StumbleUpon - olympes web site reviews and blog

Jan 25, 2007 7:32am 106 reviews
http://olympe.stumbleupon.com/

I usually don't waste my time with dingleberries of humanity like this but since her highness espoused her inevitable critique, shredding my lowly "super-ego" into Bigos, I might as well entertain the offer to counter...

"An absinthe drinking, foreign cigarette chain-smoking self-righteous gas-bag stuffed with contemporary Polish literature"? (abbr.)

Listen Kochanie, my only use for these things would be to douse you in flames in a modern day witch hunt--you and your Powerbook. You see, sweetheart, we suffer from the same predicament in feeling like the black sheep, when all that we are, is misled. If you can't see the transparent hypocrisy of your insults (and the phrase just used in this sentence) than you are worse off than you thought you were. Curiously, this hobby of yours seems to consume a lot of your time which might be better spent exterminating all the robaki in your pussy. It's a shame your obvious intelligence was sent for abortion a long time ago.

Lastly, what does Poland or being Polish have to do with anything, especially in regards to the Internet and SU? If you put your snobby ass into gear and traveled you'd notice that assholes come in many universal flavors and that, much like yourself, over-priveliged nouveau-riche upper-crust zealots of idiocy...well, their shit stinks too. C u next tuesday, Olympe.

Jan 2, 2007 11:51am

I PierdOLa

"Dot.com
Dot.com
Dot.com"

a chanting mantra of moronitude in the heartbeat of Stony Brook's Student Activity Center. The writhing wriggling sperm desparately in search of an egg they could not find, stuck in a SAC corralled like an intoxicated barnyard menagerie. At the centerstage a corporate vegetable robot sterilized the neurons of the listening crowd as he hucked energy drinks based on the Fast and the Furious movie franchise. "Available at all 7-11's yallz! Free T-shirt to whoever dawg can holla DOT.COM da loudest, Niggaz!!"
Onward ensued the downwared festivities, as outside the percolations of an anti-Bush rally began to animate:
"WE DON'T LIKE WAR!!"
"NO SIR!"
"NO WAR!"
"DOT COM!"
"NO WAR!"
"DOT COM!"

We all have better things to do right?

Like modern-day savages, we were inside trying to get our FUZE T-Shirt and Dunkin Donuts propaganda pamphlet. Jamaican Beef Patty. The newest Hagen Daz splooge dribble. It's free, we cannot resist. Advertising's intrusion to our atrophying minds cannot prevail over the prehistoric urges of our beleaguered bellies. And now, post food expo, after a single served coffee, chemi-flavored water and specially-requested raw hot dog, I escaped to the outside where I could cleanse what left of a soul I had in the echoes of the Anti-bush rally, the droning monolith buildings of Stony Brook and the brisk fall weathering.

Jan 2, 2007 9:50am

The sins of physics...
...A perpetual notion

In a world that seems to define itself through struggle, varying degrees of
motion engaging and lapsing, the notion of a constant energy, a motion of
infinite repetition, seems impossible, even without the involved consideration of physics or science. This tempting wonderment of impossibility is what has become to be known as "perpetual motion", an oxymoronic paradox to the large majority of persons both intellectual and those considered not. It is even known that the cosmic forces, the overseers of our existence are eventually to peter out and
succumb to the omnipotent powers of governing entropy.
With the advent of such energies as electricty, pertroleum and nuclear fission, clean mechanics, such as crank devices, pulleys and gear-based clock work, have mostly become antiquated 19th century leftovers, most devices demanding too much effort, too much manpower from today's modern man. However, what machines and related processes are currently dubbed "automated", truly aren't and somewhere along their inner workings, the core machinations are powered by expendable resoureces, extinguishable fuels, depletable organic and inorganic compounds.

Typing in "perpetual motion" backwards into search-engines on the internet, the world-wide-cobweb, yields little else but a geeky programming trick of a backwards google search, a literal "mirror" site if you will. How unexciting.

People don't conspire about what they should.

