I (print name)
hereby affirm that I am not engaged in the development or invention of controls for web pages and have no plans to be so engaged for the duration of this agreement, and that I am therefor at liberty to agree, and do so agree, not to describe to any party, before January 1, 2020, without separate written permission from Mr. Tom Sunderland of 515 West Eleventh Street, Tempe, Arizona, controls which he may describe in a document to be delivered to me describing controls for web pages which he has invented, and is developing, and not to employ, before said date, in web pages or other media constructed by me or by other parties on my behalf, similar controls, with the understanding that I may employ, in web pages or other media, any and all controls which are part of existing web design languages, libraries, or publishing tools, irregardless of whether said controls came into existence during the terms of this agreement, so long as they did not come into existence as a result of my descriptions of descriptions of the controls supplied to me by Mr. Sunderland, which said descriptions I agree not to describe or divulge, so that I may attest, as a witness, by signing a document containing a description of said controls, which Mr. Sunderland will deliver to me, to the existence of said description of controls on a certain date.
Saturday, December 20, 2014
Thursday, December 18, 2014
news
I want to read hundreds of news stories on line every day. The way I want it to work is, I just hit the next button and I get the next story. Goodbye headline pages. They'll be back, but first, this.
road
I want this place to build a real road, by which I mean, it's elevated, so the desert flows uninterrupted beneath it, and then it's fun and interesting to drive on (and slow), so, with turnouts, meanders, rises and dips and the like, and attached elevated gardens, and it incorporates a vibrant pedestrian component, and connects to habitat towers along its length.
Arcology, to me, is a kind of apartment tower, or building, but the apartment are distributed in space, with little lanes and alleys between them, and situated on plazas and other kinds of open spaces, and each "floor" includes shopping and dining and promenading and that kind of thing, and the apartments are little outdoor worlds people live in, and you don't necessarily "go down to the street", rather, you live in your neighborhood in the sky, and explore nearby neighborhoods, also in the sky, if you feel like moving around, and streams flow down through the building, and forests, and fields.
It's like you take a standard apartment tower and expand it, like popping corn, so that now it's filled with space, and air, and air, and weather, and light flow and filter through it everywhere.
Buildings need to be planned, or modeled in virtual reality. That's how they get built. And if you want complexity in a building, you need to plan it into it, before it's built, and that's done in virtual reality. The more complexity you want, the more planning, or modeling, you need to do, and then there's "many hands make light work," but existing tools for modeling and planning, including the old ones and the new ones, are very hard to master, so "many hands" is an impossibility. That the old tools are hard to master goes without saying, but that the new ones are hard to master seems like the result of an oversight, not an inescapable reality. What would make the new tools easy to master? If I could describe a building element, using words - words that computers can understand - and then move it about using words. Xml is the relevant language, but that not as obvious as it sounds.
This possibility exists: anyone who wants one has their own virtual planet, in which they can model cities, or whatever they like. It is described something like this: planet, radius. In order to place things on its surface (for example), in defined locations, you need to name a few points. So, planetary axis, north pole, south pole, and Greenwich. Now you can describe an object, such as first beam, first point of first beam, first surface of first beam, first edge of first surface ... this is all jumbled. The point of xml is container theory. First Beam is a container. In it are some named points, named line segments, named plane segments. A plane segment is a container. In it are point references. Planet is a container. In it are some points that establish its internal coordinate system, and, now, First Beam. This isn't a final version. I mean, people are going to accuse me of writing something stupid, but that's because they're biased against me. Basically I'm saying existing CAD is set up wrong. You're supposed to push things around on the screen. Underneath that, the program maintains a model in words, just what I'm describing, but you aren't supposed to need to think about that. Result: you're totally handicapped. Everything becomes incredibly difficult to understand. You need to work with that description of the model in words. Why is existing software set up in this obtuse way, that blocks your access to what you need? I think it's just habit of thought, on the part of the developers. Architecture is an elite craft, and the software is written for an elite class that's accustomed ... Or it might be set up that way purposely to keep out the hoi polloi. (There is information about SketchUp file structure, but I wasn't able to make sense of it.)
Just did look at some of that. http://sketchupplugins.com/about/creating-a-sketchup-plugin/. Still basically have no clue. None.
Sure, you're supposed to go to school for this kind of thing. What if, like me, you aren't going to do that? You're just stuck? I mean, there's a ton of stuff to read for free on the web - I do that - but it's not getting me anywhere. I am not giving up. You can call me stupid all you want. Why should I care?!
Trying again. A model of this earth could consist of a collection of contour lines. Contour lines are loops. https://www.uwgb.edu/dutchs/structge/SL51ContTopo.HTM. http://www.ngdc.noaa.gov/mgg/topo/. http://search.lycos.com/web/?q=topographic+data&keyvol=009d10876f7387d91646. http://serc.carleton.edu/NAGTWorkshops/gis/topographic_data.html. https://apps.admin.ibmcloud.com/manage/trial/watsonanalytics.html?cm_mmc=ppc_google--C24803TW
Arcology, to me, is a kind of apartment tower, or building, but the apartment are distributed in space, with little lanes and alleys between them, and situated on plazas and other kinds of open spaces, and each "floor" includes shopping and dining and promenading and that kind of thing, and the apartments are little outdoor worlds people live in, and you don't necessarily "go down to the street", rather, you live in your neighborhood in the sky, and explore nearby neighborhoods, also in the sky, if you feel like moving around, and streams flow down through the building, and forests, and fields.
