"On my ship, the Rocinante wheeling through the galaxies"

Livejournal is down again! I hope my Russian IT friends far away are okay this morning.

I had a question for Stephen about the Kepler probe.

I had something for Malcom Gladwell about a jpeg of a sling I posted a day before the accident in 2005, and the stones in my pocket which I had just gathered from the ground moments before the very same accident.

I also had something about the ETP Harrison experience in 97-98, and their use of the term "widows and orphans", and how that applies to the 4D lattice applied over the shape of the 20th century at least. History as a pagination process basically. The disasters look like prominent numbers, I was guessing, because the total disaster quotient has to be divided among the only available pages, like text in a science book has to be redistributed over the pages depending on edits and rewrites and style and more. At ETP Harrison, they taught me to get rid of compositing flaws such as a "stack", when two or three lines of text in a row contain the same word in the same place and it looks like the same word stacked vertically in a pile nestled in the paragraph. They also told me to help fix "widows and orphans".

Let me now cut and paste from Wikipedia instead of describing it wrong myself by mistake.

Widows and orphans
Not to be confused with Masonic Widows and Orphans Home.
A widowed line: the last line of a paragraph, all alone on the other side of a page break.

At the end of the first paragraph, the word "lorem" is an orphan in the second sense: a very short final line that, because the rest of its line is white, creates an impression of two lines of whitespace between the paragraphs.

In typesetting, widows and orphans are words or short lines at the beginning or end of a paragraph, which are left dangling at the top or bottom of a column, separated from the rest of the paragraph. There is some disagreement about the definitions of widow and orphan; what one source calls a widow the other calls an orphan. The Chicago Manual of Style uses these definitions:

Widow

A paragraph-ending line that falls at the beginning of the following page/column, thus separated from the rest of the text.

Orphan

A paragraph-opening line that appears by itself at the bottom of a page/column.
A word, part of a word, or very short line that appears by itself at the end of a paragraph. Orphans result in too much white space between paragraphs or at the bottom of a page.

Remembering the terms

A common mnemonic is "An orphan has no past; a widow has no future" or "An orphan is left behind, whereas a widow must go on alone".

Another way is to think of orphans as generally being younger than widows; thus, orphaned lines happen first, at the start of paragraphs (affecting and stranding the first line), and widowed lines happen last, at the end of paragraphs (affecting and stranding the last line). Orphaned lines appear at the "birth" (start) of paragraphs; widowed lines appear at the "death" (end) of paragraphs.

I find this to be a very interesting contribution to the current biblical decoding project. The application of the repagination concept to the redistribution of "human content" over a finite number of "pages" (i.e. years) is obviously one of the real mechanisms behind some of the unreal paranoia some folks experience when finding personal details in large historical disasters.

If your written text included the written equivalent of two large towers for instance, just to use an example, apologies for belaboring this example by the way, it is just so I can understand the math, if your written text includes the equivalent of two large towers, and you delete that text, leaving a big blank space where the towers used to be, before you can send the typeset pages to the publisher you have to reflow the text around the blank space. When they reflow the "text" around the missing space where the "towers" used to be, the exact amount of absent space is then found distributed over other adjoining pages. It is perhaps in this context among others that the Bible is always telling us to help with the widows and orphans.

This seems like an astoundingly important idea to me.

Meanwhile, Mr. Hawking! I read something of yours recently describing the effects of changing the surface geometry of the sun by various amounts. You had a brief section in "Grand Design" explaining the numbers involved if a certain area of the sun's surface became more concave by varying degrees and so forth.

Do you think it's possible that for unusual personal reasons, the sun is telling Kepler to stop looking at Cygnus? Hence part of the steering problem when it tries to do so? I wondered how it is that everything broke just right so that sunlight alone was enough to push the lens away from the direction of that very interesting place.

Team Conin'

Yesterday = Day 282 = Revelation 9, Nehemiah 12, Psalm 104:1-23

Today = Day 283 = Revelation 10, Nehemiah 13, Psalm 104:24-35

So far I've only read up to the Revelation 10 for today. I was going to read/write the rest of it here with you guys watching but someone is too busy censoring the Facebook and Livejournal platform for that to happen like I'm used to.

