In June 2013, immediately on the heels of the uprising in Turkey, Brazil erupted in nationwide turmoil. Beginning with protests against a public transit fare increase, this upheaval brought hundreds of thousands to the streets in open fighting with the police. The fare increase was soundly defeated, in one of the few victories of the past several years of global revolts. But the movement was a victim of its own success, as middle-class nationalists and pacifists joined in, clashing with other protesters and muddying the issues.
Although anarchists played a decisive role in these events, very little material about the upheaval has appeared in English from Brazilian anarchists. To correct this, we have solicited our comrades’ perspectives from inside the riots. This is the first of two collectively authored texts analyzing the conditions that produced the uprising and the lessons we can draw from it. We will publish the second shortly.
The drugs make you confused. The nurses make you dependant. The building makes you ill. Everything works to make you the proper denizen of the madhouse. Sometimes, James Scudamore’s Wreaking is a little too exhaustive and could be subtitled, “Everything I Know About UK Mental Institutions Since The Victorian Age”. But it’s undeniably well-written, funny, a complex metaphor for the condition of the NHS, and full of good stuff. This, for instance:
Metaphysical Speculation, I think everyone here can own up to that.
Monster Tea Party, Abigail Larson
Legalized weed is putting California’s drug dealers out of business, as well as its hippies.
I’ve been a sleepwalker for as long as anyone in my family can remember.
I talk in my sleep, sometimes at length, and usually in a sort of slow-motion narrative or series of questions posited to a sleepy bed-mate who’d almost certainly rather not be up, answering stupid questions, at three in the morning.
My old window unit air conditioner used to make a little buzzing sound, so subtle you’d almost miss it, but in my sleep, I’d hear it and get up, get out my toolbox, clear a space, and carefully dismantle the unit, laying out the pieces one by one as I dug down into the guts of the machine.
"Joe, come back to bed."
"I need to get this opened up. There’s another bird caught in the air conditioner."
"There’s not another bird in the air conditioner, Joe."
"Yeah, there is. Don’t you hear it? I don’t want it to get hurt."
"I think I heard it fly back out again. Come back to bed."
"Are you sure?"
"That’s good. I don’t want that bird to get hurt."
That air conditioner finally wore out after twenty years of interrupted service. By the end, it was all held together with duct tape and drywall screws, where the original parts had fallen apart from being unscrewed and screwed back in. The new one is nice, and does not have a bird in it, as far as I can tell. I’ve left this one alone for two years now.
I spent years, in the nineties, back when I had my last ongoing serious relationship, waking up, shaking my partner awake, and telling him my pet ground squirrel, Alice, was in bed with us, running around in the bed linens, and that I had to get her out so we wouldn’t roll over and crush her. He’d sigh and follow the drill, climbing out of bed with a pillow, to watch me while I meticulously unfurled each sheet and blanket, shaking them out and smoothing them over with my hands. At some time in this process, Alice would always look over, sitting in her tank, and would then start running on her wheel, which made a long, whining squeak that never failed to alert me to her true status.
"Alice isn’t even in the bed. She’s in her cage."
"Yes, Joe, I know."
"Was she in there all along?"
"Yes, Joe. She is always in there.”
"Really? That’s a hell of a thing. Well, at least the bed’s all tidy now."
"Get back in bed, please."
Most of what happens is sort of standard obsessive-compulsive cleaning, tidying, and preparation, but sometimes, I get up and assemble things into strange tableaus—spice jars in circles and little pyramids in the kitchen, the shower curtain folded into inexplicable origami. Sometimes, I leave myself useful signs and symbols. Mostly, I am the ghost haunting my own house.
I’ve been lucky, I guess, in that the Sleeper is benign and helpful, albeit in odd ways. Back in college, I’d get stressed out over tests, studying until the wee hours and keeling over, surrounded by books and papers, sideways on the bed, and then I’d wake up to find that I’d tidied up, packed my knapsack for the morning, showered, shaved, and dressed. As satisfying as the time savings were back then, I could not help but feel somewhat alarmed that I could stand in a shower and not wake myself up.
You wonder, I suppose, about what could happen. It’s like the fear I used to have about going on school field trips to Washington, D.C., where we’d all get off the bus and pile onto the Metro. I’d stand there at the platform, looking down at the third rail, and worry that I’d get some wild, uncontrollable impulse, just as the train was coming in, and jump onto the tracks. I’ve since learned that that’s a pretty common fear, and has a name, which escapes me at the moment, but you wonder about those things, about if you have the capacity of doing something sudden and destructive for no obvious reason.
