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THE POET AS SCIENTIST

THE POET AS SCIENTIST, THE POET AS SCIENTIST

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The Geek's Raven
[An excerpt, with thanks to Marcus Bales]

Once upon a midnight dreary,
fingers cramped and vision bleary,
System manuals piled high and wasted paper on the floor,
Longing for the warmth of bedsheets,
Still I sat there, doing spreadsheets:
Having reached the bottom line,
I took a floppy from the drawer.
Typing with a steady hand, I then invoked the SAVE command
But got instead a reprimand: it read "Abort, Retry, Ignore".

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Form input - by Günter Born

Tuesday, August 28, 2007

I love the smell of tar and feathers in the morning. I remember one time they spent a whole month indicting them, put them all in prison, the lot of them. The Congress was in session night and day, they put away the whole executive, the President, Vice-President, Attorney-General, Secretary of State, all their aides, all their consultants.

I looked at the internet. Not one word about "terrorism" or "supporting the troops" or "executive privilege" or "classified for national security reasons" or "family values" or "sex crime" or "pedophiles". It was like the neocons had disappeared from the planet.

It's that smell. That tar and feathers smell. Hot tar and feathers roasting neocon flesh. It's like the smell of -- "Justice".

Some day this war's going to be over.

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