Did you see the skeleton choking on a crust of bread? Or the "no-go pavement" the other day? That part was funny. The construction worker saw me go past the orange cones and walk on the fresh new pavement, he said you must be pretty stupid huh, I was like, maybe, but mostly I'm in an Eric Clapton song.

Dawn-light smiles on you leaving, my contentment

Tomorrow is Revelation 11, Esther 1, Psalm 105:1-25

Livejournal down today, and Facebook doing that thing where at first I sign in, and it says Facebook is down, and then I sign in again and it sends me to the fake Facebook page the government captors set up long ago.

There is at least one muttering lunatic planted nearby where I am, and he is actually too stupid to be doing anything else other than announcing his presence and embarrassing himself.

D had her nice hat again today, the fuzzy one I liked so much before, that is a great hat you got there, one of these days I should tell you what it said about Zion so you can understand.

Otherwise I was going to do something daring today, I was going to quote bible bits for yesterday, today, and tomorrow, after having seen the creepy dude yesterday with his fake cell phone conversation requesting the other chapters after Revelation. Hey creepy dude! Maybe you should have paid attention to the last three years of these crazy idiots pretending to speak on their cell phones or to themselves and how much cooperation it ever garnered from anybody ever, let alone me. Take your Guantanamo and shove it up the ass of the stooge at station 10 why don't you. If you have a question, you can ask, how about that? If you have a worldwide murder conspiracy you can continue what you're already doing, see?

Remember me?


Remember exactly how much patience we have for your trolling?

Good.

And while you're busy fucking off, how about you stop censoring my livejournal? Me and the Book of Revelation chapter for today thinks you should be playing nice.

teen imus 9 and counting

Lost my temper today, in the middle of a delicate maneuver, trying to put one redhead out of all the redheads into a painting by some trees, I think I know what it is, though I am constantly being corrected when I assume certain things, and out of all the redheads who would possibly be crying over the eviction from the garden it seems to me the reason why she's crying is because she knows it's her fault. But then what really was this fruit of knowledge of good and evil all about, hence the spy noises circulating all behind me, because of the unspoken thing we should never talk about because it makes good people argue with good people over the missing pieces in the Franklin Mint Civil War chess set. All I know is that when there are fatalities of this magnitude I have the right to demand explanations from these surreal insect creatures hissing in my thoughts, as if the rules of death never applied to them equally. Pink Floyd tells me that I'm never going to die. Can this be so? There was the weed we smoked, sure. It was grown on a plant, so it is like a fruit, from a garden, sure. But we were talking about something else when that happened.

We were talking about a hypothetical brand of phone call, so that you could rob the market with a telephone.

We were talking about how simple and wonderful it would be to rob George Bush with a telephone. Wouldn't you want to rob George W. Bush with a telephone? It seemed like a great idea at the time, but all I ever did was say it out loud once.

That was when the guards burst in and the evening was destroyed in yelling and stupidity. By the time I got home, they had already robbed George W. Bush with a telephone, and there were all these songs about why those guards were just awful. Storm Large sang from the PSU campus for a reason, you see.

The library manager today said it would be better if I lodged my complaint when the incident happens instead of accumulating a series of complaints long afterward, but in that case I would be registering a complaint literally every five seconds and I would never get to actually read anything online.

The library has always known about these problems and has always allowed them to return after every attempt to shoo away every single weirdo. These people, these invaders leaving it to the nice library staff to somehow repair, have unlimited funding and unlimited staff, they are too stupid to control themselves, and have never cared before when a place or a person or an entire species got hurt.

Am I wrong?

I just heard a sound proving me correct.

So what will I read about dying tomorrow? A class full of kids again? A generic public outing by a generic group of well meaning strangers? A bunch of white collar criminals that actually deserve it? Or these people that believe they can actually steal from the actual God?

Have you seen what that God guy can do?

There is one of these insect creatures ten feet behind me to my left. He's muttering like someone from the Manson family. Bonnie Tyler is off fucking herself on the store speakers.

The internet died while I sat here writing this. Now I'm waiting for it to return so I can post that there must be something egregiously huge going on today for there to be this much interference communicating online.

The irony is that I am at the famous activist cafe. There are people here supposedly acutely attuned to the whole war crimes/atrocities mentality. There are supposedly people here that protest war crimes specifically, the exact kind of torture that is stationed here every day. This man sitting behind me to the left is a war criminal, he can only be here in order to specifically target the communications of me myself who is here to tell you that they still blow up cars in Iraq if my LJ posts are interesting enough.

