Cold Porter

looking for founds?

X ray

the getty

Plaster cramp Press

Seth Tisue

Bern Porter

Kenneth Patchen


Allegretto ma non troppo!
Decrescendo e crescendo
con voce cupa! Slentando!

Prospector spume fell on a maggot as plaster
from a heron and a dismembered heron plastered
a cow whose volume is blue and whose texture is
white.  Margarine is a happy perfume all round the
molasses the molasses of perfume the ogre places
maize in balloons of a gorge.  A corpse and a
proto-corpse remember a perfume, and perfume
of molasses.  The green checker coughs and coughs
on the purple slime, which makes a watcher in the
pitchfork within a vandal.

Oliver: 1, Jeff: 0

Interesting exchange of posts and comments between Jeff – the Republican in Dem clothing – Jarvis and Oliver – the hope for today’s left – Willis.  Willis scores all the points, but by internally linking his own posts roughly 250 times, Jarvis gains more Technorati and Google juice. 

Supporting W.

Thanx to CBV —

A lobbyist, on his way home from work in Washington, D.C., came to a dead halt in traffic and thought to himself that the traffic seemed worse than usual.

He noticed a police officer walking
between the lines of stopped cars, so he rolled down his window and
asked, "Officer, what’s the hold-up?"

The officer
replied, "The President is depressed, so he stopped his motorcade and is
threatening to douse himself with gasoline and set himself on fire. He
says no one believes his stories about why we went to war in Iraq, or
the worsening deficit and economy, or that his tax cuts won’t help
anyone except his wealthy friends. So we’re taking up a collection for

The lobbyist asks, "How much have you got so far?"

The officer replied, "About four gallons, but a lot of folks
are still siphoning."

Now autumn has come…

"Now autumn has come to the forest of knowledge, thanks to the digital
revolution. We are discovering that traditional knowledge hierarchies
that have served us so well are unnecessarily restricted when it comes
to organizing information in the digital world. Without trees, how will
we organize college curricula, business org charts, the local library,
and the order of species? How will we organize knowledge itself?"

Score a copy of Esther Dyson’s Release 1.0 to read David Weinberger’s taxonomy-to-tags piece.

Passing it on…

Harry on headmap…among other things, it’s a "semantic web application for mapping human space."

Stephen Downes on the relation between blogging and community….

Continue reading


When a year or so ago, unbidden, the young woman at the movie theater gave Beth and me the fogey-discount on our tickets I knew I had crossed a threshold.  It’s been more than a few years since that unwelcome AARP material first started showing up in the mailbox, but that was easy to dismiss as mere chronosynclastic infidibula, or whatever.

And now I discover that famous techie and world changer Taran Rampersad‘s mother is younger than me.  And she’s a fine writer.  Here’s her blog.  These blogs are leveling things.  Nobody staring out of the monitor making conscious choices to dis- me with a senior discount.  I think I’ll stay indoors.


Looking for links on Vonnegut’s chronosynclastic infidibulum, I discover that almost everything googlable was originated by Rageboy.  No surprise, I guess, but you’d think that there would be something more directly referencing the author himself.

Three years ago, moving backwards in some 11 dimensional heart-string theoretical helical path, three years ago when madness was before him and I was Smoky’s age, Locke’s EGR letter titled Complex Adaptive Hebephrenia provided this capsule review of Kubrick’s 2024:

A bunch of monkeys kill a bunch of other monkeys after a singing slab of black basalt appears in their watering hole. Next thing you know, we’ve got space stations at LaGrange points, cosmic telephones and liquid carrots in a box. You eat them with a straw. People apparently like doing this, or perhaps they have simply become so dull through inbreeding that they no longer care. Kubrick doesn’t tell us. Also, there’s another, larger, black basalt thing on the moon now. Holy shit, it’s LOUD when it goes off! Let’s take a ride, someone says, so it’s off to Jupiter. However, before arriving, the highly intelligent but deeply boring supercomputer who has been designed by IBM to maintain the temperature at a comfortable 68 degrees Fahrenheit, goes berserk after a fit of lip reading and kills everyone aboard except for Dave Bowman, an engineer. The computer then sings Daisy, Daisy, and dies. At this point, the original script called for a detailed explanation of what a compiler actually does, but focus-group screenings convinced Kubrick that no one would get it. Instead, he has Bowman shot through a chronosynclastic infidibulum [emphasis added -fp-]into an ornate Victorian bedroom, where he ages quickly and dies. Then a giant fetus appears in the sky. Far out! The credits roll to Karen Carpenter singing We’ve Only Just Begun.