It's like you take a standard apartment tower and expand it, like popping corn, so that now it's filled with space, and air, and air, and weather, and light flow and filter through it everywhere.
Buildings need to be planned, or modeled in virtual reality. That's how they get built. And if you want complexity in a building, you need to plan it into it, before it's built, and that's done in virtual reality. The more complexity you want, the more planning, or modeling, you need to do, and then there's "many hands make light work," but existing tools for modeling and planning, including the old ones and the new ones, are very hard to master, so "many hands" is an impossibility. That the old tools are hard to master goes without saying, but that the new ones are hard to master seems like the result of an oversight, not an inescapable reality. What would make the new tools easy to master? If I could describe a building element, using words - words that computers can understand - and then move it about using words. Xml is the relevant language, but that not as obvious as it sounds.
This possibility exists: anyone who wants one has their own virtual planet, in which they can model cities, or whatever they like. It is described something like this: planet, radius. In order to place things on its surface (for example), in defined locations, you need to name a few points. So, planetary axis, north pole, south pole, and Greenwich. Now you can describe an object, such as first beam, first point of first beam, first surface of first beam, first edge of first surface ... this is all jumbled. The point of xml is container theory. First Beam is a container. In it are some named points, named line segments, named plane segments. A plane segment is a container. In it are point references. Planet is a container. In it are some points that establish its internal coordinate system, and, now, First Beam. This isn't a final version. I mean, people are going to accuse me of writing something stupid, but that's because they're biased against me. Basically I'm saying existing CAD is set up wrong. You're supposed to push things around on the screen. Underneath that, the program maintains a model in words, just what I'm describing, but you aren't supposed to need to think about that. Result: you're totally handicapped. Everything becomes incredibly difficult to understand. You need to work with that description of the model in words. Why is existing software set up in this obtuse way, that blocks your access to what you need? I think it's just habit of thought, on the part of the developers. Architecture is an elite craft, and the software is written for an elite class that's accustomed ... Or it might be set up that way purposely to keep out the hoi polloi. (There is information about SketchUp file structure, but I wasn't able to make sense of it.)
Just did look at some of that. http://sketchupplugins.com/about/creating-a-sketchup-plugin/. Still basically have no clue. None.
Sure, you're supposed to go to school for this kind of thing. What if, like me, you aren't going to do that? You're just stuck? I mean, there's a ton of stuff to read for free on the web - I do that - but it's not getting me anywhere. I am not giving up. You can call me stupid all you want. Why should I care?!
Trying again. A model of this earth could consist of a collection of contour lines. Contour lines are loops. https://www.uwgb.edu/dutchs/structge/SL51ContTopo.HTM. http://www.ngdc.noaa.gov/mgg/topo/. http://search.lycos.com/web/?q=topographic+data&keyvol=009d10876f7387d91646. http://serc.carleton.edu/NAGTWorkshops/gis/topographic_data.html. https://apps.admin.ibmcloud.com/manage/trial/watsonanalytics.html?cm_mmc=ppc_google--C24803TW
Wednesday, December 17, 2014
dog
http://inu1dog11.blog86.fc2.com/
It's ten in the morning, so I am drinking. It's sort of cold, but not super cold (I'm working outside, on the gazebo), and it rained all night, so everything's wet, damp, musty. Nice.
https://medium.com/@mackenziechild/how-i-finally-learned-rails-95e9b832675b
http://css-tricks.com/
It's ten in the morning, so I am drinking. It's sort of cold, but not super cold (I'm working outside, on the gazebo), and it rained all night, so everything's wet, damp, musty. Nice.
https://medium.com/@mackenziechild/how-i-finally-learned-rails-95e9b832675b
http://css-tricks.com/
affirming
http://www.salon.com/2014/11/23/%E2%80%9Cthere%E2%80%99s_been_class_warfare_going_on_for_the_last_20_years_and_my_class_has_won_partner/
"85 richest billionaires on the planet, including the likes of Carlos Slim, Bill Gates and Mark Zuckerberg, have as much money as the 3.5 billion poorest people"
The gist of the editorial seems to be that this is a really bad thing. Little is said to defend that notion. I guess it's just one of those self evident truths. I guess we're supposed to get all upset. Does that sound healthy?
I want the facts! Oh, wait, I've got them. There are roughly 8 billion people. Subtract 85, and then subtract 3.5 billion, and there are 4.5 billion people in, I guess, the middle class. Is being middle class a bad thing? Are we complaining that everybody's not super rich?
I want everyone to be happy. Everyone. Here I am, little tiny me. What am I supposed to do about it?!
We live in a giant surging wave of humanity. Waves are rough, but you can at least try to surf them. If you nail it, it's a blast. If you blow it, you get slammed. If you don't do anything, well, what happens happens.
