data@infinity :: Something smarter than us is going to emerge


node:	data@infinity
template:	3
parent:	playground
owner:	rx
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created:	09.09.2007 - 12:26:38
updated:	30.04.2011 - 09:12:18

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Zrazu si uvedomila, že ten cézar, ktorého milovala a nevdojak ho pokladala za akéhosi poloboha, je rovnako biedny ako každý otrok a palác so stĺporadím z numidského mramoru nie je o nič lepší ako hromada kamenia.

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http://www.wired.com/2012/12/ff-john-mcafees-last-stand/all/

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http://abstrusegoose.com/511

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...vsak prave.

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http://www.texasmonthly.com/story/behind-the-sierra-blanca-border-checkpoint-drug-busts?fullpage=1

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http://lesswrong.com/lw/hh4/the_robots_ai_and_unemployment_antifaq/

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http://www.smh.com.au/lifestyle/edge-of-the-abyss-20120820-24h4r.html

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—but the next moment all this joy was turned into horror—for he put his mouth close to my ear, and screamed out the word 'Moskoe-ström!'

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$electron-diffraction-pattern.jpg$

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$DeathSlide35.jpg$

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http://www.spartacus.schoolnet.co.uk/USAWwoodhullV.htm

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Trakař aneb Velké vynálezy

Páv vytvoří kolo
náhoda dílo dokončí
Bůh se posadí dovnitř
a člověk ho tlačí

Kytice

Co tady děláte holčičko
S těmi květy čerstvě nařezanými?
Co tady děláte mladá dívko
S těmi květy květy schnoucími
Co tady děláte hezká ženo
S těmi květy které vadnou
Co tady děláte stará ženo
s těmi květy ve smrtícím mraze

Čekám na vítěze.

Ztracený čas

Před vraty továrny
dělník se náhle zastaví
nádherné počasí jásá mu u hlavy
a když se otočí
a podíva do slunce
je rudé a kulaté a jak se zubí
na průmyslovém nebi
mrkne na slunce
spiklenecky
Sluníčko příteli
nemyslíš
že je to trochu blbý
věnovat takový krásny den
šéfovi v honičce za ziskem.

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http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nancy_Wake

"A little powder and a little drink on the way, and I'd pass their (German) posts and wink and say, 'Do you want to search me?' God, what a flirtatious little bastard I was."

Upon discovering her tangled in a tree, Captain Tardivat greeted her remarking, "I hope that all the trees in France bear such beautiful fruit this year," to which she replied, “Don’t give me that French shit.”

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Moran was a handsome young Alatien man with strong wings and a hardy beak. He lived below the white cliffs, where the water was salty and the fish plentiful. Moran was betrothed to Anara, the loveliest girl there ever was. She was fair, and slender, and tall, and her eyes were the clearest shade of blue.

But Moran was hesitant to enter into union with Anara, to become her husband and to give her children. He would always come up with a new excuse for why they had to wait a little while longer. Now, Anara was skilled at pottery, but even more so with stories, and the Teller of the village had many times asked Anara to be her apprentice, to learn all the Tales so that some day she could take over as the Teller. But Anara refused, knowing that if she did accept the Teller's offer, she would never be able to marry Moran, because a Teller cannot have a husband nor children of her own. Her refusal to become the Teller's apprentice was unheard of, because who could refuse such an honor? But to Anara, love was more important. Her love for Moran was beyond honor, beyond reason. But despite Anara's love, Moran was still hesitant.

And then one day he told Anara, "I am traveling on a pilgrimage to the far shores. I will be gone for some time, and while I am traveling... and in accordance with our traditions, I will be freed from our betrothal. Not until I come back will the bond between us be renewed." It was not unusual for a young Alatien man at that time to go on a pilgrimage, and the bond between the betrothed would often be cut while he was away, to be formed again upon his return. But Anara was heartbroken, because she had thought that Moran would soon want to marry her. When Moran saw her tears, he said to her, "Do not weep. When I come back, I promise I will marry you. Just wait for me, and stay with your pots, to make the time pass quickly." And then Moran left on his pilgrimage to the far shores.

Many years went by, and Moran had exciting adventures on the far shores, but by and by, he began to long for home, and for Anara, and now he had finally realized that he loved her, and that he wanted to marry her. But when he returned, he could not find Anara amongst the pot makers. He went to visit her family, and they told him that, after waiting for many years, Anara accepted the Teller's offer of apprenticeship... and that when the Teller left on the last wind during the previous winter, Anara herself became the new Teller.

Angry, Moran made his way to the Teller's nest, and when he saw Anara he said to her, "You promised me you would wait!". But Anara did not say a single word in answer. She just turned around... and lifted something wrapped in leaves from the cot behind her, and gave it to Moran. Moran unwrapped the package, and inside, he found an old pot, cracked and broken in two.

"What is this pot?" he asked. "And why did you not wait for me like I asked you to?"

And finally, Anara spoke, and she said to Moran, "I made this pot for you, my dear Moran, when you left... because I wanted it to be my marriage gift to you. But when many, many years passed, I finally realized that you did not love me the way I loved you, and to live hoping otherwise would be death."

"But I want to marry you!" cried Moran. "I came back!"

But Anara just nodded at the broken pot in Moran's hands, and said, "Like an old pot that is left without care, a heart may break in two..."

And so Anara turned away, never to speak with Moran again. And Moran's heart, like the pot that was left untended, broke in two, because absence makes a heart brittle... and a broken heart can never be mended.

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"Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgiastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that's no matter--tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther.... And one fine morning-- So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past."

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But would you kindly ponder this question: What would your good do if evil didn't exist, and what would the earth look like if all the shadows disappeared? After all, shadows are cast by things and people. Here is the shadow of my sword. But shadows also come from trees and living beings. Do you want to strip the earth of all trees and living things just because of your fantasy of enjoying naked light? You're stupid.

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„Znáš tu písničku „Když někoho chytí někdo, jak jde žitem kdes?“ No a tím bych –“
„Ale to je ,Když někoho potká někdo, jak jde žitem kdes,“ odpověděla Phoebulka. „A je to básnička. Od Roberta Burnse.“
„Já vím, že to je básnička od Roberta Burnse.“
Ale stejně měla pravdu. Ono to je „Když někoho potká někdo, jak jde žitem kdes“. Ale to jsem tehda nevěděl.

„Já myslel, že to je ,Když někoho chytí někdo, jak jde žitem kdes,“ povídám. „Zkrátka a dobře, já si v jednom kuse představuju, jak si spousta malejch dětí na něco hraje na takovým velikánským žitným poli. Tisíce a tisíce malejch dětí a nikde nikdo – jako nikdo dospělej – kromě mě. A já stojím na okraji nějakýho šílenýho útesu. Mám na starosti to, že musím chytnout každýho, kdo by z toho útesu moh spadnout – já jen jako, že když utíká a nekouká kam, musím se já odněkud vynořit a chytit ho. A to bych dělal pořád. Prostě bych chytal děti, co si hrajou v žitným poli a tak. Já vím, že to je šílenství, ale je to jediný, co bych dělal doopravdy rád. Já vím, že to je šílenství.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wy2vyx_ZZn0