Burnout has been recognized as an official disorder by the World Health Organization. It affects your ability to work [and] your emotions about work.
If that’s the case, I’m entering a period of remission.
Hear me purr.
I’m fragile – don’t let the faintbravado fool you. Scared shitless as they say. A bit apprehensive and a tad overwhelmed to Queen Elizabeth with a spot of tea. I still am horribly polite.
Loadedbiased toward a particular outcome, bearing a load, especially a large one
Or the fourth studio album by American rock band the Velvet Underground, released in November 1970 by Atlantic
Who loves the sun?
Burdens like a loaded
What gifts would you like to develop
What gifts would you like to develop
an NBA team has never gone an entire quarter without scoring a point.
Take Note of Your Body Language
Ask for company turnover [data] and turnover [data] for that individual manager.
Inability to handle any confrontation or assertion that there might be another way to do something, even if they brag about their “open door policy.”
Or this chick:
If you are need of constant admiration, will cut you when they do not feel appropriately admired, or feel otherwise shamed, humiliated, or disrespected.
Raise your hands if you know this next monster!
The Narcissist Bossiere
Don’t let those flannel shirts fool you, this guy can walk into any boardroom with the same aplomb he chops some wood at his cabin in Maine before cooking fresh trout for breakfast. Dave, Jai, Jym, Jin or Jamee – all the same. Great guys until they’re not.
Warning signs –
extremely competitive, with the people who work for them, people on their lateral level, or their superiors.
Extreme Friendliness: aka fake
Word Choice sets up a dynamic that can raise or lower the energy in a room. If they begin every sentence with a negative message and then try to diffuse it somewhat, it is likely that negativity prevails in their life and carries over into work.
stress level telegraphed to everyone in the department- you know the kind, blames you for solutions, misses the dysfunction when it’s gone oft n refered to as drama junkies.
He returned to Oslo. Killed 77 people while they wept.
You have to tune it out or else go insane, she said, Mona of Numbers and manners from letters.
She sighed. She was not a profiteering overseer and yet she gained innumerable margin from the inevitable failing called death, the suffering of the many at the hands of the few and the way poverty and exploitation of wealth can predict up to a point the ability to express a capacity for love, supporting another being – acknowledging the miracle that is life – this was a given.
She woke up in hell – the job interview.
Job and job
Suffering without uttering one complaint
What most people don’t understand is bench players do influence the outcome of the game greatly
“Writing is … what I do to justify the air I breathe,” Nikki Giovanni once wrote inContemporary Authors.“I have been considered a writer who writes from rage and it confuses me. What else do writers write from? A poem has to say something. It has to make some sort of sense; be lyrical; to the point; and still able to be read by whatever reader is kind enough to pick up the book.”
without any assistance or guidance from you
i have loved you assiduously for 8 months 2 wks & a day
i have been stood up four times
i’ve left 7 packages on yr doorstep
forty poems 2 plants & 3 handmade notecards i left
town so i cd send to you have been no help to me
on my job
you call at 3:00 in the mornin on weekdays
so i cd drive 27 1/2 miles cross the bay before i go to work
but you are of no assistance
i want you to know
this waz an experiment
to see how selifsh i cd be
if i wd really carry on to snare a possible lover
if i waz capable of debasin my self for the love of another
if i cd stand not being wanted
when i wanted to be wanted
& i cannot
with no further assistance & no guidance from you
i am endin this affair
this note is attached to a plant
i’ve been waterin since the day i met you
you may water it
yr damn self
MIT has developed a machine that writes poetry based on keywords you provide.
I watch her frown. I cry hello.
The otak is tiny, soft and deep, But she has promises to keep,
She rises from her bitter bed,
With thoughts of sadness in her head,
She idolises being dead.
Facing the day with never ending dread.
As a disclaimer the site alludes to its plagiarized unity. Wait a minute that soundstoo familiar, I thought. Sure enough, the toads divulged in the mellow wood and I, A.I. took the road less traveled by and that motherfuc*&ers has made all the difference
With thanks to the poet, Robert Frost, for the underlying structure.
A team at Cornell University working with the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency (Darpa) has published a report in the journal Nature demonstrating how to hide an event for 40 trillionths of a second.
FormerlyOpportunists, the non-specialists must explore.
Never stop looking over their shoulders.
Is that any way to live?
I am never completely at ease, and it only seems to be getting worse-largely because I don’t know what to do, I have too much trauma/negative experience over last two years in particular and twelve years struggling to get by – with a reprieve absolutely ruined by forces that have left me broken, afraid and without conviction. I’m just so tired of it. Soul-weary from this collective mechanation of the mind, commodified body, no way to find a way through the muck.
The hierarchy of needs like a diaspora of the mind, a momentary lapse of hit send, revoke access, shut out shut-ins littering the lowlands.
<li>Were they ever here?</li>
<li>She cried for the forgotten. Took that to her grave now forgotten.</li>
Who will weep for me?
There was suddenly, overnight, in dog years (our conception of time is flawed, I feel in my bones), it would seem, there was too much information. Too much noise. To tune out. A body to maintain as advancements perplex the mind, solder the soul to empty turrets of half-chewed advice.
You simply can’t learn enough. The rewards in society are ambiguous and strained. The fodder is there. The boat explodes. We are all adrift on the Miss Maslow.
The criticasters aretelepathically hypothetically signaling their displeasure seconds before the wiring between brain and mouth engages, at variable rates of play.
So there is that. The obvious urge to be stratocaster mcsnark is overwhelming when one feels helpless and realizes it’s actually much worse.
