Any sufficiently advanced bureaucracy is indistinguishable from molasses.
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Aint No More Cane
Aint no more cane on the brazos
Oh, oh, oh, oh...
Its all been ground down to molasses
Oh, oh- oh, oh- oh...
You shoulda been on the river in 1910
They were driving the women just like they drove the men.
Go down old hannah, doncha rise no more
Dont you rise up til judgment days for sure
Aint no more cane on the brazos
Its all been ground down to molasses
Captain, dont you do me like you done poor old shine
Well ya drove that bully til he went stone blind
Wake up on a lifetime, hold up your own head
Well you may get a pardon and then you might drop dead
Aint no more cane on the brazos
Its all been ground down to molasses.
song performed by Bob Dylan
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Lourdes 2006
Jimmy opened his suitcase in the room
at Lourdes and said Oh no there's molasses
all over the clothes and shoes and I've got
a whole week here and he sat down in a chair
his head in his hands saying What have I done?
What am I going to do for clothes now? you
went over and looked in and sure enough
the molasses were over his clothes and shoes.
What am I going to do? he said and you said
Leave it to me Jim I'll sort it and you went through
the clothes taking out the items untouched
by the molasses and set them aside on the bed
and then carried the suitcase of black sticky items
Into the washroom and there one by one you carefully
washed them through with soap and water until
they were clean and smelt of soap and fresh air
and all the while 94 year old Jim sat in a chair
watching with his eyes watery and jaw hung loose
seeing the black water run down the wide plughole
and once it was done you wrung the clothes out
like your mother used to do when you were a kid
and hung them out on the balcony on the small
clothesline and placed the washed out black shoes
by the outside wall to dry out in the hot afternoon
sun and Jimmy came over and stood on the balcony
with one hand on the rail and the other on his stick
looking over at the Pyrenees in the distance and he
said That was real good of you. I owe you big time
and you stood next to him feeling the hot afternoon
sun on your face and arms and felt good and you
said You owe me nothing Jim I just did what some
good guy would and his watery eyes swept over you
matching the French sky's watery afternoon blue.
poem by Terry Collett
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rules and rulers for friend Thad
Bureaucracy has quietly
displaced the aristocracy.
Who wielded power openly
The bureaucrat rule secretly.
What seems to be democracy
is now subverted constantly.
Countenanced by apathy
Because the people cannot see.
The government machinery
which is kept hidden cleverly.
Is not the way that it should be.
The dead hand of bureaucracy.
Controls it very thoroughly.
Should they decide to disagree.
There is no way that they can be
brought to account effectively.
I do not ask you to agree,
but to consider carefully.
Only the possibility,
we are ruled by bureaucracy.
15-Oct-08
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Any sufficiently advanced bug is indistinguishable from a feature.
quote by Kulawiec
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Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from a rigged demo.
quote by James Klass
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Any sufficiently advanced bug is indistinguishable from a feature.
quote by Rich Kulawiec
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Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.
quote by Arthur C. Clarke
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Beyond Mirrors
The age of science has failed to explain our universe in rational terms.
Consequently the power of magic has gradually emerged from our conscious minds to fathom the unfathomable.
Our most distinguished scientists reluctantly admit, that mankind is nothing but some billion creatures, sitting on a piece of solar driftwood floating in space.
Magic is the art of influencing the cause of events by the intervention of spiritual forces or some other occult device.
According to arthur c. clarke any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.
Early civilization often mistook the unexplainable world around them to be magic.
Rupert sheldrake in his book seven experiments that could change the world has stated that scientists attitude toward their experiments affect the results of their experiments.
There is no such thing as a definite fact in science and therefore the irrationality of magic plays an important part in our rational world.
Werner heisenberg, the leading 20th. century physicist has stated, that mass is a physical interpretation of energy.
Religious organizations have understood the power of magic; and therefore monopolized the interpretation of the supernatural to control the human mind.
The universe as a whole is beyond explanation.
Only at the end of the 20th century the roman catholic church admitted, that the great visionary galileo galilei was, in fact, correct.
