antiaging4geeks

Now Moved To *impulse

Though we will be periodically updating the exploits of the wild hermit on this blog, our main emphasis is now on our more vital, current blog, antiaging4geeks *impulse

Enjoy.

Chromatics

Twisting scales and winding steps, darting up and down the hillsides, screeching up into the void, laughing at the orbs, shrieking and popping, cellular and powdered, organic and mineralized, dazzle. The many-tinted swarms infest the air overhead. The eremite stands pleased. His insect constructs usher the large missile bundles into orbit and they shower space with chromatics.

The wild deranged recluse shakes his rickety fist with glee as the explosions fill the sky with a blotchy palette and return distant, dim reports, chuckles from the nether realms.

The heath flickers in tulip, broken white, and jagged greens, and, amidst the crackle and snarl, the hermit can be heard screaming: 'Enjoy your holiday!'

A Dome

The eremite is not concerned with the rod-teaming skyglow, glancing up to notice a darling damselfly flitting about in the haze, for a vast dome is being ferried across the galaxy to cover the heath and shield it from merciless ultraviolet beams.

Trapped in a time-bending warp, four pearldrop craft haul the massive dome, wreathed in twine and tangled in cosmic spaghetti, through concentric saturnine bands and elliptical orbits.

Soon, the insular meads will team every instant with arachnids, herping explorers, and lamp-eyed frogs and lemurs. From the galaxy within to the galaxy without.

The wild recluse leaps from a nearby clearing back into his safe grotto.

The Astral Shards

If shards from an astral collision glittered above the heath like a second firmament, would you fill with excitement as the eremite left his grotto? Or, would the withering sedge, compounded with the grass, flatten emotion to sentiment?

Think not of the hermit, your ship is splendid and ready to race through the floating crystals. Translucent, but not opaque, watery, but not water, gleaming, but not metallic, the archcraft will propel itself in a stately arch.

Since droplet squadrons smartmob the dank cavern, and since a brooding mountain looms less ominously, the deranged recluse sleeps through the night.

Screencapture is from Space Fury, a 1981 video game developed by Sega, this particular image being from the International Arcade Museum.

Carpe Noctem

The air is calm and fair this dusk. The sea rolls gently into the horizon. Black and sleek is the iPod terrain and the iPod sky. The deranged recluse awakens and tumbles out of the grotto into the opaque glassy gleam of the star-frozen forests far away from the tranquil heath. Troglodytes and spelunkers mechanically pace the fused soda ash in hamiltonian paths.

Asynchronous flickers pass between astral points and points of consciousness. There is, foremost, the long line of heroes dipping there toes into the Northern Sea. Combined with desire, this synchronized moment whirls the grotto into a blurry gyration and hurls it back to the leaden moors. The eremite, wild and weeping, disembarks and kisses the elfin meadow. A clutch of gangly branches forms affection in the symbology and an embrace in the manifestation.

There are no confused alarms of cracking icebergs and lurching glaciers, but rather, only plaintive gales that sweep the dismal mead.

Image is Majestic Lighthouse Screensaver from Super Shareware.com

Creeping Around the Street of Shadows

On my spirit, makes a music too. One too far for reckoning? One too devoid of purpose for the hermit to take notice?

The wandering hulk does not know. He dreads the eremite but sweeps over the stellar arch on his way toward destination moon. A cosmic poltergeist, a will-o'-the-wisp of dark matter, an astral brigand, the morphing hulk flits from lunar orbit and vaporizes in the atmosphere, leeching into the damp heath soil in order to reconstitute in a subterranean cavern and brood.

The wild recluse awakens shrieking. The interloper is detected. Massive conjured wedges are stockpiled in the grotto armory. The hazy beast lurking miles under the weepy meadow trembles in fitful slumber. Maddened barking summons the dire hounds. The eremite is ready. The blurry hulk stirs.

Screenshot is from Xbox game Dreamfall: The Longest Journey, developed by Funcom.

Preconscious Impulse vs. Intuition

The eremite is back on the heath. The stony rubbish of the distant city is now a distant remembrance. Glossy streams and glowing lichens populate the grainy earth. Pulse after pulse washes over the panpsychic moor. Will the aerial swathes commingle with the dingle starry and pepper gleaming cometoids down in heaps or will The Avengers, The X Men, The Hulk, and The Fantastic Four invade the meadow and compel the hermit to cast abjurations?

Wild prismatic sprays spiral, perne, and disperse, blinding and incapacitating the superhero teams as the orphaned, abutting forest sneers at the fray. Blobs drool over the cliffside and fill a jagged pass nearby, amassing into an indestructible superbeing before lapping on the level gardens while hedge crickets sing and small gnats mourn. Instinct cowers to dalliance.

Heightened sorceries amaze the horrid sine wave of spectators and competitors.

Illustration is of The Hulk versus Thor.

The Well Tempered Recluse

Oh, how the eremite glitters and flings himself high, streams along the currents, veers around the dangling aerial amoebas, vaults over thunderheads, and returns. How he sweeps along the bow-bend and pushes the portly waves while listening to the peals roll through the cold rain. That zany recluse heaps the jazzy banding, the happy, far-out happenings, and the silly. terraced hues.

And, that bleeping, flickering ENIAC blurts reds and pinks, blue and purple, as it ticker tapes out a hairy romp for the festive dotcommers. Silicon Alley is awash in a footing multitude.

From a distance, we convulse in disjointed awe. Some gasp. Some turn away. Others stir in hiding for the hermit's mastery and achievement.

Painting is Composition X by Wassily Kandinsky.

The Fork-Poor Lightning Storm

Winding static weaves and mazy motions stutter earthward and, along with them, clouds barb each other and jab at the constellations. Never a branch. Never a branch. Crackles and pops, the neon rice krispies of the lower sky, lap at the vast fields, flash bright and staccato, orthogonal, tubular, terraced, horrible.

Bows and bows and hisses.
Dreams and gongs and seas.
Ribbons and ribbons and ribbons.

