$LAYYYTER
Cosimo Galluzzi
Janaina Medeiros
occasionally subtle
@theartofmadeline
NASA
#extradirty
shark vs the universe
pixel skylines
oozey mess
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
Xuebing Du
Sweet Seals For You, Always
⁂
Mike Driver
One Nice Bug Per Day
DEAR READER
Claire Keane
RMH
will byers stan first human second
seen from Malaysia
seen from Australia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from France
seen from United States
seen from United States
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seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from Ecuador
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from Italy
@seriensck
Beneath this text box is a radial button which requires my assertion that I have permission to publish the file above. Let me check. The copyright holder is extrordinarily close. Uh, yeah. He, um I say yes I may publish this. Funny what we reflect when we see those questions which first strike us as idiotic
My EYE
Just know, I've been going through a listbuilding process to figure out what it was I would or would not give or offer to know how an artist created a certian image. I mean with clever technologies like the lens that sits on a table letting photons hit it all day and then, at will, some schmuck with the right software and ten thousand bucks for this hideous satanspawn machine can, from those photons generate just about whatever image he wants.
I got that too, jackass. It's called Adobe Design Premium CS5.
The wind cries Mary
I just got Photoshop CC. YAY!
Everything in Cosmo makes our entanglement seem so boring
So, before I go... Here’s a little anecdote to illustrate just how much I love thinking about theroretical particle physics.
The other night at about three in the morning my smoke detector was triggered. If you’ve ever lived in a >1100 ft² apartment you might know or could imagine what a start that might cause while in slumber in the wee-dark hours. I digress.
While I was dealing with the issue (remove the battery, unscrew the hard connexion), I gave serious thought to why in the hell my smoke detector might be going off. I had not built a fire that night so there were no embers in the hearth, no strange ultra-toxic foul-the-whole-city wild fires nearby and nothing at my crib was aflame. So what I devised was that, by entirely physically sound reasons which can be researched and understood (our you could call you local particle physicist--one of the noncop-out ones who is an experimentalist who says "gee that is really strange and we know it’s true but I really don’t want to waste the time to ponder why it’s true), an entanglement had been induced which caused the siren to activate without the proper trigger. I surmised that quantum tunneling, which happens all the time--even though the chances of it happening are positively submicroscopic. Even then, quantum tunneling only causes effects noticeable to us middleworld-dwellers of the universe once in a great while; because, out of quadrillions by quintillions of particle interactions in our local environment during every second that ticks by a gigantic number of Planck seconds tick by. A Planck second is the shortest possible interval during which nothing can happen. There are around [one with well-more than twenty zeroes after it] Planck seconds per second.
Sure, their lives are long as hell, and so this is a tad longer than the shortest "instantaneous" nothing-can-happen-in-a-shorter-timespan on which us particles and atoms operate. Did you know that one of them was so stupid he, Max Planck they called him, had to make which results from the calculations this guy performed when he realized that the lump of iron he was heating to absurd temperatures in his laboratory furnace was sure warm but it was not, as everyone expected it should be, infinitely hot. How stupid.
Quantum tunneling events happen very rarely according to probabilities statistically derived to model the behavior of particles considering size-appropriate quantities; but, this rate is recalibrated. In a world where what you see is made of unimaginably huge numbers of the smallest things, a lot of shit is going on all the time.
So, a mass-effect noticeable to the barely-animate, virtually-insensate lump of amino acids, lipids lipoproteins, mineral salts and water sleeping so soundly over there will surely cause him to notice once or twice in the seventy times ten-thousand seconds his molecules will enjoy their current relationship. Since everything in Cosmo, even makes our entanglement seem so boring, let’s do something which might wake him up. Wanna make some noise?
I hear you my love. We might as well, because, after one multiplies the sort of astronomical numbers of particle events happening nearby by the time scales involved, the result approaches and exceeds the almost-equally astronomical improbability that a quantum tunneling event might cause a mass-effect one of the "my brain has more neurons than there are stars in the universe but one neuron has as many particles in it as the universe has stars" blind deaf and numb apes on this stupid, spinning third-rock to notice said effect.
