All Your Base

Ok. Priznajem. Možda i je riža. Happy? Doduše, ipak ovisi o kakvoj je riži riječ. Ima raznih vrsta riže. Integralna (dugo i kratko zrno), basmati, paraboiled i divlja riža (a valjda ih ima i još, sam kaj mi se ne da tražit). Na koju bi se rižu točno to odnosilo. Mislim, nemreš reć samo rižu i to je to: teorija kompletna. Ja mislim da je druga teorija kompletnija, nema kontra-argumenata. Mislim, ak mi se ne vjeruje preporučam da se rješenje nađe uporabom neke od deduktivnih metoda.

A sad misao neka mudra, a da svi razumiju. Pokušah meditirati na ovu putnikovu mantru (no, dobro, nije to mantra, no u nedostatku boljeg imena), al mi se sam vrti od toga sad i skoro sam se dvaput srušil, a sjedim, pa sam odustao.

I sad će se prosječni štioc pitati, pa dobro, dođavola, što li je ovaj sad tu tolko mudro izrekao da bi se nad tim morali zamisliti. EEEEeeee.... Htjedoh samo potvrditi pikeovu tezu da hiperventiliranje STVARNO NIJE rješenje, a da se radi o hiperventiliranju sam doznao tek nakon svog aktivnog sudjelovanja u dotičnom blogu, koje proizašlo iz moje labilne naravi.

A trebalo bi to bit malo znanstvenije napisano. Ak ništ drugo, onda bar kojim tempom se udiše-izdiše. Bar ono, neznam - doba se mjeri u četvrtinkama, 5/4 mjera (budući da je riječ o Makedoniji, a oni vole te neparne), ima 164 dobe u minuti, a ovi uzdasi su u 16inkama (slobodno proizvoljno dodavanje sinkopa gdje se misli da bi bile baš zgodne), i peri. Stanka kad se koncentriramo vrijedi pola ili cijeli takt. E, na to bi se onda dalo radit, i meditirat i sve, a ne ovak...

Sam kaj bi prosječnom blogeru za takav pothvat trebala i nekakva dodatna oprema, u vidu metronoma, a za one koji uopće nemaju ritma navodno da ni metronom ne pomaže... I onda opet ne valja...

OK, ok. Ja nisam ovo tijelo, ja nisam ove misli...

:)

My, my, the time do fly
When it's in another pair of hands
And a loser I will be
For I've never been
a winner in my life
I got used to stressing pain
I used the sucker pills
to pity for the self
Oh, it's the animal in me
But I'd rather be a beggarman on the shelf

Don't be so forlorn,
it's just the payoff
It's the rain before the storm
On a better day, I'll take you by the hand
And I'll walk you through the doors
Don't be so forlorn,
it's just the payoff
It's the rain before the storm

Don't you let my letter get you down

My, my, but time do fly
When it's in another pair of pants
And illusion I will be
For I've never been a sinner,
la di da

Don't be so forlorn,
it's just the payoff
It's the rain before the storm
Don't you let my letter get you down

Daklem, budući da sam gluh pored zdravih ušiju odlučih napravit ovo. :)

Popis DB pjesama u kojima ima pljeskanja ili pucketanja prstima.. i pri tom ne mislim na ono pljeskanje publike na live izvedbama i koncertima. :)

Sam da napomenem da sam do sad (očito) imao ugrađen nekakav filter za filtriranje, odnosno mentalno uklanjanje pljeskanja s pjesama...