Toss the sky slabs in heaps upon the firmament. Let them suggest the glowing blue accent that morphs like a living haze over the yellow mead.

The hermit's wisest sorcery spins a cube in the grotto, spins it indefinitely, wobbles it slightly, gives it precession, and reads it every 1000th rotation, deciding a mosaic addition with a compact switch statement. Depending on the wobble and position, one of 25 mosaic tiles is added to the growing puzzly picture.

Screenshot is from Activision's Vampire The Masquerade Bloodlines.

The Gong Tormented Heath

The eremite, while waddling past the ghost-warbling nightingale and careening through galactic sectors on the grecian urn, admits to himself, and to his astral retinue, that the bards who weep of lapis lazuli, dancing elves, and dolphin torn waterways, have quality control mechanisms and engineering charts that result in finer, orb-like structures on a more consistent basis, though, doubtlessly, the bard of autumn, chapman's homer, and opiated stupors reaches greater levels at the furthest end of the opposite end of the long tail.

They all listen, they all feel the diaphanous footfall of every echoing word as it reflects through the shadows and then softly drapes the lichens, they all seek wisdom.
Maddened fairy foil, crumpled up, uncrumples and is gay.

The organ that the digerati activate has large, columnar pipes and is set into an urban edifice. Attendees bawl over the mournful, recursive fugues. The moors fill with glee. The cities are orbited by pod-filled aerial traffic jams which crawl and wind in worn abstractions to their cyclical beginnings only to warp-accelerate and trace their path anew. The bubble-gleaming craft delight in their own glossy existence.

And, through it all, the ancient alchemist's gems refract the age.

Photo is of Constantin Brancusi's Sleeping Muse.

The Mackerel Crowded Secrets of Eternity

The eremite shirks the saddening effects of the appalling red skies from his starry psyche. The hound, all blotchy black and white, spots him near a creaking fence and charges out of an easy gait. Time is frozen by gripping terror. The hermit's face is fear-frozen, as if by a horn that blares wildly upon it.

Spectral beauty drifts downward in wispy banners, rubbing its muzzle against the lush canopies abutting the grotto. Inert powder coalesces into fragrant bands that dome the entire heath.

What cosmic analogy could disrupt this psychic arrangement?

Only slightly further, the recluse feels, is an edifice containing the mackerel crowded secrets of eternity.

Screenshot is of Fable 2, developed by Lionhead Studios, for the Xbox 360.

What a Racket the Robots Make

Were the hermit slightly less weary, slightly less mild, slightly fiercer, then the bobbing bots and droids would be scattered in a clinking, clanking, clattering bustle by the wild recluse. Fond remembrances of bygone days, when zombies crazed and androids sleek did not comb every mFraction of the grotto for every eResource for gobbling and cobbling, stream through the eremite's psychic realm.

Indifference settles into the smoky vapor hovering over the allergenic film dangling over the creaky meadow populace. When apathy magnifies the dream state, then, through the bulging lens, conjurations streak, constructs rampage, wormholes permit invasions, and necromantic gates open between the prime material heath and wild chaos.

A hobbling, hunched man, with a cane to prop his shriveled legs, struggles to the cave opening, legs shaking, arms trembling like a staggering marionette. The cautious hermit peers out with 2 glowing eyes and only approaches when he realizes that it is a wizard with a package and a tome. The delighted recluse darts back into the grotto depths with his treasure while the ancient sorcerer rests at the cave mouth.

He will join the eremite shortly. Instruction is necessary.

Screenshot is of the soon-to-be-released Too Human for the Xbox 360, developed by Silicon Knights.

If Only I Lifted That Dreamstate

The hermit often broods, questions, iterates and reiterates his life pattern in a holodeck realm, and gropes for veracity in a dim, slouching wood. Only ever when the owl sings and the wind sweeps the pollen grains in vast clouds over the thirsty moors does the endless repetition generate novelty.

Otherwise, pandemonium clutters the mindspace and stillness sprawls across the gusty crags. A slick, spidery humanoid peers over the cliffside verge, tinkering with his hovercraft, ogling with envy at the glider taxiing to take off atop the nearest peak, and imagining the possibilities of the dirigible about to float off a slightly more distant peak. The three craft launch almost simultaneously.

The resulting ternary complex resists computation, lending itself only to the ken of the viewless wings.

Screenshot is of the Enterprise holodeck from Star Trek The Next Generation.

Like A Wizard Still, It Has Not Changed

From afar, the heath has not changed. It is distilled from the ether and spilling over the gentle slopes in a frozen fashion. Blueberries fall and form lines.

But, microscanning reveals two tiny crabs creeping along, just creeping, a few micrometers, a few nanobots whirring beside them, scanning them as they creep.

The tumbling grains of silt are pills in the pellets and they fling the loping fauna off into space, drip the lolling flora out onto the dishvalley. Twisted elms bawl their extensible metadata onto the gloomy, gothic scape, each leaf streaking back to its roots, each branch shuddering in the dark, blighted convulsions.

Hunkering the soil and themselves, scolding the relentless, gnawing caterpillars, lashing out at the pecking robins, the roots cleave the inner earth and the evening is glossy.

Linear starlashes blink clumsily. Golden novae stir coyly. Diaphanous sky glitter ripples by chasing dust. Moths respond with beams.

Picture is screencapture from MonsterQuest video, category Evidence, MonsterQuest: Rods, from a model of evolutionary ancestors to insects, designed by Robin Wootton of the University of Exeter.

When Vortices Are Skyscrapers

The hermit has not, in some time, obliquely collated rivulets unfurled or graphs delightful, but, rather, he barks and seethes when ancient ladies refuse his courtesy and when thin, tangled twines spangle orthogonally in every which way, like pleated hair loosened from prim constraints to splash upon the grass.

The fay coven lures him nightly, closer and closer to their bondage, and he sidewinds toward them only, at the last instant, to reel off perpendicularly, twirl into a vortex tower, and retreat back into his vagrant grotto. The ratio spindle fibers concatenate into code and sum into bundles.

