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Wat’s Carbon Water-N-Stuff Thread - Concepts In Iron And Wood!!!

Anyone who, even for a second, feels a pure, clear confidence on hearing the truth will experience immeasurable happiness. Why? Because, at that moment, that person is not caught up in the concept of a self or a living being or a life span. He is not caught up in concepts about the world, nor is he caught up in concepts about nothingness. He does not take any notice of the idea that this is a sign, or this or that is not a sign.

For if you are caught up in ideas, then you will be caught up in the self. And even if you are caught up in ideas about nothingness, you will still be caught up in the self. That's why we should not get attached to the belief that things either exist or do not exist. This is the hidden meaning when I say that my teachings are a raft to be abandoned when you see true being.

~ Diamond Sutra
 
A person with an IQ four standard deviations above the mean was an American electrical engineer named Sir Hiram Stevens Maxim. Maxim was an electrical engineer working for Thomas Edison. Maxim laid claim to inventing the lightbulb. It is possible that Maxim actually designed the lightbulb. Edison decided he did not want Maxim around any longer. Edison could not fire Maxim because he would only have to walk across the street and work for Westinghouse. Edison figured out how to legally banish Maxim from America and end his work in electricity. Maxim was paid $20,000 a year to go to Europe and agree to never touch anything to do with electricity again. $20,000 in 1890 would be equivalent of $643,000 today.

Maxim was one of the greatest geniuses of all time. Maxim held patents on numerous mechanical devices such as hair-curling irons, a mousetrap, and steam pumps. At the Paris Exhibition in 1881, a man told Maxim that if he wanted to make a fortune, he should invent a machine that would help these Europeans kill each other. Maxim had and idea of building a weapon that would keep firing as long as you pulled the trigger. Maxim perfected the design and sold a patent to England and to Germany. Maxim sold his machine gun patents to European countries on the eve of World War I, changing the nature of combat. The Maxim gun was used by both sides during WWI and millions died from being shot with Maxim guns. This caused trench warfare which caused its own problems.


https://qph.cf2.quoracdn.net/main-qimg-79a69d35fe2bb995e19454c4002f15b2
 
I just saw an ad for "rare European AK mags," whatever that means. Bakelite Soviet mags from Tula, is said. Surplus used in very good condition, it said. Ninety-nine dollars 'Murrikan a piece, it said. You gotta be shittin' me, Wat said. I deleted that bullshit. Besides, for what I shoot it, I think I have plenty of AK mags as it is.
 
coati said:
^^^Very good question.

Lit has an ignore function if you do not want to read my observations of your own statements about being a terrorist, and also your statements about having sex in public parks and streets to satisfy your self-admitted exhibitionism.

And if you don't want people to comment on your behaviors, don't post about them on a public forum. Exhibitionism in the public sphere may have consequences.
Click to expand...
It's Saturday.



You and the rest of the trolls here are outraged that someone serious challenged your little 4chan game, and especially because i call b.s. on your ridiculous attempts to bully Wat Tyler.

This is Wat's World. I am pleased to have found a place in it. It's easy to do: just be American.

You are also upset to learn that transwomen have our own culture that emphasizes defiance and nonconformity. You want us to be victims waiting for a cookie from you for being good little trannies.

Why are you here? Just to pimp for Poo Poo Pee Pee?

I live a life you can't imagine.

https://youtu.be/vS5ttqc8iDw?si=ldEqMDZ9BfDJq_D-

You aren't my daddy, it isn't a Tbird, and nobody has fun with you.

You can't get a life. So you lurk here waiting for people to bully.

Doesn't work on me. Never did.

As far as consequences go you are a total chud. I am disabled thanks to an attack by Russian agents while working in the Balkans.

That's consequences, moron.

You and Poo Poo Pee Pee, living in a world of fear, are snitch bitches too cowardly to act on your threats.

You can't interfere with my CCW first because you're too fucking dumb to understand the simplest elements of the process, and because to do so you would have to sign your name.

I don't object to any questions.

I object to puffed up tapirs like you bombarding me with irrelevant Puritan propaganda.

I am a terrorist. Terrorists are useful to law enforcement. If you ever left Kokoneeno Kounty you would know this. LE needs people who can explain events like the Nola atrocity.

It's all out in public about me. My book on Nicaragua, my book on Kosova, and my books on Islam all reflect this.

To protect your miserable ass i went to places you wouldn't go for any money and worked with people whose mere presence would cause massive crapping of pants in you.

Wanna go here?


