Bot Conversations

 

Some recently composed examples of the dialect spoken (and typed) in Botland. A slightly wild place that's  just over there, nearby in the distance. Even though I don't speak the language it all makes perfect sense to me. In time I plan to make peace with the natives and establish diplomatically harmonious relations. I don't intend to fall into the trap of playing at colonial conquests either, an attractive though inhuman objective. Then again I may just ignore them, as you would noisy neighbours who have some other good qualities. 

Unnecessary Things

The tracks of my tears and personal data: 

All those sadly redundant cables that live in the darkness of our drawers and cupboards. Throwbacks to old equipment and connections, a multitude of ways of doing things in non standard ways that were standard once. The different ideas of joined up thinking and disjointed disposable devices. A competition that was hard to win because there was no finish line, just a vanishing point. The odd lost socks of electronics. 

All before the days of the blue toothless, wireless and whatever else that was less and could be under engineered. Progress doesn't care about anything, except for seeing it's own dust in the rear view mirror. Now it's hard to part with these dinosaur bones and so they languish. You never know, they all might come in handy one day. Just not anytime soon. 

Just another Twitter blocking

Keep your enemies close they say. Well these guys aren't my actual enemies, they just get right up my nose and I cant be bothered with them, so if they happen (via a sponsored link no less) to appear uninvited in my feed I feel obliged to push the block button. There are better things to read and/or ignore.

Numerous other organisations and bots have felt the weight of my mighty index finger in this way, sending these irritating accounts to Room 101. Blocking Gov.uk was a particularly pleasing little moment. Also quite nice to zap those stupid click bait accounts that pop up like early morning lawn mushrooms, those and banking adverts.  It's one of my few chances in life to be some sort of digital hitman, delivering a humane form of judgement and retribution ... quietly.

There are of course some baddies that I tolerate, if only to see what bollox they are peddling or purely for some feeble entertainment and shock factor. There is always the vague hope that they will in some way blow up in flames whilst I'm watching. Social media is just a primitive and destructive visual lottery of chaos.

Other Bricks, Other Walls

Late to the party? Every other day it's something's 50th anniversary. That's a useless fact. The culture of eternal replay is strong right now, grainy clips championed on YouTube and boxed sets with extensive notes and "tell all up to a point" books. So many memorable things happened about 50 years ago, most of which I've failed to remember until some active Tweeter or digital journalist reminds me by posting a brief celebratory message. Mostly along the lines of "they're not quite dead yet!" The product parade duly follows. 

I imagine older folks being jolted out of their surgical couches and spilling their porridge as yet another King Crimson, Pink Floyd, football (when it was good), punk, movies or motoring milestone is mentioned, or even worse the lives of our Royal Family or some (golden) TV series are given the hallowed retrospective treatment. For these icons, a certain age of being creates opportunities for sanctification, redemption and revenue; so many grizzled heroes stuck or lost in the woolly mists of the past seeking a final fling of revival and explanation. 

Of course I completely understand the need to keep things alive and despite myself still grudgingly support these odd activities, apart from those feckin' Royals.

Funny how trying to understand the past seems quite important, even the quietly irrelevant and trivial parts, as if that knowledge,  once acquired, would somehow help us to fix the present and make safe the more scary aspects of the future. All very unrealistic in it's analogue splendor, but an occasional quick dip into nostalgia's unheated pool can be refreshing. The past is OK but it's no place to live.

Drone Orchestra

These quasi-silent, singleton, single tone musical works in all their avant-garde splendor are easy to access and enjoy; music lover and friend we're whispering into your being's very core. 

Listen carefully as we broadcast directly to your inner ear, somewhere above the plane of a dog whistle and below the hum of your age induced tinnitus and in between your cynical outlook on the arts. 

The sweet spot in other words.

You will probably hear nothing but you will definitely experience something. 

Money back guarantee if 100% complete, soul filling, over powering aural pleasure is not experienced (up to a point). 

Regular music is so overrated.

The Modern Interior

 

"One fine day, subject to the will of the Flying Spaghetti Monster, we may well all live comfortably indoors, agog and aghast and surrounded by some unexpectedly stylish and fashionable furniture of one kind or another. We have no doubt that it will all be fully functional, compact and bijou. Remember, we have your inner peace and satisfaction firmly in our mind. So thank you kindly for the enquiry, your call is appreciated and will be returned nearer the time once more sign up information becomes available."

