Friday, 29 April 2016

Blue Malthus, Reverend Green

A 'windmill' costs any amount. It pays for itself in x years. It falls apart in y years. If y>x then it is 'free', and indeed, 'makes money'. If y=2x, then we can have two, after y years. Two for the price of none. Other ratios give other times. We are in a far off fantasy fairyland, where Faraday existed, and maths holds true. We are on square 2, of the rice chessboard. Long before we reach square 64, everything is a 'windmill', and we have strayed into 'impractical'.

The letters page of any endearingly quaint 'newspaper' displays the sabre-wit of retired colonels, pointing out that sometimes the wind doesn't blow. Yet somewheres it always does. It may also be noticed that the 'Earth' is mostly sea, and that the sea moves - often as much as twice a day. This must remain a mystery to all contemporary Cnuts. There may be other such 'miracles'.

But can we really afford free energy? Financial experts, for a fee, will calculate the enormous inevitable 'subsidy' required. Energy experts, for a fee, will calculate the relatively greater cost, of free. And sado-masochistic Gaia martyrs, for Aztec lust over others, will preach we must pay. All as if the Sun were somehow metered, and Time cost money.

The cheaper the primary, the richer the world. Cheapest is free, which is infinite wealth. But of course the Sun is finite, and I only mean billions of years. With the economic causes of war, both domestic and 'neighbourly', removed, humans who like employment can have something socially useful to do, before the advent of 3D printed robots removes the idiocy of labour. Humans labour under delusion, and love's labours lost. Some have not even noticed they are 3D printed robots themselves.

Creationists of the non-Physics variety inform us that 'you can't get something from nothing'. Suitably chastised, we exercise caution in our conjecture:- Only if the Earth, Sun and moon existed, and I mean really, would all this be true.

Britannia waves the rule

The Queen put on a mirror smile
And subjects clapped themselves
How tidily each knew their place
Like books on history shelves

Her clockwork toys in red and black
Her happy plastic flags
That wave the spell dominion
Over rocks and body bags

Above the body politic
The head that bears the pounds
So stamps the semeiotic trick
In blood in richer grounds

All noble savage backward tribes
Have built their Humpty wall
Let headless states, then stateless heads
Be fairest of them all.

Thursday, 21 April 2016

Poem for the day

Moses led the Jews to the Promised Land, - the three week walk from the Nile to Jerusalem taking only 40 years. Be careful who you ask directions. Dai Penweddig, similarly 'inspired', left Cardiff Arms Park in 1978, and turned up back home in Ammanford, in 2005, in time to watch Wales win the Grand Slam again. Of the intervening years he could recount nothing, and died that very night, happily thinking Wales were ever good at rugby. But what distinguishes inspired eternal truth from tedious grating psychosis? Wel, according to Idris, it's about three cans...

A spider spun a web of gold
To catch a silver fly
And baser beaten leaden ants
Looked up into the sky

They climbed to make a pyramid
To reach the golden threads
And each the higher climbed upon
The greater numbers heads

The golden Sun, the silver rain
Falls free upon the Earth
And ants who learn geometry
May fly for all they're worth.

REJ:- Hmmm.....I preferred you in the wilderness -

Idris:- It's a money spider.

Monday, 18 April 2016

Holy Text

Self-abasing over head projector humble-modest alter ego unreflective abject-simple, chaste-but-never-caught, pudic anotherwordformodest, Vicar of Christ on Earth, Francis Saint dolittle, has a friend so clever, you wouldn't believe it. But fortunately faith is not required, for although the mechanism of transmission is beyond the feeble proddings of science, the message itself comes through loud and clear, and understanding of the magic medium is not required to hear the magic message, so generously translated...

Fsd:- 'In my Father's house are many rooms. And a rather nice ceiling I don't look at too closely.' -

Fsd:- 'In fact there are so many spare rooms - perhaps as many as 12! - it's enough to make Mr. Osborne cry. But one shouldn't cry in church on happy occasions.' -

Fsd:- 'My friend is clever beyond your comprehension. And He has revealed to me, that there is inequality on Earth. For mysterious reasons, poverty breeds despair and descent into fantasy. Here you will find the church ever happy to help.' -

Fsd:- 'Some people have been meekly inheriting vast fortunes in property and money, and using shady accounting to avoid tax. Blood is thicker than water, and avoiding inheritance tax is only infanticidal if you count other people's children, often far away.' -

Fsd:- 'Concentrate, and see the miracle of undiluted blood from water, - transparently the Spirit of dilution of responsibility at work.' -

Fsd:- 'Infanticide is objectively wrong, and anyone who builds their house on...sorry there's a bit of interference....anyone who builds their church on.....sorry I'm going through a tunnel.....Oooh! look at the light!....anyone who by their fruits is a servant of.....sorry, who is this?!' -

*number withheld*