I was thinking (where “I” equals the shared mind of Amf. and Peter, where “shared” equals by mutual consent, unlike rape-stealing the mind, by which I mean being one of those people who kind of look at you with an intensity, often nodding their heads as they agree with themselves to make you agree with them, very overbearing and intrusive, the ultimate in gentle passive-aggression, or the people who sit too close, not respect aura(l) space [that looked like a “one” in parentheses but it is an “ell” to make a very clever statement which whatever I just blew it and it wasn’t that great to start with), which is terribly rude and uncalled for. At least I have better sense(s) than most, but I know where to draw the line that is not to be crossed. Now, that is a funny phrase, to cross the line. It’s like fickle, something having to do with “Am I or am I not” or “Should I or should I not” or “Have I or have I not” or “Am I this or Am I that” or “Should I project this or should I find some other filthy lie of an existence to push”... crossing that fine line, hairline, from face to baldface, boldface, and line becomes a lie, too close for comfort, like being taken around the Mount Baldface Circle Path in NH in the White Mountains, wow, (using an NZ term) that tramp is a symbol of ultimate deception: quite a steep climb, and the comedown was pretty wretched; looking back at it you realize that pleasant afternoon trip was a lie that wasn’t uttered, as in, collapsed from exhaustion, it was a bitch of a day: I personally like an extreme challenge, like Mount Cannon NH or Tongariro NZ, where you know you are up for some nasty footwork and ferocious wind emanating from up the ridge somewhere enough to knock you down, or a stroll around Fresh Pond, although that can be the biggest trick of them all (like, two hands holding desperately, for love or put quite in chemical or material terms for an exchange of human data). I am still trying to work out if Fresh Pond has some meaning, like Baldface or World’s End or god knows where else. Lyin’ Tricksty (of the Red Revolution)! But uncool. That was of no real significance because I am getting back to this post which started with three words) about La battaglia di Algeri, in English The Battle of Algiers. I saw it when it was re-released around six years ago, when it was billed as the film that t*rrorists use for training. Yes, it is pretty specific in details of insurgency. Why, when t*rrorism is vile—action disguised as military but with civilian targets, hence its extremely dastardly and cowardly nature, I mean, get a grip of reality which is never supposed to lie—would a film be billed as such? It’s like that ramble—I guess I’m effectively bringing them up and playing into the purpose I am describing, but everyone seems to know this already, on a need-to-know basis—just kidding, I’ve been watching too much Alias—The Coming Ins*rrection, which proudly proclaims that it was used as evidence in a French t*rror case. Point: what kind of publicity is that? Huge, but for whom? It reminds me of the obverse, when a far better cause was talked about, except for the part about any action directly against the government, or indirectly for that matter, e.g., in the manner of the Brigate Rosse of Italy, who wanted to push the state into a police state—and they partially succeeded, especially by kidnapping Aldo Moro, the Prime Minister—streets of Rome were deserted after dark such was the terror, and the military was extremely present, all in the 1970s, though they in fact barely killed, and their targets were not overly civilian; the Ba*der Me*nhof were a little more automatic weapon trigger-happy—etc. etc. I’m saying ins*rrection is sedition, not cool, but aside from that, the trial of James P. Cannon, a C*munist leader tried in 1945 (I really can’t be bothered checking) for sedition. The verbatim transcript of the trial is published as Socialism on Trial, with essays: it was a two-week long chance for Cannon to teach M*rxism in one of the most media-covered trials in the country up until that point. And he taught it in very simple, justifiably attractive terms: none of that dictatorship and expropriation nonsense, just a lot about the communal, sharing aspect, fairness to workers, etc., nothing scary; he kept the talk of sedition or revolution slightly separate, although it is more than just a lemma of Permanent R*volution in reality. The Algerian ins*rrection film was in fact played twice by the US military to senior advisors as a teaching aid in “low-level conflict” guer*lla tactics. How many films and TV shows are covertly like that? How many books? I mean, forget the Ins*rrection book because that is a little blatant. It seems to me, almost everything, be it preparation, action, or aftermath. All songs? Are we crazy? Do all clouds look like our pet cat fror NZ? (We shared!) It is a scare-music [“music” is an instance of metaphor here] of traversal or traveling. (Oh! The collective I just had my class listen to a piece called “Traveling Music” by Tod Dockstader, a visual/sounds effect