Paid Promotion

 

Don't be fooled by this sweet's lack of bulk and size. A tiny assassin. A proper mini marathon. It's a sugar micro-monster. A peanut creme hydrogen bomb. Crack cocaine in a shrunken chocolate and peanut butter engineered sandwich. Deadly. Available in some world bashing, badly laid out supermarket near you where you can park safely under the cover of your soul's dead darkness (access is possible provided you wear the appropriate cartoon themed face covering, sanitize your sweaty palms and use a contact-less bank card), 10 for £2.00, or just name your price in the ransom note. You will thank me (or the confectionery cartel) later. 

Unknown Tracks

 

This is our "correct" and inoffensive logo, used briefly when we were worried about the yellow "IS" logo being confused with Islamic State, what with us being a high profile global phenomenon and everything. So playing it safe we adopted the two asterisks to avoid any abhorrent connections or confusion. We've effectively remained under the radar ever since. 😉

The weird yellow/green tone was my fault. A result of skills fade, clumsy execution (?)  and stupidity. We've since moved onward and backward to the former IS idea. I suppose the ** logo will be a collectors item some day.  Follow that on eBay if you will. In the mean time here's our radical radio channel too.

That time we forgot to make memories

From my non-existent diary - Day numpty numpth of existential lock-down, quiet unrest  and a general background of pandemic pandemonium paranoia. 

Urgently required but not urgently sought after: 

A haircut. An appointment with an optician. Family time.  People inside your house that you've invited to be there. A pint of dark beer served at room temperature in a regular kind of pub without any fuss or awkwardness. A day out in the hills. A wee jaunt on a bus. Fresh coffee and scones in a cafe with a wooden table but without wooden staff. Driving 100 miles. Some sort of low key, low maintenance, low level social life. Dog walks. A second vaccination.

I'm actually pretty lucky.

Ora Good Cat

 

Please excuse me if I just indulge myself a little. I've stumbled upon and enjoyed a brief and fleeting moment of auto design and technical ecstasy. The reality is that it's not all that great an overall package but it's cute and looks fun.

It's electric powered, Chinese made and currently unavailable in European markets (as you might expect), but what's not to like about the Great Wall Car Company's stylish little EV (Electric Vehicle), the "Ora Good Cat". It is not and never will be a Tesla beater but at least it's entered into the competition. I also love the fat exclamation mark badge on the bonnet. That in itself is no reason to buy such a car, or is it?

P.S. They also make an SUV called the "Haval Big Dog". Trim level model names all equate to dog breeds i.e. Labrador, Border Collie and so on.

(In ten years time we'll all be driving Chinese made vehicles, unless there is a war.)

Welcome to your future

 

"Those air-conditioned bright canteens". 

It's a bit like how you'd imagine entering the afterlife to be. You arrive to find yourself in a well spaced line made up of an assortment of silent figures, all staring ahead into the near distance. Some smart, some casual, some wrapped up in warm coats. Nobody is in any hurry as they enter the clinically neat building and are checked in, all in an orderly fashion.  It's V-Day, and V only means vaccination these days. Clearly we're not dead yet.

An unused pavilion on the Royal Highland Showground site in Edinburgh is the location of our well mannered local Covid vaccination centre. There won't be a Highland Show with cattle and restless natives until the rules well and truly relax. The weeds and ongoing airport hire car disposals are the only things thriving. I was there about a month ago to successfully receive my first, easily absorbed dose, a big step on the road back to normality we're told. Except that's not quite how it's going to be. No.

I'll return perhaps in May for a booster with another slew of shuffling pensioners but I suspect that won't be the end of it. Mass vaccinations are here to stay for the foreseeable future, as the virus mutates and people misbehave and travel. We're all human now and needy, suddenly fragile and prone to a disease that has no respect for our virtual reality and finely imagined ways of being. 

These are the new rules as to how life will be lived, with our vax record passports, more subtle mask designs and curious forms of safe distancing. We'll be visiting the revolving doors of this unloved Telly Tubby bunker to take our health preserving dose of soon to be obsolete science for some time to come. Buckle up.