The murky blue dusk is dipped in stodgy humidity. Wastrels and vagabonds roam the moors now that tin-cased craft strafe the forest rows and spin snagging web wheels. Empty and vain, shadowy and sad, the effete recluse tucks himself into a corner of his lair and laments. He does not fall upon the thorns of life. Nectar gleams in tulip cups and he sips. Yellow bands stretch across his heath and upon them, he dazzles, and upon their shimmer, he rends the multiverse with his thought:

In the dazzle-static, he multiplexes.
In the dazzle-frequency, he collapses.
He pearls every glimmer onto a storage necklace.

He frets, is a bit obtuse, but still frolics with the damselflies.

Rearranging Columns: Our New Look

We hope our new 3 columns-standard layout is easier on the eyes and more reader-friendly.
Many exciting features and finds are planned for the month of June.
We hope you visit often and enjoy. :)

Geekbabe

PHP Beguiles the Eremite

The eremite briefly gazes out into the depths of the moors, but cannot pull himself from his PHP lessons long enough to frolic, and soon enough looks up at the gears and chambers of the moon, exposed to discerning alchemists, as they creak and lurch the luminous orb across the heath's external surface. Tiny sylphs darn the encircling hazy weave and bulging bow.

A pebble crawls. A cricket leaps. The air bombards protruding appendages with a uniform, teaming film. Soft bewilderment lies down in the grass and stares past the teaming air, past the teaming cosmos, and onward into the swirling afterworld. Moon whorls gather up the acoustic midnight strains. The dancing mole does to the shiny floating object mourn, even though it is cluttered with stars and seemingly not of a disposition to answer pleas.

Through this geometric absurdity, the wild elf remains wild while cobbling together sky designs cube by cube, pagination having been cast aside for a more ancient science.

The Grotto

"Not fair of the gargantuan troll to ask the wild hermit what its got in its nasty little pockets!", shrieks the mad elf as he slouches back into his cave to wait for the horrible daylight to pass. Once inside, the gray eyes peep out multiple times, scanning over and under the sun's scorching swath, eagerly, twitchingly, almost frenetically waiting for the eventide.

Effervescence, wild daemons, bobbing, lances to thwart graffiti-craft. Balls dripping down on banners, streaming over the hills and back over the town, merging with meandering orbs, ejecting from slowly spinning, slightly ajar, wheels tens of thousands of feet into the fringes of the void. Such a bizarre aerial spectacle plays itself out over the grotto.

The eremite's destiny and the galaxy's template morph. Weep, fair elf. Weep with joy for the honeyed middle of the night approaches. Dancing in the grass by the lake, dalliancing through the city near greenwich, and drifting into slumber on a daisy field, awaits.

The Dew Construct

Collected dew swung back its arm until a clunk was heard, and clapped its amorphous appendage until a sprite was glimpsed, then amalgamated gossamer and bow-mist, warped into a dangling construct, and lumbered across the heath.

A demented laugh bounced off the moon, back to earth, and out into geosynchronous orbit. Whistling comets floated determinedly. Captured moon rods arced around the earth. Backscattered fizz warped the whining flash. Spenserian fairies tinkled across the tufted sky, draining the air of vapor and crying it down upon the daisy fields.

It took more than lake water to elevate the torrent to screaming pitch.

The Lasso-Fu was born.

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Washed out hills and damp fields absorb all but the faintest green notes from the tingling aura still draped over the moors. Amidst the flippant butterflies and plump bumblebees, the berserk eremite rests calmly, pensively, serenely. The dazzling clovers dance in the grassy hills and the wind ruffles my feathery body as I watch nearby.

The hermit is not typically enamored of repeating number patterns, though often finding them useful for spell casting purposes, but this cantilevered, bombastic remainder, derived from dividing 192 by 60, has smitten the elf with its brutal elegance, its vernacular swish. It has been described in hermetic notation here and, thus, may look unfamiliar to the neophyte. The patient, sleepless eremite recodes his ordinal and discrete data for fast processing by his pendulous, placeholder-shifting gadgetron.

It is striped, blocked, posted, wholesome, and endlessly repeated. The hermit taxis on its staccato runway and flings himself across the ghost of Jupiter. A logic-gamed, rubiks-cubed, tiled automaton also flings the quotient's fragments throughout the laboratory, into its every niche. Husky dreadnaughts of Mercury fling the squandered ticker tape and gawk at the trailers, potions, corrections and tabulations transforming the void into a teaming chalk board for polymaths.

The sky storms like Starry Night then breaks up into tattered stratocumulus just before dawn.

Introducing Bumpus Crumpus.

Photo by Darwinek

The Cat's Insight

The hermit's familiar is shrewder than a typical cat. It sees through multidimensional, tubular space invisible to man and to many felines. It can plan, consider hook-shaped hamiltonian cycles, streak athwart the sine-wave hedges, and jest when passing squirrel-talk.

There is little use in my trying to describe the way the elf howls when his companion does not return home by dawn. After a midnight of cold, clear prancing and giddy, giddy laughing, a sinuous, ugly path traces the eremite's homeward route, nothing like the elegant self-avoiding aesthetic of the familiar's path.

It could be the secret corridor in a pyramid or, perhaps, the opposition to fullerenes, or, even more likely, a MMORPG dungeon, or a Frank Lloyd Wright complex set into the slope of a steep ravine.

More transcendent than a slouching sphinx, sleeker than a GQ photo shoot, more absolute than the polyhedral RPG substrate common to PSP, Xbox, DS, and the iPod Touch, and swifter than bacterial-DNA-holographic-quantum cubit processing paradigms, the spectral-feral blur of foamy onyx creeps across the planar quadrant.

Efficient Use of Analog Streams

The wild eremite makes wasteless use of the thought stream as it vector-swings from stillness to rapid vibration, endlessly losing trivial mass, splashing it on the petals while it is icy, rinsing the leaves as it warms, and enriching the psyche as it heats beyond comfort.

The drizzle-to-deluge compels the solitary elf to dazzle the meadows with dance and aria. The beckoning of Gray's hilly scape, populated with the herd, the lowing cow, moping owl, beetle, and ancient burial ground, wisps the hermit on gules and gusts, ushers him away on twin ion engines, tabulates distance, and calculates cloud-reach.

