amblings (after NM)
Moderators: deer of the dawn, Furls Fire
- sgt.null
- Jack of Odd Trades, Master of Fun
- Posts: 48356
- Joined: Tue Jul 19, 2005 7:53 am
- Location: Brazoria, Texas
- Has thanked: 8 times
- Been thanked: 10 times
amblings (after NM)
A Conversation between
Georgia O'Keefe & Robert Goddard
him : those aren't really
flowers, are they?
her: well, are those
really rockets?
Georgia O'Keefe & Robert Goddard
him : those aren't really
flowers, are they?
her: well, are those
really rockets?
Lenin, Marx
Marx, Lennon
Good Dog...
Marx, Lennon
Good Dog...
- sgt.null
- Jack of Odd Trades, Master of Fun
- Posts: 48356
- Joined: Tue Jul 19, 2005 7:53 am
- Location: Brazoria, Texas
- Has thanked: 8 times
- Been thanked: 10 times
"how funny, red roses for me"
old king Odin says;
"der kinder verboten"
Vortigern counts down -
waiting for the sky
to fall - Valhalla waits
on standby, empty cry
Ampersand the Pinkerton
man knows one if by
land, two if by sea...
gets his weather reports
from Mars, stops for
the second time tonight
the sons of Poseidon
listening for the voice
of Buddha; on broken
telephones. a circle
of conceit unable to
finally admit their defeat
kings, detectives, collective
nothing sacred, nothing
gained. huddled around
dying embers, remember
your solitary name - if
it is all that remains...
old king Odin says;
"der kinder verboten"
Vortigern counts down -
waiting for the sky
to fall - Valhalla waits
on standby, empty cry
Ampersand the Pinkerton
man knows one if by
land, two if by sea...
gets his weather reports
from Mars, stops for
the second time tonight
the sons of Poseidon
listening for the voice
of Buddha; on broken
telephones. a circle
of conceit unable to
finally admit their defeat
kings, detectives, collective
nothing sacred, nothing
gained. huddled around
dying embers, remember
your solitary name - if
it is all that remains...
Lenin, Marx
Marx, Lennon
Good Dog...
Marx, Lennon
Good Dog...
- sgt.null
- Jack of Odd Trades, Master of Fun
- Posts: 48356
- Joined: Tue Jul 19, 2005 7:53 am
- Location: Brazoria, Texas
- Has thanked: 8 times
- Been thanked: 10 times
Null Vector
For other uses, see Null (clarification).
In linear algebra, the Null vector (or zero vector) of emptiness is the vector in space, all which factor the components as zero.
A vector zero is an arbitrary direction, but is orthogonal (perpendicular of normal) to all the vectors with the same number of components. A different class from vectors, also called vector nobody or zero vector, arises in different generalizations from space.
Since the Null of words has more general meaning (and very different) in the programming by computers. Many programmers prefer the vector of limited zero to avoid confusion. If the report (Null of vector) is interpreted very intuitively the vector is a Null indicator in comparison to a Null vector as a vector of zero.
Linear algebra has a space for general vectors. The vector of zero is the Null vector. The empty vector is the vector only determined as an element identity for the addition of vectors.
Vector zero is a special case of tensional zero. Zero angles are the result of the scalar multiplication by zero.
The image of the vector zero under a linear transformation is called grain or Null space. Null space is a linear space whose unique element is a vector zero. Vector zero, by itself, is linear to the person as position. It is regulated as a vector that includes the linear person to position.
The normal space of vectors is more a vector of equal normal to zero. These vectors are often called Null vectors. Light-like vectors of space generally represent the same row of a Null vector. Null space contains values different from zero.
For other uses, see Null (clarification).
In linear algebra, the Null vector (or zero vector) of emptiness is the vector in space, all which factor the components as zero.
A vector zero is an arbitrary direction, but is orthogonal (perpendicular of normal) to all the vectors with the same number of components. A different class from vectors, also called vector nobody or zero vector, arises in different generalizations from space.
Since the Null of words has more general meaning (and very different) in the programming by computers. Many programmers prefer the vector of limited zero to avoid confusion. If the report (Null of vector) is interpreted very intuitively the vector is a Null indicator in comparison to a Null vector as a vector of zero.