Damage to a Statue

Deep Dreams and Modulations: Wordlessly watching we wait by the window and decide that if some alien god wanted guitars to sound like organs then they would be  keyboard driven instead of being stringed instruments and they would not try to fly through these dark, thick sonic clouds that are even now gathering above our own very thick heads.

In other news: I've just changed my regular font as a result of a humorous little item that I saw on the TV show "Would I lie to you?" That is how easily I'm led and why I am not and never will be any sort of influencer on social media.

I wonder who made up the version of history we were taught. There are some obvious gaps and omissions. Perhaps they've something terrible to hide. 😉 The dark past of colonial extravagance and cruelty? What sort of person just goes outside and damages an innocent and obviously immobile statue anyway? 

Strange Talents

Strange talents: Warren Zevon, Terry Reid, Judee Sill. There's a long list that despite my liking for lists I'm choosing not to construct. Unexplored worlds, cult followings, unrealised potential, missed chances, obscurity and death; or is it just the way it is? Everybody has a song inside, or a novel, maybe just a one liner or an idea or a take on things. Just don't sit on it or procrastinate. Everyone's talent is strange (except to them).

Whilst talking about raw talent, C4's semi-reality show "The Great Pottery Throw Down" has just finished. As far as conventional TV shows go this one has been hard to beat. Actually likable experts and judges, funny and engaging presenters and competitors who all seemed to be genuinely nice people. No arseholes, premadonnas or cheats, just skilled people testing and developing themselves in a fun and friendly competition based around highly artistic pottery work. Other reality type TV shows tend to be just a car crash of emotional cripples and idiots all going nowhere ... in my humble opinion.

Fruit Bowl Blues

 Three chords, four bananas and five apples. 

That's the fruit bowl blues.

Pop Cat

 In the nineteen sixties all cats looked like this. 

The lowest form of wit

 

Allow me if you will to enter into sarcastic mode for a brief moment in time. Nobody asked for a bridge to Ireland, not the Irish or the Scots, not the Welsh and probably not even the English. Ryanair, EasyJet and the various ferry companies all seemed to be doing a reasonable job of getting folks there and back again but it turns out that two engineering professors have been tasked to look into the "problem".

Of course there's nothing like an unwanted and costly international bridge linkage of some sort to bring people together. The cause of brutalist architecture will flourish and many jobs(?) will be created. All our real and imagined ideological and cultural differences will also evaporate once we see that shining steel (Chinese I presume) and concrete (from Australia) trusting out across the the blue waters of the Irish Sea as it threads its way between the various deep water munitions dumps, radioactive waste and perpetual fog banks and shipping lanes that might be in the way. 

Thanks to the left wing sycophants at the BBC for the original un-doctored picture and the tedious repetition of the fantasy bridge strategy. Perhaps it should be a tunnel.

In other news the bots are back: welcome to my many Russian and American friends wherever you may be based in the cyber cosmos.

New developments

 

Great new developments are taking place in the world of digital fireplaces. A work saving boon for busy families and householders in these tricky times. This is just a glimpse of one of the many sustainable "whisky glass" examples that are now on offer to the general public. Don't hold yourself back. The Flaming Dram model is on some special deal this week. I've no clear idea why.

Next up; the surrealistic version where supernatural flaming gnomes dance across underground lava streams reciting the complete works of Enid Blyton to a seated and quietly dozing Keir Starmer, a noted but not notable politician.

Random Acts of Chocolate

My relatively mild food obsession continues: The other evening, halfway through a reasonably dull University Challenge semi final (or something like that), there was an unexpected ring of the robotic door bell. Via the good services of an Amazon delivery driver (aka the Ritter Sport Fairy) these rather nice sweets where delivered, out of the blue etc. No names and no pack-drill. I can only say a sincere "thank you" to our anonymous Ritter benefactor, whoever you may be. (I know now).

A matter of rice and death

Fried rice meets boiled rice in a rare moment of yin and yang unity. Some might call this a bowl of leftovers, a food surplus following excess preparation and the use of incorrect quantities but for others it's simply tomorrow's lunch (topped with a portion of grated, melted cheese). Fine if you like that sort of thing.

No Shame

 

Division Bell: The design always did remind me of Robo-Cop though I didn't really ever put the two together properly until I saw this. That's certainly not Ely Cathedral in the background either. I'm 65, occasionally I might wear a Pink Floyd T shirt and feel no shame. There you have it.