5/07/2009
4/20/2009
Facebook thoughts
The great part about Facebook being public is that soon everyone will have something incriminating on there that should get them fired. But at a certain point, no one will be fired or forced to resign for Facebook stupidity anymore, simply because you can't fire everyone. It will just be too impractical to follow the politically correct ethos to its logical conclusion: ie that we are all guilty and must be cast into the wilderness. Public/private and professional lives will meld. It will be 'live and let live', and the retaliations/penalties will take place on Facebook, not meatspace. We're not there yet though. In general we are still hypocrites about this sort of thing. Sounds crazy I know, but I traffic in crazy. I can't wait for the day we are allowed to embrace our true stupid embarrassing selves.
4/14/2009
Drink yourself silly
Oh we are wired now, get here and stare, don't care about the crows, the cattle, the lows, we think and drink stacks of pink things, shirking on lunch hour, counting every hour as accounts receivable, unbelievable us educated fops lining up at the trough. I never wanted a job that worked, just eight hours to iron all the creases in my shirt. I figured, 'what now? go on a road trip? take a taxi to Timbuktu, tip the driver, avoid all landmines with an all-knowing GPS'. Great, so I am a success. Hey, driver, stop at the cigar store, I need to blow smoke up your pipe, I have a backlog of friends on Skype I've ignored, you hear about how I'm competing in the Olympics For the Bored?' No wonder when I'm on my bike and doored I don't mind, some adrenaline at last, this big drink all pink and fizzy they call it Sassafraz.
3/29/2009
Ranting from the top floor across the city
Lou sings Lisa says as I sit above a city soaked this morning, drying out in March superzero breezes, sweet pre-sunset shadows and light. It's been a while, as we bloggers say, I've been so bad, feel guilty to've been away, but hey I didn't have to be here, you're lucky I even take a dump here! I'm a victim of my rules, and so anyone's morality makes everyone a fool. Trouble is top stuff doesn't follow Western timelines, three dimensions, it's more like horizontal heuristics, the stuff of thought generated via semantic linguistics - or so I'm learning from an unreadable book I just have to mention.
I switched where I sat, and that is the source of this scat. When I peek across the city, bombarded by baroque, as towers grow from mounds of dirt, where faroff sun-dried cyclists prompt mental microflirts, you get perspective, or maybe just discrete novel excretive blarghblectives, whatever - I can't be against anything new - as I rub the velvet of my button-down shirt.
I switched where I sat, and that is the source of this scat. When I peek across the city, bombarded by baroque, as towers grow from mounds of dirt, where faroff sun-dried cyclists prompt mental microflirts, you get perspective, or maybe just discrete novel excretive blarghblectives, whatever - I can't be against anything new - as I rub the velvet of my button-down shirt.
3/11/2009
God uses a Mac
(or at least Bono does)
Go, shout it out, rise up
Oh, oh
Escape yourself, and gravity
Hear me, cease to speak that I may speak
Shush now
Oh, oh
Force quit and move to trash
~Unknown Caller by U2
3/09/2009
Meltdown?
(My hardline-conservative yet somehow marxist comment on "No more cash for CBC, Heritage Minister says" ~www.globeandmail.com)
From my few years observing the cosmos, here's what I've learned of how the Canadian economy works when things go bad: Those closest to the Government are able (via lobbyists and their friends) to line up first at the trough to save their skins. Those closest to the trough (CBC, car makers) are the ones who deserve the money least, because they have been coddled the longest. [This includes the government workers themselves who basically control the trough, who ARE the trough - and who are most hysterical about a downtown in the economy, because it means we may actually wake up and demand accountability for our vote and our money.] Those who have been coddled the longest are theoretically most able to withstand the downturn because they've been getting the money all along, but they are also the ones who cry the loudest when things go bad.