designer from the 1960s, in Canada, who, after hours, secretly worked on his music: people didn’t have home studios in those days, in fact there were only a handful in the whole world, so we are very lucky to have his album Apocalypse. Disclaimer, as a devout and well-reasoned anti-eschatologist—someone who studies christian saints? I forget—I am very much not endorsing what I have just done—drawn attention to all zero readers of this except the mote of my brain, the flicker of the mind’s eye, certain things; except they will already know about this, such as is the case with my being of no such cause, unless teaching is considered a ?sedative activity—sometimes, like listening to Alvin Lucier’s “I am sitting in a Room” which is innocuous and is true, because, guess wait, I am sitting here not as a lunatic on the grass, or the potentially less innocuous—just a supposition on my part, I love the piece, but, hmmm, lately I have got to wondering so much, Bob Ostertag’s “Sooner or Later” which is on the same week’s listening list, but I am probably wrong, because despite [ick how many subordinate clauses can I nest—I used to live in a nest or we called it that but it was more of a rat’s nest that a bird’s nest, though I know I am not a rat so were we infested?—including this? There is usually an unsavory, sometimes slightly desperate reason for this malady, which is trying to say too many things in one sentence. Break up! Many sentences, not those feeble punishment technique of concurrent sentencing by some judges...] it being about war (a little boy burying his father, in El Salvador, vowing revenge), “sooner or later” seems a little casual or flippant or perhaps it was written then and now it is... now, now, now, all these successive nows, when will they stop, like a week, or a year? When the calendar runs out? Ha, they never run, they are in constant revolution. Oops. Wassup with me today, I think it is (i) stupidity, (ii) temporarily being soleless because my feet were too hot and I needed cold feet to cool off thus no sneakers, (iii) inculcated by the un cool cult [not really, I just wanted to “c”s the moment... like Candace Bergen in the 1970s advertising a perfume called C, and she would say, “C’s me”...] if reading mainstream—any?—newspapers with the scare of Egypt, the new events in Bahrain, I got to thinking of this culture of reading about uprisings, which, who knows, everyone who knows history knows, have been reported with increasing fervor, bah humbug they have been going on the whole time, wake up and smell the, er, I was going to be overly witty and say music in your iPhone collection but then I thought, nay, I can truly hear artifacts of their mp3 decoder (or it could have been the encoder, I don’t even trust LAME which is, not that I’d know, expected on torrent sites, especially membership ones like Oink was, to keep the quality high, recall how how some songs were distributed over Oink and other such things that sounded good then suddenly a minute in there was a message that warned against copying, and I suppose you could say it was secret because mp3s are viral, and perhaps a million were distributed in a day by a mass campaign of seeding all at once [I hope I am not giving ideas, see my comment below on good guys vs. bad guys, who are the good guys? The RIAA? They have nabbed so many MIT students who famously share files mainly because they invented the internet when Al Gore wasn’t inventing it, at least the RIAA had some courtesy not to sue directly the people, but to pass the names to the administration here (yes I am here right now, where else, there?) and they issued warnings and fines, but the funny thing is that it didn’t alter file sharing at all, but there was that Adobe CS4 virus that got a lot of Windoze lusers, another mass distribution of evil/propaganda, well, it’s hard to avoid saying things without it seeming like an instruction manual, just warning people NOT share files, but also to tune your ears to how bad mp3s sound; here is how to hear it: listen to OLD CDS, play the piano or guitar and sing, then listen to the mp3s, an early iPod—viral in their own right, I guess, slick, expensive, nabbing a particular sector of society, which is educated and not impecunious—couldn’t even play one of my pieces, on pure tones, which is weird because a slightly wobbly sine tone is easy to reproduce, as I teach, also every 2’14” [I forget] their was a glitch at 320kbps, or up to 9–11’ for a 128kbps mp3, and I think it was buffer loading, which is pretty shoddy, but I think the buffer thing has been fixed... at least on the Applemacintosh it is accessible software which takes us back to LAME or other open source software at places like sourceforge [forge is such a positive and good word, like some groups say “forging the [new way of some political kind]” but it also smacks of a forgery] but just because something is open source, do we believe it is safe or CORRECT in its task and being on sourceforge ipso facto we who can code [which is neither of us, oops] simply won’t look through it?
