Attention span?

Zip!

Good and Evil

Good and Evil are constructions to justify conflict.

Something is labelled evil if it opposes the person labelling it so. Likewise, good concords with the desire of the person labelling it so.

People who do something do it because it is good, that is, because it is what they want to do. Even the protagonist of a terrible act thinks it is good, because he does it. This means that good and evil aren't absolute.

If something conflicts with my desire, it is evil. If something concurs with me I find it good.

So good and evil are creations to justify and label this conflict.

Humanity is naturally inclined to conflict. Being born into the world we have only ourselves. This sense of self and this aloneness is what generates such conflict. It is the most basic fact of our existence. My relationship with the world around me is founded upon this sense of "me and the world". "me" takes precedence over the "world". And the conflict that ensues is labelled "good" and "evil" by me.

a u·nique space

1. Often found in descriptions of "exciting new art galleries". Used to sublimate what is normally considered "just another space". ¹

I really can't get my head around a space "being unique". Surely all space is universal. Either that or every arbitrarily compartmentalised piece of space is unique. Perhaps both concepts are correct and coexist. In either case what does labelling a piece of space "unique" do for my understanding of that space?

What is a "a space" anyway? Is it like a piece of pie?

"Excuse me, may I have a piece of space?"

If I can and if I draw a different boundary around one piece of space in three dimensions (ignoring theories concerning themselves with infinitely dimensional space), what makes that contained space unique? Is it the container? It is the shape? Is it the distribution of objects within the space? Is it the instant in time that the space existed? Is it the speed with which the space is moving relative to an observer? I think the whole concept is ridiculous.

Why is "the space" even said to be "contained"? Surely the container is also part of "space" in a general sense. But to specialise our original definiton of such space, the container is probably also part of the space it is meant to be containing. If this wasn't the case I can't see how it could be said to be containing the space. It is either part of the space it is supposed to be containing or it is containing some other space and not related to our original concept of space in the first place. Again, I think the whole concept is ridiculous.

Suppose it makes sense to say that I can have a piece of space and that it can therefore be contained by something. What if I change the colour of the container, that is, I put on my interior decorator hat and start painting my wall a thunderous indigo. Does the space contained by my room become more or less unique? Does it change? What if I decide to mangle the roof and collapse part of it, and then punch huge dents in the floor to deform the shape of my room. Does the space change? Does it become more or less unique? Is it more or less unique than any other space which is different to the "space" I have supposedly created? No two spaces are identical. Does that mean that every space is unparalleled?

People don't walk into rooms and exclaim that they have never before experienced such unparalleled space. I don't walk outside in the morning, do a double-take and shout,

"Holy fuck, that cloud definitely wasn't there before. I am once again experiencing unparalleled space on my way to work!"

But people describing art galleries do take great pride in this uniqueness of "space". They almost seem to have a monopoly on unique space. What's going on? Are they morons, or are they simply groping with dithering tautologies? I'll go for the former.

For those that can be bothered, this is a brilliant post.

¹ This is a u·nique definition.

Totally dope y'all

Creature sketches by Bobby Chiu. Shockingly good creature sketches and such.

One of my favourites.





Can someone please buy this for me for Christmas?

US sends bombs to Israel

Have a look at Bush rushes bombs to Israel.

Three paragraphs stood out for me:

Citing American officials who spoke on condition of anonymity, the Times said on Saturday that the decision to ship the weapons quickly came after relatively little debate within the White House.

The report said that the news threatens to anger Arab governments and others who could perceive Washington as aiding Israel in the manner that Iran has armed Hezbollah.

The arms shipment has not been announced publicly. The officials who described the decision by George Bush's administration to rush the munitions included employees of two government agencies.

Well that's pretty much the whole article, but you get the idea. I don't trust myself to say anything else. I'm too fucking angry.

http://angryarab.blogspot.com/

Pretty intense read http://angryarab.blogspot.com.

Sydney against Israel

Around 20,000 people marched from Town Hall to Martin Place in Sydney today to show their opposition and general contempt for what Israel has been doing in Lebanon over the last few weeks.