This recession is not a tragedy in and of itself, but only a tragedy of relative expectations and disappointment. Our society is ridiculously wealthy and incremental decreases in GDP will cause no suffering that compares in any way to the great depression of the 1930s. The squeaky wheel gets the grease, because the squeaky wheel is the one that doesn't do any work. Those who suffer most are also the most accustomed to suffering when things go bad are furthest from the trough, because they have learned to live without government support. Call it the virtue of honest work, the spirit of capitalism - the lack of honest work, the prevalence of cronyism --> This is how the establishment remains the establishment: by milking honest workers, honest workers who have learned not to depend on government to bail them out but to work to find a way no matter what. This is also why voting is important, so we can deliver justice at times of reckoning which are right now.
2/18/2009
Heart > Brain
Heart > Brain. I think that's the reason. There are so many dimensions to it.
I always looked forward to exams, because it was during these moments that I could feel the full power of the heart to trump something as puny as the intellect. My heart made me learn the material. My mind was just a tool. [Is this thread becoming a tad dualist? apologies] The material was always just as arbitrary as this blog template.
It still is, but I'm also running out of time, I get distracted, and these days it's so easy to get confused. WWW makes us a much healthier ant colony, but individually more insecure.
[the dirty little secret, I learned from reading Marshall McLuhan: just like 50 years ago, washing machines and appliances didn't allow all humans to escape from housework -- it just made it possible, indeed, made it almost obligatory -- because it made it so damn easy -- for everyone to do their own housework, whereas they previously they relied on specialists, ie housekeepers to do the dirty work for them. So too info tech has made experts with arcane knowledge obsolete and shifted the burden of intellectual capital creation equally on all individuals in the modern society, and this seems like a blessing, but really it's a curse, especially if ignorance is bliss, for the tools -- no, not just the tools, but also the ball and chain, the mouse and the keys, are literally at our fingertips, and so no one can ever stop doing homework, just like your washing machine forces you to wash your own clothes; anyways this is a long explanation for how we are so intellectually exhausted and feeling tricked by our 'advancement'.]
SoI'm always willing to start fresh, and not worried about not writing as much as I used to. Why was I writing in the first place? To prove a point? To be admired? Or to love you?
It still is, but I'm also running out of time, I get distracted, and these days it's so easy to get confused. WWW makes us a much healthier ant colony, but individually more insecure.
[the dirty little secret, I learned from reading Marshall McLuhan: just like 50 years ago, washing machines and appliances didn't allow all humans to escape from housework -- it just made it possible, indeed, made it almost obligatory -- because it made it so damn easy -- for everyone to do their own housework, whereas they previously they relied on specialists, ie housekeepers to do the dirty work for them. So too info tech has made experts with arcane knowledge obsolete and shifted the burden of intellectual capital creation equally on all individuals in the modern society, and this seems like a blessing, but really it's a curse, especially if ignorance is bliss, for the tools -- no, not just the tools, but also the ball and chain, the mouse and the keys, are literally at our fingertips, and so no one can ever stop doing homework, just like your washing machine forces you to wash your own clothes; anyways this is a long explanation for how we are so intellectually exhausted and feeling tricked by our 'advancement'.]
So
2/13/2009
Some particularly urgent sermonizing
(whozzis? factor: 8)
Handle not these words as a baker grabs hot pizza trays with an oven mitt. Instead, let the sizzling slop pour down your legs and stick to your unwilling knee skins, 3rd degree burns be cursed-- or better still, allow your soul full immersion to sights your eyeballs shrink to see. Filter not the ear-ringing that ensues upon crunching my message to its kernel: instead, flutter your lips with hosannanalia and cup your lucky ears to the wind. Be coarse and gay and twimble about the barn!
Do we dine, or die? Do we limp and lie, or crackle and fly?
A weekend awaits! Scan the movie-house schedules and build a future-barge to float your flopsy fantasies. You could dig a large hole, fill it with butter, jump headlong and cook yourself in predictable stews. You could snort vast quantities of otherworldly powders, seductively expedient shortcuts to ectasy - but would they open your essence to its inner eagle?
Fantastic figures of otherwise ordinary citizens, drowning each other with carefulness to keep all volume at a medium -- to Styx with them, they lack all glitter. I insist upon a more potent jamboree. I will have a violent clashing of words, and I will sweep up all the hairy leavings and build a magic pillow to sleep through this incredible assault of boredom that cankers my skin to dust!