DB + Pet Metheny: This is Not America
- doduše, ovdje se radi o nekom sempliranom pljesku, samo na početku, al to pljeskanje nije niš manje vrijedno od pravog pljeskanja :)

Blue Jean (pucketanje prstima) :)

Fashion (mislim da je isto semplirano, skombinirano sa snareom, ili neki glupi delay na snare-rimu)

Heroes (a jebomepas ak i ovdje nema pljeskanja smiksanog sa snareom :))

Jean Jeanie (to smo rekli)

Bože, i na: John, I'm Only Dancing isto ima. Straašno.. :)

African Night Flight (jaako EQ-ano)

Boys Keep Swinging (daleko u miksu)

Golden Years (i pucketanje i pljeskanje :)))

Secret Life Of Arabia (eksplicitno pljeskanje, straaašno :)))

1984. (u stvari, u osamdesetima je valjda bilo default stavljat pljeskanje u miks. tko to nije radio, nije trebal ni snimat niš... :)))

Starman (ima i na studijskoj verziji pljeskanja)

Space Oddity (to smo isto rekli već)

Andy Warhol, naravno :)

Ziggy Stardust - snare ponekad zna zazvučat kao pljesak :)

Oh! You Pretty Things (ima, ima... sam kaj je iza centra miksa, s gooooomilom delaya i reverba na sebi i šeće se kroz panoramu :))

Red Money (p + snare)

Never Let Me Down.... nema pljeskanja, al ima usne harmoonike :)))

Shinig Star (Ne znam dal da ove semplirane uopće računam... hmmm)

I Have Not Been To Oxford Town

The Motel

Thru These Architects Eyes


Tak... Kaj. Samo 22 pjesme? Pa nije tak puno... Nije tak strašno puno da bi se moglo reć nešto kao: "pa on u skoro svakoj pjesmi ima pljeskanja"... :)))

Waldo Jeffers had reached his limit.
It was now mid-August which meant that he had been separated from Marsha for more than two months.
Two months, and all he had to show were three dog-eared letters and two very expensive long-distance phone calls.
True, when school had ended and she'd returned to Wisconsin and he to Locust, Pennsylvania she had sworn to maintain a certain fidelity.
She would date occasionally, but merely as amusement.
She would remain faithful. But lately Waldo had begun to worry.
He had trouble sleeping at night and when he did, he had horrible dreams.
He lay awake at night, tossing and turning underneath his printed quilt protector, tears welling in his eyes,
As he pictured Marsha, her sworn vows overcome by liquor and the smooth soothings of some Neanderthal,
Finally submitting to the final caresses of sexual oblivion. It was more than the human mind could bear.

Visions of Marsha's faithlessness haunted him.
Daytime fantasies of sexual abandon permeated his thoughts.
And the thing was, they wouldn't understand who she really was.
He, Waldo, alone, understood this.
He had intuitively grasped every nook and cranny of her psyche.
He had made her smile, and she needed him, and he wasn't there. (Awww.)
The idea came to him on the Thursday before the Mummers Parade was scheduled to appear.
He had just finished mowing and edging the Edelsons lawn for a dollar-fifty
And had checked the mailbox to see if there was at least a word from Marsha.
There was nothing more than a circular form the Amalgamated Aluminum Company of America inquiring into his awning needs.
At least they cared enough to write.

It was a New York company. You could go anywhere in
the mails. Then it struck him: he didn't have enough
money to go to Wisconsin in the accepted fashion,
true, but why not mail himself? It was absurdly
simple. He would ship himself parcel post special
delivery. The next day Waldo went to the supermarket
to purchase the necessary equipment. He bought
masking tape, a staple gun and a medium sized
cardboard box, just right for a person of his build.
He judged that with a minimum of jostling he could
ride quite comfortably. A few airholes, some water, a
selection of midnight snacks, and it would probably be
as good as going tourist.

By Friday afternoon, Waldo was set. He was thoroughly
packed and the post office had agreed to pick him up
at three o'clock. He'd marked the package "FRAGILE"
and as he sat curled up inside, resting in the foam
rubber cushioning he'd thoughtfully included, he tried
to picture the look of awe and happiness on Marsha's
face as she opened the door, saw the package, tipped
the deliverer, and then opened it to see her Waldo
finally there in person. She would kiss him, and then
maybe they could see a movie. If he'd only thought of
this before. Suddenly rough hands gripped his package
and he felt himself borne up. He landed with a thud
in a truck and then he was off.

