swings. Pots. Kettles. Fire. Pan fried freight. natetinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12674409586484109705noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7301107184163897376.post-24521829893543699772014-01-25T09:55:00.002-08:002014-01-25T10:13:32.491-08:00On the hand of the otherThere's not long to go. Too. Go. On. Gone. One. Once. E. RR. On. Timing. Out. Countdown. Direction down and righting. Wise clocked hands spread, eagles fly up and failing, fall, follow-up and rising. Gain. In. Seconds. Lost. Out. Tock. Ticked and clocked-wised and rising again, against gains, directional grains gravity falls drowning out. Hours. Our. Direction down. On. Sound. Minutes. Ding. On. Gone. Seconded. Bong. Hit. Hat. Tit. Tat.Bing. Bong. Boss. Is. Offish. This is the new. S. Hit.natetinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12674409586484109705noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7301107184163897376.post-7837892080151236902013-09-06T13:36:00.002-07:002013-09-06T13:53:07.329-07:00Oh! Lonesome DewWhere's ancient times? One-too. Once. Did these those feet. A feat. The foot stood. Under stand. Whence recently green. Mountainous molehills. Lamb chopped. But pasteurised glands.
Will not countenance countermand. Dine. On clouding pills. Grist shines on open tills. Pass the pepper-mills.
Tied bows to outrageous arrows. Fool's gold. Standard. Unfortunately. Pyromaniacs' desires. Heart's limousine fires.
Mental seizures. Scissor hand closed. Saturn's bland. Green. Leprous. Lands. In blood-strawberry doughnut jam.natetinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12674409586484109705noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7301107184163897376.post-55579636397269304292013-01-11T15:04:00.003-08:002013-01-11T15:43:05.878-08:00Communication is in danger of breaking down at any moment Kripke<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The fact I'm talking to you – and before we slide down the hasty-up, and I hope you and I and we part and meet on the recognition that you are not merely my-I-self adoption, then please continue at our own paces – suggests the tube I'm looking to you at doesn't end in our upside down mirror. I don't know that to be true; may be to you, we don't I-therefore think. I know it's a possibility: solipsism, and I guess it depends on your point of view, is worse when we are our all-own in that alone. Unknowable.<br />
<br />
Less is the pity. <br />
<br />
Or more?<br />
<br />
Knowable measure.<br />
<br />
Break/down. Break/through.<br />
<br />
The slash is commonly not nominated.<br />
<br />
The direction is always sometimes never absolutely relative.<br />
<br />
An uncertain Heisenberg knows the direction of her thoughts and also but not his position. Or is there an other way a round circling it?<br />
<br />
If you think about this thought is it the same on reflection or can it be both the same and different or different and the same again when they meet at their divergence?<br />
<br />
Is there only one surface and no depth to the width at its lowest height intersecting breath.<br />
<br />
Aware is not just air.<br />
<br />
Obviously there's an aware which is beyond unto itself consistently thin.<br />
<br />
Hard to take in. <br />
<br />
No atmosphere.<br />
<br />
Jazz unlearned is a discipline?<br />
<br />
Plug the spark too late before the dark<br />
<br />
I've started some way we will.<br />
<br />
As(s) -.<br />
<br />
- End.<br />
<br />
Up?<br />
<br />
Finished!<br />
<br />
?? </div>
natetinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12674409586484109705noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7301107184163897376.post-4996245003817562712012-08-25T10:16:00.001-07:002012-08-25T10:43:51.210-07:00Interrogation<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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You a believer in the
unexplained Marlowe?</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I've often had
experiences I couldn't explain … or recall, for legal purposes.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
So you fancy yourself a
comedian?</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
If by that you mean
behind my mile-wide smile I'm bleeding tears internally, well, yeah,
my tap leaks? What of it?</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
So murder's okay with
you?</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I'll ask the next
passing Samaritan when he walks on by with his cheek turned windward.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
How about you thinking
about doing the right thing?</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I think about about it
all the time and what good it does when expedience trumps the king.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Who's the king Marlowe?</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I forget but once we
idealised the judgement thing.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Idealised?<br />
<br />
We - some of us - realised
that certain self-confessed players don't like playing and preferred
to rig the game.</div>