Everyone, literally and figuratively, in due measure, according to their thought machine‘s neediness, and seeking any available encumbrance, is starving.
Some quite literally for nourishment of the body (which stalwartly holds up the capricious brain), some in the beveled corners of their soul. All, for replaying of time.
The hierarchy of needs prevails. The soul gets bled out. The machine overrides the individual. All is collectively lost.
The main feature of the plan is that it moves credit
creation from private hands to public (government) hands, with the public unaware of whom is really moving the government hands.
It would seem some of our species cause this. It would appear they are gearing up for some sort of purge. Just like science fiction. Notice who is bearing down on your brain.
Paralyzed by inequity, uncertainty and dissolving commonality, every man becomes an island. Existing in hypostatic congestion. Coagulants of amorphous soul sauce, baked into the pan.
Nothing would be what it is, because everything would be what it isn’t.
And contrary wise, what is wouldn’t be. And what it wouldn’t be, it would. You see?
. Alice in Wonderland🍄
Youth Against Garrulousness
‘He called this hypnotic process “brainwashing,” a word-for-word translation fromxi-nao,the Mandarin words for wash (xi) and brain (nao), and warned about the dangerous applications it could have.’
Due to integration with shortcut bells & whistles, the washing of the brains has been accelerated.
terrifying ancient techniques to turn the Chinese people into mindless, Communist automatons. He called this hypnotic process “brainwashing,” a word-for-word translation fromxi-nao,the Mandarin words for wash (xi) and brain (nao), and warned about the dangerous applications it could have. The process was meant to “change a mind radically so that its owner becomes a puppet.
But that’s China, right? Not the USA where freedom is celebrated and your mind is owned by capitalism not communism.
So, what’s the difference?
They are amorphous when you consider the history of wars.
Because most possible answers are wrong, and there is no force to guide us to the correct answers.
So we are adrift, prepping for six month power outages, outraged over various multiple choice questions and just plain starved for what we’ve missed in letting the lesser of us take over the control over the rest. The money man over the teacher, the lawyer over the doctor, the marketing genius over the farmer.
We’ve let this happen because everyone is too busy supporting a family, burying head in sand or building up defensive reactions to new ideas or old ideas repackaged in new millennial-friendly bytes since millennials are all that matter any more. Or so they believe and they have the upper hand of 83.1 million representing more than one quarter of the nation’s population.
And because we are the tenth most dangerous country for women:
The United States is the lone Western nation to make the Thomson Reuters Foundation ranking. The United States is ranked 10th because of its third place rank in sexual violence — which includes rape, sexual harassment, and coercion into sex — and sixth place rank in non-sexual violence, such as domestic physical and mental abuse.
We talk too much, Miranda, her feverish sister Sasha said, in her low voice, no secrets come out without silence.
I do. Somehow I’ve come to believe that the last thing a writer or any artist thinks about is to make himself comfortable while he’s working. Perhaps the discomfort is a bit of an aid or stimulus. Men who can afford to work under better conditions often choose to work under miserable conditions.
He had cited his favorite writer, well at least for now, Sampson was irresistible and he knew it and felt guilty and ashamed of his unabashed pheremones and good breeding (his mother was an angel with a pixie wit and his father was some sort of apostle hero who was actually his uncle because his father turns out was some sort of wandering bipolar didn’t know it cad…and hence, this is how I revisit Perseus, Medusa (the new Molly) and the myths of a new generation based on the hidden meanings in the ancient revolving door myths:
In 1939 he went to Greece to visit Lawrence Durrell; his sojourn there provides the narrative basis of The Colossus of Maroussi. Cut off by the war and forced to return to America, he made the yearlong odyssey recorded in The Air-Conditioned Nightmare. Then in 1944 he settled on a magnificent empty stretch of California coast, leading the life described in Big Sur and the Oranges of Hieronymus Bosch.Now that his name has made Big Sur a center for pilgrimage, he has been driven out and is once again on the move.
I think these questions are meaningless. What does it matter how long it takes to write a book?
From the meaningless questions to the imagination of the future:
Imagine if sixty years ago, at the start of my writing career, I had thought to write a story about a woman who swallowed a pill and destroyed the Catholic Church, causing the advent of women’s liberation. That story probably would have been laughed at, but it was within the realm of the possible and would have made great science fiction. If I’d lived in the late eighteen hundreds I might have written a story predicting that strange vehicles would soon move across the landscape of the United States and would kill two million people in a period of seventy years. Science fiction is not just the art of the possible, but of the obvious. Once the automobile appeared you could have predicted that it would destroy as many people as it did.
I read everything by Robert Heinlein and Arthur Clarke, and the early writings of Theodore Sturgeon and Van Vogt—all the people who appeared inAstounding Science Fiction—but my big science-fiction influences are H. G. Wells and Jules Verne. I’ve found that I’m a lot like Verne—a writer of moral fables, an instructor in the humanities. He believes the human being is in a strange situation in a very strange world, and he believes that we can triumph by behaving morally. His hero Nemo—who in a way is the flip side of Melville’s madman, Ahab—goes about the world taking weapons away from people to instruct them toward peace.
I often use the metaphor of Perseus and the head of Medusa when I speak of science fiction. Instead of looking into the face of truth, you look over your shoulder into the bronze surface of a reflecting shield. Then you reach back with your sword and cut off the head of Medusa. Science fiction pretends to look into the future but it’s really looking at a reflection of what is already in front of us. So you have a ricochet vision, a ricochet that enables you to have fun with it, instead of being self-conscious and superintellectual.
The experience of great loss appears frequently in his work.
He recently told me he still lives by his lifelong credo, “Jump off the cliff and build your wings on the way down.”