Secret life of animals

Ode to naval rogues

The king and his men,
Stole the queen from her bed,
And bound her in her bones.
The seas be ours,
and by the powers,
Where we will, we'll roam.

Yo, ho, all hands,
Hoist the colours high.
Heave ho, thieves and beggars,
Never shall we die!

Yo, ho, haul together,
Hoist the colours high.
Heave ho, thieves and beggars,
Never shall we die!

Some men have died,
And some are alive,
And others sail on the sea
-- With the keys to the cage...
And the Devil to pay,
We lay to Fiddler's Green!

The bell has been raised
From its watery grave...
Do you hear its sepulchral tone?
A call to all,
Pay heed the squall
And turn your sail to home!

Yo ho, haul together,
Hoist the Colors high.
Heave ho, thieves and beggars,
Never shall we die!

Abort, Retry, Ignore -- Poe Puree

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over user guides and handbooks piled up on the desk and floor --
As I nodded, after nine or ten straight hours of design,
I finely drew the final line, then pulled a floppy out to store --
Locked and loaded, then, I saved, and waited for the disc to store;
Only this and nothing more.

Ah, distinctly I kept hearing such a sound it set me fearing,
Fearing as I sat there peering at the Saved Percentage score,
Fearing, as the disc kept turning, turning with a grinding, churning
Sound while I was yearning -- yearning as I'd never yearned before,
"Save!" I yearned again, but hopeless, read the words I'd feared before:
Read: "Abort, Retry, Ignore."

"What is this?" I barely muttered, "What's this message you have uttered,
Uttered as my floppy fluttered, fluttered locked inside your door?"
But there came no soothing voices helping me among these choices,
With these unfamiliar choices, just the cursor's either/or --
Just the cursor blinking, blinking for my choice of either/or
From "Abort, Retry, Ignore."

Much I marveled: this repeating cursor like a heartbeat beating
Answered nothing, thus defeating all attempts to re-explore
Whether I'd done something sloppy -- what had happened to that floppy
I'd inserted there to copy all the work I'd done before --
What had happened to the art, the artwork I had done before,
Before "Abort, Retry, Ignore."?

Art, not software, is my calling; it’s particularly galling
To be hesitating, stalling, stalling over one key more
When, instead of starkly staring, stunned, at high-tech so uncaring,
High-tech blindly overbearing, I could open up my drawer,
Get my low-tech colored pencils from their matching low-tech drawer
Beneath "Abort, Retry, Ignore."

But no, I had to get ambitious, buy some modern meretricious
Merchandise that leaves me vicious messages that seem to roar,
Well, not really roar, but tease, as, fingers trembling over keys,
I finally choose from one of these atrocious choices I abhor
A choice I know will be atrocious, one I finally must abhor
Among "Abort, Retry, Ignore."

No result! So twice as hard, to try and catch the thing off-guard,
I pressed, but still the same canard appeared until I nearly swore.
Frantically in desperation, pushing keys in combination,
Getting tintinabulation: "Beep beep beep", and nothing more,
Cacaphonous concatenation, "Beep beep beep", and nothing more;
Except "Abort, Retry, Ignore."

Then I thought I heard the thunder, felt the thunder rumble under,
Through, the floorboards, and no wonder! Lightning split the dark night's core!
Lightning piercing lightning slashing through the night like sword- wounds gashing
Darkness deeply, when my flashing cursor flashed! -- then flashed no more;
Flashed a final time and then -- erased itself to flash no more;
Erased "Abort, Retry, Ignore."

The lights went out, then came back on, and in the cold grey light of dawn
Profit and design were gone; gone, returning: nevermore --.
Gone my imitation Titian, like a ghost or apparition,
But gone as well the admonition I must choose and choose once more
Gone: the price of manumission from demands to choose once more
Among "Abort, Retry, Ignore."

Now my cursor still is blinking; is it winking? Yes! It’s winking! --
Winking at me from the screen beside the disc that wouldn’t store;
Winking at me from the black, though nothing else comes blinking back
Along the phosphorescent track that throws a shadow on the floor;
And my art, from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be found now -- nevermore!



Written by Marcus Bales: link

Some random things I wrote during class today

Random I

Roses are black
Violets are grey
The world lies in darkness
And I go away.

Random II

I blossom into the light
And enjoy the world of day
Flowers and colours around me
Oh how I wish that I could stay.


By the way, don't worry: I'm not all this gloomy. It is just that I feel that the darker side of life is much more interesting for artistic expression, don't you think?

Murder

If we believe that murder is wrong and not admissible in our society, then it has to be wrong for everyone, not just individuals but governments as well.
- Helen Prejean, Dead Man Walking

After all, every murderer when he kills runs the risk of the most dreadful of deaths, whereas those who kill him risk nothing except promotion.
- Albert Camus (1913-1960)


Osama Bin Laden is dead. Killed in a well-planned mission by people in uniforms, with permission from the American president.

Just in time for the re-election of Obama.

It is fitting how so many of the American people, those ignorant sheep, celebrate the death of the most famous terrorist in our lifetime. Justice, they say, and revenge. An eye for an eye.

And what does the world learn? Do other terrorists now tremble in fear and see the error of their ways? Do children in the Middle East now see the American Eagle as a gentle loving giant, or as an agressive tyrant with a lust for Arab blood?

Do not mistake my words; the terrors the now deceased bearded man has (supposedly) unleashed are worse than any words can describe. Hundreds, thousands have died and many more have suffered, all because of him.

But to celebrate the death of another human being? To become the killer of killers? Not only is it pointless, for there will always be more killers, but it is also immoral.

To say that murder is wrong, and then to kill any who commit it -- such is arrogance and hypocrisy.

Mourn the dead, and seek to find true justice instead.

XP Hunters

Never split the party