chess axioms

If you are behind in material, trade pawns, not pieces. If you are ahead in material, trade pieces, not pawns.

when attacked on the wing, open the center. 

a flank attack is best met by a reaction in the center. 

"Chess, like love and music, has the ability to make man happy." -- Tarrasch

the longer it takes to win, the more difficult it is to win.

"As a rule, you should try to occupy a blockading square with a piece." - Karpov

if the tactics aren't working out, switch the move order. 

For a plan: ask yourself what you would do if you had two or three moves in a row.

Make your opponent make the captures in your favor.

Throw out the move, but not the idea.

Patzer sees a check, patzer plays a check.

When behind in space, trade pieces.

If your opponent's pieces are working better than your own, trade them off.

Fixed or blockaded pawns become stationary targets.

"...a winning position can and has to be improved and perfected before material is won and it becomes a technical win." --Seirawan

Try to create play on the side of the board on which you have the advantage.

When faced with a choice of protecting a passed pawn by a rook (passive role) or sacrificing the pawn to make more active use of the rook, after careful consideration, sac the pawn.

The rook belongs behind the passed pawn, yours or the opponent's. --Tarrasch

In isolated pawn positions, trading pieces benefits the player who is facing the isolated pawn.

The player who has more space tries to keep pieces on the board.

Open positions favor the player who is better developed.

Invite all your pieces to the party!

Don't open fresh lines to a better-developed opponent. 

"It's important to continue playing accurately." -Daniel Naroditsky

Don't make unnecessary pawn moves in the endgame.

Should I participate in social media?

Should I participate in social media? Should I engage with it, spend my time on it, pay attention to it? What is it? The gibbering of millions of [REDACTED__1123ho], extorting me with their dumb ideas. Now I am one of these [REDACTED__ax58433] as well, begging for attention, spewing forth nonsense, unwelcome and unasked, unto an apathetic non-audience of imaginary people. Yet here I am, and here it is, a collection of half-wit words, tapped carefully on a keyboard, a non-message, a scream into the void. [REDACTED__55321x3] Should I participate in social media?

Of course. And here I am. This thing unposted will be cut. It will then be pasted! To multiple platforms! A platform, like the trapeze platform. I am ready to do my tricks. Now can I say something outlandish? Something controversial and new? Of course not. For if an infinity of monkeys on an infinity of typewriters can accidentally reproduce the entire works of Shakespeare word-for-word, then with the Internet, everything has been said, whether it should have been said or no.

These are the words that I have typed. If you are reading this, I have participated in social media. Should I participate in social media? 

This was a writing exercise. Should I participate in social media?

Shakes gonna Shake

Is there no pity sitting in the clouds

That sees into the bottom of my grief?

Juliet, R_and_J III.v

In Hamlet, Shakespeare accidentally described the Internet

 In Hamlet, Act 4 Scene 5, a GENTLEMAN describes Ophelia’s madness to the Queen. 

One might also imagine he describes the Internet: 

 "... speaks things in doubt,

That carry but half sense: her speech is nothing,

Yet the unshaped use of it doth move

The hearers to collection; they aim at it,

And botch the words up fit to their own thoughts;

Which, as her winks, and nods, and gestures

yield them,

Indeed would make one think there might be thought,

Though nothing sure, yet much unhappily."

Remember, You Leave a Mark on The World

 “What are the marks on the back of this pot?”  The old man complained in his kitchen.
Then his eyes welled up, and he sat down.
“These are the marks that the children made,
Banging their pots to ring in the year.”

I just realized...

I just realized that the best weather of the year is during the week before my birthday.

The curse of the Internet

The curse of the Internet is that before the Internet, lunatics talked to themselves. Now they talk to each other.

question and answer #1

Q: Why did you get into that cheese?

A: Because I felt it was necessary. 

poemling five

We persist through time, 

But just a little while.

We take up just 

A little bit of space.

We last about

Thirty-Seven

Thousand days.

