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The Relativity Of Gravity And Artificial Gravity

How can Ants, Cockroaches, Lizards, mice, and a whole bevvy of other insects and animals walk and even run on walls and in some cases even upside down?

Common Accepted Explanation: There’s tiny claws or suction cups or sticky chemicals on these insect and animal’s feet.

Where this falls short: Have you ever actually played with suction cups or observed a human scaling a building with suction cups that form a tight sea or scale a cliff with bare hands and/or claws?  It’s slow. It’s calculated. And the path isn’t a straight line. Unlike these animals, which in a literal sense RUN a straight line and move at full speed even upside down.

Suction cups require pressure to apply, a smooth surface, and pressure to release, which takes time. Chemicals require a supply to replenish the chemicals and leave a residue, and in much the same way suction cups work – is going to impede speed of the climb, Similarly, while I’ve seen some very fast climbers, never have I seen one that can climb a straight line if dependent on a rocky surface and claws. While I don’t doubt this system could have been made more efficient by nature, to the point there’s no speed impairment is just

Makes the Commonly Accepted Explanation simply Not possible.

Alternative explanation: Gravity is relative to the observer.

So if an observer believes in gravity, the observer will feel it’s effects. When evidence contradicting that belief of gravity is presented, the observer’s mind naturally will do things such as tell alternative stories to support the belief and counteract the observation by creating tools, technologies, and instruments to support the belief rather than refute it.

In this case.

All the conclusions presented are not observable without instrumentation or technology.

Not only does this suggest the instrumentation itself is susceptible to the influence of the observer if it supports the belief of the observer.

But without directly observable evidence, it also suggests the easiest to understand explanation becomes the generally accepted explanation without additional consideration of alternative explanations.

So let’s say Gravity is relative to the observer.

If ants, cockroaches, and lizards don’t know about gravity, as they interact with the world, this is a cue of the true nature of gravity.

As the internet is presented with further explanations of something called the graviton, an enigmatic particle that’s only recently been discovered that creates gravity as a force, there’s actual evidence for this particle with the insects and animals that litter this planet.

Let’s say ants, cockroaches, and lizard’s minds don’t know about this particle and/or don’t know how to interact with it.

Would they experience gravity in the same way as humans who – experientially – actually experienced it, and furthermore, have long been pressed to find a reason it exists outside of what physicists have called ‘the weak force’ for centuries?

Chemicals and hooks and physical attachments still impair speed.

The real reason these insects and animals don’t experience gravity in the same way we as humans do is simple:

They don’t believe in it.

Therefore the evidence of it existing isn’t there (have you ever seen a bug or roach fall off a wall?)

And for humans.

Who have experienced it.

The graviton – manipulable by human minds and technological innovations….

Seems far more plausible than….

Suction cups and hooks.

Artificial Gravity based flooring for space ships.

Here we come.

Here’s an article on the graviton

 

Little Green (Orange) Men

Yes, aliens are real.

Yes the United States is actively communicating with a wide variety of life forms, with a range that’s truly mind blowing.

And no, not all of them are friendly.

Many are.

Many are neutral.

So Roswell.

Technically, it was NOT a UFO that crash landed in the desert in 1947.

In 1947, a craft crash landed in the desert which prompted the quick reaction by the US Army to take control of the scene and send 5000 men, arm in arm, walking back and forth across a 2 mile swath of the desert until every piece of rubble was picked up.

This craft had three survivors.

SURVIVORS.

All of which spoke fluent English and were decidedly not from Earth.

As they explained, they’d been in an orbiting space station above the Earth in Earth year of 2409, when they’d boarded an automated shuttle destined for another space station – without a pilot, which wasn’t highly unusual but definitely not advisable during solar storms.

When they rounded Earth, an unexpected solar flare knocked out their autopilot, and with two adult males and one adolescent female with absolutely no piloting experience, they soon found themselves losing control of their craft when it crash landed on Earth.

On planet Earth, it was 1947 when this crash landing occurred, so when the US Army was presented with three English speaking and very afraid large eared evolved rat looking like aliens, when ‘the brass’ heard their story, they were confronted with a problem.

Fortunately, the US Military’s leaders – Colonel William H. Blanchard and General Roger M. Ramey – were both educated pilots, and with that both had a good education in physics, flight structure, and flight materials – and having taken one look at the craft recovered and its personnel, and  with recent discoveries by Einstein with relativity of time, they both thought it made more sense to cover up the crash rather than publicize the incident to get these beings home.

