Isolated Blurt Thread
- Thread starter McKenna
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Handley_Page
Draco interdum Vincit
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I really wish that there was a simple guide to PC RAM.
It's getting quite complicated.
It's getting quite complicated.
carsonshepherd
comeback kid
- Joined
- Jan 24, 2004
- Posts
- 14,643
Going to work is actually costing me money.
Fuck.
Fuck.
I don't use lit in the traditional way. I post, get a reaction and delete. My bad? Maybe.
Overall it's been a pretty positive experience. Never scored below a 4, BUT the best part of visiting this site was making a true friend who has helped me restore all the music I lost in a house fire that left me with nothing. Ty, you know who you are and you are truly a prince amongst men.
Overall it's been a pretty positive experience. Never scored below a 4, BUT the best part of visiting this site was making a true friend who has helped me restore all the music I lost in a house fire that left me with nothing. Ty, you know who you are and you are truly a prince amongst men.
trysail
Catch Me Who Can
- Joined
- Nov 8, 2005
- Posts
- 25,593
Good Old Days
by Terry Teachout
Mencken’s Days books are no longer widely read, but those who know his work more than casually are in universal agreement that they rank among his greatest literary achievements...
...the point of The Days Trilogy: Expanded Edition is, it should be needless to say, the books themselves. If you already know them, they’re as good as you remember, and if you don’t, you’re in for the most resplendently satisfying of treats. Mencken never wrote anything better, or more likely to last.
Why, then, are the Days books largely unknown save to specialists? One obvious reason is that Mencken, being the most politically incorrect of writers, is not taught in the academy, meaning that you have to find out about him on your own...
...Contrary to popular belief, Mencken was not a conservative, or even a full-blooded libertarian: He fits no known ideological pigeonhole. But in one respect he was perfectly described by Michael Oakeshott, who probably never read a word of his but nonetheless hit the bull’s-eye when he observed that conservatives have “a propensity to use and to enjoy what is available rather than to wish for or to look for something else; to delight in what is present rather than what was or what may be.” H. L. Mencken was among the most furious of complainers when it came to matters cultural and political, but in his daily life he had an enviable capacity for enjoying things as they are. The fancy word for this capacity is “gusto,” and Mencken had it in spades: He liked a good chat, a good meal, a good glass of beer, and a good night’s sleep, and he understood that in such simple pleasures lies much, perhaps most of the point of life. It is that gusto which irradiates the Days books, and anyone who can read them without feeling a reciprocal echo of his joie de vivre is a blue-nosed prig...
more...
...the point of The Days Trilogy: Expanded Edition is, it should be needless to say, the books themselves. If you already know them, they’re as good as you remember, and if you don’t, you’re in for the most resplendently satisfying of treats. Mencken never wrote anything better, or more likely to last.
Why, then, are the Days books largely unknown save to specialists? One obvious reason is that Mencken, being the most politically incorrect of writers, is not taught in the academy, meaning that you have to find out about him on your own...
...Contrary to popular belief, Mencken was not a conservative, or even a full-blooded libertarian: He fits no known ideological pigeonhole. But in one respect he was perfectly described by Michael Oakeshott, who probably never read a word of his but nonetheless hit the bull’s-eye when he observed that conservatives have “a propensity to use and to enjoy what is available rather than to wish for or to look for something else; to delight in what is present rather than what was or what may be.” H. L. Mencken was among the most furious of complainers when it came to matters cultural and political, but in his daily life he had an enviable capacity for enjoying things as they are. The fancy word for this capacity is “gusto,” and Mencken had it in spades: He liked a good chat, a good meal, a good glass of beer, and a good night’s sleep, and he understood that in such simple pleasures lies much, perhaps most of the point of life. It is that gusto which irradiates the Days books, and anyone who can read them without feeling a reciprocal echo of his joie de vivre is a blue-nosed prig...
more...
Wow. Just wow.
carsonshepherd
comeback kid
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- Jan 24, 2004
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- 14,643
Dream job? Maybe? Please?
