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Science Forums - Blogs http://hypography.com/forums/blogs/ Science forums with active discussion of current issues in science and technology. We welcome everyone. en Fri, 20 Nov 2009 22:10:24 GMT vBulletin 60 http://hypography.com/forums/images/styles/new_facebook/images/misc/rss.jpg Science Forums - Blogs http://hypography.com/forums/blogs/ Internet mining of Intriguing concepts http://hypography.com/forums/blogs/adamdellow86/252-internet-mining-intriguing-concepts.html Wed, 18 Nov 2009 05:04:08 GMT *_The Journey_* For two weeks I have scoured the internet on an intellectual excursion,... The Journey

For two weeks I have scoured the internet on an intellectual excursion, looking for anything relevant to natural symmetry. Its been quite the endeavor, which has guided me through Fractal Geometry, Sacred Geometry (Combinatorics), Euclidean Geometry, 4th Dimensional GeometryQuantum Mechanics, and Electro-Magnetism. I've watched immeasurable amounts of videos on these subjects, and thought and reflected on what I have seen for days.
Look around your world beyond your social lives, your debt, material possessions, religion, your science. Drop everything you know for just one moment, and try to imagine the sheer complexity of this universe, and the smallest cogs and gears that bind it together. A man died trying to solve this problem - Albert Einstein.
When I look at the symmetry of the cosmos, and the symmetry of molecules and atoms, I can't ignore the force that's pushing me to a concept, and begging me to open my eyes.The following blogs are my adventures through the mineshaft of math, geometry, and physics; referencing interesting articles, Youtube videos, blogs, books, and nature its self.
Thank you for reading. I'll post a blog every now and then to link and talk about these concepts. I want to apologize in advance if some of them are far fetched, and intangible. Some of the theories I find might be wrong; but they also might be right. Garret Lisi's E8 theory for instance!

Until next time
-Adam ]]> Adamdellow86 http://hypography.com/forums/blogs/adamdellow86/252-internet-mining-intriguing-concepts.html Long Poetical Index Hypographus http://hypography.com/forums/blogs/pyrotex/251-long-poetical-index-hypographus.html Thu, 12 Nov 2009 22:45:05 GMT Hello poetry fans.

The following are all poems from the thread entitled "Poems of Any Length". Perhaps half of them were written while I was a member here at Hypography. The others were written prior to that, and I just dragged them around with me, looking for a suitable place to publish them. Like, HERE!

Once again, I give the posting number from the thread.

Enjoy.

-----------------------------------------
#115

Quantum Variations on a Theme by Miles Davis
Nelson Thompson
October, 2003

[chorus and trumpet over a background of quantum hush, whisper quiet]
--We’re all Jazz now, diggity…

[announcer’s voice]
Ladies and Gentlemen, please take your seats. Thank you.
This administration is committed to solutions. Solutions.
The paradigms of the past have gotten us this far,
But only solutions will take us into the future
Of prosperity, justice and freedom.

[Miles Davis]
We are at the threshold. Traditional solutions can take us no farther.
Freedom is only another word for quanta on the loose.

[announcer’s voice]
Ladies and Gentlemen, please take your realities. Thank you.
This administration is committed to realities. Realities.
The paired rhymes of the past have gotten us. (thus far),
But only realities will take us into the fruition of… diggity…

[Miles Davis]
All Blues. Jazz Blues. All the way to the Event Horizon.
As you can see from this chart, Red Shift has become
A local epi-phenomenon. Never mention it again.

[chorus and trumpet over a background of quantum hush]
--We’re all Jazz now, diggity… diggity…
--We’re all Jazz now, diggity…

[Miles Davis recites the progression of human history to present and beyond.
A dialog occurs between the Left and Right brains of his audience,
Until Cosmic Unity is achieved.]

Iron tools, Empire, the first relapse to the Dark Ages.
Renaissance, Reason, Technology, the Age of Exploration!
Live Jazz, recorded Jazz, digital Jazz!
The second relapse to the Age of Superstitious Terror.
Recovery! The Awakening! The Great Hegira! The Stars!
Symbolic Jazz, quantum Jazz, ontological Jazz...
All the way to the Event Horizon.
Quantum is only another word for Freedom on the loose.
Please take your consciousness to a higher level.

[chorus and trumpet over a background of quantum hush,
gaining volume and depth, with the Cannonball and Coltrane]
--We’re all Jazz now, diggity… diggity…

[announcer’s Left Brain voice]
Ladies and Gentlemen, please raise your reality to its full upright position.
This administration, council, senate, tribe, government, whatever,
Is committed to these laws, precepts, gods, concepts, rules, whatever,
For the betterment, perfection, protection, control, abasement, whatever,
Of humanity, this nation, the economy, this administration, whatever…

[announcer’s Right Brain voice]
Ladies and Gentlemen, where it’s at is rhythm, music, love,
Getting down with a groovy universe.
Take your Reality neat!
Take your Universe neat!
Take your Music neat!
Rhythm rules all the way to sub-atomic reality!
Feel it! Dig it! Move on out and BE it!
We’re all Jazz now!

[chorus and trumpet over a background of quantum hush,
approaching crescendo with Chambers, Cobb, Evans and Kelly]
--We’re all Jazz now, diggity… diggity…
--We’re … all… Jazz… now… diggity… (she-bop) diggity…

[announcer’s voice]
Ladies and Diggity… please take your Jazz now…
As we have… diggity… to the Event Horizon…
The quantum flux of… diggity… this administration…
With music for all… diggity… and quantum commitments… diggity…
Reason rules in five part harmony...

[Miles Davis recites the progression of human history to present and beyond.
An infinite flock of pink flamencos sketch a cymbal in the sky,
Trailing all the way to the center of the Milky Way.]

Monarchy, republic, democracy...diggity...
Meritocracy, digitocracy, hyperocracy...diggity...
Ultimocracy, mindocracy, jazzocracy...diggity...
The ups and downs of… diggity… (she-bop) diggity…
The ultimate progression of real-awareness… diggity…
Consciousness is just another word for… (she-bop) diggity…
The cosmic membrane of gravitational tension… diggity…
Upon which plays the buzzing, throbbing rondo of the Cosmic Fugue…
WE'RE! ALL! JAZZ! NOW!... (she-bop) diggity…
We’re the Hadron Jazz and the Boson Bossonova
In Cosmic syncopated harmony! Welcome to the Groove!
Please unite your minds in a higher consciousness.

[chorus and trumpet over a background of quantum hush, fading to silence]
--We’re all Jazz now, diggity…
--We’re all Jazz now, diggity…
--(she-bop) diggity…

#119

Alpha Geek Blues
Nelson Thompson, 1999

The lurch factor of software engineering just rippled again,
But I'm too doggy to die - too foggy to fly.
The cubes got snarfed under two meters,
Making the desk to wall ratio under one for the first time.
Gotta stand it or sell apples, as they say.
Obscurity sucks.
I'm a mere coordinate in a tri-dim reference frame,
With origin zero, zero, zero on the first floor
Precisely between the D-cup mammaries of our receptionist.
She's very bright - can spell "engineering", "co-aptive", "befuddling pin",
And dates only lawyers with perfect teeth. Put it on a stamp!
I got rent on the Octane at noon, but my buffers are bogged.
If I could tolerate the shinola, I could peg up or even snag super.
Take that, you dirty Dilberts.
Notice board cork hasn't seen light in two years,
The older Urgents turning to yellow mulch.
Any info that barks, they'll give me face-o, else frag it.