The deluge induces ecstasy. Cool rain and a gleeful Friday afternoon inform the viewing, thinking, and shopping schedules.

Every blossoming cloud that weeps weeps for joy and for the elf's alchemical genesis.
Every watery system that bawls torrents pours them onto a heath sick with gay concertos.

Photo is of the EC-1 Educational Analog Computer, introduced in 1960 by Heathkit.

Gothic Infinity and Dappled Meads

The hermit is mildly troubled, but the moblog is vibrant, fresh and exciting. The hermit notices that the moors are stagnant and damp, but the moblog is chromatic and mercurial. Once bounding across the cityscape and gaping at the firmament, photos will gleefully describe the bizarre, 'C' shaped, star congregation and the eremite himself will participate while slowly forgetting. The dampness will spill into the flickering black volume, merging verse romance with gothic infinity and reinforcing the speculation that either mind flayers or a gothic aesthetic will define the distant galactic future.

Perhaps accented with the sharpest, most optimistic and gleaming screenshots of the latest and the most crystal-vivid Xbox 360 games, and the wobbling, multistatic bliss attained when acing  Brain Challenge's Tiled beyond past parameters, the moblog will complement and highlight the beauty of the hermit's primary blog, and both will buttress the inevitability of the long overdue hermit's shop. Too many complained to the hermit of a lack of specific recommendations for rejuvenation and restoration, along with a kit for instant update.

Look no further, for the moblog and the hermit's shop have arrived:
the antiaging4geeks moblog
the antiaging4geeks hermit's shop

Even now, despite reservations and protestations, the blithe elf prepares several walking and driving tours to infuse the blur of the unfolding instant into the glittering moblog.

Screenshot is of Geometry Wars by Bizarre Creations from Xbox Live Arcade.

Iron Man vs. Iron Golem

The lonely eremite plans to craft a steel golem to counter that meddling busy-body who zips around so presumptuously in his red clanking suit. Alchemy and enchantment prepare to battle speculative technology. Cackles and sneers punctuate the laborious invention process, while chanting and muttering accent the mystical evocations.

The grecian urn vessel hovers silently over the earth. Palpatine watches closely. The Grays take passive note. The ancient duel of magic and science, armored knight and beast, astral and spectral, light saber and blaster, elf and troll, is about to resolve itself in the cloudy arena over Gotham.

Will the golem belch forth acidic fire into such a cubic volume as to ensure Iron Man a corrosive demise?
Or will Iron Man's repulsor rays prove too much for the medieval construct, hurling it backward through time?

The wild elf collects morning dew and almond butter for the coalesced light militia of the lower sky, the golem's fanciful air support, the diaphanous squadron.

The golem lurches. The iron man blasts off.

Enfolding Sunny Spots of Greenery

The hermit's beloved's brother graduated from The Stevens Institute of Technology. The hermit's beloved is extremely intelligent. The hermit streaks by the drooping orbs in his astral craft.

There is an exciting complex of possibilities coalescing in the brine.
Awful theories belt out their arias, thundering them down the lanes, pealing them across the brooks, wailing them over the moors.
Technophilia morphs into antiaging hysteria and dips the cityscape into quicksilver.
Crowds of agitated geeks near 40 twitch their thumbs on their Blackberry Pearls.

There was sun yesterday, but tumultuous locks today.

Images swirled inside the spheres fired from clouds.
They splashed watery scenes and translucent tides on targeted groves and glossed them with a gleam.

All is well on this Friday filled with drizzle, melodious gray, and endless downpours.

Photo is of The Stevens Institute of Technology

Know Thy Contraptions

The restless eremite brims with spectralizations:
He concludes that Socrates refers to contraptions in his oracle and wisest-man inspired examinations.

Contraptions bound with powerful math, logic, visual processing, reading comprehension, procedural wizardry, and subnet masking abilities, full of genius and wound up with algorithmic perfection. Like spiders spinning webs and ants waging war, mechanical clocks, watery machines, dewy alchemy and grist mills guiding life's motion, they suggest infinite greatness, and it is there, locked up in the web weaving, that Socrates found contraptions and their objectified manifestations.

The spider waxes eloquently on all things weaving, including poesy.
The beaver grasps discussions about cantilevered bridges and establishes spans that link solar systems.
The termite pushes skyscrapers up to the edge of the galaxy, and then into the forbidden zones beyond.

Outside the elegant contraptions, logic, math, and science are routine, unspectacular, and Socrates noticed, but possibly failed to note that the the contraptions could be tweaked and retuned to expand their realms and fields. A chess mastery contraption could be rewired to serve the development of routing algorithms. With a minor cognitive enhancement, just enough to allow mushrooming thought and cloudy brightness, a spider may utilize its web weaving talent to stitch armor suits for superheroes.

Even with all of this about specialized psychic inventions having been discovered, the recluse never undervalues the usefulness of generalized intellectual power.

Painting is David's Death of Socrates.

Pure Marketing

Sometimes, the hermit devises a most perfect banner advertisement to promote the site and decides that he must share it with the universe, not just those fortunate few who notice it on the sidebar of the webpage they are visiting.

As Paul coasts along to his 40th birthday, an effort must be made to scratch the geeky looking pictures we so favored for so long in favor of better, more elegantly lit, more polished, sleeker photographs.

This is the first result. There will be many more and numerous variations, but this initial non-geek photo does highlight Paul's luminous skin and beautiful jet black hair better than the pics in most of the other banner ads.

And, more importantly, Paul is no longer 39.06 years of age in his photo. He is now fully 1/4 through his 39th year.

And, most importanly, the wild recluse does not want any geeks-approaching-40 out there to fret. Paul is still an uber-geek. He is just attempting to look a bit less so in a few current banner ad photos. Nothing more: in fact, he departs at 11AM today for his bi-monthly Dungeons and Dragons meetup and is further launching a unique startup website in July, has ridiculous speculations in computer science and cannot help but quote Star Trek a minimum of ten times daily. All is well in the multiverse.