I think, in a way, I’m lucky in that my Sleeper has had a patient series of trainers, from my family to my two ex-partners, all of whom, once over the obnoxious novelty of finding me wandering around at night, managed to respond in ways that cultivated more self-regulation and introspection. It’s all conjecture, of course—I barely know the guy, even though he’s bathed me and made me breakfast and made sure all my squirrels and birds are okay—but I suspect we have a good working relationship. If the Sleeper represents some sort of inner aspiration or ambition, I have to be glad that my secret desire is to have OCD and take care of animals and spice jars and not go on a bloodcurdling hacking spree or something worse.
The doubt, though, is why I so often follow the old gay seventies motto—in bed by midnight, home by two. It’s just easier than explaining to some strange person, or to someone I’d dated a time or two, exactly why I’m taking their air conditioner apart in the middle of the night.
"Did you hear a bird in there?"
"Holy shit! GET OUT!"
A woods can be managed to maximize recreation potential, or increase wildlife for hunting, or maximize timber. This guidebook assumes you’d like to optimize your woodlot’s timber potential in a sustainable fashion. Small-time woodlots with selective harvesting are a lot of work yielding little money, but with applied intelligence they can produce wonderfully rich and productive forests. This detailed manual will teach you intelligent woodlot management. What the author learned over 35 years is that you the forester should do as little as possible — just enough to encourage the woods to do as much as possible.
Common Sense Forestry
Hans W. Morsbach
2002, 240 pages
Available from Amazon
Here are eight steps for planting a seedling with a spud.
A typical oak seedling before trimming. Its roots are too long for spud planting.
Some time ago, I surmised that I could establish an exciting mixed-species forest simply by planting as many seedlings of different varieties as I could fit in a given plot of land. As the stand matured, I could decide which trees to keep and which to cull, creating the mixture of trees I wanted. The stand would form an early canopy and the trees would side shade each other, meaning I’d never have to prune. Natural selection would favor the best trees to survive. They would become perfectly shaped veneer logs with little lateral branching. …By any reasonable standard of investment analysis, planting in this fashion is fiscal insanity. Yet this experimental plot promises to develop into a wonderful forest better than any other scheme I’ve witnessed for planting seedlings. It will require virtually no maintenance beyond thinning, which means it will flourish even if I do nothing.
A site I had prepared for walnuts suddenly was inundated by giant ragweed, which grew to twelve feet in a couple of weeks, totally smothering all my seeded walnuts and oaks. Elsewhere I disced ash seeds between the rows of a walnut plantation. The ashes never appeared, but an influx of Queen Anne’s lace dominated the ground. Along a hedgerow of cedars I planted years ago, little cedars germinate in one particular spot and nowhere else. There must be something special about this spot (a “site-specific” condition, as ecologists and foresters say when they can’t explain such a peculiarity). Similarly, on property I own miles away from my main farm, I see new white spruces popping up next to their parents, while I seem to be incapable of making them germinate on my farm. The pH is not low enough at my farm, and conifers prefer acid soil.
I have never seen or heard of a seedling that resulted in too many trees. Experts suggest that about fifteen thousand seedlings an acre is a good number, which means about three seedlings per square foot. I suggest that you plant whatever seeds you have.
After having planted two fields next to a forest where squirrels stole every single nut in two successive years, I decided that I can live without walnut trees.
Taping a fork as shown will strengthen the branches. Later, you can remove one branch and the other will become the new leader.
You should also remember a suggestion I made earlier: Always cut the most inferior tree before cutting your best. You should upgrade your forest so as to maintain large, well-formed trees for future harvests. I urge you to be personally involved in deciding which trees are to be cut.
Mark your harvest trees carefully. Most commonly trees to be harvested are marked with a paint gun by you or a forester. It is best to mark two spots on the tree: one at eye level to be seen by the logger and a second spot at the base to assure that only designated trees are harvested.
An environmentally friendly method of getting logs to the logging roads is a system of winches and cables. Extracting logs by suspending them from cables does less damage to the forest than the use of heavy equipment. German foresters don’t allow skitters to move about in the woods, so all logs are dragged by cable to a logging road.
