Friday, 19 September 2008

Semitic Words, Erotica, Turning Forty, and Geekery

Mood: Meandering mood
[Toot!] Index: 5.2
Communism Bit: Off
Location: Entebbe

  1. Insha'llah.
    Loaded word. Brits arrest you for uttering it at their democratic, free airports, these terminals to freedom from fatwas and from edicts that call for your apostate head for uttering blasphemous things.
    Insha'llah. Guttural Arabic for God willing. But it's more than just blasphemy against the Protestant god.
    Insha'llah also exposes you for the divine-boot-licking theo-fatalist with pee-soaked undies that we all are. In one word, you declare yourself a submissive partner in the chain of command that climbs Heav'nward and dangles Earthward. Little wonder, then, that the word comes from The Submission. Ah, the Arabs. Their fierce religiousness is quite a gift to mankind, I tell you. In more ways than one.

  2. And while we are talking about talking Semites, let's all of us turn a little to the left, if you will. From here, we get Shalom. Another one.
    A slushy blessing, a wish of peace upon thy head. It's a first-line-of-defence in greeting for those who use it. It means Peace, and that's where the problem is. What peace?
    Isn't this the Middle East? What peace? And, funny, the guy on the other side of the fence is also saying Peace in his greeting (this is all some moments before the firing starts). And he says Asalaam alaikum. Divinely-sanctioned Muslim greeting. Yarmulke and kaffiyeh nod at each other with teary eyes. Shalom!, wails one. Asalaam alaikum!, sings the other. The kernel of both Middle Eastern greetings is Peace. And that's where the paradox lies. Because, you see, the firing starts around now.

  3. My career as an eroticist is taking off like the rising spirit of a dead holy rat. And I'm having fun at every turn. Look, first, I wrote stories for a girl. And then, one day, I slipped some erotica in there. She liked it. I started writing erotica. And then, one day, I was stressed, and I drew her something to relax. It was the beginning of my graphical erotica. O My Lord! Illustrated erotica! But I've, thus far, only drawn independent pics. I drew one that is tame enough to put on this blog. Here you go:

    It's called Amour-Wrestle, a play on "arm-wrestle", of course. Trust me, away from the blog, things get much, much steamier. Acrobatic, even. But this one is representative of my style: little-to-no frontal nudity, mild cubism, crayon look, mouse-only drawing, no deliberate straight lines, a sense of incompleteness, contrasting skin tones of lovers, et cetera.
    And I don't know how this hurts or enhances my prospects of becoming a writer in other forms. (I'll be trying to start writing for a publication here, any, to pad my pockets a bit.)

  4. Despite the luxurious meandering style I've used today, this is still not long enough. —Yet. Not yet long enough to deflect the fleeting flashes of uncommitted attention.
    What I do in a case like this is to invoke a rant. Today, it shall be against glam mags.
    It's not against the vanity in them. (I'm not feeling terribly-Maoist today, sadly. I've just spent more than Shs. 1,000 this hour.) I'm against the shifting goal posts. As in, one day they say they are celebrating the rich diversity among women, then the next they are declaring a rigid standard to which all women must measure up. It's angering. Example?
    At forty years old, something happens to women. I'm not sure what; I just know it must be a bad thing. So women vary, not sharing even the thumbprint, a rich, pulsating population of dancing, smiling diversity ... until said age limit. *wags middle finger*

    And yet I know how this shit a-go begin. It sells (you won't believe just how much) when you make people feel urgently-sad about themselves. Do you know who most-adores the New York-descended statistics about Africa, the ones that pretend the positive stuff doesn't contribute to stats, and that "perfect" is short for "like the West" (and also cleverly omitting fields about serial killers and racists and school shootings and so on)? Of course, of course! It's the Africans who a-go count off, finger on upraised fingers, how badly they are told they are doing. *wags middle finger*

    So the glam mags tell women that they are well-programmed computers (a rare thing, I tell you, even literally) that will do something bad—crash? burn? reboot? what?—when they reach some stroke of midnight.
    The sad thing, of course, being that anybody bought this shit. More than one person. :o(

  5. Let's close, let's close. Sit down, please. You've made it thus far. Let's close. One more thing. Geek shit coming up! *ducks and raps away*
    I can't upload my code to any spot on the web right now (laziness, 3rd World Internet™, and other reasons). So I'll put it in this post. :o) It's under fifty—50—lines of Ruby code. It's a diary program I call journal. It's nice with its quick-'n-dirty style. It can work on any Unix system that has openssl(1) and Ruby. That's roughly any Unix. I'm using Mac OS X. To run it (it is minimalist), in Mac, open the Terminal (Applications→Utilites→Terminal), and then execute the Ruby script. You really should tinker with the code to use it in, say, another editor other than Vim (which I use). Not much work.