Marsha Bronson had just finished setting her hair. It
had been a very rough weekend. She had to remember
not to drink like that. Bill had been nice about it
though. After it was over he'd said that he still
respected her and, after all, it was certainly the way
of nature and even though no, he didn't love her, he
did feel an affection for her. And after all, they
were grown adults. Oh, what Bill could teach Waldo --
but that seemed many years ago. Sheila Klein, her
very, very best friend walked in through the porch
screen door into the kitchen. "Oh God, it's
absolutely maudlin outside."
"Ugh, I know what you mean, I feel all icky." Marsha
tightened the belt on her cotton robe with the silk
outer edge. Sheila ran her finger over some salt
grains on the kitchen table, licked her finger and
made a face.
"I'm supposed to be taking these salt pills, but," she
wrinkled her nose, "they make me feel like throwing
up."
Marsha started to pat herself under the chin, an
exercise she'd seen on television. "God, don't even
talk about that." She got up from the table and went
to the sink where she picked up a bottle of pink and
blue vitamins. "Want one? Supposed to be better than
steak." And attempted to touch her knees. "I don't
think I'll ever touch a daiquiri again." She gave up
and sat down, this time nearer the small table that
supported the telephone. "Maybe Bill'll call," she
said to Sheila's glance.
Sheila nibbled on a cuticle. "After last night, I
thought maybe you'd be through with him."
"I know what you mean. My God, he was like an
octopus. Hands all over the place." She gestured,
raising her arms upward in defense. "The thing is
after a while, you get tired of fighting with him, you
know, and after all he didn't really do anything
Friday and Saturday so I kind of owed it to him, you
know what I mean." She started to scratch. Sheila
was giggling with her hand over her mouth. "I'll tell
you, I felt the same way, and even after a while," she
bent forward in a whisper, "I wanted to," and now she
was laughing very loudly.

It was at this point that Mr. Jameson of the Clarence
Darrow Post Office rang the door bell of the large
stucco colored frame house. When Marsha Bronson
opened the door, he helped her carry the package in.
He had his yellow and his green slips of paper signed
and left with a fifteen-cent tip that Marsha had
gotten out of her mothers small beige pocket book in
the den. "What do you think it is?" Sheila asked.
Marsha stood with her arms folded behind her back. S
he stared at the brown cardboard carton that sat in
the middle of the living room. "I don't know."

Inside the package Waldo quivered with excitement as
he listened to the muffled voices. Sheila ran her
fingernail over the masking tape that ran down the
center of the carton. "Why don't you look at the
return address and see who it is from?" Waldo felt
his heart beating. He could feel the vibrating
footsteps. It would be soon.

Marsha walked around the carton and read the
ink-scratched label. "Ugh, God, it's from Waldo!"
"That schmuck," said Sheila. Waldo trembled with
expectation. "Well, you might as well open it," said
Sheila. Both of them tried to lift the stapled flap.

"Ahh, shit," said Marsha groaning. "He must have
nailed it shut." They tugged at the flap again. "My
God, you need a power drill to get this thing opened."
They pulled again. "You can't get a grip!" They
both stood still, breathing heavily.
"Why don't you get the scissors," said Sheila. Marsha
ran into the kitchen, but all she could find was a
little sewing scissor. Then she remembered that her
father kept a collection of tools in the basement.
She ran downstairs and when she came back, she had a
large sheet-metal cutter in her hand.
"This is the best I could find." She was very out of
breath. "Here, you do it. I'm gonna die." She sank
into a large fluffy couch and exhaled noisily.
Sheila tried to make a slit between the masking tape
and the end of the cardboard, but the blade was too
big and there wasn't enough room. "Godamn this
thing!" she said feeling very exasperated. Then,
smiling, "I got an idea."
"What?" said Marsha.
"Just watch," said Sheila touching her finger to her
head.

