Posts Tagged ‘hoax’

A Few Choice Words On The Climate Change Hoax


20 Sep

As solar activity drops to high risk century low,
puzzling buzzing scientists—who've for past few decades
or so—insisted planet barely missed flaming new ice age,
all the rage in the Eighties, now had dutifully traded crazy moon
white snow boots for trendy new blue swamp goloshes
as they prepped the weak and the weary for pernicious
man-made global warming trends, projected
death of civilization, unprotected
men of calculation, sober cool thinkers
fighting like cats in the Captain's Tower,
having replaced Ezra Pound and T.S. Eliot
competitively, at least two generations ago
with bursting advent of the whimpering class...

unless we stopped all modern activity,
removed it to a more needy neighborhood,
redistributed the wealth, heavy environmental taxation,
daring energy industry transfers nation to nation,
dumping energy back into the glittering soil,
boasting certain good intentions whipped
unintended consequences every time,
so peace could again perfect its reign
upon contemporary balance.

But this slick idea was modified when numbers
secretly fudged melted into gosh darn goo of scandal
from burning lights of world-wide media exposure,
and strange humiliating coincidences,
major players like Al Gore and The Hague
sensing jubilant masses lampooning laughter
even as Big Al the Grand Wizard slinked away
from his own imperial carbon footprint,

only to pop up again in news to sell his failing network
to Al-Jazeera. By that time powers had changed the name
of green movement from Man-made Global warming
to Man-Assisted Global Climate Change.

Shall we say more?

Yep. Cosmological scientists fooled again. Who
do you believe now, a gaggle of government-funded white coats
with pocket calculators fighting over grant money
and other tax subsidies or your own self-serving
senses when you step out the front door
every morning? Certainty is nothing
unless nothing is certainty.

In this age of Internet,
gonzo TV and one's own dilly
dallying daily devotions, everything
he needs to consider his puny effect
in challenging the cosmos, the gifted wing,
more than a few paltry molecules at a time,
man pockets like a broken rhyme.

Isn't that why a few cozy Parisians
rounded up decades of thought,
added some of their own,
codifying existentialism
the 1940s, until a few others
shuttered Sartre's approach for chaos theory,
hamming up for the 1970s, brokering game theory
to police chance, pushing the unified field lovers
back onto existentialism's pearly-gated scientist
hunkered down among his graphs and chunks
of ice, the Yukon Valley Dolls, analyzing
a bucket of balls, which then burst off-camera
his pus-filled cyst, stunning a moth
with some butterfly cough.

I'm merely a journeyman, mind you, but I can smell
ink, the rank differences in accumulative error
between humanity's penchant for gross
speculation and visceral control
while also being limited
by his obvious lack
of precision in husbanding
dormant or active volcanoes,
residual tsunamis, bitter storms,
topical flooding, global wind patterns,
colliding rocks aimed at a rotting nuclear plant
near you and various unsavory activities of our sun,
that ultimate troublemaker, all circulating
about this planet long before we began
questioning its wobble.

Or Long Parallax Mapping the Unknown Wink And Nod


12 Oct

loss

Loss is loss...

samplex

Sister forwarded me this untidy question. Wrote back telling her not to worry. Hoax, isn't it, she asked. Sister and husband, hardcore fundamentalists, emphasis on hardcore and fundamentalists. Amazing Mark was worshipping inside RFK Stadium last weekend. Half million strong masculine Promise Keepers rally. Reportage, parallax crew, Channel 9. Didn't hear from Amazing Mark, not even cheap ring, although sister e-mailed that I might if he must. Reside a mere two and one-half blocks away, but floating decimal point crime zone is deterrent to uninitiated. Turns out church crew turned in. Bussed out immediately with zero time for extenuating family wink and nod, driving back to Atlanta overnight to arrive just in time for sunrise Sunday service. Anywaze, proxy hoaxes are enough to sweep this observer back into typewriter and rotary telephone age, given dynamics it took for trinity branch to go wired in first place. Hicks, neither Amazing Mark nor sister attached personal commentary to fast forward hoax interrogatory.

No hoax attached to entry level politeness. Can't recall from memory what mapping she wanted to clarify. Seems data points got lost in shuffle of years and data dump of March 21, 2003. Date will live lifestyle of infamy—for would be same observer's first and only attempt in hacking Terminal, yes, already infamous Bitterzone Terminal, made manifest at 318.63 feet above sea level...

When I realized what had happened, experienced quietly, a surreal moment. No red flags, no anger, no bitterness, no crisis, no panic. You've heard many times of an event so overwhelming, so complete, it knocks breath and anxiety right out of you, like exploding powder into the remaining spill. So was as if great weight lifted, put on shelf life, an established life of average to near genius, recycled, overcooked canned goods which saved a generation. Stunned was this observer this happened right before my own spoiled eyes. They have seen the glory. The coming of the sword. Had to rely on muscles not machines. Pick and shovel, steam shocks and accumulative error.

File recovery utility used to grab bundle of files packed into digital equivalent of file cabinet full of papers and folders dredged from river basin in black scoop of mud and water. This note, evidence of subterranean recovery. My bulging body of correspondence with Steve, Lynn, Richard, Jennifer, Tom, and other fine feathers suffered the most, although my 900 page novel untitled vanished, lost to progress.
Confident, prepared myself for successful hack, MacBible turned to page where one mere line of code seemed simple enough, even for terminal virgin. Need for ginning up guts to enter terminal also simple enough. For weeks voice recognition application squatted desktop fated for trash can. App just couldn't nail my accent. Was doing no harm, but taunting me, for it knew I was known to keep clutter-free desktop. MacBible, aware that rogue icons occasionally refused to go away quietly in early version of OS X software, provided solution in quantum burst of few words and kinetic characters.

Fired up terminal, navigated successfully to proper node, typing in string of code to dispose of rogue icon. Poof, watched little bugger disappear. Then reached with right hand across keyboard to grab tall glass of iced water kept on flat desk environment. Flash message, gone too quick to read. Next. Massive screen flutter. After second or two, screen activity ceases until quarter minute later message appears stating all user's personal data was erased.

No undo possible.

Sigh. Note date. Confirm Sue—chief engineer of die Librahausen—out of town. Impeccably. Always seems to be when I commit colossal zig when should have zagged. Don't think reach across keyboard wrong. But to this day, years later, don't know why ten years of data, emails, artwork, other personal files were zapped. Simply walked away. Massive weight of creative loss transmuted to an unbearable lightness of being not felt in better part of two decades. Would retrieve some restitution from webserver. File recovery utility used to grab bundle of files packed into digital equivalent of file cabinet full of papers and folders dredged from river basin in black scoop of mud and water...

This note, evidence of subterranean recovery.

My bulging body of correspondence with Steve, Lynn, Richard, Jennifer, Tom, and other fine feathers suffered the most, although my 900 page novel untitled vanished, lost to progress. Cared less about that monstrosity than intimate sentiment fellow writers offered...

GT

S A M P L E X

"Ignorance and virtue suck on the same straw. Souls grow on bones, but die beneath bankers' hours.""


Top

Login