Oh, the places you'll go!

Dr. Theodor S. Giesel is by far one of the world's greatest authors.
I own almost all of his stuff. The only ones I don't own, are ancient ones I can't find available to purchase.

One of my favorites: "Oh, the places you'll go!"
Heres my favorite part of that book.

"You will come to a place where the streets are not marked.
Some windows are lighted. But mostly they're darked.
A place you could sprain both your elbow and chin!
Do you dare to stay out? Do you dare to go in?
How much can you lose? How much can you win?

And IF you go in, should you turn left or right...
or right-and-three-quarters? Or, maybe, not quite?
Or go around back and sneak in from behind?
-Simple it's not, I'm afraid you will find,
for a mind-maker-upper to make up his mind."

"-headed, I fear, toward a most useless place:
THE WAITING PLACE...
...for people just waiting.
waiting for a train to go, or a bus to come, or a plane to go
or the mail to come, or the rain to go
or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow
or waiting around for a yes or no
or waiting for their hair to grow.
EVERYONE IS JUST WAITING!
Waiting for the fish to bite
or waiting for wind to fly a kite
or waiting around for Friday night
or waiting, perhaps, for their Uncle Jake
or a pot to boil, or a better break
or a string of pearls, or a pair of pants
or a wig with curls, or another chance.
Everyone is just waiting."




..btw, if you know where I can find "The 500 hats of Bartholomew Cubbins" lemme know.
... "S." stands for Seuss.

P.B.S.

FEAH teh stoner POWA!

Around the time of the first crusade (1090) Cairo, Egypt was still being ruled by the Fatimide dynasty. The Leader of a small Shia sect of Muslims lead by a guy named Hasan-i Sabbah vied for the throne.
They were persecuted by the predominant Sunni population and slaughtered right and left by the Mongols.
Hasan was eager to get back at his enemies but lacked the numbers of an amassed army to do so.
Instead he got young men to hit the hash pipe and have happy dreams about what heaven was like.
Since any hash smoker knows the drug induced dreams are the most realistic pleasant closeness you'll ever get to your fantasies coming true, Hasan convinced his followers that what they dreamed of was their harems in the afterlife with their houris awaiting those who follow Allah's will. (Based off Marco Polo's accounts from his visit to Alamut in 1273)

Eager to secure their place at the end of the one way ticket, the "Hashish eaters" trained to become the "True left hand of Allah".
They used daggers and stealth to kill people others considered untouchable. So great was their stealth that even the crusaders in their fortified towers feared them (no one before thought to masquerade as a servant, open an new doorway in the dark side of your tent, and give you a few new orifices).
They never allowed themselves to be seen and rejected any weapon that might allow a witness to discuss them before dying (a.k.a. poison or crossbows). They also learned to fight only using their hands and feet in an old-school style of Kung-Fu. They tended to opt for public killings to up the fear factor and there is very few records of them killing innocent bystanders (They had the Sicilian idea of: you only need 1 bullet to kill 1 man)

The "Hashishin's" or "Hashashin's" fought with no honor, paying heed to Marcinko's 6th rule of combat: Thou are not judged by the means as thou art by the results.
The crusaders had a killer time remembering and pronouncing the cult's name (especially the rolled "h") and pretty quickly Christendom came to feah "assassins".

Next time you hear someone being called a true assassin check to see if his turban matches his shoes.

Stand up comedy

If your blog hopping, wasting time while looking busy: check these out.

Treble Charge - Red

My last music video post. I swear it.

Spelling nazi

Every one takes others for granted.

This is a fact of life.

But maybe, just maybe, you stumble across the realization that someone you know who possesses a gift you've always acknowledged with a mere nod or a dismissive comment like "Ya, Bob's ok at that" is really good. You are hit with the understanding that Bob is not just ok, compared to the vast majority- the madding crowd, if you will; Bob has mad skills.

Bob is L337

This makes you look at them in a whole new light.
So this cheers goes out to Igor the Giant!
Andy, you may not be the worlds greatest author BUT you could very easily vie for one of the greatest editors. That fact that you DON'T do this for a living is a loss deeper then we all realize.

I bequeath thee with the honorary title "teh"
I raise my glass and salute you!

My vast well of compliments and well wishing is now dried up. Now go forth and edit more stuff "teh editor".

I give strangers great big hugs.

SMBC

Giggedy giggedy...oohll right

I can't watch towelie without hurting myself.

