The CLOUD Act passed. It destroys privacy globally, so it had to be snuck into the $1.3 trillion omnibus without debate.
Encrypt. Encrypt. Encrypt. Go Dark.
When privacy is criminalized, only criminals have privacy. We got sold out, again. pic.twitter.com/Ms5bm1opBo
— Andreas ☮ ? ⚛ ⚖ ? ? ? ? ? ? (@aantonop) March 23, 2018
It’s worse than we thought
It is always worse than we think.
It always worse then we think.
Add a comma after ‘then’
Great, now China and them will be able to steal technology ever more easily and Russia will be even more able to suss out what the Clintons are up to when they are running things from Cuba.
I wonder if Mars is not a better place to live free or die?
Choices, choices. I don’t really want a golden bird, but just an ordinary blackbird singing its song to me on my daily walk. Why is that so much to ask? Government, leave me the fuck alone with the blackbirds who mind their own business and do not trespass and yet offer me the opportunity of enjoying that singular gift to mankind: appreciation.
Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird
Wallace Stevens
I
Among twenty snowy mountains,
The only moving thing
Was the eye of the blackbird.
II
I was of three minds,
Like a tree
In which there are three blackbirds.
III
The blackbird whirled in the autumn winds.
It was a small part of the pantomime.
IV
A man and a woman
Are one.
A man and a woman and a blackbird
Are one.
V
I do not know which to prefer,
The beauty of inflections
Or the beauty of innuendoes,
The blackbird whistling
Or just after.
VI
Icicles filled the long window
With barbaric glass.
The shadow of the blackbird
Crossed it, to and fro.
The mood
Traced in the shadow
An indecipherable cause.
VII
O thin men of Haddam,
Why do you imagine golden birds?
Do you not see how the blackbird
Walks around the feet
Of the women about you?
VIII
I know noble accents
And lucid, inescapable rhythms;
But I know, too,
That the blackbird is involved
In what I know.
IX
When the blackbird flew out of sight,
It marked the edge
Of one of many circles.
X
At the sight of blackbirds
Flying in a green light,
Even the bawds of euphony
Would cry out sharply.
XI
He rode over Connecticut
In a glass coach.
Once, a fear pierced him,
In that he mistook
The shadow of his equipage
For blackbirds.
XII
The river is moving.
The blackbird must be flying.
XIII
It was evening all afternoon.
It was snowing
And it was going to snow.
The blackbird sat
In the cedar-limbs.
While all about me marchers for gun control
Relieve themselves of their angst
Not knowing, not caring
Feeling the cause
Making history
A big fat lie
Of Mere Being
by
Wallace Stevens
The palm at the end of the mind,
Beyond the last thought, rises
In the bronze distance.
A gold-feathered bird
Sings in the palm, without human meaning,
Without human feeling, a foreign song.
You know then that it is not the reason
That makes us happy or unhappy.
The bird sings. Its feathers shine.
The palm stands on the edge of space.
The wind moves slowly in the branches.
The bird’s fire-fangled feathers dangle down.
Stevens is a damn good poet but not such a good biologist
re: Sings in the palm, without human meaning,
Without human feeling, a foreign song.
See video that follows of bird sounds with meaning to humans AND to birds lest they not sing out. I once read where Wallace and Ernest Hemingway duked it out in some open air bar in Key West. 13 ways is a fav. Especially this
I do not know which to prefer,
The beauty of inflections
Or the beauty of innuendoes,
The blackbird whistling
Or just after.
KeyserSusie, do birds think? I wonder. Whatever it is that is”beyond the last thought,” the lyre bird seems to have the last word . . . or song, if a chainsaw fits that description! Thanks for the great laugh. The impossible bird. Wallace was a similar fellow, beyond thought and even death. “Death is the mother of beauty.”
My wife sometimes recites the first part of 13 ways on our walks and also this:
“It was evening all afternoon.
It was snowing
And it was going to snow.
The blackbird sat
In the cedar-limbs.”
Things are going to play out and I suppose we will emulate the blackbird.
So, what is the end game?
Slavery forever?
I pray for a worldwide EMP strong enough to penetrate everywhere. Everywhere.
Yup. I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.
To the government, it’s always worse when we think.
Other than that folks, how do you like your ZOG slavemasters?
The Khzarion jews need to all die.
Bigfoot ,
Thanks for the Wallace Stevens poem. It works like a charm if you have a ghost. Nothing is ever as it seems and everything is relegated to our own perspectives, though what we don’t know , if allowed to be as an offering , when the engine arises from disarray.
Cloud act? I am becoming burnt out from constant aghast as our civilization denies …
The poem is a vessel from our kingdom, (that comes from somewhere not of this earth origin) that I have been learning about through an endless array of dreams that as a seeker , … It’s beyond code as kinetic were to realize simultaneous this pulse resonates from a few hours earlier the proximity within its realm (blackbird is sleek, alloy dissimilar)
I have not reached the second poem stated, though wanted to share how potent the words innocuous seemingly until engaged outright were as if a landing zone inside the mind (mined) at home.