Sunday is here. The air is misty and cool, both Paul's and the hermit's preferred atmospheric conditions, but it is supposed to warm up later this afternoon here in New Jersey. Paul's beloved is in soft repose and looking unbelievably beautiful.

All in all, life is splendid.

The Hermit Embarks on a Voyage

The recluse will be leaving the moors for a time. Seven continents and seven seas await exploration. Quiet stars await reflection. Comets morph into dragons.

Chart, watch, and sextant, sail, mast and anchor, forest, GPS, and cosmic rays, spaceship, gorgon, wilderness, and kraken, await, protect, employ, and offend the solitary elf.

The meads may never again resound with his beserk wail.
The lists and catalogs that once so fondly described the eremite may cease their generating and renewing.

Jungle shores tangle the sky and lap the seawater with large, leafy tongues. A first in eternity: the beserk dragon of a humanoid steps onto a tropical island. The air is strangely still, but a low frequency pulse twitches the planetary aura: the island in REM, or perhaps indigenous peoples embracing the moment.

Screenshot is of Pirates of the Burning Sea

Introducing The 4geeks Blog Empire!

The deranged, wild, bizarre, hermetic, beserk, solitary, lonely, even elven recluse happily welcomes the company of the new blogs:

braingames4geeks: get ready to hyperexpand mind and psyche
newjersey4geeks: comic book stores, apple stores, the new jersey devil
poesy4geeks: parodies, originals, and references. analyses, interpretations, dragging the classics into the 21st century   
psi4geeks: see above photo, loch ness, champlagne, roswell, esp, telekinesis, consciousness studies, digital tron-ness, the new jersey devil (crossover!) and much more
similes4geeks: parallels, likenesses, verisimilitudes, analogies
veganism4geeks: raw, organic, almond butter. vegan mayonnaise
zany4geeks.com: let's have a talk about what it means to be zany. then, we'll delineate and chart the possibilities, quantify kramden and costello, and finally, reach the zany algorithm

And, he also welcometh the friendly new additions to the 3 original bloggers that started the most important of all blogs, this very one, this grimoire of longevity, this tome of preservation: antiaging4geeks.

With silence and slow time, these interrelated memoirs, stanzas, aphorisms, and instructional guides will serve to enrich the concerned geek, with extra emphasis, of course, on guiding and assisting the gadget-loving, sci-fi-happy, geek approaching 40.

The hermit still roameth the moors, but he now occasionally visits new jersey, gapes at celestial phenomena, eats at Veggie Heaven, and trips about the countryside singing and dancing.

Thoughtless Machine Widget

In the matrix of this novel widget, by employing binary phase shift keying to flip flop between the ordered circuitry of higher abstraction and the patterned stencils of more primitive brain procedures that are near to broadcast-flickering signals from the invisible, unknown universe, the eremite hath devised a way to encode, graph, chart and sketch complex machines as they spring into the mind.

Utilized and integrated properly, this widget employs the useful non-intellectual, non-puzzling, non-equating, non-deducing, phase two state to fashion complex psychic devices while the abstract, cortical reference signal is refracted into feckless orbit around a psychical event horizon.

If machines are not your cup of tea, then verse romances may instead be woven by these means, works that become more complex, more universe-encompassing, more grand-unified, as thought less interferes with and more sparingly hampers their sprouting and stitching.

Once complete, though made without a single thought and unlike fractals, cellular automatons, and holograms, these machines are often beyond the contemplation of the most sophisticated and powerful intellects in the universe.

Screenshot of Switchball, developed by Atomic Elbow, published by Sierra Online from Xbox Live Arcade.

The Perfect Drizzle For Festivities

With morning coat and top hat gracefully posed, the gnarled hermit and his dainty fairy dalliance in the hirsute urban scape. Barouche upon carriage upon lone horseman canter by. Threads shoot athwart and through the dewy affair, bolstering impressionist joists with futurist weave, and integrating the blot-patterned parisian evening with over-ruffled elegance and restraint.

Nearby, with tome and scrolls gathered, a skittish elf heads out toward a gigantic palace, leaving a shady street behind, barely noticing the air awash with cloudy angels, unsure if meta-differences will obliterate the galaxy, but certain that post and lintel construction will buttress the confounded bay whose sailboats and sunny foam still flash upon the inward eye when unfolding terrain melts into showers and gloom.

Technology abandoned, employment forgotten, intellect but a whisper, they frolick all the night.

The Bleeding Edge

Though the deranged recluse adores the simplest of games, such as Brain Challenge, Brain Age, Mensa Math & Logic Puzzles, Ivan Moscovich's Tough Topology Problems, Numbology, Color Junction, Snood Towers, Tetris, Comp TIA A+ 2006 Q&A, graph theory teasers, knot theory conundrums, crossword puzzles, word searches, sudoku, kakuro, and cipher, it is the lichen-like, mossy, bleeding-edge X-Box 360 immersions, sprung from minds resplendent with landscapes, cartoons, and glittering avatars, minds that are also fully equipped with savant gifts acquired from endless, psyche-transforming, quasi-logical, quasi-impulsive puzzling, that dazzle the hermit.

The images and motion are so staggered, staggering, and overflowing with non-polygonal essence, that it makes the solitary elf weep with joy to lie beside a stochastic brook and absorb the digital lushness.

And, upon returning to the ever-thrilling, exhausting, epic-catalogued, present instant, swaying from slow scholarship to frenetic puzzling and back, gazing at clouds and at stars, the recluse is inevitably lulled into a drowsy stupor.

Screenshot is of 'Boom Boom Rocket' by Bizarre Creations from the X-Box Live Arcade.

Moonlit Berries

From gleam to leaf, branch to wing, and wisp to perch, they drift downward from hilltop, they wither from Malthusian bulge to skeletal scrawn, they strut and stomp in arenas where once they graced vapory lawns with tinsel feet, where once the Apple Store replaced Wonka Vision, where once Microsoft and Sony endured.