]] I forget, I am halfway through a sentence, though being halfway is a little misleading since we don’t know how long it will be, and compared with the sentence itself being an event occurring in acto in all its single-lettered glory, the ending is a very occasional event which means if we recall Mr Staples’ (!! we remembered !!) Math with Statistics class at our high school, we would use a, um, now we are unsure, a Student T distribution [so-called because it was research at an institution and something about royalties or it being secret, Wikipedia will have it and normally I research the facts carefully, practically knowing some Wikipedia essays backwards [for me, things related to graphic design, but all roads lead to Heisenberg and Eigenfunctions, dork], but it is a Poisson distribution which sounds like someone spreading fish all over the world like in our water supplies, imagine opening the faucet and whitebait [are they specifically NZ? it didn’t give me a spell-error] stream out, they are pretty small [we made fritters of them as children pre-vegetarian but I cut the eyes out and that left nothing! Without the eyes, what are they?] gulp, another fish in body [I had a friend Kay Ward—no names are ever changed here, and I wonder what he is up, I should have looked him up on my [Peter’s] last trip to NZ which was so wonderful but has ruined the country for him because it can never be the same, too hard to explain], but Kay was befriended by a very fun and clever and witty and jack-of-all-trades man, Mr King, who fixed radios, and he said “one man’s fish is another man’s poisson” which struck me as pretty clever, hence my calling him clever; it is also witty, hence my calling him witty],
]] yet another discursion to ga-ga land... fomenting at the mouth I mean I am foaming at the mouth but that might be the rabid disorder I have. If we can read all this dangerdangerdanger in newspapers, then I see read, so I must see write. And that is what it is, call it what you will; these people write. If two wrongs hardly make a right, many rights are impinged by many rights impinging. There is a strange accusative thing happening, doubling up the subject of the sentence with the object. “I’m trying to make things right here” takes on a whole new meaning, probably several but I have a head and just took Imitrex which leaves a very bad taste in my mouth, post-nasal. It ADHDs me to yet two more thoughts, and that is the bifurcated idea that even if we hear that human rights are being abused, we are still having the word “right” drum-banged into our head (although banging a dr*g usually means that late Led Zep alBum, In through the out door, sort of up-lies).
Rightrightrightrightrightritetritetrite what is tetri? Lots of “four”s? and this is the bi-parttwo of the -furcation, and that is when you read or hear anything (or however things enter the head, I’ll never know for circular reasons, since) you never know if it is the good guys or the bad guise (because they are usually in dis- as good, how awesome is that... NOT), and having said that, it sometimes doesn’t matter, since you learn, you learn, and if you are discerning, it doesn’t matter how you build up your knowledge if you can have access to many sources, and that that is not a privilege but a right (there we go) for anyone and everyone, and the worse thing would be if your access to privileged information was by privilege, okay, I was a Harvard Ph.D. student and it takes privilege (who am I kidding? For me it was luck and the minor fact that I wrote my application statement of purpoise and two essays as proof whatever, but my exceptional scholar of a girlfriend made minor rewrites—and liked swimming and said she was a “porpoise with a purpose”] as I was far removed from elite academic style of writing. It did the trick, thanks!) and we all, as far as I know, were not in some special club, etc. thought lost, I’ve been making a video tonight, and being confused by film titles and trying to think of them in Latin, more on that, the second point now the bifurcobfuscation has been covered, and that is I have forgotten, but the Algiers movie, no suggestion at all being made, I swear, and no disrespect at all being paid to these people or their groups, professions, etc., just an observation, that one has most of the letters of “fascism” in his name (the director) and the other has most of the letters of “nazi” in his name (an author): now, I will throw in that this was a nationalist uprising, and it was quite socialist, BUT, and that’s a big BUT: it was not national socialist, i.e., nasty nazi. Just an observation that names can be toyed with in the mind: I have a neighboring apartment in my building, in which a couple with the names Canney and Tsaltas live. Um, “canny” means sharp, smart, derived from Scots I think, and “stultus” mean stupid in Latin. So the other names on the door buzzer list (I disconnected our buzzer because I could hear all that neighbor’s door intercom communications, and i checked the wiring, and it was crazy f.-ed up and it seemed that it was possible—with the building’s very old wiring—that those neighbors could hear everything I said, as if the listen button had been pressed and I was downstairs at the door. So I snipped it. Definitely not the landlord’s door, bless him, he was a wonderful landlord, and sadly he is deceased now, and his wife is now the landlady, and she is the sort who said, honey, if you are struggling with the rent, make sure you call me, and if you are depressed, call me too... how awesome is that): McCall on the call list by the door, too! But I say this other name about winning a cop, which struck me as scary. Um, er, that is one half of me (us). So, I was attributing meaning so something that had no real meaning, just that low synaptic-threshold-of-firing syndrome I seem to have. So everything I write is genuinely nonsense, plus I write with impunity because it is not as if anything I could write, so long as not threatening or libelous, could cause any trouble, any of my far-fetched ideas, putting my paintings up, my music, photos, etc. And I celebrate where I teach, where I live, this country, New Zealand, everything!