Linear algebra has a space for general vectors. The vector of zero is the Null vector. The empty vector is the vector only determined as an element identity for the addition of vectors.
Vector zero is a special case of tensional zero. Zero angles are the result of the scalar multiplication by zero.
The image of the vector zero under a linear transformation is called grain or Null space. Null space is a linear space whose unique element is a vector zero. Vector zero, by itself, is linear to the person as position. It is regulated as a vector that includes the linear person to position.
The normal space of vectors is more a vector of equal normal to zero. These vectors are often called Null vectors. Light-like vectors of space generally represent the same row of a Null vector. Null space contains values different from zero.
Lenin, Marx
Marx, Lennon
Good Dog...
Marx, Lennon
Good Dog...
Null space contains values different from zero.
i heart you ya big lug.

i heart you ya big lug.
you're more advanced than a cockroach,
have you ever tried explaining yourself
to one of them?
~ alan bates, the mothman prophecies
i've had this with actors before, on the set,
where they get upset about the [size of my]
trailer, and i'm always like...take my trailer,
cause... i'm from Kentucky
and that's not what we brag about.
~ george clooney, inside the actor's studio
a straight edge for legends at
the fold - searching for our
lost cities of gold. burnt tar,
gravel pits. sixteen gears switch.
Haphazard Lucy strolls by.
~ dennis r wood ~
have you ever tried explaining yourself
to one of them?
~ alan bates, the mothman prophecies
i've had this with actors before, on the set,
where they get upset about the [size of my]
trailer, and i'm always like...take my trailer,
cause... i'm from Kentucky
and that's not what we brag about.
~ george clooney, inside the actor's studio
a straight edge for legends at
the fold - searching for our
lost cities of gold. burnt tar,
gravel pits. sixteen gears switch.
Haphazard Lucy strolls by.
~ dennis r wood ~
- Lord Zombiac
- The Gap Into Spam
- Posts: 1116
- Joined: Sun Aug 15, 2010 6:32 pm
- Location: the Mountains of New Mexico
- Contact:
Your poem remind me of my best friend/mentor's poems. He died of hepatitis in 2009.
httpsss://www.barbarianclan.com
"everything that passes unattempted is impossible"-- Lord Mhoram, the Illearth War.
"everything that passes unattempted is impossible"-- Lord Mhoram, the Illearth War.
- aliantha
- blueberries on steroids
- Posts: 17865
- Joined: Tue Mar 05, 2002 7:50 pm
- Location: NOT opening up a restaurant in Santa Fe
Goddammit, Sarge, you're making me puddle up. Cut it out.
Translation: I miss you guys, too....
Translation: I miss you guys, too....


EZ Board Survivor
"Dreaming isn't good for you unless you do the things it tells you to." -- Three Dog Night (via the GI)
https://www.hearth-myth.com/
- sgt.null
- Jack of Odd Trades, Master of Fun
- Posts: 48356
- Joined: Tue Jul 19, 2005 7:53 am
- Location: Brazoria, Texas
- Has thanked: 8 times
- Been thanked: 10 times
Tigers Pace...
I drum along weakly to a general anterior. The fuselage beneath my taxi is strong as I drum under an empty sky. For a quantity I will sing and light my instruments.
In their tomb saints smile and accentuate your choice of wine.
Leprosy fixes itself in degrees. We are courageous in our language. Passing by the bluntness of ditches. The monster in our class mixes pale drugs along the way.
We force our fragile hearts to breath with promises of easment at death.
Small beasts eat pale saints. Bootleggers whirl in muted grace.
I tune banjos during each augury. Sending each outwards in a blue taxi. Everyone carrying a flag of my world. Each flag is honored with excessive material and dye.
A girl voices concern that makes my banjos flow. Fanatics sing and cry their presentiments.
It is certainly strange to see the condemned wearing collars on free ground. Each threatens to trumpet a scandal. We place our worries in high corridors dusted with gold.
I drum along slowly . In my taxi and with my faith. I eye the remainder of my regards. The sun shining with goodness. I see crowds glancing at my taxi. Chief among my concerns is their newly accentuated constraint.
I am the fly in your beard.
Eagles gather air as the high order enters along the anterior holy ground. Soft music floats over fresh furrows.
I hardly leave my house anymore.