With touchscreen precision they select their fate, they choose their biome, they absorb self-awareness, while pulling into the Starbucks parking lot, excited for their tea, while Mahalo creeps over the horizon and into the collective unconscious, while Twitter flourishes, Facebook peaks, MySpace turns, and Google begins a very long, slow fade.

Psyche envelopes five glowing pearls, each an archetypal disposition now swayed by self-reference. Sapphire wings, emerald leaves, jade clouds, diamond gears, and pearls bend to psychical will, coordinate their cleavage angles and crystalline design to the relentless Trout Route engine, to chess and to sudoku, to logic games and to sonnets, to Flash and to Photoshop.

Finally, from a nocturnal dreamstate, vegan vampyres spill over dim forest falls and into the urban scape in order to spread their heliophobia to a vain and garish populace.

Fantastic Machines

The hermit doubts the complexity of the fantastic machines that pop into his thoughts, especially when he has not slowly built up elaborate, jagged faculties through steady, severe reading and escalated puzzling. Yet, an ant may dream infinitely complex workings that reach out from its snapshot mind into the rest of the universe, mechanisms that swirl and slowly turn, slowly build and crumble, grind into order only to succumb to entropy. And, the ant does not speculate about the complexity limits of these machines, half-formed in a mind that can barely solve an arithmetic problem. It simply spins them and they gather in unlimited intricacy, beyond the comprehension of the entire race.

Barely perceived, distended and bulging over the horizon, inflated via ribosomal sequencing and cosmic aggregation, a cyclic-consuming automaton boosts floating continents and displaces vapory seas. It grows until it is world-sized. It then lifts itself up and lurches forward.

Countless seabirds complain angrily from vast ascending rings.

The Cosmic Graph

If one took the charming movie selection process that quantum entangled the deranged hermit and his lover and transformed it into an abstract, supernatural graph, it would be identical to the equations that describe entanglement, and that is why the selection process ritual has entangled the fair recluse and his darling.

There is a mild, locomotive-like, chug-a-chug process involved in this rite, therefore it is also likely that a chug-a-chug process is somehow involved in entanglement: a slow industrial revolution churning, a continuous back and forth, but with feedback loops and check-box selectivity, elimination and binary choice, gears across the galaxy, stack reduction and eventual singularity. It is not difficult to imagine two WIMPs at opposite ends of the universe at the universe's unambiguous end. The reduction of choices to one film seems analogous to this end of time.

If you feel that entangling for eternity with your lover is a romantic and dreamy notion, then check back shortly because a full description of this selection rite will soon be available for download. It need only be performed twice weekly for the span of one month for entanglement to occur.

Once completed, even if seperated by oceans of time or the bridge of death, you will be one in thought, impulse, and heart.

Billy Liar, White Dwarf

The wild hermit noticed a tear in the galactic cloak. While browsing iTunes, he realized that 'Billy Liar' was not the most popular Decemberists song. He knew that it was certainly the most distinct and renowned by fans and within indie rock circles, but there existed other, more frequently downloaded, songs such as 'O Valencia!' and '16 by 32'

An ancient fable might illuminate this discrepancy: the tale of the white dwarf and the red giant. The white dwarf, being the more compact, urgrosh-wielding humanoid, resonated tornadic waves, whereas the red giant, louder and more beserk, enormous and magnificent, wilder and with wild hair, rippled crimson tresses, spilled flowing locks, wept stars, and bawled novae.

The two gathered in front of an aimless agora crowd. The vast many recognized the giant and harbored mild, semi-favorable opinions, whereas only a selection of devotees surrounded the unwieldy dwarf. Thus, more chose and downloaded the giant fifth than selected and downloaded the dwarf first, among those who downloaded.

In reference to 'Billy Liar', since there is no ranking criteria other than that of absolute download frequency, the more blandly popular, en masse, while still being valued enough to inspire download, ranks higher than the song adored by the few, hovering on the event horizon, nearly bursting into the maelstrom, mass popular via sinuous tributaries intermingled with clique-nodes, a wheel within a wheel, but still on the outskirts of the unforgiving center.

Photo by Tortuosa

Alchemical Mashup

The eremite dabbles in evocation, excels in conjuration, beguiles with enchantment, struts garishly via illusion, repels with abjuration, amazes with transmutation, prophesizes via divination, and coaxes new life when he melts flesh gollum spell components into biogenetic purposes.

Many failed creations slouch toward their cage doors in knot-like interference patterns, hopelessly woven into mobius eternities, endlessly moving forward, endlessly reverting, endlessly dipping in and out of consciousness. The wild recluse obsesses over the conundrums, the templates, the equations, and the rites that blossom out of the universe spun by these creatures' locomotion.

Meanwhile, some distance from the grotto, a possum streams blindly along a well-worn path.

How the Sorrow Surged Softly Backward

The eremite looks out at hazy peaks and dizzy fields, blue wiggles high, and red wobbles slow. The analog pulses surge and swell past the eremite and onward toward the dim verge.

After the wheels of the universe totter, and the spools of intellect unravel, the glum hermit dashes himself onto the canyon floor and weeps. Loud crashes diminish into, eventually, wisps. Craggy ridges defurrow from intensity to blandness. Desiring to dash off into the psychic ether, the recluse is instead surrounded by torrential waters, and enveloped in arching foam.

Time to return to the moors, time to reawaken the generative energy that cosmically forged medieval industry, time for dream state automata, time for festivities. Weary of melancholic, melodramatic, purple-prose digressions, the eremite determines to soon engender an era of more concise writing, but for now, continues to indulge his weakness for the baroque, continues to conjure lush meadows and ornate engravings, continues to weave sinewy emblems, linear theories, parallel cliffsides.

The plunging hoofs are not yet gone.

Nebulous Community

There is nothing so uplifting as yellow meads and verdant fields, though star-springing space clouds come close. Fresh gossamer settles onto the hermit as he immerses himself in the development of a most intuitive interface.