Rat Bike Zone

Jan 2, 2007 9:18am 1 review motorcycles
http://ratbike.org/docs/423.php

Bike wanted, I gots to build one a thems

Dec 18, 2006 1:24pm

6:34 PM 12/18/2006

In the heyday of christ there was enough time in the day, and enough imagination, or span of attention in the minds of the masses to convince an infantile world of moral conviction and promotion of virtue. Today however, in humanity's graying, aging state of keeping afloat, there's probably not enough one can say or do with one's life but to say and do more with one's death. The final act has never been played out to such grandiose spectacle, such a bang to inflict burden, shame, guilt to the rest of one's fellow mankind. Not since the bedtime story of christ was last read to any patient, open-eared youngling, an innocent to the unrelenting strength of humanity's dirty nature and self-defecating progress--not since the bible was digested cleanly, unfiltered from the dirty fingers of popular criticism and blindfolded governance. These acts, this kind of antiheroic, semi-suicidal approach to eternal salvation of all the men, women and children of all time, is supposed to go unsung and unquestioned, but also emphatically unrepeated, as stressed by the mandates of law and establishment.

Seems kind of anti-motivational to me.

But the idiots of Koran are not held back by the red tape of our Western society racehorse, and are actively engaged in such daily kamikaze rituals for the sake of a misled fart of a revolution in a "paradise" they continue to ruin on an hourly basis.

The dawn of civilation is not static. It does not stay in Palestine. It's been slithering around the globe for the past 2000 yrs and it will probably continue to do so until this galaxial steamship unrivets, splinters apart at the seams bulging of souls and consciousnesses, and sinks back into a primordial ooze suitable for the amniotic fluid of the next contender in the arena of evolutionary lifeforms.

Civilization is always at its forefront somewhere, a somewhere that doesn't stay put for long, but the unfortunate truth of the matter is that it has to tolerate the bite of the shackle of the ball-and-chain that is the rest of humanity. A rest of humanity ever-increasing in size, in mass, in greed, and in gluttony. A dependent parasite disguised in its hosts clothing.

Transcending all of this, in all angles in all dimensions, is space, it's undeniable presence records our every sin, success, blunder, nosepick, and climax, and duly responds with the requisite disinterest. Because there is nothing new going on here, there never is, there never was and our progress, our ongoing tapestry of monkey shit, confusion and struggle, will not be heralded by the trumpets of angels from heaven, but by the buzzing of flies and the feasting of maggots.

You can go to the beach, or to a grassy cliffside with a breathtaking panoramic to immortalize with your 3000$ digital camera, but you can't alleviate or deny the feeling of hundreds, the mathematics behind thousands turning into millions of sufferers, those deprived of your daily meal, over the course of an entire month. The diseased and the demented. You can only revel in beauty for so long before you do the same in the archeology of the Earth's crust.

You can lose yourself in the arms of a lover, engage in a passionate relationship, even start a family. It's also hard to untie your shoelaces when your standing in a block of cement. The world is now glazed with the saccharides of advertising, consumer-marketed corporate arrogance, vaccuum-packing employess and slaves into its stacked microcircuits. The intelligence of this machine behemoth is so unbridled, blissfully incomprehensible by the man-island, the smallest hof exhalation in its sleep could blow over the pyramid stacks of money saved by a man over the course of his broken life.
You will birth children into the gridlock of an obselete, shut-down system cutting out the same, stamped cookies on a conveyer belt which terminates in a forest of pavement and concrete. Children whose heads get stuffed so full of pre-packaged curriculum th

Dec 14, 2006 11:25am

Richard J. Maybury lists the six characteristics that an "illiteracy mill" would have to have.
Summarized as follows:


Curiosity is spontaneous and must be suppressed. Prohibit spontaneity and regiment learning so that children are taught things when the system decides, not when they want to learn them.

Remove children from the adult world so that they are deprived of role models, and cannot learn by copying adults.

Enact child labour laws so that anyone trying to escape from the illiteracy mill has nowhere else to go. No apprenticeship system means they won't be able to learn a trade by copying adults.