))) I forget how many close parentheses I need. What was I going to write? I have on a scrap of paper “rodeo vending engine” and ”indeterminate 3D structure” and “vis 2005⟶1605 und [some scrawling in German I guess from the “hun” oops that’s terrible I mean “und”] and “MegaDrumMachine and PopcornFiltersOuter” which are MaxMSP patches someone I am no longer close to wrote—she was a decent musician, in a strange way, I taught her a lot of electronic music things back at home after I had finished teaching. (I think I resent that slightly.) So I just managed to talk about what I was going to talk about. I wander what people do with what I teach them? I teach simple and advanced electronic music composition techniques, and that includes visits by other artists, an expert producer, recording techniques, but mainly computer (somewhat expert) mixing and composing with recorded, analog, early digital, noise, the opposite, and sampled sounds, a lot of layering, some tricks in DSP in the advanced course, although the students increasingly know more digital signal processing than I, which is understandable because I quite (both Is) some time ago, like 22 years ago to be precise. Ach, 22. It is a nightmare number for me. Ex-girlfriend/ex-boyfriend’s birthday, a frat number, the age one of us was when we had mono for the second time (thus, stereo, though current thought is that it was Cat Scratch Fever, very acutely). But 22 is to be celebrated, as it is part of the 4th of July, as are cubes and canon balls, I am led to believe, as all are in the fireworks here, presumably all around the country (I almost wrote around the whole world! I forgot there is no global hegemony [yet—just very much kidding [I hope]]). ))}} to be sure.
Now to find a picture to post, a movie for the other blog, and another composition. And since it is a holiday tomorrow, I will write a 12 minute long poem of prose that is probably terrible, have the Mac speech synthesizer read it like I have in four posts in the other blog (by which I always mean Tumblr, which has a symbol that informed the way I made my video which is of a large painting). I wish I (we) could sing.
Now to eat, take ADHD meds, and post a picture here. I think people must wonder about how we take photos everywhere, we are both faculty/academic staff, well-known enough, but perhaps because we, at our respective and very respectable institutions, carry our camera around, snapping photos of dirt or water stains or posters at strange angles (and we both are), etc. and I wonder if this sort of thing can get one in trouble, even more so, for the wrong reasons? That would be sad. We are in a minor [nothing legal, thank god, nor the key of Fauré’s 9th Barcarolle which is beautiful] predicament, and we are referring doubly to both wes of we. Camera caused it? Trying to say it is a snake that has swallowed an elephant and not a hat? Blip. Food.
Oh, I have dreamed of three things when we were at primary school (as well as many other things and many other places, but these three related ones just entered my head): how to build the perfectly safest house. Mine, not saying whose, was a mile underground, surrounded by concrete and lead, and a gap with giant hydraulic spring-like things, then the same encasement, and a secret entrance somewhere. But a single vulnerability is enough. Like an anything addict, recovered, just one slip up, and recidivism is the new buzz. A trope in mythologies: the Achilles tendon. The next think was how to commit the perfect crime alone, like robbing a bank. I figured out that it simply wasn’t worth it, and since I equated leaders with criminals, I also determined what many kings and queens and emperors have found out the hard way: it pays not to be a leader, to have a high profile. And the third was how to survive a nuclear war: we were teenagers in the 1980s and there was a glut of endgame movies—Terminator, The Morning After, Wargames, as well as ton of survival films. We had, as all NZ kids—it was compulsory—to watch all those movies, and Watership Down which I write about elsewhere and since it is in quite an interesting webmaze, we will link to it as soon as it is back up, it is more of an insurance policy or repository of private papers and the webpages but with a lot of spell errors to correct, and we watched a remake or the original Lord of the Flies to teach us, presumably, how we should not act.
Food. BTW the Latin in the title approximately means “You want things to be as it has been said” with a pun about the notion of force and power (“vis”).