Gee, I bet that guy has no clue that, here where things are (linearly-speaking) smaller than ten divided by a 1 with eighteen zeroes after it, us elementary particles navigate through almost four times the amount of updown, leftright and forwardback he even realiozes is there. Wait, since we've availed ourselves of the fact that our symmetric antiparticle buddes can send info from his future, when the dumb-ass ape is blogging about what we're doing in this entangled web we weave, let him finish it’s the good part.
So, I was deconstructing my fire alarm and searching my tiny apartment for the massive blaze that wasn’t there when I realized that, if the source of ionizing radiation in my smoke detector whose function it is to put out enough rads to ionize large molecules like those floating around as products of (the nearly absolutely cold) process of chemical combustion which are huge, so that they can then float over to close the gap between two leads which can now exchange charges because there are ionized smoke particles between them. I started to ponder the idea that the lump of Americium while in proximity, may have entered into some entanglement with the siren mechanism of the apparatus. This entanglement is just ripe to result in the siren to that detector going off when, without any ionized smoke particles to cause a valid triggering event, a single atom of whatever source of ionizing radiation (it’s usually Americium) decays by emitting a particle or gamma ray. The resultant neutron-decay electron or alpha particle or gamma ray (each of which have a respectively increasing likeliest of shooting through me as I sleep about to be freaked out by the most obnoxious sound in the Universe), in turn doesn’t do anything spectacular. Besides, all the time I’ve been around smoke detectors, I’ve never noticed anything weird arizing from the fact that there’s a chunk of radioactive metal in every one.
You got a cigarette? I bet the apes on this planet aren’t aware that a fair portion of the stuff they think is eerie or werd (but not all of them) is caused by the entanglement-induced mass-effects which bring the quantum world into contact with the area of space their senses can penetrate. I mean he’s still there asleep and you’ve kicked off how many decay particles since he started snoring? Not a one of those has done anything cool other than very, very likely missing by a country mile every molecule, atom or particle in that snoring ape’s body. They just pass right through him, which is easy because that giant lump is ungodly slow and so, sooo, soooo cold (merely slightly more than three hundred degrees Kelvin warmer than absolute zero) hell the sun in which I (americium atom) was born had an atmosphere a hundred times hotter than that.
However, and this is the sort of thing which, happening G*d knows how many tens of thousands of times every second, still makes me thinK "THIS IS SO FUCKING COOL. IT MAKES SENSE AFTER A LONG THINK, BUT the Universe opperates by principles which APPEAR TO BE A MANNER EXACTLY OPPOSITE TO THE MECHANISM OF THE PARTS INTERACTING, so that upon discovery, the way the basic building blocks are meshing is completely counterintuitive. I GOTTA THINK ABOUT THIS SOME MORE BECAUSE THERE’S GOTTA BE A REASON WHY G*D WOULD HAVE SET SHIT UP FOR US TO DISCOVER THAT THE PARANOIA THAT WE ARE ASLEEP IN THE MATRIX IS QUITE WELL FOUNDED, AFTER AL." So, that was were my mind was wandering just after the smoke detector, possibly but not solely probably, by actual virtue of the fact that I had left the broiler on and after heating my oven for four hours, some vapor had come off which might have been comprised of large, easily ionizable hydrocarbon molecules akin to what one might find in smoke.
KHARMA IS A BITCH
So, there was this day last month: a Saturday.... Everything which has emanated from that day has turned out to be a (in one part nearly fatal) pile of shit which has sent shockwave tendrils into a bunch of different aspects of my life.
SUMMARY OF CONSEQUENCES: I realize I love girl who will have nothing to do with me and I, by a perfect example of absurdity in causation, have temporarily lost my prescription drug coverage the day after my doctor increases my titration on bloody fentanyl (for G*d's Sake) and the cost of that prescription will wipe out my net monetary assets for the rest of the year.
Banal, almost, but, Y'all are witnessing the beginning of a compelling screenplay if I put the story of how this came to be into print.
yeah…I hate the purple, too, but that’s where I was when i saved the Jpeg.
it''s the dew-soaked petal of a church yard iris
yeah...I hate the purple, too, but that's where I was when i saved the Jpeg.
Possible source image to be used in a children s book I'm writing for the disabled daughter of an acquaintance, I plan use Illustrator to create vector graphic.
Zoé @ Miroir d’eau - Bordeaux
Contax T3 / Ilford HP5+
by Sylvain (ysalis-analog.tumblr.com)
Mirror of water. Ils avaient crees l'appariel photo. Certainment les francais fait des endoits pour l'en y bien utiser.
