Shrieks and Whimpers

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stilltrucking
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Shrieks and Whimpers

Post by stilltrucking » March 8th, 2009, 12:26 pm

Shrieks – Some form of posthumanity is attained but it is an extremely narrow band of what is possible and desirable.

Whimpers – A posthuman civilization arises but evolves in a direction that leads gradually but irrevocably to either the complete disappearance of the things we value or to a state where those things are realized to only a minuscule degree of what could have been achieved.

http://www.nickbostrom.com/existential/risks.html
I wonder what happened to the Old Civil Defense System? Probably dismantled.
It was a spooky thing to see all those shelters. It seemed as if every public building used to have one of those yellow and black radiation warning signs with the shelter capacity posted on it.

Military rations, drums of water, first aid supplies and so forth.

I read the Russias hasve the subways system in Moscow set up as a shelter.

We are on our own I suppose

Which is fitting for a nation of rugged individualists.







Thinking about the statue of the bull on wall street covered with debris on september 11, 2001.

Thinking about testosterone and risk taking.

The wall street brokers were the new american cowboy
Our economic heroes charging ahead boldly where no banks had gone before. Seeking out new financial life forms and keeping the credit cards swiping.

I thought when it happened how will wall street ever recover. Osama has destroyed our economy.

Shows you how little I knew.

Probably just my delusional thinking. Probably no connection between 911 and the crash.



Dribs and drabs to AIG, here thirty billion there another thirty billion, about 185 billion so far.

Nobody talking about the 63 TRILLION in Credit Default Swaps. Because we can't handle the truth. What other open secretes are there.

These are the good old days, I am sure of it
Kids are so sweet and trusting
They will never miss the going world

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Post by mtmynd » March 8th, 2009, 4:02 pm

82% or our workforce is employed. not too shabby given the inevitable shakeup of commercial overabundance. who wants to borrow this money some talking heads keep blabbering about that needs to be available? aren't most people tired of debt... tired of working just to pay for it?

i think about last year and the comments about our workforce - the hardest working people in the world, it was said. i'm beginning to believe much of that workforce is burned out and exhausted... nobody should work themselves to death making a living... it doesn't compute. if people are stopping or paying off their debts in order to slow down, what happens to the sellers that are offering chinese junk? yup.
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Post by stilltrucking » March 9th, 2009, 9:17 am

I think the Buddhists got it right

Everything is perfect.
I would like my epitaph to read just like old Kurt Vonnegut's
"Everything was beautiful and nothing hurt"

http://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Kurt_Vonnegut

I may become a Hindu next or possibly join the American humanist association.

What kind of god would create the earth just to destroy it?

A space rock missed us last week by forty five thousand miles.

So maybe the next one will hit us and all the debt will be wiped out along with everything else. The earth pulverized to dust which floats through the universe and seeds another newly formed planet to start the cycle of life again.

What do I know?

Not much Cecil

I just like to type.

You used to use a lot more winkies
I noticed you seemed to have stopped
I hope you are not getting serious in your golden years. :wink:
“When you realize how perfect everything is you will tilt your head back and laugh at the sky”
sincerely
jt

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Post by mtmynd » March 9th, 2009, 11:23 am

You used to use a lot more winkies
I noticed you seemed to have stopped
I hope you are not getting serious in your golden years. Wink
it's more than likely an exercise in written language... to see if i can transmit the winkies idea without smilies and have the reader respond as intended.

too serious..? quite possibly one of the most serious things i've ever put into print... but then again, what is this word 'serious' and does it have any redeeming quality that i can take to my grave to shelter my spirit from negative force fields?

*psssst... did that make any sense?

"garbled message, commander. please resend after the Krypton energy field passes. over and out."
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Post by stilltrucking » March 9th, 2009, 11:36 am

Thx for the flashback... hope you enjoy it, truck.
I know just what you mean compadre. :wink:

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Post by stilltrucking » March 9th, 2009, 11:37 am

Or do i?

Beats me.
The bait is the means to get the fish where you want it, catch the fish and you forget the bait. The snare is the means to get the rabbit where you want it, catch the rabbit and forget the snare. Words are the means to get the idea where you want it, catch on to the idea and you forget about the words. Where shall I find a man who forgets about words, and have a word with him? --Chuang Tzu



http://fusionanomaly.net/chaoslinguistics.html

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Post by mtmynd » March 9th, 2009, 12:27 pm

This reminded me of something that is happening (no typo... is happening is intended) it seems to me in the 1780's and the name 'Mikela' or something quite close to that resonates within me. Do I know this person or will I meet this person..? It remains to be seen. I only hope I'm there when I do meet or find out I am this 'Mikela'.

The crowded streets are not very pleasant... littered with trash and the smell!! it's enough to choke me. but then again I'm not really from this area. I'm definitely only passing thru.

