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Xanadu Moo
March 17th, 2006, 03:03 PM
I don't behave like the conventional thread. I hiccup on occasion, and if you look real hard, you can see a light blue tint to me. Many have told me I look even better through sunglasses. There's no sky today. People have looked up, and seen nothing but empty air. It didn't fall, but there were reports that it seemed instead to coalesce. That's a fancy way of saying they don't know what happened.

Having written my erstwhile quasi-congressman months ago, we've gotten into a pretty servile interchange, talking about the likes of immigration and why it's left out there as a hot topic for so long. Some such thing always will be, so if the current dilemma diminishes, it will just be replaced with another one. I penned to my representative that political types don't answer their critics, but simply hide from them. He said not to quote him, but off the record, that's the only way they can survive, otherwise their shelf life amounts to a worm in the Mojave. Nobody remembers a dry worm. So I took that as a hint and stopped watering him. The varmint withered away and went on the talk show circuit into irrelevancy. I'll have to write to them more.

I close my eyes, and turn my eyeballs around to reveal the inner workings of the ole' factory. It's hard to see in here, but the acoustics are great. People talk about the region of the brain, but what's below it tends to get overlooked. The thinker gets all the credit, which is a shame. There's more to life than Nobel Prizes. The sub-cerebral vortex will get shunned once cloning is instituted. But I have fun playing in it. A bunch of slides and tunnels, which I'm sure is what fascinated Lewis Carroll so. And all done without mirrors. My vote goes to the membrane ahead of the vaunted brain. Things in life are so overrated. I don't even like to sleep, because the enjoyment engulfs itself....

I woke up and found myself in a rhetoric festival. Combatants dueling in jousting matches and intoning "Cliche!" "Cliche!" Since these all occur on the Holodeck, no one ever receives a mortal wound. They go back to the regularly scheduled program, and all else vanishes. A rather delightful magic trick, performed daily at 10, 2 and a chance to catch bull at 4. The most effective weapon is the unassuming red cape. Dangle your case, and then pull it away at the last minute. The most ardent of the group worship at the temple of the phallicies. Any corner vendor can start up their own service. A penny for our thoughts, but they don't gain interest.

Rottweilers have always intrigued me, and I'm still not sure why. In fact, I have no theories on the subject whatsoever. All I know is that they do. I see no reason for the fixation, and yet it's present. Can't attribute it to anything. It might as well be a clump of lard on a freezing skillet, expected to turn into something worthwhile around about 6,400,000,000,000 A.D. if everything falls into place. Can't say I'll be in the neighborhood at that juncture.

I abandoned the previous paragraph before it sunk into the depths of the ocean, being hit by a tanker. Words have their own purpose, and too often we get in their way. They need a voice, though, and someone needs to hear them. But they aren't good at saying much by themselves, and as a constituency they fail miserably. I would proclaim the next minute as National Word Minute, in honor of all words big and small. Let's give it up for our vehicles of lexicon to all that is sublime. They don't exist and then they are all that exists. They set all agendas, and resolve all conflicts. They determine all prescriptions, and weigh all conditions. The pen isn't mighty at all. It's a weapon, but that weapon is wielded by words. Less and less each day. The fine art of conversation took a ride to smallville and resides there in a condo where it will live out its retirement. The pension is good, the weather is bearable, and the neighbors keep to themselves.

Running into bots at electronic pubs keeps the wheels turning, if that's really what they should be doing. I like painting the bots so that they bring different meaning to me. One bot on my viewer takes on the characteristics of a fantasy world, to where I'm in the middle of an extended dream which lets me go out for a burger and come back unobtrusive. Other bots are evil, but they are only evil as long as I want them to be, and then I can make them something else. Some bots are studies of psychoanalysis and may provide the most introspective of all portraits, reflecting, glowing, alive and performing on stage. I build a little play of miniature bots, which carry out their routines to perfection. Their roles are well-defined -- our main objective is to further refine those definitions daily and keep them honed, for one never knows when a bot talent scout will be meandering by and notice. For those not catching the nuances, we have reminders to scratch each others backs and receive credit for it. Bots indeed rule, though I've never determined whether they rule me. The schizophrenic have a field day with so many bots flying about. And those not qualifying can soon reach that pinnacle. The best thing about bots is they are imaginary. They have real minds and real togas, but we can confine them to the abstract where they can merely brainwash us, so we get the best of both worlds. I'll check in with my joke bot soon to get a comedic boost. Or should I find a rant bot next... So many decisions and so little bandwidth...

Xanadu Moo
March 22nd, 2006, 11:06 AM
Dear Diary,
Reminder to reduce my medicinal intake. Even too much Vitamin C can become toxic. This world is not ready for sanity just yet. Keep trying at a later juncture, and report back. Until then, lay low and avoid the radar. This message will self-destruct upon impact with a 700-lb. turtle or when the DNA realigns itself, whichever comes first.