In a post titled Unix has to catch up? , February 24, 1998, kgf@sentex.net wrote:
Oh, that's a good one...those M$ toadies have SUCH a good imagination. Lessee... Does NT have dynamically loadable kernel modules? Ooops, what's that I hear, a machine rebooting because a simple DLL was added to the system? :) "You have moved your cursor. You must reboot Windows NT to update your system. Reboot now?" At least the power supply industry has benefited from Microsoft's rise to power. Does NT have a networked windowing system? Oops, better wait until Gates 'invents' it first. Oh wait, won't NT 5 take us to this promised land? Boy what an innovation THAT will be!! Whoah!! Sign me up! Does NT have decent security? Well it's technically C2...if you rip out the network card and take off the keyboard and slap a big yellow biohazard sticker on the monitor to ward of any users and thoroughly scrub the keyboard with garlic...but don't forget to dance naked around an oak tree on the solstice or all security gets disabled. I'm pretty damn sure that Internet Exploder for UNIX is gonna get an extremely cold reception...I don't think that UNIX and Linux users are fooled by M$'s idiotic monopolistic shenanigans.
I'm sorry I didn't talk to you the other day. It's just hard for me to talk to a girl I like.
It's been a long time. I almost forgot how beautiful you are.
From Discourses of a Madman
First of all, truth, by definition, is not subjective. And, in my defense, because man is subjective, he cannot know truth. So, now that I have refuted that anything I say is absolutely true, allow me to continue.
If you ask me, "what is the meaning of life?" Then I will tell you plainly and confidently, "to reproduce." But if you ask me, "how do I attain happiness?" I will likewise say, "by serving others, by putting others' well-being above your own.
From The Rape of Shelly
She died last summer, and I couldn't do anything to prevent it. I loved her dearly. I loved her as if she was my first love. It was such innocent love, and it was love thus destined to never see fruition. It would grow and see the sun shine, and the rain would breathe life in its veins, but it would wilt and die, laughing at my folly, never having been fed by the food of the earth.
They say it is darkest before the dawn. But I am yet to see the light again, and it haunts me to imagine what it would be like to see her again, that corpse that remains of her being. No, the fates would not be so unkind. They could not be so unkind.
From A Passing Fancy
"An idiot with money is still an idiot, but an idiot who gets respect."
It was a time of great change. It was a trial by fire. The human body was pushed beyond its limitations. Alas, this can only have been done with a dying man. And I died, many, many times, in her arms.
It was at this time that she would enter my world, and change it forever. She would teach me love, but not how to love. I would learn to love her without knowing her. And she would learn to hate me, without knowing me.
From Critique of Christ College
This form of learning only enhances man's tendency towards prejudice - we are asked to learn from each other, none more educated than the other, and, for the most part, sharing the same prejudices as is necessitated by geography. There is imposition of ideas, but not as much as one could hope. Where is there learning without an imposition of ideas? There is none, and here there is very little learning. I can only be silent, knowing that I know nothing, and that discussing such matters so recklessly is blasphemy against the greatest scholars of our time. Who am I to interpret this or that? I have no qualifications, except that of what is called high school education, a most questionable "education." No, my ideas are far less credible than my contemporaries, and I do not wish to make a fool of myself by questioning/discussing the ideas of someone who is clearly the greater scholar. I am the lesser critic, for what do I have to offer but this so called education? Give me the education the greater scholars received, and I will freely discuss Shakespeare, Homer, or Mencius, but otherwise I have no right. And I am presently nine years before I have the right. Yet I am forced to do so, almost at gunpoint - a demand most unreasonable. "To think for myself" - what is that? If I do then what has changed? We must admit that change is necessitated by learning, must we not (if not, why do we do it?)? If I think for myself, how can I possibly go past the limitations of human thought thus before imposed on me? Yes, to think for myself is to simply to clarify for myself the prejudices I do have, whether they are warranted or not, whether they are related to truth or not, but that is another matter. At least give me different prejudices, then perhaps I can say that I have learned something.
From The Loss of Innocence
The cold solitary within, the company of the ghosts of night without, moves me.
From No Fear
I no longer fear death by water. It is only a death by sorrow which I am afraid of, a death after a life of tragedy. Tell me, who was it that feared that he would, at the point of his death, come to the realization that he had not lived?
I have that fear, but I am his lesser. My mission is simple, yet most unnatural. It is, to serve, to affect others' lives, to somehow move the hearts of men. Yet in this endeavor that I have devoted my life to for some reason, I am afraid to fail, because I know, it is the most unnatural thing to care for someone else besides yourself.
From Of Quite Moments
I can only think of her. To think of anything else is unthinkable, impossible. I am not as strong as I used to be. I did experience a death by water but not when I expected it. No, that is actually most true. There is only one thing I fear, and that is death. Society no longer has its bounds on me, only death does. And it is my death I inevitably face if I fail. Such great expectations and arrogance will yield to such punishment. I have brought it upon myself. So "what great things are we yet to do?" Nothing, the answer is nothing, for our lives were rooted in the dust, and to dust they shall return.
The phone rings and I care not. It is the most annoying noise. Everything is the most annoying noise, as impossible as that is. My senses are dulled. I see no sympathy around me - just each looking out for himself. What is this altruism that I so much admire? If you cannot see it, even in your mind's eye now, then does it even exist? I must believe so. I must.