]] I forget, I am halfway through a sentence, though being halfway is a little misleading since we don’t know how long it will be, and compared with the sentence itself being an event occurring in acto in all its single-lettered glory, the ending is a very occasional event which means if we recall Mr Staples’ (!! we remembered !!) Math with Statistics class at our high school, we would use a, um, now we are unsure, a Student T distribution [so-called because it was research at an institution and something about royalties or it being secret, Wikipedia will have it and normally I research the facts carefully, practically knowing some Wikipedia essays backwards [for me, things related to graphic design, but all roads lead to Heisenberg and Eigenfunctions, dork], but it is a Poisson distribution which sounds like someone spreading fish all over the world like in our water supplies, imagine opening the faucet and whitebait [are they specifically NZ? it didn’t give me a spell-error] stream out, they are pretty small [we made fritters of them as children pre-vegetarian but I cut the eyes out and that left nothing! Without the eyes, what are they?] gulp, another fish in body [I had a friend Kay Ward—no names are ever changed here, and I wonder what he is up, I should have looked him up on my [Peter’s] last trip to NZ which was so wonderful but has ruined the country for him because it can never be the same, too hard to explain], but Kay was befriended by a very fun and clever and witty and jack-of-all-trades man, Mr King, who fixed radios, and he said “one man’s fish is another man’s poisson” which struck me as pretty clever, hence my calling him clever; it is also witty, hence my calling him witty],
]] yet another discursion to ga-ga land... fomenting at the mouth I mean I am foaming at the mouth but that might be the rabid disorder I have. If we can read all this dangerdangerdanger in newspapers, then I see read, so I must see write. And that is what it is, call it what you will; these people write. If two wrongs hardly make a right, many rights are impinged by many rights impinging. There is a strange accusative thing happening, doubling up the subject of the sentence with the object. “I’m trying to make things right here” takes on a whole new meaning, probably several but I have a head and just took Imitrex which leaves a very bad taste in my mouth, post-nasal. It ADHDs me to yet two more thoughts, and that is the bifurcated idea that even if we hear that human rights are being abused, we are still having the word “right” drum-banged into our head (although banging a dr*g usually means that late Led Zep alBum, In through the out door, sort of up-lies).
Rightrightrightrightrightritetritetrite what is tetri? Lots of “four”s? and this is the bi-parttwo of the -furcation, and that is when you read or hear anything (or however things enter the head, I’ll never know for circular reasons, since) you never know if it is the good guys or the bad guise (because they are usually in dis- as good, how awesome is that... NOT), and having said that, it sometimes doesn’t matter, since you learn, you learn, and if you are discerning, it doesn’t matter how you build up your knowledge if you can have access to many sources, and that that is not a privilege but a right (there we go) for anyone and everyone, and the worse thing would be if your access to privileged information was by privilege, okay, I was a Harvard Ph.D. student and it takes privilege (who am I kidding? For me it was luck and the minor fact that I wrote my application statement of purpoise and two essays as proof whatever, but my exceptional scholar of a girlfriend made minor rewrites—and liked swimming and said she was a “porpoise with a purpose”] as I was far removed from elite academic style of writing. It did the trick, thanks!) and we all, as far as I know, were not in some special club, etc. thought lost, I’ve been making a video tonight, and being confused by film titles and trying to think of them in Latin, more on that, the second point now the bifurcobfuscation has been covered, and that is I have forgotten, but the Algiers movie, no suggestion at all being made, I swear, and no disrespect at all being paid to these people or their groups, professions, etc., just an observation, that one has most of the letters of “fascism” in his name (the director) and the other has most of the letters of “nazi” in his name (an author): now, I will throw in that this was a nationalist uprising, and it was quite socialist, BUT, and that’s a big BUT: it was not national socialist, i.e., nasty nazi. Just an observation that names can be toyed with in the mind: I have a neighboring apartment in my building, in which a couple with the names Canney and Tsaltas live. Um, “canny” means sharp, smart, derived from Scots I think, and “stultus” mean stupid in Latin. So the other names on the door buzzer list (I disconnected our buzzer because I could hear all that neighbor’s door intercom communications, and i checked the wiring, and it was crazy f.-ed up and it seemed that it was possible—with the building’s very old wiring—that those neighbors could hear everything I said, as if the listen button had been pressed and I was downstairs at the door. So I snipped it. Definitely not the landlord’s door, bless him, he was a wonderful landlord, and sadly he is deceased now, and his wife is now the landlady, and she is the sort who said, honey, if you are struggling with the rent, make sure you call me, and if you are depressed, call me too... how awesome is that): McCall on the call list by the door, too! But I say this other name about winning a cop, which struck me as scary. Um, er, that is one half of me (us). So, I was attributing meaning so something that had no real meaning, just that low synaptic-threshold-of-firing syndrome I seem to have. So everything I write is genuinely nonsense, plus I write with impunity because it is not as if anything I could write, so long as not threatening or libelous, could cause any trouble, any of my far-fetched ideas, putting my paintings up, my music, photos, etc. And I celebrate where I teach, where I live, this country, New Zealand, everything!
