Dinosauria are we to be

Fight for the Top of the World
Wednesday, Sep. 19, 2007 By JAMES GRAFF

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Orange gas plumes from the Statoil Snow White project on the Melkoy island outside Hammerfest.
Allan Klo for TIME
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At the end of August, a wisp of flame suddenly appeared in the Arctic twilight over the Barents Sea, bathing the low clouds over the Norwegian port of Hammerfest in a spectral orange glow. With a tremendous roar, the flame bloomed over the windswept ocean and craggy gray rocks, competing for an instant with the Arctic summer's never-setting sun. The first flare-off of natural gas from the Snohvit (Snow White in Norwegian) gas field, some 90 miles (145 km) offshore, was a beacon of promise: After 25 years of false starts, planning and construction, the first Arctic industrial oil-and-gas operation outside of Alaska was up and running. Norway's state-owned petroleum firm Statoil could finally exploit once unreachable reserves, expected to deliver an estimated $1.4 billion worth of liquefied natural gas each year for the next 25 years.
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But in a place where the aurora borealis normally provides celestial beauty, Snow White's luminous apparition also signals caution. What will a new era of exploitation bring to the Arctic, one of the earth's last great uncharted regions? The vast area has long fascinated explorers, but it has just as long been the site of folly and exaggerated expectations. Over centuries, hundreds died in the doomed search for an ice-free Northwest Passage between Asia and Europe, many of them victims of ill-fated stabs at national and personal glory.
This summer, however, saw something new: for the first time in recorded history, the Northwest Passage was ice-free all the way from the Pacific to the Atlantic. The Arctic ice cap's loss through melting this year was 10 times the recent annual average, amounting to an area greater than that of Texas and New Mexico combined. The Arctic has never been immune from politics; during the Cold War, U.S. and Soviet submarines navigated its frigid waters. But now that global warming has rendered the Arctic more accessible than ever — and yet at the same time more fragile — a new frenzy has broken out for control of the trade routes at the top of the world and the riches that nations hope and believe may lie beneath the ice. Just as 150 years ago, when Russia and Britain fought for control of central Asia, it is tempting to think that — not on the steppe or dusty mountains but in the icy wastes of the frozen north — a new Great Game is afoot.
Gas and Global Warming
Russia is at the thick of the new game. In an expedition that lacked nothing in patriotic bluster, a Russian-led team descended to the seabed on Aug. 2 and planted a titanium Russian flag directly on the North Pole. In early September, Russian bombers launched cruise missiles during Arctic exercises. But it isn't only the Russians who are staking their claims. On Aug. 10, Canadian Prime Minister Stephen Harper flew to Resolute, a hamlet of 250 souls on Cornwallis Island in the northern territory of Nunavut, and announced plans for an Arctic military training facility and a refurbished deep-water port on the Northwest Passage. Then Danish scientists set sail on an expedition to map the seabed north of Greenland, a Danish dependency, and — not to be outdone — the U.S. Coast Guard dispatched the cutter Healy on a similar mission north of Alaska. The flurry of activity has prompted the Senate Foreign Relations Committee to schedule hearings this month to push for U.S. ratification of the international treaty on the Law of the Sea, which came into force in 1994. Ratification of the treaty has long been opposed by conservatives, who consider it a shackle on U.S. sovereignty, but it now has the support of the Bush Administration, largely because its terms would allow Washington to weigh in with its own claims in northern waters.

another Dylan wordplay

Oh the time will come up when the trees will rot and the world will cease to be spinninglike eulogy air floatin high from a dull stare, the hour that our train comes in. and the tracks will unfold like a pathway for the soul for your dreary eyes to devour and the men living on the wall will scream from the hall that even Gods sometimes falter. Oh the waves of grain will sing in the rain and they'll ask for the destruction of all thats unholy like the end of fall when a fire is raging tall, the hour that the train comes in. and the birds of prey will fight desperately to stay in the boxcar that holds deaths secrets but the railman likes to fight and he does it every night so he checks for all the dirty numbers and they know he comes, so they binge on lifes sweet rum and try to forget they're about to be trampled but he arrives with a cane, to soften up their brains for messing with his bag of essentials and they run and hide like coyotes in the night, the hour that the train comes in. So now every hand is with hammer and all souls begin to clamor that the end may not be so violent. And the sky's blue hue envelops and validates all thats true, the hour that the train comes in .And the train's stone faced men will see the path of zen and will lock the brakes and walk into the field. when they lay in the grass, history's shadow of death will pass, the hour that the train in.

How can i rise
above
beyond
this petty
unimportant
influence
that is
life.


experiences
images
words
tendencies
advertisements
play a role
in the destruction
of my capability
to channel
truth.

Feeling the brazen ideas
burning my
fingertips,
burning with
impatience,
burning with pollution,
is torment.


Collusion btw. light and dark
is perpetual
when life's
oil
is incessant in
its
demanding influence.
Ideas cheapen
truths break
incendiary thoughts
turn to
proletarian
refuse.

