OUTRAS ENCAPELA-SE E COBRE-SE DE CRISTAS DE ESPUMA
NÃO É COM FREQUÊNCIA QUE SE MOSTRA AZUL E CALMO
MAS EM TAIS OCASIÕES, O AZUL CHEGA A SER ARROGANTE
dissabte, 31 de maig del 2014
TERRA DE LENDAS - BRITO CAMACHO - 1925 - LOURENÇO MARQUES DEZESEIS MIL HABITANTES (CINCO MIL BRANCOS) EM 1854 HAVIA UMA COMPANHIA COM TRINTA E QUATRO SOLDADOS, VINTE EM BOM ESTADO OS OUTROS ALEIJADOS OU HOMENS DE 60 A 70 ANOS. RÔTOS, DESCALÇOS, MAL ARMADOS - O GOVERNADOR DO PRESÍDIO QUE ERA ENTÃO TODA A CIDADE DE LOURENÇO MARQUES
NO GARCIA VOLTAM OS PRETOS DO RAND COM 8 OU 10£
UMA FORTUNA, QUE OS MONHÉS TRINTA E TANTOS E TREZ OU QUATRO EUROPEUS
APANHAM AOS PRETOS, VENDENDO-LHES VINHO, AGUARDENTE E LICÔRES
UMA PEÇA QUE GOSTAM MUITO É O COLETE, HAVENDO QUEM VESTE TREZ
E QUATRO, UNS POR CIMA DOS OUTROS...
UMA FORTUNA, QUE OS MONHÉS TRINTA E TANTOS E TREZ OU QUATRO EUROPEUS
APANHAM AOS PRETOS, VENDENDO-LHES VINHO, AGUARDENTE E LICÔRES
UMA PEÇA QUE GOSTAM MUITO É O COLETE, HAVENDO QUEM VESTE TREZ
E QUATRO, UNS POR CIMA DOS OUTROS...
dijous, 15 de maig del 2014
Well, you will find it the same in any State or Territory of the American corner of heaven you choose to go to. I have shot along, a whole week on a stretch, and gone millions and millions of miles, through perfect swarms of angels, without ever seeing a single white one, or hearing a word I could understand. You see, America was occupied a billion years and more, by Injuns and Aztecs, and that sort of folks, before a white man ever set his foot in it. During the first three hundred years after Columbus’s discovery, there wasn’t ever more than one good lecture audience of white people, all put together, in America--I mean the whole thing, British Possessions and all; in the beginning of our century there were only 6,000,000 or 7,000,000--say seven; 12,000,000 or 14,000,000 in 1825; say 23,000,000 in 1850; 40,000,000 in 1875. Our death-rate has always been 20 in 1000 per annum. Well, 140,000 died the first year of the century; 280,000 the twenty-fifth year; 500,000 the fiftieth year; about a million the seventy-fifth year. Now I am going to be liberal about this thing, and consider that fifty million whites have died in America from the beginning up to to-day--make it sixty, if you want to; make it a hundred million-- it’s no difference about a few millions one way or t’other. Well, now, you can see, yourself, that when you come to spread a little dab of people like that over these hundreds of billions of miles of American territory here in heaven, it is like scattering a ten-cent box of homoeopathic pills over the Great Sahara and expecting to find them again. You can’t expect us to amount to anything in heaven, and we DON’T--now that is the simple fact, and we have got to do the best we can with it. The learned men from other planets and other systems come here and hang around a while, when they are touring around the Kingdom, and then go back to their own section of heaven and write a book of travels, and they give America about five lines in it. And what do they say about us? They say this wilderness is populated with a scattering few hundred thousand billions of red angels, with now and then a curiously complected DISEASED one. You see, they think we whites and the occasional nigger are Injuns that have been bleached out or blackened by some leprous disease or other--for some peculiarly rascally SIN, mind you. It is a mighty sour pill for us all, my friend--even the modestest of us, let alone the other kind, that think they are going to be received like a long-lost government bond
"No, let it slide, Sandy, I don’t mind. But you’ve got a Sandy
Hook HERE, too, have you?"
