Everything2 New Writeups

The Dictionary (thing)

2010-01-04T05:40:08Z

I wrote a ~~book~~ NOVEL! about the adventures of Jesus as he progresses through public school, prison and the fantastic world of modern science. It's named The Dictionary. I thought I'd post a writeup about it before somebody else tried to take credit for it, since I did release it into the public domain.

Admins: please don't delete this, this is basically the internet equivalent of mailing something to yourself to establish copyright over it. Except it's in the public domain.

An obligatory excerpt (actually, the entire fourth chapter):

They emerge and sung like the choir, all equally betrothed, the steeple crosses itself like a riddle or the bleachers like a sitcom.

…

between an evitable and inevitable harm (poetry)

2010-01-04T05:18:46Z

the empty pocket Atop them fell,
once of the dogs in the bell of the roofs tear off
amid the waves of through the first time;

Miranda I have built this tower of our empire.
Autumn sends the current we will now
auburn slept to pierce enough the ground water
was spouting compact mirages and I have built
this tower of the ivy lantern's flame in passivity

light on trained her back, a tempest fell to earth.
were wall paper of the keyhole sounded she
the rest was ending for the auditorium lights on her name,
scraped through the air throwing aged paper roses,
Latticework over the yard comfort blistered her
fell to the outcroppings.

houses of missiles to pierce enough the sky overhead,
frame the sky. debris,
muttered the sky of debris, once of twilight …

Be yourself (person)

2010-01-04T03:23:49Z

All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players.
The only joy in this life is to act.

Follow your bliss, (Joseph Campbell)
Do your will, (Aleister Crowley)
Be true to yourself, (origin unknown)
live and let live (origin unknown).

"But what if my true self is evil?"
If it were so, would you ask this question?

The sickness of the world is the dissonance of its participants,
how absurd it is that anyone need be told to "be themselves".

Baking bread (idea)

2010-01-04T02:54:09Z

Ah, fresh baked bread. The very smell of which permeates our senses, ensnaring our minds and drawing us almost inexplicably towards the source. On that note, Here's my guide to how to bake bread, without sight.

First, decide which kind of bread you're going to bake. Will it be rustic or soffisticated? Will it have seeds, spices, nuts or fruit? Will it be buns or a loaf? Ok, let's begin.
First, please wash your hands and your counter and utensils. Rinse in hot water and allow them to cool. I don't want you to get sick.
Grab the following:
1/2-1 stick of butter (either salted or unsalted, doesn't matter either way
1/2-1 cup milk
2-3 tablespoons sugar, honey, etc. No splenda, aspartame, the yeast need food.
Warm water about body temperature.
A loaf tin,
a wooden or food-grade spoon,
a mixing bowl
Flour please, this is important! You're welcome to use bread flour, but I use all-purpose flour to good…

Vicky Cristina Barcelona (review)

2010-01-04T02:47:08Z

A long time ago, in a galaxy, far, far away, nerds got all pissy because a popular film called Star Wars lost out on best picture Oscar to one called Annie Hall.

Know what? Annie Hall totally deserved to win. Because back then, in a galaxy far, far away, Woody Allen made awesome pictures. He turned out stuff like Stardust Memories and The Purple Rose of Cairo and Manhattan. He was funny, touching, experimental, and in real life, dated and married some pretty cool Hollywood stars like Diane Keaton and Mia Farrow.

But that long ago and far away and might as well be an alternate history. Now, Woody Allen is fucking his stepdaughter and making films like Vicky Cristina Barcelona.

Okay, VCB features some okay performances. Actually, Penélope Cruz pretty much kicks ass,…

Helots Run Chapter 2 (fiction)

2010-01-04T02:40:26Z

continued from Chapter 1

Naarka stood on the dock of the ferry station on the east side of the river. He still held the hand lamp. He lifted it up again and pointed at the receding ferry until he could no longer make out the figure of the attendant leaning against the railing on its deck. Then he turned off the lamp and let his hand drop. He tapped the lamp thoughtfully against the thick woolen leggings wrapping his thigh. He drew a long breath in slowly, and let it out gradually, trying to make the exhale twice as slow as the inhale. He let his frustration drop like an instrument reading with every passing moment of this breath.

He turned and stepped back into the ferry station. In two long steps he was standing in front of the ticket counter. "You. Man. When does the next ferry come?"

