take deep breethe..

the hour of judgment is at hand, the clock strikes one, the mouse is on the run.

okay to save this from complete mind blowing arbitrariness:

there's a hilarious metal parody band called Dethlok, look them up, they have a song called "Murmaids" about murdering mermaids because "deep under water, there are no fingerprints"...better yet, in "Thunderhorse", the only lyrics are:

"Thunderhorse! Thunderhorse! Revenge! Revenge!"

Actually, not to be pedantic, but apparently ancient Iceland (I got this off a Journal of Economic History article) did not have a formal court system for 300 years (1100 to about 1400 BC). Instead they relied on a method of enforcement by which anyone who committed a wrongdoing was supposed to announce this at the house of the victim; if he/she failed to do so then the victim had every right to kill (yes, kill) the originator of the crime. This killing could be stopped if the criminal paid the victim's household compensation. However, if the compensation was thought not enough, someone from the victim's household (including the victim if no murder had taken place) could challenge the criminal to a duel...which the criminal could cancel by paying up more.

I swear I'm not making this up...one of the quotes I remember was the author saying "this was a system apparently designed by some mad economist completely devoted to the market"

Viewed in this way, "Thunderhorse" can be viewed as a brief summary of the case study cited.

Vikings I tell you...

reverse causality

Critics of glam rock:

For a genre derided in part for its largely misogynistic attitude toward women, glam rock also spawned the greatest number of female guitar players: Girlschool, Vixen. Note these are actual musicians, not some pretty face.

Probably this is true for other genres as well, I don't know. But good lord they can play, they look great too, an it's odd how guitar players evoke this feeling of slavish adoration: I want you to rock me oh yes!

and i want to paint it

Some are twiddling thumbs, some are asleep with the lights on, some are not what they were.

The world, he tells himself as he readies to get back home, is made of very different people. Stay long enough and you find enough to like and dislike in all of them.

Some though, it is hard to dislike.

Wearily as he makes his way out of the building to the bus stop, walking like a small child, he thinks about all the snakes and ladders which led him here. It must be all an amazing coincidence. How funny must it be, he thinks, if despite all the science and study about the human condition, everything comes down to coincidence.

Truth is pure coincidence, unintended, irrational and therefore obtuse.

I'm a philosopher now, is it? and he gets off the bus, into his flat, into the kitchen, into his bedroom and good night, good luck.