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StageDrifter last won the day on January 30 2018

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About StageDrifter

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  1. Whoopsie. If you are ever concerned about screwing up Shinto and Japanese Buddhism in regards to photos of black flower funeral metal (Black Cat Metal), and reflect on this as it screws up, you might as well go right back to India through China, with kind words to the Dali Lama in passing. Meaning... Part of you might want to post a "Cyber" "Squad" version of La Soldier. Instead, this, to friends there: Deep Purple Knockin' From North America despite translations, I spent a summer or winter break on a boat in the mid eighties in British Columbia around Comox, and when on look out for many hours, had this song running through my mind, as it was on the radio much. It seems to strongly still be there, when many things have been forgotten.
  2. Four Kay Horror was Anywhere that it mattered - Corona lonely. In the off season We meet, but when the game’s on You can’t find a tree. I do not point, no, But there is a pointing, yes: All allusions suck. Her name, Four Kay Blood, In a list of 420’s. Ya, sure. It’s me, girl. Virus, kid or man, I cycle through both this month. Four Kay talks to me. Kid says Dokken ‘Beast From the East’ plus bottle wine Equals special God? Man bets car on stocks, Broke even today, at least For twelve hours, virus. Who are we fooling? Man is kid as kid is kid, Modern suit as both. I watched you one hour, For three seconds I could swear I saw someone else. This is not for you. I dream of Tai Chi’s girlfriend With an other’s soul. Four Kay Horror, she Was social distancing made Backwards as a bridge. It’s not the sword you Worship when you worship the Sword, silly camper. Code break, code stun, count Interrupts to zero, go Developer blues.
  3. I’ve only watched ten minutes of ‘Cloud Punk’ but it is obvious to me the potential of its DLC: Cross the theme with anything ‘Pet Care/Sitting’ and $$$. The ‘Animal Crossing’ crowd can’t get enough, and this direction would work great, but if you wanted to get your ‘edge’ on, you could go to the lucrative industry of ‘Pet Health Insurance’, maybe even ‘Pet Black Clinics’, where your loved, beautiful, and awesome pet could get that kidney. Anyway, I think I’ll check ‘Cloud Punk’ out.
  4. The girl smiled, wore a N95 mask; My focus gravitated to her eyes And not her hair, a trick on me, this task Of finding western words to eastern sighs. In likeness science to the big and small, As all domains are meta super typed - Such wonderful power, beauty, bound wall, And all to see me on this subway hyped. Semantic, airborne virus, drifting thoughts: Today new research findings are as team And owned because massive death cards, drawn lots - Thus making hardness, the lonely to dream. Except for... Girl, I wonder. Do you play Online, like social shooters, live talk, hey?
  5. In crudeness let us veil escape away: Hawaii person to New Zealand made, Play ‘Holiday’, a new life, reasons, stay! Once I considered unknowns’ slapped, chick laid. Sure, Simmons, Gene, in Japanese, just great: Blood pills, and God’s best boner, tongue made saint, Screw Shelley Long’s ass off, without one hate, For me, because I can’t, one single paint. Braid strong, forget this time, announcements on, In Walmart across the plural island, Throw something, don’t get caught, Morocco, Don, To Christchurch, who would know, pop passport, band. Sand, as to eyes, replacement hydras scope The champion of the world, discord who dope.