BLARGH!
Handle not these words as a baker grabs hot pizza trays with an oven mitt. Instead, let the sizzling slop pour down your legs and stick to your unwilling knee skins, 3rd degree burns be cursed-- or better still, allow your soul full immersion to sights your eyeballs shrink to see. Filter not the ear-ringing that ensues upon crunching my message to its kernel: instead, flutter your lips with hosannanalia and cup your lucky ears to the wind. Be coarse and gay and twimble about the barn!
Do we dine, or die? Do we limp and lie, or crackle and fly?
A weekend awaits! Scan the movie-house schedules and build a future-barge to float your flopsy fantasies. You could dig a large hole, fill it with butter, jump headlong and cook yourself in predictable stews. You could snort vast quantities of otherworldly powders, seductively expedient shortcuts to ectasy - but would they open your essence to its inner eagle?
Fantastic figures of otherwise ordinary citizens, drowning each other with carefulness to keep all volume at a medium -- to Styx with them, they lack all glitter. I insist upon a more potent jamboree. I will have a violent clashing of words, and I will sweep up all the hairy leavings and build a magic pillow to sleep through this incredible assault of boredom that cankers my skin to dust!
BLARGH!
1/15/2009
1/14/2009
8 Ideas for Blogonomic Stimulus
Latest reports from Statistics Blogger showed I posted only 31 times in 2008, which is--ouch--less than 10% of my first year output, when I posted exactly 365 times, or almost once per day (2004 was a leap year).
Ideas to get me out of my blogonomic recession:
1) Tax-free blogging accounts. Own a blog, pay no taxes on that blog.
2) Make-work blog posts. Fill a page with words, post it, don't worry about editing. Could look something like this:
Wait a sec, I already do a bit of this...
3) Invest in solar, geothermal and other alternative-energy writing strategies. Screw my Mac's AC adaptor, I'm installing a wind turbine: This should create 5,000,000 highly intelligent and dynamic green-sector blog posts by 2015.
4) Increase blog unemployment benefits. Instead of beating myself up over lazines, buy more lattés and stare therapeutically into space.
5) Blog protectionism. I'll blog only about my blog and its blog products. Pageviews may suffer, but at least I won't get any bad comments.
6) Rewrite old posts to compete with bleeding edge products. This means reworking beastly screeds like this into punchy grabbums like this. Take that, TMZ!
7) Blog ironically about the economy.Yes, tackling the global financial mess with wit and verve.
8) More lists. God they're so easy.
Ideas to get me out of my blogonomic recession:
1) Tax-free blogging accounts. Own a blog, pay no taxes on that blog.
2) Make-work blog posts. Fill a page with words, post it, don't worry about editing. Could look something like this:
Flark doodle pansy poop ina fracktacular momentous goop handled fridge magnet moneymaker. Did things like pizza ever pepper the peonies till poems proud did pander out to the west side of the syrup factory foreman's left ankle? Oh crows in a cello salesman's wallet! Eat more Pez and gargle Listerine lustily till the edge of the cole slaw melted more quickly than a bridge builder boosted a bashful boy. If the Fez freaks ever drown a tadpole then I've got more legs than a horned owls has feathers. If that doesn't impress you, then read this, gawk slackjawed and grew twenty extra pairs of ears. Oh yes, the expectations of an oration after Obama's inauguration let's turn off CNN and focus on Playstation...
Wait a sec, I already do a bit of this...
3) Invest in solar, geothermal and other alternative-energy writing strategies. Screw my Mac's AC adaptor, I'm installing a wind turbine: This should create 5,000,000 highly intelligent and dynamic green-sector blog posts by 2015.
4) Increase blog unemployment benefits. Instead of beating myself up over lazines, buy more lattés and stare therapeutically into space.
5) Blog protectionism. I'll blog only about my blog and its blog products. Pageviews may suffer, but at least I won't get any bad comments.