))) I forget how many close parentheses I need. What was I going to write? I have on a scrap of paper “rodeo vending engine” and ”indeterminate 3D structure” and “vis 2005⟶1605 und [some scrawling in German I guess from the “hun” oops that’s terrible I mean “und”] and “MegaDrumMachine and PopcornFiltersOuter” which are MaxMSP patches someone I am no longer close to wrote—she was a decent musician, in a strange way, I taught her a lot of electronic music things back at home after I had finished teaching. (I think I resent that slightly.) So I just managed to talk about what I was going to talk about. I wander what people do with what I teach them? I teach simple and advanced electronic music composition techniques, and that includes visits by other artists, an expert producer, recording techniques, but mainly computer (somewhat expert) mixing and composing with recorded, analog, early digital, noise, the opposite, and sampled sounds, a lot of layering, some tricks in DSP in the advanced course, although the students increasingly know more digital signal processing than I, which is understandable because I quite (both Is) some time ago, like 22 years ago to be precise. Ach, 22. It is a nightmare number for me. Ex-girlfriend/ex-boyfriend’s birthday, a frat number, the age one of us was when we had mono for the second time (thus, stereo, though current thought is that it was Cat Scratch Fever, very acutely). But 22 is to be celebrated, as it is part of the 4th of July, as are cubes and canon balls, I am led to believe, as all are in the fireworks here, presumably all around the country (I almost wrote around the whole world! I forgot there is no global hegemony [yet—just very much kidding [I hope]]). ))}} to be sure.
Now to find a picture to post, a movie for the other blog, and another composition. And since it is a holiday tomorrow, I will write a 12 minute long poem of prose that is probably terrible, have the Mac speech synthesizer read it like I have in four posts in the other blog (by which I always mean Tumblr, which has a symbol that informed the way I made my video which is of a large painting). I wish I (we) could sing.
Now to eat, take ADHD meds, and post a picture here. I think people must wonder about how we take photos everywhere, we are both faculty/academic staff, well-known enough, but perhaps because we, at our respective and very respectable institutions, carry our camera around, snapping photos of dirt or water stains or posters at strange angles (and we both are), etc. and I wonder if this sort of thing can get one in trouble, even more so, for the wrong reasons? That would be sad. We are in a minor [nothing legal, thank god, nor the key of Fauré’s 9th Barcarolle which is beautiful] predicament, and we are referring doubly to both wes of we. Camera caused it? Trying to say it is a snake that has swallowed an elephant and not a hat? Blip. Food.
Oh, I have dreamed of three things when we were at primary school (as well as many other things and many other places, but these three related ones just entered my head): how to build the perfectly safest house. Mine, not saying whose, was a mile underground, surrounded by concrete and lead, and a gap with giant hydraulic spring-like things, then the same encasement, and a secret entrance somewhere. But a single vulnerability is enough. Like an anything addict, recovered, just one slip up, and recidivism is the new buzz. A trope in mythologies: the Achilles tendon. The next think was how to commit the perfect crime alone, like robbing a bank. I figured out that it simply wasn’t worth it, and since I equated leaders with criminals, I also determined what many kings and queens and emperors have found out the hard way: it pays not to be a leader, to have a high profile. And the third was how to survive a nuclear war: we were teenagers in the 1980s and there was a glut of endgame movies—Terminator, The Morning After, Wargames, as well as ton of survival films. We had, as all NZ kids—it was compulsory—to watch all those movies, and Watership Down which I write about elsewhere and since it is in quite an interesting webmaze, we will link to it as soon as it is back up, it is more of an insurance policy or repository of private papers and the webpages but with a lot of spell errors to correct, and we watched a remake or the original Lord of the Flies to teach us, presumably, how we should not act.
Food. BTW the Latin in the title approximately means “You want things to be as it has been said” with a pun about the notion of force and power (“vis”).