The recluse shrieks that this post is his control panel, that it is the matters he sorts, lists and emotes, that all executive and administrative decisions are made via its sinuous sentences and structures bizarre. There are lists, schedules, mission statements, future visions, anything and everything. The unordered, compulsive post's inner and surface nature suggests the form and layout of the control panel.

Buttons, tabs, and menu features embed directly on top of the scrawled ideas and plans. The spontaneity is immediately realilzed. This application creates such a close connection between the scratch of blogging madmen and digital control structures that the execution is dreamily liquid and paradigm shifting.

Surrounding networks form similarly, via scribbled names and concepts that are transformed into nodes and edges, one-way or duplex, depending on the continuity of the post nodes.

After several hours, the stars settle into their perches and violet shadows bloom. The solitary elf abandons his laptop on the heath and flits through the air on gauzy wings, only returning to fetch it and retreat to his grotto at the first honeybee's stir.

A Host of Daffodils

The kind recluse has listened to meterologist speculations, has consulted the storm birds, and has interpreted the wavy channels summoned by giddy psychic states, and is now certain that winter is not playing possum, that spring is here at last.

Shortly, this maddened elf will lounge by the lake with one enchanted ear open to the daffodil vibration. The steep ravine walls will be traversed in breathless exhiliration as sprouting angiosperms climb skyward and a gossamer sheen illuminates every being on the heath.

A chemist-fay, on his treestump table, rests a clattering vial of dew, beaker of cream and silver ladle. The eremite approaches with questions about his vernal commission. The chemist whispers a reply. The hermit is satisfied.

For now, daisies blanket a sportful field that the naive recluse slides across with gleeful momentum. Fairy blossoms weep happy pearls onto the noses of passersby.

The pensive shroud lifts and the sweet nectar of spring spills in gumdrop showers upon the dappled meadz.

Photo by Onderwijsgek.

The 14 Layer Elizabethan Model

On this damp spring evening, the hermit already speculates that, though of limitless complexity, dense prose must be weakly connected. A fine sonnet coalesces like ice atop a brook, and, upon deconstruction, exhibits integration that is far more intricate than a LAN, yet its effortlessness baffles him. Stars dash about in tiny swarms as the hermit browses the anthology, absorbing the multimedia experience of whispered words and conjured visions.

This dual tiered absorption jury rigs a 14 layer parallel stack structure which the elven eremite uses to route forest traffic:

1- Summer's Day Layer
2- Temperate Layer
3- Windy Spring Layer
4- Licensing Agreement Level
5- Solar Layer
6- Precious Metals Layer
7- Chronology Layer
8- Random Chaos Level
9- Eternal Layer
10- Beauty Layer
11- Underworld Layer
12- Eternal Stratification Level
13- Biomechanical Layer
14- Genesis Level

All that is rough-hewn and unkempt in the meadow multiplexes through this bizarre device, spinning off into new biomes, novel astrologies, and undreamt of charts, each layer a different channel, a different uniqueness of treetops bouncing over the pointed signifiers, conveying and propelling each abstract being toward multiplanar destinations.

On the other hand, that which is dainty and refined decodes into twitchy and uneasy analog states, ever awaiting restfulness, ever dashing across the bubble's surface, ever collapsing and dropping into morose designs before spilling over into festive streams. 

The deranged madman shrieks with glee as he directs the evening's network traffic.
A sylvan WAN is born.

A Moonlit Memo

I feel restrained today. Yesterday, we used the clouds and mist to our advantage when a photographer took a series of photos of co-blogger and antiaging master, Paul. I badly want to post them here, but they actually cannot be used at the moment.

If you can imagine a fair elf in a garden at dusk, at the cusp of moonlight, then you can picture the scene. I don't think that the men's skin care lines that have shown interest are going to go with these photos to promote their products. They are just too fantasy-themed, not male-oriented enough, not mainstream enough: which is precisely why I like them so much. They belong here.

The two that I am in direct contact with as an attorney/agent will likely end up going with a conventional, chisel-jawed, kind-of-young-looking, aftershave model. It was one of them that recommended this photographer, so we just went out to a local park and snapped some pics.

Hopefully, I can convince the photographer to part with them for a modest fee once it is clear that, while appealing in an artistic, supernatural way, they are a bit wide of the typical centrist, clinical, risk-free, men's skin care aesthetic and, thus, kind of unmarketable. Again, imho, the reason they are awesome.

Otherwise, hopefully we are establishing, developing, and maintaining our antiaging regimens.
My latest efforts: I have been putting garlic in everything recently and ate at Veggie Heaven twice this past week.

And, I could go with some fresh carrot-apple juice today.
Perhaps the stars will passively guide me to a providing locale.
If not, organic blueberries may do.
Or, perhaps, in contrast, raw, fermented cabbage.

Peter J. Lupo Esq.

The Hermit Embarks on a Solo Spaceflight

Propelled via lucent turbines through cosmic squalls, the glossy-garbed eremite traverses the universe, abandoning the rocket-tubed metropolis for vacuous space. As he passes, displaced stars are spilled into wormholes and points of consciousness are spun into orbit around silver quasars.

A wave pusher passes by, concealed in a blurry pulsation, full of momentum and velocity, surging toward safety. A tinny nanoswarm chases closely and shadows imitatively, warping in and out of the wave space, stinging and nagging the pusher every microsecond of the way.

Some way across the cosmic neighborhood, a wobbly orbiter convulses. A bandit shuttles cargo. A fledgling empire grows.

Further still, at an unearthly distance, a twisted hand's maddened bolts branch wildly toward a caped cyborg charged with defending the galactic cluster. Comic screeches and howls punctuate the lightning flashes as they illuminate the eerie nebulae.

The teaming multiverse is a dazzling spectacle.

Festivities Abound at the Vegan Carnival

Enjoy the rides, the recipes, the dreams, and the tofu:

Vegetarian Carnival #15

With Too Much Geekness for Gizmodo's Pride

The mad eremite hath looked far more closely at Gizmodo as of late and hath reached a new conclusion: there is far too much frat party there for his delicate sensibility, too much raucous for his gentle refinement, and it affordeth little place for madness and even less for geekery.