6) Rewrite old posts to compete with bleeding edge products. This means reworking beastly screeds like this into punchy grabbums like this. Take that, TMZ!
7) Blog ironically about the economy.Yes, tackling the global financial mess with wit and verve.
8) More lists. God they're so easy.
1/06/2009
Commuter sentence
Winter loses bloom and leaves
on the ground and the freeze thaw cycle
makes thick jagged potholes right on major roadways like
Bathurst. I live on an arterial road, something about the circulation of the city
I bike uphill to work, I almost die every morning nearly creamed by cabbies I
ride a two wheeled prayer got to make it over frozen tiny ice hills that send
tires skidding dangerous my face brushes concrete curbs I arrive at the office covered in
sweat and dirt
on the ground and the freeze thaw cycle
makes thick jagged potholes right on major roadways like
Bathurst. I live on an arterial road, something about the circulation of the city
I bike uphill to work, I almost die every morning nearly creamed by cabbies I
ride a two wheeled prayer got to make it over frozen tiny ice hills that send
tires skidding dangerous my face brushes concrete curbs I arrive at the office covered in
sweat and dirt
12/18/2008
A Pack of Lies! (Tragedy of the commons)
(new category: nostradamus)
Search engine marketing is a symptom of our current global-awareness/attention-plundering tragedy of the commons.
The more we struggle to make ourselves heard, the more noise we make, the more we make the rest of the world stupid and impoverish it with our noise.
We cannot read two things at once. Attention is a finite resource.
Our aggregate attention span is imploding, as the universe wakes up and realizes how stupid it is (before promptly forgetting).
The more we search online for answers, the stupider we realize we are (yes, stupider is a word).
We rely on the search engine, because we feel so stupid.
The more searches we make, the more powerful the engine becomes, and less trustworthy are the searches, because search results are a commodity, and so answers are being ranked, bought and sold by search engine marketers.
(We still can have faith in questions though. until we start Googling 'What is my question?')
We don't notice this corruption, because we don't have time. We rush to understand. We fail. Because the noise is drowning everything out, because it needs to make itself heard. The noise is trying to make sense of the noise, creating more noise. This is called a vicious cycle, or positive feedback loop, or whatever other euphemism for 'shitstorm' (which is itself aeuphemism malphemism).
Attention is a finite resource.
Money, obviously, is not.
Google cannot be benign. Monopolies are eminently corruptible. Search engines rob from the poor and give to the rich.
Search engines allow spammers to traffic in your attention. As time goes on, search engines, once a democratic tool to find what you want, will completely ensure that loud voices are the ones to get heard.
There is way begin reversing the search-engine attention trap: Make attention (counted by the number of neuron firings in your brain) the only valid currency. Attention must supersede money if we are to protect our well-being. The attention-based economy is democratic and fair. The search-engine economy is a black box, susceptible to the vagaries of expedient algorithms that determine maximum gain for those who trade in search.
[I fear the future semantic web because I fear applying someone else's cognitive feedback loops to unborn generations; I'm pretty sure digital conditioning will be more effective long term than Coca cola. And yeah this is a pretty loopy post but screw you - you've read this far]
Only when we enshrine attention rights as inviolable, then those who abuse and seduce it with noise will lose ground.
Attention = love = all the prayers and blog posts of the earth = what's better than money.
[????]
One word: Metacrap
Search engine marketing is a symptom of our current global-awareness/attention-plundering tragedy of the commons.
The more we struggle to make ourselves heard, the more noise we make, the more we make the rest of the world stupid and impoverish it with our noise.
We cannot read two things at once. Attention is a finite resource.
Our aggregate attention span is imploding, as the universe wakes up and realizes how stupid it is (before promptly forgetting).
The more we search online for answers, the stupider we realize we are (yes, stupider is a word).
We rely on the search engine, because we feel so stupid.
The more searches we make, the more powerful the engine becomes, and less trustworthy are the searches, because search results are a commodity, and so answers are being ranked, bought and sold by search engine marketers.
(We still can have faith in questions though. until we start Googling 'What is my question?')
