Kill Troll with Sword

Well we’re working here at Infocom

And they’re shutting the DEC 20’s down

Out in Menlo Park they write a report

Fill out a form, see you in court.

Well our founders didn’t see it at all.

Had an office down at Faneuil Hall.

Thought they’d get rich selling Cornerstone,

Ed Reuteman, Tommy Smaldone.

And we’re living here at Infocom,

But our recent games were all a bomb.

And it’s getting very hard to pay.

And we’re waiting here at Infocom,

For the public offering we never found.

For the promises Al Vezza made,

If we worked hard, if we behaved.

So the Golden Floppies hang on the wall,

But they never really helped us at all.

No they never taught us what was neat,

Graphics and sound, sizzling heat.

And we’re waiting here at Infocom,

For the latest Apple download from Tom,

And they’re all supposed to ship today.

Every tester had a pretty good shot,

To become an Imp and earn a lot,

But that was all before those Mountain View crooks,

Started writing off good will on our books.

Well I’m living here at Infocom,

Even the rotisserie standings are glum,

So I won’t be logging in today,

And it’s getting very hard to pay,

And we’re living here at Infocom.

The Temple Mount and the end of Zionism

Thoughtful article from Haaretz that lenses Zionism from a completely unexpected perspective. 

According to Scholem, the renewed encounter with Hebrew and its innate sanctities was a “threat [that] confronts us [as] a necessary consequence of the Zionist undertaking … Will its submerged religious power not erupt one day?… The revivers of the [Hebrew] language did not believe in the Day of Judgment, to which they destined us by their acts. May the recklessness which has set us on this apocalyptic path not bring about our perdition.“

The Temple Mount and the end of Zionism

"And failed..."

The collapse of the Tower of Babel is perhaps the central urban myth. It is certainly the most disquieting. In Babylon, the great city that fascinated and horrified the Biblical writers, people of different races and languages, drawn together in pursuit of wealth, tried for the first time to live together - and failed.

Poem from Wendell Berry's "A Timbered Choir"

This is my favorite Wendell Berry poem… so far.  It’s one of the many Sabbath poems included in the recent compendium A Timbered Choir: The Sabbath Poems 1979-1997.

Even while I dreamed I prayed that what I saw was only fear and no foretelling,

for I saw the last known landscape destroyed for the sake
of the objective, the soil bludgeoned, the rock blasted.
Those who had wanted to go home would never get there now.

I visited the offices where for the sake of the objective the planners planned
at blank desks set in rows. I visited the loud factories
where the machines were made that would drive ever forward
toward the objective. I saw the forest reduced to stumps and gullies; I saw
the poisoned river, the mountain cast into the valley;
I came to the city that nobody recognized because it looked like every other city.
I saw the passages worn by the unnumbered
footfalls of those whose eyes were fixed upon the objective.

Their passing had obliterated the graves and the monuments
of those who had died in pursuit of the objective
and who had long ago forever been forgotten, according
to the inevitable rule that those who have forgotten forget
that they have forgotten. Men, women, and children now pursued the objective
as if nobody ever had pursued it before.

The races and the sexes now intermingled perfectly in pursuit of the objective.
the once-enslaved, the once-oppressed were now free
to sell themselves to the highest bidder
and to enter the best paying prisons
in pursuit of the objective, which was the destruction of all enemies,
which was the destruction of all obstacles, which was the destruction of all objects,
which was to clear the way to victory, which was to clear the way to promotion, to salvation, to progress,
to the completed sale, to the signature
on the contract, which was to clear the way
to self-realization, to self-creation, from which nobody who ever wanted to go home
would ever get there now, for every remembered place
had been displaced; the signposts had been bent to the ground and covered over.

Every place had been displaced, every love
unloved, every vow unsworn, every word unmeant
to make way for the passage of the crowd
of the individuated, the autonomous, the self-actuated, the homeless
with their many eyes opened toward the objective
which they did not yet perceive in the far distance,
having never known where they were going,
having never known where they came from.

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