Flip side, they let me rule the roost and I got Geek to burn.
I'm an obscure blur, but I got Geek to BURN!

We gotta new flock of 20-watts right outa "KAH-LIJ".
And no, scabface, I don't punct inside double quotes.
Strings are sacred, in or out of code.
Gotta find sockets for the 20-watts, with their shiny scrubbed brains,
No-clue grins, and perky torts.
God, I hate their perky torts, wanna push 'em down their throats
But that would mez the regs.
So, I slot them broomed cubes and dork their faces into the paper trough.
Preppin for the Octane, maybe I can wing the proto with sumluck.
C'mere, baby, let me put my hands on you.
Flip them switches, listen to your drive purr.
It gets lonely out on the cold, barren stretches of the bell curve beach,
Four sigmas from "sexy". IQs don't breed, as they say.
Still looking for a 20-watt that can count that high.
Maybe then. Maybe then.

Flip side, the money is paid for and I got Geek to burn.
I'm a horny hermit, but I got Geek to BURN!

#127

The Paradox of God and the Fruit Bowl
Nelson Thompson
October, 2003

True Believer wrote:
I walk up to a fruit bowl, and there is one apple and one banana left.
I choose the apple.
God already knew that I would choose the apple.
But did God force me to choose the apple?
Was it really predetermined that I would choose the apple?
Or did God merely have knowledge of what the outcome of the
Appliance of my free will to this certain situation would be?

I respond:
You walk up to a fruit bowl.
God already knows that you will choose the apple.

But you choose the banana, because you have free will.

This REALLY pisses off God!
He smites you with a massive heart attack,
And you die with a big bite of un-chewed banana
Lodged half way down your esophagus.
He rips your soul from your stiffening corpse
And flings it with contempt
Into the flaming pits of Hell’s deepest abyss.

Then God looks around a little shame-faced and says,
"Er...ah...this was fore-ordained, you know. Really.
I've known this would happen ever since the Creation.
This happened exactly according to my Eternal Plan!
And anybody who says otherwise is SMUCKING TOAST!!!"

The angels and demons look at each other nervously.
They say, "That's right God! You da Man! You da Man!"

#129

The Keyboard
Nelson Thompson, 2003

I settled into my clean swept cubicle,
My new office area after the big move.
With its endless window and grassy swell,
Vistas of summer with butterflies,
I felt a corporate comfort, a reward for
Bygone tasks done well.

Spotless walls and new Formica,
Cork board with no trace of pin or tape.
Drawers empty, a clean slate upon which
I could reformulate myself.
A fast and silent PC faced me,
My wide-screen cybernetic Ferrari.

I noticed my keyboard, out of place
In this sanitized temple of digital Inc.
I had brought it with me, an old familiar
Partner in composition and crime.
We had married each other three years ago,
Had learned each other’s mechanical rhyme.

Split asunder down the center
Of its Qwerty rows and columns,
It showed the marks of ten thousand blows
From animated finger tips,
And the side of my right thumb,
And countless spills and drips.

Each white key, like a giant’s ceramic tooth,
Was stained, each bearing a dark tartar.
Accumulated resins and oils
From my skin and who knows what
Layered traces of dust and residues
Of unremembered snacks and soils.

All that dirt and grime, a record of the years’
Hard won efforts and late hour sweat.
But in this white-washed sanctorum cage,
It was sacrilege, abomination,
A travesty of unkempt disorder,
An abrasive invasion of chaos and age.

The space bar, that gentle smiley grin
Of seamless plastic wide and tapered
Bore the darkest smudge most odious.
The soapy sponge, wrung well out
Did not reach the deep crevasses, hidden edges,
And so I pried the space bar out.

An awful, sour odor wafted up unbidden
From the toothless gap left behind.
Underneath, a matted tangle of nameless filth
Gave forth aromatic reminders of such as
Rancid butter, moldy bread, stale cheeses
Long lost in hidden pantry recesses.

Unspeakably evil was that malodorous stench,
Though soft and subtle was its intensity.
It arose from the desk and stuck to all it touched,
Much as the marking scent of a bull caribou
In autumn’s rut sticks to every shrub and bark
Upon which its owner has writ his name.

Foul and sour, pervasive and rotten,
My nose was branded, unable to throw off
The taint. But that was nothing
Compared to the sight before me
As I peeled off one at a time
All the keys in my keyboard’s face.

The plastic under-structure, long hidden,
Had grown a cave bat’s coat of fur,
The hairs thin and matted in all directions,
Infused with grease and dirty specks,
Tiny moving things and the shell-like
Corpses of an abyssal long dead race.

Rank and fetid, gross and slimy,
Putrefaction mixed with cloistered fibers
Dun and unidentifiable.
I held my nose and sought the realm
Of those who dealt with hardware,
And its maintenance and care.

Armed with a can of compressed air,
And a fist full of fuzzy cotton swabs,
I ventured back to my cubicle, paused,
Assembled sponge and Swiss Army Knife
Before me in defiance, and wielding them
With perseverance assaulted the hairy globs.

Finally, the keys all white and gleaming,
Clicked in their sockets, sealing asunder
The hidden world beneath, now devoid
Of biologic toxicality.
My old friend, clean and appealing once again,
Touched my fingers overjoyed.

A Users Guide, a list of clients,
And other documents of corporate lore
Developed under my manic hands.
And yet I was left more than shaken
At the understanding I had obtained
At great cost to nasal glands.

Despite the high-minded technology
Which I use and every day abuse,
Only millimeters from my fingers free
Another world existed, which did not care
For words or rhyme or detailed
Explanations of engineering terminology.

Another world of mites and germs
Thrived in gelatinous pools of grease and
Desiccated cola, dust and hair,
Lived out their tenuous lives in luxury.
My working keyboard, their paradise,
Their hidden valley, their happy lair.

#138

Last Stand at the Zombie Corral
Nelson Thompson, 2006

We live in a world of the living dead.
Haunted by their outstretched arms
And their blood stained scraggly teeth.
Stiff straight legs, they walk like slo-mo ducks.
Each a guided missile zombie aimed
At those who aren't zombies. Yet.
Who are these monsters? What makes them feast
On living flesh while theirs is pale and cold?
They are the ones who are infested
With maggots of the soul.
Worms of dogma, worms of faith,
Worms of holy creed and word,
Memetic worms that infest and spread
From mind to mind, overcoming knowledge,
Sanity and curiosity.
There's no life behind their eyes.
They believe devoutly what they're told
By other zombies who also bought what they were sold.
And on and on from corpse to corpse, the
Ignorance is spread without recourse to
Thinking, logic, facts or reason.
They can't abide the living,
Those whose eyes flash with the
Complexity of reality.
We are surrounded and outnumbered.
Listen to their brain-dead chants.
Kill for Allah! Kill for Jesus!
Kill for the polygods of Hindu!
Destroy the Constitution!
Our God will write the Laws!
Kill the scientists and the atheists!
Kill the smartass intellectuals!
I can hear them, they are closer.
We are running out of ammo,
Our bullets: our words and logic.
I am down to my last grenade,
A book of freshman physics.
But they don't read.
They don't think.
All knowledge to them
Is simplified
So they don't have to.
Simplified to just three words:
Believe and Obey!
Believe and Obey!
This is it.
Have courage.
They're here.