Or less.

Then poof! 

No more!

Behold,

Our troubles 

Are no more.

poemling four

Darkness, ours, is not our own

Nor are the hours of the day.

The eye and mind give no respite

To ills throughout this Worldly World.

And all the teeth are meekly gnashed,

And all the mundane tortures spread around.

The day endured in ordinary ways,

Ignoring everyone with all our might.

A world on fire, full of upright chimps,

So vain to think that they can truly think.

Featherless bipeds sulking in their cars,

Imagine future days that cannot be.

poemling three

When you became Elizabeth,
And walked along the borders of the world,
We all would genuflect and bow
And say a prayer as you passed by.

And all your tragic triumphs we would
Whisper tales around our nightly fires.
You alone, Eliza, fought the giants,
You broke the backs of tyrants,
Clawed the Cyclops eye,
Drowned the hateful witches
In the sea.

The grimness of your everlasting violence.
Your everlasting violence.

When you returned we had no way to thank you. You towered high above us, so high your stately visage was obscured by winter clouds. And we could only love you from a distance, and you could only see us for from above.

poemling two

How good it is to have a bed,

To have a pillow for my head,

A roof above, a floor below,

To have to a job where I can go.

day 20,027

work, mowed lawn, cat food, flowers.

Day #20026

 cleared out the corner dead tree in joanne's yard. met matt, ran up to northview, five mile, plainfield, northview, and back. i weight one-hundred-ninety pounds. finished first edit of "swatch," chilled at the house after returning from flint. went to meijer with deb. saturday we did huff park and went to flint. neck doesn't hurt too bad. shoulder has been bugging me. 

writing exercise about stan the elf, unedited

 brutus, my cat, is looking out the slider window at the night backyard. the night backyard is a magical place. i assume it is. i am inside now, so how can i be sure? I cannot be sure that the nighttime backyard is a magical place. i almost hope not, because then i would be missing out on wonderful and whimsical backyard magic. elves and fairies and whatnot, lurking around cutely under bushes and toadstools. there were no toadstools back there earlier, but i have no proof that there are none there now. if there are elves and fairies in the backyard, would one of them be a malcontent? would it be sullen and contrary? would his name be stan, stan the elf, and would he refuse to partake in the elvish highjinx they get up to back there? running around and laughing and doing whatever elves do in their spare time, which i can only assume is all the time, because they probably do not have jobs in the conventional  sense. would stan be bored with the entire thing, and decide to leave the backyard? would elves remain in one backyard only? wouldn’t they just wander around, ignoring property lines altogether? and would they only frolic in suburban yards? would they go downtown, under cars in parking garages? to street festivals, dodging human feet as the humans with wristbands wander to and fro between the port-a-johns and the beer garden? stan would be there, wondering what it is all about. under a wheeled dumpster, listening to two cops discuss overtime, or their domestic situations, or politics. the people getting louder and louder under the influence of their beers, and stan would wonder what it is all about. he would find a side-street, and overhear a couple arguing about a third person. one of them is jealous, and stan feels lonely. none of the other elves are interesting to talk to. they just giggle and laugh and frolic around. mindless idiots. elves are, if compared to humans, always naturally high. they have no needs or wants to speak of. they are like animals, really, not thinking, only casting tiny spells on humans, and playing tricks, and mostly frolicking at night and having loads of sex. they are all in great shape, disease free, eternally young, usually naked, and randy for all eternity. but not stan. poor stan. he just doesn’t get it. he will wear pants, thank you very much. he thinks too much. even through the naturally high haze of his tiny elf mind, he can tell that this all does not add up. he flicks his wings sullenly and flies up into a tree. and i suppose it is here that i should introduce a second character. 

poemling one

i see a thousand spaceships crawl across the evening sky
but none of them are interested and they keep passing by

i see a million zombies with their smartphones lumber by
but none of them are interested and they keep passing by

method thirteen

the utilization of method thirteen cannot be comprehended by the mind of modern man.