It was a pretty intense atmosphere. I was suprised at how many families were there though. Mothers pushed prams with banners wrapper around them, and little kids wore tshirts that said "stop killing our children". But there was a lighter side to some of it as well; I kept seeing people wearing tshirts with slogans like "Make Hommus Not War".

One thing I really noticed though was the palpable swings in emotion in the crowd throughout the march; outrage and anger, a deep gentle sadness, happiness and smiles. That was probably the most intense part about it all. Anger for the atrocities against Lebanon, sadness at the waste of life and disregard for the rights of the Lebanese people and happiness at the support and comradery displayed in filling Martin Place full of protesters. I spoke to a couple of guys, one of which has his family stuck in the south of Lebanon right at this moment. It really brings it home when you talk to people directly affected by this. There was a general sense at the end of the march that we were doing something to make a difference.

You can see all my photos on flickr here.

The Zune censorship stew and Zen of Palm

There seems to be a fundamental clash between good engineering principles and marketing. We all see it time and time again in Technology and IT.

Take the new "iPod killer" from Microsoft. More details are leaking out about it now. We know it'll be called "Zune" and even what it'll look like. Microsoft has bundled WiFi with it, supposedly to communicate with MTV's Urge service. Looks like you might be able to connect to Sirius as well. How about a good hearty stew of US censhorship for all! Total BS if you ask me. Big Whoop - I'll be able to get the latest Hezbollah and Iran updates on my Zune. Yay free information! All it is at the end of the day is another avenue for big business to commoditise and censor information on the internet. I can't see how that's a good thing in the long run.

Take Palm on the other hand. These guys are at least trying to do the right thing (check out the Zen of Palm article - very good read). I respect the openess of this approach. They're providing thinner services. I don't have to buy into a bundle of crap that I don't need or won't use or will force me to give up my freedom of choice in the matter.

I will refuse to buy a Zune for the same reasons (and more) that I have refused to buy an iPod. There should be more people in the world like this guy.

Boring photographs and pussy

I think they should start a photography competition for the most boring photograph. I think it would be a very difficult feat; to create such a boring photograph that is. Even very badly photographed scenes can be very interesting by virtue of their utter dullness. I'm not sure it would be easy to capture a boring scene at all; other than perhaps very "artistic" photographs at very "artistic" art exhibitions:





Anyway, on a more lively note, let's play this when you're free next. You bring some friends with you and come over to mine. I'll do a big chocolate fondue:

Poor Pussy is a party game described in a Childcraft book of children's games. As it is described:

This game makes everybody laugh. Have the guests sit around the room. Choose one person to be the pussy. Pussy must go over to a guest and meow three times. The guest must pet pussy's head three times and say "Poor pussy, poor pussy, poor pussy," without laughing. The pussy should do his best to make the guest laugh. He can make funny meows and walk around like a cat. The pussy goes from one guest to another until someone laughs. The first one to laugh becomes the new pussy.

Note: Pussy is both a vulgar word referring to the vulva and vagina, and an affectionate term for a "cat". Thus it is a double entendre.

The Barrison Sisters with pussies:

God

He looked at her and knew she was his creation. She looked back at him and spoke at the exact same instant he thought she did and that's why he knew it. He'd thought it. She was his and he was his own. A completely unguarded mote of self. Why it was like this was beyond him, but if god was "in everyone" then he was surely god. Everyone thought they were god, but everyone was his creation which made him about as sure a bet as anyone else. Perhaps a slightly better one. Stars circled galaxies, planets stars, moons planets, the whole nested cluster of complexity and glory was his to invent. That's why he knew it. Someone of his invention had told him about the imperfections, but where do you think "art mimicks life" comes from? He snickered. He liked that one. Time was a line that added another dimension to Now-ness, just like the concept of self added another dimension to his photo format world. What else was missing. Nothing. He'd made it all and the bits that weren't there were just as there as anything else. In fact it would have been crowded if he had made them, which he couldn't have of course. He hadn't thought of them, so they didn't exist. Just the concept of them missing existed and that was a slight bore. Funny to think this would all go with him when he died. The true plight of god. Everything here - everything you think you know because he thinks it will stop and cease to exist when he passes away. That's the way it should be. Stop thinking until I tell you you have.

