Feed them a thread, it leads to a string. Follow the string, it leads to a rope. And from that rope every vestige of what was will be hung by the neck.
Le Manteau
La langue est mon manteau; je le porte quand j'ai besoin de cacher.
Uh just so you guys know
MegaUpload - Closed.
FileServe - Closing, does not sell premium.
FileJungle - Deleting files. Locked in the U.S..
UploadStation - Locked in the U.S..
FileSonic - the news is arbitrary (under FBI investigation).
VideoBB - Closed! Will disappear soon.
Uploaded - Banned in the U.S. and the FBI went after the owners who are gone.
FilePost - Deleting all material (will leave executables, pdfs, txts)
Videoz - Closed and locked in the countries affiliated with the USA.
4shared - Deleting files with copyright and waits in line at the FBI.
MediaFire - Called to testify in the next 90 days and it will open doors. Pro FBI
Org Torrent - Could vanish with everything within 30 days “he is under criminal investigation”
Network Share mIRC - Awaiting the decision of the case to continue or terminate Torrente everything.
Koshiki - Operating 100% Japan will not join the SOPA / PIPA
Shienko Box - 100% working China / Korea will not join the SOPA / PIPA
ShareX BR - group UOL / BOL / iG say they will join the SOPA / PIPAokay so further legislation is necessary why?
I bet a number of SOPA/PIPA supporters actually lose money over this. Take this example: I watched The Tudors and Weeds on Megaupload/Video BB because I can’t fucking afford premium cable. But since I liked these shows (well weeds sucks now, but the earlier seasons) I have been acquiring them on DVD. And I plan to purchase Game of Thrones (a part of me wants to boycott, but damn I love the show too much). How many shows will I not buy now because I won’t be able to see them first?
I used to be sceptical of the anti-copyright/copyleft/copywrong movement because as a creative person I want attribution for my work, and I want to know the attributions for others’ work. I don’t care about money, I just want people to know I made it, and I want to know who made other stuff. Now, I’m completely on board. If a patent and copyright system for creative works means that we must have a monstrous industry that cannibalises independent artists, obsesses over profit and uses government and law enforcement apparatus as its personal strongmen, then fuck it. Fuck SOPA, fuck PIPA, and fuck their supporters. We had this exact same bullshit in the 1980s over home taping, and it isn’t any more reasonable now than it was then.
(Source: esteemsterarchive)
“Because of Edison’s patents for the motion pictures it was close to financially impossible to create motion pictures in the North American east coast. The movie studios therefor relocated to California, and founded what we today call Hollywood. The reason was mostly because there was no patent. There was also no copyright to speak of, so the studios could copy old stories and make movies out of them - like Fantasia, one of Disney’s biggest hits ever. So, the whole basis of this industry, that today is screaming about losing control over immaterial rights, is that they circumvented immaterial rights. They copied (or put in their terminology: “stole”) other peoples creative works, without paying for it. They did it in order to make a huge profit. Today, they’re all successful and most of the studios are on the Fortune 500 list of the richest companies in the world. Congratulations - it’s all based on being able to re-use other peoples creative works. And today they hold the rights to what other people create. If you want to get something released, you have to abide to their rules. The ones they created after circumventing other peoples rules. The reason they are always complaining about “pirates” today is simple. We’ve done what they did. We circumvented the rules they created and created our own. We crushed their monopoly by giving people something more efficient. We allow people to have direct communication between each other, circumventing the profitable middle man, that in some cases takeover 107% of the profits (yes, you pay to work for them). It’s all based on the fact that we’re competition. We’ve proven that their existence in their current form is no longer needed. We’re just better than they are.”—
from The Pirate Bay’s press release regarding SOPA and PIPA (via monkeyknifefight)
(Source: static.thepiratebay.org)
Een lesen im konlang
Pronommen:
I U/Uem
Du Dua
Sij/Sie/Eða Su/Su/Eða
Verbar 1: Bir (to be)
i am/i amm u ir/uem ir
du is dua is
sij ist/sie ist/eða ist su ist/eða ist
passe: ost (veer alle pronomen)
Voler:
vol examplen um sonen im skriffte
a Are opvarre
ae bEAr paer
ä wAIt frässen
aa fAther resultaat
e tEn met
ee AIr een
i sEE/sIt ir/mit
ij sIgh nijn
o lob/go pronommen
ö put mjölr
oo wore voor
u clue um
w food allwn
y tin ykossal
au mouse maus
eu toy euer
ie shriek schriek
(vowels are approximations. diphthongs especially have no direct english analogue)
Konsonar
(everything as in english, except:)
c = ‘ts’
j = ‘y’
sch = ‘sh’
ch = ‘kh’
tch = ‘ch’
ð = ‘th’ (soft, as in ‘the’)
Voorkompte
0 // 1 // 2 // 3 // 4 // 5 // 6 // 7 // 8 // 9 // 10
serw // een // zfij // drij // katte // paer // sekc // sett // okt // neun // cen
i amm een pies obf schjit.