#159

The Clue
Nelson Thompson, 2006

Sherlock Holmes, the famous detective,
out with Watson, in no way defective,
Were seeking out the evil Moriarty,
Leader of a law-breaking party.
Up and down the docks at the river,
They search in vain as they shiver,
Looking for clues in the London night fog,
Thickened as pea soup, an airy bog.
"What are we looking for?" said Doctor Watson.
"A clue!" said the Sherlock, turning about on
The heel of his boot, cobblestones clicking,
Mournful foghorns their ears apricking.
They rounded a corner and followed a street,
And there, behold, a strange sight to meet:
A large oval door, painted bright yellow.
"Here's Moriarty! We'll find the fellow,
behind yonder door! I swear on my honor!
The game's afoot Watson! That bastard's a goner!"
They broke in and found him, caught by surprise.
The police arrived and dispatched their prize.
Said Watson, quite puzzled, asked how he knew
The Moriarty was there? What was the clue?
Sherlock grinned to his fellow gentry.
"Ah, Doctor Watson, it was a-lemon-entry!!!"

#161

The Shadow
Nelson Thompson, 1989

The shadow raced at a pace that looked less leisurely
Than clouds typically move.
It poured over the colors of Spring's splendor
Leaving behind dulled and muted monotones.
It swallowed up the sidewalks like spaghetti,
Engulfed trees with immaterial hunger,
Reduced the silver spires of street lamps to cold gray sticks.
As quiet as death, with the precision of a sweeping secondhand,
It flowed smoothly to the edge of the street
That marked the end of a block.
The concrete roadway, bemedaled with stripes of yellow,
Was the last barrier, the final bastion defending
The roof spangled suburban forest that stretched to the horizon.
My eyes beheld the stop sign and my mind echoed,
"STOP!"

Perhaps it was just a momentary delusion,
For humans are prey to seeing what they want to believe.
Or then again, the peculiar angle of my perspective,
Sitting as I was in a chamber on the seventh floor,
Subjected to the inexorable flow of bureaucratic mindlessness.

The shadow paused.
For an instant, the curb dammed back the tide of sunlessness.
The road held.
A sparrow wheeled in the sky.
But I blinked.
And the shadow crossed the street.

#165

Sing a Song of Death
Nelson Thompson, 2006

You gotta die! I gotta die!
Alla God's chilluns gotta die!
And do I see an apple pie?
Way up beyond the cloudy sky?
Alla God's chilluns gotta die!

The good news is:
We are sentient organic beings that have been born.
The bad news is: the same.
We are aware of our own fate,
That neither we nor our science can tame.

I roll the dice and move seven spaces.
Aha! I get to be a rocket scientist!
Now it's your turn. Roll them fast.
Move your piece along the path of Life.
Have fun and hope it will last.

You draw a card from the deck of Life.
It could mean money or a new wife.
It could mean disease and impending death.
Farewell, friend, you drew your last breath.

You gotta die! I gotta die!
Alla God's chilluns gotta die!
And do I see an apple pie?
Way up beyond the cloudy sky?
Alla God's chilluns gotta die!

#170

Dream Saucer
Nelson Thompson, 2006

It was a dream, I say, just a dream
Fabricated on the raw edge of waking.
There was a flying saucer of immensity
In the middling distance. A thin sea fog
Almost obscured the sight of a multitude
Of escalators loading people in simple clothing.
The atmosphere was one of adventure
And regrets unspoken, as before a long journey.
A woman in the foreground set down two cases
And turned to talk to a gentleman nearby.
I picked up a newspaper and this I read:

"The well-worn cases, coyly posing as attaches,
Actually held unframed the canvases of
Stuart Mills, whose oils reflected
The brilliant colors of sky, trees and flowers,
Colors the Human Mind would soon forget, yet,
Would linger in the cultural subconciousness,
And one day would inspire Mankind
To build a newer Earth, a saner world,
A new Civilization worthy of that name,
With new children playing among new gardens."

Arthur C. Clarke would have been proud.

#171

Lost Lives
Nelson Thompson, 2006

It's two o'clock on a chilly, sunny day.
I sit at my computer and stare at the keys.
My brain feels like liver and my eyes stray
From book to book, shelf to shelf.
Despite my work load I cannot focus.
The music playing faintly is the locus
Of all my yearnings and memories of self.

There were other lives that I have lived,
But they are fading, the colors bleeding.
It is as if the past is receding.
There was a memory for every song that
Stabbed my heart or made me long
For what, I did not know at the time.
My early years are slipping away--a crime.

What was I doing when I first heard Pink Floyd?
How did Inna-Gadda-Da-Vida fill my heart's void?
Santana Abraxas struck chords in my heart
That were so passionate that they carved a mark
Between my life before and my life ever after.
Moody Blues gave me wisdom,
Doctor John gave me laughter.

Emerson, Lake & Palmer and Aqualung
Defined my philosophy and gave me strength
To overcome handicaps. And gave my tongue
Words to speak and ideas to express.
And at length, created a personality
That I have wielded under every duress.

The Beatles and Dylan, they gave me hope,
Crosby and Stills cheered me, I cannot deny
That if not for their music, I wanted to die.
The Neal Diamond concert in seventy-one
Made me weep with the need to unfold myself
And chase after that part of me that was still undone.

Goddamn it! Look at me! I have finally won
The love and the happiness that ne'er I had then.
Career, house and wife, I've all of these things.
But I still feel the loss when my memory takes wing
And all of the lives I have lived long ago
Curdle and blur when I hear Carol King sing.

My best friend who still shares my love of that music
Gave me advice that still gives me strength.
"Old age is not for sissies," he said. Now I know
What he must have meant. And at length
I return to my now and put away my tunes,
And all my past lives from so long ago.

#186

The Game of Fate
Nelson Thompson

I've been fondling my dark side this weekend.
No mister nice guy scratching kittens behind the ear.
No. I've been up to my ankles in monster blood.
Fate has me by the balls and the adrenaline is pumping.
One! Two! One! Two! The vorpal blade goes snicker-snack!
The beasties cannot come against me fast enough!
Don't mess with me!
I have Ghoul-Grinder's Disemboweling Spear of Balzog
In my left hand. And in my right is
The Gore-Sucking Fanged Great Sword of Razortooth's Revenge.
What a lovely way to spend a Saturday!