I got to know some poor middle class Brits. They're a laugh riot. It was really fun. But they're also, I have to say, kind of stupid. They're super aware of their privilege. If they've got a beef, they just stuff it right in your face. They march along, fully expecting everyone to just jump out of the way. (And we do.) Or (this happens a lot, too) we're supposed to (and why not?) go all moon eyed and tag along for the show. Good show! But, OK, all that privilege, and what do they do? They complain and complain! So, OK, money's tough, and health is a constant issue. It's rough. So I'd make suggestions. Try this exercise for the pain in your arm. Interesting? No. It's like I'm suddenly a suspicious person, like I'm attacking you. Or, hey, I'm getting some results in the stock market. It looks to me like, if you work at it, you can have zero money problems that way. Yes, you have to control the risk. Yes, it'll probably take some time. But I'm here. Let's work on it together.
Nah.
Then they're, like, our apartment is so miserable. Well, yeah, you've got this nasty, horrible throw on the sofa. Why not make just a little effort decorating. And then, I mean, just be content.
I mean, I've got it rough myself! My house is a disaster! And I'm incredibly poor. But it's my own damned fault. Anyone will tell you that, and they're right! If I'm going to get out of this hole, I just need to keep digging. And if I don't make it, it's not anybody else's fault. I mean, I get demanding sometimes. I say "I have a right to demand that you do this for me." Then they say "No, you don't." Then I say, yeah, you're right. On the other hand, sometimes they say "OK, I'll give it a shot." Then I say "Wow, thank you, that's really sweet." And I get fringe benefits. They're, like, "Come to my party." So, I have a nice time.
I got to know this other guy, who's totally, incredibly working class. He's kind of sweet, and really charming, but he's the most stuck up asshole you ever met! He thinks because he's working class he's some kind of holy angel. He thinks every stupid random idea he has is the epitome of reason. He thinks his style is just unbelievably awesome, and we should all drop absolutely everything and be just like him. And it's kind of true, his style is kind of awesome. Except when it's kind of nasty, which it also is.
He thinks he absolutely knows everything. He thinks he's a total genius. He is kind of a genius, in fact, quite a genius. But then again, what does he do? He makes hurtful comments, left, right, and everywhere in between. So, even though we all greatly admire him, no one (not just me, the village idiot, but actually the smart people on the block, too) wants anything to do with him. And he complains and complains. He's got a bunch of money in savings accounts. He's like, "I'm smart. No one is going to sucker me into losing my money in the stock market." Then he complains about how poor he is, that he can't spend a penny because he's going to run out of money. So I'm, like, look at the stock market with me.
Nah.
He's like, all admiration, because I'm sort of intellectual. But does he listen to anything I say? Certainly not. And, he's right. If I were so good, I'd be rich, and I'm not. But I'm not saying "I'll tell you what to do." I'm saying, let's work at it.
Nah.
There was this super sweet black guy living across the street for a while. He actually was an angel. But things were getting tougher and tougher for him. He didn't like me all that much, although he was really nice. I mean, I'm not very likable. But we were sort of a group of friends, so one day he's telling me about his problems. His wife was beating on him. It was bad. So I'm like, the answer is meditation. After that, he just stopped talking to me. It's not actually that he's dumb or anything. I'm dumb, that's why. I know stuff, but I don't know how to help. He eventually moved to Colorado, and now he can smoke all the pot he wants, and not get hassled. Among us, he's the winner.
The gang broke up. It's just me again, now. That's good.
Raking the lawn. Turning the compost. Trimming a branch here, another there, just barely making a dent. Sorting through my stuff, getting it a tiny bit more in order. Doing dishes, laundry, cooking a meal. At least it's something. Stumbling in the stock market, but I may get it sorted, one of these days. And, if I make a bunch of money, then what?
So, I write. I'm like, what the hell? What am I supposed to do? I'll write. I write, and then I'm not at all sure I want anyone to read it. After all, I will get trolled. Then I do it again.
I've gotten through all of this health stuff, cancers, heart attacks, headaches, pneumonia, major cat bite, mrsa infection, which doctors say is "untreatable", like a volcano erupting on my arm, wisdom teeth falling apart, impaired vision, obesity, stroke, poverty, mental illness. I got through all of those things without any help from doctors (except fifteen years of counseling), with just my own ideas about things, natural remedies, cooking, yoga (self taught), and meditations. People know this about me. Do they ask me how I did it? Nope. They shy away. "Don't listen to Tom. Go to the doctor." Then they get prescribed horrible medicines, that make them deathly ill, surgeries they'll never recover from. They even just die. Don't listen to Tom. Literally, I'm cursed. Nobody likes me, right? A big fuck you to all of you. Guess what, I've got my people. I'm cursed, and it's a good thing. Still, I want to get out of this hole. Nothing for it but to keep affirming, keep struggling through.
"85 richest billionaires on the planet, including the likes of Carlos Slim, Bill Gates and Mark Zuckerberg, have as much money as the 3.5 billion poorest people"
The gist of the editorial seems to be that this is a really bad thing. Little is said to defend that notion. I guess it's just one of those self evident truths. I guess we're supposed to get all upset. Does that sound healthy?
I want the facts! Oh, wait, I've got them. There are roughly 8 billion people. Subtract 85, and then subtract 3.5 billion, and there are 4.5 billion people in, I guess, the middle class. Is being middle class a bad thing? Are we complaining that everybody's not super rich?
I want everyone to be happy. Everyone. Here I am, little tiny me. What am I supposed to do about it?!