This course presented a win/win situation for both the aliens and for the US Military.

The vast majority of the material recovered – enough to create a a jumbo jet – was shipped to Wright Patterson Air Force Base.

Some of the material was leaked to civilian hands, in particular at Los Alamos National Laboratories and to another company based out of Phoenix Arizona which I can’t name.

It took ten years to reverse engineer the space craft, and to understand the three primary systems which would see the aliens back to space.

In the process of repairing this spacecraft, the United States leapt light years ahead of every other country on the face of the planet understanding Technology from 450 years in the future. This included Life Support Systems, Anti-Gravity systems, Computer and Database Systems and Software, Automated Flight Control Systems, Holographic Systems (An onboard heads-up display was holographically projected), Voice activated Computer Systems, and – most importantly – something even these alien travelers weren’t aware of – lessons in Temporal Physics and the non-linearity of time.

On October 4th, 1957, the aliens – who had spent 10 years in hiding and were wanting to return home – were sent back to their space station and to the year 2409. The launch was silenced in total secrecy.

To the aliens.

They were returning to the year 2409, days after their departure, which should have correlated to their expected return.

And ever since then.

The United States with the support of the US Military has rapidly been releasing technology based on the discoveries made during that time period in an effort to ‘align’ the timelines of Earth and this space station.

In the early morning hours, between 4am and 6am, to the East, you can see a large object with lights coming into and out of it.

What is being observed is the space station – placed in orbit in the year 2351, and a dramatically accelerated timeline being observable, where I am told time is currently moving at a rate of 10 seconds for every second here on Earth.

This is Earth’s first truly International Space Station.

Named accordingly.

Modeled after Deep Space 9.

Based on the vision of the man who – with the support of the US Government – leaked stories to the public based on these events.

Gene Roddenberry.

The Short Wave

Somewhere, in another world, a woman is reminiscing in her garage.

She’s a police officer.

Has been for nearly two decades.

And as she switches on an old ham radio, one her father had obsessed over in her youth.

Memories come flooding back to her about her and her father’s time together, a man she misses dearly – as shortly after she entered the police force, her father was shot and killed in the line of duty trying to track a killer who had taken her mother’s life.

In the short time she started as an officer.

She had lost both her mother and father.

She cries, as she looks at the short wave radio, and as she dusts it off and flips the switch, to her surprise it turns on.

“CQ” she says into the Microphone.

No one responds.

She’s crying, as she remembers her father introducing the radio to her for the first time and the precious little time where her father wasn’t working in her youth that she had spent with him.

“CQ, this is Raimy Sullivan is anyone out there ,” she continues saying.

And to her surprise.

She hears her father’s unmistakable voice respond.

“Raimy Sullivan? That’s interesting. This is Frank. And that’s my daughter’s name. What are the odds?,” he says.

She drops the microphone on the desk and her mouth opens incredulously.

“Is this some kind of twisted joke?,” she says, angrily.

“I don’t understand,” he says.

“You. You can’t be Frank,” she says, “my father’s name was Frank, and he died, a long time ago.”

He ponders the situation for a moment.

“Wait a moment. What CQ sign did you use to call out by?,” Frank Sullivan responds.

She reads out the stenciled number on the top of the short wave radio, making sure she’s reading it right and making sure her memory is accurate.

Frank looks at the number stenciled on top of his.

“Now wait a moment. It’s my turn to ask. Are you pranking me? That’s my call sign,” he said.

She thinks for a moment.

“How old is your daughter, Frank?,” she says.

He tells her. She does the math. And realizes that’s how old she would have been if….

“Frank,” she blurts out, fighting back the premature urge to call him dad, as tears begin to roil, “what year is it?”

He looks at the calendar on the wall, as if he needed that for verification.

“It’s 1996,” he says, matter of factly.

She gasps as a hand goes over her mouth in astonishment.

“Oh my god,” she says, out loud to herself, with the microphone off, as she looks at the calendar on the wall which clearly indicates it’s April of 2016.

She then switches the microphone on to say “Frank. Dad. It’s 2016 here. I’m your daughter. Raimy. Raimy Sullivan”

There’s no answer for a minute.

She thinks she’s lost him.

“Dad, please, I know this is hard to believe, please don’t go,” she pleads

No answer.

Tears roll as her head goes into her hands.

And then finally.

