If you who own the things people must have could understand this, you might preserve yourself. If you could separate causes from results, if you could know that Paine, Marx, Jefferson, Lenin were results, not causes, you might survive. But that you cannot know. For the quality of owning freezes you forever into "I", and cuts you off forever from the "we".

"I am not without mercy," said the man who was notoriously without mercy.

  6:00 am: Rise from bed.
  6:15 - 6:30: Dumbbell exercise and wall-scaling.
  7:15 - 8:15: Study electricity, etc.
  8:30 - 4:30: Work.
  4:30 - 5:00: Baseball and sports.
  5:00 - 6:00: Practice elocution, poise and how to attain it.
  7:00 - 9:00: Study needed inventions.

Nada está perdido si se tiene el valor de proclamar que todo está perdido y hay que empezar de nuevo.

If I could have it back
All the time that we wasted
I’d only waste it again

If I could have it back
You know I would love to waste it again
Waste it again
and again
and again

One of the most constant and important factors in Thom Yorke's personal life is his relationship with long-time partner Rachel Owen. The two met while still students at Exeter, and Thom has spoken on many occasions of the positive effects she has had on his life. These very personal feelings inform the writing of 'I Might Be Wrong'.

"It's a document of a complete crisis point, basically." Thom told Mojo. "I live on a beach and one night I went on my own and looked back at the house and even though I knew there was nobody there, I could see a figure walking about inside. Then I went back in to the house and recorded that track with this presence still there...

"The song really comes as much from what Rachel was saying to me, like she does all the time: 'be proud of what you've done. Don't look back and just carry on like nothing's happened. Just let the bad stuff go.' When someone's constantly trying to help you out and you're trying to express something really awful, you're desperately trying to sort yourself out and you can't - you just can't. And then one day you finally hear them."

The lyrics are remarkable for the way they not only frame but poetically enhance these thoughts.

"...I might be wrong
I could have sworn
I saw a light coming on
...I used to think
There is no future left at all
I used to think

...What would I do?
If I did not have you?

This re-issue is dedicated to the memory of Dr. Rachel Owen (1968-2016) who died after a long and brave battle with cancer. We hope you are OK. Thank you for listening.

For the solution of this problem there were, roughly speaking, three classes of efforts made during this time, - moral, political, and economic: that is to say, efforts which sought directly to raise the moral standard of the nation; efforts which sought to stop the trade by legal enactment; efforts which sought to neutralize the economic advantages of the slave-trade.

There is always a certain glamour about the idea of a nation rising up to crush an evil simply because it is wrong. Unfortunately, this can seldom be realized in real life; for the very existence of the evil usually argues a moral weakness in the very place where extraordinary moral strength is called for.

It should be noted that no ethically-trained software engineer would ever consent to write a DestroyBaghdad procedure. Basic professional ethics would instead require him to write a DestroyCity procedure, to which Baghdad could be given as a parameter.

If I'm permitted to tell my favorite story, a wonderful anecdote about Niels Bohr, the Copenhagen guy [Nobel prize winning quantum physicist]. Once a friend visited him in his country house- farmer's house. And he, the friend, noticed there above the entrance to the house a horse shoe, which...in Europe it is a superstitious item preventing evil spirits to enter the house.

So the friend asks Niels Bohr, wait a minute aren't you scientist, do you believe in this? Of course, I'm not crazy, I don't. So the friend asked him why do you have it there? You know what Niels Bohr answered? He said of course I don't believe in it. But I set it there because I was told that it works even if you don't believe in it. That's unfortunately our ideology to date.

...Like you know you don't have to believe in this but believe still things. Things like Santa Claus. You ask the parents do you believe in Santa Claus. They will tell you, I'm not crazy, I buy (the presents). Then you ask the child do you believe he will say no, I'm not crazy I just pretend not to hurt my parents. So a belief functions, a social category, even if no one believes in it. I think this is crucial to understand how things function today.

When every radio station is blaring that a man without knowledge or education is better than one who has studied, it takes courage to ask: better for whom? When all the talk is of perfect and imperfect races, it takes courage to ask whether it not hunger and ignorance and war that produce deformities.

