Category Archives: rant

the star without any end points, a circle in disguise

ready, set, go. attack, pant, begin to flaunt, oh my – is that kant? seriously. go fetch, go play, go emotionally decay. this blister is a complete disaster and someone just called me over to start the other side of their intricate project called casper. what a scene, full of fluffy fluffs fluffing about, can you believe such ignorance, i can’t tell you how happy i am to have experienced another way to lament. oh, continue, don’t abrogate, dictate, dictate…

[scene one]

[a small-ish rat occupies a space. a grandiose entrance, provided by some ill-advised sponsor, is entertained by a piece of cheese…]

[l… c… a…]

[“hello,” yelps the larger of the two. “perhaps you can guide me to your destination,” continued the belligerent, but this time with more gusto and perhaps even more empathy. i left the two alone to mingle and directed my attention to more pressing trifles, like the platter of duck confit that had arrived, just in time for the wetting of my palate. before i could ingest the floral display of apathetic violence, reconstructed for me by a magician of gastronomic “ooomph,” tragedy had struck. the legal person they called cheese, a blotched, half-empty placeholder, had already, rather desperately, forced its way into a container. it was hiding from the disaster. to spill more acid onto the intimately cancerous scene, monosyllabic doctors, competing for their own cubed foot of oxygenated diarrhea, all kept pushing alongside my leg without excusing themselves, perhaps on purpose. this entanglement further contributed to the pandemonium. the cheese was nowhere to be found by the true authorities and the obvious was lying naked on the floor, suffocated by the pungent smell of an unclassified piece of cheese…]

[this became, of course, a case no longer worth trying, never mind in front of a hot fudge, otherwise known as a fissure between an already widening gap; it is because of such influences that innocuous proper, playing with fire, will often burn at the same temperature as ulterior motives begin to congregate at.]

[r.i.p. rat, 547 grams, four inches tall, 11:43AM to 13:00PM]

there is an exclamation mark that gains perspective whenever you approach it with such sense of appreciation that your decoy is deconstructed the moment it senses and if containment is not preferred, it will also eat significantly more.

blah.

blah.

isms.

and again,

speech broke the silence, all too soon.

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The Terms of YOUR Agreement, Explained

Who cares if the disingenuous ant wanted to fight the mischievous caterpillar. Let’s be honest, really honest about this two-toned machination that only started becoming a problematic after the loaded-gun effect entered into the equation. So she was provoked! Big deal, alright! Matters of this complicated nature are a daily occurrence and by no means should be treated as statistical anomalies that fail to materialize. Her defence lawyer argued many-a-times, in previous proceedings, the ant’s propensity or for you schoolchildren of a more respectable social class, proclivity, for a pugilistic one-two after the ingestion of four pints into its depressed cavity.

Either way, you’re all insane, utterly mind-numbed. If you really believe the prosecution in this instance, you are only creating precedence for what is already quite obvious, namely that the man-made statute, erected for the benefit of the public at large, is now being appropriated by those with sufficient ulterior motives, to make me want to discontinue vomiting following a session of gorging on “propaganda popcorn.” Ah, such unnecessary evils.

My suggestion to the mother caterpillar is to stop playing one petulant child off another and rear-end herself into a different cause, preferably at a speed that can provide for her injury as well. No, nothing less than that proposition can ever be entertained and if less is suggested, I shall decree with the intention to repress and if my perfect state of imperfectness ripens by that point in time, oppress as well. Regardless, this cultural drama is creating a state of affairs in which I cannot, at least this time, do my best to avoid. Circumstantial evidence aside, my self-diagnosis is telling me that if I continue, psychological harm might just be recoverable, provided that my persuasive essay grades are high enough to convince a toothless but no less effective geriatric, perched atop an infant’s stool and with the moral savvy of a, pardon me, inflatable orangutan (sans the orange hair), that I, above all others, need legal treatment in every sense of the two words. Take this offer as you find it, I am not willing to sacrifice more of my continued perseverance, so that you may find yourself yelling at a television set without probable cause but most likely with an insanity conviction shortly after the foundation for the prosecution, a blind congregation of near-sighted bats, with four-year plans and a penchant for ridiculously low-rates, discovers that inside your chaotic but surely idiotic exclusion clause, you have hidden the terms “in no way” and “liability,” so as to inflict upon those less brilliant, a harm that lacks both an intention to ridicule and the act itself.