"We’ve got everything here, just as it is below. All the States
and Territories of the Union, and all the kingdoms of the earth and
the islands of the sea are laid out here just as they are on the
globe--all the same shape they are down there, and all graded to
the relative size, only each State and realm and island is a good
many billion times bigger here than it is below. There goes
another blast."
"What is that one for?"
"That is only another fort answering the first one. They each fire
eleven hundred and one thunder blasts at a single dash--it is the
usual salute for an eleventh-hour guest; a hundred for each hour
and an extra one for the guest’s sex; if it was a woman we would
know it by their leaving off the extra gun."
"How do we know there’s eleven hundred and one, Sandy, when they
all go off at once?--and yet we certainly do know."
"Our intellects are a good deal sharpened up, here, in some ways,
and that is one of them. Numbers and sizes and distances are so
great, here, that we have to be made so we can FEEL them--our old
ways of counting and measuring and ciphering wouldn’t ever give us
an idea of them, but would only confuse us and oppress us and make
our heads ache."
After some more talk about this, I says: "Sandy, I notice that I
hardly ever see a white angel; where I run across one white angel,
I strike as many as a hundred million copper-colored ones--people
that can’t speak English. How is that?"
as if he lived all over the
United States, and as if the country was so small you couldn’t
throw a brick there without hitting him. Between you and me, it
does gravel me, the cool way people from those monster worlds
outside our system snub our little world, and even our system. Of
course we think a good deal of Jupiter, because our world is only a
potato to it, for size; but then there are worlds in other systems
that Jupiter isn’t even a mustard-seed to--like the planet Goobra,
for instance, which you couldn’t squeeze inside the orbit of
Halley’s comet without straining the rivets. Tourists from Goobra
(I mean parties that lived and died there--natives) come here, now
and then, and inquire about our world, and when they find out it is
so little that a streak of lightning can flash clear around it in
the eighth of a second, they have to lean up against something to
laugh. Then they screw a glass into their eye and go to examining
us, as if we were a curious kind of foreign bug, or something of
that sort. One of them asked me how long our day was; and when I
told him it was twelve hours long, as a general thing, he asked me
if people where I was from considered it worth while to get up and
wash for such a day as that. That is the way with those Goobra
people--they can’t seem to let a chance go by to throw it in your
face that their day is three hundred and twenty-two of our years
long.
Hook HERE, too, have you?"
"We’ve got everything here, just as it is below. All the States
and Territories of the Union, and all the kingdoms of the earth and
the islands of the sea are laid out here just as they are on the
globe--all the same shape they are down there, and all graded to
the relative size, only each State and realm and island is a good
many billion times bigger here than it is below. There goes
another blast."
"What is that one for?"
"That is only another fort answering the first one. They each fire
eleven hundred and one thunder blasts at a single dash--it is the
usual salute for an eleventh-hour guest; a hundred for each hour
and an extra one for the guest’s sex; if it was a woman we would
know it by their leaving off the extra gun."
"How do we know there’s eleven hundred and one, Sandy, when they
all go off at once?--and yet we certainly do know."
"Our intellects are a good deal sharpened up, here, in some ways,
and that is one of them. Numbers and sizes and distances are so
great, here, that we have to be made so we can FEEL them--our old
ways of counting and measuring and ciphering wouldn’t ever give us
an idea of them, but would only confuse us and oppress us and make
our heads ache."
After some more talk about this, I says: "Sandy, I notice that I
hardly ever see a white angel; where I run across one white angel,
I strike as many as a hundred million copper-colored ones--people
that can’t speak English. How is that?"