I had decided to wander around downtown Burque one night with my fast lens shooting hand-held shots. I said to the bus driver, "I'm going to make that hideous Green Tower Wells Fargo Building look good."
UPSRAKE DEUTCHE
From: Dictionary.com Sent: Monday, September 1, 2014 01:05 Dictionary.com Sep. 1, 2014 Word of the Day Ursprache Audio Pronunciation Share on Twitter Share on Facebook Share on Google+ \OOR-shprah-khuh; German OOR-shprah-khuh\ noun 1. a hypothetically reconstructed parent language, as Proto-Germanic, the ancestor of the Germanic languages. Quotes He might have been speaking Ursprache, for all that I understood. I was firmly in the present, watching the starlings cavort over and under the telegraph wires and the wind shimmer the young leaves into a muzzy Monet.
Intellectual Property Flush
Hey, we live in a world where one must piss on a stump to show that one is PRESENT.
One must make one's MARK
The urine is typically unique and shows a special talent, lending to TRADEMARK
Garners notice which eventually requires an élan to discourage the uninitiated
With a special, inimitable set of special accommodations, processes or piled-on goodies a SERVICEMARK
Only the best can create using the best stuff to build the best product
Now the materials of fabrication are so fine that only they may bear my WATERMARK
Sure, any author has a right to the fruits of his intellectual labor. You put it out there
Automatically, it's COPYRIGHTED
But, no one cares; so if you cannot afford to have an attorney protect your natural right
At least spend the money to get a
Your Intellectual Property REGISTERED
"Oh, no inventing the float-plunger is much more valuable than writing the textbook modern applications for the Archimedes' Principle," (HUNLEY, you recall DIED WHEN HIS SUB SANK)
So, of course, the government did a lot more to see that no one argued when CRAPPER
Demanded money to flush your shit.
seriensck: I could hang with the notion that, perhaps as a Dharmic tune-up I was sent to help the little shit-flingers along on their own quest to awaken. I'd even got around to hoping that the abject discomfort (MS, poor health and twenty-five years of assuming that constant physical pain was normal throughout the population to find out that approaching what most of the little furbies consider comfortable requires that I consume moderately large doses of the most powerful analgesics available) was an enhancement of some sort of lost empathetic sense (I must discount the virtually telepathic level of my own empathetic faculties to create that self-delusion): The effort to make lemonade from a bunch of poisonous kumquats has engendered an excellent meditative practice and I do enjoy the pursuit of heightened Awareness.
More recently, as I become more familiar with the horror of mortality, I've found it harder to escape the notion of punitive retribution vis a vis my current situation.
Now I've realized that I live among a species whose members are still furry. Therefore, I cannot escape the realization that, for whatever reason, some Cosmically powerful entity straight-the-fuck-up hates my ass.
What's funny is that I prefer to have the balance of public sentiment lean toward I straight-the-fuck-up HATE Sam. It's always so much fun to demonstrate that I'm an altruistic and decent person in the clutch when the surprise shocks another into realizing that he, too, could act decent if he wants to.
I rather enjoy dictionary.com. I imagine that this sentiment is often repeated, and I’m currently processing a surprising level of ambivalence not about the my own interest in Word of the Day, the jokes people make about my cyclopedic personal lexicon barely scratch the surface of what is a...
JESUS CHRIST HUMANS ARE STILL FURRY. ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME!!??
I rather enjoy dictionary.com. I imagine that this sentiment is often repeated, and I’m currently processing a surprising level of ambivalence not about the my own interest in Word of the Day. The jokes people make about my cyclopedic personal lexicon barely scratch the surface of what is a complex process of word acquisition which involves almost no rote memorization whatsoever. Hence, I’m not doubtful of my own “verbal” process or its singularly superlative nature. What vexes me is that I have no doubt that almost every word twerp who avails himself of an interest in Word-a-Day imagines it an unnecessary diversion and then becomes surprised at the failure rate of his lexical compendium then says to himself, “I don’t know why I like Word of the Day, I am a Human Dictionary.”