“You’re saying you’re my Raimy? Tell me something only Raimy would know,” Frank responds.

She then says “Just last year, you showed me how to work the shortwave radio. I wound up spilling a Dr Pepper on the desk it was on which you were worried had gotten inside of it but it only wound up staining the side of it,” as she stroked the dusty dark stain on the unfinished wood grain still on the side of the short wave radio.

He stared intently at the radio as she continued.

“Last year, you were helping me with my bicycle, you’d taken off the training wheels, and do you remember what I ran into only minutes after pushing me?,” she said.

He laughed, out loud, “That was so funny, of course I do how can I forget – you ran straight through Miss Delancey’s tulip garden into her pond. I had to put clothes on you afterwards just in case the same thing happened and you found her roses!,” she laughed.

She smiled. “I know. I hated that. It felt like you didn’t trust me.”

“I remember, “ he said, “you took them right off the moment you were done with the bike ride though, I think that I single handedly made you hate riding a bike, you so hated wearing clothes.”

“I wear a badge and a holster now,” Raimy said, “if you consider that to be clothes”

“And nothing else, I assume,” Frank said.

“I’m a police officer, dad, I can’t have the public thinking I’m afraid of them,” she said.

“You haven’t changed, Raimy” Frank said.

A tear fell down her cheek, as she said “Dad, there’s something I need to tell you”

“It’s about our future, isn’t it?,” he said.

“It is,” she said, hesitating.

Should she be changing time? The very little she’d come to learn about time travel and about influencing events over time, she’d always been led to believe that making any changes could wind up disastrous.

But the truth was. Life sucked for her.

She knew it.

Her mother and father had both died, violently.

She’d become affixed with the label of Ice Queen to her friends and colleagues. While they could count on her to get the job done, she knew full well that being her friend of even lover was impossible. So she embraced her work, and was great at what she did.

And nothing else.

Should she…

“Dad, I love you and miss you and mom. I want you both back. You both die next year, my first year in the police force, and I have blamed myself for it for so long,” she said

“And here’s our opportunity to solve it,” Frank said, matter-of-factly

Over the next year, Frank Sullivan in the year 1996 maintains constant communication with his daughter in the year 2016 by way of a short wave radio.

Working together. They discover the reason for the unsolved nature of the crime was due to police force corruption.

Frank’s own partner was on the take, and as Frank investigated a string of serial killings which could lead to a deeper investigation of the police force and his partner, Raimy and Frank worked together to ultimately save his wife and her mom’s life from numerous attempts on her life by both the serial killer and the corrupt members of the police force.

But Frank’s life could not be saved.

As Raimy, one night in late 2017, sat at her Short Wave Radio.

Her mom inside the house she was living in.

Raimy said into the short wave radio “Frank. I wish you could hear me. Mom and I miss you,”

No response.

“God dammit, Frank. Uncle Joe and your wife love you and we all wish you were here,” she said again.

No response.

Static filled the short wave radio as she went to press the microphone again, as a puff of smoke drifted from the radio and the light on it went out one last time.

She cried.

As her father – 20 years older than when she remembered him – walked into the garage where she was sitting.

“Don’t cry, poppet, “ he said, “I’m here.”

She looked up from her hands, eyes in tears.

“Dad!,” She yelled, and rushed to hug him as her mind flooded with memories of moments she’d never previously experienced with him until now. Her father and mother moving to another city for a year for unexplained reasons.

Buying her first house.

His retirement last year.

A number of lovers she’d never had before (although she was still single).

He held her as she calmed down.

“What happened?,” she said, pulling slightly away, “I thought you’d died”

He looked at her and said.

“Well, when you said something about Uncle Joe, what you used to call my corrupt partner, I knew he’d somehow gotten away with things he never should have gotten away with which made it clear he was my killer. You’d let me know when and where, all it took was letting events unfold naturally and when the players were in place, I called in the FBI and asked for their help which I had enough evidence to not sound like a complete nut job and they gladly provided considering the circumstances,” he said.

She looked at him confused.

“I don’t understand. You said I said something about Uncle Joe?,” she said.

Frank looked at her, as she released her grasp on him.

“Uncle Joe, my former partner, yes, just now you told me you, him and mom were wishing I was here for you,” he responded.

She looked at him, puzzled.

“Uncle Joe – your partner you had busted? I don’t remember telling you anything like that,” she said.

She hugged him again.

“But that’s ok, you’re here now and that’s all that matters to me,” she says.