  6. “Quiet. I said quiet! Which part of this don’t you understand?” Elise was speaking loudly. “You’re speaking loudly. I’m sorry.” Klein smiled, then frowned. “You got the bottle?” “I got the bottles.” She opened the backpack. “If you make noise, someone who watches this property might hear, and come up. I have dreams of this old asshole with a two chamber shot gun, watching for whoever owns this.” “Everyone’s on their way. This one will do for me. Can you light the incense?” “What’s this crap with Montrose I hear?” “She’s mad at me. Look. The others are good on this. They’ll have a good time.” “Sure.” “Okay. This is high society for poor people, right? I’m barely past the intro chapters.” “Quiet, God heck damn it! I mean it. Speak quietly.” “We’re not here. No one will hear. None of this is happening. It’s okay, Elise.” “Before the others arrive, why is Montrose mad at you?” “It’s like watching posts scroll by, quickly. Elise, Elise. Have you ever drank an entire bottle, and do nothing but stare at the album cover for “The Ghosts that Haunt Me” the entire time? Really. Then you might understand.” “The fuck I do.” “We drink. Quietly. To the project, this project.” “Montrose is pissed, dummy. And she won’t talk to me.” “I talked to the boys, and we kind of spread rumors about a super bowl party, at her house, as it turned out, to many in the community. I turned up with a few other people. I don’t know how it happened. She wasn’t too mad, then the people kind of showed, then showed more. She had drank too much by that point.” “Intellectually, you are telling me her place got trashed.” “It’s never my fault. I was happy, drinking with her. I didn’t see it coming.” “Asshole is the wrong word.” “Here. Light more candles. Toast.” “To whom today, tonight?” “For people coming. I’m thinking “Alastor, Spirit of Solitude”. Have you read it?” “This bottle, mine, understand?” She swigs. “Do you think Shelley offed himself, drowning in that storm? I’ve been trying to think about it.” “Did you read anything factual about his life?” “If I didn’t want to know him. Did you read the poem?” “Yes.” “Did he, maybe, then?” “No.” “Let’s drink together.” “I’m going to draw symbols in lip stick.”
  7. Tom Baker and James Goss, “Scratchman”. The book looks to be written with want of acting in mind, which is kind of neat, as some sentences hang with absence of interpretation. Meta spoilers: There are two manipulations, a good and a bad. The bad manipulation is framed by a character, the notion being a person told they make no difference over and over again, then confronted with an offer which makes them seem big, meaningful to others. (The offer entails a bad thing or bad things.) The good manipulation is by the story, which moves from a classical play between the old existential ‘hell is other people’, retreat into self, which can go into a kind of hate disease, as positioned against the need to help others because this is important, into something far more interesting making the whole read worth the contemplation: What happens, the way it happens, all of that is really a magic charm that mediates the problem of when a person, perhaps in old age, wants to get away from a particular relationship (say a relative in normal context) which one really can’t get away from, unless one dies.
  8. On writing process: I think I have the first thread of a story figured out, but I need a second thread to contrast and make the whole thing work. But what? Then J K Rowling comes back to twitter, and we have why writing schools don’t teach content. I really wish she would have a New Year’s Party invite only for influencers, and live stream the whole thing, if she wasn’t under contract. Vote with $ always, as competition goes. So can I find a second thread in this? In short, I believe gender is real in conception, or rather think of gender as conception in a way. But I am also perfectly good with a large number of trans-sexual rights. In short, as specifics to be worked out: Problems: Division between birth complications and (Gay?) purely elective surgery. Law suits against women’s groups and lesbian groups for discrimination. Bullying women/lesbians. (Which you wouldn’t believe happens but from the internet seems to be real.) Scholarships in general, which may designate. Sports where physicality is decisive, unlike say chess where no one cares and you sit down. Sports should be able to do as they wish, but especially in combat sports, where the league is for women fighting as a life process, and there are very large sums of money available. Okay, this isn’t perfect, but you get the idea... But is it for safety, being comfortable, living the rightful potentiality of life? Sure thing. If it’s 99%, and not 100%, thrown out of court the genetic evidence should be. Okay, boring. Back to writing. The interesting. I’m not aware of anyone else stating this, so I’m going to call it “The StageDrifter Heuristic.” To formalize it: When searching for correlations/determinism (using AIs generally) and pattern recognition in hopes of moving between the micro to the macro, restrict scope both in terms of genetics and psychology to the most basic and primal