This "person" ten feet behind me to my left is the sort they would ban from here forever if only they knew he was one of the fascist pigs they've dedicated their life to stopping. I would have been posting sooner except the other war criminal, the actual Donald Rumsfeld clone who sits here for hours pretending to be interested in Democratic Party Facebook pages, he was here with an Erica Stephan clone who tried to pin some of her ugly jewelry on me. I told her never to speak with me again but seeing as how I am the very center of her existence I imagine she, like all these others, will never really go away until I borrow that machete from Conrad and actually start using it.

Maybe there's a big airplane gonna crash. Maybe something worse? Is it just the normal bunch of thieves acting up even without an election going on? Sometimes the crazies show up because of sporting events. I think the machete would work equally well on all of them regardless of profession. I'm just trying to think out loud, to myself, I am just writing to myself, if you wanted to chat you could have visited during office hours except you were too busy dying, right?

I mean, right?

This was the blog I'd originally set up in which to complain about "teh artses" and how the concept, back in 2005-2006, had negatively affected my life. These days I am often translating a famous medieval book which is always talking about this same subject, people that worship idols of wood or bronze or silver which can never talk back or ever hear what a person is saying.

A note from friend River far away reminded me of some tunes related to the medieval book.



We are on the topic of a Hopper on my other blog (along with CIA Dennis and Colby), so it reminded me that maybe I did have some favorite painters afterall, before the negative experience with the Air Force mindjob and the surgery and the heinous sculptress bitch monster thing.







An article in the Times pointed me toward some of "teh artses" I needed to see, especially in light of today's news out of Balatlar Church in Turkey.


The CIA people need to do something about the stooges misbehaving around me if they want to stop being caught in their overt acts of mass murder. It really is annoying to be stuck out here with some of these people and their weird religious projections, even when government people are cleared out or being really nice there is still this issue of being exposed to the Tammy Faye Bakker types and their friends. This kid at station 10 across the table from me, how many people were just killed because he decided he would be annoying and tap his idiot fingers at the guy from the illegal HAP video?

Josh the Sane Guy told me some unusual news the other day, he says I'll have to deal with an assassination attempt at the end of July, he even said which day, which cleared up the date on my previous suspicions, though I wonder if it was only wise of him to give me the wrong date so I would be unprepared. I wondered if he was simply repeating back to me my own conjecture, which happens a lot, so that maybe his information was just parrot talk.

But hey! Maybe they'll kill me anyway, regardless of whatever estimations of my safety are involved. Today I watched more video made by a lady who knew she would be killed by a certain date. Should I be doing the same thing? Leaving behind clues? HELLO THE GOVERNMENT MIGHT SOON KILL ME BECAUSE I WAS SO UPSET ABOUT HOW THE GOVERNMENT WAS KILLING EVERYONE ELSE.

The NSA is apparently responding to the large public uproar about all their domestic spying. People like that always just say that they were acting "within the law", even when that is a lie, or even when the law is deeply flawed.

The point is this.

If they killed Tina because they think she ordered some kind of Fiery Bird Thing, and they believe she was the culprit, then they are admitting that they never needed to spy on the public, ever. Domestic wiretapping was never needed.

Just saying.

Genius

http://www.newyorker.com/online/blogs/backissues/2011/03/saturday-night-live.html

Sometimes creativity can be derailed by very real events. In her piece, Fey writes about an anthrax scare at 30 Rockefeller Plaza—where the “S.N.L.” offices are located—which occurred shortly after September 11th:

I was reading a thick packet of paper clippings, looking for something fun to say about Afghanistan, the Taliban, Saddam Hussein, the anthrax postal attacks: it was grim. Then Lester Holt came on MSNBC on the TV hanging in the corner and said, “Breaking news. Anthrax has been found at 30 Rockefeller Plaza. C.D.C. officials are investigating the potentially deadly substance, which was found in a suspicious package addressed to NBC Nightly News anchor Tom Brokaw.”… “Nope,” I thought. “I give up.” I put on my coat, walked downstairs past my friends and co-workers without saying anything. I walked right past the host for that week, sweet Drew Barrymore, without telling her what I had heard. I just went to the elevator and left. Then I walked home and waited to die. Several hours later, Lorne called and said gently, “We’re all here. You and Drew are the only ones who left. And Drew came back a few hours ago, so … we’re ordering dinner, if you want to come back in.” It was the kindest way of saying, “You’re embarrassing yourself.”