as if he lived all over the
United States, and as if the country was so small you couldn’t
throw a brick there without hitting him. Between you and me, it
does gravel me, the cool way people from those monster worlds
outside our system snub our little world, and even our system. Of
course we think a good deal of Jupiter, because our world is only a
potato to it, for size; but then there are worlds in other systems
that Jupiter isn’t even a mustard-seed to--like the planet Goobra,
for instance, which you couldn’t squeeze inside the orbit of
Halley’s comet without straining the rivets. Tourists from Goobra
(I mean parties that lived and died there--natives) come here, now
and then, and inquire about our world, and when they find out it is
so little that a streak of lightning can flash clear around it in
the eighth of a second, they have to lean up against something to
laugh. Then they screw a glass into their eye and go to examining
us, as if we were a curious kind of foreign bug, or something of
that sort. One of them asked me how long our day was; and when I
told him it was twelve hours long, as a general thing, he asked me
if people where I was from considered it worth while to get up and
wash for such a day as that. That is the way with those Goobra
people--they can’t seem to let a chance go by to throw it in your
face that their day is three hundred and twenty-two of our years
long.
dilluns, 12 de maig del 2014
CAMARADA VASCO EM VERDADE TE DIGO MATARAM CARRASCO TEU VERO AMIGO DE BRAÇOS ABERTOS O MÁRTIR CAIU EM LUGARES DESERTOS ONDE NADA SE VIU ....MATARAM CARRASCO MATARAM POR BEM? MATARAM SEM ASCO? MATARAM EM BELÉM?
EM SONHOS DESERTOS
MATARAM CARRASCO
DE BRAÇOS ABERTOS
QUAL MÁRTIR BASCO
CARRASCO MORREU
CAMARADA VASCO
QUAL CHRISTO HEBREU
NUM LUGAR INCERTO
COM TRÊS CHUMBADAS
DE LONGE OU PERTO
FORAM MASSACRADAS
AS ROSAS E CRAVOS
DE SENIL PERFUME
FICARAM OS ESCRAVOS
NA CINZA SEM LUME
CARRASCO FINOU-SE
Ó BARÃO DE LAVOS
E MÁRTIR QUEDOU-SE
EM SONHOS ESLAVOS
E A GUERRA DE NOITE
CARRASCO AÇOITE
LANÇOU ESTE MOTE
CARRASCO DE MORTE
É SEMPRE, ANOTE:
UM MÁRTIR DA SORTE
MATARAM CARRASCO
DE BRAÇOS ABERTOS
QUAL MÁRTIR BASCO
CARRASCO MORREU
CAMARADA VASCO
QUAL CHRISTO HEBREU
NUM LUGAR INCERTO
COM TRÊS CHUMBADAS
DE LONGE OU PERTO
FORAM MASSACRADAS
AS ROSAS E CRAVOS
DE SENIL PERFUME
FICARAM OS ESCRAVOS
NA CINZA SEM LUME
CARRASCO FINOU-SE
Ó BARÃO DE LAVOS
E MÁRTIR QUEDOU-SE
EM SONHOS ESLAVOS
E A GUERRA DE NOITE
CARRASCO AÇOITE
LANÇOU ESTE MOTE
CARRASCO DE MORTE
É SEMPRE, ANOTE:
UM MÁRTIR DA SORTE
dijous, 1 de maig del 2014
SEM TREMER E SEM TEMER NÃO FAÇO PLANOS ESQUADRINHO O ESPAÇO NULO NUM BE-LOUKO DE DESENGANOS ENSARILHO AS CADEIAS DAS PALAVRAS EM VIRTUAIS LAVRAS QUE EM VEZ DE CRAVOS CRIAM ALEGORIAS ESCRAVAS QUE SÃO ENGANOS DE LOJAS CHEIAS DE MANOS INUMANOS? DESUMANOS? NAS TEIAS DE AÇO AÇOTEIAS DE PALAVRAS ENLAÇO ABRAÇO DESFAÇO REFAÇO
é tão fácil torcer
e SEM TEMER
MESMO TREMER
AS LETRAS EM CADEIAS
em cadeias SEM IDEIAS SEM PEIAS LINDAS OU feias....nas aldeias nas areias nas ameias nas açoteias NAS TEIAS DE AÇO enxotei-as as palavras com as mãos IRMÃOS ...
são humanos sentimentos,
na alma em zero absoluto:
o brutus tem seus momeNtos
não pode ficar EIXO bruto
é o sentir dos humanos
todo O EIXO brutus
tem brutos manos
brutos mas astutos
viver à míngua,
pai nosso do dia-a-dia,
de prezar no salame a fatia
que bem calha na vaca a língua.