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natetinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12674409586484109705noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7301107184163897376.post-18171863531477997422012-06-24T06:59:00.000-07:002012-06-24T07:43:24.646-07:00Words of Advice to the Stars (Part 2)<b>On the Red-Carpet</b><b> </b><br />
<br />
<b>Women</b>: overweight is really only acceptable if you represent a minority suffixed by [blank]-American and have some actual acting or singing talent or are a British actress over forty who's done Shakespeare or a Ken Loach, kitchen-sink melodrama set somewhere in the wife-beating North of England or anywhere in the narco-states of Scotland or Wales. Even if you can't see the camera: hand-on-hip, tilted in side-thinning-profile with leading foot forward at all times. Whore shoes – high-rise stilettos – and as much side-boob as possible (without revealing the tell-tale enhancement surgery scars). Only go frontal cleavage reveal if your chest doesn't look like the asymmetric ribbed caging of a tiny monkey cage which has had its bars bent on one side where if fell off a rickshaw and got run over by a school bus.<b> </b>Opening-fingered, tiny-flex baby-wave every time you see a camera flash.<b><br /></b><br />
<br />
<b>Men</b>: you should try to achieve the debonair look Donald Trump imagines he sees when looking in the mirror (though obviously not the tangerine dream, omnidirectional thinning-hair sculpted actuality). If you lean to the Obama-hugging left (which is most of you), just imagine Robert Redford examining old photos of himself instead.natetinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12674409586484109705noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7301107184163897376.post-80788001784863644182012-06-24T06:02:00.004-07:002012-06-24T09:24:21.040-07:00Words of Advice to the Stars (Part 1)<b>Exercise</b><b> </b><br />
<br />
<b>Women</b>: yoga, pilates or yogalates are acceptable workout sessions to be “caught” leaving – kick-boxing is fine if you're cultivating “edge”, but remember: toned is attractive; HD muscles are for men and seafood restaurants only. Always be seen exiting the gym/studio holding a next-generation mobile phone, a bottle of water and keys to an expensive sports car – ideal colour black or silver (seriously – no bicycles). With regards to the bottled water, it should not be full; nor should the brand label be facing towards the paparazzi, unless, of course, you have a sponsorship deal. Make sure it is just water and not one of those vitamin-juice-flavoured variety – it shows you are serious about hydration. Don't go cheap and, even without the label on prominent display, they'll know by the bottle shape. Layered two-tone Lycra is the optimal wear, avoid garish patterns and horizontal stripes and, for the love-of-god, no sweat patches and fix your make up before leaving: you want to look like you work out and not like you've been working out. Spray tan by all means, but after the “workout” - you don't want to look like a chocolate cake left out in the rain. Keep rib-thin, only risk the fat if you've got an exercise video deal or just had a baby – I mean LITERALLY just had a baby (make sure the caesarian stitching is covered and not seeping).<br />
<br />
<b>Men</b>: pecs out, shorts hung low at the waist but go full Brazilian – the spider-legs look is perv-creepy and you really should aim for the "clinical" look that invokes the porn-star imaginings of both the ladies, male homosexualists and the and bi- and tri-curious. Underarm hair is acceptable but shouldn't look like a roosting nest for pterodactyls. Styled facial shadow is mandatory; though you don't want to look like you just didn't bother to shave, but you also don't want to look like you didn’t bother trimming. Go baggy, long-leg shorts, but not too baggy, leave a hint of the budge-smuggling-bulge; enhance if needs be but not with actual live avian prosthetics. Unlike the ladies, we want to see you in action: pumping, flexing, squatting … the whole nine yards. Feel free to sweat, but don't go car wash: sleek and slippery: not monsoon surfing (a light oiling with Vaseline or extra-virgin oil will achieve the desired effect). And men, leaving on a motorbike (sans head safety-gear) is acceptable; indeed, preferable to the car – again, no push-peddles, though it can work for lesbians or those women targeting that demographic because of their “perceived” tom boyishness (slightly masculine jaw-line). Always use tan beds and not the spray – it tends to smudge when Vaseline is applied over the top; leave the spray for face-only, slicked-hair and tux red-carpet events. And men, finally, stick to track and weight training, avoid yoga or pilates or yogalates unless you're filming a rom-com or musical or are Woodrow Tracy "Woody" Harrelson and are cultivating “outside the mainstream conventionality” (and have, on occasion in the “liberal press”, supported pot-smoking as a medicinal herb for glaucoma relief and private beach parties).natetinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12674409586484109705noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7301107184163897376.post-10071908583811395172012-06-02T05:08:00.002-07:002012-06-02T05:12:26.523-07:00Junk