Inside the package, Waldo was so transfixed with
excitement that he could barely breathe. His skin
felt prickly from the heat and he could feel his heart
beating in his throat. It would be soon. Sheila
stood quite upright and walked around to the other
side of the package. Then she sank down to her knees,
grasped the cutter by both handles, took a deep breath
and plunged the long blade through the middle of the
package, through the middle of the masking tape,
through the cardboard, through the cushioning and
(thud) right through the center of Waldo Jeffers head,
which split slightly and caused little rhythmic arcs
of red to pulsate gently in the morning sun.

Vrijedi li općenito pravilo da je broj komentara na blogu obrnuto proporcionalan količini informacija iznesenih unutar njega?

I kakve to ima veze s entropijom? :)

Uff, definitivno moram smanjit druženje s Torvaldsovim OS-om u bash ljusci i počet se družit s ljudima.

A vezano uz druženje s ljudima...
Gud njuz: MISA JE NAAAĐEEENAA! jee :) i upravo se sluša. :)) Što znači da će zadovoljstvo slušanja iste biti još i veće, zbog same spoznaje da će biti podijeljeno s nekim u nekoj bližoj budućnosti. :)

Evo, to me baš veseli, jako. Znači li to ipak da u meni još uvijek ima nečeg što nije isključivo binarne naravi? :)

You can’t depend on your family
You can’t depend on your friends
You can’t depend on a beginning
You can’t depend on an end

You can’t depend on intelligence
You can’t depend on god
You can only depend on one thing
You need a busload of faith to get by

You can depend on the worst always happening
You can depend on a murderer’s drive
You can bet that if he rapes somebody
There’ll be no trouble having a child

You can bet that if she aborts it
Pro-lifers will attack her with rage
You can depend on the worst always happening
You need a busload of faith to get by

You can’t depend on the goodly hearted
The goodly hearted made lamp-shades and soap
You can’t depend on the sacrament
No father, no holy ghost

You can’t depend on any churches
Unless there’s real estate you want to buy
You can’t depend on a lot of things
You need a busload of faith to get by

You can’t depend on no miracle
You can’t depend on the air
You can’t depend on a wise man
You can’t find ’em because they’re not there

You can depend on cruelty
Crudity of thought and sound
You can depend on the worst always happening
You need a busload of faith to get by, ha

Busload of faith to get by
Busload of faith to get by
Busload of faith to get by
Busload of faith to get by

Imam razloga da vjerujem da sam pronašao novu zaraznu bolest (najvjerojatnije virusnu): tipfeleritis. Mislim, da tak sjebem prošlog log, koji je ionak bil ultrakratki, i to odma u naslovu, a da isto skužim tek drugi dan... ne "tor", već "TIR"... ahh :)

Nego, kao što bi jedan doktor rekao: Virusi su nešto, što mi doktori volimo nazivati, a very, very small (iako ovo nije sasvim točno). A nazivom "virus" se u kompjutreskom žargonu često pogrešno imenue ono što mi doktori zovemo crv. A crvi izgledom jako podsjećaju na pijavice. Pa i one dobre, koje liječe. Eto.

Lay me down in silence easy
To be born again
In another world
In another time

I'm nothing but a straner in this world
I got a home on high
In another land
So far away

Naime, imam jedan doooobar, briljantan, ingeniozan log u mozgu, al neće van. A genijalan je log, kad vam kažem. Al neće. Eto.

A taj log već dost dugo imam u mozgu. A, u stvari, nagovarat ga da izađe van i nije baš neka fora. Mislim, kaj ak on baš želi ostat nutra? Ak bih ga tjerao da izađe protiv svoje volje, nije dobro, jel tak. Trebal bi baš svojevoljno izać. A niš... bum pričekal onda još, I guess.

Sad će možda svučat čudno, ali mislim da taj log ima mogućnost, tj. svojstvo da bude na dva mjesta istovremeno, jer i kad izađe van, mislim da će, unatoč tome, istovremeno ostat u mom mozgu. Kao ono kad imaš jedan elektron, koji, bez ozbira kaj ga ima samo 1, interferira sam sa sobom, što znači da mora bit na dva mjesta istovremeno. Znači da tak nešto ne samo da je moguće, već to tak *mora* biti, jer je to uostalom i svojstvo prirode same.

