~Artpolitics handbooks~Artpolitics handbooks10 years ago in Editorial More Like This
Interesting links :
- http://www.petersingerlinks.com/ : info about Peter Singer, animal rights activist and Professor of Bioethics at the University Center for Human Values, Princeton University
- http://www.churchofeuthanasia.org : Church of Euthanasia, a group of people against human supremacy
- http://www.calvin.edu/academic/cas/gpa/ww2era.htm#Posters : Nazi propaganda archive : all about National Socialism from orriginal German sources, translated in English
- http://www.propagandacritic.com/ : Basic info on propaganda. Noone is imune to all propaganda.
- http://www.lp.org/ : American Libertarian Party
- http://www.nazi.org/party/theory/ : Libertarian National Socialist Green Party
- http://www.nsm88.com/index2.html : American Nazi Party
- http://www.nsec-88.org/: National Socialist Education Center
- http://www.parecon.org/ : The Participatory Economics Project
- http://www.marxists.org/ : All about Marxism
- http://www.infoshop.org/ : All about Anarchism
an isosceles love triangleIf two angles of one triangle are similar to two angles of another triangle, then the triangles are similar.an isosceles love triangle9 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Recalling the memory of His geometry makes me sick with longing. That's the real reason I don't call Him every night, don't spend hours stuttering out words onto paper in some tremulous imitation of a love letter. The space I have behind conversation and human interaction is where He really lives, ready for me any time I need to remember. I don't even have to close my eyes before His own stare back at mine, revealing the storm clouds and stars that hover around His midnight-black pupils. The angles of His eyebrows, the slope of His nose, the arches of His eyelashes, the degrees of His gait, the radius of His smile when He sees me, the surface area of His strong embrace; sometimes the formulas back me into a corner where I try to understand, try to meticulously calculate every possible equation. I never solve for the answer before I snap out of my stupor, realizing His abs
"dreamcake""dreamcake"10 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
He's seated in the front row, passing a blue stress ball back and forth between his hands. It shrinks and expands, shrinks and expands. He didn't win anything, but I can assume he's intellectual. He has the hair for it, all in his eyes and choppy. He's concentrating on the ball's pattern, and I want to know what stresses him out. I think about stealing one of his hands. Leaving the ball on his chair and rushing him out of the building without speaking one word.
Before I realize it they plant me on stage, nudging me towards the microphone. The echo of my voice sounds painfully young. I feel completely isolated, with my toes lined up at the tape and my mouth reading separately from my brain. The words of my so-called "art" sail into the air and fall at all the parents' feet. Their hands are folded like Origami, and their ears are shut off except for when it is their own child's moment of glory.
No one in the room is hearing what I actually mean, even those that are listening. They
Working Without a NetWorking Without a Net11 years ago in Humor More Like This
I did what any of us would have done when learning that my Internet service had been shut down. I cried.
Actually, that's not completely true. The first thing I did was frantically dial up the campus tech people, who told me the problem would be resolved in an hour. Anyone who has ever dealt with Electronic Device Repairpersons should already know that "an hour" in their language translates into "sometime between an hour and the rapture."
So I waited an hour. Then I cried.
How could I possibly function without instant access to news, entertainment, and all that other stuff that's just sort of there? What could I do in place of checking my e-mail every 20 minutes and playing Slingo? This was a major problem.
But after a moment of despair, I dried my tears with the hanky of determination. I would not let this defeat me! I had lived happily before without the Internet and I could live the same way now! I only had to remember how.
I first tried reading an ancient text recording from when p
"ocean hunger""ocean hunger"10 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
The inky mass opened its many mouths; they gaped and retreated. The water always looked like a trained dolphin pulling itself through its daily routine, wanting only to be fed.
Camille wanted to sacrifice herself every day, that desire never left her. Beside that wide oceanic arm, she was less than a microbe, a speck. The water owned her. She was its possession. She owed it to the river, to feed it. And often the fall looked more inviting than a chocolate cake or a feather bed.