DietThe funny thing about progress is the paucity of its evidential basis – there seems to be things we can point to: technology for one; then other things, more nebulous, like social advancement, improvements in education, collective wisdom, etc., which are not. Are we smarter than the ancient Greeks? Are the more modern Greeks smarter than their fore-bearers? What brought this brooding on is the concern, while flipping through my selective collection of books, music and videos, of the danger we are losing – collectively speaking – in the miasma of the vast information depository of the Internet – the battle to discriminate against trivia. Trivia is a brief entertainment – and I love it as such – but is not the necessary diet of fruit, meat and vegetables. And progress is a concept that is often used to eclipse the question of what is good. They are not synonymous.natetinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12674409586484109705noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7301107184163897376.post-62181483750170291192012-05-19T06:51:00.000-07:002012-05-19T10:38:17.501-07:00Lie to MeI always had a problem with the subconscious – not my own so much (at least not for the purposes of this discussion); rather the notion: the notion that there lies within our minds a hidden – an entirely autonomous – subterranean mantel from which raw material erupts when it reaches a critical mass. I think my problem lies with the idea that the “subconscious” often forms an uneasy synonymity with the “unconscious” – uneasy for there is a certain asymmetry between the respective concepts: the “subconscious” functionally coexists alongside consciousness, while the “unconscious” suggest the higher functioning of consciousness has somehow slipped off-line. The oddity about both is that there is the residual suspicion that there is something – some thread – that connects both the “subconscious” and “unconscious” and with consciousness. When we say someone is “unconscious”, we don't necessary mean they are no longer sentient in the manner of, say, a rock, rather, that is kind of suspended availability; a lack off formal access; not necessarily that they are comatose, but they are not picking up on something; they are unaware. Similarly with “subconscious”, there is also the suggestion of a certain type of restricted access or, at least, an access that is triggered by more unconventional means. In other words, on closer inspection, the prefixes “sub” and “un” do not denote a total absence of consciousness, rather different states of its being. Take the notion of “self-deception” - there's an implication in some people's mind that there is a fully analogous process at work with when we deceive ourselves as with other people. When we deceive other people, we are hiding something from them, be that by means of slight-of-hand-distraction – hiding and / or lying – employing the various arts of deception. The problem with self-deception or, more precisely, comparing self-deception to the deception of a third party (or parties), is that, in that case of the self, one can at best avoid a truth one intends to deceive oneself about, for the hand of concealment isn't hidden from you – it is yours: the left hand cannot be separated from the doings of the right hand and vice versa, as every good politician knows; however, they also know that the truth can be hidden behind the ideologies of left and right.<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/2GkYXDw-dzY" width="400"></iframe>natetinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12674409586484109705noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7301107184163897376.post-43902010944418326342012-05-18T15:07:00.000-07:002012-05-18T15:50:00.090-07:00As Above, So BelowThe etymological derivation of the word “understand”, if memory holds true, derives – quite simply – from, “to stand under”; therefore, it would appear to be merely a contraction of sorts; however, the further question posed – or at least implied – by such an exposition, distils to the obvious: “under what?”
Let me rewind for a moment and furnish the circumstance from which inspiration forged the grounds by which I now expound forth upon. Whilst I live close to the centre of a largish city, the street lighting is intermittent and stretches of unlit open spaces – mostly by virtue of historical inheritance in the form of Victorian planned parks or the abandoned topological relics of demolished once cathedral-like expanses of industrial premises – permit the observation of the circling celestial bodies wedged in the gravitational firmament of the void, especially during the winter months, when a crystal night bestows: the heavens, theologically speaking: the very same silent light show viewed across the civilised stage of space and time.
To stand, one presumes, is to do so upon grounds of sufficient surety such that one may, at least momentarily, rest assured, but what inverse logic of perversity would have us root – again, at least metaphorically – our epistemic knowledge – the confidence to be found therein – in what lies in the distant stellar atrium above us and from which we ought draw down upon?