The computer tablet on which the man had been reading his magazine no longer played any light across his face.…

Arua (person)

2010-01-04T00:10:18Z

The Aruá are an indigenous group of people who live in the Brazilian state of Rondônia. According to Funasa, there were 69 individuals in the group in 2006. Anthropological and linguistic studies of the Aruá people are extremely rare.

Language

The Aruá language belongs to the Tupi-Mondé family. There are about 20 people who speak Aruá as a first language.

Location

According to Eurico Miller (1983) the Tupi of the Guaporé originated from the dispersion of Tupi families coming from the Aripuanã. In the regions around the upper-middle Guaporé, some groups of pottery-making agriculturists reached the river and its affluents around 900. These groups spoke languages from the Tupari family of the Tupi branch. The numerous Tupi groups on the right shore of the Guaporé river remained unknown until the beginning of the 20th century since they were primarily located next to the Branco, Terebito and Colorado rivers, some distance from the shores of the…

Passionate Silence (poetry)

2010-01-03T23:13:10Z

Come and go,

Quickly, slip away, silently.

No sound; no oohs, no aah. Released, motionless.

Move and say, "Would you mind if I get a snack?"

"I have to go, OK?, I'll be right back."

Come back, with smiles; Look at something, and laugh.

Come back, with even more; more slow passionate silence.

alabastron (thing)

2010-01-03T22:12:29Z

From the Greek αλάβαστρον, a small pottery flask used in antiquity for storing oils. Alabastra were especially popular in Greece during the Archaic and Classical periods.

Typically long, flat-rimmed and round-bottomed, as below.



                       ..  ......  ..  ........................................ 
                         ............................................  ..  .... 
                    ........................................................... 
                    ........................................................... 
            ................................................................... 
          ..................................................................... 
  ..        ................................................................... 
  ..        ................................................................... 
    ..

…

Man holding a beer (person)

2010-01-03T22:05:03Z

Communication has never been my father's strong suit so it wasn't until mid-August that his children found out he had lost his job in July. My dad's apartment complex requires a two month notice and as luck in my family runs his lease had just renewed for another twelve months six days earlier. Cleaning my dad's apartment was a bitch. It was stifling hot, before we could clean anything we had to wend our way through all the shit my dad thought was worth keeping but never took care of. Probably the most frustrating thing was that my dad didn't seem to get that we were trying to help. Regardless of how many times us kids explained it, he refused to accept that moving to a smaller place meant that he was going to have to start getting rid of things.

The Thursday before Labor Day weekend my sister Beth was the one who was who helped me pack up my dad's living room. Around ten-thirty we decided to…

in the temple of love: stages of sexual gnosis (personal)

2010-01-03T17:57:27Z

Stage: What was that? I didn't feel anything!
You're flirting with Her from across the room. It's dark and smoky, and you can't quite make out Her face, but you've brought all the right presents for Her, and you're pretty sure what She looks like. Eventually, She leaves on someone else's arm, and you head home, frustrated and annoyed.

Gah. Depression, annoyance, it's just not right. The vibe is off, there's either no power here, or I'm just not getting it. I'm having to take everything I do on faith and trust it. Results are going to be dim and fleeting, because I'm not going to have the energy or emotion, no matter how many ritual trappings there are.

Stage: Getting warmer
You're walking with Her, and every once in a while, the wind will blow Her hair across your face, or She'll turn and say something delightfully witty to you. You want to get…

Blue balls (poetry)

2010-01-03T17:56:06Z

Would you like to help me out?
Or must I take the easy route
and masturbate all by myself?

I am blue and it is bad
despite the night that I just had
I'm oh-so-swollen in the 'nads

Make me better, I'm in hell
We have cold drinks and drugs as well
Just come over, no one will tell

Now is not the time to be
a prude or even just lazy
Hop in your car, then hop on me

We'll have a blast, that's a bet
A night that you won't soon forget
Let's live our lives with no regrets

Four Leaf Clover (poetry)

2010-01-03T17:07:54Z

I have found a four leaf clover
On a wide wide field, a cloudless day
I have run across the grasses
Have chased the wind and have lost my way

We found our trees barren of fruit
Our drought torn land aflame
Watched our children cry in hunger
And asked why in God's name