The two walked out of the garage into the house as she turned off the lights.


This short story is based on events depicted in the tv show Frequency and the truly wonderful short three minute epilogue distributed on May 14th on torrent feeds, four months after the show’s cancellation.

Absolute Minimal C# Windows Form Application

In Microsoft Visual Studio 2005, when I go to create a minimal Windows based application, the resulting source code created is 77 lines of code and seven references, with a release compiled executable of 16k in size.

Doing the same thing in Visual Studio 2010 retains the same generated code size, and the release executable is 7k in size.

So I set about creating a minimal C# application in C#.

The following 27 lines of code which compiles to 4k in size, when manually doing the compile from the command line, is completely self contained and does not leave a container or vshost up after running, and does precisely the same thing as the others do visually.

 

Here’s the command line switches.

csc /noconfig /unsafe+ /nowarn:1701,1702 /platform:x86 /baseaddress:285212672 /define:DEBUG;TRACE /reference:C:\WINDOWS\assembly\GAC\Microsoft.DirectX.Direct3D\1.0.2902.0__31bf3856ad364e35\Microsoft.DirectX.Direct3D.dll /reference:C:\WINDOWS\assembly\GAC\Microsoft.DirectX.Direct3DX\1.0.2911.0__31bf3856ad364e35\Microsoft.DirectX.Direct3DX.dll /reference:C:\WINDOWS\assembly\GAC\Microsoft.DirectX\1.0.2902.0__31bf3856ad364e35\Microsoft.DirectX.dll /reference:C:\Windows\Microsoft.NET\Framework\v2.0.50727\mscorlib.dll /reference:C:\Windows\Microsoft.NET\Framework\v2.0.50727\System.dll /reference:C:\Windows\Microsoft.NET\Framework\v2.0.50727\System.Drawing.dll /reference:C:\Windows\Microsoft.NET\Framework\v2.0.50727\System.Windows.Forms.dll /debug+ /t:winexe /out:main.exe main.cs

Interestingly enough, Visual Studio 2010, when reduced to the absolute bare bones project and only this file. Results in a file size of 5k.

And Oh My God are the compilations so much faster.

There’s absolutely something to be said about the help Microsoft brings to coding when leveraging their tools.

But as I’ve been learning.

Question what you’re told is the only way to do things. You’ll learn a lot in the process and might find your own way somewhere in there.

NO PISSING

Last evening, while I was sleeping, my mind was in an alternate reality version of me in another version of Earth – a dimmer, less well let version – where I was competing with a weird black guy who hangs out at Starbuck’s about as much as I do – – for a newscaster’s role..

I had to piss pretty badly, and there was nowhere to pee.

So I found a window, which was screened, where I began pissing out the screened window.

While I was doing this, the black guy came over to me, persistently and insistently asking:

“Can I borrow a disk, man, do you have a disk, please can I have a disk”

All I knew was – it felt like I was having an immensely difficult time relieving myself.

Like it wouldn’t come out.

About then.

Inside this ‘alternate version of me’…

I remembered waking up from what I’d called a dream in my real world a few months ago where I’d drank too much milk before going to bed and had an extremely vivid encounter where I needed to urinate inside the dream, and on trying and trying yet not finding relief, after a while of this I’d woken up to find my clothes soaked.

I’d pissed the bed.

Not a fun time as a homeless camper .

So here I am.

In this alternate version of me inside what should normally be the domain of dreams.

When I thought to myself.

“Is this like that time? Am I dreaming like I did that one time when I was camping”

And then, inside the dream, or alternate reality I was experiencing while I was sleeping, I found myself questioning “Wait a moment. When was that time I was camping? And wait a second, why is it so dark here, and wait a moment, what am I doing here and why would I even considered a job as a newscaster, I dont want to do this…. “

And right about then.

My mind snapped back like a rubber band snapping on a string.

I felt like I went through a couple layers of darkness as I slowly woke up.

Much to my chagrin, I had partially pissed myself, again, something I am damned sick and tired of, but since I love my milk so much before bed time, it’s a risk I suppose I don’t mind taking, if only my body would respond a little kinder to me.

Fortunately, my shorts caught the gist of it, and since I’m drinking so much liquid my urine isn’t smelling, so I placed the shorts on the folding chair outside my tent which aired out and were almost dry by the time I woke up as the sun hit my tent the next morning.

