Archive for the 'poetry' Category

The Story of Stuff

Every once in a while, I stumble upon a piece of information that is so important that I want the entire world to know about it. Here’s one: the Story of Stuff is an interactive video journey describing the production, consumption, and disposal of all of the consumer products that Americans have come to know and love.

The message that this web site promotes makes amazing sense: We’re living on a planet of finite resources, but we’re exploiting them as though we have an infinite supply of resources ahead of us. At some point, we’re going to run out, unless we fundamentally change the way we do things. A change this fundamental is going to require a shift in our world-view: Right now we’re stuck in a rut where we seem to be convinced that economic growth is the primary purpose of our culture. We’re really afraid of economic recession, which basically means that the economic growth we’re really used to is slowing down. Instead of freaking out about economic recession, we should be directing our efforts into transforming our economy into one that remains at the same level, rather than growing uncontrollably.

Our growth-oriented economy is ruining the environment and ruining the lives of working-class people who live in undeveloped nations. We don’t need plasma HD-TVs or Hummers or the newest MacBook or this year’s hottest fashions. Rather, we should learn to be satisfied with the wonderful things we already own.This valentines day, you should take some time out of your busy schedule and watch the Story of Stuff video. It’ll be worth your while, I promise.

Sometimes, I actually read my spam.

Spammers are good poets:

The pain of being born into matter.
I’ve drifted somewhat from the distant heart
Reshaping magnified, each risen flake
Is the moon to grow
With its lament, it often sounds, instead,
Escapees from the cold work of living,
What is there in the depths of these walls
One flash of eye, or blow one clarion-blast;
To run, as in the time of the bee, seeking
He terrifies the Vast, he seems so wild;
and the Splendid Splinter. For a few dreamy dollars,
Or by the loud hand of painting, always puts.
Unreadable from behind—they are well down
VII. Hudson and His Strait; Baffin and His Bay
They tear apart the mist, it is as though,
Pierced by the mist that fades away,
The face of a Quos ego),
They move against, or through, or by, or toward.
No name, no meaning. Oh my friends

My brother assumes that they use the old computer program Racter to come up with these poems.