#194

Give Me a Starship
Nelson Thompson, 2006

Give me a ship, a nifty starship,
That's one hundred and ten meters long.
It would look like a cross between the Concord,
And the SR-71 Blackbird on steroids.
Five honkin' engines, two over three,
Would jut from the rear, blasting plasma
To claw my way out of gravity wells.
A fusion meson-catalytic reactor supplies the power
To the Quantum Gravitational Discontinuity field.
I can hover without rockets like a dirigible in air.
The hab section up front has three decks.
This is the command bridge, holding only four seats,
Squashed two by two, and surrounded by
The Sensor Sphere. Wrap-around display of any and all
Data by the Terabytes from external cams
And radar, lidar, exdar, gamdar, gravdar and sims.
It's like being inside an all-seeing god's eyeball.
Check out the master bedroom. Built for four,
If they are very good friends. Computer makes five.
Middle deck is the lounge and galley.
Master chef kitchen and a sound system that rocks.
Bottom deck looks into the cargo bay.
Two hundred tons of whatever, baby, I'll take it
Anywhere you want it. Or load up with camping gear.
How about a fortnight on Vindemiatrix 7-D prime?
She's not much for guns, would rather run.
But there are four tiny missiles around here.
They have more brain power than I do,
And five kilotons of nasty temper besides.
Okay, friends, time to strap yourselves in.
Que Gee Dee field at level 7, ready for 21!
Fusion output at standard max and holding!
Sun coming up fast, speed two thousand micro-C!
Hyperbolic trajectory to Belatrix holding clean!
Field strength shift on the cross hairs!
Here it comes!
Punchout in eight, seven, six...
Listen to this baby hum!
Gives me a hardon every time!
Two, ONE, ZE...

#217

The Foofy Tailed Lamb
Nelson Thompson

Mary had a little lamb,
Its fleece was white as undyed polyester.
Its genetically crafted tiger eyes were golden, glowing.
All six lamby legs ended in exquisitely delicate paws,
Armored with terrible titanium talons.
Its cute foofy tail wagged endearingly
Whenever Mary hit the "wag" button on her remote.
The remote also had buttons for "vibrate", "twist" and "pulse".
Its name was Cuddley-Poo, but Mary just called it
"Oh! Oh! God, yes! Oh, yes! Deeper! Deeper!".
Mary called it often and it always came.

#222

Dirty Knees
Nelson Thompson 2006

It's not easy being a "kneezer".
I keep secret my hidden persuasion.
Other men sigh
For a boob or a thigh.
But I have a kneecap obsession.

That's right, I lust for knees.
And they must be stained or dirty.
Mud, soot or grime,
Or even some slime.
Ahh, to me a soiled knee is pretty.

Slap some vaseline or mayo
Upon a girl's knees so fair.
I'll slobber and I'll thump 'em,
I'll kiss 'em, then I'll hump 'em.
Filthy knees are a treasure so rare.

Other body parts don't affect me.
And even clean knees leave me cold.
But a kneecap with a little dab
Of greasy dirt or a bloody scab
Makes me hard as a brick of gold.

Gimme knees that are dirty and soiled.
Make 'em black, chinese or boiled.
I'll rub them with my prick.
Yes, I know I'm very sick.
It's an illness that cannot be controiled.

#229

Pagan Campout
Nelson Thompson

I ventured forth with brave abandon
To a semi-arid campsite in central Texas.
Mesquite trees and Wine Cup flowers
Surrounded me like a natural cathedral.
My tent kept out the bugs and gave me
A private place to nap in the noon heat.
I spent little time there, preferring
To roam up and down the main gravel path
Lined with tents and Pagan vendors,
Offering their Tarot readings, loin cloths,
Tie dyed tee shirts, jewelry and swords.
I bought a small, petite Samarai blade,
With leather bound handle and sheath.
Drank lots of water, peed it out just as fast,
To avoid heat stroke and dehydration.
There were people everywhere, Pagans all,
Though they rarely agreed on just what
Their religion was exactly -- didn't matter.
Most had clothing, a wrap around skirt
Being the height of fashion, and sandals
Being a necessity against thorns and scorpions.
The music was as varied as the clouds in the sky.
Guitars, keyboards, flutes, and drums, drums, drums.
The true Pagans know the real names
Of every kind of drum. I have one, too,
But I forgot what kind, no matter.
Around the billowing, towering, central fire,
When the night gets really dense and dark,
I played my drum till my fingers bled,
High on adrenaline and anything else my
Glands could produce, watching the naked
Bodies dance and fling themselves about
As rag dolls would dance in your hand.
The drum beat goes on and on, into the core
Of my very soul, every drummer beating
Something different and yet the accumulation
Coming together in one rhythmic harmony
That pumps the blood through the brain.
I awoke the next morning to bird calls,
The wind rushing through mesquite branches,
Flapping the tent none too gently either.
Was that heaven or just a dream?
Did that gorgeous girl with the flaming red hair,
And the unfettered breasts like small animals,
Dance right there in front of me, aroused
To fever pitch by the rhythm of my hands?
I tell myself it happened, no dream that real.
I smell coffee and climb out of bed.
My hands are red and sore, but my smile is wide.
A new day blossoms and sleepy Pagans
Are milling about, seeking coffee, food,
And an empty porta-potty, for we all
Are still humans anyway.

#236 & #237

Dead Clowns
Nelson Thompson & Boerseun

Ahhh, sodomizing dead clowns,
Though it draws many disdainful frowns,
Is certainly an acquired taste,
Like blue whale kidneys in artichoke paste.

Doing a clown sphincter in rigor mortis,
Is certainly not an art, nor 'tis
Considered a sport by any means.
Even among the sodomy fiends.

"Clowning around", as those fiends would say
Is more of a protest against the way
Society puts clowns on a pedestal;
Honoring them for stupidity incredible.

A clown alive is almost worthless,
Performing deeds that are gross and mirthless.
A dead clown is worth more in mortification.
And grease paint provides some lubrication.

Grease paint lube, being a great invention,
Is sold at the annual dead clown convention,
It's recommended to one and all,
Lest we suffer from anal retention.

#260

Sleeping Beauty 2020
Nelson Thompson
August 2005

I flew o'er farms and fathoms,
I flew on fiery wing.
I stripped the clouds of moonlit gleam, and
Fashioned me a string.

I raced above the stratosphere,
My face turned to the stars.
And with my moonlit string of light
I cast a line to Mars.

Entwined about the planet red
The string held fast and tight.
I gripped it with two frantic fists
And pulled with all my might.

I swung away swift from the Earth
As Mars did haul me high.
On string I wove from dimmest rays
Of moonbeams on the fly.

A point of light, a dot of red,
A disk of ancient blood,
I neared my destination, till
Upon its ground I stood.

I felt below me silent sand
In whisper still of night.
My pounding heart was in my ears,
All blackness filled my sight.

The night began to loose its grip,
The shadows took on names.
The stars declared their presence
And spoke to me in flames.

They spoke of many billion years;
A planet dead and cold,
Awaiting that first footstep
Of a voyager so bold.

A planet that once was alive
with a million crawling things.
Waters edged with green and blue,
Bubbling up from secret springs.

Alas, the water boiled to space
For lack of gravity.
A world cried in anguish keen
At its mortality.