Interview Tuesday.
Interview Tuesday.
TheeGoatPig
There is no R in my name
- Joined
- Dec 29, 2004
- Posts
- 13,163
Looking at possible apartments tomorrow. One of them is the same price as the one I am in now but has two more rooms and will cut my drive into work in half.
Not that my drive is all that long. My longest drive in has been 15 minutes...
Not that my drive is all that long. My longest drive in has been 15 minutes...
Handley_Page
Draco interdum Vincit
- Joined
- Aug 18, 2007
- Posts
- 78,239
Good Luck
TheeGoatPig
There is no R in my name
- Joined
- Dec 29, 2004
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- 13,163
I don't really need luck. I'm an awesome tenant on paper 
Tio_Narratore
Studies
- Joined
- Dec 2, 2008
- Posts
- 71,133
More than apparently. He was outside the psychoanalytic circle in Vienna, but after Anschluss he became director of child psychopathy under the Nazi Party, of which he was an active member. He ascribed what we call autism to a "lack of Gemult," or social cohesion, on the part of children, Some, he felt, were 'redeemable,' but the others were sent to 'spiegelgrund' where they were drugged and allowed to die a "natural death" from pneumonia. The name was given to the syndrome in 1974 (I think) by a psychologist who discovered his original treatise on autism. There is currently some pressure to have the name of the syndrome changed.
Many people likened him to Schindler. It's only due to the investigative research of Czech that the truth was revealed. Although he was never 'officially' a Nazi he wrote denigrative reports on the disabled. There is an excellent book out now called Asperger's Children: The Origins of Autism in Nazi Vienna. He was a strong believer in forced sterilization (granted many 'intellectuals' of the time were also strong supporters of eugenics).
Sheffer reveals that Asperger actively endorsed the forced sterilisation laws, citing his words that some people were “a burden on the community” and that “the proliferation of many of these types is undesirable for the Volk, ie, the task is to exclude certain people from reproduction”.
A Carcass
Remember, my love, the object we saw
That beautiful morning in June:
By a bend in the path a carcass reclined
On a bed sown with pebbles and stones;
Her legs were spread out like a lecherous whore,
Sweating out poisonous fumes,
Who opened in slick invitational style
Her stinking and festering womb.
The sun on this rottenness focused its rays
To cook the cadaver till done,
And render to Nature a hundredfold gift
Of all she'd united in one.
And the sky cast an eye on this marvellous meat
As over the flowers in bloom.
The stench was so wretched that there on the grass
You nearly collapsed in a swoon.
The flies buzzed and droned on these bowels of filth
Where an army of maggots arose,
Which flowed with a liquid and thickening stream
On the animate rags of her clothes.
And it rose and it fell, and pulsed like a wave,
Rushing and bubbling with health.
One could say that this carcass, blown with vague breath,
Lived in increasing itself.
And this whole teeming world made a musical sound
Like babbling brooks and the breeze,
Or the grain that a man with a winnowing-fan
Turns with a rhythmical ease.
The shapes wore away as if only a dream
Like a sketch that is left on the page
Which the artist forgot and can only complete
On the canvas, with memory's aid.
From back in the rocks, a pitiful bitch
Eyed us with angry distaste,
Awaiting the moment to snatch from the bones
The morsel she'd dropped in her haste.
- And you, in your turn, will be rotten as this:
Horrible, filthy, undone,
O sun of my nature and star of my eyes,
My passion, my angel in one!
Yes, such will you be, o regent of grace,
After the rites have been read,
Under the weeds, under blossoming grass
As you moulder with bones of the dead.
Ah then, o my beauty, explain to the worms
Who cherish your body so tine,
That I am the keeper for corpses of love
Of the form, and the essence divine!
Baudelaire
Remember, my love, the object we saw
That beautiful morning in June:
By a bend in the path a carcass reclined
On a bed sown with pebbles and stones;
Her legs were spread out like a lecherous whore,
Sweating out poisonous fumes,
Who opened in slick invitational style
Her stinking and festering womb.