It lacks disfunctional credibility and misfit enterprise, though it otherwise be-ith a good blog.

The reason for this meandering is that the recluse hath lately grown bored of Engadget and Wired, and, while not quite ready to rely fully on the burgeoning crop of fine gadget blogs shaping the blogosphere, there was still the neglected Gizmodo, perhaps primed for a retrospective.

The concurrent logic was simple: though without question crass and vulgar, it is still in many ways exciting and enjoyable, and the hermit secretly adores it. But, he adores its cousin site, io9, as well, and, for the moment, will scrape his disfigured limbs over that way. Since the sprites now vex, the pixies drag, the elves loll, and the heath suggests boredom in its relentless rains and grays, since fairy tale and fantasy provide no relief, science fiction and science will soothe.

Listen to Them, Vegans of the Night

When the curfew tolls the knell of parting day and the grotto vegans dawdle about the woodlands, the more gothic meadow vegans lounge in graveyards, in sweet melancholy, immersed in the hallucinogenic images conjured by aged inscriptions.

Some mute, inglorious herbivore may rest among the unenlightened ancients, some Moby guilty of his livestock's blood. The stars fling icicles about themselves as the clan idles underneath the ever-faintest traces of dawn grazing the forest trim. Eventually, a soft, genuine sadness creeps over them and they return to their bowers and hollowed trees just as heavy clouds push into the complex swarm of life and glitter draped over the vast wooded expanse.

April is here and moods are sadder.

The Rise of the Mezzobots

The moor-wandering eremite adores these intricate little machines, these spring-powered automata, these puling mechanical men and unfolding contraptions, assembling his stolen collection for display among the rushes. The Queen Moon's starry fays, the bathing planetoids, and Palpatine pass by at various times during the evening and pause to appreciate the clinking, clattering collection, the emperor's gnarled fingers gesturing childlike approval when a gypsy figurine weaves a complex gesture of incantation.

The cranes flutter.
The tin drummers click.
The cherry scribes sloth-slowly engrave the parchment.

The fullerene static generated by the nearby nanobots inititates madness, insanity, chaos, often driving the recluse deeper into the wilds, yet these contraptions are the way of tomorrow and the soft, soothing miniatures, so dearly regarded by the deranged hermit and all passers by, are so 19th century, so yesterday, so antique. Even Babbage concedes that there is little to be learned from them and that the star trail must be cleared for the self-assembling goo pooled in laboratory vats, goo composed of countlessly congregated angstrom droids pushing outward by virtue of their own volume, goobots that cannibalize each other in their expansive processes.

Nanotechnology will doubtless soon arrive, but the mezzobots now swell for one last act of noble note.

No Reconciliation of Opposites

While the deranged recluse is aware that gadgetry must be stylishly donned in order to merge effectively with the sleek, youthful persona obtained by adhering to Paul's maxims, he also realizes that they must be nurtured seperately. That is, the technology should not influence the persona.

Organic, expeller pressed palmseed oil should not be poured on top of your laptop, and staggering biotech machines should not be utilized for antiaging.

Through the gaming cloud, the two may meet in mist and watch rooks scamper around the fringes, bishops zigzag, and the stochastic pawn advance form shapes and skylines.
Through the modern puzzle matrix, they may wave to each other while deduction, induction, and imperceptible murmurs of impulse weave together solutions in the field seperating them.
Through postmodernism, they may adore Hollywood from the LCD screen and embrace gadgetry as a devotion.
But, for antiaging, glimmering vegetable oils must be used that are full of galaxies and nebulae.

The eremite is advised to merge them at Layer 7 and not any lower. He forever remembers to revel in the seperate but synergistic gizmo glitter and gauzy glow, watching them swim in the cloud stream and tumble up into mammoth, beautiful formations.

The Freshness of the [latest gadget] and [nut type] Butter with Apple Sauce on Toast

Together, commingled, woven and configured for optimum glee, unfailingly leads to a happy, healthy geekdom, and a crisp, clear spring evening.

The technology that is the unfurling of canopies and the unraveling of petals:
is analogous to the genius that is the music of the spheres and the clockwork of the galaxy
is homologous to the wizardry that is the casting of fireballs and the conjuring of lightning bolts
is parallel to the hoodwinkery that is the mist cocooning the valley and the sky modulating in blue
is similar to the algorithm that recasts the universe in the mad scientist's vision.

The nectarish nut butters swell and optimize the psyche so that the dizzying gizmos may be enveloped in understanding. The astral being knows nothing of understanding.

Which do you prefer, your astral being or your psychic being?

Two Books or a Transcendent Flight Through the Ether

That is the boolean fork that must be navigated.

The Earl addresses the wild recluse: "Remember who you are, Bartholemew."

Since the bygone days, since the Apple IIc and the Timex Sinclair 1000, Intellivision and Space Invaders, the hermit has been familiar with, and has abstractly utilized, digital machines. He still retains and continually expands upon the mind-space development that resulted from this usage.

The Earl continues: "Reach back into your Apple past and vitally relive the technological experiences, reframe them and freshly categorize them, drape them over your current psychic matrix and feel your body move through their manipulations as if you are acting out an unsettled dream. Do this to vastly increase your IT functionality. The results of the month long astral flight and novel discrete mapping will be of greater value than reading 2 computer science text books from cover to cover. You already have inside of you all that is needed for inventive greatness. You need now only attain that serene state where your secrets can all be replayed, relived, and reabsorbed by your material being and astral being"

The mad eremite concurs and commences his flight. A month later, after psychically typing on the ancient keyboards, clacking out simple programs in BASIC and Pascal, after cosmically poring over user manuals and tweaking configurations, after completing a serene, ever-slow, crescendo toward geekdom, he returns a full savant, realizing that this type of consolidation, review, and reliving of what he had already experienced but allowed to fade into psychic background radiation, losing that IT-necessary immediate applicability though still retaining the cumulonimbic mind development, has filled him with reservoirs of useful talent.

The Earl is pleased and the deranged hermit, delighted.