    It inserts the date line (with time, to the second) when you start a new entry.
    It backs up your diary, after every entry, if the backup folder is present. I use the flash disk, so when I have it plugged in, the backups go there.
    It's very secure. It uses the Blowfish cipher from OpenSSL. That's top-notch security, there. It'll ask for a password whenever it starts and closes. I didn't use Ruby's OpenSSL lib, because I wanted it short and direct. And quick and dirty. And secure (the password reading, you see). Sweetness. Here you go; enjoy and don't laugh at my variable names.

    #! /usr/bin/env ruby

    require 'pathname'

    JOURNAL = 'journal'
    BF_FILE = "#{DIARY_FILE}.bf"
    VIMINFO = HOMEOPATHY + '.viminfo'

    def bf_prompt quoi, done
    STDOUT.puts quoi
    flag, inf, outf =
    (done ? ['-e', DIARY_FILE, BF_FILE] : ['-d', BF_FILE, DIARY_FILE])
    system(%{openssl enc -bf #{flag} -in #{inf} -out #{outf}}) and
    DIARY_FILE.delete if done

    def bf_prompt_insist quoi, done
    correct = false
    correct = bf_prompt quoi, done until correct

    def back_up!
    return unless
    bfbn = BF_FILE.basename
    dest = BACKUP_DIR + "#{bfbn}.tgz"
    Dir.chdir(BF_FILE.dirname.to_s) do
    system "tar cfz #{dest} #{bfbn}"
    STDOUT.puts "Backed up to #{dest}"

    def jmain args
    toplain = bf_prompt_insist 'Decrypting journal ...', false
    start_cmd = %{THEDATE=`date` && echo "\n$THEDATE\n" >> #{DIARY_FILE} && vi + #{DIARY_FILE}}
    edit = toplain and system(start_cmd)
    edit and bf_prompt_insist 'Encrypting journal ...', true
    ($? ? $?.exitstatus : 0)


    Okay. Bye, then. :o)


leos child said...

i still wonder how you understand yourself!not with all that geekery!i have tried to draw pictures doesnt seem to work ah well gonna try again as for refusing people to greet because it sounds fanatical pure cowardice!

Spartakuss said...


leos child said...

waaaaaahhhhhh spatakuss i got the soooocckkkkss!hehhehhhe

Spartakuss said...

dude, i was here first and i am thinking you didnt even read the post.
do rev, bounce this guy and pliz give me the socks this time.

The 27th Comrade said...

Nah Rev mate, bounce 'em both...'tis only fair ;-)

antipop said...

you heard the man!. i get these socks!. rev, this is amazing art. i think

tumwijuke said...


y.z said...

I just realized that i underestimate how much of a geek i am as i copied and pasted. And i love saying insh'Allah because arabic sounds so much more like music than english. Maybe the Brits are jealous?

Princess said...

That pic just made my night! Innuendos, much? :D
Blogtrotting tonight has been more delightful than usual!! :-)

DeTamble said...

At 40? What happens at 40? I'm confused...

I like glam mags, not for the message they send but for the shiny shimmering pages, you look at those in bright light and it's like being drugged...or maybe that was the drugs...anyway I like glam mags, but only ones about clothes. I hate actually reading shit about celebrities I don't like. I just want to look at clothes and accessories...I guess that's why I have no issue with spending $1000 a day on perfume and shoes. I'm a Vogue girl.

Btw I think my tit looks quite nice in your drawing, good job Fluffy Head :-)

leos child said...

why are you thinking aloud!i got here b4 mmmmmmmmmmwwwwwwaaaaaaaaaah!hope it sounds evil enough!

Carlo said...

That erotica! DeT? You? Two? Both of you? About time!

DeTamble said...

LOL Carlo! You know you're making me blush here!