The sun on this rottenness focused its rays
To cook the cadaver till done,
And render to Nature a hundredfold gift
Of all she'd united in one.
And the sky cast an eye on this marvellous meat
As over the flowers in bloom.
The stench was so wretched that there on the grass
You nearly collapsed in a swoon.
The flies buzzed and droned on these bowels of filth
Where an army of maggots arose,
Which flowed with a liquid and thickening stream
On the animate rags of her clothes.
And it rose and it fell, and pulsed like a wave,
Rushing and bubbling with health.
One could say that this carcass, blown with vague breath,
Lived in increasing itself.
And this whole teeming world made a musical sound
Like babbling brooks and the breeze,
Or the grain that a man with a winnowing-fan
Turns with a rhythmical ease.
The shapes wore away as if only a dream
Like a sketch that is left on the page
Which the artist forgot and can only complete
On the canvas, with memory's aid.
From back in the rocks, a pitiful bitch
Eyed us with angry distaste,
Awaiting the moment to snatch from the bones
The morsel she'd dropped in her haste.
- And you, in your turn, will be rotten as this:
Horrible, filthy, undone,
O sun of my nature and star of my eyes,
My passion, my angel in one!
Yes, such will you be, o regent of grace,
After the rites have been read,
Under the weeds, under blossoming grass
As you moulder with bones of the dead.
Ah then, o my beauty, explain to the worms
Who cherish your body so tine,
That I am the keeper for corpses of love
Of the form, and the essence divine!
Baudelaire
Tio_Narratore
Studies
- Joined
- Dec 2, 2008
- Posts
- 71,133
Happy to see people are still reading the old masters of poetry.
RocketLauncher
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Apr 2, 2016
- Posts
- 5,425
I thought this thread would have been put to rest by now.
oggbashan
Dying Truth seeker
- Joined
- Jul 3, 2002
- Posts
- 56,017
Local Chaos
Our seaside town sees some odd sights and sometimes the road mending crews don't coordinate.
Today was a perfect storm.
There are three main entrances to the town at the points where the railway crossings are. Today all three of them have traffic lights for roadworks, making access to the town difficult.
Another set of roadworks for a water leak has closed one-third of the High Street for three days. The alternative routes either have speed bumps or are one way. Locals can cope; visitors get confused and several have been driving the wrong way down one-way streets.
We often have coach parties of elderly people coming for a day out by the sea. Today, through all the road works, we have had five coach loads of them. As they cross the road at zebra crossings, with their zimmer frames, wheeled walkers and canes, they are very slow and the traffic stops dead for ten or more minutes. They all want to sit out at the seaside cafes. The seating is on the sea side of the road; the cafes on the other side so the waiting staff are constantly crossing the zebras with orders.
A new hazard appeared this afternoon. A group of Hari Krishna monks arrived with a garishly decorated two-bullock cart, drums, trumpets and bells. They walked the length of the seafront, slowly, and nothing could pass them.
At the same time an extended family group of ultra-orthodox Jews arrived for their annual holiday in our town. They stood and watched the bullock cart, as did a group of five Muslim women in black robes and niqabs.
In between all this - the local schools are on holiday so children are everywhere on their bicycles and scooters. A group of Harley riders parked on the seafront to use the same seafront cafes as the pensioner groups.
Last but not least, we have about 300 young students in the town for English as a foreign language courses. They have been sent out with questionnaires to fill in about the local sights and history. They gather in groups around the monuments and other sights. About lunchtime most of those students were by the clock tower, next to the Harleys and the pensioners. As the students cross the road, because they are from elsewhere in Europe, they look the wrong way for traffic, causing some emergency stops.
I'm back home. That's where I'm staying. I can watch the chaos from my front garden...
Our seaside town sees some odd sights and sometimes the road mending crews don't coordinate.