Force children by law to attend, thereby making learning a job, a chore, an obligation; definitely not fun. Supplant curiosity by drudgery. Prison dulls the mind.

Coercing the children also helps wipe out the teacher's desire to teach. It creates massive problems of motivation and discipline. Teachers commonly quit after a few years of attempting to combine the roles of entertainer and enforcer in an effort to get something done.

Last but not least, everyone should be forced to pay for the mill no matter what their mill does to children's minds. And there are no refunds. If a child comes out of the system with his brain turned to mush, the parents should still be forced to pay, every year for the rest of their lives


To understand human language, we need to place ourselves within the context of Earth as a self-organizing reality. The Earth taught itself how to create the photosynthetic processes, how to bloom forth with the power of the angiosperms, how to create topsoil; Earth did not learn these things from Mars or the Andromeda Galaxy. Earth education is self-education.
Humans are engaged in the same dynamic of self-educating reality. So, here we sit, talking, a further development of the ancient Earth activity of education. Our situation involves something new - self-reflexion - manifested especially through language, but language itself is just a part of a larger teaching process. We sit, talking, engaged in the education process of the Earth.

Nov 20, 2006 8:02am

Anecdote w/ a side of Embellishment

Arriving @ the mountain w/ no prepared lunch or snacks there was little one could do in terms of acquiring food w/out succumbing to the devil's devices. It was a prime example of the above we were put thru one fine Sat. afternoon as we rendezvous'd for our final meeting of the day right next to a certain pubescent hot dog vendor. If he had a tail, it would be between his legs, as this young laddy sold the 200-yr-old dogs, for an astounding 3 US dollars a piece. Good business does not often involve good karma. Now, intelligent life in this unverse is hard to come by but that didn't seem to bother this youngish peddler as he wasted his, continually, repeatedly, reaching down deep into the sausage sauna for the kosher submersibles as the sun scarred its line across the sky. And he swindled as his franks dwindled, many yuppie folk parting w/ 3 dollars of power paper in hopes of being bestowed w/ a glorious NYC foodstuff; a gift from the demi-gods blanketed in an exquisite white bread slice, daintfully anointed w/ either Ketchup, Mustard or Relish (after all it was a long and enduring day on the green trail for them). When presented w/ such freedoms Americans do not settle for less, so a 3-on-1 of the above were chosen more often than not, the grinning customer usually walking away w/ more than 1 of the finest, albeit shittiest, frankfurters this side of the Vermont Pizza Inn. But, I will now, if I may, cut to the chase; dispense w/ the pleasantries, and detail perhaps one of the most vile, criminal acts, one of the most sinister maneuvers to have ever transpired this century (yes, i know, this century is young, nevertheless!). As preparations were being made to depart the mountain by Wite Trash & Immonium AD, the former w/ 25% Nicaraguan blood coursing thru his veins, thru the corner of his 50% Polish eyeball he saw... the devil's turd!!
After being approached by a seemingly wealthy family man, the conniving, little fuck of a vendor proceeded to w/draw (not unlike he w/drew the money from the brave fellow's upturned palm) several beefy submarines. Before us lay a succession of antiquated-semi-sausages, a cascade of rancid-tubule-meat-recepticles. After parting w/ what would have been a good portion of the money in MY wallet, homeboy thought over his plan of attack to capture, detain, and relocate this elite force of franks. Slowly, our eyes painfully made their way over the dogs, panning across the merchandise of a fool, frozen in time and, previously, unfrozen in a salty vat of boil'd water. Of course, hot dogs are shit. When you buy a hot dog, you are purchasing shit. When you eat a hot dog, you are dining on shit. But what came next was beyod shit. The final dog:
It was a dirty chimp's erect phallus. It was the wicked wizard staff of a chipmunk w/ bi-polar disorder. It was the moldy stick-log plaything of an old sexually-frustrated hound. It was evil incarnate, processed-meat style. It was the lincoln-log-poop-product of the minions of the underworld. It was all of these combined but so much worse it wasn't any of them at all.
Still in shock of the client's acceptance of these non-good goods, we backpedaled slowly, holding our breath so as not to even inhale any possible aroma's or airborn viral juices from the bad dog and in awe and fear, trekked back to our smelly, smoky, hindu lodge d'Econo, made our way up the steps of spontaneity (where probably more fatalities have occured then Mount Sno), and kill'd ourselves, i mean, play'd Grinda TurisimO.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Image:Goya.colossus.jpg

Nov 18, 2006 8:01am 1 review
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Image:Goya.colossus.jpg

what would jesus do?

