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[Nov. 21st, 2022|10:50 am]
Labs neitrāls pārskats: datorspēles, bērni, tētis un tēta draugi. Ja neesat politkorekts, vienmēr vari savienot dot(us).
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Aptronyms [Nov. 14th, 2022|10:02 am]
Zobārste reiz ieteica man vērsties pie ārsta, kura vārds ir "Bite" par žokļa problēmu. Es par to domāju, kad ieraudzīju, ka FTX puiša vārds ir Bankman-Fried. Apvienotās Karalistes 'Nudge Unit' bija nopietns darbinieks, kuru sauca 'Per Block'.
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[Oct. 26th, 2022|11:34 am]


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Prolapse [Oct. 5th, 2022|10:44 pm]
Šī grupa bija asprātīga savā transā. It kā mistiskais tēls būtu puisis no Glāzgovas, kas lej uz paklāja savu alu.
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[Oct. 4th, 2022|09:36 am]
Nekad neaizmirstiet

Tikai žēl par Stewart, jo es patiešām mīlu ‘You wear it well’.

klausoties šīs "entītijas", ir skaidrs, ka atbilde uz Resorta jautājumu ir "jā". Šīs radības mūs nicina. Un jūs varat būt pārliecināti, ka šo politiku pilnībā atbalstīs visi jaukie progresīvie liberālie inteliģentie tipi.

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Reuters [Sep. 30th, 2022|02:48 pm]
"The French automaker used a specialized honeycomb cardboard to replace steel and metal in a concept car designed in anticipation of a resourceless world."
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don't stop taking the meds [Sep. 28th, 2022|05:31 pm]
Parbaudiiju. Informaacija ir, manupraat, pareiza - luudzu:

https://www.ons.gov.uk

Age-standardised mortality rate/100,000 person years [updated] UK April 2022:

Unvaccinated: 1204.6
First dose, less than 21 days ago: 6578.6
First dose, at least 21 days ago: 2497.9
Second dose, less than 21 days ago: 2786.2
Second dose, between 21 days and 6 months ago: 2333.5
Second dose, at least 6 months ago: 2355.6
Third dose or booster, less than 21 days ago: 1522.5
Third dose or booster, at least 21 days ago: 966.1


May 2022:

Unvaccinated: 872.9
First dose, less than 21 days ago: x (not enough data)
First dose, at least 21 days ago: 1873.4
Second dose, less than 21 days ago: x
Second dose, between 21 days and 6 months ago: 1815.9
Second dose, at least 6 months ago: 1703.7
Third dose or booster, less than 21 days ago: 2056
Third dose or booster, at least 21 days ago: 797
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[Sep. 27th, 2022|09:54 am]
liberte, egalite, fraternite

unless you decline an injection that doesn't stop transmission of an illness. In which case you don't have the right to work or go anywhere except some small food shops, you ridiculous spud-like retard.
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[Sep. 26th, 2022|11:10 am]
My mother told me an old family friend died (of old age, or dementia or cancer). I used to spend time with his kids. We were the same age, and they had a big garden. For some reason, I remember eating biscuits and watching the Magic Roundabout round theirs after school - which was a trip, literally. The sister had ballet five times a week, and her older brother now works for Goldman Sachs. Anyway, these two have, between them, five children, all of whom are teenage/young adults. Three of them, my mum said, don't know what gender they are.
Impressive job.
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[Sep. 22nd, 2022|04:17 pm]
Rīt nopirkšu ģitāru. Es gribu spēlēt, kamēr kuģis grimst.
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[Sep. 15th, 2022|08:56 pm]
Feverish dreams - sleep seems impossible because something - some question - some shape - cannot be resolved.
Until in a brief movement of grounded thought or wisdom, you blurt out into the silence of the night “it doesn’t matter!”
Or you pray
And the feverish impulse to fixate on set way of analysing the subject - like burning out on a logic gate - dissolves.

As if you had been in the thrall of a black-magic spell, which you need to break to be able to see what it means more calmly.

Covid, probably, this season.


Talking about black magic spells, Inga Springe has been looking into practitioners of magical thinking, and what do you think she came up with?

She began with a historical overview of how schools of - sometimes occulted - esoteric thought had rose entwined with the pillars of the enlightenment. She continued with engaging stories of empirical attempts to investigate the paranormal (flying pianos!). Thusly humoured, she engages on a whirling dance with Gurdijeff, falling uneasily and a little blushed into the arms of a disturbingly amused Crowley. She recounts how he ordered her to retreat to a hut above a coast and talk to no-one for a fortnight. Each IR feature should be written with such abandonment to the subject. Cats screamed horribly in the night, but they always do. The IR editorial team wanted to speak to her, but the phone remained unanswered: she was in a lucid dream, the intelligence of which - she understood with a joy both primitive and enlightened - was clearly beyond her. Someone would leave her breakfast by her door in the morning.

The IR editorial team once - apparently - banged on her door, but she was dumb to their pounding, Doors to other perceptions were being opened to her, you see. Potential personalities gave glimpses of their wisdom, and vistas of free - or freer thought revealed themselves, like the smell of literature, or the aspect of the moon beneath her feet, or the weekly all-cause mortality statistics of vaccinated and unvaccinated cohorts of souls. I mean this information was free, free! Out there. It had been summoned!

