It's not the courage of teenagers which makes the most impression; it is the language of attorney's:
"The only reason the School Board wants the club banned is because the name, Gay-Straight Alliance, violates the Board's abstinence-only policy."
Confessing to dying newspapermen about writing angry letters sparked discussion in the face of multi-media mosaics at the 50th Winter Park Sidewalk Art Festival.
Bolano's concurrent fleas are "chinculaes, applying to a certain class of traveler, adventurers of the mind, those who can't keep still mentally, or "a person who doesn't pretend to reconcile the irreconcilable."
Spangler's decision-making model prefers individualists who are "concerned with rights and duties implying a duty not to harm or help."
Bolano affirms: "neither believed in a hybrid form of socialism - public happiness - they believed in the possibility of self-realization."
For a situationalist drawing universalist conclusions; a Summer docent on a Georgian plantation is drawn, hopeless, to slave narratives.
Lying at the bottom of the in-box for years is "A One-Day Course by Edward Tufte, Presenting Data and Information," depicting a map by Charles Joseph Minard portraying losses by Napoleon's army in the Russian campaign of 1812 incorporating six variables: size of the army, location on a two-dimensional surface, direction of the army's movement, and temperature on various dates during the retreat."
Mysterious reappearences of such honesty assure the story at least stays neutral.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
1 comment:
Everything is connected.
The random firing of neurons give way to a single thought. Stimulus breeds response. But scientists have discovered that the same stimulus does not necessarily elicit the same response. A myriad of possible thoughts from the same action.
Insanity is doing the same action over and over and expecting a different result.
I kill butterflies whenever I find them to protect the poor people of Bangladesh from Tsunamis. Alive or dead poor Schrodinger’s cat (from here on out named Mr. Muggins... how horrible to be known only as a possessive object!) is still stuck in a box.
Somewhere we think Heisenberg is laughing. But no one can find him to be certain.
Mr. Muggins is only a theoretical cat, a friend explains. I snap my fingers rhythmically. "Aren’t we all, man." I droll in my best sixties jazz club coffee house way. "Aren’t we all."
Post a Comment