"...in the litany of life and in the special liturgy of Man: Vesicles by Adam, Rejoinders by the Crucified.
We are the centuries.
We are the chin-choppers and the golly-woppers, and soon we shall discuss the amputation of your head.
We are your singing garbage men, Sir and Madam, and we march in cadence behind you, chanting rhymes that some think odd.
Hut two threep foa!
Left!
Left!
He-had-a-good-wife-but-he
Left!
Left!
Right!
Left!
Wir, as they say in the old country, marschieren weiter ween alles in Scherben fallt.
We have your eoliths and your mesoliths and your neoliths. We have your Babaylons your Pompeiis, your Caesars and your chromium-plated (vital-ingredient-impregnated) artifacts.
We have your bloody hatches and your Hiroshomas.
We march in spite of Hell, we do —
Atrophy, Entropy, and Proteus vulgaris, telling bawdy jokes about a farm girl name of Eve and a traveling salesman called Lucifer.
We bury your dead and their reputations.
We bury you. We are the centuries.
Or in more modern parlance, Vesicles by Thunberg and her "hot topic" enablers, Rejoinders by the aging masses assembled in palaces of steel.
Get crazy Charge me and my family Charge me Charge me and my next of kin Charge me Charge me like a credit card Charge me Charge me yes, oh yes, God Charge me Charge me you're a fooling dog Charge me Charge me 'cause I'll break a pause Charge me Charge me like a ... Charge me Charge me criminal at large Charge me Charge me can't get open doors Charge me Charge 'cause I have what's yours Charge me Charge me 'cause I'm feeling dark Charge me Charge me for stealing heard Charge me
You know you'll never survive to judge me
Yeah you judge me
Yeah you judge me
You judge like a God
You know you'll never survive to judge me
Yeah you judge me
Yeah you judge me so hard
You judge like were a God
You live in a glass house
Yeah you live alone
Like you were a God
You live in a glass house
Yeah you live alone
Like you were a God
Sitting here downtown near the city government seeing so much waste in this deep pain. It's snowing here now (should it be? What does history say on that score?) and it is the ugly wetness of an urban snow. The slush cakes the sides of municipal metro monsters as the overweight workers fashion chains onto the monster's tires.
Carriage return is what's on my mind as I type this all into ed.
The original standard line-mode text editor ed has a lineage longer than many of us do. As early as 1969, the first assembly-language version of ed was in place. Although later rewritten in C, the editor is fundamentally the same program as used then. As Kernighan and Plauger wrote in 1976, The earliest traceable version of the editor presented here is TECO, written for the first PDP-1 timesharing system at MIT. It was subsequently implemented on the SDS-940 as the
quick editor'' QED by L. P. Deutsch and B. W. Lampson; seeAn online editor,'', CACM December, 1967. K. L. Thompson adapted QED for CTSS on the IBM 7090 at MIT, and later D. M. Ritchie wrote a version for the GE-635 (now HIS-6070) at Bell Labs. The latest version is ed, a simplified form of QED for the PDP-11, written by Ritchie and Thompson. Our editor closely resembles ed, at least in outward appearance.'' [Software Tools, page 217] [1]
Better put:
ED IS THE TRUE PATH TO NIRVANA! ED HAS BEEN THE CHOICE OF EDUCATED AND IGNORANT ALIKE FOR CENTURIES! ED WILL NOT CORRUPT YOUR PRECIOUS BODILY FLUIDS!! ED IS THE STANDARD TEXT EDITOR! ED MAKES THE SUN SHINE AND THE BIRDS SING AND THE GRASS GREEN!! [2]
ed is a simple line editor. Thanks, Ken. Ken was born in New Orleans. Hark! Death brings us back and forth. I'm waiting here (jobless in the cold snow and rain, again and again) so that I can go to a places the city provides which is given to us for our happiness. A place of books and learning and the nearest I can get to that sort of power. Seattle's Central Library has a beautiful facade housing what I hope is the information I seek. I don't really know what I am looking for. Maybe I can cry useless tears all day? "Meetings and farewells, farewells and meetings — that is the way of the world. Crying does not help."
but that will...
never change the way I really feel.
Thanks, Jim Steinman — you wordsmith.
"Two out of three ain't bad", he wrote and lucky for him he had a voice (MEAT LOAF) he could call on that did his words just RIGHT.
All I can do is keep on telling you that I want you and that I need you but there ain't no way I'm ever gonna love you. Two out of three ain't bad. Don't be sad.
You'll never drill for oil on a city street.
No truer words have ever been said.
First drafts are for ed and fixing should be left to vim. I think writing code in ed would be a fun trip.
This interlude has been heavily edited and some parts have been redacted. We do apologize.
What is there to learn today? There's a part of me that just wants to read "The Iowa Baseball Confederacy" and dream listless dreams.
A voice two nights ago came into my mind and asked me with all sincerity: "Nonsense? Yes or no?"
In an effort to combat it and answer strongly in reply I listened to Jack Nitzsche's "Starman Leaves". Putting words to that score allowed me to answer as if I were Starman. Starman that gives Jenny her baby? From the deepest dredges I find the voice still lingers asking over and over: "Nonsense? Yes or no? YES or NO?"
NO! NO! A thousand times NO!
Float the mind on back to the pursuit of happiness. I am thinking of Thomas Jefferson now. Little Jefferson and his swivel chairs and bibles without miracles. A slave lover and fucker and a writer who on his tombstone highlights his Deceleration of American Independence.
Chain up. Chain up. Stay in control. Stay in control. Don't let the darkness in! Clear your mind. Let the whole of the world into your lungs. We are the world's nation! We are the hope of all humankind! Lift your eyes to the sky, damn you! Think of all the things you've done and all that you've seen. Things people wouldn't believe!
Aaron Copland and Billy the Kid and piano interludes — nice, nice since I have nothing better to say. Imagine now the fingers at play on the keys. Nixon, I am calling again, put those lanky piano fingers of yours into mine. Give me what I need. I am calling again, can't you hear? Where are you?
It's resounding into the maelstrom with "Fanfare for the Common Man". Trust the star gazers.
Remember the Art of Peace:
As soon as you concern yourself with the "good" and "bad" of your fellows, you create an opening in your heart for maliciousness to enter. Testing, competing with, and criticizing others weaken and defeat you.
Remember! Now shit.