I could give a shit about the perfectitude of my word-list. Among the following list, Raze is obvious. I'd be a master of that meaning in the apocalyptic event that I could lay my hands on a few hundred kilograms of suitably pure fissile transuranic isotopes. G*d's a better planner than that, fortunately. While I've got a dashing head of hair which is so manageable I've never used a comb even while it was once three feet longer by the strand, I know I do not have a good foundation in Hellenic lexical roots, so Crinose would have been known to the Sam who did not find Homer to be drivellous. Flibbertigibbet derives from an early Victorian ethos which also generated the word “Quiz” and such literary towers as the serial Shirley Conan Doyle and Oliver Havisham-Cratchett. Reading, of course, bores me, so I rarely pick up a word from the literature so well-trapped in its own era as to sport genre tags named from the British sovereign ruling as the ink dried on paper.
What bugs me is that I firmly associate (though superficially) with a group of people who might be possessed of the veritably antipathic notion that English is a superlative (or even remotely expressive) string of bar-syllabic cognitive thumbnails by virtue of its vastly more numerous lexicon. While the next largish language in Europe has a total word count of around one quarter of a million distinct definitions for a similarly large number of separate words, English was declared subject to an exhausted count when the editors of the Oxford English Dictionary proffered their intent to stop counting the lexicon while assessing its number at around six-hundred ninety thousand words. Despite three distinct and utterly separate linguistic epochs, tripling the weight of the the next, average guy on the block means you’re very sick and virtually non-dexterous.
Speaking French, I can add two to four letters to engage a verbal mode which generates concepts which I’ve found to be almost entirely outside the cognitive and philosophical grasp of native English speakers.
Nooo, this particular ambivalence derives from the fact that I have squarely placed myself among a group of people whose dentition I’d certainly be inclined to dramatically and immediately alter if Fate were to permit the heinous situation of thiers and my own contemporary physical proximity.
I know damned well I'm not a word twerp. Thus I relish browbeating people with what has been politely dubbed as my own tendency to be "long winded." It's a private joke which enables me to infuse much more interesting sub-textual thematics into whatever esoteric bullshit I happen to bloviate.
For example: I’ll let child psychologists and psycholinguistics experts handle theories of language acquisition. I have no doubt that, as I intrude upon a conversation with relevant, cogent and narrowly specific information and ideation in a situation of making the first acquaintance of either of these types of professionals (or any other keeper of special wisdom) while they are engaging any esoteric and narrowly understood concept which they will have been pondering but not discussing incidentally and simultaneously as I first entered their presence, my own methodology for learning words might create a data point which falls outside the plot demanded by the hypotheses of either psycholinguists or psychologists. Ordinarily, the means I use to figure out what stuff means requires a tutor who has no idea he's instructing me or that I've heard a word he's ever said.
Oddly, it is by a similar method that I’m aware of the potentially high dental and suture-related expenses which would bankrupt a party joined of the combined group of myself and a bevy of word twerps.
Now, I'm waylaid by this ambivalence because of a special spice in the mix. See, this all came to the fore as I pondered yet another etymological absurdity which indicates a feature of a particular word for uncontrolled, plosive and repetitive fasiculations of the diaphragm, engaged as through parasympathetic nervous control but exhibiting autonomic nervous “uncontrollablity” (see the following list entry of an English language adoption of the ancient Latin for hiccough).
The vexation which has crippled the dromedary is this:
It seems ubiquitous among Terran languages for the word for hiccup in any language to be of onomatopoetic derivation. This is one of the fun factoids I’ve discovered while on my lifelong traipse into the enjoyment of etymology and ponder how the lightening of awareness can sometimes strike a bunch of shit-flinging monkeys.
At time’s I’m stumped: Read the following, singultus, an ancient Latin word for hiccup, In no language where I've discovered it, I have never found this word to resemble the sound of such plosive diaphragmatic fasiculations among any language in which I’ve discovered it. But, the sound of a hiccup is, in fact, universal in character. You dash a bit of cocktail bitters onto a lime, suck it, and they go away. The alternative medical treatment of similar effectiveness is treatment with botulinum toxin, musculonervous paralytic so potent that it's LD-50 in humans measures in nanograms. Also, a botox treatment for hiccups can exceed ten kilodollars.
