Adventure Rocket Ship

(It's a cycling joke)

The proximity of a post-Opening-Ceremony tweet from the estimable Ms chiller and reading of this fine book in the Guardian made it mostly obvious that the best reason most right-wingers and all authoritarians have for hating and fearing psychedelics is that they're the cure for their branch of madness, and if there were any sort of herd immunity to the hate-fuelled rubbish they peddle their memetic power base would expire quick-smart.

See also the splendidly bonkers rant in the Fail (to which I will not link) in re. how dare a bunch of fifth columnists use the NHS for propaganda purposes, etc.

In fact I believe the entire opening-ceremony was a £27m troll and hurrah for that.

Sometimes I despair at myself. I forced myself to watch more telly today than I usually do in a week, and I've been wound up like a clock, neck completely hosed and just generally feeling like I'm about to fall asleep and explode at the same time.

Go for a walk and it's all happy again. Duh. Looks like it's the pushbike to work next week.

I've also managed to lose my copy of Robert McKee's 'Story'. Buggeration. On the other hand, I found the Kate Bornstein.

There were other things, but I've forgotten what they were. Bum.

(Spam vaguely useful for something shocker)

Standards are clearly slipping. I was in the same room as quercus, we each had a sockpuppet, and yet no mention was made of the Usenet. (There was a reason mine had the visage of a boggle-eyed loon) For a laugh, I sent a picture of it to a complete stranger. I'll lay the blame at the knees of this 'having a life' business. And rightly so. Tolly Cobbold? Not 'arf!

Scientific proof for the popularity of LJ drama discovered. (Via asw909) 'Dear Christ' is the first phrase that springs to mind, since I have developed an unsurprising antipathy towards those who might feel the need to use terms like 'certain people' or 'person A'. Still, if I don't like it, I certainly don't have to waste good blood pressure on reading it. I have a watch for that. Sprightly conversion in Pontefract. No blame.

Dear Christ (2). As near as I can make out, some mouth-breathing wiki-fiddler gets a monk on with some other fellow who can write reasonably well, digs up the fact that other fellow sometimes punts out horror fiction on his LJ, so grasses other fellow up to the Florida Uni polis. What the fuck? A poor result for the baps this evening. Grease my pram with a donkey, you young scallywag. No, I went on my own.

A quick squint round the latest big-media feeding frenzy reveals a 'powered by Oracle' button. All a bit web 1.0 and therefore doomed. It's somewhat beyond me why anyone would move social sites. I mean, there's usually a financial reason why someone would move away from an existing mob of friends to set up camp in some new town. I guess that for some people, either their 'friends network' aren't friends (so, ah, why?) or they're the types who manage to collect enemies at a disturbingly exponential rate. (Here I should probably be listening to 'Songs about fucking' but instead it's Pan Sonic, who are weirdly like sections of very early Kraftwerk and an uprising deep within the Krell machinery. And a starship with a knackered main drive. Very excellent indeed.) Or (And?) they go somewhere else to reinvent themselves. Funny business. I'm Gerald and so's my car. Fishslice gentrified? Don't mind if I do.

Pause for a portion. You'll be lucky, you muppet. I'm staying here with the cool kids. It's the only language they understand.