Today was a perfect storm.
There are three main entrances to the town at the points where the railway crossings are. Today all three of them have traffic lights for roadworks, making access to the town difficult.
Another set of roadworks for a water leak has closed one-third of the High Street for three days. The alternative routes either have speed bumps or are one way. Locals can cope; visitors get confused and several have been driving the wrong way down one-way streets.
We often have coach parties of elderly people coming for a day out by the sea. Today, through all the road works, we have had five coach loads of them. As they cross the road at zebra crossings, with their zimmer frames, wheeled walkers and canes, they are very slow and the traffic stops dead for ten or more minutes. They all want to sit out at the seaside cafes. The seating is on the sea side of the road; the cafes on the other side so the waiting staff are constantly crossing the zebras with orders.
A new hazard appeared this afternoon. A group of Hari Krishna monks arrived with a garishly decorated two-bullock cart, drums, trumpets and bells. They walked the length of the seafront, slowly, and nothing could pass them.
At the same time an extended family group of ultra-orthodox Jews arrived for their annual holiday in our town. They stood and watched the bullock cart, as did a group of five Muslim women in black robes and niqabs.
In between all this - the local schools are on holiday so children are everywhere on their bicycles and scooters. A group of Harley riders parked on the seafront to use the same seafront cafes as the pensioner groups.
Last but not least, we have about 300 young students in the town for English as a foreign language courses. They have been sent out with questionnaires to fill in about the local sights and history. They gather in groups around the monuments and other sights. About lunchtime most of those students were by the clock tower, next to the Harleys and the pensioners. As the students cross the road, because they are from elsewhere in Europe, they look the wrong way for traffic, causing some emergency stops.
I'm back home. That's where I'm staying. I can watch the chaos from my front garden...
Handley_Page
Draco interdum Vincit
- Joined
- Aug 18, 2007
- Posts
- 78,239
Ogg, your description is magic.
It reminds me of my home on the south coast (where my Dad had 'retired').
Various groups of visitors would cause the main roads to be almost chock-a-block
on a Saturday afternoon.
And, please, do not ask about the Beaches.
It reminds me of my home on the south coast (where my Dad had 'retired').
Various groups of visitors would cause the main roads to be almost chock-a-block
on a Saturday afternoon.
And, please, do not ask about the Beaches.
trysail
Catch Me Who Can
- Joined
- Nov 8, 2005
- Posts
- 25,593
trysail
Catch Me Who Can
- Joined
- Nov 8, 2005
- Posts
- 25,593
http://www.prh.noaa.gov/cphc/tcpages/?product=5day_cone_with_line_and_wind&stormid=EP142018
At 200 AM HST (1200 UTC), the eye of Hurricane Lane was located by
satellite and radar near latitude 16.5 North, longitude 157.3 West.
Lane is moving toward the northwest near 7 mph (11 km/h). This
general motion is expected to continue today, with a gradual turn
toward the north-northwest. On Friday, a turn toward the north is
anticipated as Lane's forward motion slows even more. A turn back
toward the west is expected on Saturday. On the forecast track, the
center of Lane will move very close to or over the main Hawaiian
Islands later today through Friday.
Maximum sustained winds are near 130 mph (215 km/h) with higher
gusts. Lane is a powerful category 4 hurricane on the Saffir-Simpson
Hurricane Wind Scale. Some weakening is forecast during the next
day or so, with more significant weakening thereafter. Lane is
expected to remain a hurricane as it approaches the islands.
Hurricane-force winds extend outward up to 40 miles (65 km) from
the center and tropical-storm-force winds extend outward up to 140
miles (220 km).