Disklejmer:
Ovaj blog će biti pisan naopačke, što znači da će prvo biti napisan sadržaj, a tek onda naslov.

Loš sam detektiv. To sam dokazao nekoliko puta. Al sad opet imam slutnju i jednako je jaka kao i one prije, ako ne i više od toga. Kao one slutnje prije koje su se pokazale sasvim krivima. Inače, u društvu slovim kao netko koga treba uzeti za ozbiljno, ali u suprotnom značenju.

Recimo, u slučaju smjera. "Jel sad moramo ić lijevo ili desno na sljedećem raskrižju?". Ak velim lijevo onda je ziher, garant, stoijedan posto, pa i više od toga - desno.

A interesantno je da znam pogoditi, doduše u nekim iznimno rijetkim i nadasve specijalnim slučajevima.

E, da. I sad trebam napisat neki naslov. Dobio sam par primjera, za koje sam si sam sebi obećao da ih neću koristiti. Al, ono - obećanje - ludom radovanje. :)

Prije 18 mjeseci upgradeao sam PijaneFrendove 4.2 na Djevojku 1.0. Prve sam koristio dugo godina i nije bilo problema. Doduše, izgleda da se javljaju konflikti između te dvije aplikacije i jedino rješenje je bilo pokretati Djevojku 1.0 bez zvuka. Da bi stvar bila gora, Djevojka 1.0 nije kompatibilna ni s povećim brojem drugih aplikacija, kao što su sDečkimaNaCugu 3.1, Nogomet 4.5 i Playboy 6.9.

Ni kasnije verzije Djevojke nisu pokazale poboljšanja. Isprobao sam jednu shareware aplikaciju Kurtizana 2.1, ali je uporno tražila registraciju, a imao sam problema i s bugovima te mi je ista ostavila virus u sistemu, pa sam morao reinstalirati sustav.

Nakon nekog vremena, pokušao sam pokrenuti Djevojku 1.2 i Djevojku 1.0 istovremeno, nakon čega sam otkrio da te dvije aplikacije detektiraju jedna drugu, što je prouzročilo znatno oštećenje mog hardvera. Kasnije sam upgradeao na Financije 1.0, kako bih doznao da taj program uskoro mora biti nadograđen programom Supruga 1.0. Iako Supruga 1.0 troši sve slobodne resurse mog sistema, ipak dolazi zbandlana s BesplatanSexPlus i ČistaKuća2003. Nedugo nakon tog upgradea, doznao sam da Supruga 1.0 zna biti vrlo nestabilna i skupa za pokretanje. Sve greške koje sam napravio su se automatski spremale u memoriji Supruge 1.0 i nisam ih mogao obrisati. Pojavile su se kasnije, nakon nekoliko mjeseci, dok sam već zaboravio na njih. Supruga 1.0 također ima automatske filtere za Dnevnik, Explorer i e-mail, i može, bez upozorenja, pokrenuti procese TurboStop i Kvocanje. Ovi procesi nemaju ugrađen Help fajl, tako da sam bio primoran pogađati u čemu je problem.

Dodatni problemi sa Suprugom 1.0 su ti da ju je potrebno redovno nadograđivati, zahtijeva ShoeShop Browser za nove attachmente i Hairstyle Express koji mora biti ponovno instaliran svaki tjedan. Isto tako, kad se Supruga 1.0 poveže s Audi TT hard driveom, često se skrši. Supruga 1.0 dolazi i s iritantnim pop-upom Punica, koji nikako ne mogu isključiti. Nedavno sam bio u iskušenju da instaliram Ljubavnicu2003, ali mislim da bi i tu moglo biti problema jer me jedan prijatelj upozorio da Supruga 1.0 može detektirati Ljubavnicu2003, što za posljedicu ima brisanje svog novca prije nego što se ista deinstalira.

