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.

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.

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*

Pome for the day

*bleepity-bleep!                            
   bleepity-bleep!                              
     bleepity-bleep!
       bleepity-bleep!*

or is it?

*bbbblllleeeeppppiiiittttyyyy----bbbblllleeeepppp!!!!*

*the sound of no button*

REJ:- Wel, I see from my quadrophonic twatphone, mined by a child slave in Congo, assembled by a yellow slave in China, and hawked at 5000% by a 'genius' we are all to admire, that someone I don't quite know, has had breakfast this morning. Marvellous what they can do.

Sioned says she always keeps her inbox tidy, especially after that virus. You should see her spam folder - I can't remember the last time it was full. etc. I'msorryIhaven'taclue what I'm writing. Gadewch i ni have the pome:-

We've had Empires ruled by Emperors,
And Kingdoms ruled by Kings,
Now Countries politician-run -
The silly rhyming things

And history repeats the times
We don't come to our senses
I only put this quatrain in
To save me changing tenses:-

A farmer grows a bumper crop
- The world enriched in wealth -
Well that was nice, but what the price?
- Collapsed just like his health

A tender fuels the steam machine
And mining is the goal
But wait! - the less he shovels in
The more he's left with coal

A banker plays the fruit machine
He's bought a dodgy token
He ends up bust, take this on trust:-
The house wins, never broken

An expert surely touched by God
Hallucinates World debt
And so we pray, and wisely pay
The absent martians yet

When someone tells you something's hard
And you should look away
It might be that they can't explain
Quite half the things they say.

REJ:- Da iawn Idris. But you couldn't be bothered to change the tenses and make it chronological -

Idris:- I would for a fee -

REJ:- And that's just the farmer from Macbeth, isn't it? -

Idris:- No, it's a different one, just suffering from a similarly inevitably disastrous increase in wealth -

REJ:- Hang on, I'm meant to be the idiot -

Idris:- Something tells me you can still do it -

REJ:- Idris bach! What rhymes with politician? Duw! you really must think before you write, isn't it?! -

Idris:- So an accent makes you an idiot does it? -

REJ:- No, I think it was more missing the rhyme. Anyway, are you going to get into character? I can't do this on my own you know -

Idris:- It's been so long I can't remember who I is. I'll just be an artist type. Say something stupid to cue me in -

REJ:- And Idris! the coal! awful dirty llwch glo indeed! You don't be wanting to speed up the machine with irresponsible shovellings now do you? - you'll dig it all out! There'll be none left -

Idris:- Not really, Richard. You see it was a metaphor -

REJ:- Wel, it would be fiscally impru - I mean - Diawl! it's not easy being an idiot -

Idris:- Try being an artist. Oooh! I know. The coal. *ahem!* Richard! I bring you riches beyond your imagination, and you see only dust! Every word is holy, rent from my very soul. They glitter! I transmute the leaden into gold! The coal becomes the diamond only under the most enormous pressure! The sharpest cuts! Only the sharpest cuts may make the most brilliant shine! The multifaceted reflection radiates a preternatural light illuminating a butterfly broken on the wheel of words that - *Clunk!*.....*Oooof!* -

REJ:- Wel, that's broken it. I never got the hang of it anyway. Screen split clean in half! - a broken fairground mirror. For God and Country.

Equity Release

The price of any finite resource uncapped will tend towards infinite, the price of any infinite resource will tend towards zero. And all extending tautologies in like proportion. We find the Sun currently charges us £0 per unit of energy. This is surely a disastrous price, leaving God no taxable income to pay His telepathy bill. But maybe He has hedged His shares.

The corporation that is a Lily, on closer consideration, toils under the Sun unto Death, and has done so ever since being new. It is taxed at every step of entropy, to be redistributed in wider society, of which it has been suggested there is no such thing.

