>> ^dag:

I would say no. It's an adaptation of our brains that makes us better hunter gatherers but that's it.>> ^GeeSussFreeK:
Here is something to chew on, is color an actual property of light, or a property of minds. IE, does color exist outside of minds as a real property.



I agree, completely>> ^BoneRemake:

Its like that question about a tree falling in the Forrest, you don't have to experience the light to know it is made up of the different bands.


Right, it could be shown that light has different wavelengths outside of a minds ability to understand it. But it isn't necessary that light wavelengths be colorful; the visual experience of 475 nm isn't necessarily blue more than it is the flavor strawberry. It is perhaps a trivial distinction for some, but minds are very interesting me.

I think I am approaching a logical construct that would also deconstruct space and time in the same fashion as color. Now, just have to construct the ACTUAL reality...no problem

Strawberry shake bukkake!

Which, for me...is much safer on the eyes than more traditional means.

THIS ISN'T STRAWBERRY! IT'S RAWBERRY!

Makes me crave some strawberry shortcake.

>> ^sillma:
where are her lips?!


Under her skirt. Duh.

I captured the stream from these two ip cameras ... I think it was 4 frames per second, originaly. don't know which software I used, downloaded some free app from the web

>> ^Raaagh:
I watched 95% and loved it - just the frame rate made me quesy. How did you get the footage from the CCTV?


*promote, cause you deserve another dose of boredom. thanks for not showing up for my roast, you bastards

Congratulations! Your comment has just received enough votes from the community to earn you 1 Power Point. Thank you for your quality contribution to VideoSift.

I'm glad to see therealblankman took some time away from his internet porn to put together a roast so late in the day. I can't imagine the thought process behind selecting his user name. Did you just randomly pick a name from IMDB's worst movies list? Hey, it was either this or therealplutonash.

Therealblankman is Canadian. Let's all take a moment to finish laughing at him for that. I was gonna come up with a Canadian joke, but I think it's just implied with mentioning it.

I see dotdude took some time away from lurking in the sift lounge to be here with us today. Seriously, he's in there all the time. Dotdude is to the sift lounge what Desmond was to the hatch in Lost. If you got that, you're a nerd. Get off the internets and go outside and play.

His user name is a reference to his obsession with dot art. That's art you make with dots. No, seriously. This is exactly why fate was trying to drown all the people in New Orleans, because you come up with shit like dot art!

You may be wondering what "kulpims" name means. It means nothing. It's supposed to sound like 'cool beans'. Seriously. I'm not roasting him right now, I'm just pointing out a fact. He created a user name to sound like 'cool beans'.

I'm sure he's a hit with the ladies.

He's from someplace called Slovenia. It's like the Mexico of Europe. It's like Yugoslavia, but more boring. I see someone called him gay in another post and berticus got all mad about it. I suppose kulpims and berticus' "na koruzi" is over. The truth is, kulpims isn't gay. He wouldn't suck a dick, but he'd sure as hell hold it 'til the swelling went down.

There's really nothing of importance to be said about this guy, to be honest. The most exciting thing he's ever done is ride his bike in a circle to Strawberry Fields. Seriously, doesn't he sound like a fun guy? Wow. Here he is during his first visit to the US.

Anyhow, I'll leave you to what is sure to be the most uneventful and boring roast in the history of Sift Roasts. I hope you all catch AIDS.

[formatting lost]

