blipvert's New Writeups

Evil (thing)

2012-06-09T23:58:20Z

EVIL, the rate at which work is expended to produce suffering, measured in terms of equivalent destructive energy relative to a known reference atrocity.

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The Tyranny of Neptune (essay)

2012-04-16T20:34:30Z

Governance is but government on land. The verity of this fact is so apparent that it chronically escapes our note: a nationâs sovereignty runs to her shallows only. Though her power be projected into the bosom of the sea, never does it there arise.

It was not the discovery of a new continent between Europe and Asia which demolished the medieval order and commenced the Modern Age. Rather, the monstrosity of our oceans, and corresponding impotence of human law over four-fifths of the globe, forced a new and unwelcome reappraisal of the limits of temporal power.

Iron ships have meantime in their multitude plowed every acre of ceruleum, yet left no single furrow dug for civilizationâs tender root. Neither flag nor custom, regulation or constitution there does flower; no less than medicines, munitions, and meat they must be freighted at dock sufficient for the voyage or done without. Modernityâs grand enterprise, the global commonwealth, has…

HMO (thing)

2012-02-24T01:08:06Z

HEALTH MAINTENANCE ORGANIZATION (HMO), general term for a bank which provides health care. Since passage of the Health Maintenance Organization Act in 1973, HMOs have formed the basis of post-modern health care in the United States, replacing the earlier, antiquated hospital-driven model which had by then become irredeemably flawed and inadequate.

The notion of health as a tangible commodity was scarcely imagined prior to the twentieth century. Hospitals received only the patients most wretchedly close to the brink of extirpation, for whom they could do little more than make comfortable ahead of their inexorable demise. The nominal expenses incurred by these institutions were willingly borne by society in exchange for their service in keeping the unfortunate afflicted securely fastened down and reassuringly out of communion with the general public hygiene. It was not until the nineteen-twenties that critical advances in medical science began to disrupt this…

Supreme Power (fiction)

2011-01-03T22:31:26Z

Eddie Forkworth stood before the large, refrigerated display case at the local convenience store, silently cursing the absence of âBee-Stung Bovineâ, his favorite energy drink. His college term paper on disaster recovery techniques of the Punic Wars was due the following day, and he knew he would never complete it without chemical assistance. Petulantly, he strode over to the checkout counter where Gus, the storeâs owner, leaned in his habitual slouch over the tattered remains of the daily newspaper. âWhat, no Bee-Stung today??â Eddie demanded.

Gus glanced up slowly with a perfunctory half-smile and shrugged, âYeah, well.â Ignoring Eddieâs anguished reaction, he returned his gaze to his paper. âBut if youâre stuck,â Gus said, eyes still fixed on the page, âthe stuff on the bottom shelf.â

Eddie had become accustomed to Gusâs habit of rarely completing a sentence and without further protest retrieved the lone can from its place of obscurity in the…

John Henry (poetry)

2010-12-28T03:37:03Z

The Ballad of John Henry

Now John Henry when he was a baby
Settin’ on his mammy’s knee
Took a snow shovel in his little right hand
Said “Shovel be the death of me, me, me,
Shovel be the death of me!”

“Well”, the Captain said to John Henry
“I’m gonna bring my snow blower ’round,
Gonna take it to the mountain o’ snow so high,
Gonna whup that snow on down, down, down,
Whup that snow on down!”

John Henry told his Captain,
“Lord a man ain’t nothin’ but a man,
But before I let that snow blower beat me
I’m gonna die with a shovel in my hand, Lord, Lord,
I’ll die with a shovel in my hand!”

John Henry he shoveled in the driveway,
From the porch right down to the street,
But he slipped so hard on a slick patch of ice,
And banged his head on concrete, concrete,…

Filled with the Christmas Spirit (fiction)

2010-12-26T04:54:46Z

At noon, the waiting line for Santaâs North Pole Palace had seemed miles long, snaking its way down aisles and winding in and around racks of merchandise. But now, at half past eight oâclock at night, the ponderous styrofoam entrance gateway held back but a handful of restless children and their exhausted parents. At the head of the line stood an auburn-haired boy, slight of build and with a calm and contemplative face that seemed far older than his mere seven years. As if oblivious to the rambunctious pushing and urging of his peers behind him, he patiently stood his ground until beckoned to by the jocular, crimson-clad figure seated several yards away atop an opulent papier-mÃ¢chÃ© throne. Slowly and somewhat tentatively, he ambled over.

“And what is your name?” chortled the man.

“Thomas, sir. Thomas Quence,” the boy replied.

“Thomas Quence! Ha ha!” The man convulsed with implausible mirth. He then…