But she wouldn't jump, because then what would Harold do? He was not self-sufficient. His existence depended on her.
The river just kept shimmying along, through the track it had worn deep. No seagulls circled the water here. It was a no man's land of beaches that stunk like an collection of fish markets. Down below were stretches of salt and pepper sand with rubbish buried beneath like ostrich eggs. Some houses and buildings that replaced trees were fastened on the vast hills on either side of the river, attach
New JobFirst day on the jobNew Job8 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
"So," he said, leering at me over the table, messy sandwich in hand, "how long have you been eating yogurt?" My yogurt laden spoon paused in mid air, and in the moment it took me to think, (how long had I been eating yogurt? When was my first time?) I watched oily, shredded lettuce tumble from his sandwich onto the table. The question seemed loaded.
"Oh, probably only the last couple of years; you know, like, seriously." I said this airily, as his tone of voice had implied that this yogurt-eating habit of mine was a potential hot spot in our relationship. He said nothing, but continued to peer intensely across the table. His eyes might even have been narrowing. I felt, justly, exposed. I turned the yogurt cup nervously in my hands, and my averting eyes settled upon the nutrition facts. I suddenly began to read them off, and espouse the healthful qualities of yogurt, not for its defense, but for my own. He leaned back in his chair with revulsion as I finally dealt w
Grim PenanceGrim Penance10 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
It was raining, pouring like a Biblical event on the sinners. Rain hit my face, slid off the edges of my hat in waves. It felt Biblical, certainly. I wanted to turn my eyes upward and let the water beat twin holes into my brain. I imagined I'd feel it happen with a child's look of wonder pointed at the clouds. A stupid, silly grin too.
The day I met Jack Silver, and by association Conrad Reynolds, was memorable not for the God-wrath behind thunderclaps, but for the way it smelled. Old. Musty. Missing that rebirth in air composition I associated with storms. So I blame the smell for the geriatric way I crossed the street and approached the door of Jack Silver on a miserable Wednesday morning. Jack had the sort of ass backwards name that had inspired Chandler to invent noir. It deserved mocking and admiration in equal doses.
He also lived in a shit-hole of an apartment, but at least it was out of th
BerlinBerlin9 years ago in Articles & Interviews More Like This
Both of the men in the silver-colored Passat are of German heritage, though the passenger's family left for America centuries ago on an endless search for work. The driver's family has lived in Germany, if not in Berlin itself, for eight generations—his parents had to trace their lineage that far back when swastikas crawled like spiders up the walls of the Reichstag. But that was a long time ago. It is history now, history that interests both men and can be discussed without any of the enmity that once existed between their two nations of birth.
The car pulls out from its place on the cobblestone road that gives this East-Berlin suburb part of its endearing charm. Lovely two-story houses fly past, clinging to their bright summer gardens. Each house has its own history. The driver, Peter, would later tell many stories about his home, how the old Jewish couple fled from it to safety during Hitler's fortunately brief reign and how tapping wires can still be found inside, courtesy o
Murder By Silicon4th September 2042, 1:44 PMMurder By Silicon12 years ago in Science Fiction More Like This
The bar is small and rather empty, out of place amid the swirling holographs of the Green Line. I glance again at the entranceway, searching for whatever had caught my attention -- whatever had made me crane my neck outward instead of sitting as still as I have for the past couple of days -- but the unidentifiable something is gone.
The bench softens. I lean back and close my eyes and it molds itself against me, glows with synthetic warmth, massages until the tensions have worn themselves out of my neck and shoulders, and drains my credit account of $27.50; not that it matters. A few teenagers glance in my direction, eyes and minds half-focused on their VR sims; I ignore them and they fade into the crowd.
People trickle past.