http://www.bettinamay.com/poem/2008/10/the-waking-galway-kinnell.html

"The Waking", Galway Kinnell

What just just happened between the lovers,
who lie now in love-sleep under the owls' calls,
call, answer, back and forth, and so on,
until one, calling faster, overtakes the other
and the two whoo together in one
shimmering harmonic -- is called "lovemaking."
Lovers who come exalted to their trysts,
who approach from opposite directions
along a path by the sea, through the pines,
meet, embrace, go up from the sea,
lie crushed into each other under
the sky half golden, half deep-blueing
the moon and stars into shining, know
they don't "make" love, but are earth-creatures
who live and -- here maybe no other word will do --
fuck one another forever if possible across the stars.
An ancient word, formed perhaps before
the sacred and profane had split apart,
when the tongue was like the flame of the heart
in the mouth, and lighted each word
as it was spoken, to remind it
to remember, as when flamingos
change feeding places on a marsh,
and there is a moment, after the first to fly
puts its head into the water in the new place
and before in the old place the last to fly
lifts out its head to see the rest have flown,
when, scattered with pink bodies, the sky
is one vast remembering. They still hear,
in sleep, the steady crushing and uncrushing
of bedsprings; they imagine a sonata in which
violins' lines draw the writhing and shiftings.
They lie with heads touching, thinking
themselves back across the blackness.
When dawn touches the bed their bodies re-form,
heaps of golden matter sieved
out of the night. The bed, caressed threadbare,
worn almost away, is now more than ever
the place where such light as humans
shine with seeps up into us. The eyelids,
which love the eyes and lie on them to sleep,
open. This is a bed. That is a fireplace.
That is last morning's breakfast tray
which nobody has yet bothered to take away.
This face, too alive with feeling to survive past
the world in which it is said, "Ni vous
san moi, ni moi san vous," so unguarded
this day might be breaking in the Middle Ages,
in the illusion fateful randomness chooses
to beam into existence, now, on this pillow.
In a ray of sun the lovers see motes cross,
mingle, collide, lose their way, in this puff
of ecstatic dust. Tears overfill their eyes,
wet their faces, drain quickly away
into their smiles. One leg hangs off the bed.
He is still inside her. His big toe
sticks into the pot of strawberry jam. "Oh migod!"
They kiss while laughing and hit teeth
and remember they are bones and laugh
naturally again. The feeling, perhaps
it is only a feeling, perhaps mostly due
to living only in the overlapping lifetimes
of dying things, that time starts up,
comes over them. They get up, put on clothes,
go out. They are not in the street yet,
however, but for a few minutes longer,
still in their elsewhere, beside a river,
with their arms around each other, in the aura
earth has when it remembers its former beauty.
An ambulance sirens a bandage-stiffened
body towards St. Vincent's. A police car
running red lights parodies
in high pitch the owls of paradise. The lovers
enter the ordinary day the ordinary world
providentially provides. Their pockets ring.
Good. For now askers and beggarmen
come up to them needing change for breakfast.

This is from a series of specials that was produced by HBO called "Buy Me That!" about how advertising dupes kids. I don't know how HBO is now but growing up, they always used to have specials like this and I still really respect them for it.

They talked about things like how "electrolites" in Gatorade basically just meant salt and gave the odds of winning those contests you see on the back of cereal boxes. They even did a piece on the Nickolodean "super toy run" that we all wanted to win when we were growing up.

The best part was that they were all programs geared towards educating kids.

Another part of this episode, this same woman scoops out dyed lard to make strawberry ice cream that doesn't melt under production lights...

I like strawberry.

The Strawberry girl!

I like peanut butter and strawberry jam on my toast...

... but, to stay on topic..., I really don't think they knew there were explosives stored in the house - otherwise, they would have been more prepared. Therefor, in my opinion, the arguing is pointless. Just say Whoa... - We can all agree on that much can't we?

Edit: Do terrorists win if we all start fighting amongst ourselves?

No, it's that babies have a 'pure' mind, unencumbered by the layers of conditioning and restraint we put on ourselves. He completely addresses each moment as it comes, without regard for context. When the fight song plays, he hates it and cries. When the more melodic tune plays, he disregards what happened moments before, and enjoys the tune.

Buddhists spend their lives to reach such a state. There is a koan that highlights this:

A man traveling across a field encountered a tiger. He fled, the tiger after him. Coming to a precipice, he caught hold of the root of a wild vine and swung himself down over the edge. The tiger sniffed at him from above. Trembling, the man looked down to where, far below, another tiger was waiting to eat him. Only the vine sustained him.

Two mice, one white and one black, little by little started to gnaw away the vine. The man saw a luscious strawberry near him. Grasping the vine with one hand, he plucked the strawberry with the other. How sweet it tasted!

Want some candy little girl?


In reply to this comment by rottenseed:
What kind of creepy internet stalker tries to dig up dirt on a person by diligently parsing through thousands of comments? Look, I'm flattered and all but seeing as how you're probably a 46 year old balding man, and I'm probably a 13 year old school boy, I'd recommend avoiding the inevitable confrontation with Chris Hansen and stick to drugging men in bars and having puppet shows with their penises if I were you.

...and that's how you do a run-on sentence

In reply to this comment by inflatablevagina:
marshall is a totally faggy name.
What self respecting Puerto Rican Jew is named Marshall?
Oh...wait.... nevermind... self respecting...ha.. i kill me.

In reply to this comment by rottenseed:
Not that anybody cares but I'm bored at work sooooooo...

What up playas and hustlas my REAL name is Marshall, aka Marsh E. Fresh and I live in Pacific Beach, CA. I am 25 and I work full time as a project manager for a commercial construction contractor. By night I am a college student aspiring towards a mechanical engineering degree. It's slow going with the full time job and all but it keeps me out of trouble. I've got no kids that I know of, however, I donate sperm every day (let me know if you see a child that looks half-kleenex, half human). I have an awesome beard.

I love the sift because it's full of people smarter than myself that I can learn from, then turn around and mutilate what I've learned while bestowing the knowledge upon somebody else. It's a great atmosphere here and as you've probably noticed I try not to take many things seriously. I hope to never grow up (except when it comes to that baby-dick issue I've got).

vote for Kulpims video (I know I'm a whore)