Losing my virginity

I keep losing my virginity every time I go out lately. These strange little homeless men come in from the rain and rip it from my jugular. It's vulgar and it leaves me in a quivering heap for minutes aftewards. Beer bellied men howl with laughter at me on my knees clutching my gaping throat in the middle of any given pub on Crown St. Then these strange little homeless men swallow it whole, like giblets, and run back out into the downpour. It only happens when it rains. It's something about the water, but I haven't worked it out yet.

Not knowing not to know not how to...

Before it was over it was forgotten. Someone had opened his head and emptied it of memories. Everything was gone; his history, his people. Nama cried and wrapped her hands around his wrist. His fingers curled and gently touched her. She remembered that touch and dark red fire and the smell of fresh earth at the start of the dry season. But this wasn't the same. A different man sat next to her now. It was not her father. He was not knowing. Killara sat like his forefathers had for hundreds of generations before him. Hewn out of dark rock, his white beard swayed like thick alyepe around his neck and his brooding shoulders hunched in silhouette against a startlingly blue sky. Why this little woman should be crying and holding his hand confused him, but he liked her. She could have been a tea tree blossum. His little tea tree blossum. There, a spark, like a memory of something, but it was a dying ember for burial. This had happened before he thought, maybe he would remember. Instead, he winked and smiled his toothless charm at her. "Don't cry little one, Alkwerte be here to look after you. You be right little one. You be right."

Nice light bulb

I'm loving my job. Hindsight is 20-20.

A couple of weeks ago I dived into the deep end (.NET and web services and how that should all work with our content management system). Lots of learning, lots of thinking and my mind is thanking me for the stretch. But the last few days I've been swimming up to the surface and today I'm loving my job.

(It could be that I'm writing this at my desk at work and staring out through the atrium and across the inner western suburbs on a beautifully overcast and rainy day, but I think it really means I've broken through the surface.)

I'm just experiencing the euphoria that comes with the rush of fresh air, filling my lungs, playing on the surface rather than deep diving in dark subterranean bullshit. It's great. Everything is about possibilities and the whole thing is endless. I'm doing things The Right Way and it makes me happy. This is what it's all about.

w00tnesslyness.

A day in the life of 

loop:

    it takes 30 minutes to install IIS, then
    write a web service using VS 2005 and
    have it working

    it takes 3 days to install Apache, Tomcat,
    work out how Ant works, configure all the
    servers and write a web service using Java
    and have it working

    dilemma, CMS provides a native, mature,
    high performance Java API. also exposes
    that API via web services

    dilemma, writing a .NET thick client to
    replace part of the front end of said CMS.
    limited to using web services, or .NET
    Remoting or some other MS proprietary
    technology to communicate with the CMS.
    the web services API is low level leading
    to a large number of calls being sent to
    the SOAP server. performance takes a dive.
    solution; write a web service layer which
    wraps the native Java API provided by the
    CMS and expose "system" level functionality
    using a service oriented architecture.
    reduce the number of calls to web services,
    and use the local java libraries to talk
    to the CMS

jmp loop

never_get_here:

    Yaasssss you bitches!!!

jmp never_get_here

HaAhaA! This blog has been

HAXED!!!!

You stupid sounding muttering madman! Hahaha. Last time you insult my mother with viking acusations! Hows this feels like?



HAHAHAAAHhaha. You know nothing. Take me to your leader! You will be so sorry.

Whoosh goes the Fat Viking

I can see how some people would be biased towards online learning. It only takes one look at the photograph in that article to understand why.

"It's a more positive learning environment because it is not defined by time and space."

Holy fuck! Has this beastly women taken String Theory to a new level and developed a Theory of Everything without telling the rest of us?

"It is totally flexible for the teacher and students, which removes the stress of having to turn up on time and in the right mood."

This has been my argument in favour of cyber-sex since 1994.