não lhe dou facadas, pingo-a,
e logo NÃO faço planos,
eriçado por famintos esganos,
de trinchar o protesto,
e assim na fome manifesto
que a fome tem brutos manos
chamo à vaca fria artistas
que da vaca são especialistas,
eminentes bois professores,
ou os bois e vacas escritores
e também vários linguistas,
vacas em livros e revistas,
questionam, miram, escutam
e ignorando tudo. tudo refutam
coisa que é assaz aberrante
e se o acaso levar àvante
agente instante a instante
da alma calma disfrutam
e não lutam
pois lutar em país d'abril
é estar provavelmente senil
grafias alternativas
em matérias tão sisudas
em merdas tão peludas
em vontades que costantemente
como as consoantes mudas
não mudas provavelmente
levam os maus às derivas,
às pilhagens permissivas
e aos babélicos danos
porém fiquem ufanos
pela data que hoje passa.
pois não sabiam? tem graça...
o eixo bruto hoje faz anos...
se lhe tirassem o p,
vigorosa consoante
do capítulo castrante
bem faziam, já se vê.
e se percebe porquê
sem usar um segundo bruto:
se o p ficar diminuto
vai-se a força e a imagem
corruptamente a mensagem
e pode ficar corruto ..
e SEM TEMER
MESMO TREMER
AS LETRAS EM CADEIAS
em cadeias SEM IDEIAS SEM PEIAS LINDAS OU feias....nas aldeias nas areias nas ameias nas açoteias NAS TEIAS DE AÇO enxotei-as as palavras com as mãos IRMÃOS ...
são humanos sentimentos,
na alma em zero absoluto:
o brutus tem seus momeNtos
não pode ficar EIXO bruto
é o sentir dos humanos
todo O EIXO brutus
tem brutos manos
brutos mas astutos
viver à míngua,
pai nosso do dia-a-dia,
de prezar no salame a fatia
que bem calha na vaca a língua.
não lhe dou facadas, pingo-a,
e logo NÃO faço planos,
eriçado por famintos esganos,
de trinchar o protesto,
e assim na fome manifesto
que a fome tem brutos manos
chamo à vaca fria artistas
que da vaca são especialistas,
eminentes bois professores,
ou os bois e vacas escritores
e também vários linguistas,
vacas em livros e revistas,
questionam, miram, escutam
e ignorando tudo. tudo refutam
coisa que é assaz aberrante
e se o acaso levar àvante
agente instante a instante
da alma calma disfrutam
e não lutam
pois lutar em país d'abril
é estar provavelmente senil
grafias alternativas
em matérias tão sisudas
em merdas tão peludas
em vontades que costantemente
como as consoantes mudas
não mudas provavelmente
levam os maus às derivas,
às pilhagens permissivas
e aos babélicos danos
porém fiquem ufanos
pela data que hoje passa.
pois não sabiam? tem graça...
o eixo bruto hoje faz anos...
se lhe tirassem o p,
vigorosa consoante
do capítulo castrante
bem faziam, já se vê.
e se percebe porquê
sem usar um segundo bruto:
se o p ficar diminuto
vai-se a força e a imagem
corruptamente a mensagem
e pode ficar corruto ..
HOMO SOVIETICUS THE ECONOMIC DOPPELGANGER - THEY LACK OF TOILET PAPER IN CCCP AND THE USE OF PRINTER PAPER IN THE BIG STATE COMPUTERS FOR THE SOVIETIC LOVERS OF BATHROOM'S
The Doppelgänger Effect
Ere Babylon was dust,Economics has a double. Whenever an economist encounters that shade he lets out a terrified shriek. For Marx, the spectre haunting Europe was called communism. For Dilke, it was disposable time. It was Nassau Senior's "Last Hour". But for militantly anti-union employers at the turn of the 20th century -- and economics textbooks thereafter -- it was a humble lump-of-labor fallacy.
The Magus Zoroaster, my dear child,
Met his own image walking in the garden.
That apparition, sole of men, he saw.