59

April 21, 2008 (2008-04-21) (Monday)
* Rioting breaks out in Montreal after the Montreal Canadiens of the NHL win their first round playoff series against the Boston Bruins. Several police cars are torched, but there are no reports of any serious injuries. (Canadian Press via Globe and Mail)


Happy Birthday P. (the greatest canuck of them all)

More music

Get yourself some culture ... be cult today

festering is misunderstood

Theres an old adage "Call a woman beautiful and she'll be beautiful" ...or something.
I've been trying to improve in this area, and I think you should join in the awesome fun.

Next time someone exercises their right to not use common sense: call them genius or Einstein.
Saying "How's all that genius working out for you, Einstein?" will undoubtedly improve their self worth.

Follow Salazar's protagonist, and call people "a prince" when they volunteer to warm the couch with their rears instead of working. Every one wants to feel special.
Announcing them as "a real prince" will make their day.

Spread some love and watch your smile grow like mine.

Red Foreman has nothing on me.

...

Why we....

Anarchy is complicated. Its like trying to explain Utopia.
In a lot of peoples minds it's the same thing with just a new label on that thing our parents sat on government steps protesting for. There are those who think punk is a clothing style, that matches your black ipod, and the "A" is cute and goes with heavy eyeliner when you visit Hot Topic at the mall.

If you've only ever met posers: punk and anchy are sickening. True chaos is pathetic.
Heres a rant from SLC Punk. It explains the reasons we fight... AND don't believe in fighting!

A fight: What does it mean and where does it come from?

An Essay: Homosapien. A man. He is alone in the universe.

Anarchists. Still a man. He is alone in the universe, but he connects. How? They hit each other. No clearer way to evaluate whether or not you're alive.

Now. Complications. A reason to fight. Somebody different. Difference creates dispute. Dispute is a reason to fight. Now, to fight is a reason to feel pain. Life is pain. So to fight with reason is to be alive with reason. Final analysis: To fight, a reason to live.


Problems and Contradictions: I am an anarchist. I believe that there should be no rules, only chaos. Fighting appears to be chaos. And when we slam in the pit a show it is.
But when we fight for a reason, like rednecks, there's a system, we fight for what we stand for, chaos. Fighting is a structure, fighting is to establish power, power is government and government is not anarchy. Government is war and war is fighting.

The circle goes like this: our redneck skirmishes are cheap perversions of conventional warfare. War implies extreme government because wars are fought to enforce rules or ideals, even freedom. But other people ideals forced on someone else, even if it is something like freedom, is still a rule; not anarchy.

"Why did I love to fight?" I framed it, but still, I don't understand it. It goes against my beliefs as a true anarchist. But there it was. Competition, fighting, capitalism, government, THE SYSTEM.

What was the point? Final summation? None

Prologue

Gone.


msg me if you ever wanna read it.

This cannibal animal I

Good times good times

New Book = more bloggers?

Some of you know I've gotten back into writing.
Instead of sending my work to the two dozen or so people I normally do, I'm opt for the lazy route.
I'll post my book here chapter by chapter as I write it. This will NOT be the final edited version. But it'll have been read by someone far better in grammar then myself.

If you wanna read the whole thing at once: good luck. The prologue is gonna be 10 or so pages
Chapter 1: probably 3 times as long.

The story is a first person perspective written by an assassin as he interacts with demi-gods.

(hint hint) If "lazy me", who spends the time he should be writing playing computer games, then maybe "lazy you" should spend the time exercising your talent instead of... whatever it is you do.
I'm still waiting for that tattoo you said you were gonna draw me. (hint hint)

TPS Reports

Greatest Poems of the Last Millennium

W.B. Yeats
"He Wishes For the Cloths of Heaven"

Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.








Edwin Arlington Robinson
"RICHARD CORY "

Whenever Richard Cory went downtown
We people on the pavement looked at him
He was a gentleman from sole to crown
Clean-favored, an imperially slim

And he was always quietly arrayed
And he was always human when he talked
But still he fluttered pulses when he said:
"Good-morning" and he glittered when he walked

And he was rich; yes richer than a king
And admirably schooled in every grace
In fine we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place

So on we worked and waited for the light
And went without the meat
And cursed the bread
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night
Went home and put a bullet through his head.







Percy Bysshe Shelley

"OZYMANDIAS"

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand,
Half sunk, a shatter'd visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamp'd on these lifeless things,
The hand that mock'd them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains: round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away.






I can quote these three poems by heart (along with Robert Burn's "To a Mouse")
Ive always loved them.
Please give yourself an education and read them all the way through. You'll be the better for it