In her Profile, Heffernan explores how the “S.N.L.” staff reacted to Fey’s rare display of vulnerability, and how she was later able to turn this traumatic episode into comedy.

Others at “S.N.L.” didn’t know how to respond. “I do have to say that it changed the way we thought about her,” Shoemaker said. “That was the first sign of fragility.” Fey told me that she has been systematically imagining—and rehearsing—a knockdown fight with terrorists. She entered a course of psychodrama, a form of therapy that uses acting techniques to banish sadness, anger, and fear. In sessions, she said, she faces down imaginary terrorists, sometimes represented by chairs. She also punches a pillow that stands in for President Bush. Later, she surprised me again by mentioning that she had once been the victim of a violent street crime.

Her anxiety has shaped her work. On a show in 2001, Fey said, “On Monday, Attorney General John Ashcroft issued a terrorism warning, asking all Americans to be on high alert this week…. I think I speak for all Americans when I say, ‘Bitch, I can’t be any more alert than I already am. O.K.? I’m opening my mail with salad tongs. I take my passport in the shower with me. I am watching so much CNN I am having sex dreams about Wolf Blitzer.”

Happy Birthday sad man

Trying to piece together all these fragments.

Four sources now say a ship arrived a moment too late. Zappa, Colin Baker, Tina herself, and George Harrison.

Trying to figure out what Prince is thinking here:


I lack understanding of some of the science. I am imagining a craft arriving, seeing devastation, wreckage, dead bodies, and a pilot realizing that his appearance has sealed the event permanently into reality. The observer is sad beyond description.

She had said that the ship almost made it but just missed. She said it was because she liked cream doughnuts and I liked jelly doughnuts. This pointed to the Flaming Lips tune "She Don't Use Jelly", which pointed to the Zeppelin and Nirvana and others.

I was remembering Robert Plant in tears watching Heart perform his song at the Kennedy Center. I started to understand what he was crying about. I already had an idea the tears were about being stuck in the same building as the big killer type, the person whose policies gave rise to so much of Zeppelin's catalog in opposition. If "The Song Remains the Same" film clip of the tune "Dazed and Confused" was about Obama lying at the UN, then the writers of "The Lemon Song" might have been somewhat upset about some things that night.

I'm unsure how many more graphic references to the rape and murder and infanticide I will be able to handle. There are so many. I guess maybe this just means there is enough material to respond to every single one of Barry's future statements with an accurate sexual assault reference. It seems like a lot of really ingenious people were eager to point out the facts. Someday John the Baptist might have competition for the good decapitation jokes.

And I used to like decapitation jokes. Someday we're going to have to play that soccer game.

We are modern Harry

Today I found the Flaming Lips, the Zeppelin, the Nirvana, and the Tom Petty, based on the clue in the jelly statement yesterday, and also one IRL after seeing so many references to Xena's final reddish optics. Just leaving a note to myself that I found these things. NSA asshole across from me tried to ruin the content but walked off just now having failed.

Mary Jane is alive?

It is a while later now, am adding things, reading about another shooting.

Sheryl Crow, All I Wanna Do http://youtu.be/yAEpLMTjCC8

Everclear, Santa Monica http://youtu.be/MW6E_TNgCsY

Zappa, Blue Light http://youtu.be/Ik2L2OAqKR8




"The puddle is rising, it smells like the ocean, a body of water, to isolate England, and also Reseda"



If the red light is what the amazing woman saw while dying, the blue light involves the death of what exactly? Blue light like in the Abyss death scene? Elsewhere, I have noticed the zillion references to the north pole melting, and the water level rising. And I have seen the blue light of the Cherenkov radiation made by various types of nuclear reactor. The color of radiation and the color of the rising sea both have relevance here. Is all this to match something blue in my photo album? Something borrowed, something blue?
Also am wondering about Tiny Sick Tears. Open the box of milk eh?

LJ broken, error 500, "Frank nibbling on wires again"

Sheesh, am I awake enough for "Witches of Eastwick" today?