When i do it is by the door opposite the courtyards. With an entire stock of delivered mementos. The arms of transition are now in flux.
The taxis hover near mountains in blind circles. The circles leading to places among the houses. The court acknowledges one at a time. And each on is examined fully. Time passes bleary and marked under a new rain. Metal sheeting hints at our greed. As we soil a place reserved for the dazzling of her eyes.
Vixens carry short messages treated with a lisp. They are open for a piece of our comrades. The mice are baroque and all the children are clean athletes. We gather their families for ceremonies. The rules of emporiums are read aloud. Without our complete compliment of instruments we force a ragged chorus.
Tambourines and wild greens will not hide your glass jaw.
We allow for the devestation of sanded balms. Lighting our companion wings afire.
We feel wise to seek kings and queens. We are apdapted by free lambs and adopted by dire wolves. We seek the noise of angels absent from choir. We grind bones into ointment and resale it on the common.
My banjo confines but my tambourine empowers. Their sound is in the hands of our queen. her song remains unsung within the consideration of our instruments. I stop the taxi along the edges of her requests.
I have patience, since the bee's auger is a principal of our flag.
Time is filled with the air of soft, long clothing. I carry spare crowns in my taxi. I carry muzzles for the soldiers. I place all of it along the bottom of the embankment.
The knifemen bought my line of reasoning. The gristmill workers bought an enchantment for the king.
I am in the sight of her side. I am in an argot state. Is it necessary?
I drum along weakly to a general anterior. The fuselage beneath my taxi is strong as I drum under an empty sky. For a quantity I will sing and light my instruments.
In their tomb saints smile and accentuate your choice of wine.
Leprosy fixes itself in degrees. We are courageous in our language. Passing by the bluntness of ditches. The monster in our class mixes pale drugs along the way.
We force our fragile hearts to breath with promises of easment at death.
Small beasts eat pale saints. Bootleggers whirl in muted grace.
I tune banjos during each augury. Sending each outwards in a blue taxi. Everyone carrying a flag of my world. Each flag is honored with excessive material and dye.
A girl voices concern that makes my banjos flow. Fanatics sing and cry their presentiments.
It is certainly strange to see the condemned wearing collars on free ground. Each threatens to trumpet a scandal. We place our worries in high corridors dusted with gold.
I drum along slowly . In my taxi and with my faith. I eye the remainder of my regards. The sun shining with goodness. I see crowds glancing at my taxi. Chief among my concerns is their newly accentuated constraint.
I am the fly in your beard.
Eagles gather air as the high order enters along the anterior holy ground. Soft music floats over fresh furrows.
I hardly leave my house anymore.
When i do it is by the door opposite the courtyards. With an entire stock of delivered mementos. The arms of transition are now in flux.
The taxis hover near mountains in blind circles. The circles leading to places among the houses. The court acknowledges one at a time. And each on is examined fully. Time passes bleary and marked under a new rain. Metal sheeting hints at our greed. As we soil a place reserved for the dazzling of her eyes.
Vixens carry short messages treated with a lisp. They are open for a piece of our comrades. The mice are baroque and all the children are clean athletes. We gather their families for ceremonies. The rules of emporiums are read aloud. Without our complete compliment of instruments we force a ragged chorus.
Tambourines and wild greens will not hide your glass jaw.
We allow for the devestation of sanded balms. Lighting our companion wings afire.
We feel wise to seek kings and queens. We are apdapted by free lambs and adopted by dire wolves. We seek the noise of angels absent from choir. We grind bones into ointment and resale it on the common.
My banjo confines but my tambourine empowers. Their sound is in the hands of our queen. her song remains unsung within the consideration of our instruments. I stop the taxi along the edges of her requests.
I have patience, since the bee's auger is a principal of our flag.
Time is filled with the air of soft, long clothing. I carry spare crowns in my taxi. I carry muzzles for the soldiers. I place all of it along the bottom of the embankment.
The knifemen bought my line of reasoning. The gristmill workers bought an enchantment for the king.
I am in the sight of her side. I am in an argot state. Is it necessary?
Lenin, Marx
Marx, Lennon
Good Dog...
Marx, Lennon
Good Dog...