We don't notice this corruption, because we don't have time. We rush to understand. We fail. Because the noise is drowning everything out, because it needs to make itself heard. The noise is trying to make sense of the noise, creating more noise. This is called a vicious cycle, or positive feedback loop, or whatever other euphemism for 'shitstorm' (which is itself a
Attention is a finite resource.
Money, obviously, is not.
Google cannot be benign. Monopolies are eminently corruptible. Search engines rob from the poor and give to the rich.
Search engines allow spammers to traffic in your attention. As time goes on, search engines, once a democratic tool to find what you want, will completely ensure that loud voices are the ones to get heard.
There is way begin reversing the search-engine attention trap: Make attention (counted by the number of neuron firings in your brain) the only valid currency. Attention must supersede money if we are to protect our well-being. The attention-based economy is democratic and fair. The search-engine economy is a black box, susceptible to the vagaries of expedient algorithms that determine maximum gain for those who trade in search.
[I fear the future semantic web because I fear applying someone else's cognitive feedback loops to unborn generations; I'm pretty sure digital conditioning will be more effective long term than Coca cola. And yeah this is a pretty loopy post but screw you - you've read this far]
Only when we enshrine attention rights as inviolable, then those who abuse and seduce it with noise will lose ground.
Attention = love = all the prayers and blog posts of the earth = what's better than money.
[????]
One word: Metacrap
12/15/2008
Job Titles 1998-2008
Too many!
Conclusion: He tried hard to outrace boredom.
- Student in Economics, Classics, Linguistics, Italian, Publishing, Urban Planning, Web Design
- Office Drone
- Humour Editor
- Local News Reporter
- Editor-in-Chief
- University Recruitment Officer
- Expat in Italy
- Cupcake Man
- Chateauvian: Pastry Chef and Rock Concert Promoter
- Teaching Assistant
- Chef, Community Soup Kitchen
- Pun Gent
- Would Be Community Organizer (Ha Ha)
- Campaign Volunteer
- Event Planner and Fundraiser
- Freelance Web Designer(eg buy this book)
- Copy and Technical Writer
- Amateur Bartender
- Copy and Online Editor
- Digital Media Director
- Web Content Manager (Advancement Division)
- Squeaky Fat Guy
Conclusion: He tried hard to outrace boredom.
12/13/2008
11/25/2008
25 alternatives to calling it "The Next Great Depression"
- The Greater Depression
- The Megathump
- The Plummeting
- Global Smackdown
- The Black Debt
- The Beggary
- The Crunk
- EconoPox!
- The Harrowing MegaSputter
- The Intolerable Mellowing
- Cashtration Nation
- The Unemplosion
- The Wayward Lurch
- World War Wimpy
- The InterKnot
- Earth & Wind and Firings
- Beetle Bailout
- The WTF by The WTO
- IMFucking Worried
- The Epic Fail
- DOW, That Hurts!
- The EI-EI-EI OWE
- TSX in the Shitty
- Dustbowl II: Lust in the Dust
- The Greedemption
11/03/2008
10 Ideas for NaNoWriMo
- The Unpronounceable Murmurings of Nathaniel P GurgleFist: tracking the final syllables of a man on his deathbed who tries to communicate with his fist in his mouth. A sad tale of phonetic potential ultimately squandered.
- A man and a giant squid play chess underwater at SeaWorld. Man falls in love with squid. Squid demurs. Man pokes squid with a bobby pin and squid explodes in a passionate inky death. Nah too slapstick.
- An anal-retentive druid comes home from work one day to a giant smelly outhouse stench in the druid guild hall and so he invents monotheism to piss off his colleagues.
- A Root Beer Float for Ramses II: The Egyptian Pharaoh builds a time machine and travels to 1964 Salt Lake City where he runs a soda bar and embraces Mormonism. When the ghost of El Ron Rubbard (L Ron Hubbard's GalactoMexican nemesis) comes to him in a dream Ramses realizes that the time machine is not enough -- he must travel to the centremost planet of the galaxy, and co-write the deepest commandment of the universe and purge existence of all its thetans (Also, Get Behind Me Thetan!)