Clear now.
environment is the
real death.
the death of originality
the death of free will
we are NOTHING
but what
we see.
and what we
see
is shit
ABSOLUTE
shit


where is the world i have been looking for
and expected

Check this shit out- effen mickey ds

http://tubevube.com/user.php?vid=LMzbwa6PvEE&u=Eli8Bit

study of abstract wordplay

They are drying blood on sheets of amber
they are defecating on a statue of Cl. Sanders.
And while all the sleeveless politicians are begging for anal,
the farmers wives are killing babies while eating cheese triangles.
Now everyone who sees this is mortified but secretly has a chubby,
and instead of going to church and praying they go out and whore for money.
Who is they, and what is them in this sphere of egocentric monkeys throwin shit?
I can tell you where they came from but it is difficult as the story is written in sanskrit.
They come from a land of muddy bogs and retarded clowns with herpes lips that glow.
They come from a land where grass that can be snorted, and the preference is to smoke snow.
All this seems strange to the average killer with a love for cheerios and muscadine wine withbrie
But this land of pedo-nymphos and sticky mud is bloody and that is why it is a second home for me.

Dylan1 and 2

"money doesnt talk, it swears"

"and if my thought dreams could be seen, they'd prob'ly put my head in a guillotine"

people

my view
is clear
and unbiased
from this spot.
from this spot
the faces
are the same
but not.

nice moon-faced girl
in the deli
speaking farsi
eating ham.
tall, gaunt creature
on his phone
talking about money
and his new tie.
small child pissing
on a building corner.
hobo watching intently
slurping nectar
mother scolding son
for whatever.
businessman plucking
a penny from the
sidewalk.

old woman lays
lifeless from the steel
carriage
brains spilled
intestines ruptured in street
shit stained pants
teenager driving
cursing the old woman
"i will be late" he bellows
all look on
life moves and moves
past, beyond all.
dont notice the chains
never

importance

3:45 am
i am drunk
writing poems
writing.
this prostrate
position
always gets my back
hurting.
i look on the veranda
and see fucking
nice blonde
mean looking thug
fucking
i am writing
i like to fuck too!
i should do that instead
fuck
but who?
i make the call
dirty blonde
fishbucket hair
i finish
lay
think
"get out whore"
i say to the
door
she listens good
but smells bad.
ahhhh life!!!
more fucking?
or more writing?
that is always my
burden
to bear

every morning

Cold
i wake up
shaking.
eyes burning
head floating
stomach crying red
tears.
This is what i love?
This IS what i love.
more than the rush of a spiked crimson wave
from the darkest black hole
of space.
double edged swords are
sooo much fun.

Reasons

We are all looking
for reasons
reasons to fight
reasons to die
reasons to
live
in the end
what reasons were true
and which were
obligatory
make about as much difference
as an apology
for dropping a
nuke.


We use reasons for hate
for injustice
for honesty
for
deception
and they mean nothing.


the sun has froze
soon it will fall
into barren earth
men are eating children
their women
a thousand screams from the labyrinth
of time
overtake
and maime
this
all this
10000 year
testament to
nothingness.
and dust now forms the clouds
and jackals are
adorned with jewels
and adoration
from all.
all is destroyed
for progress
in the name of progress
or is it movement?
I forget....


When the ferry ride is over
There will be no parades
no rosy cheeked strippers
no jubilant cries
no happiness
no unhappiness
but there will be something
something
perfection
PERFECTION
is prior
to the voices
constructed into language,
the funny shapes
on wood pulp.
earths natural function
will reign
supreme

Nike

This day
that day
which day
are you looking for?
they are all the same
same opportunities
for disgrace
for enlightenment
for
change
so make it now
now
and now
hugging pillows will
keep you
in bed.

another open forum

Is nature vs. nature exactly just that- exactly proportionate? Is the theory that genetics and environment play against each other to form our respective selves in an exact equation that exists in every human on the same level true, or is that even it? Are some children less likely to be susceptible to replicating the violence they were privy to at young ages than, say, a child with genetic characteristics of an antisocial that was brought up in a good home and never exposed to traumatic violence? How do we put a formulae on genetic behavioral theory?

days, weeks, yesterday begun

Grass tall
deathly still now
no breeze to inspire its flailing, bending dance

no life in this stone
only names
maybe ours?
probably
written yet?
centuries ago

eons ago

as unwavering as monochromaticity

INHERENT.

We are in this process
just wait
this monsoon of inevitability
which we know as abstract and far away
will rape our daughters
and fuck our wives while we watch.
howling
"bless unwavering ignorance"

Cliche' to say
but end is a beautiful word
and is near.
not how we want
but how we
FEAR.

open forum

which will come first (and why):

jesus's return

or

nuclear holocaust

(that's to say that jesus's return is NOT in the form of nuclear holocaust)

All hail Mr. Bukowski.- not mine

There is enough treachery, hatred,
violence,
absurdity in the average human
being
to supply any given army on any given
day.


AND the best at murder are those
WHO preach against it.
AND the best at hate are those
Who preach LOVE.
AND the best at War-finally-are those
Who preach PEACE.


Beware
THE Average Man
THE Average Woman
BEWARE their Love.


Their love is average, seeks
Average.
But their genius is in their hatred.
There is enough Genius in their
Hatred To kill you, to kill
anybody.


Not wanting solitude,
Not understanding solitude,
They will attemp to destroy
ANYTHING
That differs from their own.


Not being able
to create art,
They will not
understand art.


They will consider their failure
as Creators
Only as a failure
of the world.


Not being able to love fully
They will BELIEVE your love
incomplete.
AND THEN THEY WILL HATE YOU.


And their hatred will be Perfect
Like a shining diamond
Like a knife
Like a mountain
LIKE A TIGER
Like Hemlock


Their finest
ART....
So i know this isnt my poem, but i couldnt help but put it on the page because it is so relevant and true to life. The king is dead, long live the King---Mr. Bukowski.