The ceiling digiplane is moving: patterns play formlessly about the narrow enclosure, spinning in leisurely circles beneath the apex of the domed roof - and, I realize with a start, there is a dar
Picking Scabs Off My DickScientists are fucking useless. I'm serious. When was the last time they invented something cool? I'm talking something totally new and interesting that nobody's ever seen before - not just some updated version of existing technology. Come to think of it, when was the last time they developed something anyone gave even half a shit about?Picking Scabs Off My Dick8 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
And what the hell happened to that big uproar over genetic engineering and cloning and shit? Motherfuckers from every corner were crying doom over cloning research a few years back. Remember that? Where are all the hideous tentacled abominations they were promising us? Sinister doppelgangers of important public figures? Babies with no skin whose limbs fall off after a couple of weeks?
Why aren't we being overrun by vicious flesh-eating mutants?
And you just try and tell me that a wave of savage mutant attacks isn't exactly what this world needs. Go on. Yeah? Well, nuts to you, because that is exactly what this world needs. Because, aside
Form ForumingForm Foruming9 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
Ever needed to reply to something, only to realize, you don't want to waste your brain power thinking of something witty? Here, here.... Here is the solution. Form replying.
Check any and all that apply
[ ] blows
[ ] rules
[ ] kicks ass
[ ] Is sexy
[ ] smells
[ ] is confusing
[ ] boner inducing
[ ] is too emo
[ ] It's a religious thread
[ ] it's a sex thread
[ ] it's pointless
[ ] it belongs in your journal
[ ] it's in the wrong forum
[ ] it's thought provoking
[ ] it makes me feel incompetent
[ ] there's already another one about it
[ ] you can't spell worth crap
[ ] it insults something I believe in, and feel strongly about
[ ] it offends me
[ ] it could offend others
[ ] it's blatantly stupid and/or ignorant
[ ] it is incredibly whiny
[ ] it is a blatant generalization
And in response to this, I will now
[ ] Call a mod
[ ] lock this topic
[ ] inform you, and several friends of yours, and mine, as well as the entire board, of your ignorance
[ ] prais
The Eyes Of The Night Teaser 1I used to fear the night. The way all children do. You know the stories… monsters hiding under your bed, sandmen, wraiths, and all sorts of other evil things from hell whose only purpose was to stop a child's heart. For children are innocent and defenseless… .The Eyes Of The Night Teaser 19 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
I used to draw the curtains closed. Not that it could stop monsters of course. But I thought if they could not see me they would forget me. But they never did… whenever I switched the light off, darkness embraced me; I heard those voices, whispers in the blackness. Everywhere… there were words in it, lots of words, but incomprehensible to me. Devilish. My eyes would open, but they continued to tease me. Always mocking me with laughter from spots I didn't look at. Finally I would turn on the lights and run to mama… crying…
My parents used to say there are no monsters. Mom said I should grow up and stop dreaming about nightmare creatures. Dad was a little more gentle. He said I was living in a dream world and that he understood. Bu
Religion Compared to ComputersChristianity is LinuxReligion Compared to Computers11 years ago in Humor More Like This
Many different variations. Some distros have little if nothing in common, and there are three main distros in circulation at the moment. Derived from Unix. A fast way of getting things done, but prone to rogue distros. Some take pain and effort to install via a text-based installation, others require no effort to get up and running.
Judaism is Unix
Often advocates of Unix can be seen with large beards. They can be hard to understand, and may sometimes appear eccentric, but they get the job done. Hard to master, which is why Unix gurus are few and far between in the modern world. Users of Unix have dwindled in number since Linux was introduced.
Islam is OSX
Seems fundamentally different from the other two but is quite similar. Shares some elements from Unix and Linux. Source code is strictly proprietary, i.e. it\'s not open source. Users of OSX argue you have to experience it for yourself
Tips On Self-PublishingTips On Self-Publishing9 years ago in Academic Essays More Like This
Tips On Self-Publishing
I recently decided to self-publish a compilation of my work. It is something that I've wanted to do for a long time, but have always put off for several reasons; the imagined cost, basic lethargy in editing the damn thing, and laziness when it came to mail-outs to publishers. If this sounds like you so far, you might be able to benefit from a few things I learned along the way. Below I will discuss almost everything you will need to know before jumping into a self-publishing project, some pitfalls to avoid, and approximately what to expect to come out of your pocket. (I'm talking about money, pervert.)