We live in a giant surging wave of humanity. Waves are rough, but you can at least try to surf them. If you nail it, it's a blast. If you blow it, you get slammed. If you don't do anything, well, what happens happens.
I got to know some poor middle class Brits. They're a laugh riot. It was really fun. But they're also, I have to say, kind of stupid. They're super aware of their privilege. If they've got a beef, they just stuff it right in your face. They march along, fully expecting everyone to just jump out of the way. (And we do.) Or (this happens a lot, too) we're supposed to (and why not?) go all moon eyed and tag along for the show. Good show! But, OK, all that privilege, and what do they do? They complain and complain! So, OK, money's tough, and health is a constant issue. It's rough. So I'd make suggestions. Try this exercise for the pain in your arm. Interesting? No. It's like I'm suddenly a suspicious person, like I'm attacking you. Or, hey, I'm getting some results in the stock market. It looks to me like, if you work at it, you can have zero money problems that way. Yes, you have to control the risk. Yes, it'll probably take some time. But I'm here. Let's work on it together.
Nah.
Then they're, like, our apartment is so miserable. Well, yeah, you've got this nasty, horrible throw on the sofa. Why not make just a little effort decorating. And then, I mean, just be content.
I mean, I've got it rough myself! My house is a disaster! And I'm incredibly poor. But it's my own damned fault. Anyone will tell you that, and they're right! If I'm going to get out of this hole, I just need to keep digging. And if I don't make it, it's not anybody else's fault. I mean, I get demanding sometimes. I say "I have a right to demand that you do this for me." Then they say "No, you don't." Then I say, yeah, you're right. On the other hand, sometimes they say "OK, I'll give it a shot." Then I say "Wow, thank you, that's really sweet." And I get fringe benefits. They're, like, "Come to my party." So, I have a nice time.
I got to know this other guy, who's totally, incredibly working class. He's kind of sweet, and really charming, but he's the most stuck up asshole you ever met! He thinks because he's working class he's some kind of holy angel. He thinks every stupid random idea he has is the epitome of reason. He thinks his style is just unbelievably awesome, and we should all drop absolutely everything and be just like him. And it's kind of true, his style is kind of awesome. Except when it's kind of nasty, which it also is.
He thinks he absolutely knows everything. He thinks he's a total genius. He is kind of a genius, in fact, quite a genius. But then again, what does he do? He makes hurtful comments, left, right, and everywhere in between. So, even though we all greatly admire him, no one (not just me, the village idiot, but actually the smart people on the block, too) wants anything to do with him. And he complains and complains. He's got a bunch of money in savings accounts. He's like, "I'm smart. No one is going to sucker me into losing my money in the stock market." Then he complains about how poor he is, that he can't spend a penny because he's going to run out of money. So I'm, like, look at the stock market with me.
Nah.
He's like, all admiration, because I'm sort of intellectual. But does he listen to anything I say? Certainly not. And, he's right. If I were so good, I'd be rich, and I'm not. But I'm not saying "I'll tell you what to do." I'm saying, let's work at it.
Nah.
There was this super sweet black guy living across the street for a while. He actually was an angel. But things were getting tougher and tougher for him. He didn't like me all that much, although he was really nice. I mean, I'm not very likable. But we were sort of a group of friends, so one day he's telling me about his problems. His wife was beating on him. It was bad. So I'm like, the answer is meditation. After that, he just stopped talking to me. It's not actually that he's dumb or anything. I'm dumb, that's why. I know stuff, but I don't know how to help. He eventually moved to Colorado, and now he can smoke all the pot he wants, and not get hassled. Among us, he's the winner.
The gang broke up. It's just me again, now. That's good.
Raking the lawn. Turning the compost. Trimming a branch here, another there, just barely making a dent. Sorting through my stuff, getting it a tiny bit more in order. Doing dishes, laundry, cooking a meal. At least it's something. Stumbling in the stock market, but I may get it sorted, one of these days. And, if I make a bunch of money, then what?
So, I write. I'm like, what the hell? What am I supposed to do? I'll write. I write, and then I'm not at all sure I want anyone to read it. After all, I will get trolled. Then I do it again.
I've gotten through all of this health stuff, cancers, heart attacks, headaches, pneumonia, major cat bite, mrsa infection, which doctors say is "untreatable", like a volcano erupting on my arm, wisdom teeth falling apart, impaired vision, obesity, stroke, poverty, mental illness. I got through all of those things without any help from doctors (except fifteen years of counseling), with just my own ideas about things, natural remedies, cooking, yoga (self taught), and meditations. People know this about me. Do they ask me how I did it? Nope. They shy away. "Don't listen to Tom. Go to the doctor." Then they get prescribed horrible medicines, that make them deathly ill, surgeries they'll never recover from. They even just die. Don't listen to Tom. Literally, I'm cursed. Nobody likes me, right? A big fuck you to all of you. Guess what, I've got my people. I'm cursed, and it's a good thing. Still, I want to get out of this hole. Nothing for it but to keep affirming, keep struggling through.
i actually care
i care a lot
i care a ton
and yet
i can't seem to avoid
producing
volumes
of plastic trash
so many
of the
wonderful
things
i enjoy
so fascinating
in this world
the privileges
and i
dance about
"i am the king of the world!"