The second millennium has come to an end. scientists have to admit that the universe is magic.
song performed by Yello
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Book Sixth [Cambridge and the Alps]
THE leaves were fading when to Esthwaite's banks
And the simplicities of cottage life
I bade farewell; and, one among the youth
Who, summoned by that season, reunite
As scattered birds troop to the fowler's lure,
Went back to Granta's cloisters, not so prompt
Or eager, though as gay and undepressed
In mind, as when I thence had taken flight
A few short months before. I turned my face
Without repining from the coves and heights
Clothed in the sunshine of the withering fern;
Quitted, not loth, the mild magnificence
Of calmer lakes and louder streams; and you,
Frank-hearted maids of rocky Cumberland,
You and your not unwelcome days of mirth,
Relinquished, and your nights of revelry,
And in my own unlovely cell sate down
In lightsome mood--such privilege has youth
That cannot take long leave of pleasant thoughts.
The bonds of indolent society
Relaxing in their hold, henceforth I lived
More to myself. Two winters may be passed
Without a separate notice: many books
Were skimmed, devoured, or studiously perused,
But with no settled plan. I was detached
Internally from academic cares;
Yet independent study seemed a course
Of hardy disobedience toward friends
And kindred, proud rebellion and unkind.
This spurious virtue, rather let it bear
A name it now deserves, this cowardice,
Gave treacherous sanction to that over-love
Of freedom which encouraged me to turn
From regulations even of my own
As from restraints and bonds. Yet who can tell--
Who knows what thus may have been gained, both then
And at a later season, or preserved;
What love of nature, what original strength
Of contemplation, what intuitive truths
The deepest and the best, what keen research,
Unbiassed, unbewildered, and unawed?
The Poet's soul was with me at that time;
Sweet meditations, the still overflow
Of present happiness, while future years
Lacked not anticipations, tender dreams,
No few of which have since been realised;
And some remain, hopes for my future life.
Four years and thirty, told this very week,
[...] Read more
poem by William Wordsworth
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Dreamworks
DREAMWORKS
Eyes saw reflection Monday, when World War II was won,
emerging, letters learning, to betters bowed, begun
a journey spread like butter upon life’s bread, which seems
to be about to stutter before landlord of dreams.
Eye Tuesday schooled, life's masquerade began to understand
how letters strung together rung bells brain took in hand,
soft strength no bitter toil required to channel patterned streams,
blood flood no rudder needed to feed forever's dreams.
Eyes which advanced one Wednesday upon emotions’ tide
to woo, to win, together, as groom to beauty bride,
felt joys would last for ever, like strawberries and cream,
tapped hope's sap, never'd sever eternity from dreams.
Eyes which in turn one Thursday sired fruit so well desired,
who queried much, yet stayed untouched by vain ambitions tired,
felt feelings frank, not clever, that seek 'together's' gleams,
to sow, reap, harvest, gather the essence of shared dreams.
Eyes which Friday celebrate, see seed to stripling strong
stretch skywards, never hesitate, sift just from wrong's pronged tongs,
subjective views eliminate, zest tests through searchlight beams,
shows all may know glow grows, fair flows, to feed tomorrow’s dreams.
Eyes weary on this Saturday sense Winter drawing near,
reach through rhyme’s interplay to transmit loud and clear
before Time’s ‘weak~end’ weather may ravage, mock soul’s gleams,
this theme: ~ that one should never compromise on dreams.
Eyes which one Sunday may pass away, life legacy would leave:
ideals unbetrayed, pray none know poison, prison, grieve.
Life's cycle turns as candle burns, warms all within its beams, ~
road cats' eyes snake, make no mistake, tomorrow takes your dreams...
9 May 2005 minor modifications 21 April 2008 revised 30 April 2008,8 March 2011
for previous versions see below
DREAMWORKS
Eyes saw first light one Monday, when World War II was won,
emerging, letters learning, to betters bowed, begun
a journey spread like butter upon life’s bread, which seems
to be about to stutter before landlord of dreams.
Eyes which were schooled one Tuesday began to understand
how letters strung together rung bells brain took in hand,
soft strength no conscious effort to channel patterned streams
[...] Read more
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Revenge
'Ah! quit me not yet, for the wind whistles shrill,
Its blast wanders mournfully over the hill,
The thunder’s wild voice rattles madly above,
You will not then, cannot then, leave me my love.'--
I must dearest Agnes, the night is far gone--
I must wander this evening to Strasburg alone,
I must seek the drear tomb of my ancestors’ bones,
And must dig their remains from beneath the cold stones.
'For the spirit of Conrad there meets me this night,
And we quit not the tomb 'till dawn of the light,
And Conrad's been dead just a month and a day!