Once I decided I was definitely going forward with this project, my first step was to find publishing houses/printers that offered the services that I wanted. There are many resources for this, but I found the below link most helpful in finding presses that would actually not only turn around a quote quickly,
Zionism: A Threat to JudaismZionism: A Threat to Judaism7 years ago in Editorial More Like This
ZIONISM: THE GREATEST THREAT TO THE JEWISH PEOPLE
By: Spencer Pennington
Ever since 1914, the world as a whole has seen a dramatic change in the political, social, religious, and even economic landscapes. It began with a single gunshot from a member of the Serbian nationalist group "The Black Hand," which resulted in the death of Austro-Hungarian Archduke Franz Ferdinand, and as we all know, this single assassination reshaped Human history with the initiation of World War I.
The story has been told a million times over: War broke out across Europe as the Triple Alliance of Russia, France, and Britain rushed in to aid Serbia and Austria-Hungary was backed by Germany and the Ottoman Empire, effectively becoming the coalition known as the Central Powers. While the Germans joined out of a sense of camaraderie for their Austro-Hungarian allies, the Ottomans had joined due to the money that was to be made by supplying Germany and Austria-Hungary with oil for the war, assured of their allie
Understanding God IUnderstanding God I8 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
"You're such a typical woman, Lily," I said. She blew some green menthol smoke at me. It curled into my nostrils lazily and I squinted a bit.
"And what do you think you are?" The smug tone. Pursed lips.
"I'm the creator of the goddamned universe," I replied. "I deserve a break now and then, don't I?"
She took the car keys from her pocket and sauntered over to the garage, flicking her cigarette away.
"Whatever. I have to pick up the kids." She opened the door and started up the car. I stood in the doorway and watched her get in.
"Bye," I mouthed to her. She looked at me for a moment, smiled her vicious little smile, her hands on the steering wheel. She backed the car out and drove away. Our arguments were always terse, but intense. Thankfully they always ended on good notes. Lilith. Our anniversary was in a few weeks.
It was one of those weekends that never seemed to end. Just long stretches of watching summer reruns on the television, then grilling various animals and eating them in th
ThinWhen I was growing up my mother never kept a scale in the house. I never noticed this as a child. I was accustomed to checking my weight visiting my grandmother's house; a monthly checkup just for fun. Yet every child reaches an age where the numbers staring back at them start to mean something. When I reached this point, I asked my mother why we didn't own a scale.Thin3 years ago in Emotional More Like This
She looked at me with serious eyes and said, "Because I know how easy it is to get obsessed over such things. I don't want you to have to go through that."
I love you for preventing it as long as you could, Mom.
Rarely in my life have I met a person and even so much as noticed how much they weigh. These things never occur to me. I'm more preoccupied with who the person is: their personality, their character, their humor. Keeping a constant record of the weight of people I meet has never even seemed an option.
That said, I have always had a disconcerting little obsession with my own weight.
It started out so simple and innoc
Think. Don't Know.Certainty is a plague. Avoid it at all costs. Don't be certain, ever; think, don't know. Crusaders were certain their actions were right; the radical terrorists are certain they were doing good; many criminals are certain they won't get caught. They knew, but didn't think. Think. Ask why. Ask how.Think. Don't Know.5 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
Don't ever just accept something, follow the evidence. Don't just accept there is evidence, study it, experience it firsthand, if possible. Think. Society stabilizes through doubt, not certainty, knowing leads to not trying, not learning. Knowing isn't really knowing, it's a combination of faith and apathy. Thinking is security, a blend of skepticism and activism, curiosity and caring, initiative and interaction. Don't just trust, justify rationally, and rationalize justly. Trust is good, only if it is trustworthy. Don't just know, think.