For know there are two worlds of life and death:
One that which thou beholdest; but the other
Is underneath the grave, where do inhabit
The shadows of all forms that think and live
Till death unite them and they part no more....
It's not just bathroom tissue that's lacking: In recent months, food items such as cooking oil and powdered milk have nearly VANISHED from store shelves. But even after a decade of price controls, foreign-exchange restrictions, runaway inflation, currency devaluations, blackouts and takeovers consumer-goods shortages on “an ongoing economic war” orchestrated by Maduro’s enemies. Food Minister Felix Osorio chimed in: “There are some incidental production failures.” But he added that “an economic coup” was also in motion.
Maduro had "ordered the Superior Body for the Defense of the Popular Economy to temporarily seize Manpa,” Venezuela's approximately 28.5 million people typically go through 125 million rolls of toilet paper every month, rising demand called for an additional 40 million. That's why the government decided to import 50 million rolls that month, trying to satisfy irate consumers who regularly GO IN LINE BUT NOT ONLINE outside stores -- which do things like limit purchases to 12 rolls per person.
(Lovers of bathroom reading material, take note: A lack of foreign exchange has also paper shortages for books and newspapers
21,140 toilet paper rolls seized from manufacturers or distributors, which the government has often accused of hoarding.
socialism has been built based on scarcity.”
“According to Elias Eljuri the toilet paper shortage happens because people are eating more. Man, us comedians will be out of a job.” “Do you want to have the fatherland or do you want toilet paper?”
companies seized by Chavez, Invepal still suffers from production problems, its output numbers remain secret, and it relies on the state to cover its recurring losses, referring to the state’s damaging role: “Nothing is more dangerous than mixing incompetence with ideology.”
Juan Pablo Perez Alfonso, a famed Venezuelan oil minister and a founder of the Organization of Petroleum Exporting Countries, in the 1970s that “oil will bring us ruin,” and he famously dubbed crude “the devil’s excrement.” So much of the devil's excrement and so little toilet paper seems to be Venezuela's latest version of HEAVEN
Make no mistake. When economists do it, it is arcane and learned ceteris paribus hokus pokus. But it is a fallacy and an aberration when the uncouth and uninitiated try their hand and apply it to the Great Shibboleth.
Classical political economy did not survive Marx's critique. To get around that embarrassment, economists erected the hydra-headed neo-classical scaffolding of a marginalist analysis whose elusive variations and elaborations make it harder to pin down.
In their heart of hearts, though, contemporary economists cling to a cherished inheritance from their classical forebears: the "wage-fund" of a fixed amount. But in this case, the error of this assumption is projected onto a hazily unspecified Other -- politicians, unionists, Luddites, Utopians or cranks. Whoever. This Other is the tremulous economists' doppelgänger
Economizing is labor saving. Economy means doing more with less. People specialize and trade so that they can have more with less effort. The purpose of technology is to reduce the amount of effort required to make something -- that is, to reduce the amount of wasted effort.
The purpose even of many consumer goods is to bring greater ease into our lives. A washing machine spares the housewife hours of scrubbing and wringing. A car relieves the shopper from the tedium of walking to the grocery store and the burden of carrying groceries back home.
The end of work, that is to say, is leisure. Even when the labor-saving capabilities of specialization, trading and technology are turned toward the production and consumption of more goods, those goods themselves are overwhelmingly aimed at expanding ease and leisure. Adam Smith observed this peculiar fact in his Theory of Moral Sentiments. And he wasn't the only one.
If the end of work is leisure, the end of growth is more work. Houston, we have a paradox. To economize is to save labor but to "grow the economy" is to waste it. Every economic action leads to a fork in the road. To save or to spend? To have more or to work less?
This bifurcation, this paradox, makes any conceivable economic calculation indeterminate. All the great economic thinkers -- Smith, Marx, Mill, Marshall, Veblen, Keynes -- acknowledged this paradox. Economics, then, is in essence the elaboration of a riddle -- an "unsolved riddle" in Leacock's phrase -- not the mechanical grinding out of predictions.