All correspondence is by email rather than posted on a website.

Thank god noone has to see my fat ugly arse anymore. No more closet crying over fat viking jokes.

"Martin has previously done masters degrees and says he is getting a lot more time and attention from me online," Dr Foster said. "I would write to him every day.

Well fuck me. I'll definitely be doing my next relationship over online-learning then.

"There is a kind of intimacy in the communications and more space for self-expression than there is in a classroom.

Like not being able to see or hear anyone. I'm so much more comfortable with myself. I can now masturbate in class.

"People don't seem to be intimidated to say what they feel on the email because they aren't being looked at."

Key phrase - "looked at". But anyway it's the typical claim of "mine is bigger than yours". When you don't have to prove it everyone is a big dick.

Basically, give me a fucking break. I suggest everyone who thinks online learning is superior and never leaves their home for fear of people spitting at them and throwing half-empty twistie packets at their back starts walking at least an hour a day. Get comfortable with your image. It'll do wonders.

YouOS is WOW!

Just stumbled across this. Man o man is this impressive! These guys at MIT have developed a fully fledged web-based OS. Check it out at www.youos.com. They have a blog here as well. *Very* interesting reading.

I've taken some screenshots whilst logged into my YouOS account. I love the fact that I have a browser with this blog loaded inside my browser on my computer's OS. Click on the image below to see a full sized screenshot (it's about half a meg (go png!)).



Holy crap I love this stuff.

UPDATE: Xin looks totally kickarse as well.

Barthes excerpts

I've been reading "A Lover's Discourse : Fragments" by Roland Barthes lately. An amazing book. It's not often you come across a writer like this. Everyone should read him.

Excerpt from Inexpressible Love (to write)

The full moon this fall,
All night long
I have paced around the pond.

No indirect means could be more effective in the expression of sadness than that "all night long". What if I were to try it, myself?

This summer morning, the bay sparkling,
I went outside
To pick a wistaria.

or:

This morning, the bay sparkling,
I stayed here, motionless,
Thinking of who is gone.

On the one hand, this is saying nothing; on the other, it is saying too much: impossible to adjust. My expressive needs oscillate between the mild little haiku summarizing a huge situation, and a great flood of banalities. I am too big and too weak for writing: I am alongside it, for writing is always dense, violent, indifferent to the infantile ego which solicits it. Love has of course a complicity with my language (which maintains it), but it cannot be lodged in my writing.

Excerpt from The Ghost Ship (errantry)

Amorous errantry has its comical side: it resembles a ballet, more or less nimble according to the velocity of the fickle subject; but it also a grand opera. The accursed Dutchman is doomed to wander the seas until he has found a woman who will be eternally faithful. I am that Flying Dutchman; I cannot stop wandering (loving) because of an ancient sign which dedicated me, in the remote days of my earliest childhood, to the god of my Image-repertoire, afflicting me with a compulsion to speak which leads me to say "I love you" in one port of call after another, until some other receives this phrase and gives it back to me; but no one can assume the impossible reply (of an insupportable fulfillment), and my wandering, my errantry continues.

Throughout life, all of love's "failures" resemble one another (and with reason: they all proceed from the same flaw). X and Y have not been able (have not wanted) to answer my "demand," to adhere to my "truth"; they have not altered their system one iota; for me, the former has merely repeated the latter. And yet X and Y are incomparable; it is in their difference, the model of an infinitely pursued difference, that I find the energy to begin all over again. The "perpetual mutability" (in inconstantia contans) which animates me, far from squeezing all those I encounter into the same functional type (not to answer my demand), violently dislocates their false community: errantry does not align—it produces iridescence: what results is the nuance. Thus I move on, to the end of the tapestry, from one nuance to the next (the nuance is the last state of a color which can be named; the nuance is the Intractable).

Excerpt from Events, Setbacks, Annoyances (contingencies)

In the incident, it is not the cause which pulls me up short and which echoes within me thereupon, but the structure. The entire structure of the relation comes to me as one might pull a tablecloth toward one: its disadvantages, its snares, its impasses (similarly, in the tiny lens embellishing the mother-of-pearl penholder, I could see Paris and the Eiffel Tower). I make no recriminations, develop no suspicions, search for no causes; I see in terror the scope of the situation in which I am caught up; I am not the man of resentment, but of fatality.

