deadman walk-in

Dead man walkin’

Time warp – I better update some timage linkages:
Wikipedia entry on the Ajka_alumina_plant_accident
Wikipedia.org/Bayer_process – the industrial trigger
Wikipedia.org/Red_mud – the projectile
Aluminium – your sin which caused this
Alzheimer’s_disease – another related punishment of ours
Alumina Production in Russia Part I: Historical Background
A potentially similar Greek Alumina production plant
Alumina – The production method
The end result: Aluminium
Ooh.  The clincher. Strategic Advantages.
Dirty.

They big pic’ed it.  It’s like a punch in the gut. Looks like New Orleans did.

“People who came in contact with the substance were burned through their clothes.” NY Times Int’l (Wed, October 6, 2010, p. A8 paragraph 2, second sentence.)

Dragon hiss soundsRIMBYBillions.  Wait, it is estimated that four thousand four hundred forty thousand metric tons were produced or shipped in the united states in 2007.  Isn’t that like 4,440,000 metric tons.  Or, 4.44 Million Metric Tons.  Or 9,788,524,441 pounds.  9.79 Billion?  Check my math. 4.44 billion kilograms.  Estimated.

Oh wait, it’s “naturally occurring”.  More information. Electrochemically encyclopedic.

Ooh, here’s the patent!  Make some yourself in your kitchen!  Let’s take this thing global.

This Hungarian thing is an act of war.  The PR of it, rivers of color.  Rivers of blood.  Mother earth and all her children are being ground up like so much chum by this horrible fucking machine that each and every one of you support every single fucking day.

This was a reservoir from an alumina plant.  That means, it was from a mining operation.  This was a human-created disaster.  Greedy fuckheads on planet earth with real names and physical locations did this, in physical ways, legal ways, ownership ways, and consuming ways.  Yes, we all did.  This is directly OUR responsibility.  People drowned in a horror-movie inspired toxic chemical sludge that burns through their skin.  Pictures sure are beautiful, though.  We always get the best journalism during war time, because anybody crazy enough to want to learn and tell more of the shit this machine does to people and the planet, well, they’ve got to be just as suicidal as the soldiers in the war.  Fuck it.  This place sucks anyway.  Might as well live it out like a video game.

Comics were good today.  Well done.

I can’t even think of one other worthwhile thing I read in two newspapers today.  Just more bullshit.  The business section is a laugh riot.  Convictions.  What-the-fuck-ever.  One fall guy when who-knows-how-many-stayed-rich.  Manufactured numbers are just as shitty as every other manufactured commodity from a slave-run industry.  SLAVES STAND UP!!!!  We know who we are, we build all this shit, and the fact that this is now THE WORK WE CHOOSE, we now declare the planet open source.  Oops.  Look who knows how everything works.  All you know how to do is argue and distract.  Lie.  Repeat stupid shit that someone else told you.  Published scientific findings does not mean a text-book summary of potentially planet-changing technology.  Fucking dig where the digging needs being dug.  It’s FUCKING WORK!!!.  Uh.

I want you to get on your fucking knees and beg me for the blogs I have’t published yet.  The secrets are all in there.  What all of this is.  Where it came from, where it’s going.  Scripts.  Executables.  I like your versions better, though.  I feel like I am sorta steering with extendable electronic fingertips.  They extend out like a web of linked nanobots.  Fast as thought.  Light is too slow.  Wait ‘til I turn my own body into an E.M.P.  Yeah, you wait.  Tell me I can’t.  Dare me.  Do we really need more examples?

My people include felons, yes.  We may have a few psychopaths, a pathological liar or two, and plenty of faithful Christians.  Nobody’s perfect!  Most of ‘em are just cannon fodder.  Grunts.  The personality traits that attract me to people transcend your definitions and veneers.  I’m friends with really rich people, or I sure have been.  I’m probably a lot more friends with a crap-ton of poor people.  I actually prefer that, but I think it’s just a result of percentages.  That’s what we got here.  A shit-ton of poor people.  If we accept that as the thing we all have in common, then we’re all family.  Did that hurt?  It was(n’t) meant to.  Yeah, both.  Ok, I think you’re ready for a video.  It’s important, so pay attention.  Funny.  I’m actually directing you, on this one rare occasion, to pay particular attention to the video stream coming out of your electro-magnetic screen.  That’s ironic.  Here’s Part 2.

Look, it doesn’t matter, really, that I don’t particularly like you.  I still love you.  I want to help you, in ways that you don’t even see yet.  You’re still too convinced that the story “the other guy” is tellin’ you has any merit at all.  Bank you.  No, BANK YOU.  I think we just got a new name.  Woot!

I just needed to listen to these vids.  That’s why I’m telling you.  They were beneficial to me the first time I heard ‘em, and they still are.  Plus, the sounds go pretty with hard rockin’ screaminess going on behind ‘em.  Not, like, physically, like auditorily.  Subsonically.  Hypersonically.  Metasonically.  Meta-sick-ally?  Heh.