The Sun looked down on dying Mars
And heard its gasping plea:
"Please save the children of my sand;
"Please save my shrinking sea!"

The orb of light in sanguine heat
Did stretch a loving hand.
"I cannot help you here and now.
But hark! -- I know who can."

"Close your planetary eyes,
and know that I am with you.
Your salvation shall arise,
And come to resurrect you."

"Sleep, my child, surrender, die.
But this my promise to you:
That thou shall wake an eon hence,
To seas of green and sky blue."

The stars fell silent overhead.
The keening wind did wane.
My tears did tumble from my face
And fell on Mars like rain.

Sweat and blood sprang forth also,
Kissed desiccated soil.
The mountains and the valleys shook
And clouds began to roil.

Tufts of green and blue appeared,
Deep, secret springs did groan.
The air was turbulent, awash
With heat and ice and stone.

The promise kept, Mars did awake,
And flourished from her torpor.
Man had come, to touch her face,
To give her Life -- and love her.

----------------------------------------------------- ]]> Pyrotex http://hypography.com/forums/blogs/pyrotex/251-long-poetical-index-hypographus.html Poetical Index Hypographus http://hypography.com/forums/blogs/pyrotex/249-poetical-index-hypographus.html Mon, 09 Nov 2009 21:00:34 GMT Hello, there, poetry fans. For your literary amusement this evening, I have collected most of my... Hello, there, poetry fans.
For your literary amusement this evening, I have collected most of my quatrains from "Quatrain Corner" here in Hypography. I left out a few, as they were not all worth reading or remembering, and certainly not worth repeating.

Actually, this isn't so much for your amusement as it is for my sense of organization. I have a lot of posts out there in Hypo-Land (nearly 5,000 as of this moment), and sometimes I like reading my old stuff. IF I can find it, of course. Often I cannot. :(

So, for whatever reason, or maybe no reason at all, I present my more memorable quatrains, in order as they were posted (with the post number).

Enjoy

#777
Now come we hither to parse our pale rhyming
While watching our meaning and counting our time.
We're taking abyss of each moment so precious,
And giving abyss of our hearts back in rhyme.

#801
Twas ne'er the time to glance away,
Twas ne'er the space to gleam.
But what the kidlings did confine
Was the cordling of the preem.

The sprout did speak of finer blade,
And fish for wiser team.
But I did confiscate their need
In the cordling of the preem.

What, says you, did come about?
Does cordling ever play?
Do men of frozen gesture fight?
Do stormy lays give way?

And how, you say, do I remise
In slattern waves of rain?
And can the cunny seer perceive
A mind within the brain?

And what about the preem so fair?
They say it's barnelled true,
And floats above ideals of gold
As if it were not blue.

Alas! I cannot answer here.
Your questions fret the dream,
And all your wondrings disappear
In the cordling of the preem.

#828
Care to see exhibit one.
Pants pulled down by gibbon fun.
Care to see exhibit two?
Pants pulled up by angel dew.

#831
Immoral libertines gathered together
Eating their biscuits in cloudy wet weather.
Talking of penises and warm vaginas.
Spreading the marmalade, plusses or minus.

#833
A plastic figure of fortune sits
Holding a scythe and sicle.
To find your future in the cards
Drop in a rusty nickel.

#836
I am not a mannequin,
A soulless harlequin of automatic gesture.
Mechanical rhymes and rythms
Do not rule the churning fire that is my heart.

#843
Iambic rhythms that soar above
Trochaic trees of words quatrain.
Dactylic fonts of wisdom burst.
Anapest shall set them free.

#849
My father owned a grocery store,
Its fleece was white as snow.
And every time I blew it up,
The lamb was sure to go.

#855
Dark goes the Moon in its mockingbird orbit.
Dark shines the stones in my lover's lost ring.
Free flies the mockingbird out of dark cover.
Lost cries the dark at the sound of the wing.

#859
Squalleous, morpheus, take me along,
To cambrian embers of solstical light.
Warmingly, stormingly set me anonce
With cold reckoned love beams in solitary flight.

#866
This here is a redneck quatrain.
I done thought of it in my brain.
It has four lines just like it shudda.
I'd write sumthin better if I cudda.

#870
I have my favorite Chakrahs,
They're numbers six and seven.
When I focus them together,
They send me right to heaven.

#875
The Maltese Falcon, in a large hat-box.
Desicated skulls lie strewn in black and white.
VHS or Beta, the mysteries never weary.
Old story lines occupy my mind and fading sight.

#894
Whip it out! Whip it out!
Dance a jig! And jump and shout!
Clean a weed and sing a song!
Pack it in and light a... BONG!!!

#907
I don't do chems except pure water.
I eat and drink just what I oughter.
But I remember my college day wrongs.
There were lots of girls and lots of ... BONGS!!

#934
Why do we fling fire bombs at each other?
Is it because that we have different Gods adored?
Maybe it's because I don't like your mother.
But probably just because we are bored.

#953
The Coriolis force has a noose around his neck.
The decency of gravity makes no sense to the boy.
Please, Mama, let me change the laws and redefine
Energy, motion; and give me the Moon for a toy.

#956
We can't shoot you, you're the piano player!
Besides which, dammit, I'm no Magic man slayer!
Kiss that miss Pandora and take her somewhere else!
Where folks of mind and passion have a decent prayer.

#983
I never have! I'll never try!
I'll deny it to the day I die!
I don't do nothing that might cause strife.
Anything I DID -- it was in another life.

#985
I think it was a Greek philosopher,
Though that subject I never mastered,
Who said, "Ya see these bongs??
Euripedes, and you'll get plastered."

#1010
I actually met Buckminster Fuller!
I went to a lecture hall and heard the man speak!
Afterwards, I shook his hand, but when I asked
For his autograph, he pulled back with a squeek!

#1013
The Bowl of Truth is quite inviting!
It shows you realms of enlightened vision!
Sounds have color! And fragrances sparkle!
You get the munchies and time loses precision.

#1037
Saturday night late, after eleven.
The weather is far too cold for this to be heaven.
Searching for a quatrain, hoping to be inspired.
I rack my brains but I'm too tired.

#1057
How can we find us joy
And our own life save?
Climb the freakin ladder
And ride the biggest wave.

#1062
I dated a girl when I was in college.
She was in high school and put out a lot.
From me she got kindness, dinner and laughter.
But with all the other guys, she was easy and hot.

#1085
Pyrotex and his Lady Gwen
Traveled to Austin for a good time.
We had lunch with InfiniteNow,
And we thank him in this rhyme.

#1105
Y'all been hittin dat screalin juice
And tokin dat puffin stuff, til
Yo brains done got some loosy goose
And yo poetry hit da rough.

#1107
Twas brillig, and the Hypographites
Were wheeling and dealing in the wabe.
All mimsy were their addled poems
And their comebacks were "outgrabe".

#1109
The school has examined with great concern
The head of Pyrotex and its interior.
We can't find fault with his ability to learn,
But we're alarmed that it's stuck up his posterior.

#1151
Officer, I swear I had nothing
To do with this unholy fracas.
I know shit about chasing bubbles,
And I don't even smoke tobaccos.