This all brings me back to my initial claim, in which I have every right to demand that I be reimbursed for my losses under the Fake Names Act 1429. My black-belt in corruption shall be honoured and principle will succumb to your will only insofar as you will bend to my desire for corrective justice in the playground. It is time the elephants met me in my office, or, if so desired, down at the Zoo, where we all can partake in the ginger petting of innocuous animals for the promotion of the public good. Otherwise, if the dinosaurs get here first, and I do mean what I say, I will only be open to negotiations if they furnish me with polyester dentures – must be made somewhere, anywhere will not suffice – and a carton of desperate vocal chords that were stolen from a location I will provide you with once I have made myself aware of what it is that I want to steal.

Repudiate at your own risk, but I do warn you that the offer is final and if you provoke me, unilaterally, arbitrarily and absolutely binding too.

Note: If you find the act of swallowing hard, please seek professional advice from a confectionary salesman. They’re trained to alleviate matters of such discomfort and will only recommend the most noxious of pleasantries, if of course, such are deemed necessary to cure your anxious but rather macabre depression.

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hra – better than nothing? and has the EU really made a difference?

the herd, lining up

hra – better than nothing? and has the EU really made a difference?

– what does that tell you about how much the HOME OFFICE (a creation of some prime minister or another – i think in this case it was his royal tony-ness that transgressed) really cares about the HRA

– in my personal and humble opinion (yeah right ;)), the answer will tend to be “not really that much”

– they are constantly entertaining a state of complete apprehension, a state of being that paralyzes their foresight and continues to entertain the grossly inappropriate blinders-on effect that has been the status-quo for way too long in this nanny-state of a country

– i guess the thought of queens, kings and KINGDOMS conjures up warm and fuzzy feelings of slavery and repression with its gardens of evil and sand castles of hardship for the promotion of the social collective, the nation and the prosperity of the PUBLIC (and the PUBLIC’S GOOD)…another deep-throat anachronism that even my grandmother has stopped paying attention to…

– everyone is hiding behind the ‘public good,’ while we, the voters, the deciders, want accountability

– but really, when the closet monster makes a boo-boo, s/he blames it on the need to promote the public good, or some other utilitarian smith-slash-mill-like hit-and-run argument.

[note: the above happened ‘on the fly’ or ‘in the moment’ and its contents are unaltered so as to not entertain an adherence to certain unfounded and unjustified standards of expression or formalities that only restrict the audience slash reader to a given matrix of possible interpretations. art, a creation, a process.]

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the day vlad lost ‘it’

first, read the following:

loveland ch 3, 1, 12, 13, 2, 21.

then, after reading 3, 12, 13, 21, rest.

if presented with an opportunity, write.

results may vary, but see below for possible outcomes.

small, stuffy bears. calibration speaks german. i is one of those self-explanatory letters that 99% out of three times will leave you without a dog to walk.

ramble-pie and thirty two have nothing in common but since we’re about trespassing linguistic absolutism, why don’t we also reproach the ‘lack of.’

attitude favours awareness but from what i can observe, it can neither read nor speak. without capacity, we’re stuck in a lala land of confused speculation.

ducks can often break their neck while chasing their own tails. feeding them during this crucial process of self-reflection may lead to severe nausea on the part of the benefactor. interested parties may apply within but only if they have proof of previous vaccination against forewarnings.

slavery of the mind or slavery of the body? i don’t know, but i certainly think one exists. when i was growing up, i did not demand to be ‘nanny-ed’ around. the contrary manifested. i now know that this past allowed for the ingestion of the drug GOOD, thereby preventing me from catching the disease BRAIN-o-DYSFUNCTIONALISM. (if your intent is to patent the aforesaid, i can’t help you).

sufficiency trumps lethargic circumlocution, read: c’est suffit.

vp, the draconian carnivore that ate dog(ma)s for dinner.

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local melodrama: 2:12 AM

I’m sitting on the couch. Being a vegetable. While I’m lying here, growing sprouts, I begin to notice a rather distinct buzz. Spring being months away, I begin to tune in to logic – to try and figure out this mild conundrum. Bikes. Motorcycles. If I could remember what they call these human sling shots in Japan, I would have enlightened you earlier.