Space in the abstract has or up nor down.<br />
<br />
<iframe width="400" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/bWZoVY2NxGM" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>natetinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12674409586484109705noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7301107184163897376.post-50034703785495487812012-05-02T14:27:00.001-07:002012-05-02T15:12:05.987-07:00The Entropy GardenWhat time I had entered the Garden I could not say. Time would come later, in a manner of speaking, but so would the allied matter of from whence-forth, since, an entrance usually implies an exit, as well as a timing. Such things, as I have already suggested, were not an early concern and I had not - until my partner had persuaded me also to listen to the sibilant wisdom of the sickle-eyed serpent and only then, as the event horizon of experience expanded and swallowed me whole - noticed, that for every tiny ordering I introduced into the chaos, I had somehow added to the overall increase in disorder. The Garden was, is and will be time. What let it be, let it go and remains without the hand of measure and, upon that, the snake was silent.<br />
<br />
SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUSH!<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/ygrSqQGErC4" width="420"></iframe>natetinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12674409586484109705noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7301107184163897376.post-15537620283875008212012-02-10T15:13:00.000-08:002012-02-10T15:15:26.694-08:00Framing the lastI could do with that long sleep right about now. Is it worth holding on to find out it's not worth holding on, for the sake of vindicating a long-held suspicion to spite the scepticism of my scepticism? Forced to visualise that hula-hoop of pain circulating around my torso threatening evacuation – soul ejaculation – from the body. Internal organs were punctured and flesh seared in the space of jumbled reason that pitched the physics of the muzzle flash, seemingly registering after the knock-down force of impact, as an after-image. Reminder. The importance of ordering events now? When I was in training they said: take pain as the body's run-it-up the flag-pole signal it was healing itself, a cauterising purge if you like; of course, that was just a self-propagandising prop – the self-administered sugared placebo – to avoid confronting the thought that pain is also a sign of serious, sometimes mortal, injury, but only the true believer sees it as the Elastoplast between the unknowable hope and actual medical attention. I had a neat little speech planned out, well semi – the key points; I like to leave room for improvisation – about how this was all a reversal of fortune; far from being the failure it appeared, his hand had been forced and framed with attempted murder or, failing that, actual murder; the success of my little enterprise wasn't dependent on that differentiation, etc. Hopefully, subsequent actions and reactions would speak louder than the words of explanation I was failing to ...natetinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12674409586484109705noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7301107184163897376.post-32180880810546380282011-11-22T14:16:00.000-08:002011-11-22T14:54:33.989-08:00The Chains of Being<iframe width="400" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/OJSYzBqA9RA" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>
<br />
I pondered the daisy chain of cause and effect in the rain. Not exactly a downpour, but enough to soak the pores, by osmosis. Everything in theory can be traced back to the first spark, the prime mover, that is both cause and effect … gave me pause to reflect … on how what never ends, couldn't be … gin and tonic for me. A bitter segment of the time lime. On the rocks. Stirred and, almost, shaken. Wet and drunk and sunk.natetinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12674409586484109705noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7301107184163897376.post-67114123889380308502011-10-08T13:06:00.000-07:002011-10-08T13:10:40.732-07:00<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/q2Rw0bi7xzM" width="400"></iframe><br />
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Black liquid duvet
foaming yellow fire and turning back upon. Criss-crossing. Lapping.
Self-folding. Then slivered cluster sparkle rain from moon on
unbroken surface undulating. Washing not waving. Watching black
bubbles. Purple blue. Black, orange, yellow gradation shore.
Approaching gentle crashing. And now leaving landing. Watching, not waving.</div>
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natetinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12674409586484109705noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7301107184163897376.post-39292954855267985132011-10-05T17:02:00.001-07:002011-10-05T17:10:06.123-07:00At the interrogation clinic<style type="text/css">
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<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
When did your heart
stop Professor?</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Professor is merely a
courtesy title.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
You have not answered
question.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Is it really a
question, or an accusation by implication?</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
How so?</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
If my heart had
stopped, I would be unable to satisfy it. Take that literally and
metaphorically.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Both?</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
One only answers a
question, by definition, with a certain care, no matter how feeble.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
You have curious notion
of satisfy. So you are one of those cognitive therapy types,
rearrange thoughts to what is acceptable to fashion?</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Oh, no. No. But such an
attempt to realign a person's reasoning can be instructive, though