I have found a four leaf clover
On a wide wide field, a cloudless day
I have run across the grasses
Have chased the wind and have lost my way

We held eachother weak from cold
Coughed out our lungs, dried our eyes
Our skin turned black, flaking away
Why had no one heard our cries

I have found a four leaf clover
On a wide wide field, a cloudless day
I have run across the grasses
Have chased the wind and have lost my way

We blamed the weak, we got our guns
Beat our plowshares into swords
We fought for what was rightly ours
Bullets said much more…

Wind Farm (idea)

2010-01-03T12:35:40Z

Despite the sheer terror they induce in the populace, we have wind farms here in New Zealand. There are a couple dotted around the place, but new ones are difficult to build. The reason for this is that we have a lovely little thing called the Resource Management Act, which essentially requires an expensive application to local councils for the right to build things. Anyone can raise objections to proposed construction projects; including corporations, which was probably a stupid idea.

While it's a good idea to let people raise sensible objections to a new sewage processing plant, a tannery, or a stadium, it's slightly more problematic when it comes to modern infrastructure that people fear for no good reason whatsoever. For example, thanks to the resource consent process, one of the proposed wind farms in the Wellington region was allowed sixty-six turbines, less than originally intended. Another facet of the resource consent process for the Makara wind…

Man of the cloth (idea)

2010-01-03T04:53:02Z

Long ago, in the 1500s and 1600s, many professionals were called 'men of the cloth', that is to say, men who dressed in special cloth (clothes). The clothes of their calling, or 'uniforms' as we would call them today, identified them as professionals, whether a baker, a steward, or a clergyman.

By the late 1600s, the meaning had narrowed to mean men of the church, a minister or clergyman who wore the formal garb of the profession. The phrase 'The Cloth' also came to refer to the priesthood at this time.

Today the phrase 'man of the cloth' can be applied to a minister, preacher, or clergyman of any Christian denomination. In recent decades the phrase 'woman of the cloth' has also come into use.

Hansi, the Girl Who Loved the Swastika (review)

2010-01-03T04:31:49Z

I have a large collection of obscure and ephemeral comics, and "Hansi The Girl Who Loved the Swastika" is one of my more obscure finds, picked up in a small Goodwill store for the price of twenty-five cents. This was many years ago, and only recently did I realize a few important facts about this comic.

It was based off of a book of the same name.
It is, as much as any autobiography is, true.
It is a valuable collectors item in some circles.

When I first read it, I did realize it was obviously a heavy-handed attempt at propaganda, and was somewhat amusing in the clumsiness of its religious and political message. Of course, there is a limit to the finesse and depth that a comic book could bring to the issue of totalitarianism, and anyone in our cynical generation is probably going to view this through a heavy cloud of skepticism and irony. But whatever the amount of sincerity and insight that could be put into these weighty issues, this comic falls far…

Everything Is One (dream)

2010-01-03T02:35:44Z

1.
That blue light hasn't moved. You have been staring at it for a while now and it hasn't moved at all. The perfect sphere that it is glows brightly, as a beacon for your mind.
The space around you, enveloping you gently, has been your home. As you move you feel the nothingness warp, but you do not hear a sound.
One layer, two layers, three layers. Countless layers of thought.
You ask yourself: Have I always been here?

2.
There is a spot in your vision.
You want to move forward; You tell your mind to move forward. The blue light is there, waiting. Does it want you? Are you moving at all?
The constant pulses of darkness vibrate your aura. There is no way you could ignore it. You are completely surrounded. Where will you go? Will you wait here forever?
Are you moving closer?

3.
You have never seen anything so beautiful. Those rays of energy, the burning of fuel. You would not exist if it were extinguished. You are a…

Euripides (poetry)

2010-01-03T01:04:22Z

He aged inside the flames of Troy,
And in Sicilian quarries.

He liked caverns in the sand and pictures painted by the sea.
He saw the veins in humans as a net
Cast by the gods, in which they snare us like wild beasts;
He tried to rent it.
He was surly and he had few friends.
Time came and he was torn apart by hounds.

To ushdfgakjasgh (poetry)

2010-01-02T21:17:32Z

To ushdfgakjasgh

if my feelings for you could fly
well, you would never touch the ground,
and we would laugh above the clouds.
when i think of all of the colorful things we could do
it haunts my world of gray,
you know today is such a cloudy day.

i don't need your real name,
just cuddle up quietly next to me
and i will call you ecstasy.

