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Surprise Edition - Saturday, June 7, 2003

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  • Michael A. Read
    Chocolate Jesus www.kicoz.nu/tom_waits/artwork/ nikia_vogel/nv2.htm Chocolate Buddha http://members.aol.com/Majammy/ALBUMS.HTML Chocolate God
    Message 1 of 1 , Jun 7, 2003
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      The Charge of Chocolate

      Listen to the words of the Mother of Chocolate;
      who was of old called: Godiva, Ethel M., Sara Lee,
      Nestle, Mrs. See, and by many other names:
      Whenever you have one of those cravings,
      once in a while and better it be when your checkbook is full,
      then shall you assemble in a great public place
      and bring offerings of money to the spirit of Me,
      who is Queen of all Goodies.
      In the mall shall you assemble,
      you who have eaten all your chocolate and are hungry for more.
      To you I shall bring Good Things for your tongue.
      And you shall be free from depression.
      And as a sign that you are truly free,
      you shall have chocolate smears on your cheeks,
      and you shall munch, nosh, snack, feast,
      and make yummy noises all in my presence.
      For mine is the ecstasy ofphenylalanine,
      and mine is also the joy on earth, yea, even into high orbit,
      for my law is "melts in your mouth, not in your hand".
      Keep clean your fingers, carry Wet Ones always,
      let none stop you aside.
      For mine is the secret that opens your mouth,
      and mine is the taste that puts a smile on your lips
      and comfy padding pounds on your hips.
      I am the gracious Goddess who gives the gift of joy
      onto the tummies of men and women.
      Upon earth, I give knowledge of all things delicious,
      and beyond death,well, I can't do much there. Sorry about that.
      I demand only your money in sacrifice,
      for behold, chocolate is a business,
      and you have to pay for those truffles before you eat them.


      (ed. note - commercial site, cute though ain't it?)


      We now look at the origin of the Universe itself.

      Cosmology is the study of the origin and evolution of the Universe.

      Newton was one of the first to approach cosmology on a scientific basis. He said

      "the hypothesis of matter, being at first evenly spread through the heavens, is in my opinion inconsistent with the hypothesis of innate gravity without a supernatural force to reconcile them".

      He did think that an infinite distribution of static matter could be stable.

      A more light-hearted perspective on the same question: "Only two things are infinite, the universe and human stupidity, and I'm not sure about the former."-- Albert Einstein (attributed, source unknown)

      Cosmological Principle: On a sufficiently large scale, the Universe is homogenous and isotropic

      (meaning that it is uniform and is the same in all directions)


      Note that this is an assumption that is subject to test and experimental verification. As far as we can tell now, the universe is homogenous and isotropic provided we look at a large enough scale (e.g., galaxy clusters and superclusters are obviously not uniform, have to look over a distances of ~100-1000 Mpcs to see uniformity)

      more at: http://ircamera.as.arizona.edu/NatSci102/lectures/bigbang.htm

      and: http://ircamera.as.arizona.edu/NatSci102/lectures/fateuniverse.htm

      Poems from Boxtrot (WSOY, 1998)

      Nine lives

      So far nine lives only, and
      all mine, like my head in my hands.
      My first was curled up at the foot of a fir tree
      in the autumn forest just at day-dawn
      in nighttime's raindrops.
      The resin's still in my fingernails.
      My second was the scent of split wood by the shed,
      and the circular-saw blade's horrific disc.
      The gruel, track shoes too large, and President Kekkonen,
      ink spreading across my notebook, and
      the clank of the railway under my dreams.
      Mayday's red flags, the neighbour's daughter
      naked, and dead pigeons lying on the gravel.
      My third life was the discovery of anger, blind rage
      turning and turning me in its leather bag,
      wearing the edges of my day down. Sitting at our schooldesks
      being forced towards a goal that can't be named.
      Seeing how they start drinking, drinking
      into their eyes that black impotent rebellion.
      I'm on the point of drowning, someone's traversing
      the Atlantic in a reed boat. And if I did die,
      it wouldn't matter who sneered. The stars in the sky
                           are watching us in horror.

      My fourth life is when, quite clearly, I hear
      the birds don't care. And I begin to fly.
      My first 'you' comes, fondles
      my tonsillitis, reveals me, and we let
      the eternal sand flow through our fingers. My mother's plastic.
      In the fifth life she's already dead. I'm driving a car
      along the forests and I decide I'll
      never start a factory. I decide to die like a cobbler.
      When I can get my sons to make up a male voice choir.
      When I'm a name, a lifetime and, if possible, a colour.
      When I'm everything twelve times over.

      My sixth life: and my goods have slipped into the sea,
      I sit with my hands on my head.
      In the firtree top a gypsy thrush
      clutches Wednesday upright in its claws.
      I start to grasp unclear speech, I decide
      to concentrate on vanishing
      and leaving a trail. I spray farmed foxes
      to spoil their fur and make you
      stop this school for the deaf and dumb.
      I begin to write what's not said.
      I study how to say No
      so that Yes may exist.

      In my seventh I meet
      my fifth wife who's the first.
      Neither of us can get ahead, we keep moving
      on the spot. Did my mother birth me to kick
      others? I write much faster now
      less than before. This is the same.
      You're the same as you were before you were born.
      The plastic card's singing the same old tune.

      Suddenly my eight and ninth lives
      have got used to me, they shine a bright light
      right in my eyes. I've so often read
      the waters are poisonous, I can't
      go to the shore any more. But now's the time
      not to believe it. Today they won't cut
      the electricity, your child benefit, or your throat.
      You retain your throat, your electricity, your child benefit.
      You can speak your mother tongue, Fatherland is sheer talk.
      I write that A National Landscape is the name of a painting.
      I write that the Defence Forces are ready for Attack.
      I write that there's not enough God of their own for Everyone.
      I write that in the Winter you can think about summer,
      and when summer comes, before it comes
                           the snows melt off the bridge

      and that a man can love a woman
                           without waving his arms about.

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