#1158
Chartered Accountants can do many things.
You can add up numbers, you can even tie strings.
You can send red roses to your old grandmother.
But most of all, friends, you can count on each other.

#1218
Okay, sweetheart, let's make this easy.
Bring me the chicken salad sandwich of which you boast.
Hold the mayo, pickles, lettuce and tomato,
Hold the chicken salad, too, and please just bring me the toast.

#1392
The silent one waits and gracefully hovers
O'er quatrains of silver and postings of gold.
What can be said that has not been awoken?
What can be heard that is somewhere untold?

#1394
Jiggeling, wiggeling, plushly pneumatic,
The babes of my daydreams dance on my wrist.
They morph and obey at my whimsy suggestion.
But sadly in real-world, they do not exist.

#1395
Bed! Sleep! Get you some rest now.
Before it's time to start over, you bloke!
Write! Post! Make you some poems now.
Show us your mind in tendrils of smoke.

#1469
My wife has me looking at apartments for rent.
Trying to live without expenses making such a dent.
Next phase of life looming large like a wave.
The tsunami of retirement -- I do not feel brave.

#1499
I got Wild Wubbies
Throughout my house.
They scratch and nibble
On me and my spouse.

I got Wild Wubbies
Coming out of my ass.
There's even Wild Wubbies
Outside in the grass.

Truth is, I love them Wubbies,
I love them very much.
They are so furry fuzzy
And warm to the touch.

Them Wubbies love to curl up
And sleep on my knees.
Them Wubbies have trained me
To know how to please.

Wild Wubbies chase each other
Across the kitchen floor.
They leave little cat toys
Behind every door.

Gave some catnip to my Wubbies,
Watched 'em roll on their backs.
They rubbed their faces on the rug
And played in paper sacks.

If it wasn't for my Wubbies,
Life would be sad, that's for shore.
But we have only three of 'em,
We can't deal with no more.

#1569
I've written more poems since I came here,
Than in all the days of my life before.
I'm touched that you think they're worth reading.
And thankful you inspire me to write more.

#1660
Meta-quoting mister Magnet-Man:
Ah, the sublime supernatural pleasure
Of transcending our manifestations
In the ethereal cosmos-partitioning Unicorn mind

#1683
She was a single mom, a hooker wannabe
Dreaming of beauty that would open men's wallets
I played my role as a poor traveling salesman
And she played the teenaged farmer's daughter

#1687
Incest isn’t wrong, even Noah did it!
It's the best way to learn how to screw and blow.
Incest has been called by many bad names,
But it's just "sibling revelry", you know.

#1766
Self-referential counting jokes
Run amok in high-Q minds.
Clever rascals who know their math
Rejoice in humor of ordinal kinds.

#1806
Pushing the bound'ries of quatrain invention,
Casting ideas from the portals of mind,
Internet transmission to global creation,
Wired to each other like gods of a kind.

#1884
Lurking from a godly height above this threadly structure,
I sense a need to prune some branches like a bonsai fixer.
Push the plunger, hear the banger, see the shards fall 'way.
Leave the essence, keep the golden, let the good stuff stay.

-------------------------- ]]> Pyrotex http://hypography.com/forums/blogs/pyrotex/249-poetical-index-hypographus.html Chlorine - Household bleach http://hypography.com/forums/blogs/enquirer/248-chlorine-household-bleach.html Sat, 07 Nov 2009 19:51:17 GMT There was once a main supplier "Clorox" and now there are many producing household bleach.
Most contain similar 96 fl.oz. and state contents contain 6% Sodium Hypochlorite.
Bleach has increased in price (some makes doubled) but there are others selling for much less (same quantity).
My question for the well informed:
Is the consumer getting the same quality and strength or more water mixed for buying the cheaper makes.
How can one test the quality and strength of bleach.There must be a good mark-up for the amount of producers now marketing this product. ]]> enquirer http://hypography.com/forums/blogs/enquirer/248-chlorine-household-bleach.html <![CDATA[The Joy of Finding Out Why It's Gone]]> http://hypography.com/forums/blogs/pyrotex/245-joy-finding-out-why-its-gone.html Tue, 27 Oct 2009 16:51:21 GMT Yeah, you don't know what you got 'till it's gone. But the mystery lingers. Why is it gone? The mystery tasks me, like a great white whale somewhere over the horizon.

I am speaking, of course, of the disastrous visit to Office Depot, as elucidated in my previous blog. I am speaking of the root cause of the fact that all my documents (actually, "most", not all) were erased from my hard drives.

The answer was staring me in the face from the day I got my computer home and painstakingly unsnarled all the cables and got everything plugged back together. There, lying innocently on the desktop among all the carnage of eviscerated folders, was this little file with the icon of a simple cogged gear. It's name was AXEL.DAV. I had no idea what it was. It seemed to me that it might be some important component of some larger application. Not understanding its purpose, I was afraid to touch it.

After a few days, I created a folder called "Wierd Stuff" and put AXEL.DAV into it. Nothing bad happened. As the days went by, my fear that it might have some critical function waned. Last weekend, I confidently erased it. Nothing bad happened.

Last night, I had to go "dumpster diving" for some reason. That's what I call it when I have to manually inspect the contents of folders and subfolders that I am unfamiliar with. There I was, blindly searching way down deep inside "Programs and Settings", and I noticed a file... AXEL.DAV.

That's funny. What's that doing down here? I went up one level in the folder-tree. And there it was again... AXEL.DAV. In three minutes I found another dozen clones of that little cogged gear.

A chill ran up the back of my neck. I hate it when that happens. Because it usually means that 1) I'm about to discover something really bad, and/or 2) I'm about to realize that I have been really stupid.

It suddenly occured to me that I should Google that file name. Yeah, that's obvious to you! Shut up. So, I googled AXEL.DAV.

Did you know there was a virus called AXEL.DAV? Hunh? Didja? Didja? Really? Shut up.

There were a jillion hits on AXEL.DAV. The first three told me all about this little booger, how it searches out certain documents, notably Word and Excel files, and erases them, leaving behind its calling card, the 4K file, AXEL.DAV. A fourth website told me how to get rid of the nasty booger, and that took all of four minutes.

It is nice to know. It's nice to know why this mysterious thing happened to me. It's nice to have figured it out by myself. Shades of Sherlock! It's also a bit embarrasing that it took three freakin' WEEKS to figure it out.

When did my PC get infected? Obviously, right there in Office Depot, after the "PC Checkup" verified that my computer was clean of all bug-uglies, and during the attempt of that young employee to download and execute a new mouse driver. So, he didn't do it on purpose. There was no malicious intent. He just did something stupid. I can forgive that.

I just got off the phone with the manager at Office Depot. He really, really, no kidding, REALLY appreciated finding out how my machine got wiped. It was a mystery to them, too. Now, a mystery solved.