Repet e repet, i obvokkar ole. I am een hätarbol manne. Ctupidt. Repeta, oletid. Di resultaat ist kommeða. Sie ni mi fijda; i resiszten met eða ypwnaer sie ist korrekt. Da ist een hjorrarkogn i mjölrpwn ymdur. I swhaet i ni ost zu nijnpricel.
I ni deszevet serw. Absolutan serw.
(Source: pusheen, via faerielandsforlorn)
Dír Själf,
Du ist een ctupidt kwent. Du ist een ctupidt matrpvokar. Dumorta den een pfer; Dumorta den een tusond pferren. Kantit tid eðost? Kantit tid du mjölrekognar? Dis is dikaus du ist schjit. Du is een hjorrorbin Lobleng e teða is god ducensa schäm. Pfarrar al Hättes, du ctupidt fokkap.
Du sie devar - plut köm du den alletid kognar o resipat. Du ni haff een tjaijar met asseer, ðoo. Dijn devat ist zu pluzgross.
Despite all the hype about “sexting,” a new national study finds that just 1 percent of kids age 10-17 have actually sent explicit pictures of themselves or others via their cell phones, the Associated Press reports.
—
Teen Sexting Study: Practice less common that thought, University of New Hampshire study finds
But of course we need to have a huge media blowup over it anyway.
(via lookoutsideyourself)
CNN and its affiliates have made a number of textfails, but the worst was when they ran this story today with the footer “1 in 10 teens egage in sexting”. Really? I didn’t realise that 1% was the same as 1/10.
(via faerielandsforlorn)
Last weekend, I just about cracked. For weeks I’ve been fighting the sensation that I’m going to have a(nother) complete psychological breakdown, but I’ve been holding it together by pushing the potential payoff further into the future. Still, the serious urge to quit everything and run as far and as fast as possible from this place has been with me for a month, and last weekend just about did it.
The route was planned: floor it down I66-W until I reach I81, then head north to Winchester. There I leave the Interstate and take US50 through West Virginia and into Ohio. At Athens, I merge onto US33-N, which would take me to Columbus, and from there I can catch I70-W through Indiana. It’s 13 hours from here to Terre Haute, and the border with Illinois. I have no reason to be in Terre Haute, but it seemed at the time like a good place to stop since I’ve been there and it’s far as fuck from here.
I didn’t leave because… I’m a sucker. I’m a cynical, bitter fuck, but hope is like a tapeworm that I can’t get rid off. I managed to calm down enough to not just get in my car and fuck off, but the week hasn’t gotten better. It’s actually gotten dramatically worse.
I work 40 hours a week as a technical writing contractor at a large financial institution. I’m a full-time graduate student with a full course load (I actually seem to be carrying more credit-hours than several other people with less-demanding jobs). I have spent the last several weeks trying to do everything necessary to make my car legal in the District; so far, that’s cost me a little over $550, and it may cost another $1300 on top of that by the time all is said and done. I’ve been around the block four times with Comcast before finally, yesterday, getting my internet installed. This has cost me about 3 weeks of starting work at 6h30, and three or four 11-hour days; between car and Comcast, I’m probably going to lose one or two hours’ wages anyway because my schedule is too tight to make them up and Thanksgiving cuts into that already stretched timeline. I don’t own a bed, yet, because with the possibility of very-expensive-car-repairs in the immediate future — because, oh yeah, I failed the emissions inspection last weekend, so I only have 20 days from then to fix the damn thing (that’s 13 days left, including T-Day, for those counting) — I can’t afford a mattress. Or rugs. Or anything else. I feel guilty and scared buying food, because rent is also on the horizon, so mathematically I’m only just going to eke this out if I have to drop a grand on the car.