elements of living existence. In short, you have genetics base to up. In psychology you have basically survival make-up such as eat, defecate, and sex. The model I use has subject/object as real, and the break down of subject/object into subject and object (abstraction) as a way of understanding, gaining knowledge. The model supports evolution. And this is very important, so I’m going to shout. THE MODEL SUPPORTS EVOLUTION. Micro and macro. And that’s why having gender as real at conception is important. For evolution to work, code from living/experiencing one’s life must make it into the next generation. You’ll also get the wonderful weird world of biology, which would have to be figured into this. But you can prototype away. Also, the model does not hold a stop point of evolution. Hence any being that follows can change, this detailing, and as is the point, sex. Which, of course, points to what men’s penises will look like and function like in 3000 years time, as evolution will proceed. The model also states a belief that we can half choose what will come, but the other half will be chosen for us. Anyway, with the StageDrifter heuristic, this isn’t a known implication to what is true. It is only a bet, a reasonable bet. If you are looking for correlations for determinism of some kind, look for what is likely to be coded from one generation to the next about the most primal experiences in life. This is just a bet. It may not turn out to be true. But obviously, sexual orientation. Anything out there today is a made up fairy tale. But if an x, y, z, a, b, c can ever be correlated to sexual orientation, if there were ever a reason for things to be coded just a little bit differently, then micro to macro I would look for this first. Of course cave man science would have to end - you would have to distinguish between someone who was born gay (dreams such without negative effect) and someone who was malicious or a hater through such acts, not being born such. Right now our eye sight is nowhere near good enough. But predicated on what is likely to be coded over evolution, there is a fair chance I think it exists, if we could have our AIs catch it. AIs are quick, map a plurality of inputs to a plurality of outputs, and train the net for optimal answers. They pattern match good. I want to go from X to Y. There you go. The funny thing is this: If we had an x, y, z for sexual orientation people would think the x, y, z was the sexual orientation. It isn’t. It’s just the marker for it. That’s all. As evolution goes. So if the determinism is 85 per cent odds, it still is just a marker. If it is hard determinism, then it is 1.0, And that means absolute for sure, but still a marker. Of course if you knew this, then messing with it comes next. Of course I don’t believe you get sexual orientation from environment. So this might be a mixture of Plato and Kant. I do not know. But restrict your scope when looking for correlates. If you are looking for your third grade teacher as a memory, going through the nodes, instead look for massive anxiety at being in an uncomfortable new environment, and you might find that first. Gender isn’t x or y, it is what’s between them. There is the descriptive function that is our understanding, and there is the real function that is being. It’s a spinning coin.
  9. Brethren, kiss wood cheek As homeless faults raise eighties Dipshit anger grace. The thing that happens at good bars, when you realize that they only exit in comic books, is when someone leaves you the entire bottle of JD because you asked, and paid. This only happens in dreams. Is it happening? It’s a dream. In that reality, the whole drink is actually a link to a new band video. Falstaff ate boogers, Kissed off the Sony Corp. pledge, Thought quiet thigh bone. When the bought off are bought off, twice over that, one wonders, wanders with the jacket on, even if it was against the rules, come ‘84ish, say. Alone. If I’m missing my shoulder bone, do you save my life? I will execute if such is done without warrant, meaning Quebec and Mash. Fantasies, and shot glass reality, not far beyond. All clear, fucking smear, X Y to function, cut, bleed, Jerk the capture point. Mother one foot out, Nameless as one time put out, Four square in Grade Three. As severities figure into relaxing away from nonsense, I can distinctly remember a gril I kissed once, in what is now a silly museum. She is long passed to the future, and that is not a bad thing, hoping she won the contest, sincerely. Memory without interference. I do remember, as a maybe, as I would, as a gamer, that I would and should shake her hand. I stupid fuck love You in swear words, jacket warmth, But not you, sister. Don’t talk to strangers I-tunes says to the bad girls: I’m invisible. Massive exception. Somewhat. Almost. No. At all.
  10. Fear is: Co-Co Girl: Sitting suicide shift junked, A bare scarf in hand.
  11. I have it! I’ve figured Kojima out. The runner/bicycler is actually ‘streamers’ who stream all the time. The bosses who give you quests/missions are contacts/insiders to the video game industry, and the luggage/package/delivery is really the viewer, or subs to the stream.