----------------- ]]> Pyrotex http://hypography.com/forums/blogs/pyrotex/245-joy-finding-out-why-its-gone.html <![CDATA["This is a very simple, unobtrusive way to promote ethical behavior."]]> http://hypography.com/forums/blogs/freeztar/244-very-simple-unobtrusive-way-promote-ethical-behavior.html Sun, 25 Oct 2009 10:16:18 GMT This refers to this news article: Cleanliness IS next to godliness: new research shows clean... This refers to this news article:

Cleanliness IS next to godliness: new research shows clean smells unconsciously promote moral behavior

Quote:

People are unconsciously fairer and more generous when they are in clean-smelling environments, according to a soon-to-be published study led by a Brigham Young University professor.

The research found a dramatic improvement in ethical behavior with just a few spritzes of citrus-scented Windex.

Really? Anyone else buy this malarky?

Promote (favorable) subjective ethical behavior through "scenting"?

Sure, a clean environment is beneficial, but "Windex improving ethics" good? ]]> freeztar http://hypography.com/forums/blogs/freeztar/244-very-simple-unobtrusive-way-promote-ethical-behavior.html Disney and Math? http://hypography.com/forums/blogs/freeztar/242-disney-math.html Tue, 20 Oct 2009 22:35:03 GMT This put a smile on my face, so I though I might share. :) ---Quote (Originally by... This put a smile on my face, so I though I might share. :)

Quote:

Originally Posted by http://www.boston.com/business/ticker/2009/10/raytheon_unveil_2.html

Raytheon Co., the Waltham defense contractor, said it is helping to unveil a ride at Epcot, part of Walt Disney World in Florida, that requires thrill seekers to make use of their mathematical skills.

Called the "Sum of all Thrills," the ride lets guests custom-design an experience by using math skills, a touch-screen table, and a robotic simulator, and the ride is part of a larger Raytheon effort to encourage students to develop an interest in math and science...

Sum of all Thrills lets guests of all ages create their own experience by first choosing a ride theme, including a roller coaster, bobsled, or jet plane. Using multi-touch object recognition tables with instructions available in six languages, guests use math and engineering based tools, such as rulers and speed dials, to design and customize their ride by adding corkscrews, inversions, or steep hills. Guests learn and apply mathematical and engineering principles to determine how much energy is needed for a jet to take off or for a roller coaster or bobsled to make it up its first climb.

Any inspiration for young scientists gets the thumbs up from me. :thumbs_up

I wanna play! :hyper: ]]> freeztar http://hypography.com/forums/blogs/freeztar/242-disney-math.html I Dream of Genes http://hypography.com/forums/blogs/freeztar/241-i-dream-genes.html Mon, 19 Oct 2009 10:26:39 GMT Not really, though a heliacal rollercoaster of the mind doesn't sound too bad! :)

But I do dream...

I loathe it actually. It seems I'm always in some f'ed up plot that involves craziness and strife. What genes control this?!

Insomnia is bad enough, but bad dreams are somewhat worse. Note, I didn't say nightmare. I haven't had one of those since I was a toddler. But, some of my dreams seem so profound and "out there" that I would think that most people would consider them nightmares.

The other night, I had a dream where I woke up (in my dream) to find out that aliens were stealing human consciousness for some reason. There was a space station where all the human bodies were kept. It was like a prison, in space.

Anybody else have *crazy* dreams where it takes a minute for reality to creep back in upon wakening? ]]> freeztar http://hypography.com/forums/blogs/freeztar/241-i-dream-genes.html Where is the closest analog of Solar system? http://hypography.com/forums/blogs/krupin/240-where-closest-analog-solar-system.html Mon, 19 Oct 2009 08:32:03 GMT Trying to unravel the riddle of the origin of the solar system planetary scientists are looking for... Trying to unravel the riddle of the origin of the solar system planetary scientists are looking for similar systems that are are being for thousands of light years away. Meanwhile, they ignore at least three analogues inside our own planetary system. This satellite systems of giant planets - Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus. Which of these systems is the most similar to the total solar system and why?

At first glance, these systems do not have any special fundamental differences from one another. Is that the Galilean moons of Jupiter denser than moons of Saturn or Uranus (Jupiter's moon Io is denser than our moon!). So the protomoons’ disk of Jupiter had a lot of stone and metal. Density of close satellites - Io and Europe is far exceeds the density of satellites - Ganymede and Callisto. And this fact also reminds the solar system - the division of the planets in two groups of giant planets and terrestrial planets. So the system of Jupiter, is the closest to the solar system?

However, if making such a logical conclusion, we make a big mistake. In fact, the closest analogue, of course, is the system of Saturn. And it is for following reason.

Among other satellites in the Saturn’s system the Titan is distinctly allocated, as well as in the solar system the planet Jupiter is. Let’s take their orbital radii as the units of distance. Compare moons of Saturn, lying inside the orbit of Titan, with the terrestrial planets , (lying inside the orbit of Jupiter). Call attention to a pair of moons Dione-Tethys and Enceladus-Mimas. We associate the pair Enceladus-Mimas with the pair of planets Earth-Venus. And what can be associated with a pair Dione-Tethys? ]]> Krupin http://hypography.com/forums/blogs/krupin/240-where-closest-analog-solar-system.html <![CDATA[You Don't Know What You Got 'Till It's Gone]]> http://hypography.com/forums/blogs/pyrotex/236-you-dont-know-what-you-got-till-its-gone.html Tue, 29 Sep 2009 19:14:04 GMT I have a five year-old HP computer. It runs XP and it runs very well, thank you. Woops. I... I have a five year-old HP computer. It runs XP and it runs very well, thank you.

Woops. I had a computer. Past tense.

Though it ran long and well, and only crapped out while playing Alpha Centauri, my favorite game, I felt that it had slowed down over the years. No telling what was in there, gumming up the works -- viruses, worms, clams, spyware, spudware, cookies, gummybears and other mean and nasty stuff.

A brand new Office Depot had just opened up on NASA Road 1, and I noticed they had a banner out front, saying "FREE PC CHECKUP!". That sounded like exactly what I needed. I called for the details, and sure enough, the checkup itself was at no cost, and was intended to find and clean up all those mean and nasty things. Upgrades, reconfigs, and improved security cost extra, of course. Most importantly, no data would be injured during the making of this checkup.

I delivered my beloved PC into the hands of the computer shepherd on a balmy Saturday afternoon.

I called Sunday afternoon and was told my PC was clean as a whistle! No bug-uglies had infested my OS and my data was uncontaminated.

When I arrived to pick it up, I asked for a new mouse, as my one at home was operating erratically and no amount of cleaning seemed to help. Asking for a new mouse is not a big request. Just a mouse. Only, wait... my PC used a round plug for the mouse cable. All modern mouses (?) use USB plugs.

Okay, said the 20-something, clean-cut, college student employee at Office Depot. I'll just download a new mouse driver. This will only take a minute.

After 45 minutes, I went up to him and asked what the matter was. He said that he was having trouble rebooting my PC. There was just a detectable trace of whimper in his voice. Another 15 minutes went by, with him pounding the keyboard, staring at the screen, and showing increasing signs of panic.

I said, Doc, your time's up. Unplug my machine and help me out to the van with it. I'm taking it home.

The next evening, I plugged it all together (still using the old erratic mouse) and turned it on. Got several error messages telling me that certain application modules were missing. I closed those dialog boxes and fired up Alpha Centauri. It worked just fine.