are created
by
giant
companies
we
complain
about that
we
may
live
in old houses
in old
neighborhoods
on
principle
but
we drive our cars
we shop at whole foods
and Target
we surf
the web
we fly
to Hawaii
and
we are grateful
one person
a friend, i guess
bitterly complains
about big companies
complains about
billionaires
and
executives
but
he worked
for the
phone
company
and
he's
extremely
proud
of that
go figure
big companies
rule
they
get it done
i want to get it done
i want to create a big company
a giant company
i want to be
the founder
and
ceo
partly
because i want all the perks
i do
even
to be contrary
but
also
partly
to get it done
to make it at least possible for anyone
and everyone
to do all their shopping
and not produce ANY
plastic
waste.
also
my prosperity feels quite limited
and it's not that there isn't massive abundance out there
all around me
or even that
(though i'm, i would say, quite poor)
i don't have access to it
because the little money i have could buy me a lot
all sorts of stuff
it even does
no
it's
it seems to me
because
the systems in place for buying
(and selling)
are incompletely developed
the abundance is out there (soto)
the systems are out there
those are the big things
and the big things aren't the problem
the little things are the problem
the details
like
that i have to use my credit card
to buy stuff - and give away money -
on line
the credit card
with its unlimited ballance
if someone could game that little system
my credit card number
they could run up a huge tab
on me
and then
to correct the problem
i would have to go through
i would have to jump through various hoops
the alternative
(here's my silly dream, my wish)
i would write a check
i guess
to a company
and
by that means
create a little pool of money
on line
that i could spend
by pressing buttons
and when it's used up
it's used up
i even know things like this exist
i care a lot
i care a ton
and yet
i can't seem to avoid
producing
volumes
of plastic trash
so many
of the
wonderful
things
i enjoy
so fascinating
in this world
the privileges
and i
dance about
"i am the king of the world!"
are created
by
giant
companies
we
complain
about that
we
may
live
in old houses
in old
neighborhoods
on
principle
but
we drive our cars
we shop at whole foods
and Target
we surf
the web
we fly
to Hawaii
and
we are grateful
one person
a friend, i guess
bitterly complains
about big companies
complains about
billionaires
and
executives
but
he worked
for the
phone
company
and
he's
extremely
proud
of that
go figure
big companies
rule
they
get it done
i want to get it done
i want to create a big company
a giant company
i want to be
the founder
and
ceo
partly
because i want all the perks
i do
even
to be contrary
but
also
partly
to get it done
to make it at least possible for anyone
and everyone
to do all their shopping
and not produce ANY
plastic
waste.
also
my prosperity feels quite limited
and it's not that there isn't massive abundance out there
all around me
or even that
(though i'm, i would say, quite poor)
i don't have access to it
because the little money i have could buy me a lot
all sorts of stuff
it even does
no
it's
it seems to me
because
the systems in place for buying
(and selling)
are incompletely developed
the abundance is out there (soto)
the systems are out there
those are the big things
and the big things aren't the problem
the little things are the problem
the details
like
that i have to use my credit card
to buy stuff - and give away money -
on line
the credit card
with its unlimited ballance
if someone could game that little system
my credit card number
they could run up a huge tab
on me
and then
to correct the problem
i would have to go through
i would have to jump through various hoops
the alternative
(here's my silly dream, my wish)
i would write a check
i guess
to a company
and
by that means
create a little pool of money
on line
that i could spend
by pressing buttons
and when it's used up
it's used up
i even know things like this exist
affirming
http://www.salon.com/2014/11/23/%E2%80%9Cthere%E2%80%99s_been_class_warfare_going_on_for_the_last_20_years_and_my_class_has_won_partner/
"85 richest billionaires on the planet, including the likes of Carlos Slim, Bill Gates and Mark Zuckerberg, have as much money as the 3.5 billion poorest people"
The gist of the editorial seems to be that this is a really bad thing. Little is said to defend that notion. I guess it's just one of those self evident truths. I guess we're supposed to get all upset. Does that sound healthy?
I want the facts! Oh, wait, I've got them. There are roughly 8 billion people. Subtract 85, and then subtract 3.5 billion, and there are 4.5 billion people in, I guess, the middle class. Is being middle class a bad thing? Are we complaining that everybody's not super rich?
I want everyone to be happy. Everyone. Here I am, little tiny me. What am I supposed to do about it?!
We live in a giant surging wave of humanity. Waves are rough, but you can at least try to surf them. If you nail it, it's a blast. If you blow it, you get slammed. If you don't do anything, well, what happens happens.
I got to know some poor middle class Brits. They're a laugh riot. It was really fun. But they're also, I have to say, kind of stupid. They're super aware of their privilege. If they've got a beef, they just stuff it right in your face. They march along, fully expecting everyone to just jump out of the way. (And we do.) Or (this happens a lot, too) we're supposed to (and why not?) go all moon eyed and tag along for the show. Good show! But, OK, all that privilege, and what do they do? They complain and complain! So, OK, money's tough, and health is a constant issue. It's rough. So I'd make suggestions. Try this exercise for the pain in your arm. Interesting? No. It's like I'm suddenly a suspicious person, like I'm attacking you. Or, hey, I'm getting some results in the stock market. It looks to me like, if you work at it, you can have zero money problems that way. Yes, you have to control the risk. Yes, it'll probably take some time. But I'm here. Let's work on it together.