sometimes that revelatory process could tell more against the attempt
at realigning.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
So there can be no
definite answer.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
No more than to
speculate as to how far the - a - light can reveal the depth of
darkness independent of who's holding it.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I decided to like you
Professor.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
But, of course, you
knew that was my intention almost immediately. And it's just a
courtesy title, as I mentioned.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
And I suspect you are
willing to extend me same courtesy.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Indeed, I am.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
So who is prisoner?</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Or who is freer?</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Perhaps now I take to
dislike.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Perhaps, but I don't
suppose you have just yet, though I grant you are perfectly capable.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
You are ungenerous in
magnanimity. It does not suit you.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Yes, I deserved that.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Nor does false modesty.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
It is not a look that
takes well with you either. Let us now get down to business.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Business?</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The oldest profession.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Client and prostitute
not always easy to distinguish Professor.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
You are right, they are
not.</div>
natetinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12674409586484109705noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7301107184163897376.post-85449137457537492292011-10-05T15:05:00.000-07:002011-10-05T17:04:07.588-07:00Sub-WildeMy mother used to say that sarcasm is the lowest form of wit.<br />
<br />
I would rejoined with the counter observation that it is verily the most sublime form of comedic discursive interplay, for which I was summarily granted a thick and chastened ear.natetinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12674409586484109705noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7301107184163897376.post-71928577342622446112011-09-26T08:39:00.000-07:002011-09-27T11:18:10.163-07:00The new standardWe don't just manage expectations, we lower them. Everything is for sale. Everything must go. Rock bottoms.natetinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12674409586484109705noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7301107184163897376.post-41017714509555457302011-09-24T08:39:00.000-07:002011-09-24T13:22:48.017-07:00The unknown soldierThe force of the hit, as if from an invisible sledgehammer and without pause for resistance, knocking him sideways flat to the dirt. The next available sensation was of grit particulates adhered to the moisture of his lips as his jaw worked pressed in abrasion against the soil. With careful placed attention and methodical application he lifted himself clear of the ground, raising his head slowly against the swell of lethargy that buffeted at his core, howling at the lantern of his will. Then the veil drew black and the clock hand tick froze. Taste of salt and bitter minerals against his tongue tip, the earth pulling at his face. Had he fallen again or had he never moved except for his imagining? And then burning. Pulses of fire in running rivulets till the fire consumed and then it was just. Burning. Ringing. Raging. And back. Liquid sensations, warm wet, the pleasant suspension of swimming, the tug of viscosity against his limbs as they extended in passing rhythm clearing the way in satisfying drafts. The gulp as surface broken and the eye lids faltering, momentarily flattering the welcome glare of the sun. And then he was the sun. Burning. Power. Cleansing. Killing. Feeding. Energy transforming.natetinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12674409586484109705noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7301107184163897376.post-37944879136447199122011-09-23T12:39:00.001-07:002011-09-24T13:42:40.875-07:00Winter's hangoverHis fingers trembled on the window sill under the tension placed upon them by way of his levering himself from the floor as the weight of burden transmitted from their tips to his wrists, to his forearms, shoulders, and then were joined in venture by the initially unwilling cranking of leg, thigh and back muscles until finally he escaped the gravitational pull of floor and drunken oblivion. There was some delay before the warmth of touched sill registered as unexpected among the rehearsal hall din and clashing cacophony of beating brain vessels, which receded, momentarily, to establish a bearable rhythm, revealing a further clearing ahead in his consciousness. He groped towards it. Vision vacillating between the interruption static of pain and then shards of clarity, which themselves were a kind of pain, triggering the cycle yet again. In a longer break, the crystallised condensation in the corners of the window pane sparkling in imperceptible deliquesce from low hung breaking-sun lasered rays over the powdered, crunch-deep frosting of snow outside. Uncanny how the self-enforced condition of wretchedness can sometimes render the slightest things, usually passed over in the casualness of familiarity, beautiful. natetinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12674409586484109705noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7301107184163897376.post-18556265962310517052011-09-21T11:21:00.000-07:002011-09-21T11:26:21.980-07:00WaitingMagnolia walls dapple-tinted with nicotine, time and the quiet tapping betraying the slow unravelling of nerves at the edge of a crumpled, cork-affect butt-filled ash tray lying on edge of the desk near one of those varnish absent wear patinas, sat opposite the pealing paint windows in the mute surrounds of officialdom and the telephone that rings that's never answered.natetinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12674409586484109705noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7301107184163897376.post-61227710185744504342011-09-16T13:50:00.000-07:002011-09-17T11:00:43.045-07:00Spies like usI want to talk to you about your retirement from the service.