She was in all honesty about to return to society, and write this article. She would write about what could set you free from the feverish fascination with this dry crust, settled-upon piece of realty, but

It approached her as she was reading her Tarot. Stared at her with an arrow about to be placed in the bow.

Oh!

Fevers broke and spread in torrents under the sheets. Facts needed checking, needed checking. The fact is a square, and the lid would not fit. Something is bigger than it should be. “Nav svariigi” she cried out to (who?). But, oh, it was not the right shape, and once again as she fell into a shiver of concern, it would not fit, would not fit. If the lid would not be placed on the box, then…. Sleep will not come, no sacred peace could be enjoyed in the lap of the night. She tossed, she turned. She missed the deadline.

Covid probably.

The IR editorial time published the usual thing about charlatans leading poor suckers who fancied they could think (like Self's Flyers) into pits of despair, probably.
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[Sep. 14th, 2022|05:51 pm]
SPKC turpmāk ikdienas operatīvajā statistikā neziņos inficēto vakcinācijas statusu.
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[Sep. 7th, 2022|09:42 pm]
"If you are:
Cool and modern
If you have:
A cool and contemporary political stance..."
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[Sep. 7th, 2022|09:58 am]
One Risk Benefit Analysis


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[Sep. 1st, 2022|03:36 pm]
"šoreiz mūsu politiķus "grillēs" jaunieši – jaunatnes organizācijas pārstāvji, aktīvisti un influenseri – kas pieprasīs konkrētas atbildes par mūsu #AizstāvamNākotni piedāvājumu jauniešiem un visai sabiedrībai."


Esmu tikai lasiijis par PSRS laiku, protams.
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[Aug. 23rd, 2022|10:06 pm]
[music |everyone must get stoned]

Found myself in Daugavpils as the sun was coming up and my wife had just fallen asleep in the hospital.
Locals were riding the flood water cascading down the incline of the streets (it is a dream). People who know their way about the place, evidently. I ended up in some kind of bar, and then some women who had the honour of sitting on the morning stanga asked me questions. I thought about one of them (the vapros), and they asked me why I was depressed.

I once knew an Austrian Scandinavian, who was from the USA. He had been sent to Kraslava as part of the Peace Corps to teach English and instil a love of America and pick up litter etcetera.
The Head of Kraslava Mafia respected him in a public sauna (he withstood treatment) after his neighbour and minor organised criminal had threatened to kill him for flooding his apartment.
On his first day, a couple of high-school girls turned up to show him around in their bikinis.
It was the late 90’s.
He is married to a Russian chick now - or he was. They proofread LV foreign policy.

"Look at this girl" said this Irish guy (about 25 to be fair in 2000 and something), standing against a castle wall somewhere in Estonia. He knew her. Look at her, he exhorted again, enlarging the image on his phone in Bar Leningrad on a bitchy summer afternoon. My Scottish friend agreed she was all things Russky and beyond, and agreed to join him in Tallinn as he was between loves, and he was down with the yazik (having studied there). I didn’t go with them despite being in a marital hellscape at the short period of time. I was pagan and I had a headache.

Now married and Brussels based, he took a look around last week to check no Russian chicks were listening in on the warm Riga terrace, and then told me how fucking awful Mordor really was.
To illustrate he was “with this Yank on a train to the Moscow suburbs at night after work (at some institute), when these 5 orcs clocked us and came down to sit next to us. Being clever, Scottish and in camouflage, in black leather jacket and black hat, we talked about the Fitba as a tactic - which worked, and we got out at the next stop. And they got out behind us. And if I hadn’t ducked around the busses, and the bus stops, and gone round back of the station
twice
We would have been fucked. But then we realised we were lost. We had gotten out at the wrong stop.”

Two hobbits in Mordor.

“We went through a forest, and came upon some village. We asked for help, and a guy told his dog to be quiet. He told us the last train would leave in 15 minutes, and then he took us there in his van.

See?”

It had taken him over 20 minutes to tell it, while I was wondering whether to point out the obvious, but he insisted I was ignorant of Russia, like he once had been. There would be no point. He speaks the language, so he can listen to podcasts that mock the Western far right for thinking Dugin has any influence in the Kremlin. I can hear his account of their incredulity in the blast of car bomb.
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[Aug. 22nd, 2022|10:19 pm]
Par vietejo futbolu runajot, man liekas, ka Metta tiek nogalinaats ar 'Murder on the Orient Express' panemienu. Te ir runa par SK Supernova Salaspils pedejam cetram spelem. Couldn't happen to a more deserving club.

