What a coincidence!!! We were asking "do we want a dog, or don't we?" so we named our dog Dewey.

Is your dog able to organize all knowledge into ten main classes? And then with those ten main classes, further subdivide each into ten divisions, and each division into ten sections, giving ten main classes, 100 divisions and 1000 sections? Is his advantage in using decimals for his categories allow him to be both purely numerical and infinitely hierarchical? Can he also use some aspects of a faceted classification scheme, combining elements from different parts of the structure to construct a number representing the subject content (and often combine two subject elements with linking numbers and geographical and temporal elements) and form of an item rather than drawing upon a list containing each class and its meaning?


Or does just he just dig holes and hump legs and stuff?

I would give up garlic for him.

A scene from the upcoming movie: Die Hard: Finally Dead...

http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1266/...9658c6109a.jpg

I'm totally using this, just to let you know.

********

I am surrounded by noises of machinery that I do not understand. Beeps, Boops, Tings, and WHREEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeee. Sounds, sounds coming from places of unknown origin. Sounds that bleed into me. Sounds that bleed out of me. One room, many rooms, all the same room. Little rooms inside of big rooms. Noises coming from them all. Talk, Type, Talk, Laugh, Type. Noises from people near and far. CLICK, CLICK, CLICK. The noises touch me and leave me hollow. No feeling, no light, only fake light, only fake feelings. When two hands become one, my time has finished. Noises leave to sound again one other day. When two hands become one again.

I once had a dog. He was a kerry blue terrier. I'm thinking he might have been gay.

How sad that I didn't realize this when he was alive.

same shit - different thread.
go tfp.

Speaking of meat:
Back when I was a deer hunter for a ten year period...
most always, I made sure to take one clean head shot.
I hate meat wastage.

Oh, and the tenderloins are tastiest when eaten raw,
with a little salt-pepper-garlic.

Tartare!

crazy old hippies can be dull-ards, too.
go figure.

I had a dream about those 'Scrubbing Bubbles' last night.

Flashback.

I want you back. We'd all like you back. It's not a matter that we miss you, nor is it anything to the slant of we've forgotten you. The thing is, anyway, what it is, and to the point, in this old age, nostalia creeps up, takes hold, and we stumble, then again, recall, what made us be. Our reflection eternal. My fondest wish is that I can state it again, face to face, and through your eyes, the processes and events that await in everyone's recollections. (jst to let you know: this spur-of-the-moment idling was intended to be just a two-word, compound reply; but, then it morphed into a true-blue, five-word sentence, and ... well, the mind lept.)

I miss you.

http://i49.tinypic.com/esp6pz.jpg
(Peaceful Field) . . . "Teddy-girls", photography by Liz Ham, for OysterMag

Walking on water is easy, you just need to understand consciousness, and carry these quartz crystals with ya.
Release all the garmonbozia of your bloodline back into the sunlit moonbeams.
Finger bangin' I'm in Love.

I hear it. The beats, the music, the feel, the draw, the urge, the need. Move your body, shake your body, feel your body, need your body. What do I need? I what I feel? It rises. Rises inside me with a primeval urge only felt by lowered bodies. Need. Need. Need. Touch. Groan. Need. Want. Feel. Touch me, fuck me, hold me, dismiss me. I need you yet, I push you away. This, that, you, me, what is real? You. Me. Now. Later?

It's hard to be psychotic
when all the boundaries are blurry
because of all the voices.

dastardly...

Is that a pejorative? I think my pharmacist might know. I haven't seen him for weeks...

Well, that explains everything...