IRL you're there. You're the Russian chopper jock shooting at teenaged kids. Poo Poo Pee Pee unmasked you aa a Russian troll.

How about here?


Here?


Of course not. You are an American incel hiding in a closet in Nowheresville. You are absent from history.

Stay in Kokoneeno.

As far as public sex goes, this is a porn site. I am producing a porn film.

To repeat: i do what i do and i accept the consequences.

You sound like a frigid old nun who never got her cherry popped.

( O O )
 
Last edited:
https://www.newyorker.com/culture/t...bcc5&esrc=MARTECH_ORDERFORM&mbid=CRMNYR012019


Writing as Transformation​

Words and phrases came from nowhere; I rarely had any sense of what they meant or to what context they belonged.
By Louise Glück
January 4, 2025

It seems to me that I have wanted to write for the whole of my life. The intensity of this insistence, despite its implausibility, suggests an emotional, rather than literal, accuracy. I think my life didn’t seem my life until I started to write.

I came from a family of talkers. But talk, in my house, was not conversation. Talk was holding forth. Prevailing. Having the last word. Only one person could do it at a time, which meant that there was constant barging in and interruption, as impatience to speak grew more feverish and more relentless. Everybody wanted to talk. Nobody wanted to listen. In this, I was exactly like my mother and my father and my sister, though we had, each of us, a distinctive style.

More and more, the sentences I had in my head were like the sentences I loved in books: they began in one place and ended somewhere you hadn’t imagined them going, though, at each turn, idea seemed to follow idea perfectly naturally. The surprise at the end, as the thought completed itself, seemed wildly exciting: the whole sentence needed to be reëxperienced in this light; waves of unexpected revelations and insights resulted. Paradox. But an interrupted paradox is not simply edited—it is fundamentally changed, sometimes into the orderly, reasonable opposite it seemed destined to be. Because I never got to finish what I intended to say, a response (on the rare occasions when one was given) never seemed a response to my thought but, rather, to the simplified idea it had become.

I came to have a sense that the self I was in the world, among other selves, was alternately precarious and invisible. I did not think speech was a good conduit to the self, or expression of it, because in my childhood it was not. The page was different. Here my voice had a stability and an immutability, qualities that I passionately craved and never remotely approached in my social interactions. How could I? Stability and immutability are not characteristics of the spoken word.


And so on . . . I like stuff about people talking about how they create.
 
Wat_Tyler said:
https://www.newyorker.com/culture/t...bcc5&esrc=MARTECH_ORDERFORM&mbid=CRMNYR012019


Writing as Transformation​

Words and phrases came from nowhere; I rarely had any sense of what they meant or to what context they belonged.
By Louise Glück
January 4, 2025

It seems to me that I have wanted to write for the whole of my life. The intensity of this insistence, despite its implausibility, suggests an emotional, rather than literal, accuracy. I think my life didn’t seem my life until I started to write.

I came from a family of talkers. But talk, in my house, was not conversation. Talk was holding forth. Prevailing. Having the last word. Only one person could do it at a time, which meant that there was constant barging in and interruption, as impatience to speak grew more feverish and more relentless. Everybody wanted to talk. Nobody wanted to listen. In this, I was exactly like my mother and my father and my sister, though we had, each of us, a distinctive style.

More and more, the sentences I had in my head were like the sentences I loved in books: they began in one place and ended somewhere you hadn’t imagined them going, though, at each turn, idea seemed to follow idea perfectly naturally. The surprise at the end, as the thought completed itself, seemed wildly exciting: the whole sentence needed to be reëxperienced in this light; waves of unexpected revelations and insights resulted. Paradox. But an interrupted paradox is not simply edited—it is fundamentally changed, sometimes into the orderly, reasonable opposite it seemed destined to be. Because I never got to finish what I intended to say, a response (on the rare occasions when one was given) never seemed a response to my thought but, rather, to the simplified idea it had become.

I came to have a sense that the self I was in the world, among other selves, was alternately precarious and invisible. I did not think speech was a good conduit to the self, or expression of it, because in my childhood it was not. The page was different. Here my voice had a stability and an immutability, qualities that I passionately craved and never remotely approached in my social interactions. How could I? Stability and immutability are not characteristics of the spoken word.


And so on . . . I like stuff about people talking about how they create.
Click to expand...
Louise was an important voice in AmLit way before her Nobel. Her understanding of the poetic process was very insightful.

Sometimes the why is as important as the how.

https://www.orwellfoundation.com/the-orwell-foundation/orwell/essays-and-other-works/why-i-write/

( O O )
 
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