(For me, the incident is a sign, not an index; the element of a system, not the efflorescence of a causality.)

Sometimes, hysterically, my own body produces the incident: an evening I was looking forward to with delight, a heartfelt declaration whose effect, I felt, would be highly beneficial—these I obstruct by a stomach ache, an attack of grippe: all the possible substitutes of hysterical aphonia.

Excerpt from Talking (declaration)

Language is a skin: I rub my language against the other. It is as if I had words instead of fingers, or fingers at the tip of my words. My language trembles with desire. The emotion derives from a double contact: on the one hand, a whole activity of discourse discreetly, indirectly focuses upon a single signified, which is "I desire you," and releases, nourishes, ramifies it to the point of explosion (language experiences orgasm upon touching itself); on the other hand, I enwrap the other in my words, I caress, brush against, talk up this contact, I extend myself to make the commentary to which I submit the relation endure.

(To speak amorously is to expend without an end in sight, without a crisis; it is to practice a relation without orgasm. There may exist a literary form of this coitus reservatus: what we call Marivaudage.)

Someone needs to get back to basics...

and forget about modern english and its self-absorbed frivolities; burn away the excrement which oozes from the pores of most modern writers and take us back to rhythmic, pulsing primitivism.

When is someone going to hold Israel accountable?

Compare these two articles; Israel attacks Palestinian PM's office and Air strike targets Palestinian PM's office. Apart from having to dig to find the second one (all I could find on smh.com.au was news about Big Brother "sexual assault evictions" and more Channel Nine irrelevancies) I prefer the former. At least it has some guts to it.

From the aljazeera.net article:

When asked about any possible Israeli assassination of the Gaza-based Hamas prime minister, Benjamin Ben-Eliezer, the Israeli infrastructure minister, said: "We make no distinction between terrorists. No one involved in terrorism has any immunity"

Is anyone else uncomfortable with how many governments are now bandying about the "terrorist" label? Does anyone else see the irony in labelling some person/group a terrorist and then using it as justification to fly missiles into the elected governments ministry buildings?

What does the rest of the world think about this? All reporting I've seen on this in Australia is mere fence-sitting. There are no value judgements being thrown around. There is no word from the government on the issue. There are no overt condemnations either way, just brittle and meaningless labels being thrown around.

When is someone going to hold Israel accountable?

"Hard-boiled Wonderland and the End of the World" by Haruki Murakami

A sign of an average writer is one that writes too much. If you're going to be verbose, at least make me want to dive into beautiful language and imagery. Make me marvel at the language. Make me laugh out loud at the cleverness of some point of metaphor or scream out loud at it's beauty and originality. Show me something I haven't seen before.

Murakami writes too much and he doesn't seem to do it particularly well. His style is filled with platitudes. He uses far too many cliches. You might argue that he's using jargon to develop his characters vernacular, but really it just jars. So far his "clever" similies have been at best, strange. They've afforded me no breath-taking insight into his story. They've made me stop and think, but then I've shaken my head and thought "Oh boy, that was a bit of let-down". His writing has culturally didactic elements. That's kind of interesting. There are humorous moments in the novel too, but unfortunately much of the playfulness seems forced and staged. There is a pseudo-science veneer to "Hard-boiled Wonderland and the End of the World" which annoys me. Most of it isn't even plausible. Perhaps it's not meant to be. But if that's the case at least make it novel and interesting. There is too much techno-babble.

I read a review where Murakami said he often sat down with very little plan and no solid idea of the shape a story would take before he started writing it. It shows. That writing approach might sound refreshing and "creative", but if the end result is self-indulgent and aimless it loses any aesthetic appeal.

I wondered at the quality of the paper this book was printed on when I bought it. I was mildly annoyed that it appeared to be printed on recycled toilet paper. That's turning out to be quite a poignant omen.