  12. The frightmare was obvious. Halloween has always been gullible. Be very quiet. Daffy, we are hunting rabbits. Ice T, I need three of your best. No shit in the brains. For 1986. Outlaws. Who goes for this crap, anyway? Quiet! Do not tell him. We are in full comedy mode here. They bought it. My brother, it seems, is running for Union representative for the Canadian, if there are any other kinds, Mounties. Apparently they are just allowed to do this. Except he legally cannot campaign within these two weeks, because the voting is taking place, or something. Do not tell him. Our politics are very, very different. Irreconcilable. So legally, given whatever bullshit popular vote dependent on whatever geography, screw so deep this: On 49.5% one way I’m good on not swinging shit, legally. As intended, win or lose. He does this right to fire stuff, for police. Once, I remember him working on the US Canadian border, looking for people smuggling drugs, on boats across the river. I always wanted to say, who would be so fucking stupid? Seriously. We all know the area around Kingston called a thousand islands, for real estate. I’m hanging in Buffalo. And I’m not thinking... I’m thinking.. If I sell a ‘so called’ ‘Niger’ drug, I’m dead, period. Nicely, if they are in the mood. Not so, else-way. Dirty? Are you stupid, or don’t understand the situation, Mr. Prime Minister? Don’t tell him. Either way. Fucking cops with their badges still believe in good. They send single Mounties into Alberta bars to get beat up, and find suicides, kicking in doors, all by themselves. Shit. I follow the rules, period. I am one of the very few who can ask permission to parley into Quebec, you understand? I’m doing that now. As a comedian. The commandments: Into the positive, but we can’t get there. Do not... Dark, as Halloween, with candies to children. I want the Pope in a locked cage, above the ring, as my particular Father cage match happens, in the south. Children. Halloween. For the British Empire.
  13. It would be the next time... The ghost finger, it was always a myth to country. It never worked, simply. The individual, as a font. The most painful way to die, as acceptable. Stop jerking off for a second, I hear the translation come, from the chick running her fingers through my overcrowded memories of hair no longer on the back of my head. The fack. You said suede? Swiss beauty hexadecimal? Off count middle notes? Sorry. Done. Buddhist vengeance spirit, as second order, predicated on standing up and pointing at a very responsible target, not the goof assed. Spells like teenagers. Backward lyrics. Sleepers. True greatness. Not you, dummy. The wraiths, the wraths. Nine they be, and still no match for him. Truly. Nazgul. Separation. Okay, you then. It gets me through the night, because of greatness over me, but then we both are wrong. Damn. Made up hip scotch. Function of form as no other, mathematically complete. Popeye. Spinach. The dangling pointer. Dumb. Moron. Correct.
  14. I had this dream where someone was apologizing. I knew him from the Iroquois. But it was all backwards. Something about Hawaiian separatism and the new confederacy, shit like you say that crack in the biz world, and I’ll ham and egger you twelve sleepless nights. Then I was half screwing this Zerg harlotte, whom I almost loved, as I beggared the ‘e’ key into a fence: I’m the one who is supposed to be wired, you stupid, contingent zit! Or something like that… Says the number who is a free man, and not a number. I am not a number, you cock-sucking fucker of an alumni locker crack pot! Why anger? You, friend, like my uncle Bud, are not getting this. He ran, making shot gun shells from scratch, and this flop house, once. And then they asked, without current contact, so defined, as things go now: Would you like the body returned? To this country (?) defined. This means: Scrambled eggs and may I please you with scrambled eggs. In other words, I just served 25 plus years for something I didn’t do. Do you understand? Let me painfully try my French. Do you want the body back? This depends on guilty specifics. Or do you want it washed on the shores of much and left to rot in, let’s look it up, as it reads, Kiev. My handshake is made, so high and mighty, wave it. Tongue out: Suck it roaches! I love your ass, assless roaches. This was never me saying this, nor will it ever be. Simple bullshit. Asshole tension. Country or state secrets, and clearance, in reality. Key it in, as a dream. Fiction. Mohawks fuck. Always will. Dream.
  15. 2019 Those ten seconds before you fall asleep When you can draw geometry from will, Yet faces perfect detail wait there deep Inside a thought forgotten song, that’s still. This is to worship, fundamental love As wonder, the start of science, no end. The stars are better than me, hint to shove Image quality higher than me, lend. The rest of life is this small time wrote large, An imitation, good and bad, a mark To meditate the creative, to charge Returning judgement, someone else’s spark. Doll who? High five me. Good work. Grab my hand. There is a bottle for us to share, stand.
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