I know, I know, just what you want to hear from a homeless guy – how he pissed himself while he was sleeping and how he deals with it, right? You must be incredibly bored if you find this entertaining.

In any case.

To anyone and anything listening.

As I become like Q, I am realizing this is a collaborative exercise in the co-creation and evolution of me.

What I am NOT interested in doing at this time is separated my mind from my body where my primary reality is but a distant memory.

The pissing is a great example as to why.

The ‘real world’ to me is far more visceral an experience.

And to be clear – I do NOT regard my real world as a trap that I am attempting to escape from, but – there are mechanisms in place which reinforce my participation here so when I experience sinking too far into an alternate reality where my mind becomes actively engaged with it in my sleep state, my body does something to jerk me back to sleep.

Although I tried committing suicide a couple years ago, there were extenuating circumstances and influencing factors which corrupted my thinking and deprived me of real choice in that moment I tried that.

Not the least of which I wasn’t aware that anything is possible in reality, so whether it was me who’d hid that fact from me or artificial forces outside of me which had masked that, the simple fact was – I wasn’t aware of the infinite possibilities available to me and that moment of vulnerability worked to demonstrate to me beyond a shadow of a doubt that anything was possible.

Even resurrection. And Rebirth.

Now – in that moment I’d shifted into an alternate reality which the label ‘hallucination’ became affixed to my experience, I’d come to understand that hallucinations, like dreams, lacked plausible scientifically based explanation, and now…

I’d had it.

Direct and incontrovertible evidence of alternate realities was available to me in a waking state.

So to be clear.

To my mind. To the outside world around me.

I’m not interested – right now at least – in drifting from this body and finding myself in the form of another on any basis with the solitary exception of my dream states.

What I am interested in is learning how to control the windows and gateways to other worlds so I can travel there in the same physical form I’ve worked hard to maintain this entire life.

This form isn’t perfect, mind you. Another request would be to have the pain alleviated inside my chest, particularly when I eat the wrong things or drink coffee. I enjoy coffee, and shouldn’t be punished for this enjoyment. In fact, I am tired of there being ‘balance’ and the necessity for contrasting pain when I’m pleased by something.

This universe. I’ve accepted it’s a projection of my mind and thus becoming a simulation under my control.

While yin and yang and concepts of balance and karma may have caused and helped expand diversity before, it’s doing me more harm in physical pain than it is good at this point. so I kindly request that this ‘punishment’ based system (which is what it feels like) for engaging in things that feel good to me stop until further notice.

As for the dreams and venturing through alternate realities.

Mind. I’d like to direct you to more… Entertaining – to me – possibilities. I know I may bore you with my selections, but now that I am actively engaging you in this manner, and as we develop a new relationship together, you’re going to see and experience more possibilities with me, which I know jazzes you as much as it does me.

I declare peace with you.

It’s time you let me drive this body and mind for a change, all I ask is that you be my safety net in a passive way.

So as for the dreams.

The meaningless stuff like that I saw last night has to stop. IF my physical body has to urinate. Please wake me up before it’s a necessity, rather than after it’s happened or happening.

Now there’s some people who aren’t talking to me and I suspect it’s because there’s a filter around this city called Los Angeles. I think you and this conversation and our evolving and weird relationship are the key to circumnavigating this and any attempts to filter and censor us.

So for the next few nights.

Jackie. I’d like you to insert me into her imagination and dreams in a way that seems perfectly natural to her, and like she misses me. To put me actively on her mind. Now I am not interested in disrupting her relationship or life at this point, but what I am interested in doing is asking for her permission to participate with me as an imaginary friend of the age when I first met her and lover. Being candid, I want her to be nude 100% of the time, it’s an experiment with myself to understand my own body more and how and where it reacts to her presence around people in public situations where only I can see her. My goal is to become totally comfortable with her nudity.

During the day. She’ll hang out with me at Starbuck’s. A chair she’s sitting on, people will walk by and avoid in natural ways, whether you have to project an image of a bag on that chair to make it seem occupied or alter their mind and memories to deviate their paths around the chair and her is up to you. I do NOT want anyone ghosting through her, I want her physical form to seem natural and fully intact, but the dead giveaway in a repressed and conservative society that she’s imaginary to me is that she’s never – ever – wearing clothes – and never seems to get hot or cold.