I had been so looking forward to a few enlightening moments considering this gem of a conundrum (why a species whose interpersonal communication is based in sound modulation cannot create a word for a unique sound which emanates from their bodies and which is unambiguously identifiable), I realized I’d like to debuckify a whole bunch of Mensa goons who hold that "Words equal Intellect." So, visions of making IQdiots swallow dentin became a delightful projection which directly competed working on the problem of how fundamentally incapable and cognitively handicapped are a bunch of (OH SHIT) hairy, shit-flinging simians among whom I find myself whiling away nearly forty years of abject and increasing discomfort became a cognitive dissonance which has got me somewhat nonplussed.
I’m also a little ickey grossed out by the realization that I’m so closely proximate beings who still sport fur. Hell, the word hairy has such a psychological hammerblow to my forehead that I actually become ill when I hear it. And then there's:
Crinose, for G*d’s sake is a word which sounds as disgusting as it might be to look down upon one’s chest or arms or (beyondinconceivablyhorrificallyunsanitary) shoulders and see an actual accumulation of HAIR!
I don’t mind patting my spaniel on the tummy to feel her furry belly. Cat’s have a nice texture, but I swear, if the naturally absolutely depiled back of my hand makes contact with a single keratinacious strand on the leg of any touchable female (or thankfully more unlikely as I’m celibate by means of speciation) her underarm, my explosive autonomic reaction of disgust would be involuntary. OHSHITOHSHIT: It’s been a long time since I’ve thought of how gross hairiness happens to be. The last thing I need is to remember that a good number of the shit-flinging monkeys in charge around here are actually fur-bearing. I can tolerate the “standard” patchiness which appears to facilitate reproductive selection by enhancing aesthetic appeal. I have it, and my cranial tuft is among the best on earth. My hair is so awesome that I have been hoping that It might be tastefully preserved not just in legend but among my own reliquary after I go kick down the doors of some celestial bureaucrats and ask who in the hell was responsible for this bullshit assignment.
Se how easy it was to return to the Verity of Being Singular. What’s funny is that I’m a tad chilly because the swamp cooler has decided to work for once.
Nice. June, July and August have passed and taught me that my nervous system will now cease to function when the ambient molecular motion derives from a caloric energy equivalent to greater than 302.6º Absolute (29.4º C and 85ºF).
Thankfully, the naturally completely depiled dermis I'm wearing, which is adorned only by the pigmented ink I have chosen to be there and have paid to exhibit is experiencing a rare and extremely refreshing state of chill. So, I’m wondering which is abnormal: How does one observe goose flesh if one has a pelt on one’s arms? Aren’t the epidermal structures associated with the goose flesh a phenomenon where muscle fibers which would control the position of one's fur (which apparently waves around like some beyond-disgusting psyllia)? That's IT! WHO assigned me to live among these idiots whose fur you wouldn’t want for a garment because they’re perpetually flinging their own shit at each other.
I Mean, Not Merely Are They FURRY, The FOLLOWING ARE EXAMPLES OF THE SORTS OF bar-syllabic utterance with which they inform each other of the noteworthy vicissitudes of being a group of furry shit-flingers capable of burning mineral oil to the point of their own pharmacologic toxification and piling enough uranium willfully to destroy their own largest geographical units of organization.
SINGULTUS 1. (medical) a hiccup.
FLIBBERTIGIBBET 1. (archaic) a gossip. 2. a chattering or flighty, light-headed person.
RAZE 1. to tear down; demolish; level to the ground: to raze a row of old buildings. 2. to shave or scrape off.
CRINOSE 1. hairy.
ETHOS 1. (Sociology) the fundamental character or spirit of a culture; the underlying sentiment that informs the beliefs, customs, or practices of a group or society; dominant assumptions of a people or period: In the Greek ethos the individual was highly valued. 2. the character or disposition of a community, group, person, etc.
PULCHRITUDINOUS 1. physically beautiful; comely.
OSCULATE 1. to kiss. 2. to bring into close contact or union.
and so, merely one hundred fifty years later, not a soul knows or cares who Sam Lover is. None should. Sam used the useless (and no longer even catalogued for count) English language to pen trite garbage which doesn't even slip well from the tongue.
Sam Kimmel on the other hand, brilliantly overcoming his handicap (a shitty and inexpressive native language that has ceased even to be counted by the self-dismissed keepers of the tongue), frequently elocutes such gems as "slip well from the tongue...."