So farewell dearest Agnes for I must away,—
'He bid me bring with me what most I held dear,
Or a month from that time should I lie on my bier,
And I'd sooner resign this false fluttering breath,
Than my Agnes should dread either danger or death,
'And I love you to madness my Agnes I love,
My constant affection this night will I prove,
This night will I go to the sepulchre's jaw
Alone will I glut its all conquering maw'--
'No! no loved Adolphus thy Agnes will share,
In the tomb all the dangers that wait for you there,
I fear not the spirit,--I fear not the grave,
My dearest Adolphus I’d perish to save'--
'Nay seek not to say that thy love shall not go,
But spare me those ages of horror and woe,
For I swear to thee here that I'll perish ere day,
If you go unattended by Agnes away'--
The night it was bleak the fierce storm raged around,
The lightning's blue fire-light flashed on the ground,
Strange forms seemed to flit,--and howl tidings of fate,
As Agnes advanced to the sepulchre gate.--
The youth struck the portal,--the echoing sound
Was fearfully rolled midst the tombstones around,
The blue lightning gleamed o’er the dark chapel spire,
And tinged were the storm clouds with sulphurous fire.
Still they gazed on the tombstone where Conrad reclined,
Yet they shrank at the cold chilling blast of the wind,
When a strange silver brilliance pervaded the scene,
And a figure advanced—tall in form—fierce in mien.
[...] Read more
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Deaf Rush Limbaugh's Macaronic Blues
Soon I'll hear your voices, people,
and you'll sound like Donald Duck.
I'll hear every car horn honk,
every plink and plunk and plonk.
And you'll sound like Donald Duck--
one voice, indistinguishable, under God.
Every plink and plunk and plonk.
Comprised of pitches and lengths,
One voice, indistinguishable, under God.
It was like free jazz there towards the end,
Just comprised of pitches and different lengths.
Soon I'll hear your voices, people,
every immigrant, businessman, pundit.
And you all sound like Donald Duck.
poem by Daniel Nester
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Now is the time of our awakening
I
Now is the time of our awakening
in world where things are beautiful,
with the first caressing touch
of the morning’s refreshment
where the sun falls bright and hot,
where birds are singing together in joy,
in the blue jewel of the universe
about the glory that summer brings,
the earth is fresh after the first summer rain
with every tree, plant and flower
that grows much more powerful than previously
in the glory of their maturity
in every touch, colour and scent
we find nature at her prime.
II
We find nature at her prime
with birds singing joyous in the branches,
and we cannot draw ourselves away
of a world intruding into us,
every morning has something glorious
that we only have got to discover
and every time that you look at me
your glance wants to draw me into depths,
the essence of love is caught
in every day hanging around us,
we celebrate our intimate connection
in every wish and urge
that we yearn for in this world;
now your smile falls brightly.
III
Now your smile falls brightly
over the darkness of my life,
shining like a glorious day,
you bring new meaning each day
when your hand folds finely over mine
you look fragile, modestly
and I see the heavenly cobalt blue colour
[...] Read more
poem by Gert Strydom
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I Hate Fudge
I Hate Fudge
by Ted L Glines
Chocolate fudge makes me cringe
with anxiety. Molasses fudge
will half kill me.
I hate fudge.
I have spent most of my life
in a valient fight
to rid the world of evil fudge,
one piece at a time.
In this imperfect world
full of fudge-lovers,
I am the last of
the Anti-Fudge Knights,
struggling against the growing tide
of sweet-tooths on one side
and fudge-makers on the other.
An impossible battle
but someone has got to do it.
Oh Nooooooooooooooooo ...
Wally World is opening a whole display
of fudges from around the globe,
a conspiracy of chocolate and molasses
and walnut pieces.
This looks like a job for Fudge-Killer
(Tah Tahhhhh! ! !) to the RESCUE! ! !
poem by Ted L Glines
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A Bronzeville Mother Loiters in Mississippi. Meanwhile, a Mississippi Mother burns bacon
From the first it had been like a
Ballad. It had the beat inevitable. It had the blood.
A wildness cut up, and tied in little bunches,
Like the four-line stanzas of the ballads she had never quite
understood--the ballads they had set her to, in school.
Herself: the milk-white maid, the "maid mild"
Of the ballad. Pursued
By the Dark Villain. Rescued by the Fine Prince.
The Happiness-Ever-After.
That was worth anything.
It was good to be a "maid mild."
That made the breath go fast.
Her bacon burned. She
Hastened to hide it in the step-on can, and
Drew more strips from the meat case. The eggs and sour-milk biscuits
Did well. She set out a jar
Of her new quince preserve.
