The corporation now animates us from within our very selves …

Within our very selves.

Sadder. truer words. Damn it. Joe Bageant tells you just how and why you are Only A Pawn In Their Game. Should you like to know. Read the rest of this entry »

Miss Tara: “I definitely watch many people around me run away from themselves constantly, justifying it with ‘business’ and replacing deeper connections with internet ‘friends’. I’m pretty guilty of it myself, although I’ve made a special effort lately to, as one person put it, “Stop all that fucking Twittering and get your ass into therapy.”

And did you? I think we know the answer to the first. Good lord, girl. Must you be so damn spurned … online?

Where is our dignity, after all. As women.

Not to worry. You’re not the first woman to learn the virtue (and strength) of true humility via the tacky road of self-humiliation.

I’d say more, but there might be a Man reading …

So … do carry on with that second part. You know my motto: the kid comes first.

signed, 

For R.   (you dead yet, honey?)

My Dear Ms. Sessum,

Will you quit blogging such nice things about me …

How much easier to give than to forkin’ receive …

Most people never get out from under the rainshadow of their parents’ gaze …

It’s hard turf, hard to chart, hard to navigate. No maps. Lots of dark matter. A black hole or two, to marry.

Fate would bring a sweet soul into my life …

That awful noise you hear is some rusted hinge inside. Damned Fate, prying it open again.

Yours Truly,
Zo

And she seems like such a nice person:

“To you and me, Shelly, a link is just a link. To a guy, however, a link is something special, a part of himself. The most, um, important part of himself.”

“Mags, are you telling me that guys equate links with their dicks?”

“Shelley, to a woman, a link is a way of connecting and being connected. To hearing and being heard. But not so for a guy. Guys see links as power, and therefore something precious, and to be protected. They hold on to their links as tightly, and as lovingly, as a thirsty drunk holds onto a bottle.”

At that moment I had a mental image, of a male weblogger I know, carefully adding a link to his post, bright, feral grin on his face, manic glaze to his eyes. But instead of typing into a keyboard he was . . . oh, that’s disgusting!

Never mind that it’s funny. Which I suspect is far more a blow to the ego than the, um, link thing.

Dicks are nothing to laugh at.

She stopped wiping the counter and leaned closer to me, lowering her voice. “The power-link guys have a word for men who link just to link,” she whispered. “They call them linkless.”

The more I thought on Mags’ words, though, the more I could see the truth in them. Much that has confused me about this environment is explained if one considers for a moment that some men think of links as some form of virtual penis.

Sites such as Technorati become the internet version of a locker room, where the guys can hang around, comparing themselves to each other. Those that come up short look at their better endowed brothers with both envy and admiration; sucking up in order to increase their own stature.

When we women ask the power-linkers why they don’t link to us more, what we’re talking about is communication, and wanting a fair shot of being heard; but what the guys hear is a woman asking for a little link love. Hey lady, do you have what it takes? More important, are you willing to give what it takes?

Oops. Not funny anymore. I mean, Shelley is, her writing is . . . but in truth, my case of heartsick is permanent. Not for myself, but for all whom I hold dear.

More truth? Okay: I just can’t get it through my head there is a gender comfortable with, even finding preferable, the exchange of money for sex.

Talk about aloneness. Who will be my boon companion?

If I am a woman, whom, then shall I love?

I make it a strict policy not to argue with fools. They only drag you down to their level and then overwhelm you with their greater experience.

My god, I think this woman just described the central tragedy of my life!

My life is not better without him. Got it? There is no way to philosophize this loss. Ten years. There hasn’t been one minute particularly improved by his absence. He was, probably still is, the most brilliant writer I’ve ever read. Brilliant on the surface of his lines and brilliant from way down deep, the way a light might shine up from the bottom of the sea. Luminous. You’ll never read him now. His letter said he’s been putting his poems in a drawer. It’s simply that I miss him, and I would be insane not to. So I am listening to Kiko—in bits and pieces—for the first time since nineteen ninety-five. Except for the time Angel Face came on, in a shop in San Anselmo, and I had to leave, or faint or throw up. Because love is loss, because life doesn’t offer you replacement parts. What it offers are unromantic things, like the songs you loved each other by, are going to make you puke. Hence best avoided. I plan on avoiding them forever—easily done. One by one, I’ve let back into my life the music that meant something to me. Los Lobos, sad to say, I can nicely live without—and there it is, the two-part move: Simply Accept. Read the rest of this entry »

We explore the entanglement of the vacuum of a relativistic field by letting a pair of causally disconnected probes interact with the field.

We find that, even when the probes are initially non-entangled, they can wind up to a final entangled state.

Tell me about it.

This shows that entanglement persists between disconnected regions in the vacuum.

However the probe entanglement, unlike correlations, vanishes once the regions become sufficiently separated.

Nothing to add, here. Move along.

Take this with you: Is everything love?

{ fin }