- Kurt Vonnegut is raised from the dead when all the Earth's alarm clocks go off at once during a public reading by Matt Damon of Cat's Cradle. Zombie Vonnegut has X-ray vision and feasts on the skulls of Bush era Republicans. He can still draw pictures of sphincters but in his incomprehensible zombie drawl he has difficulty finding an art agent.
- Go Bjork, Young Man: A photojournalist in Iceland is obsessed with Bjork. The nations newspapers pitch in and pay for his therapy (hey that's just a cheap shot at Bjork)
- Emus for Tootie: The Facts of Life musical hits New Zealand, and it has trouble attracting an audience. Until Peter Jackson saves the day by taking the reins and introducing a loveable cast of hairy footed women who go to boarding school and wear frumpy clothing. Andy Serkis as Tootie.
- The Strange Dreams of One Iris Groovethorne: a day by day listing of Iris Groovethorne's incredible dreams. Oh just you blanche at the dreaming!
- Eleven cats live a life a feline frivolity in a sewer main somewhere in downtown West Palm Beach. Until one day a twelfth cat falls down a trapdoor from street and claims to be an escapee of Donald Trump's $125-million mansion renovation where even the cats are put to work and they are forced to give up their feline independence. The cats confront Trump's construction crews and assault them with an ingenious series of Ernest-Goes-to-Camp style forest-guerilla assaults, A must read for cat lovers and home improvement buffs as well as forest gorillas. Jim Varney's corpse appears in the final chapter and is mined for its poetic symbolism.
- Tread Lightly, Dr. Jung: Carl Jung wakes up one morning and discovers he has been transformed into a giant insect archetype. Sigmund Freud tries to swat him with a couch, among other trials. Eastern Europe is thrown into fits of sniggering. Not for Westerners.
10/27/2008
What are the alternatives
What are we, drawn into ourselves by chiseled time. Sketched into stone by self sustaining repetition aka conditioning, sometimes conscious and sometimes, I dunno, deep, unknowable, maybe geothermally leaked, carved into an impressive pattern, our body bed, space for the universe inside his image, supporting Niagara Falls effluvia through the persistence of a rivulet [tilt]
Overly deep, the madmen creep under the waves, poking never a head above, they drown without oxygen where there is no love.
Of awesome powers plenty, men to admire too few, he said "that's why I worship nature, but won't shake hands with you."
In fifteen minutes of not doing it only one reason stands reasonable enough: to kiss the missus, yes -- that's a good alternative to spewing this stuff.
Overly deep, the madmen creep under the waves, poking never a head above, they drown without oxygen where there is no love.
Of awesome powers plenty, men to admire too few, he said "that's why I worship nature, but won't shake hands with you."
In fifteen minutes of not doing it only one reason stands reasonable enough: to kiss the missus, yes -- that's a good alternative to spewing this stuff.
10/24/2008
How I Prevented Nuclear Holocaust
(my random act of kindness)
I was searching my hair for lice, with a comb. On the edge of the comb was a sticky note, with the words "Jihad is Wrong ~Jimmy Carter". I immediately dialed Jimmy Carter's number in Washington and told him he misplaced his sticky note. He said thanks and could I Fedex it over? I said yes and did just that, and as Carter wrote later in his memoirs, he gave the sticky note to its intended recipient, the Ayatolllah Khomeini. Since that time Iran has launched no nuclear weapons, and if our world leaders keep using 3M sticky notes, they probably never will. That's how I made the world a safer place (and no longer have head lice).
I was searching my hair for lice, with a comb. On the edge of the comb was a sticky note, with the words "Jihad is Wrong ~Jimmy Carter". I immediately dialed Jimmy Carter's number in Washington and told him he misplaced his sticky note. He said thanks and could I Fedex it over? I said yes and did just that, and as Carter wrote later in his memoirs, he gave the sticky note to its intended recipient, the Ayatolllah Khomeini. Since that time Iran has launched no nuclear weapons, and if our world leaders keep using 3M sticky notes, they probably never will. That's how I made the world a safer place (and no longer have head lice).