I can only fear what I do not know. I can only want what I do not have. I can believe only what I know so far as to be at least not false. Such is the nature of my life. The illusionist walks me along the path. I can see far ahead, then he says, "So you think you can see far ahead, but we will see otherwise." And like a useless teacher he only offers his advice when it is too late. What useless advice it is indeed.
From A Recollection
"A chance in hell is still a chance after all."
His funeral was uneventful. That is, at least, what the papers said. Meletus wouldn't have wanted any part of it.
His mother and father argued over whose fault it was that Meletus died. His brothers fought over his inheritance. And his wife wept.
I was his friend. We had known each other from childhood. But why he decided to leave the letters to me I cannot begin to fathom. As tradition would have it, his wife would be left with control of his property after his passing. But as they had not yet been joined, Meletus' will was, essentially, still in effect. And I am left with the letters. It was peculiar to me how this was the only thing specified in his will. Did he want his brothers to fight over his wealth? Did he really not love Cassie? She was his parents' choice, after all. But I know he loved her. Why would he leave her with nothing?
Nevertheless, I broke the seal. What skeletons took refuge in thy closet, old friend?
From The Zoo
You don't know how it's like to be taken away from the only place you've called home, Do you? I do. Each moment you pray to God that's just one bad dream... that you'll wake up and everything will be fine. But it's not a dream, it's a nightmare. And every moment you spend in that state of mind, every breath you take, is like one in hell. There is no escape, only prayer that you'll wake up at once. But you never do. You never do.
From Pulse18
What is this rage that burns within my heart? That longs for peace yet thirsts for blood? That rises up within me, screaming, making me raise my voice, And the torture within my mind cries out louder and louder: Rage, rage, for love, for hate, for you, shall wait, no more.
From All Things Past
"Slay the dreamer, eh Mr. ...?"
These are the streets where my child once walked. I can imagine how it must have seemed to him, this little town of ours. Yet now after his passing do I realize how small our world really is, and yet so overwhelming.
The corner store was the center of our town. Poorly built from stray planks and nails, it was nevertheless of the better of the city. This is where I sent him, so young, to get our pop. He would come scurrying home, with a bottle on each side, hardly able to stand much less walk. I remember the excitement in his eyes. I knew he looked forward to this each week. It was the only thing he could look forward to.
This was the only day that the store would have patrons before past evening. I did not know why it was open at any other times. There would only me stragglers and bums and little kids who managed to find enough to buy some candy. The housewives and maids would also come once their work was done, but this seldom happened.
From Grass and People
"The difference between grass and people is that grass always grows."
In his bed, strewn out, both mind and body, strewn out. "What?," he asked himself. He could not but wonder how he got there. "But no matter," he says to himself, "there is something I need to do."
He tries, and tries to get up. He thinks I must be more tired than I thought. Let me rest for a while longer. And he does, and once again enters into that void, that death, called sleep.
He rises to find the light fighting through the shades. His reflection in the mirror but a poor distorted image of what he calls himself. Come, there is something to do. At least, let's eat. Once again, he tries, tries to get up, motivated by the groveling of his stomach. He can't.
Through the mirror he sees the reflection of the grass outside, growing.
From Ideas
"I spoke but no one heard me. I cried out until I could not hear my own voice."
For more than ten years I ceased to be human. But then I was reborn, and though I was malformed and terrible to look at, I was human again. A resolve has been made, that my life should end prematurely, before my humanity is taken away again from me.
From Longing
There is something inside me reaching out, for anything that has to do with you. There is something longing for the familiarity that comes from knowing you. I call the feeling frustrating, something in my head asking for a little peace. The sight of you would only amplify it, making it intolerable for me, leaving me for hours without peace, calm, or anything unlike a tumultuous storm. But I would consider that better than what I feel now. I do not even remember your face, or your voice. And your movements only a faint memory remains, obscured and lonely in the recesses of my mind. With each beat of my heart the thought of you torchers me, making me wonder what it is you are doing now. Even if you do not know, you are doing something to me. The thought of you teases me, making me feel helpless to do anything about the raging sea within. But at last I must meet the shore. At least that is my hope. But that is hours from now.
From Coding HTML
What was that?!
The shadows danced against the wall, the dark serenity of night disturbed only by the flickering flame. The spectre...
| Poetry in Motion |
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The unborn poet... still... he persists.
The year of freedom ends, only to give birth, To the year of decision. One life hangs in the balance, Self-deluded, the dreamer yet dreams, The nightmare, that he cannot escape, The gyres torture him from afar, The waves fail to ebb, only now, But they will go out once again, To sea, with my hopes and dreams, Rambling on, like a lunatic in Year's Eve. |
| Song of Sorrow |
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All I know is that I love you
All I know is that I care Can't you just understand that Because I don't what else to say When I close my eyes all I see is you Please tell me why, please tell me why. It's a living nightmare Knowing that I am without you Tell me whose arms are you in now? Tell me how it feels, Is it like it was before? When you and I were together? |
| Upon Looking at the Sky |
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A whisper in my ear, nothing more,
Nothing more that I could hear, How marvelous the sight, So known to me once before. Was so distant, and is, Yet now so close... Alas, the vision passes, The return to nature, To my youth, the journey, Ceases before it starts. Yet a glimpse, of paradise, Worth more, Than all the riches in the world. |
| As Seen on the Net |
| Random pick up lines |
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