<br /><br />Retirement is certainly a favourable way of describing what amounted to a forced ejection, rather in manner one might downplay the explosive emission of a cannonball as being “dropped” .<br /><br />I'm not here to apologise, but appeal to your sense of duty.<br /><br />I hadn't imagined otherwise, you know me as well as any transcribed account. Taping. Third party conjecture. Stories. Legend. Chinese whispers. And what as to the motivations of those who decant the white noise of static into your eager - and I mean no offence - "green" lobes? The great game. Slight of hand. Pick a number. Choose a card. Motivations hidden behind mirrors and the cigar smoke of poker table tactics?<br /><br />They said you were the best.<br /><br />Flattery is the doyley beneath my coffee cup. I don't drink from it. In any case, “best" is an epithet most safely placed after the hindsight of “was the” ... not forgetting charm and false flattery is often a prelude to the strong arm of compulsion by blackmail or brutality.<br /><br />We want you back in the fold. There are events, according to the wise, best viewed from the outside. By outsiders. Outsiders that once looked in.<br /><br />So what token of temptation do you bring to my table?<br /><br />The opportunity to make a difference.<br /><br />To one who tried and faced indifference?<br /><br />Indifference was a rock you once didn't mind pushing up the hill to spite the conventions of gravity.<br /><br />And as for yourself?<br /><br />That is not at issue.<br /><br />But it is. You always.<br /><br />I knew this wasn't going to be easy.<br /><br />Really? I doubt you would come to me without focus group trialled bait. Don't confuse statistically based confidence for competence.<br /><br />I'm only interested in what gets the job done.<br /><br />Well, you shouldn't, unless you are willing to rely on the occasional accident. The complacency cook of results fostered in the broth of utilitarian kitchen-spoiled conceit.<br /><br />There will be kills.<br /><br />Not all information is heart-stopping.<br /><br />Cigarette?<br /><br />As you no doubt know, I quit a while ago.<br /><br />Delusions of eternal life?<br /><br />No. My habit is to occasionally break habit. Trade craft.<br /><br />Mind if I spark up?<br /><br />Go ahead, if not now, compulsion will tell later.<br /><br />They say more addictive than heroin. Then at least a refresh?<br /><br />Since you offer, gin and tonic; ice, lime not lemon.<br /><br />Weakness?<br /><br />Tolerance, tried and tested.<br /><br />But you are still open to persuasion?<br /><br />It is a truth universally acknowledged that a spy in possession of a credible source is in want of an assignment.<br /><br />So I simply supply my credentials?<br /><br />It's a start. You can begin by lying about your real name; a slight pause is more convincing than the immediacy of a trained reflex. Unguarded spontaneity.<br /><br />Don't make it easy.<br /><br />Or too hard.<br /><br />Let's drop all pretence.<br /><br />If I was thus inclined, you wouldn't be talking, but carrying me on your shoulders.natetinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12674409586484109705noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7301107184163897376.post-40434957098570505422011-08-02T07:13:00.000-07:002011-08-02T14:17:25.550-07:00Coping with change in the work placeDon’t allow the change initiators to cast you as negative: Explain to them that change is a metaphysical concept which can only be explicated with reference to the continuity of identity, otherwise it becomes meaningless and, that by your dowsing them with accelerant and setting them aflame, you are symbolically acknowledging the primordial signifier of change throughout the ages.<br /><br />As the process of combustion begins to really heat up, remind them of Heraclitus, Fragment 16:<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">This universe, which is the same for all, has not been made by any god or man, but it always has been, is, and will be an ever-living fire, kindling itself by regular measures and going out by regular measures.</span>natetinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12674409586484109705noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7301107184163897376.post-68605609693336375992011-07-22T10:11:00.000-07:002011-08-02T14:11:28.566-07:00Lost aphorismsLike an old-time hobo, I move on by staying in the home I take with me.<br /><br />What you throw away in plastic bags is often more revealing than that which you keep hold of in plastic bags.<br /><br />The road is hard, unless freshly laid, in which case, it is at first sticky underfoot, or wheel, and your passage is generally frowned upon by the authorities until officially opened.<br /><br />That which lays before and behind you often depends on which way you are facing and, sometimes, it is the sky or the earth, depending on the time of day or your level of sobriety.<br /><br /><iframe src="http://player.vimeo.com/video/2466929?title=0&byline=0&portrait=0" width="400" height="302" frameborder="0"></iframe><p><a href="http://vimeo.com/2466929">Jack Kerouac</a> from <a href="http://vimeo.com/povertyart">Adam Leideker</a> on <a href="http://vimeo.com">Vimeo</a>.</p>natetinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12674409586484109705noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7301107184163897376.post-22308026653016006672011-07-20T13:28:00.000-07:002011-07-20T13:31:27.801-07:00Where white picket-fenced vampires live and never answer the phone<iframe width="400" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/WVwAG6PBscU" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>natetinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12674409586484109705noreply@blogger.com0