Landowners, you are too fucking paranoid to even address.  Seriously.  You demand profits like a bank statement, which makes everybody jumpy as fuck.  Take a deep fucking breath.  You don’t order a nano-bot army around.  You tell people what you want, and they figure out a way to get it for you.  You can’t put time expectations on it, and your demands can only set the bottom bar for functionality.  We have every right to make it more efficient than that.  If you’re not going to live there, what the fuck do you care if we are able to house 50 fucking people in this “small” space.  You don’t live here.  If you did, you could sure have a lot more input.  We are not your slaves any more.  That’s kinda the idea.  Your inability to address any one of us as a human being exactly the same as yourself is the only thing keeping you isolated in your store-bought polyester.  Drop the veneer.  What are you here for?  Why have you put yourself into the position to be running into a person such as myself right now?  Do you believe I will be around for a long time?  Do you believe I believe in time?  I’ve been here for fucking forever already.  This is a sexless fucking town.  Why on god’s green earth would I ever want to hang around here?  Have I ever lied to you about anything?  Well, yes is probably the answer to that, but I sure didn’t mean to [sic].

Coop: your “customers” are every human on the planet.  Your “empire” is the permission-granted-by-the-people-living-there dirt under the sun, whether in the sky, in trees, on rooftops and in back-lots.  Your “job description” is to be the kindest, most helpful person you can be to any and every other person.  What do you need?  Food?  Let’s get you some food.  Companionship and stimulation, educative information?  Let’s introduce you to some actual people.  They’re good people.  I know good people.  I is one.  All is mind.  All is mine.  All is mined.  All is mayan.  All is mine.

The uncertainty principle.  Patience slows it all down to quality and affordability.  SMASH YOUR FUCKING TELEVISION.  Please.  Participator.  Or, if you don’t smash your tv, I command you to buy my dance dvd.  Yeah, it’s crappy as fuck.  What do you care.  My own mother has a copy.  She don’t watch it.  It has none of this hilarious inanity, just me in love.  To music.  I don’t know what else I can give you.

This is a quote from a magazine in my shitter:

The infinitely superior Dvorak keyboard is named for August Dvorak, a professor of education at the University of Washington in Seattle and a distant cousin of the famous Czech composer Antonin Dvo?rák. Around 1914, August’s brother-in-law William Dealey attended some industrial efficiency seminars led by Frank and Lillian Gilbreth, watched their slow- motion films of typists, and reported what he saw to Dvorak. The brothers- in-law then devoted almost two decades to enormously detailed studies of typing, typists’ errors, previously designed keyboards, hand physiology and function, and the relative frequencies of letters, pairs of letters, and words in English. Finally, in 1932, they took what they had learned and designed a new keyboard.

Dvorak typists began to sweep typing speed contests two years later, and they have held most typing records ever since. A large-scale comparative test of several thousand children, carried out in the Tacoma schools in the 1930s, showed that children learned Dvorak typing in one- third the time required to attain the same standard with QWERTY typing. When the U.S. Navy faced a shortage of trained typists in World War II, it experimented with retraining QWERTY typists to use Dvorak. The retraining quickly enabled the Navy’s test typists to increase their typing accuracy by 68 percent and their speed by 74 percent. Faced with these convincing results, the Navy ordered thousands of Dvorak typewriters.

They never got them. The Treasury Department vetoed the Navy purchase order, probably for the same reason that has blocked acceptance of all improved, non-QWERTY keyboards for the last 80 years: the commitment to QWERTY of tens of millions of typists, teachers, salespeople, office managers, and manufacturers. Even when daisy wheels and computer printers replaced type bars, forever banishing the jamming problem that had originally motivated QWERTY, manufacturers of the efficient new technologies carried on the inefficient old keyboard. August Dvorak died in 1975, a bitter man: I’m tired of trying to do something worthwhile for the human race, he complained. They simply don’t want to change!

Well, that and the internet.

Point is, point, catch that, the condescending “little p”  get used to it, bank. Or do you prefer massa?  Picture that.  Six foot two white boy callin’ a diminutive female massa. Or a clearly grossly inferior male human.  Bite me.  I dare you.

Uh oh.  Typing in the cloud.  Better save.  Publish, publish!!

Telecom regulation needs to go back into the hands of its owners.  Us.

Vivka formspring replies!  Yippee!

Tools that allow you to not pay attention are not useful tools.  Put the blades whirring as close to my sensing organs as possible so I can tell whether they’re in balance.  The sound gives it away.

I oughta update my FB profile.

http://www.theonion.com/articles/ron-paul-lte,17011/
heh.  Oniony.

Ooh.  I like you.  Teases make the best sounds.  Have my baby.  Please?

“The challenge today is just to get people to agree that this is necessary.”
http://web.mit.edu/newsoffice/2010/regulate-internet.html

“Weldon is reportedly charging the American people $795 an hour.”
http://www.theonion.com/articles/american-people-hire-highpowered-lobbyist-to-push,18204/

There. Prolly more. Throughout.

mwah!
tt

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~ by LazyAssWasteoid on 2010-10-6 (Wednesday).

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