StumbleUpon - EightBitHustlers web site reviews and blog

Nov 17, 2006 5:39pm 20 reviews music
http://eightbithustler.stumbleupon.com/

good music stumble here, cool stuff going on... kudos on the orthogonalized moose!

Nov 17, 2006 5:28pm

11/9/2004

Happy 22 years on Earth

Rolling along this outer spacial, anti-social continuum, poking my head in now and again to see that the air in Earth's social atmosphere is still breatheable. Obvious, strict adherence to the overruling social constraints and pre-established phenomenae of conformist, mindless lifestyle, consumerist mentalism, technological dependance and a resultant vector of laziness spiralling outward subdue the instinctual, chaotic psychoses crawling beneath bacteria-ridden flesh. Rentatively hording all these exponentially soul-damaging sentiments, all stuffed inward to the infinite receptacle of mind, body and soul, a being just waiting to explode and burst, a skeletal physical wasteland, a body of dereliction, regret. The cycle of days all repetitive regurgitations, slipping on my own timeless, etheral vomit. Backwards hats, cigarette butts, cosmetics, personal digital assistants juxtaposed against the raw potential of pen and paper, charcoal and rock. A coughing, wheezing existence, the hu-man plods along his evolutionary spiral staircase towards a future of uncertain comparative quality. Awkward mannerisms and diverted glances plague and beguile the lost man, the man-island, passing through the multiple lifestreams of individuals unknown; unknown nevertheless berated and dismissed, unnecessary duplicates in the mind of the Steppenwolf. Institutional anxiety, hyperactive paranoia and a retarded, catatonic demeanor* (find synonym) manifest in the early years of the new adult, craving an unknown refuge, an unsatisfied psychological hunger, some treasure in some form, some opportunity, a fresh experience worthy in both virtue and base, primordial nature*. A remedy to his self-loathing, a catalyst for a progressive thrust forward in the positive direction and not the negative. A jump start to resuscitate his interest and desire in his fellow man, some critical revelation hopefully on the horizon, to cure a manic ego too proud for cowardly suicide, too esteemed in self-worth and belief to throw himself away.
Or perhaps too tired.
His only recharge to his exhaustion being the assumed importance of his writings and drawings, his scrawlings and doodles. A secretly self-proclaimed genius, a perfectionist of thought, his verbal library outspoken each day is limited to trite formalities, disposable conversation of the most minimal, functionally simple, relational significance. "Happy Birthday Fuckhead, rather would celebrate its being-over than it's actual taking place, You're just one of millions of yawning, farting, self-stuffing bipedal fleshbags, six-and-a-half billion divided by three hundred and sixty-five gives you "X"; the approximate number of people who think they are special today."
Fuck, this existence I've carved out for myself is boring. Is it possible to emerge from this black-hole of depression? Why do I continue pave the road towards a later future of retrospective regret? Who gave me the alternative wiring, the reverse-engineering, the brain of a recluse, a eunuch?
Interestingly, this brings this monk to one of the most exciting, valuable, alive moments of recent, causes the butterflies in his stomach to wage civil war on one another, breaks his ego and disrupts his mental fortitude, rippling the deep, still waters of his thought. He often recognizes beauty which he wants more in possession than anything else. This stabbing internal affliction, a burning parasite of the heart making sleep uneasy, embittering existence. Drowning in torrents of jealousy, I don't acknowledge my greatest shortcoming, walking through city streets abound with public displays of affection, assuring myself of being a rebellious, misunderstood genius, not a scientific, brooding robot--not what I really see myself as.