Nah.
Then they're, like, our apartment is so miserable. Well, yeah, you've got this nasty, horrible throw on the sofa. Why not make just a little effort decorating. And then, I mean, just be content.
I mean, I've got it rough myself! My house is a disaster! And I'm incredibly poor. But it's my own damned fault. Anyone will tell you that, and they're right! If I'm going to get out of this hole, I just need to keep digging. And if I don't make it, it's not anybody else's fault. I mean, I get demanding sometimes. I say "I have a right to demand that you do this for me." Then they say "No, you don't." Then I say, yeah, you're right. On the other hand, sometimes they say "OK, I'll give it a shot." Then I say "Wow, thank you, that's really sweet." And I get fringe benefits. They're, like, "Come to my party." So, I have a nice time.
I got to know this other guy, who's totally, incredibly working class. He's kind of sweet, and really charming, but he's the most stuck up asshole you ever met! He thinks because he's working class he's some kind of holy angel. He thinks every stupid random idea he has is the epitome of reason. He thinks his style is just unbelievably awesome, and we should all drop absolutely everything and be just like him. And it's kind of true, his style is kind of awesome. Except when it's kind of nasty, which it also is.
He thinks he absolutely knows everything. He thinks he's a total genius. He is kind of a genius, in fact, quite a genius. But then again, what does he do? He makes hurtful comments, left, right, and everywhere in between. So, even though we all greatly admire him, no one (not just me, the village idiot, but actually the smart people on the block, too) wants anything to do with him. And he complains and complains. He's got a bunch of money in savings accounts. He's like, "I'm smart. No one is going to sucker me into losing my money in the stock market." Then he complains about how poor he is, that he can't spend a penny because he's going to run out of money. So I'm, like, look at the stock market with me.
Nah.
He's like, all admiration, because I'm sort of intellectual. But does he listen to anything I say? Certainly not. And, he's right. If I were so good, I'd be rich, and I'm not. But I'm not saying "I'll tell you what to do." I'm saying, let's work at it.
Nah.
There was this super sweet black guy living across the street for a while. He actually was an angel. But things were getting tougher and tougher for him. He didn't like me all that much, although he was really nice. I mean, I'm not very likable. But we were sort of a group of friends, so one day he's telling me about his problems. His wife was beating on him. It was bad. So I'm like, the answer is meditation. After that, he just stopped talking to me. It's not actually that he's dumb or anything. I'm dumb, that's why. I know stuff, but I don't know how to help. He eventually moved to Colorado, and now he can smoke all the pot he wants, and not get hassled. Among us, he's the winner.
The gang broke up. It's just me again, now. That's good.
Raking the lawn. Turning the compost. Trimming a branch here, another there, just barely making a dent. Sorting through my stuff, getting it a tiny bit more in order. Doing dishes, laundry, cooking a meal. At least it's something. Stumbling in the stock market, but I may get it sorted, one of these days. And, if I make a bunch of money, then what?
So, I write. I'm like, what the hell? What am I supposed to do? I'll write. I write, and then I'm not at all sure I want anyone to read it. After all, I will get trolled. Then I do it again.
I've gotten through all of this health stuff, cancers, heart attacks, headaches, pneumonia, major cat bite, mrsa infection, which doctors say is "untreatable", like a volcano erupting on my arm, wisdom teeth falling apart, impaired vision, obesity, stroke, poverty, mental illness. I got through all of those things without any help from doctors (except fifteen years of counseling), with just my own ideas about things, natural remedies, cooking, yoga (self taught), and meditations. People know this about me. Do they ask me how I did it? Nope. They shy away. "Don't listen to Tom. Go to the doctor." Then they get prescribed horrible medicines, that make them deathly ill, surgeries they'll never recover from. They even just die. Don't listen to Tom. Literally, I'm cursed. Nobody likes me, right? A big fuck you to all of you. Guess what, I've got my people. I'm cursed, and it's a good thing. Still, I want to get out of this hole. Nothing for it but to keep affirming, keep struggling through.
"85 richest billionaires on the planet, including the likes of Carlos Slim, Bill Gates and Mark Zuckerberg, have as much money as the 3.5 billion poorest people"
The gist of the editorial seems to be that this is a really bad thing. Little is said to defend that notion. I guess it's just one of those self evident truths. I guess we're supposed to get all upset. Does that sound healthy?
I want the facts! Oh, wait, I've got them. There are roughly 8 billion people. Subtract 85, and then subtract 3.5 billion, and there are 4.5 billion people in, I guess, the middle class. Is being middle class a bad thing? Are we complaining that everybody's not super rich?
I want everyone to be happy. Everyone. Here I am, little tiny me. What am I supposed to do about it?!
We live in a giant surging wave of humanity. Waves are rough, but you can at least try to surf them. If you nail it, it's a blast. If you blow it, you get slammed. If you don't do anything, well, what happens happens.