Sellers prefer high prices, buyers prefer low prices - we can but wonder why - but all agree such fuel is ultimately best placed in large overground bunkers known as property, to remain unused, as recommended by any misreading of the parable of the talents.

To pay for land once, - when it is already there - is absurd, to pay for it infinitely begs forgiveness beyond humanity. Perhaps this money could be better spent, without the Earth vanishing. But what profit a man if he loses the whole world? Perhaps, if not paid for infinitely, all houses would instantly fall down, like the walls of Jericho, as play those with the loudest trumpets. We need not dance like rats to this fantasy Pied Piper.

Fleas who have successfully hallucinated they own the dog, by divine right of ancestry, and not a little wrath when questioned, require the backing of force when childish superstition alone will not suffice. The shorthand of the law has proved effective, and all the world's their stage as long as we each play our scripted part.

The free flow of capital across borders renders the concept of a country subject to fluctuation, and open to economic blackmail so long as it is smaller than all the other countries in the world combined. Lines drawn in the sandpit of humanity prove chimeric as the illusory line between public/private, albeit fun for football, both with and without guns.

Equity release is most simply effected by a cap on private wealth. Earth and Sun is - near enough - a closed system, and capital can not yet fly very far into space. Maximum wealth is so capped by Physics. Individuals successfully imagining themselves against being subject to such a cap, have not noticed they already are, and might find it impractical to move to a Martian tax haven. Landlords may find it difficult to leave, and 'take their geography with them'. There is no need to remain subject to such revealing threats. The lower the cap, the greater the automatic redistribution. History tells us automatic is preferable to human whim. Evolution tells us the algorithm required can fit in the brain of an ant. Ants weigh more than humans, if you add them all together. This could be said to be a successful economic model, achieved some billion years ago. Perhaps things are clearer without emotion.

Evolution is gene economics, and we have our model perfectly 1:1 with reality, iterated over billions of years. It remains inherently unpredictable, as determinism contains freedoms unrealised by Calvin, but what happened is a matter of record. One need only read the book of life. We can know where the wealth has accumulated. Greater equality, via redistribution is better, by all inter-subjective consensus definitions of better. First there was the word. We are merely extending tautologies of a circular truism, against which therefore, there can be no coherent argument.

Centrally planned haircuts look immediately awful. Free market haircuts, a decade later. So be it with fashionable economic theory. There have been no wealth creators. Wealth creation would require supernatural ability. Meta-wealth creation is greatest via technology, of which intellectual property is invalid, since none can claim authorship of their brain. Let this equity be released also.

The final circular truism is that human law is written by humans. Thus it may be written better. 'Thou shalt not steal', and 'thou shalt not covet' were lines commissioned by persons of property. Today it is written 'the politics of envy'. Such scribes were ever for hire. Break the spell, and Justice may be written.

All humans immigrate into the world, as economic migrants from the womb, and promptly seek asylum at the nearest breast. Imprinted as the ugly duckling, both symbiosis and parasitism sound the same, and swans a fairy-tale for quacks. Yet all shall write the future, knowingly or not, the script is not yet written. Increasing economic apartheid continues the most shameful chapter in the book of humanity. Yet all that binds us, and all that is required to set us free, ultimately, are mere ideograms on a slice of a tree. Noticing this fact is worth - literally - all the money in the world.

Eurodisney II

Pierre has 5 europounds and 10 europounds worth of Camembert.
Peter has 10 europounds and 5 europounds worth of Cheddar.

Pierre sells his Camembert to Peter for 10 europounds.
Peter sells his Cheddar to Pierre for 5 europounds.

Pierre had 15 europounds of money and goods.
Peter had 15 europounds of money and goods.

Pierre now has 15 europounds of money and goods.
Peter now has 15 europounds of money and goods.

All perfectly balanced.

But wait!

Peter's imported goods = 10 europounds.
Peter's exported goods = 5 europounds.

Peter now has a 'balance of trade deficit' of 5 europounds!