Peak Oil and Climate Change Q & A | Inspiring Green Leadership

Ξ December 29th, 2007 | → 0 Comments | ∇ Science |







Richard Heinberg captures it perfectly when he says: "Climate change makes getting off of oil necessary and peak oil makes it inevitable." In other words, peak oil a very good reason to create alternative, renewable energy sources right now.


the forecast in the streets...

 

Know your Unix System Administrators!

Ξ December 29th, 2007 | → 0 Comments | ∇ Computing |


alias renice 'echo Renice\? You must mean kill -9.; kill -9 \!*'

*giggle*

 

Humorix | Finally, A Solution To The DMCA!

Ξ December 29th, 2007 | → 0 Comments | ∇ Politics and Society |


On the sixth day, He debugged.

On the seventh day, He continued to debug. Rest is for the weak.

On the eight day, the debugging continued. Only 128 compiler warnings did He now receive.

On the ninth day, the program compiled correctly. Upon execution, it immediately coredumped.

On the tenth day, The Great Programmer debugged.

On the eleventh day, He debugged.

On the twelfth day, He waved a dead chicken, but the Great Program continued to segfault.

On the thirteenth day, He discovered the fatal flaw, a misplaced comma He did find. And then void main() executed, and the Big Bang did occur.

 

Chinese Town Becomes Graveyard of Christmas Past : TreeHugger

Ξ December 29th, 2007 | → 0 Comments | ∇ Politics and Society |



 

Jewish Fable on Christmas Eve | The Distributed Republic

Ξ December 27th, 2007 | → 0 Comments | ∇ Politics and Society |




There is a well known midrash [parable] about the two brothers, one who had a family and the other who was single, who each night would deliver wheat to each other. The one with the family rationalized: I am so fortunate to have a family, my brother has nothing, let me at least give him extra wheat.

The single one rationalized: I have no need for all this wheat, my brother has a family, he needs it more.

One night they met while delivering the wheat to each other, hugged and cried. The place they met became the site of har habayis [Temple Mount, holiest site in Judaism, site of the First and Second Temple].


A modern version of this midrash has it that the brothers each night go into the others' field to take wheat. The single brother rationalized: My brother is so fortunate to have a family. I have nothing, Let me at least enjoy a larger portion of wheat. The brother with the family rationalized: I have a family, I need more wheat, so I will go to my brother's field and take wheat from him.

One night they met, fought, and the site of their meeting became the Knesset [legislative branch of the Israeli government].

 

December, 2007

Ξ December 24th, 2007 | → 0 Comments | ∇ Misc |

Stumbleupon Review of :

December, 2007...


 

Poets.org – Poetry, Poems, Bios &More – Song

Ξ December 22nd, 2007 | → 0 Comments | ∇ Words |




    Song

    Listen: there was a goat’s head hanging by ropes in a tree.
    All night it hung there and sang. And those who heard it
    Felt a hurt in their hearts and thought they were hearing
    The song of a night bird. They sat up in their beds, and then
    They lay back down again. In the night wind, the goat’s head
    Swayed back and forth, and from far off it shone faintly
    The way the moonlight shone on the train track miles away
    Beside which the goat’s headless body lay. Some boys
    Had hacked its head off. It was harder work than they had imagined.
    The goat cried like a man and struggled hard. But they
    Finished the job. They hung the bleeding head by the school
    And then ran off into the darkness that seems to hide everything.
    The head hung in the tree. The body lay by the tracks.
    The head called to the body. The body to the head.
    They missed each other. The missing grew large between them,
    Until it pulled the heart right out of the body, until
    The drawn heart flew toward the head, flew as a bird flies
    Back to its cage and the familiar perch from which it trills.
    Then the heart sang in the head, softly at first and then louder,
    Sang long and low until the morning light came up over
    The school and over the tree, and then the singing stopped….
    The goat had belonged to a small girl. She named
    The goat Broken Thorn Sweet Blackberry, named it after
    The night’s bush of stars, because the goat’s silky hair
    Was dark as well water, because it had eyes like wild fruit.
    The girl lived near a high railroad track. At night
    She heard the trains passing, the sweet sound of the train’s horn
    Pouring softly over her bed, and each morning she woke
    To give the bleating goat his pail of warm milk. She sang
    Him songs about girls with ropes and cooks in boats.
    She brushed him with a stiff brush. She dreamed daily
    That he grew bigger, and he did. She thought her dreaming
    Made it so. But one night the girl didn’t hear the train’s horn,
    And the next morning she woke to an empty yard. The goat
    Was gone. Everything looked strange. It was as if a storm
    Had passed through while she slept, wind and stones, rain
    Stripping the branches of fruit. She knew that someone
    Had stolen the goat and that he had come to harm. She called
    To him. All morning and into the afternoon, she called
    And called. She walked and walked. In her chest a bad feeling
    Like the feeling of the stones gouging the soft undersides
    Of her bare feet. Then somebody found the goat’s body
    By the high tracks, the flies already filling their soft bottles
    At the goat’s torn neck. Then somebody found the head
    Hanging in a tree by the school. They hurried to take
    These things away so that the girl would not see them.
    They hurried to raise money to buy the girl another goat.
    They hurried to find the boys who had done this, to hear
    Them say it was a joke, a joke, it was nothing but a joke….
    But listen: here is the point. The boys thought to have
    Their fun and be done with it. It was harder work than they
    Had imagined, this silly sacrifice, but they finished the job,
    Whistling as they washed their large hands in the dark.
    What they didn’t know was that the goat’s head was already
    Singing behind them in the tree. What they didn’t know
    Was that the goat’s head would go on singing, just for them,
    Long after the ropes were down, and that they would learn to listen,
    Pail after pail, stroke after patient stroke. They would
    Wake in the night thinking they heard the wind in the trees
    Or a night bird, but their hearts beating harder. There
    Would be a whistle, a hum, a high murmur, and, at last, a song,
    The low song a lost boy sings remembering his mother’s call.
    Not a cruel song, no, no, not cruel at all. This song
    Is sweet. It is sweet. The heart dies of this sweetness.

    –Brigit Pegeen Kelly

 

Caution – children explosively violating boundaries, Belgrade, Serbia.jpg o

Ξ December 22nd, 2007 | → 0 Comments | ∇ Arts, Humour, Photography |






Run, run my little ones!

Escape the frame! Transgress the meta-narrative inherent to the dominant ontological semiotic!


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David Byrnes Survival Strategies for Emerging Artists & and Megastars

Ξ December 22nd, 2007 | → 0 Comments | ∇ Music |





Not just another talking head.

 

Summer is dying by Hayyim Nahman Bialik

Ξ December 21st, 2007 | → 0 Comments | ∇ Words |




Summer is dying

Summer is dying in the purple and gold and russet
of the falling leaves of the wood,
and the sunset clouds are dying
in their own blood.

In the emptying public gardens
the last strollers break their walk
to lift their eyes and follow
the flight of the last stork.

The heart is orphaned. Soon
the cold rains will be drumming.
'Have you patched your coat for winter!
Stocked potatoes against its coming?'

--Hayyim Nahman Bialik