I got to know some poor middle class Brits. They're a laugh riot. It was really fun. But they're also, I have to say, kind of stupid. They're super aware of their privilege. If they've got a beef, they just stuff it right in your face. They march along, fully expecting everyone to just jump out of the way. (And we do.) Or (this happens a lot, too) we're supposed to (and why not?) go all moon eyed and tag along for the show. Good show! But, OK, all that privilege, and what do they do? They complain and complain! So, OK, money's tough, and health is a constant issue. It's rough. So I'd make suggestions. Try this exercise for the pain in your arm. Interesting? No. It's like I'm suddenly a suspicious person, like I'm attacking you. Or, hey, I'm getting some results in the stock market. It looks to me like, if you work at it, you can have zero money problems that way. Yes, you have to control the risk. Yes, it'll probably take some time. But I'm here. Let's work on it together.
Nah.
Then they're, like, our apartment is so miserable. Well, yeah, you've got this nasty, horrible throw on the sofa. Why not make just a little effort decorating. And then, I mean, just be content.
I mean, I've got it rough myself! My house is a disaster! And I'm incredibly poor. But it's my own damned fault. Anyone will tell you that, and they're right! If I'm going to get out of this hole, I just need to keep digging. And if I don't make it, it's not anybody else's fault. I mean, I get demanding sometimes. I say "I have a right to demand that you do this for me." Then they say "No, you don't." Then I say, yeah, you're right. On the other hand, sometimes they say "OK, I'll give it a shot." Then I say "Wow, thank you, that's really sweet." And I get fringe benefits. They're, like, "Come to my party." So, I have a nice time.
I got to know this other guy, who's totally, incredibly working class. He's kind of sweet, and really charming, but he's the most stuck up asshole you ever met! He thinks because he's working class he's some kind of holy angel. He thinks every stupid random idea he has is the epitome of reason. He thinks his style is just unbelievably awesome, and we should all drop absolutely everything and be just like him. And it's kind of true, his style is kind of awesome. Except when it's kind of nasty, which it also is.
He thinks he absolutely knows everything. He thinks he's a total genius. He is kind of a genius, in fact, quite a genius. But then again, what does he do? He makes hurtful comments, left, right, and everywhere in between. So, even though we all greatly admire him, no one (not just me, the village idiot, but actually the smart people on the block, too) wants anything to do with him. And he complains and complains. He's got a bunch of money in savings accounts. He's like, "I'm smart. No one is going to sucker me into losing my money in the stock market." Then he complains about how poor he is, that he can't spend a penny because he's going to run out of money. So I'm, like, look at the stock market with me.
Nah.
He's like, all admiration, because I'm sort of intellectual. But does he listen to anything I say? Certainly not. And, he's right. If I were so good, I'd be rich, and I'm not. But I'm not saying "I'll tell you what to do." I'm saying, let's work at it.
Nah.
There was this super sweet black guy living across the street for a while. He actually was an angel. But things were getting tougher and tougher for him. He didn't like me all that much, although he was really nice. I mean, I'm not very likable. But we were sort of a group of friends, so one day he's telling me about his problems. His wife was beating on him. It was bad. So I'm like, the answer is meditation. After that, he just stopped talking to me. It's not actually that he's dumb or anything. I'm dumb, that's why. I know stuff, but I don't know how to help. He eventually moved to Colorado, and now he can smoke all the pot he wants, and not get hassled. Among us, he's the winner.
The gang broke up. It's just me again, now. That's good.
Raking the lawn. Turning the compost. Trimming a branch here, another there, just barely making a dent. Sorting through my stuff, getting it a tiny bit more in order. Doing dishes, laundry, cooking a meal. At least it's something. Stumbling in the stock market, but I may get it sorted, one of these days. And, if I make a bunch of money, then what?
So, I write. I'm like, what the hell? What am I supposed to do? I'll write. I write, and then I'm not at all sure I want anyone to read it. After all, I will get trolled. Then I do it again.
I've gotten through all of this health stuff, cancers, heart attacks, headaches, pneumonia, major cat bite, mrsa infection, which doctors say is "untreatable", like a volcano erupting on my arm, wisdom teeth falling apart, impaired vision, obesity, stroke, poverty, mental illness. I got through all of those things without any help from doctors (except fifteen years of counseling), with just my own ideas about things, natural remedies, cooking, yoga (self taught), and meditations. People know this about me. Do they ask me how I did it? Nope. They shy away. "Don't listen to Tom. Go to the doctor." Then they get prescribed horrible medicines, that make them deathly ill, surgeries they'll never recover from. They even just die. Don't listen to Tom. Literally, I'm cursed. Nobody likes me, right? A big fuck you to all of you. Guess what, I've got my people. I'm cursed, and it's a good thing. Still, I want to get out of this hole. Nothing for it but to keep affirming, keep struggling through.
Tuesday, December 16, 2014
Monday, December 15, 2014
me and My Mind
Oh My! I have chosen this place, a page on the Web, as a place to be, in this moment.
I am here. That deed is done.
My mind explores ... other places. Naka, here, the center. Soto, there, out there. My mind seems to want to go soto, out there.
Maybe this is a fault in Me. Am I and my mind different things? I can only report what I perceive. I feel as if I and My Mind are not the same things. sddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddd
Huh?
