[5106] in Central_America
New quotes for Fri Oct 1
daemon@ATHENA.MIT.EDU (Central America)
Fri Oct 1 11:12:37 1993
Date: Fri, 1 Oct 93 11:10:47 -0400
From: Central America <root@charon.MIT.EDU>
To: ca-mtg@charon.MIT.EDU
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belville (Sharon Belville):
The pun o' the day is:
alarms: What an octopus is.
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calzone (~~~~~~~~):
Without identity, there is no life.
Molecules move in ways that strive for equilibrium;
somehow, some molecules, in their transition toward eqilibrium,
have given rise to a strange thing we call identity.
As a result, we define ourselves as being seperate[distinct]
from objects that have no identity (we call this life).
Plants share many common traits with us although
they have no identity that I know of...
but since we see them operating in a similar fashion,
we deem them to be alive as well.
"Death" merely is the achievement of equilibrium on the conscious level.
The molecules which gave us identity through change have passed on to
molecules seeking a different stability having no identity
or communincation (as identity defines it... because in the big picture,
all these atoms are interacting ina semi-fluid fashion)
with those having identity.
There is no significance to life and it holds little distinction to death
Despite this lack of significance and distinction... (er, because of it)
It is correct to say there is no such thing as death
and life, though existant, is an illusion.
...............................
Froogle in the garden
fuggle in the shade
Google is a warden
Yes that is his trade
"Ah lak to eet zees mashgrouums
Ahm find'n een zee ghhround
They ahrg zo lohvlee an tastee
Zees mashgrouums Ah haf ound"
Thus spake Google to the fungus
Called froogle that he found
And spent the day in a fuggle
Lying on the ground
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hch (Hernando Cortina):
NANCY!! Why is everything RED?!
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joshg (Joshua Gagliardi):
acquire a clue as soon as possible. any leads appreciated.
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lavin (Anne R LaVin):
Yet another sign of the strange way my mind works:
Did you ever notice that the manhole ("personnel access hole" for you
PC-minded folks out there) covers to the MIT steam tunnels say "MIT
STEAM" on them?
Think about this.
That means that sometime, somewhere, some manhole manufacturing
company (the existence of which is a bit boggling, in itself) had to
gear up to make those covers. Now, the things are probably cast, so
it just meant they had to make a mold, or maybe they used sand
casting. But, it's probably a pain to do, either way, and so I'll bet
MIT bought a whole bunch of them at once.
Do you suppose, then, that there's a room with a large stack of spare
manhole covers sitting around?
:)
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rjbarbal (Richard J. Barbalace):
Schedule for Friday, 1 October, 1993:
00:00 - 13:00: Tool, sleep, tool, sleep, tool, sleep, ....
13:00 - 14:00: Fail 18.03 exam in Walker
14:00 - 15:00: Fail 18.02 exam in Walker
15:00 - 15:02: Primal Scream
15:02 - 15:30: Cry
15:30 - 17:00: Sightscreaching Lab in 2-190
17:00 - 23:59: Collapse and sleep
For an incomplete glimpse of my schedule, take a look at
~/PostScript/scheduler.ps or my .tc file (using xcal from
the calendar locker).
I'm currently living at:
26 Fairmont Avenue
Cambridge, MA 02139
(617) 497-2189
Sigh, no one ever calls me....
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You know I'd sooner forget but I remember those nights
When life was just a bet on a race between the lights.
You had your head on my shoulder, you had your hand in my hair,
Now you act a little colder like you don't seem to care...
But believe in me baby and I'll take you away
From out of this darkness and into the day,
From these rivers of headlights, these rivers of rain,
From the anger that lives on the streets with these names
'Cause I've run every red light on memory lane.
I've seen desperation explode into flames
and I don't wanna see it again...
- "Telegraph Road", Dire Straits
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When to the sessions of sweet silent thought
I summon up remembrance of things past,
I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought
And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste.
Then can I drown an eye (unus'd to flow)
For precious friends hid in death's dateless night,
And weep afresh love's long since cancell'd woe,
And moan th' expense of many a vanish'd sight.
Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,
And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er
The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan,
Which I new pay as if not paid before.
But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,
All losses are restor'd and sorrows end.
- Sonnet XXX, Shakespeare
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therese (Therese):
Why are these women here dancing on their own?
Why is there this sadness in their eyes?
Why are the soldiers here
Their faces fixed like stone?
I can't see what it is that they despise
They're dancing with the missing
They're dancing with the dead
They dance with the invisible ones
Their anguish is unsaid
They're dancing with their fathers
They're dancing with their sons
They're dancing with their husbands
They dance alone. They dance alone.
-Sting
--- End of Central America ---
