Lately when I come across a trigger that fails to inspire the fingertips into their qwerty jig, I will consult the mighty google oracle and the open source encyclopedian's of wikipedia.
On wikipedia today is a banner notifying users that there will be a blackout in order t(more)o protest anti-piracy legislation.
My interest was piqued. SOPA? PIPA?
Yet another push by the holders of copyrights to assert control over the internets free seas. Of course they insist that downloading music and movies is robbery, after all who paid them for it?
I for one despise the youtube message telling me that a copyright holder has retracted the right to view a music video. "OK" I say, "I guess I won't discover that band".
It all fills me with the urge to learn code, to set my hungry mind at the task.
Artists must be able to make a buck in order to engage in artistic activity for a living, and the various economic apparatuses must be there in order to produce the work. I understand that, but here's the deal.
If I can't hear an album I don't know if I like a band. If I can't view a film I don't know how I feel about a director. If I can't view images of fine art I will know nothing of that art. If I have to pay a pretty penny every time I want to do a little artistic experimentation then I guess I will just limit my horizons.
The common riff-raff is developing an artistic taste because of the freedom that not so long ago had no existence. If art is only about money then art will die.
If greed wants to kill art then I want to kill greed.
Since law protects corporations excessively; direct action!
I want to give kindness to the words I write today, the same kindness that I received on the walk this morning. Just a sound, a soft hello, changing everything, easing the pain of fear and the unknown. Opening up a world of solitude to the careless gesture of(more) friendliness on the street.
I never ask, "Why can't it always be this way?"
I don't want it to be. The singularity of naked kindness between strangers should always strike me like a bolt of lightning to the forehead, illuminating everything for a brilliant millisecond, then rumbling like thunder in my chest for the rest of the day. (less)
You were supposed to be something to pass the time, nothing more.
An outside interest meant to distract me from the black, pull me back from the void.
A disposable snack, full of sugar and empty calories yet tasty enough to leave me feeling satisfied.
Instead you stole (more)my heart in bits and pieces.
Like a childhood game of cops and robbers you held me at gun point, in a manner of speaking.
Now I'm the one doing time and there's no hope of parole in sight.
My arch-nemesis colleague and I had been robbing each other for a while.
It started when I broke into his home late at night. I took his prized Faberge egg, to which his ego was inescapably tied.
I did it to get revenge on him ruining my(more) reputation. He had told people I canoodled with my personal assistant. And people believed him, because he had such a nice Faberge egg. I wasn't fired, because I'm outstanding at my job, but my PA was.
So I stole the egg, and in retaliation, he broke into my place and stole my filled-out tax forms so I had to spend hours doing them again. Plus he took the egg back.
I was certainly unhappy about that, so I stole his expensive blue cheese and returned it half an hour later because I couldn't bear the smell.
When I was there I saw two tickets to Boracay on his kitchen table. I stole one, and wished I could stick around for the argument with his wife which was sure to follow.
However, on the day they were meant to be in Boracay, I saw him at work, chirpier than usual.
That night, around 3am, I broke into his house again. Inside was my ex-personal assistant, wearing a bathrobe. My colleague wasn't home. She nonchalantly said he was out doing an urgent errand.
Ten minutes later, he entered the house quietly, holding the $10 million painting that had been in my living room.
So I did what any self-respecting person would. I got my smartphone and took photos of him with my painting and her in the bathrobe as evidence.
So, your honour, I am innocent. And the fact that I was in his house at 3am to achieve this is entirely beside the point.(less)
Spontaneous combustion, a fear few of us possess, for me is now a terrible reality. I have been robbed of the natural feeling of safety and comfort one feels while resting in bed. Think about it, if one cannot feel safe and secure in the confines of their own(more) home, in their bedroom, under the covers, then one cannot feel safe and secure anywhere! But that my friends, is what has happened to me!
It started innocently enough. My wife simply complained last week that here ears felt warm. Later she said she heard a constant ringing in her head. I told her to check her blood pressure, as I knew that warm ears were sometimes a symptom of high blood pressure. The ringing, I thought might also be related to high blood pressure.
She immediately bought a digital blood pressure monitor and discovered that she did indeed have high blood pressure. She resolved to change her diet and begin a serious regime of exercise. I was relieved because she was eating far too much and had been gaining weight daily.
My relief soon evaporated. Three nights ago I was awakened by her tossing . I touched her, in a vain effort to calm her, and noticed that she was sweating profusely. But more disturbing, I saw what looked like steam emanating from her delicate ears.
And then it happened. She burst into flames and disintegrated in a matter of seconds. All that was left of her was the outline of her body traced by ashes left on our bed sheets. I thought it peculiar that nothing else was ignited, only my dear wife.
How awful it is to realize that life is not what it appears to be! (less)