. . . But there was something about the matter of the Dark Villain.
He should have been older, perhaps.
The hacking down of a villain was more fun to think about
When his menace possessed undisputed breath, undisputed height,
And best of all, when history was cluttered
With the bones of many eaten knights and princesses.
The fun was disturbed, then all but nullified
When the Dark Villain was a blackish child
Of Fourteen, with eyes still too young to be dirty,
And a mouth too young to have lost every reminder
Of its infant softness.
That boy must have been surprised! For
These were grown-ups. Grown-ups were supposed to be wise.
And the Fine Prince--and that other--so tall, so broad, so
Grown! Perhaps the boy had never guessed
That the trouble with grown-ups was that under the magnificent shell of adulthood, just under,
Waited the baby full of tantrums.
It occurred to her that there may have been something
Ridiculous to the picture of the Fine Prince
Rushing (rich with the breadth and height and
Mature solidness whose lack, in the Dark Villain, was impressing her,
Confronting her more and more as this first day after the trial
And acquittal (wore on) rushing
[...] Read more
poem by Gwendolyn Brooks
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Canto the Second
I
Oh ye! who teach the ingenuous youth of nations,
Holland, France, England, Germany, or Spain,
I pray ye flog them upon all occasions,
It mends their morals, never mind the pain:
The best of mothers and of educations
In Juan's case were but employ'd in vain,
Since, in a way that's rather of the oddest, he
Became divested of his native modesty.
II
Had he but been placed at a public school,
In the third form, or even in the fourth,
His daily task had kept his fancy cool,
At least, had he been nurtured in the north;
Spain may prove an exception to the rule,
But then exceptions always prove its worth -—
A lad of sixteen causing a divorce
Puzzled his tutors very much, of course.
III
I can't say that it puzzles me at all,
If all things be consider'd: first, there was
His lady-mother, mathematical,
A—never mind; his tutor, an old ass;
A pretty woman (that's quite natural,
Or else the thing had hardly come to pass);
A husband rather old, not much in unity
With his young wife—a time, and opportunity.
IV
Well—well, the world must turn upon its axis,
And all mankind turn with it, heads or tails,
And live and die, make love and pay our taxes,
And as the veering wind shifts, shift our sails;
The king commands us, and the doctor quacks us,
The priest instructs, and so our life exhales,
A little breath, love, wine, ambition, fame,
Fighting, devotion, dust,—perhaps a name.
V
I said that Juan had been sent to Cadiz -—
A pretty town, I recollect it well -—
'T is there the mart of the colonial trade is
(Or was, before Peru learn'd to rebel),
And such sweet girls—I mean, such graceful ladies,
Their very walk would make your bosom swell;
I can't describe it, though so much it strike,
Nor liken it—I never saw the like:
[...] Read more
poem by Byron from Don Juan (1824)
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Any sufficiently badly-written science is indistinguishable from magic.
quote by Aaron Allston
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The only thing that saves us from the bureaucracy is inefficiency. An efficient bureaucracy is the greatest threat to liberty.
Eugene McCarthy in Time magazine (12 February 1979)
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We only have ourselves to blame!
Selected randomly by fate.
I became famous over night.
Be cause of what I chose to write.
About the duties of the state.
My writing caught the interest
Of the silent majority.
Who happily agreed with me.
It is our duty to protest.
Against assumed authority.
The creeping power of the state.
We can't afford to hesitate.
We have to act immediately.
If we do not it will become
Too late for us to call a halt.
The state will control by default.
And bring an end to our freedom..
We only have ourselves to blame.
Because we did not choose to see
erosion of our liberty.
We let the state control the game.
The time has come to overthrow
The dominant bureaucracy.
Inhibiting our liberty.
There is no doubt it has to go.
We live in a democracy.
It's our responsibility.
To ensure that bureaucracy
Cannot be used oppressively.
Sunday,14 October 2012
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Election Time!
A series of elections from states to nation
Surely makes all diverted to election only!
People's power is exercised in democracy;
But now money power rules in democracy!
Now the fight is between people and money
The winner decides the fate of the nation!
Corruption is top most dominant force now;
To consolidate its power election has come!
Can corruption be eliminated by laws or will?
Civil society has to come forward to do that!
Will civil society take the lead to do its duty?
Or simply succumb to gimmicks of bureaucracy?
Elections come and people elect someone to power;
But bureaucracy dispenses duties by corruption...!
poem by Ramesh T A
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