April FoolsApril Fools11 years ago in Socio-political More Like This
I've been waiting all day.
All day, I've been sitting in front of my TV waiting for the constant war updates to switch to a special report. They will go live to the White House where the President will be sitting at his desk with the same concerned expression he always issues himself.
"My fellow Americans," he will begin, "As you well know, we are currently in the midst of great toil and hardship. It cannot be denied that there have been significant casualties and obstacles facing the course of Operation Iraqi Freedom. But as we forge on, I feel it is necessary to tell you, as well as the entire world…"
"APRIL FOOLS!" Saddam Hussein will scream, jumping in front of the camera. Bush, laughing uproariously, will stand and put his arm around the Iraqi leader.
"Man, we got 'em but good, didn't we!" Bush will say to Saddam between guffaws.
"We sure did, bro!" he will reply, nearly in tears. "At first I didn't think all these months were gonna be worth it, but every single person in the worl
Story of their Wrong DemocracySome of Democracy.. lot of unjusticeStory of their Wrong Democracy7 years ago in Articles & Interviews More Like This
some of Truth... lot of Lies
Some of Love... lot of Hate
this is their civilization of our 21th century...
just a story of their Wrong Democracy..
read some of the pain flooded above
try to feel with out judgement
sorry because the article is soooo much long, it's a long story of their wrong democracy..
The Littlest PresidentThe Littlest President10 years ago in Socio-political More Like This
The Littlest President
At the age of eleven I was elected the 50th president of the United States of America. My analysts put my win down to youth (I was the youngest ever to run) and to the unfortunate late-October acne breakout of my incumbent rival, an eighth grader from Massachusetts. I have a stronger faith in the New Rules than do my analysts, who are always looking at polls and running them through sacred formula. I ascribe my presidency to the good sense of America, my hard work at Security School, and the stunning leadership of my handlers.
Once my presidency was officially announced, my face was given another coat of foundation and I was ushered up to a podium in front of a large crowd of my supporters. There was a crashing sea of applause. Most of my supporters were dumpy women in their thirties – just barely old enough to remember a time before we had the New Rules – these were my core demographic, although my handlers dutifully i
The Art of Motorcycle Analogy Some say that writing's like riding a bike. They say you can go years without doing it, but that it never really leaves you. You'll always remember how. To me, it's more like riding a motorcycle without a helmet. It takes balls to climb up on your muse like that. No protection. Nothing to keep you from becoming a smear on the asphalt except the handlebars in front of you and your own skill at driving. Still, those who do it insist that nothing beats the feel of the wind in your hair.The Art of Motorcycle Analogy7 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
I'm not so sure. Sometimes I question if I even have the stomach for it anymore. Sometimes you can't question it though. You can't wonder; you just have to know.
As I swing my leg over, I start to wonder in spite of myself. Is she even going to turn over for me? My fingers play over the i
SlippedNow.Slipped9 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
"What are you doing?"
"Oh, don't worry. And be quiet."
"What the hell are you doing?"
"Look, it won't take more than a minute."
"Somehow I doubt that."
"Oh, shut up. I don't need your help."
"You may not need my help, but you clearly need professional help."
"What? Professionals do this kind of thing?"
"…Are you always this stupid? I'm just wondering for future reference."
"Oh, don't be that way."
There was a time when I was eight years old. It wasn't a terribly eventful time. Basically, my mother took me to the mall and we window-shopped. Then we left. That was it. That was the time.
It was the results of that time that were rather stupendous.
Apparently, as I would learn later in life, we'd walked past a security camera or two on our way out. The tape would show a little girl holding tightly onto thin air as she walked energetically through the mall while talking her own ear off. Someone noticed thi