Molim pomoć.

Norm silno želi da farba. Ali želi da farba nešto što ofarbano ne želi da bude. A toliko toga na svijetu ima što bi baš htjelo biti ofarbano.

Pa bih poručio svima koji imaju predmete, stvari ili pojave u svom domu ili okolici koje bi htjele i mogle biti pofarbane, da ustupe našem normu mogućnost izrazi svoje farbačke sklonosti, kako bi zadovoljio svoje potrebe za farbanjem. To ne mora bit niš fancy-schmancy. To mogu bit zidovi, podovi, radijatori... Ono, bilokaj.

Ali NEMOJTE to sami radit sve dok je tu norm. Norm je vaš čovjek, pravi čovjek for d đob, a sutra mi se čini da bi mogo bit pravi dan, ne tolko za šlepanje, koliko za farbanje.

Eh da. Na granici dvaju svjetova. Svemirski limbo. Baš volim tu umotvorinu. Volio bih da sam je ja izmislio. Margina jednog i drugog. Prostor na kojem ne piše baš ništa.

To bi zapravo bilo mjesto onog plastičnog, spiralnog uveza neke fotokopirane knjige, između dva nepovezana poglavlja. Samo položaj, ne uvez sâm. Prilično usamljeno mjesto, kako god da se uzme. Mislim, koliko ljudi uistinu obraća pažnju na uvez neke knjige prilikom čitanja, makar bili točno između dva poglavlja? A uostalom, zašto bi uopće to činili.

I onda netko okrene list. Bez puno razmišljanja. Pa tako dođe i novo poglavlje. Eventualno se označi nekakvim priručnim ili specijaliziranim plastificiranim komadom papira ili špagom, koji stoje na tom mjestu neko vrijeme. Neki put dulje, nekad kraće. Kasnije se opet list okrene.

Sve do novog poglavlja, i na poslijetku, do kraja knjige.

Dobro, što je onda tu toliko svemirsko? Obično mi pojam 'svemirsko' budi nekakve pozitivne asocijacije. Ono, tumaranje svemirom, istraživanje, truć, trać, i sve vezano uz to, u maniri najboljih jeftinih SF filmova i serija ranih '50-ih prošlog stoljeća. Ali sada ne.

* * *

"Osjećam da lutam kroz terase svijesti
Nešto se u meni dijeli..."
Da, to je još jedna od onih umotvorina koje bih volio da su moje. Ali nisu. Samo skupljam okolo.

* * *

Treba sad to sve ukalupit u nekaj. Svemirski limbo, spiralni uvez, terase svijesti.

Hmmm... osjećam onomatopeju......

DA! Bijeli šum. Kraj programa!

The myriad choices of his fate
Set themselves out upon a plate
For him to choose
What had he to lose

Not a ghost bloodied country
All covered with sleep
Where the black angel did weep
Not an old city street in the east
Gone to choose

And wandering's brother
Walked on through the night
With his hair in his face
On a long splintered cut from the knife of G.T.

The rally man's patter ran on through the dawn
Until we said so long
To his skull-shrill yell

Shining brightly red-rimmed and
Red-lined with the time
Infused with the choice of the mind
On ice skates scraping chunks
From the bells

Cut mouth bleeding razor's
Forgetting the pain
Antiseptic remains cool goodbye
So you fly
To the cozy brown snow of the east
Gone to choose, choose again


Sacrificials remains make it hard to forget
Where you come from
The stools of your eyes
Serve to realize fame, choose again

And roverman's refrain of the sacrilege recluse
For the loss of a horse
Went the bowels and a tail of a rat
Come again, choose to go

And if Epiphany's terror reduced you to shame
Have your head bobbed and weaved
Choose a side to be on

If the stone glances off
Split didactics in two
Leave the colors of the mouse trails
Don't scream, try between
If you choose, if you choose, try to lose
For the loss of remain come and start

Start the game I che che che che I
Che che ka tak koh
Choose to choose
Choose to choose, choose to go