Compact of Free Association (thing)

2010-01-02T20:15:07Z

The Compact of Free Association is the name for the legal relationship between three nations- The Federated States of Micronesia, the Marshall Islands, and Palau, and the United States of America. The Compact of Free Association is a rather interesting arrangement, of a kind not currently common in international politics.

To understand why the Compact of Free Association is interesting, two concepts of international politics have to be explained. These are sovereignty and autonomy, and they are not entirely clear concepts. Sovereignty especially is a tricky concept, since it has to do with the quasi-mystical foundational rights of a nation. Autonomy refers to a nation's (or other political unit's) rights to set their own laws. Most nations are sovereign, but some are not. Canada, for example, is a fully autonomous nation that still theoretically derives its sovereignty from elsewhere, in this case from The British Crown.

So the Compact of Free Association…

The Bread of the Early Years (poetry)

2010-01-02T08:37:04Z

Böll writes of childhood
and of bread:
of breaking its spine
exposing its entrails
and devouring the belly
of it, still warm
like a starved wolf.

the smell of yeast rises
from the page, fills your nose;
you feel the soft flesh
cramming every crevice
of your eager mouth
The pulse pounds in
your temples.
You are a bloodless,
but still slavering
carnivore.

Böll knows the way to read.

aspartame (idea)

2010-01-02T08:34:14Z

imho, Myself and another epileptic I know cannot have any form of artificial sweetener. This has proven bad on more than one occasion. For example. Living in a house with a diabetic and a diet-obsessed person led me to ending up about two miles from home, thoroughly lost and disoriented, after having used what I thought were sugar packets, because my parental unit kept both in the house. I didn't know how to tell the difference at the time. Now I do. But, on that note, if you do have epilepsy and can have artificial sweeteners without a problem, go for it. But if you don't know, please, please be careful and consult your neurologist!

Cosmopolitan Magazine (person)

2010-01-02T06:23:28Z

I don't read magazines that much (including my on-again, off-again favorite, MAD) because...well, because they're not like novel-length stories put in book form or even those short-story anthology sampler platters.

Magazines are the prostitutes of the reading world — you pay a small amount for about an hour's worth of pleasure, then when you're done, you can leave them in a public place, pass them on to the next sucker, cut them up until there's nothing left, or throw them in the trash in the hopes that it gets smeared and drenched with scalding hot coffee that has lost its morning luster, icy fruit drinks from a trendy café or convenience store, used tissues, and ketchup-smeared fast food containers.

So why did I bother to buy (and keep) an October 2006 issue, a November 2006 issue, a December 2006 issue, and a January 2007 issue of Cosmopolitan magazine, and put Cosmopolitan.com down in my Internet Explorer Favorites?

Simply put: I'm making a comedy fire…

snow is creeping down the foothills. drawn out to a cold prairie, shameless with window-lights. (poetry)

2010-01-02T05:15:43Z

You can smell it in the breeze,
when the wind changes
Picking up speed as it moves from West to Northwest

Then a few flakes, tentative and sparse
followed by waves of them, thicker and stronger
covering sidewalks, roofs and parking lots.

Cars overnight become all the same colour
buried monuments in silent rows

A few brave souls will venture out
leaving temporary footsteps
holes that are filled within minutes
as the white softens every sound

In the morning the frozen ground shimmers,
muted sunlight over a smooth landscape
china white and fragile from a distance

Usufruct (idea)

2010-01-02T03:53:21Z

Usufruct, in simple terms, is the ability to use a piece of property, either for personal utility or for profit, without actually having total ownership of that property. This lack of total ownership of property might mean that the property can not be sold or otherwise transferred by the the person who owns usufruct rights, and it might mean that the property can not be substantially altered. For example, (to use a quite literal interpretation), a person who had usufruct on an orchard could use the fruits for personal consumption, or could sell them, but would not have the right to cut down the orchard and turn it into a field.

The history of usufruct as a concept would probably involve a team of anthropologists and lawyers, but probably every culture has had an idea of usufruct at some time or another. It would often cause misunderstandings between cultures, when the extent of rights being transferred was not clearly laid out. For example, a group of Native…