The estimated minimum central pressure is 949 mb (28.02 inches).
http://www.prh.noaa.gov/hnl/pages/HLS.php
Hurricane Lane remains a major category 4 storm this evening, with maximum sustained winds of 145 mph. As of 11 PM, Hurricane Lane was located around 235 miles south-southwest of Kailua-Kona, Hawaii and 350 miles south-southeast of Honolulu, Hawaii. Lane is moving northwestward at around 7 mph. This general motion is expected to continue tonight, with a turn more towards the north expected Thursday through Friday. A turn back toward the west is then expected on Saturday. The latest forecast track from the Central Pacific Hurricane Center brings the center of Lane dangerously close to the Hawaiian Islands during the Thursday through Saturday time frame. Regardless of the exact track of the storm, life threatening impacts are likely over many areas as this strong hurricane makes its closest approach. All individuals in Hawaii are urged not to focus on the exact forecast track or intensity of Lane, and be prepared for adjustments in future forecast updates. Although the official forecast does not explicitly indicate Lane's center making landfall over any of the islands, this could still occur.
The onset of damaging tropical storm-force winds on the Big Island could occur by early Thursday morning, with dangerous hurricane force winds expected in some areas Thursday afternoon or Thursday night. In Maui County, damaging tropical storm-force winds could begin late Thursday, with dangerous hurricane force winds expected Thursday night into Friday. On Oahu, damaging tropical storm force winds could begin as early as late Thursday night, with dangerous hurricane force winds expected Friday into Friday night. Hurricane Warnings may need to be expanded to Kauai County as Lane draws closer.
Outer rain bands and embedded thunderstorms associated with Hurricane Lane, are already producing heavy rainfall and flash flooding on the Big Island. Bands of intense showers and thunderstorms will continue to spread across the other islands from south-southeast to north-northwest tonight through Friday. Excessive rainfall is likely which could result in life threatening flash flooding, as well as landslides and mudslides. Flooding from these heavy rains will also be possible in areas that are typically not prone to flooding. Storm total rainfall amounts greater than 30 inches are possible.
Swells generated by Lane will produce very large and rough surf, with dangerous rip currents along south, southeast and southwest facing shores. Large surf is already occurring along southeast facing shores of the Big Island. Surf is expected to increase later tonight and Thursday along southwest facing shores of the Big Island as well as along south and southeast facing shores from Maui County to Kauai County.
Tornadoes and large waterspouts will be possible with Lane, mainly along and to the right of the track of the hurricane.
oggbashan
Dying Truth seeker
- Joined
- Jul 3, 2002
- Posts
- 56,017
No. It was very unusual in our town, unlike parts of major conurbations.
Nemesis
By H. P. Lovecraft
Thro’ the ghoul-guarded gateways of slumber,
Past the wan-moon’d abysses of night,
I have liv’d o’er my lives without number,
I have sounded all things with my sight;
And I struggle and shriek ere the daybreak, being driven to madness with fright.
I have whirl’d with the earth at the dawning,
When the sky was a vaporous flame;
I have seen the dark universe yawning,
Where the black planets roll without aim;
Where they roll in their horror unheeded, without knowledge or lustre or name.
I had drifted o’er seas without ending,
Under sinister grey-clouded skies
That the many-fork’d lightning is rending,
That resound with hysterical cries;
With the moans of invisible daemons that out of the green waters rise.
I have plung’d like a deer thro’ the arches
Of the hoary primordial grove,
Where the oaks feel the presence that marches
And stalks on where no spirit dares rove;
And I flee from a thing that surrounds me, and leers thro’ dead branches above.
I have stumbled by cave-ridden mountains
That rise barren and bleak from the plain,
I have drunk of the fog-foetid fountains
That ooze down to the marsh and the main;
And in hot cursed tarns I have seen things I care not to gaze on again.
I have scann’d the vast ivy-clad palace,
I have trod its untenanted hall,
Where the moon writhing up from the valleys
Shews the tapestried things on the wall;
Strange figures discordantly woven, which I cannot endure to recall.
I have peer’d from the casement in wonder
At the mouldering meadows around,
At the many-roof’d village laid under
The curse of a grave-girdled ground;
And from rows of white urn-carven marble I listen intently for sound.