I feel like I am an observer, and a decision maker, though not entirely in control of the latter faculty ... or of the former. Because I observe, or I perceive. That, I don't need to do anything about. And then, maybe I can decide, and maybe not. I feel like I can decide to look at something. Beyond that, I'm not sure ... what I can decide ... to do. Sometimes I can decide to do something, and sometimes, despite myself, I can't, or so it seems.
I am here. I decided to come here. It was a spontaneous kind of decision, based, maybe, on what felt easiest. "Where can I go and feel comfortable," I thought, and thought the easiest place to go and be that was here, so I came here.
I am comfortable here because it is clean, simple, elegant, beautiful ... and offers, also, the possibility of getting something done. I was asking myself about that. Am I motivated by the possibility of getting things done? Is that some kind of core motivation? Is that life's purpose, perhaps?
What is it I wish to accomplish. I think it's accurate to say this, that I wish to accomplish something. I didn't decide to wish that, or that's how it feels. Maybe I could decide not to wish that, but I just wished it, spontaneously. Maybe My Mind wished it, and maybe My Mind and I are not the same thing. I'm observing My Mind wishing something. I feel like it did it on its own, and I am separate from it, and just observing it doing that. Now maybe I can make a decision, and direct My Mind to do something, one thing or another, but wishing this thing is something My Mind did on its own.
I want something. Now it feels more like me, and not so much this other entity, My Mind, doing the wanting. Very confusing!
I am deeply reluctant to admit that I want something. To write, here, that I want something, is to admit that I want something. I don't mind admitting wanting things, but I'm wary of admitting what they are.
Interesting! It seems I and My Mind have somewhat merged, as a result of this writing!
I am here. That deed is done.
My mind explores ... other places. Naka, here, the center. Soto, there, out there. My mind seems to want to go soto, out there.
Maybe this is a fault in Me. Am I and my mind different things? I can only report what I perceive. I feel as if I and My Mind are not the same things. sddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddd
Huh?
I feel like I am an observer, and a decision maker, though not entirely in control of the latter faculty ... or of the former. Because I observe, or I perceive. That, I don't need to do anything about. And then, maybe I can decide, and maybe not. I feel like I can decide to look at something. Beyond that, I'm not sure ... what I can decide ... to do. Sometimes I can decide to do something, and sometimes, despite myself, I can't, or so it seems.
I am here. I decided to come here. It was a spontaneous kind of decision, based, maybe, on what felt easiest. "Where can I go and feel comfortable," I thought, and thought the easiest place to go and be that was here, so I came here.
I am comfortable here because it is clean, simple, elegant, beautiful ... and offers, also, the possibility of getting something done. I was asking myself about that. Am I motivated by the possibility of getting things done? Is that some kind of core motivation? Is that life's purpose, perhaps?
What is it I wish to accomplish. I think it's accurate to say this, that I wish to accomplish something. I didn't decide to wish that, or that's how it feels. Maybe I could decide not to wish that, but I just wished it, spontaneously. Maybe My Mind wished it, and maybe My Mind and I are not the same thing. I'm observing My Mind wishing something. I feel like it did it on its own, and I am separate from it, and just observing it doing that. Now maybe I can make a decision, and direct My Mind to do something, one thing or another, but wishing this thing is something My Mind did on its own.
I want something. Now it feels more like me, and not so much this other entity, My Mind, doing the wanting. Very confusing!
I am deeply reluctant to admit that I want something. To write, here, that I want something, is to admit that I want something. I don't mind admitting wanting things, but I'm wary of admitting what they are.
Interesting! It seems I and My Mind have somewhat merged, as a result of this writing!
Thursday, December 11, 2014
yoga
http://www.yogitimes.com/article/meditation-empathy-compassion-emotions
green power standard:
http://www.japanportal.jp/article/432679.html
jicc
http://www.us.emb-japan.go.jp/jicc/index.html
"Table hiragana" by User:Pmx - Based upon Image:Table hiragana.jpg Original autor : Karine WIDMER. ( http://www.escale-japon.com ) From : _ http://www.escale-japon.com/cours/table_katakana.jpg _ http://www.escale-japon.com/cours/table_hiragana.jpg. Licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0 via Wikimedia Commons.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hiragana
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hiragana_Times
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Katakana
"Table katakana" by User:Pmx - Based upon Image:Table katakana.jpg. Licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0 via Wikimedia Commons.
j-talk kanji converter!
romanji desu
green power standard:
http://www.japanportal.jp/article/432679.html
jicc
http://www.us.emb-japan.go.jp/jicc/index.html
"Table hiragana" by User:Pmx - Based upon Image:Table hiragana.jpg Original autor : Karine WIDMER. ( http://www.escale-japon.com ) From : _ http://www.escale-japon.com/cours/table_katakana.jpg _ http://www.escale-japon.com/cours/table_hiragana.jpg. Licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0 via Wikimedia Commons.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hiragana
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hiragana_Times
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Katakana
"Table katakana" by User:Pmx - Based upon Image:Table katakana.jpg. Licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0 via Wikimedia Commons.
j-talk kanji converter!
romanji desu
Monday, December 8, 2014
aaoi
back in september i thought this was a buy because of a triangular formation
good to study someone's mistakes, don't you think?
at least after it broke down you could have sold it at or near the buy price on the rebound
good to study someone's mistakes, don't you think?
at least after it broke down you could have sold it at or near the buy price on the rebound
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