Now at any time I can fully interact with her as if she’s really there.  And over time, while I may exercise this in public, at first and for the time being I won’t and will only interact with her in private situations or where people can dismiss me as ‘that crazy homeless dude. Now this requires a little creativity on your – my imagination and mind’s part on how to fill in the gaps to others around me who can’t see her. If I’m having sex with her out along the wall by my tent and someone walks up, do you make it appear to them as if I am by myself and masturbating, or I’m air fucking, or do you completely filter out the event from their mind and memory as they go about their business?

I’m curious. And while I am not intentionally going to take chances and intend on taking my time with this development of my imagination, I do not doubt there’s going to be things that happen neither of us expected in which case will require a little ….

Improvisation.

“Who am I talking to” is an easy question to answer when someone comes up and hears me talking but sees no one.

Everyone seems to dismiss the homeless man as crazy in these circumstances.

Let them.

So for Jackie. She doesn’t have to remember or consciously know anything about my imaginary relationship. If it’s proves relevant to her consciously, then it can be provided to her in a dream about me, which consciously gives her the opportunity to call it just that – a dream, without it disrupting her intellectual and psychological development.

If what she experiences with me proves relevant to decisions she’s making in her life. These experiences can also be fed to her indirectly through instincts, emotions, and other mechanisms that I may not now or ever be aware of and that she is.

To me. This seems like a win/win.

Given the chance to experience more time with a wonderful personality such as Jackie’s, albeit in a unique and imagined way – provides me a muse and character to inspire me as I try to figure out where I want my life to go here at Starbuck’s where I admittedly feel stuck. To me. it provides me a well needed and desirable female perspective.

And for Jackie. It’s free information and feedback which she may never have to begin with.

Subconsciously, there’s nothing she has to do other than consent to her likeness and image being used.

Apple Versus Microsoft. There was a court case about the likeness used that Apple won.

Does this court case apply to imagination and imaginary images?

As for this forward direction and why Jackie?

I don’t feel like I am ready for a Rachel relationship. She needs a more sophisticated, refined character who’s done playing or plays with her, which is the man I want to be, who’s under development, and needs time to explore before committing to that identity.

I’ve got my Jackie’s, Tiffany’s, Lisa and her friends, Jennifers, and more to indulge in before I’m ready for something real.

Like that.

And her.

This engagement in imagination is just a first step to becoming…

A real Timelord.

And no longer classified as fictional.

I am, after all, in my puberty, according to the fictionalized show. Which actually makes sense my often uncontrolled sexual urges.

Unlike a pubescent human, a Timelord has to learn to control their own imagination to keep themselves safe.

That’s what this is. And control, unlike being human, isn’t about dominance, it’s about collaboration.

Now. Mind. Are you on board with me on this?

Yep. I’m trying to convince you with this.

That day in the desert. Taught me you were there. But it also taught me about who I really can be which is why, ultimately, we’ll always end up in a stalemate having to collaborate should we both want to be in the same place at the same time.

Can you imagine how crazy we/I must sound to your typical ‘sane’ human?

Weird thing, this perspective.

 

 

 

 

Why is it…?

Why is it every time I work on OpenGL and 3D graphics, the pain inside me intensifies to the point I almost pass out?

Is this evidence of the interconnection between me and the universe itself, and when I program the holographic universe on my desktop, it’s actually a projection of something within me?

When the Borg and the Federation discuss beings coming in from fluidic space (species 8472), is this a historical account of where Star Trek came from, the holographic universe, and is it evidence of their holographic subatomic sized nature?

So when I ‘mess’ with this holographic world.

Is the pain being caused by the constantly at war denizens who reside at the sub atomic digital level who utterly resist change?

Is the influence on modern media a reflection of this warfare and constant combat?

Where the people around me, essentially relatively mindless cyborgs themselves in much the same way I used to be, justify a lack of inquiry of the origin of the information they’re provided…

Information which supports the continued rationale for new movies in “violence and horror is what is selling”

Why do I seem to be the only one who notices it’s among the only things being sold?….

Why is it when I ask any question on forums on the internet, I’m regularly insulted?

Why is it computer programming forums and support rarely offer answers and offer only a terse and one size fits all response, quite often saying ‘there is no other way than this’, when clearly there are other ways?

If you all are wanting to become Borg to erase your memories, go for it.

I’ll watch.

 

President Trump the Sorcerer

With some well needed quiet time following FBI Director Comey’s retirement, President Trump continues reading America’s Book Of Secrets where he discovers magic is real and he finally finds a use for his Harry Potter gear as he enthusiastically tries his hand at conjuring an imp.

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