And it also takes courage to tell the truth about oneself, about one’s own defeat. Many of the persecuted lose their capacity for seeing their own mistakes. It seems to them that the persecution itself is the greatest injustice.

...

First of all we strike trouble in determining what truth is worth the telling. For example, before the eyes of the whole world one great civilized nation after the other falls into barbarism. Moreover, everyone knows that the domestic war which is being waged by the most ghastly methods can at any moment be converted into a foreign war which may well leave our continent a heap of ruins. This, undoubtedly, is one truth, but there are others. Thus, for example, it is not untrue that chairs have seats and that rain falls downward. Many poets write truths of this sort. They are like a painter adorning the walls of a sinking ship with a still life.

All of us failed to match our dream of perfection. So I rate us on the basis of our splendid failure to do the impossible. In my opinion, if I could write all my work again, I am convinced that I would do it better, which is the healthiest condition for an artist. That’s why he keeps on working, trying again; he believes each time that this time he will do it, bring it off. Of course he won’t, which is why this condition is healthy. Once he did it, once he matched the work to the image, the dream, nothing would remain but to cut his throat, jump off the other side of that pinnacle of perfection into suicide. I’m a failed poet. Maybe every novelist wants to write poetry first, finds he can’t, and then tries the short story, which is the most demanding form after poetry. And, failing at that, only then does he take up novel writing.

"The ugly fact is books are made out of books," he says. "The novel depends for its life on the novels that have been written."

If the rule you followed brought you to this, of what use was the rule?

Sleep is the most innocent creature there is and a sleepless man the most guilty.

The reigning economic system is founded on isolation; at the same time it is a circular process designed to produce isolation. Isolation underpins technology, and technology isolates in its turn; all goods proposed by the spectacular system, from cars to televisions, also serve as weapons for that system as it strives to reinforce the isolation of "the lonely crowd." The spectacle is continually rediscovering its own basic assumptions ­­and each time in a more concrete manner.

...

The spectator's alienation from and submission to the contemplated object (which is the outcome of his unthinking activity) works like this: the more he contemplates, the less he lives; the more readily he recognizes his own needs in the images of need proposed by the dominant system, the less he understands his own existence and his own desires. The spectacle's externality with respect to the acting subject is demonstrated by the fact that the individual's own gestures are no longer his own, but rather those of someone else who represents them to him. The spectator feels at home nowhere, for the spectacle is everywhere.

Bitch, real Gs move in silence like lasagna

I have buried you
Every place I've been
You keep ending up
In my shaking hands

She smiled and looked at me. She took a cigarette out of her small bag and lit it with a lighter.

“Sometimes when I look at you, I feel I’m gazing at a distant star,” I said. “It’s dazzling, but the light is from tens of thousands of years ago. Maybe the star doesn’t even exist anymore. Yet sometimes that light seems more real to me than anything.”

Shimamoto said nothing.

“You’re here,” I continued. “At least you look as if you’re here. But maybe you aren’t. Maybe it’s just your shadow. The real you may be someplace else. Or maybe you already disappeared, a long, long time ago. I reach out my hand to see, but you’ve hidden yourself behind a cloud of probablys. Do you think we can go on like this forever?”

“Probably. For the time being,” she answered.

“I see I’m not the only one with a strange sense of humor,” I said. And she smiled.

Rich people are the most boring people in the world. They smell, look and smell alike. They all fly British Airways and party in St. Barts. The middle class is much more diverse. Luxury brands are able to go global faster because rich people aspire to the same things.

I chime in with a
"Haven't you people ever heard of closing a goddamn door?"

Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness, and many of our people need it sorely on these accounts. Broad, wholesome, charitable views of men and things cannot be acquired by vegetating in one little corner of the earth all one's lifetime.

sorry for the delays. i been out and about. adventuring.

"Once the rockets are up
who cares where they come down
that's not my department,"
says Wernher von Braun.

I have no doubt that in reality the future will be vastly more surprising than anything I can imagine. Now my own suspicion is that the Universe is not only queerer than we suppose, but queerer than we can suppose.

A book must be the axe for the frozen sea inside of us.