It doesn’t matter what diameter the cogs are but small is okay, I guess.

Then connect some more.
Carry on until you’ve reached the next star or maybe a travel lodge a million or so kilometers away.

Now turn the cog at the starting point.

Does the furthest cog turn instantaneously?
If so, Faster Than Light communication is pretty easy.

Does it take time for the last cog to turn?
If so, carry on adding cogs until they connect back at the beginning and you will have yourself a giant circular Perpetual Motion Machine.

Or perhaps, more possibly, you have an immense White Elephant, as it would take a phenomenally impossible amount of energy to turn the first cog in the series…

I dunno.If you can read this then it’s possible that someone has thiefed it from weavehole.wordpress.com

Yeah, I’m talking to you Smoky Jo.  ;)

The pause for thought doesn’t last long though and the idiots go right back to laughing off the obvious and well-known dangers, despite the pictures of black lungs and pregnant torsos. So, I ask both my fellow smug-ex-smokers of the world and the current batch of still smoking heartskipabeat deadbeats: what is the next step?

My idea is to borrow an old gimmick  from the world of greetings card manufacturers and have the pack make an unpleasant noise upon opening.

Maybe a slight throaty cough to begin with before moving on to a more bloodfleckedphlegm filled rasp as the pack gets lighter.

Perhaps as you get down to the last few ciggies the small speakers will play out the last rasping words of a genuine cancer patient as their final painful cracked breaths collapse out from their lips, followed by the hospital machinery’s uncaring tone of b’beep b’beep b’ beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee…

Click.

Would that work? If you can read this it’s possible that someone has thiefed it from weavehole.wordpress.com

Hey, you want a fag?

Yeah, sure. Thanks.

Cough cough

Actually, I’ll pass for now, ta.

Well, I say ‘I’.

The conscious collection of atoms that

I lovingly refer to as ‘me’; ‘I’

Is lucky.

The conscious collection of atoms that

‘I’ refer to as ‘I’

Was born-stroke-formed in an area of land

That previous conscious collections of atoms had previously providently populated.

These former conscious collections of carbon had successfully raped, plundered, stole from (and helped)

Other collections of conscious collections of carbon  and other…. atoms

Who sometimes survived and died.

The conscious collections of atoms called ‘I’

Possesses a privilege felt through the ages allowing access to places and stages that other conscious collections of atoms

Have not had the fortuitousness supplied.

Still other conscious collections of atoms

Get cornered, culled and culinarified.

Collecting cornered, culinary cuts is a special pastime of mine.

Certain  collections of carbon are considered culturally coooool.

These fellows are pets and are felt in our hearts to have

Truly lived and died.

So we come back to those fellow collections,

They live across the road and sea.

These abhorent redactions so-so different and fractious

Filling our lives with their ten toes and two eyes

And useful thumbs.

They’ll treat our ideals

With screeches and knives

Unless we do it to them

First.

So yeah I’m lucky and so are you

To be the product of death and not the screwed.

Don’t feel betrayed,

don’t be too dismayed

by the knowledge that you

yourself: you, I, me..,

We

have survived through the ages

the smallest occasions

the grandest of stages

through evil mistakes

that made us the greatest;

despite the outrageous

most disgusting displays of

hate and contempt

born of nothing more

grand than

“You’re not from my… area… of… land”.

When ‘my land’ is nothing more

than how far I can see

From horseback

then Crows Nest

From crenel and merlon

now satellite.

No further than you can imagine.

I say that I am lucky

and I am.

IMU

If you can read this it’s possible that someone has thiefed it from weavehole.wordpress.com

Vicious fish.
Us.

If you can read these words then this poem has been stolen from weavehole.wordpress.com Maybe.

Boy at lunch: ミートボルズ

Me: One more time.

Boy: ミートボルズ

Me: Slowly, please.

Boy: ミ 　イ　ト　ボ　ル　ズ

Me: Once more please.

Boy: ミ 　イ

Me: Mi i

Boy: ト

Me: To

Boy: ボ

Me: Bo

Boy: ル　ズ

Me: Ru Zu. Oh, meatballs.If you can read this then chances are this has been stolen from weavehole.wordpress.com

First a recap: Old people throughout recorded history (since the 1970s I believe) have been repeatedly bamboozled by the speed in which words have changed their meaning.

An obvious example is the way that gay has changed from its original (I assume)
Fred Flinstoney meaning, to the Bert and Ernie-y sense and then, in the last decade or so, to its current fairly lightweight, oft ironic though sometimes hateful catch-all term for general naffness.

So, I ask, how long will it be before the word gay becomes a synonym for amazing, brilliant or wonderful? Can we bring it near full circle in less than half a century..?

I’m going to start using it as a compliment from this moment on.

“Hey, those shoes are really gay. How much were they? I’m going to get some too”

or

“That King Shakespeare, does not he shine, in crowned sovereignty, over us all, as the noblest, gentlest, yet strongest of rallying signs; indestructibly gay”.

If a friend uses it as a pejorative, confuse them thusly:

Friend: “That new {insert name of current pop-star that ‘cool’ people don’t like here} song is so gay.”

You: “Really? I don’t like it at all. You are a foolish individual for rating it so highly.”

So, if you too think it’s time for a change, why not try it on for size just once or twice today? It might take a bit of wearing in but as we steadily turn a pejorative into a positive we will also gradually increase the possibility of befuddling a Tory MP or High Court Judge.

Sounds gay to me.

:)If you can read this then this post has been stolen from weavehole.wordpress.com

15% irreverent

17% angry

20% gushing

10% violently angry

12% bored

15% heavy mocking

7% delighted at empty roads/28 days later references

4% laundry/ironing/DIY

If we were to use the First Past The Post polling system then it seems that the UK definitely actually officially really rather likes the Royal Wedding. If you can read this, then this post has been stolen from weavehole.wordpress.com

Silken coral falls
The speed of imperfect love
Death is born anew

My humble and amateurish addition to over a thousand years of trying to put the transience of nature into seventeen syllables. The title refers to the speed that sakura supposedly fall at. If you can read this, then this post has been stolen from weavehole.wordpress.com

Bloom – Like listening to Guerrilla era Super Furry Animals down a dark alley with someone hitting you on the back of the head with a tightly rolled up newspaper.

MorningMisterMagpie – Paranoid and Superstitious and Angry and Beautiful.

LittleByLittle – Like watching a film of a child playing on a bouncy castle but if the film was directed by Chris Morris.

Feral – You are now being run over by a subway train made out of Drums and Bass Guitars. After 3 minutes you have always heard a choir in a distant carriage.

LotusFlower – If PJ Harvey was made out of an inside-out algorithmrhythm that made your frontal cortex cry with the simultaneous meaninglessness and beauty of desire.

Codex – If you weren’t afraid of deep water this would always be there when you slept.

GiveUpTheGhost – The Choir.

Separator – It. Is. All. Going. To. Be. All. Right. . . (?)

It was created by the incredible Stax writing team of Isaac Hayes and David Porter, who also wrote Sam & Dave’s Soul Man amongst many others and showcases Otis’ perfectly imperfect ad-libbed grunts and stammers, and his lonesome-longing howlin’ growls.

Backed (if ‘backed’ could ever be a sufficient enough epithet) by one of the most astoundingly tight, driving, soaring, sexy-sounding bands ever to wage war on boredom. A band that breathed pure soul into every one of the grace-fueled notes and beaten snares that now plunge into your welcoming senses:

I dare you to only listen to it once.