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Whither

Seems like i post a lot of stuff on Facebook that i should be putting here. Most of it is that Facebook is easier; besides the smaller number of mouse clicks necessary, using a full-on blog obligates me to put in some kind of editorial comment with the content i’m linking to, at minimum putting a title to the post. Also, more people are reading what i put on Facebook. Maybe. i’ve never told a lot of people this blog was here, though. And in fact, what ends up on the blog now for the most part is stuff that is edgier and slightly more controversial than i would show most of my acquaintances.

Maybe a simpler system like Tumblr would help. Twitter is too far the other way though, i think, and i would need to adjust my habits towards it.

There is some tech available to do automatic WordPress to Facebook posting but i would sooner do Facebook to WordPress.

i would also still like to transfer some of my old blog posts – why can’t i remember the system? oh yes, Movable Type, wonder what’s up with it now? – but i would have to relearn Perl or learn something else to redo the involved scripting necessary to switch the format, or cut-and-paste manually; both options are daunting.

i could always scrap the whole thing, but i still rather like having my own webspace. The photos are still here. i might need to put up a message board again sometime too.

(Reminds me of when my buddy and i started a phpBB about Magic the Gathering. He was running Apache off an old shitbox at his house, it overheated regularly from the traffic and he was having to call his dad to reboot the thing every so often. Eventually he bailed out and brought in some tool who happened to have better hardware to host it, which eventually motivated me to quit the enterprise. i couldn’t afford a thing to help at the time; not a problem now.)

i think i get this, wouldn’t have a few years ago though

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Strawberries

Strawberries

There were never strawberries
like the ones we had
that sultry afternoon
sitting on the step
of the open french window
facing each other
your knees held in mine
the blue plates in our laps
the strawberries glistening
in the hot sunlight
we dipped them in sugar
looking at each other
not hurrying the feast
for one to come
the empty plates
laid on the stone together
with the two forks crossed
and I bent towards you
sweet in that air

in my arms
abandoned like a child
from your eager mouth
the taste of strawberries
in my memory
lean back again
let me love you

let the sun beat
on our forgetfulness
one hour of all
the heat intense
and summer lightning
on the Kilpatrick hills

let the storm wash the plates

Edwin Morgan

As if.

Saudis Seek Payments for Any Drop in Oil Revenues

β€œIt is like the tobacco industry asking for compensation for lost revenues as a part of a settlement to address the health risks of smoking,” said Jake Schmidt, the international climate policy director at the Natural Resources Defense Council. β€œThe worst of this racket is that they have held up progress on supporting adaptation funding for the most vulnerable for years because of this demand.”

Hey, ScribeFire,

take your tracking pixel and shove it.

Judge, jury and executioner

Rosie DiManno Libels the Dead Anyway – Torontoist

“Don’t be daft. You know very well why Mr. Dewees killed himself.”

Surreal pears

Pear-shaped business plan reaps fruit of success | Small Business | Reuters

Norman Borlaug

The Associated Press: Borlaug, who saved millions from hunger, dies

“Norman E. Borlaug saved more lives than any man in human history,” said Josette Sheeran, executive director of the U.N. World Food Program. “His heart was as big as his brilliant mind, but it was his passion and compassion that moved the world.”

Inside the Apocalyptic Soviet Doomsday Machine

The point of the system, he explains, was to guarantee an automatic Soviet response to an American nuclear strike. Even if the US crippled the USSR with a surprise attack, the Soviets could still hit back. It wouldn’t matter if the US blew up the Kremlin, took out the defense ministry, severed the communications network, and killed everyone with stars on their shoulders. Ground-based sensors would detect that a devastating blow had been struck and a counterattack would be launched.

The technical name was Perimeter, but some called it Mertvaya Ruka, or Dead Hand.

Romancing the Looky-Loos

Romancing the Looky-Loos

That’s why I still endorse Peter Schjeldahl’s advice on how to become an artist: “You move to a city. You hang out in bars. You form a gang, turn it into a scene, and turn that into a movement.” Then, I would suggest when your movement hits the museum, abandon it.