For the record, I am not a terrorist. Well, I am but I don't use explosives, box cutters, aircraft, nuclear weapons, or any thing that is actually fatal. I use social contravention. Take this blog for instance. I have partially destroyed the lives of everyone who has read it. Of course I cost them the few minutes necessary to catch up on everything that I have posted since 2006, which is this post. But I have also deleted just a little bit of their souls. Dear reader, there is a reason that your eyes now smell like they are slightly out of date.

For whatever reason, I have never been able to just follow the prevailing winds of my social environment. I like to think that this is willful. I don't like to explain it as such when others inquire. I am the ugly child of the unnatural coupling of the thoughts of Friedrich Nietzsche and James Thurber: the ÜberMitty.

Here I rant; I whine; I tell off every government, and every corporation for cloaking their terrorist activities in offical business and bureaucracy. This is my little protest march. I am constantly amazed at what can be killed with a line in front of a service desk. Afterwards, I go out into mainstream America and attempt to show enough conformity that people will pay me for it. I sit under my hat and think my dark little thoughts about how all will be eventually solved by the sun exhausting its supply of hydrogen. I drip a dry tear because I lack the temporal stamina to witness this and gloat.

So I suck the life out of you. Just a minute or two more tnat it takes to read this.

Now I think you need to sniff your finger to see if they are still fresh. Odds are you have rested them on the keyboard and sufered just a little bit more of my infection.

You dear reader, whether you bleieve it or not, are also a thermodyanmic nihilist, and a product of your local social winds. Now go and burn!

Greetings dear reader. I must say that I am sorry for writing such complicated drivel. I don't often write, unless I have something to say. When I do have something to say I tend to make the most of the space I have. In the days of the internet, that practice is not needed anymore. I have all the space that I want to say what needs to be said. Server memory is cheap. It is so cheap in fact that I pay nothing to write this blog.

I am writing this because I just found out about a readability index called the fog index. It is a simple set of formulae that give you a number which tells you how readable your writing is. From what I can ascertain form the web, mature writing should have a fog index of no more than eight. I dsicovered the fog index while looking around Amazon for novels that I considered complicated such as Ulysses by James Joyce. Even these novels had a fog index that averaged around eight. Complicated writing, on the other hand, has a fog index of more than twelve.

One site that I looked at quoted a painful piece of legal writing as an example. This piece of writing achieved a fog index of 13.2. My last post sadly garnered a fog index of 13.6. I take comfort in knowing that it is better than a proposal that I submitted recently. That proposal had an overall fog index of 19.4. I checked two paragraphs in this proposal and they scored a whopping 24.4! My head hangs in shame.

I still think that the ideas that I was speaking about in the last post are good. We suffer hurt feelings at the hands of our parents when we are young. These experiences determine who we are and how we fit into society. Or rather, they determine how the winds of society carry us along into our roles as heat makers. Morals make us work together neatly at making heat for society.

I must blow on; the machine needs me. It needs you too dear reader. In any case, I hope that you understood this better than the last post. At least I hope that you understood why my head still drops on account of the last post. By the way, I'm leaving in the typos. I intend them just like James Joyce.

Dear reader have you ever felt hopelessly inadequate? I was listening to Focus on the Family (TM) the other week. The guest insisted that I have a sense of inadequacy because I was spiritually wounded by my parents while I was a young child. This re-launched the constant internal debate over the utility of victimhood. While in the interest of not being a victim to the point of victimizing, My ego did suffer several setbacks at the hands of my parents that persist as psycho-buttons to this day. Should you criticize me the right way I would turn instantly into an inarticulate an somewhat more self loathing version of Woody Allen. I magically become my own engrams to put it scientologically.

The very act of self loathing is one such trigger. I detest it when other people indulge in it; I detest it even more when I do--to the point of self loathing. My own anger makes me angry. According to my understanding of the writings of John Gottman (The Mathematics of Marriage , MIT Press 2002), I am a couple in distress, and I should be divorcing myself within the year.

On the other hand, if only physical existence is considered, there is no morality without victimization. Morality is, physically, a collection of mentally imposed constraints on our activities as thermodynamic processes. Physically, all mental activity can be described as thermodynamic. Indeed, we are thermodynamic processes whose primary mission is the creation of entropy through the preservation of self. We are not inherently different from hurricanes except that we are slightly more complex.

Mental constraints emerge as an aggregation of punishments as behavioral and social conditioners. We are the sum of our punishments; we are the sum of our remembered traumas. We treat other humans well ONLY because we are tied down by childhood victimizations. I suppose I owe my parents thanks for victimizing me ... after all, I would not be able to function compassionately in society without their early ... uh ... reprovements. As a thermodynamic process in a self organized thermodynamic system, going with the flow leads to better production. These reprovements guarantee that I too can flow and be productive.

But I still have to wonder what is it that I/We are producing? Just heat?

FirstPost is truly an interesting title eh? The fact of the matter is that currently, I'm so swamped with the dissertation that I have nothing destructive to write for this first post, No shimmering theme music, no curtain that needs to be pulled back, and no mushroom clouds developing on center stage. I managed a few angelic choral Ahs but the cube farm did not appreciate it. Incidentally here is a good reference on the Blog name : OLOTHREUTES howz that for icky?