The color mixing begins. #practice #color #painting #watercolor #art
For New York based artist, David Lee, what began as a series of straightforward anatomical illustrations transcended into a deeper view of the human experience and what it means to live outside of the body.
I originally planned my series to be a more scientific view of humans, organized and divided into sterile diagrams. As I painted, I couldn’t help but to continue thinking about humans and their place in the universe, and as my perspective changed so did my work…as I believed that the human spirit transcended the physicality of the body, my work took on a more whimsical feeling. What stayed was the anatomical element as in both cases, the exposure of the inner human body became a symbol for honesty.
This was originally written in November of 2012, but I for some reason never published it.
There seems to be a growing trend in that reading Hacker News or Reddit is a waste of time. But, even those who agree with that statement, seem to also agree that reading blogs is quite valuable. Some will utilize their social media connections to filter, and others still will just read posts from people who they know, or otherwise respect.
How will one discover new blogs and new people to respect? I see two ways but only one is interesting to think about1.
Option 0: Code is written by people. If we discover the code (in some other way) and respect it, then we might respect the author enough to read his/her thoughts on technical things.
Option 1: Much more interesting is the Phil Zimmerman conceived "Web of Trust", which exists primarily to distribute and verify public keys in lieu of a certificate authority.
I regularly exchange emails with 3 other people regarding tech news, new algorithms, interesting CS papers, things about startups, etc. They're already in my web of trust, since I a) know them personally, b) respect their thoughts, ideas and opinions on things. I also trust that they won't waste my time with some frivolous article. So, I automatically read everything they write.2
By transitivity, I'm also likely to trust some portion of articles their web of trust writes and as a result, reading articles recommended by them, or engaging in discussion with their web of trust, is not unthinkable. I certainly don't have to trust them completely, that's the beauty of the web of trust model, but I can, if I wish, choose to trust a friend's friend because I trust the friend to not have untrustworthy friends.
Said another way, and in a more palatable way... If many people within 2 degrees of me trust a given blog, or a given author, it's very likely that I should give them a shot by reading something of theirs.
That just leaves one thing. What does an RSS/Atom aggregator look like in this model?3
We all love broken things. WAIT WHAT?! Yes, you read that correctly. You may have noticed this thing called "glitch", where people purposely push machines to...
From: PBS Idea Channel
|Time: 07:49||More in Education|
José Bruno Barbaroxa
The notoriously private author Harper Lee is now waging a public courtroom battle. Her lawsuit charges that in 2007 her agent, Samuel Pinkus, duped the frail 80-year-old Lee into assigning him the copyright to her only book, To Kill a Mockingbird—then diverted royalties from the beloved 1960 classic.
José Bruno Barbaroxa
HOLY SHIT IT’S LIKE WHEN I UNDERSTOOD MONADS ALL OVER AGAIN
Two economists put real prisoners through the prisoner’s dilemma. They appear to be above-average at it.
IDEA: rental ghosts to create “cold spots” in houses during heat waves.
I’m a morning person. Then, around noon, I turn into a horse.
spiders are just wee furry eight-leggedy things; think of them as two kittens taped together and you’ll be fine
– Friend of xJane’s seen via FB
Literally thousands of chameleons in your house right now and you don’t even know it.
PREQUEL: “Goddamned Mohicans Everywhere.”
did you know? goths have 50 different words for despair
a baby’s laughter is one of the most beautiful sounds you will ever hear, unless it’s 3 am and you’re home alone and you don’t have a baby.
You never hear about a new ghost. “Oh yeah, this place is haunted since Jeff died last Tuesday.”
the movie “se7en” but each murder is based on a different dwarf
SEX TIP: keep track of multiple orgasms in the voice of The Count from Sesame Street.
Next time people ask why sociology is important, I’m going to show them this video.
On its own, when you see one person slip, you automatically assume that person slipped, was clumsy or not playing attention. But when you look at the aggregate, you realize that the failure isn’t on the individual at all, rather the structures that cause certain people to fail with almost no fault of their own. And yet, without this data, they will very quickly ascribe the mistake to themselves.
It difficult to explain to someone that the reason they live their life the way they do because of the structures built to help them live that way. But imagine, instead of a stupid mislaid step, the faulty structure is a punitive late policy on a credit card, or a bank that has a minimum balance fee and very quickly the maintenance of the status-quo is laid bare.