The reverse is in a way true about what is happening to us, at least it seems so to this guy - who is too clever for me. something about Sigma 9 events bla bla bla. Maybe some of you clever fuckers can see the wood for the trees.
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[Aug. 18th, 2022|04:53 pm]
Visiem, kas nedzīvo tālu no dzelzceļa. You can feel the heat in the strings and the mournful howl: like the last words before sleep befalls you.
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[Aug. 11th, 2022|11:54 pm]
[music |Dylan - 4th time around]

I have been reading Dylan’s Chronicles. It’s funny, politically too, at least to me now, and naturally poetic. I would love to think like that: sometimes I nearly do, as the moon lies low through my window, dogs in the neighbourhood howl at ghosts or smells or the lunar ball.


 It sifts into my dreams. The other night I dreamt I met the grandson of Ezra Pound. We were discussing some Art Nouveau gargoyles in the dusk by a Riga canal: well he was, I was listening. We wound up in a part of town that I frequent when I am asleep quite a lot. Somewhere loosely based on a big wide part of Brivibas Street where the centre passed the baton to another era. He invited me into a museum, the kind that Dylan wandered into just out of New Orleans - kaada savdabiiga vieta - I got to see Ezra, old now, and fading in and out of time. I didn’t know what to say. Dylan didn’t like him for political reasons. I didn’t mention that, but I did tell him and his first wife, Dorothy Shakespeare (who was also there - sitting next to him and holding his hand), that I didn’t know much about poetry, but I liked his economic analysis. Dorothy smiled, and said “Oh did you! You know he’s not all here.” And that was that: he was gone. I read some of the Pisan Cantos to my family over breakfast, but they detected that I didn’t know what half of it meant.


 I once spent an afternoon in Paris with an Indian-French woman. We went to Shakespeare’s bookshop. I didn’t know it was Dorothy’s. Later, I picked up a biography of Ezra in a Soros office-space, and fell in love with the picture of her in her youth. The Indian showed me Notre Dame, and gave me local knowledge. We were there because we were being paid. I spent some of the money on a plastic plate for my youngest daughter.. We talked a bit about immigration because someone had just got a standing ovation for stating that “Nationalism was evil”. I told her about Latvia, and she said, “well maybe it will do them some good (immigration): might liven them up a bit.” I said, looking into the Seine, ripples regenerating, that ‘maybe they don’t want to be livened up'. She didn’t have an answer for that and later the Cathedral was burnt down.


 I didn’t want to write this next bit. The sun has only just set into the sea, and the ashes have only just been sprinkled, and it seems ungodly - profane - horrible and grotesque to mention my feelings, but just in case you got this far, and I haven’t answered your email, or returned your call, or been to your social engagement, or engaged you in friendly meandering conversation, maybe this will help a little.


 I was waiting for someone near the IR offices, killing time by reading a dense book about NGOs. It was that time when the unclean without the code were being mocked and outcast: maybe you remember? Well, it struck me then, that if this author was correct, then now the PayMasters have really got you whipped: now you are really having to pay the price for always having had the right opinions and being - to boot - nice and fluffy rabbits.


 I mean you can maybe not do so well in a debate about immigration with some awful person, but you can console yourself that your opponent is basically a bigot in their withered heart: as opposed to you. 


You can maybe not do as well as you would have liked in a debate with some socially conservative type about - I don’t know - modern families, but it’s okay: at least you know about ‘love’, don’t you?


 Maybe one of these cocky types gave you a hard time about the lockdowns? Doesn’t matter: at least you know your place, listen to the experts, and have a social conscience, and so on. 


But then it happened. Right in front of your nose. A whole swathe of us were denied work, access to society, and it was winter to boot. We couldn’t see an end to it. It engulfed us, and you looked on, and took the piss.


 Or said nothing. Played your gigs, went to concerts, and flung it in our faces. I went to one illicitly in a warehouse out of town It was specially for the unclean after lord-knows how many months, and 10 seconds into it I wept.


 The dreadful thing is not that you can’t even make an argument for it. I mean a couple of you tried, but it was embarrassing: you were coded and ill and spreading it. No, the really awful thing is that the NGO-view, the one in full view of you and all those friends around you - was tyrannical. It was grotesque and profane. We, who had spent so much time with you, were flung into some pit fit for untermenschen, with your approval.


 And now, when I see one of your ilk complain about some conservative as being ‘an enemy of human rights’, I don’t know whether to puke or shake. There is nothing to you now. No shred of coherent ideology remains. You are naked, No one outside your circle takes you seriously anymore. 


 Apocalypse, in its own way.


 Maybe you could jump that ship. The water’s not too bad. Apologise, and some bridges could be bent back into shape, or at least you can float on this flotsam with me and my wife. 


 Pull down thy vanity (which could, of course, apply to me). Thou (we) are a beaten dog beneath the hail, a swollen magpie in a fitful sun; half black half white, nor knowest’ou wing from tail. Pull down thy (my) vanity, How mean thy (my) hates, fostered in falsity, pull down thy (my) vanity, I say pull down.

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[Aug. 5th, 2022|10:57 pm]
The little one took part in a youth zemessardzes event.
Turns out she can shoot with an evil eye
and when no one else in her group wanted to
she swam across a stagnant pond
cos someone had to.

Real saxon mentality
No wonder we were lent all that dough created out of nothing
To rule half the world for a bit.

She won an award and various high praise and has an official invite iestaaties.
It is a fucking curse.
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