The next evening, decided to work on an essay I had started some months ago. It wasn't there. I opened up the "My Documents" folder.

It was empty. There weren't even any dustbunnies or cobwebs. It was totally, absolutely empty.

I did a search for words that I used frequently in my document titles, and within their contents. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. I did a search in the backup drive for the string "the". Any "the" at all. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

I opened up a Word blank document. Word wouldn't open without the serial number printed on the original installation disk lable. Ditto Excel. Ditto Canvas. Ditto every paid-for application. All that was left was Notespad (freeware) and the coupla dozen text files saved in the same folder as the application.

And then I became angry.
Very angry.
White knuckled angry.
Throwing food across the room angry.
Volcanic eruption angry.
F-5 tornado angry.
Marzipanal angry.
Illudium Pu-36 Explosive Space Modulator angry.

Those sumbitches at Office Depot had wiped my hard drives.

On the phone, the technician turned me over to the store manager, we talked, and he turned me over to the technical manager, we talked, and the following weekend, I took my PC back into the store. The final analysis, performed remotely from their headquarters laboratory, was that no trace of any document in "My Documents" could be found. Not only were they erased from the OS table of contents, they had been physically zero-overwritten on the hard drives. Nothing could be salvaged.

I asked them how this could have happened. They apologized and said they didn't have a clue.

I told my wife. Gwen got angry, only she went straight to Illudium Pu-36 Explosive Space Modulator angry without all that futzing about. She wanted to know how much had been lost. The pictures of her family. The pictures of our house. The pictures of our honeymoon.

I have backups of nearly everything, I said -- except maybe the house. I couldn't remember when I had done the last backup. Last Spring? Last year?

But where are the backups? We've moved the computer and all the bookshelves and all the files and boxes at least twice since last Spring while we painted rooms. They're probably in the garage. Probably. There's just two or three dozen sealed plastic storage bins out there. Stacked four deep. Probably.

They are probably in the garage. I am most definitely in the dog house.

I just got off the phone with Office Depot. They are offering me the full Microsoft Office Professional 2007 as "payment" for their error. That's something. But it won't replace whatever family pictures we took after the last backup. And the essays.

I accepted their offer. I'll pick up my PC tonight, with the new Office installed and checked.

Oh! And it will have a new mouse. A modern laser mouse with USB cable.

And a goddam $2 USB to PS2 cable adaptor that fits into my PC's old-fashioned mouse socket. ]]> Pyrotex http://hypography.com/forums/blogs/pyrotex/236-you-dont-know-what-you-got-till-its-gone.html How do you make a car powered only by a fishing weight abd gravity that is made fro http://hypography.com/forums/blogs/rparma/235-how-do-you-make-car-powered-only-fishing-weight-abd-gravity-made-fro.html Sun, 27 Sep 2009 14:43:27 GMT How do you make a car powered only by a fishing weight and gravity made from things around a house... How do you make a car powered only by a fishing weight and gravity made from things around a house and is only 30cm x 30 cm.......i can make the car but am having trouble making the car move by the weight ]]> rparma http://hypography.com/forums/blogs/rparma/235-how-do-you-make-car-powered-only-fishing-weight-abd-gravity-made-fro.html Virulent comments on Wiccan Churches http://hypography.com/forums/blogs/freeztar/232-virulent-comments-wiccan-churches.html Sun, 06 Sep 2009 21:57:11 GMT I must say this. It is the gospel according to Boerseun et al in the test forum. (actually, Sanctus... I must say this. It is the gospel according to Boerseun et al in the test forum. (actually, Sanctus might be the culprit)

http://hypography.com/forums/test-fo...tml#post278009

Those Wiccan churches need to end. They are...um...bad and stuff. (not very virulent, I know)

I should take up midwifery. I think Janus is on to something. :hihi:
But I'm staying away from that pyromaniac Orwell like I'm staying away from Boerseun's film debut. :hihi:

Join the fun! ]]> freeztar http://hypography.com/forums/blogs/freeztar/232-virulent-comments-wiccan-churches.html Ghostwriting Journal Articles http://hypography.com/forums/blogs/freeztar/231-ghostwriting-journal-articles.html Tue, 18 Aug 2009 04:49:24 GMT I was appaled at the recent news involving the pharmaceutical company, Wyeth, paying people to... I was appaled at the recent news involving the pharmaceutical company, Wyeth, paying people to ghostwrite favorable articles on the drugs they sell.

Quote:

Originally Posted by http://www.nytimes.com/2009/08/05/health/research/05ghost.html?_r=2

Newly unveiled court documents show that ghostwriters paid by a pharmaceutical company played a major role in producing 26 scientific papers backing the use of hormone replacement therapy in women, suggesting that the level of hidden industry influence on medical literature is broader than previously known.
...
The court documents provide a detailed paper trail showing how Wyeth contracted with a medical communications company to outline articles, draft them and then solicit top physicians to sign their names, even though many of the doctors contributed little or no writing. The documents suggest the practice went well beyond the case of Wyeth and hormone therapy, involving numerous drugs from other pharmaceutical companies.

I'm curious how these articles made it past the peer-review process and why these doctors signed off on them. How far does the money-trail go?

It's a disgrace for science. Wyeth sees $ and the science goes by the wayside. It's a sad depiction of human folly.

But, to end on a light note, at least they are in court. :) ]]> freeztar http://hypography.com/forums/blogs/freeztar/231-ghostwriting-journal-articles.html Resveratrol, the authority fallacy, and marketing http://hypography.com/forums/blogs/freeztar/230-resveratrol-authority-fallacy-marketing.html Tue, 11 Aug 2009 17:52:58 GMT It was a bit disturbing to read the article about Dr. Sinclair's name being marketed as an authority promoting Resveratrol (an acclaimed anti-aging chemical derived from wine).

Resveratrol: The Hard Sell on Anti-Aging - BusinessWeek

This is a classic example of a technique of influence. Use the logical fallacy of authority (in this case, a scientist from Harvard University) to make an ad campaign that sells. This is made more worrisome by the fact that Dr. Sinclair never endorsed this drug.

The article goes on to explain that all major news networks (and Oprah) have been claimed as supporting this new "anti-aging miracle". Barbara Walters goes so far as to say that it is a battle trying to clear the names these deceptive marketers use.

My only hope is that, upon reading this you are more educated to the deceptive techniques advertisers use in the guise of science. The same goes for acai berries. :naughty: ]]> freeztar http://hypography.com/forums/blogs/freeztar/230-resveratrol-authority-fallacy-marketing.html new smilies!! http://hypography.com/forums/blogs/turtle/229-new-smilies.html Mon, 10 Aug 2009 00:38:14 GMT gotta try 'em!!

:shuriken: :ninja: :helpsmilie: :excl: :yinyang: :detective: :wub: :whistle: :surrender: :smartass: :yes: :shifty: :nuke: :hammer2: :clap: :chinese: :chef: :innocent: :yawn: :rockon2::oopsie: :dots: :notyourmother:

:ban: ]]> Turtle http://hypography.com/forums/blogs/turtle/229-new-smilies.html