I hear the sound of laughing children. Kids always bring us back to the times of innocence when even littered, stinking streets weren't enough to keep the kids from having a good time.

"Mikela!" a voice from behind me remarks as if she knew this person. Should I turn around?

I look all around me to see if there's anyone responding to that call. Nobody seems to care... there all too busy coming and going.

"Mikela! How nice to see you..." her voice trails off waiting for a reply.... my reply. I'm startled. I thought I'd lose my breath for a moment. The woman was staring right into my eyes.

"Hello..." my voice trails off while I find myself fixated by this face in front of me. I recognize the eyes. I've come face to face with these eyes before... but who..?

"Don't you remember me?" the soft curious voice asks.

"I'm so sorry.... I know I've seen you before but I just don't..."

"Don't remember? I can't believe it, Mikela!" Her voice now stiffened with a deep concern, her eyes squinting at me.

"I know I know your eyes... I've seen them before.. but... it just doesn't connect..." I'm somehow lost in reviewing every memory in my head searching is desperation for an answer. I had to find out who she was. "Who are you?" I finally ask.

"Mikela... Mikela...." she acts like she can't believe what I just asked... "Last Thursday.... do you remember that?"

My head shakes back and forth in a negative response almost automatically..."No. I don't remember anything about last Thursday.."

"It was at the pub just down the road..." she offers a hint hoping I'd remember... "and you..." waiting for my continuation. But I'm without any memory of this 'last Thursday and a pub"... and especially this woman. I realize how confused I must look because of her facial expression - quizzical.

"What is your name?" I had to know that much at least. Maybe that would stir up something to solve this.

Just then, just when her voice began saying what sounded like the word "Josa...." a horse and carriage out of control came right towards us in the street and as we tried to avoid being hit, she tripped over a pile of trash and the horse stepped on her not once but twice as it was running with fear. I ran over to her to see how she was but it happened so quickly and there was nothing anyone could do. She was dead. Her lifeless body lay on that littered, filthy, stinking street and I had no clue who this woman was. I was 'that close' to at least knowing her name.. but....

Next thing I knew I was at this keyboard wondering what I was going to write next. I have some chores I need to take care of today, but damn it! I enjoy seeing my words just suddenly appear on this blank in front of me. Don't all of us have this compulsion to write, write, write no matter how wrong we may be? It's the writer's disease. It makes so little difference what the subject is - poetry, literary fiction, essays, politics... just let me write, dammit. Call me fucking Mikela, call me Mr Qyomo, call me Cec'... just let me write, right? Right!

;)
Last edited by mtmynd on March 9th, 2009, 4:13 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Post by stilltrucking » March 9th, 2009, 3:11 pm

The name that comes to mind is John Stuard Mill

Nothing worse than a Jew with a prostestant work ethic

I got to go google J S Mill see if I am thinking of the right word.

I enjoyed the read. thanks

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Post by mtmynd » March 9th, 2009, 7:26 pm

You're welcome, truck.... I enjoyed writing that. ;)
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Post by stilltrucking » March 9th, 2009, 8:41 pm

excellent writing
a sad and beautiful story
a fresh style.
:D

make a nice post to creative
but i guess you are not vain enough for that. :wink:

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Post by mtmynd » March 9th, 2009, 9:55 pm

make a nice post to creative
but i guess you are not vain enough for that. Wink
thoughtful comment actually... if i do post there, i'll be sure to thank you for your suggestion. ;)
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Post by mtmynd » March 10th, 2009, 1:13 pm

after giving it some serious thinking, i've reached the conclusion that the story was written with you in mind, i.e. you inspired the sudden story. i don't know how you inspired it but it flashed upon me after reading your thread at the time.

accept the story as a postcard from me, truck... amigo-a-amigo. ;)
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Post by Lightning Rod » March 10th, 2009, 1:45 pm

I like your flight of imagination (or memory, who knows?) here cec
an interesting break of form for you

oh yeah, one year when I was in Jamaica, the unemployment rate was 71%
everybody seemed happy as clams
of course in Jamaica, the trees are dripping with papayas and the sea is full of fish
"These words don't make me a poet, these Eyes make me a poet."

The Poet's Eye

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Post by mtmynd » March 10th, 2009, 6:35 pm

I enjoy exploratory writing from time to time,

pushing my boundaries just to see the other side.

Thx, eLRod.
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Post by stilltrucking » March 23rd, 2009, 4:27 am

And Moses came down from the mountain bearing a time clock and the forty-hour week.

We got to earn our bread by the sweat of our brows, either that or bring forth children in pain.

I always felt sorry for the heathens running around naked on tropical islands, working about 16 hours a week to provide themselves with what they need to survive, the rest of time just goofing around carving totem poles and canoes.

God bless the missionaries who brought them the word of god and brassieres

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