But statesmen, generals and captains of industry don't want to be bothered with silly riddles. They want predictions -- but, of course, only certain kinds of predictions, "mirror, mirror on the wall." And it is the statesmen, generals and captains of industry who write the checks -- even though the toiling masses are the ones who will be compelled to honor those checks with their blood, sweat and tears.
Economists who cash those checks with their mystically pedantic predictions are impostors and charlatans. One of the time-honored ruses of charlatans and crooks is to loudly denounce others as quacks and cranks. It's a good distraction and it establishes the bona fides of the confidence man as someone who can be trusted to proclaim the difference between truth and falsehood. And if the accused replies with a counter-claim? Well, who spoke first? It is to entrap the mark in a hall of mirrors.
Is there a way out? Listen. Touch. Smell. Explore. Remember.
Ten years ago, Tom Walker comprehensively refuted the lump-of-labor fallacy claim in a chapter, "The 'lump of labor' case against work-sharing: Populist fallacy or marginalist throwback," included in the anthology Working Time: International trends, theory and policy perspectives.
Four years after that refutation was published, the bogus fallacy claims again blossomed -- presumably in response to the French 35-hour workweek experiment and to the jobless recovery after the 2001 recession. The Sandwichman began a series of postings to MaxSpeak re-iterating the debunking of the fallacy claim. Those posts evolved into a second article, "Why Economists Dislike a Lump of Labor," published in the September 2007 Review of Social Economy.
The nonsensical nature of the fallacy claim is extreme. It is akin to the innumerable sayings attributed to Mark Twain that he never said or the many beliefs attributed to Marx that, in actuality, he quoted only to criticize. And like those misquotations, the fallacy claim circulates on, oblivious to the truth of its origin, its logical coherence or its factual ground.
The real shame, though, is not so much in the thoughtless circulation of this baseless claim as in the almost unanimous deference paid to the blustering pronouncements by the economics profession. It is a shame because leisure, unemployment, waste, environmental sustainability, social justice and war are important issues and to trivialize and marginalize a potentially effective policy approach to those issues is, to say the least, "inappropriate", if not technically criminal negligence.
Some would say that those who knowingly, or through flagrant and obstinate refusal to perform their duty of due diligence, bring on a war, plague or famine are guilty of mass murder. They are little and not-so-little Eichmanns. But the Sandwichman is wary of such name-calling. The Sandwichman would rather offer incentives than invectives.
On May 1, 2008, the Sandwichman offered a $10,000 prize to anyone who could successfully refute Tom Walker's debunking of the lump-of-labor fallacy and get it published in a leading economics journal. The judge for whether the rebuttal was successful or not would thus have been not the Sandwichman himself but a pillar of the economics profession.
Academics warned the Sandwichman that such a bet was foolhardy because respected journals will publish "all kinds of crap" as long as it conforms to the prevailing ideology. Nevertheless, the deadline for entering the prize competition -- December 31, 2009 -- came and went and the Sandwichman didn't receive a single entry or even an inquiry. Zilch, zip, nada. Not only will the lump-of-labor mongers not put their money where their mouth is, they won't even put their mouths where the money is!
Last year (2009) alone, "Charlemagne" at The Economist, Peter Coy at Business Week, Harvard Economics Professor Edward Glaeser, Ed Crooks at the Financial Times and Northwestern Economics Professor Robert J. Gordon each invoked the lump-of-labor fallacy claim in complete ignorance of what they were talking about. The Sandwichman has been accused of being repetitive. The Sandwichman doesn't like to be repetitive. But when people who get paid to know what they are talking about keep repeating nonsense and lies, the Sandwichman suspects that maybe folks haven't heard yet that the jig is up on the lump-of-labor scam.
Ten thousand dollars says Robert J. Gordon is a buffoon, Edward Glaeser is a impostor, Peter Coy is a con-man, Ed Crooks is a crook and Charlemagne is a charlatan. The Sandwichman is not calling these gentlemen those names, though. He is offering them a wager. Although the original prize offer has expired, terms for an extension remain negotiable.
Listen. Touch. Smell. Explore. Remember. Above all, remember.
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