baiting a red dragon: .posted by ben on Nov 2 at 18:14
tonight: a bit of the old ultraviolence: .posted by ben on Nov 2 at 17:17
In Slowness Kundera wrote that a man with bad breath could never have a mistress. I know of several binary pairs pointing to the inverse.
yep, that's me: .posted by ben on Nov 2 at 17:16
...in my cowardice I became at once a man, and did what all we grown men do when face to face with suffering and injustice; I preferred not to see them...
-Proust, Swann's Way pg. 10
All art has pears.: .posted by ben on Nov 2 at 12:40
-Samuel Bak, Between Worlds
The Japanese get all the cool toys.: .posted by ben on Nov 2 at 12:27
...Some sort of Hitachi wearable sold only in Japan. Of course, the page is in Japanese so I can't figure out what exactly it is.
the eyes not the ears: .posted by ben on Nov 2 at 01:54
critical path at 1.2Ghz: .posted by ben on Nov 1 at 18:39
The Gender Genie thinks a woman wrote my rant about how evil Cassie is. It also thinks that bit from the Iliad about Apollo doing the kill thing was written by a woman.
...holy shit... I just realized this is a naive bayes classifier taking the context free summation of the occurrence of words as input. I wonder if I could do better with a support vector machine...
Friendster says my only friend is Collin. I'm a leaf!
Is the Friendster graph connected? Probably not... but, I wonder if it is connected if you discard unconnected subgraphs with fewer than say 5 nodes.
My PC is underclocked by 50% and hasn't crashed in 5 hours.: .posted by ben on Nov 1 at 17:00
I'm fairly certain someone invited me to a party tonight. I can't remember who or where it was.
stabbing nowhere: .posted by ben on Nov 1 at 15:22
Claim: Wearing shirts inside out is not indie.
Proof: Indie people are wearing their shirts inside out.
Therefore it is something which identifies one as indie.
Therefore it is not indie.
ontic ontology: .posted by ben on Nov 1 at 02:42
If things were all Hobbesian then I wouldn't be lonely like this. I would have forced my way into a community or been killed trying. At least it would be a brief end.
bigger than jesus: .posted by ben on Nov 1 at 02:24
self indulgent goth tripe: .posted by ben on Nov 1 at 02:09
ontic nature: .posted by ben on Nov 1 at 01:55
little tobacco filled phalli: .posted by ben on Nov 1 at 01:55
I have only one purpose currently and it is pathetic and hopeless and I am not at liberty to divulge its specific nature because that will only make me appear to be an ass. I wish there were hope. Kafka said, "There is hope but not for us." Somehow I can't imagine anyone cares if I quote Kafka. Somehow I can't imagine anyone cares. At least your depression is only chemical. Mine is fundamental.
My depression is indicative of my artistic integrity. So there.
when it thaws, it will all turn the color of shit.: .posted by ben on Nov 1 at 01:33
I want to devise a virus to bring dire straits to your environment.: .posted by ben on Oct 31 at 19:49
The Trident is closed. The Bookend is closed... and if I try to walk anywhere else my toes are going to fall off.
Whipped cream at The Bookend is thicker and generally tastier than at The Trident. The espresso still sucks though. I want coffee from either Prufrock's, Paris on the Platte or The Bauhaus... but, that's only because they're all a pain to get to.
Everyone loves overseasoned soba.
teh french speaking asian pixie hotness: .posted by ben on Oct 31 at 19:17
no ice in Kopipi: .posted by ben on Oct 31 at 11:49
fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck: .posted by ben on Oct 31 at 08:47
I just tore a foot long hole in my fucking $200 Porsche brand fucking car cover trying to peel it off my iced car. I also have a bleeding hole in my finger. Fuck.
burn baby burn: .posted by ben on Oct 29 at 22:50
I like your Christ, I do not like your Christians. Your Christians are so unlike your Christ.
elven ears: .posted by ben on Oct 29 at 22:40
Unconsciously, I brought a cigarette to my lips, but before lighting up I remembered the gasoline fumes and returned it to the pack. So I sucked on a lemon drop instead. The result; the uncommon taste of lemon gasoline.
- Haruki Murakami, A Wild Sheep Chase pg. 270
poo-tee-weet: .posted by ben on Oct 29 at 18:52
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