"no one," says this person.

  i suppose i could begin some story, but my stories are crap, but if you must have a character, we will have this person do things. this person will say things as well. this genderless, completely unidentifiable person will come alive, and you will help me, gentle reader, bring this person to life. because this person has feelings. this person was brought up in a certain way, and this person believes certain things because of and in spite of this upbringing. this person is, of course, frustrated with life. how can this person be otherwise? look at the world. you have seen it, dearest and most cherished reader. you have seen it. the world. this person finds this person stuck on this world. a planet, to be sure, with gravity, filled with other people. who said "hell is other people?" wonders this person. i know what you are thinking, dearest reader. "i could be that person!" you think, reading on. or the author could be this person. but no, you and i are not that person. we are simply the writer and the reader. no. this person is real, and we will make this person real now.  think about this person. crystallize this person in your mind. make this person solid and real. eyes like that. hair just that way. a certain walk. a way of hold the head. there. now this person is real. now this person must do something. doing is more exciting than not doing. and it is excitement we want. we shall have it, my most loyal and trustworthy reader. we will do this together. it is incredibly important for this person to do something. this person does not exist in a vacuum. this person has a friend. this person and friend will have conversations. but they cannot hang in space having a dialog with no setting. they must be in a place, so we will make them a place. this place has a certain amount of trees and foliage; it is a very green place. you may put a fountain in it if you like, or not. perhaps there is a commercial or retail space a few streets down. but they are walking in this green space, this person and the friend. they are walking near the fountain. a car goes by, and finally the friend says, and this is the first dialog, so pay attention: "should i say something profound?" the friend says. "go ahead," this person said. "say something profound." they walk along for awhile, and the friend says, "i think it has all been said." this person says, "that is profound, it it's own way." i think i should explain here that my characters will be speaking in contractions, although i do not like to use them in my prose. this is a writing tradition to which i have kept true for over an entire page. sorry to interrupt. a car goes by. this person waves, because this person knows the person driving the car. "who was that?" the friend asks. "no one," says this person.

Let’s trouble gods and / Keep them in their places

Let’s trouble gods and
Keep them in their places—
Let’s ask them for
Uncomplicated things—

Let’s bother them with prayers
Unnecessary—
Let’s all distract them
With our tiny needs—

There are so many of them
In the heavens—
And twice as many
Dwell beneath our feet—

They sit there in the everlasting
Boredom—
They suffer in the everlasting
Heat —

I pity them in their
Eternal Sunshine—
I weep for them in their
Eternal Flame—

Let’s ask them for
An awkward-worded favor—
Let’s genuflect and kneel
and bow our heads—

For they ignore us
While we go on living—
And punish us as soon as
We are dead— 

tail-end dream fragment

 woke up, and this went through my head:

"All beliefs must be believed /

Or else the world has been deceived."

Most Ironic Advertising I've Seen in Awhile

 So we were watching a murder show, and there is an actual commercial for Life Insurance, and in the commercial, the wife is talking the husband into buying life insurance. And the plot of the murder show we are watching pretty much matches that setup exactly.

the portfolio of time

"...peering with steady blue eyes into the portfolio of time."

Henry Miller Tropic of Cancer

Tropic of Cancer -- Henry Miller quote

 "Lawyer, priest, doctor, politician, newspaperman—these are the quacks who have their fingers on the pulse of the world. A constant atmosphere of calamity. It's marvelous. It's as if the barometer never changed, as if the flag were always at half-mast. One can see now how the idea of heaven takes hold of men's consciousness, how it gains ground even when all the props have been knocked from under it. There must be another world beside this swamp in which everything is dumped pell-mell. It's hard to imagine what it can be like, this heaven that men dream about. A frog's heaven, no doubt. Miasma, scum, pond lilies, stagnant water. Sit on a lily pad unmolested and croak all day. Something like that, I can imagine." 

Tropic of Cancer — Henry Miller