- sgt.null
- Jack of Odd Trades, Master of Fun
- Posts: 48356
- Joined: Tue Jul 19, 2005 7:53 am
- Location: Brazoria, Texas
- Has thanked: 8 times
- Been thanked: 10 times
drown
drown, affiliate and
action, see the baron!
a bull can see a comet.
leisure is a beautiful
garment, but will not
do for constant wear.
tremors, a soft devil.
voice the clouds and
you will matter. music
twists over lazily, my
copper regrets. number
the attended books...
shadows follow voids.
drown, affiliate and
action, see the baron!
a bull can see a comet.
leisure is a beautiful
garment, but will not
do for constant wear.
tremors, a soft devil.
voice the clouds and
you will matter. music
twists over lazily, my
copper regrets. number
the attended books...
shadows follow voids.
Lenin, Marx
Marx, Lennon
Good Dog...
Marx, Lennon
Good Dog...
Leprosy fixes itself in degrees. We are courageous in our language. Passing by the bluntness of ditches. The monster in our class mixes pale drugs along the way.
We force our fragile hearts to breath with promises of easment at death.
Small beasts eat pale saints. Bootleggers whirl in muted grace.
and
We feel wise to seek kings and queens. We are apdapted by free lambs and adopted by dire wolves. We seek the noise of angels absent from choir. We grind bones into ointment and resale it on the common.
are my favorite parts of this piece.
i think you are saying something in this piece that i'm not getting.
do you revise on these pieces? cause a lot of the time i get the feeling that you don't. that you are stream of conciousness'ing it and when it's done, it's done.
on this particular piece i would like to see you revise and re-envision to make it less obscure to the reader. i don't know what you wanted to communicate so i can't point at certain lines and say "like this part totally supports the idea and that part doesn't" etc.
sometimes your sort of...well, jackson pollack-like use of the language communicates to me, whether i know what you intended or not. other times it doesn't and all i can do is marvel at the bright splashes of "color" you use on the canvas (so to speak.) but this particular piece is completely obscured to me and for some reason, i want it. i want to know what's in it.
does that make any sense sarge? i hope i have not overstepped my bounds by commenting but i thought this piece was worth incurring your possible annoyance.
We force our fragile hearts to breath with promises of easment at death.
Small beasts eat pale saints. Bootleggers whirl in muted grace.
and
We feel wise to seek kings and queens. We are apdapted by free lambs and adopted by dire wolves. We seek the noise of angels absent from choir. We grind bones into ointment and resale it on the common.
are my favorite parts of this piece.
i think you are saying something in this piece that i'm not getting.
do you revise on these pieces? cause a lot of the time i get the feeling that you don't. that you are stream of conciousness'ing it and when it's done, it's done.
on this particular piece i would like to see you revise and re-envision to make it less obscure to the reader. i don't know what you wanted to communicate so i can't point at certain lines and say "like this part totally supports the idea and that part doesn't" etc.
sometimes your sort of...well, jackson pollack-like use of the language communicates to me, whether i know what you intended or not. other times it doesn't and all i can do is marvel at the bright splashes of "color" you use on the canvas (so to speak.) but this particular piece is completely obscured to me and for some reason, i want it. i want to know what's in it.
does that make any sense sarge? i hope i have not overstepped my bounds by commenting but i thought this piece was worth incurring your possible annoyance.

you're more advanced than a cockroach,
have you ever tried explaining yourself
to one of them?
~ alan bates, the mothman prophecies
i've had this with actors before, on the set,
where they get upset about the [size of my]
trailer, and i'm always like...take my trailer,
cause... i'm from Kentucky
and that's not what we brag about.
~ george clooney, inside the actor's studio
a straight edge for legends at
the fold - searching for our
lost cities of gold. burnt tar,
gravel pits. sixteen gears switch.
Haphazard Lucy strolls by.
~ dennis r wood ~
have you ever tried explaining yourself
to one of them?
~ alan bates, the mothman prophecies
i've had this with actors before, on the set,
where they get upset about the [size of my]
trailer, and i'm always like...take my trailer,
cause... i'm from Kentucky
and that's not what we brag about.
~ george clooney, inside the actor's studio
a straight edge for legends at
the fold - searching for our
lost cities of gold. burnt tar,
gravel pits. sixteen gears switch.
Haphazard Lucy strolls by.
~ dennis r wood ~