But I don’t. What I also “don’t” is why I never happen to either see or hear these machines during the day. Never. Right now for example, I am being carpet bombed by the sound of a ten second radio sound byte on marriage counseling.

I’m nuts. I know.

At one, two, three, four, four thirty five, four thirty-seven AM and on Friday nights, even four thirty-eight, a convoy of wild hogs, castrated teenage choir singers and even a few Italian hand-jobs, pass by my house. I don’t know the purpose of this inconvenience, neither do I care. I am, however, more concerned with why.

The modern day male phenomenon is a distinct amalgamation of evolution and friendly fire. Innocuous in the real world but a real-war-threat in fantasy la-la land.

With their wives fast asleep, under the auspices of non-therapeutic drugs er, America’s in-house palliative care specialists, ahem, CNN, society’s deviants and ‘disobedients’ distance themselves from their fraternal faux-pas, surreptitiously take out their TONKA toys and take to the streets.

And to be completely honest, I understand why they do it. Complacency would suffocate me too.

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rethink: subliminal eye candy [Made in China]

My proposition is fairly simple and straightforward. There can be no competition without standardization. None. The effects of a lack of standardization are obvious, but important enough to be reiterated, using a few examples.

Consider the consequences of asking a Formula One team to compete against the others using a de-tuned engine or even worse, one with less cylinders. I’m using relatively simple examples here. Think Monza not Istanbul. More complex ones do, nonetheless, exist. But this is not the point. To put it rather succinctly, I would immediately pack my bags and find a new business venture. Unless I had money to burn…which I don’t.

We watch soccer and most of the time we watch two teams compete. (Thank you Mr. Obvious). Or so this is what we perceive is happening. Again, consider the type of game you would be watching if one of the soccer teams fielded players that were heavy smokers, while the opposing team did not. If players on both sides “lit up,” then it would make no difference, but when one team decides to quit, the rest is destiny: the other is compelled to quit also. That is of course, if they want to keep playing soccer. In a competitive league. You get the idea.

If we move on to international competition, between states or nations, or more precisely the extent to which one country can compete with another, the same outcome can be teased out. However, I want to table my own interpretation of the current obsession with “if-China-does-not-become-a-super-power-then-all-this-talk-of-a-re-emerging-cold-war-may-very-well-become-a-reality.” Many things may become a reality.

However, China’s growth may be associated with its unrivaled ability to coerce, compel and if not by political incentives, then either by economical or even legal ones, control and subsequently focus its large pool of human capital with one purpose or goal: expansion and growth. Now, the United States is playing catch-up. Competition requires a standard, and the United States has fallen behind. The U.S. is running the de-detuned engine while smoking a pack of fags and even worse, losing its mind.

The Bill of Rights and in Canada, the Charter, notwithstanding the civil-rights of other countries, have become an obstacle in the way of economic competitiveness. When China decrees, a skyscraper is built, a steel mill goes up, and a few more oil-reserves deplete. On the other hand, when the U.S. passes a law, a few more housing bubbles pop, Ford goes bankrupt and the Supreme Court, to aggravate the situation even further, yells “unconstitutional.”

Why there has been a resurgence in conservatism and neo-imperialism is now less difficult to understand. If the United States (add other countries, as desired, here) does not tighten its authoritarian and repressive grip, it may lose the fight and never catch up to the Chinese. To lose this “war on standardization” would be to lose the war on competitiveness and ultimately bring another empire to its knees. And if we really add hyperbole to speculation, destruction.

Call me clairvoyant. I’m not.

Vlad

MinCI
*A picture from the “Made in China” Installation.

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warrior weekend: exhibit a

why do you hate papers.
i love writing.
i love writing papers.
i love giving academics shit.
for their work.
for the work they spent a lifetime researching.
only to have to put up with this shit after all these years.
shit that may or may not be documented, research, well founded, cogent or valid,
but nonetheless.
it proves a point:
that sometimes,
regardless of whether you research for 30 years or 1 second,
you will inevitably reach different conclusions,
and so as to fuck up the entire food chain,
the same one:
that i’m sick and fucking tired of POMPOUS academics who have been penetrated by nepotism and not meritocracy…
impaled by bigotry and sophism and
not genuine humility.
academia,
f you…
period.  

the dividing faith

*this will soon end, and i will return to a life of complacency and docility. or maybe i’ll just become a blob, er, blog.

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