Those are the material concerns. There are, of course, psychological/emotional issues, but since I can’t prove anything there, they don’t count.
I feel automatic, autonomic, automatonic. Two consecutive nights of decent sleep has started to reawaken something like a soul, but it’s still rubbing the crusts out of its eyes. My problem since I came out here was that I was a callous, harried mess. This isn’t life, it is an illness. I missed the part, where, in the last two months, I’ve become so selfish; I’ve been too busy just trying to survive I didn’t have time to notice until now.
I really want to stop being what I am and stop doing what I’m doing. I continue because life is like Lucy-at-the-chocolate-factory, and one small break, one hint of leisure, and I’m completely fucked. I hate it though. I’m so overclocked, and I’m a worse person for it.
the one thing I want is to sleep for 14 hours, wake up, do nothing, then go back to sleep for 6 hours. But I can’t do that. I probably won’t get much more than 6 hours of sleep in the next two days, and I deeply resent that. I deeply resent that even on Saturday I will be up at the crack of dawn with a laundry list of shit to do, most of which will fail to happen. Most of all I resent that I have no say in this, that I can’t say STOP and put the brakes on everything while I catch up with what is required of me. I can’t not work 40 hours, I can’t not go to class or attempt to be prepared (though I fail at it, week after week, class after class), I can’t not get my car legally registered, even though that might cost me over $1000 in repairs. I am completely beholden to all the various powers of this point in space and time - the University, the Company, the District - and as time runs out and requirements accumulate, I will become more and more frantic, more panicked, more sleep-deprived, detached, depressed, frustrated, impoverished and generally unhappy with everything. all of this seems like it was a terrible idea. i need a break. i need to bury my head in the lap of someone who gives a shit (if, indeed, such a person exists) and cry for a while and talk my way out of this, and then I need to sleep and do nothing. this is not life, this is a sickness.
I am such a fucking imbecile.
if last week was a bowl of shit, this week is the same bowl looking at itself in the mirror. and the mirror is one of those funhouse ones that expands the reflection by 300%. goddammit.
Dulce et Decorum Est
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.
Gas! GAS! Quick, boys! – An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime …
Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues, –
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.
There’s a time and a place
So in looking for apartments, I came across a review of Caylor Gardens that’s less than a week old entitled “OMG!!!”. It raves about the place, gives the complex really high marks across the board, and emphatically recommends it. The problem: It’s a reminiscence by some asshat who lived there from 1955-1966. When it was $95 a month to rent. Including utilities. Laundry was 20 cents. And they didn’t have to lock their doors or windows.
If that’s really the most relevant thing you can say about the place, why the fuck open your mouth?
It’s been 45 years since you moved out. Over a half-century since you were a tenant and YOU WERE A FUCKING KID. Guess what? Only about a million million things have changed in the period between then and now, and your experience doesn’t help me at all. See, the last review before that is from the early fall of 2010 and it was overwhelmingly negative, as was the one before that in late fall 2009. So when you write a glowing, nostalgic treatise a week ago and jack up the ratings, it completely skews the way I perceive this place, mostly because of the discord between the date of your review (now) and the date of your experience (before my parents were born). Is there a serious roach problem? Are the management folks incompetent/lazy? I don’t know. I have no idea what to think, and it’s your goddamn fault for writing something completely irrelevant to anything.
If you stumble upon your old home on the interwebs and have a series of wonderful flashbacks, awesome. Write about them in your own private space. Don’t use an apartment ratings site that people like me rely on to make informed decisions about where to live. That’s completely inappropriate, and frankly, it’s kind of dickish.
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