10/02/2008
My screen is shattered but hell you need me
Never been so unrestrained and yet focused, never has this weight vanished so blessedly, never have I been so free to be so me. The blog was awaiting my sigh; I was never pompous about the need for purity. I boycotted for the first time, on strike to guarantee my lifeline, twisting in an hourglass until I found the time.
We observe and ape wild seductive methods, untrue expedients that succeed at blurry distance, we are consigned to blunt objects, brute conclusions, frozen resolute regretful obtrusions.
I won't rhyme just cuz I'm able, but pair sound and sense deliberately, so that the rhythm doesn't run off with the brain, a syllabic concatenation as runaway train.
***
[I dance sometimes in the early morning, don't mind me if I do. I will wake you up, my buttercup, and make you breakfast too.]
We observe and ape wild seductive methods, untrue expedients that succeed at blurry distance, we are consigned to blunt objects, brute conclusions, frozen resolute regretful obtrusions.
I won't rhyme just cuz I'm able, but pair sound and sense deliberately, so that the rhythm doesn't run off with the brain, a syllabic concatenation as runaway train.
***
[I dance sometimes in the early morning, don't mind me if I do. I will wake you up, my buttercup, and make you breakfast too.]
8/27/2008
Twenty five minutes and I'm gone
(killing time -- I missed it)
Limits get results, a hurdle before me artificially coaxes creativity, squeezing blood from oblivion, inspiring netizens to dig within. But if I'm remembered for one thing, bronzed on a pin and shouted about at parties for a game where winning didn't matter, was anti-matter, where I was thick of skin, that's when I dissolve grudges and begin:
There are lights above the muck, and I get shivers in my spine, even from the firetrucks
A toast then, to the marathon men, I was one of them, I ran, broke all my bones; I spent my very best years raising funds over telephone. What then, did I get? A slap on the back and five percent bonus on my paycheque.
But I'm fine with fruit, cave slaving, my shiny bag of loot. (I have a saxophone in my laptop bag, and there are online forums too for how to play the flute).
What boredom! We are constantly at war. No wonder how we snore. For if all the world agreed, there would be anarchy. Hands in the air? Me! me! Buddha won't let me be, until he humbles me (They penalize who's first in line to extinguish all their greed).
Limits get results, a hurdle before me artificially coaxes creativity, squeezing blood from oblivion, inspiring netizens to dig within. But if I'm remembered for one thing, bronzed on a pin and shouted about at parties for a game where winning didn't matter, was anti-matter, where I was thick of skin, that's when I dissolve grudges and begin:
There are lights above the muck, and I get shivers in my spine, even from the firetrucks
A toast then, to the marathon men, I was one of them, I ran, broke all my bones; I spent my very best years raising funds over telephone. What then, did I get? A slap on the back and five percent bonus on my paycheque.
But I'm fine with fruit, cave slaving, my shiny bag of loot. (I have a saxophone in my laptop bag, and there are online forums too for how to play the flute).
What boredom! We are constantly at war. No wonder how we snore. For if all the world agreed, there would be anarchy. Hands in the air? Me! me! Buddha won't let me be, until he humbles me (They penalize who's first in line to extinguish all their greed).
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So...
1) Online readers love to read news
BUT
2) Advertisers no longer want to advertise with it
SO, WHO WILL PAY FOR THE NEWS? ANSWER:
3) Telco/Cable Monopolies
WHO
4) Buy up newspaper organizations (already doing so and will increasingly pick up the remaining scraps, dirt cheap)
AND
5) Charge subscribers in their monthly bill.
So instead of reading newspapers for $100/year subscription, we’ll pay min $500/yr (in Canada) to read news online (and Twitter, and Facebook, and watch porn) via our internet bill, and an extra $600/yr to get it on our mobile phones. Instead of $100 for news, we pay $1100.
Wow, our generation is so advanced. We just agreed to the biggest upsell in history.