I have haunted the tombs of the ages,
I have flown on the pinions of fear
Where the smoke-belching Erebus rages,
Where the jokulls loom snow-clad and drear:
And in realms where the sun of the desert consumes what it never can cheer.
I was old when the Pharaohs first mounted
The jewel-deck’d throne by the Nile;
I was old in those epochs uncounted
When I, and I only, was vile;
And Man, yet untainted and happy, dwelt in bliss on the far Arctic isle.
Oh, great was the sin of my spirit,
And great is the reach of its doom;
Not the pity of Heaven can cheer it,
Nor can respite be found in the tomb:
Down the infinite aeons come beating the wings of unmerciful gloom.
Thro’ the ghoul-guarded gateways of slumber,
Past the wan-moon’d abysses of night,
I have liv’d o’er my lives without number,
I have sounded all things with my sight;
And I struggle and shriek ere the daybreak, being driven to madness with fright.
By H. P. Lovecraft
Thro’ the ghoul-guarded gateways of slumber,
Past the wan-moon’d abysses of night,
I have liv’d o’er my lives without number,
I have sounded all things with my sight;
And I struggle and shriek ere the daybreak, being driven to madness with fright.
I have whirl’d with the earth at the dawning,
When the sky was a vaporous flame;
I have seen the dark universe yawning,
Where the black planets roll without aim;
Where they roll in their horror unheeded, without knowledge or lustre or name.
I had drifted o’er seas without ending,
Under sinister grey-clouded skies
That the many-fork’d lightning is rending,
That resound with hysterical cries;
With the moans of invisible daemons that out of the green waters rise.
I have plung’d like a deer thro’ the arches
Of the hoary primordial grove,
Where the oaks feel the presence that marches
And stalks on where no spirit dares rove;
And I flee from a thing that surrounds me, and leers thro’ dead branches above.
I have stumbled by cave-ridden mountains
That rise barren and bleak from the plain,
I have drunk of the fog-foetid fountains
That ooze down to the marsh and the main;
And in hot cursed tarns I have seen things I care not to gaze on again.
I have scann’d the vast ivy-clad palace,
I have trod its untenanted hall,
Where the moon writhing up from the valleys
Shews the tapestried things on the wall;
Strange figures discordantly woven, which I cannot endure to recall.
I have peer’d from the casement in wonder
At the mouldering meadows around,
At the many-roof’d village laid under
The curse of a grave-girdled ground;
And from rows of white urn-carven marble I listen intently for sound.
I have haunted the tombs of the ages,
I have flown on the pinions of fear
Where the smoke-belching Erebus rages,
Where the jokulls loom snow-clad and drear:
And in realms where the sun of the desert consumes what it never can cheer.
I was old when the Pharaohs first mounted
The jewel-deck’d throne by the Nile;
I was old in those epochs uncounted
When I, and I only, was vile;
And Man, yet untainted and happy, dwelt in bliss on the far Arctic isle.
Oh, great was the sin of my spirit,
And great is the reach of its doom;
Not the pity of Heaven can cheer it,
Nor can respite be found in the tomb:
Down the infinite aeons come beating the wings of unmerciful gloom.
Thro’ the ghoul-guarded gateways of slumber,
Past the wan-moon’d abysses of night,
I have liv’d o’er my lives without number,
I have sounded all things with my sight;
And I struggle and shriek ere the daybreak, being driven to madness with fright.
LoquiSordidaAdMe
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Aug 8, 2017
- Posts
- 1,135
A severely underrated author. Ought to be right up there with Poe. Unfortunately, the only people I know who have even heard of him are horror geeks and bibliophiles.
Handley_Page
Draco interdum Vincit
- Joined
- Aug 18, 2007
- Posts
- 78,239
And he had an evil sense of humour, too, I'm thinking
carsonshepherd
comeback kid
- Joined
- Jan 24, 2004
- Posts
- 14,643
State of Illinois Department of Unemployment, suck my dick.
Don't get me started.
Don't get me started.
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