Posted by pixies chick at 1cust251.tnt2.minneapolis3.mn.da.uu.net on July 31, 2002 at 10:48:08:
In Reply to: pardon the rant... posted by Askewered on July 31, 2002 at 02:28:27:
I tried reading it, then I thought maybe it should be read backwards. THEN I remembered how in the movie Pi the story is that there's this 216 digit long number that is the key to the universe. To help pass this answer to everything on to succeeding generations, the bible story was written, containing a certain passage in which the number can be found (since each Hebrew letter has a corresponding number).
Interesting concept really -- the story is remembered by the number, while there, is not recognized as the important aspect of the book.
And then I, well, I gave up. But I'm sure it's very good.
: If Louise Jefferson can still find work, it's because kitsch sells.
: So these encodings of our lives. You know the ones. The ones we set down in shimmering ephemeral octets of binary digits, or scrawl in the lonesome fixtures of a public toilet. The desperate or unselfconscious utterances of verbal souls in the mercifully long night, burning the furniture to stay warm with the memory of the coke habit gone all hollywood.
: of course they are about you. of course you are encoded in recognizable ways in the transmogrified experiences of your Others. quel surprise! ungrateful gits, are you not simply flattered to be noticed?!
: no, no. there are Insights here. Important Questions. It is not without responsibility that we navigate the affections and trust of those that the universe washes up onto us. But narrate? The love we extend has, always, an interpretive, closed-loop, fixed-point semantics. How else to make sense of it? And if you put your S and K combinators in the right places, I can, under the influence of certain substances, eloquently prove to you that the I combinator is a convenience merely, and, as identity concepts frequently do, as often serves to blur the clarity of the computation as it does to clarify or make it more succinct
: so your father did what he oughtn't've. so your girlfriend put her tongue where she shouldn't've. so your dog had it off with what's-her-name. so your granny's handicapped in the indy 500. so paul newman has a wooden rectum. so clear channel communication is an oily corporate pimp. so the democratic process is a cold cash pissing match. so madame cleo was a macaque monkey in a previous life. the blow job behind the lugustrum was all in fun. the shattering of the tarsals is just another story. the scars belong to both of us, my love, no matter the point of the knife.
: and to think we may have never met. sube a nacer conmigo, hermano.
: Margo T. singing tonight. am i alone in finding in the often bleak, tragic, mournful, retrospective elegies something uplifting, redeeming, hopeful -- in a way that is only cautionary in the sense that it realizes all narratives are circles, the present moment a cursor on wheels embedded, what is remembered today is avoided tomorrow, yesterday savored as readily as the next minute, the next breath. never settle for anything less than passion is the whole of love -- that , and understanding. we are all coordinates in the space of shared experience, trending our way toward whatever answer it is we were meant, together, to realize.
: do not be jealous, then, of your putative identity. lend it freely, and celebrate in its use. rejoice in the name of that which is done with you. and in the name of that rejoicing, purloin your self. take your id to a pawn shop and cash the ticket for cotton candy, or a hasty hand job in the departure lounge. sit at the slots but know the world turns on other axes. reuse every bucket. spit where it's decent. don't be afraid of what you can't see, nor, by way of masking that fear, overilluminate it for the wrong reasons.
: the only sustainable art is the one you participate in. sin bravely.