The Arte of Tennis

It is a most ennobling arte, whereupon both gentle Men and their Wyves may chuse to spend a day in revelerie and repose by chaenging turnes upon the Square of Greene Grasse (or Polyshed Wood), where no floures are allowed groowe, in ourder that the tournament is unbouthered by Nature’s puckish trycksters.  To comence, a balle of

hogge’s bladder, a fishe nette and two oake wooden racquets must be gaethered by the assystaents.

This newest arte is fulle of utmost Graece and Couraege, and I humblie begge you alle to try it soone.

How Big Is the Internet?

Nobody knows.  Few care.  Go ahead, guess an answer.

A map of a vanishingly small bit of the Internet.

Well, you’re wrong.  Its bigger than that.  In 2003, scientists at Berkeley officially classified the Internet as ‘ridiculously mega-super insanely no-way-it-can’t-be-that-big’ sized.  Since then, it has become too big to measure.

Google has probably found more of it than anybody else – they no longer tell us how many pages are in their database, but it is well over 3 trillion – and yet the odds are that Google has found less than ten percent.  And the Internet doubles in size more frequently than once per year.

poq laments the effect on the practice of Googlewhacking.  It is much harder to do now.  “Titillating cheesemonger” is no longer a succesful Googlewhack.  Nor is “solipsistic homunculous”.

A Desert of Miso

No, not a dessert.

I mean a desert.

Yes, a desert.

poq was passing innocently by a shop which sold miso, and was temporarily thrown into a state of advertising-induced confusion by the alluring scent of the miso soups they offered.  So poq ordered one and tried to drink it outside, only to be driven to hallucination by the combination of the rising miso-fumes (like petrol-fumes, only tastier) and the heat of the day, which lead poq to imagine poq in the Western Sahara, with only a pot of camel piss to keep poq going.

Needless to say, for lunch, this was an unnecessarily traumatic experience.

Incidentally, if you are out in the desert and desperately need water to avoid a dessicated death, poq suggests that – no matter what – you don’t drink the camel piss.  This is because camels are especially good at conserving water (they do, after all, live in deserts), and what they release is tragically lacking the life-giving liquid you were searching for.

What I Have Seen

Over a bridge, to

a tunnel of metal, and up to the roof where

a boat paddles, and beside it

a bubble.

Google Doodles: Goodles

poq has always been impressed by the understated eloquence inherent in the Google logo.  It is bright, cheerful, and always colourful.  poq is also an increasingly devout fan of Dennis Hwang, the creator of the so-called Google Doodle.  Google has enshrined a museum in honour of his work.  poq encourages you to go visit it.

And an interesting excerpt from Wikipedia:

“Google was criticized in 2007 for not featuring versions of the Google logo for American patriotic holidays such as Memorial Day and Veterans Day. That year, Google featured a logo commemorating Veterans Day.^“

poq!

Poqku Number 3

Watching silver screens

Action, comedy, romance,

Taking me away.

Old King Coal

You want to know about Old King Coal?  Most don’t come asking about him around here anymore.  They’re all heated up at the thought of Slick Oil, or cat-cool Hip Hydrogen.  But Old King Coal, well, he’s been around the block a few times.  He lived in a different age, you know?

He lives in the apartment below, alone now – ever since Sammy Steam died – and what a noise he makes!  Tromping around with that great big bag of charcoal and belchin’ and fartin’ black smoke like a dragon.  Even in my grandfather’s day he was never any better – cantankerous and arrogant, a true and loyal friend, and a with look that lights up real quick at the wrong sort of word.

Watch it if you go down there to meet him, son.  Old King Coal’s not crazy, but he’ll bear a grudge for five thousand years.  Spark a fight with him and he’ll smoulder for a long, long time.  He’ll nurse his feuds, he forgets nothing: he slow-burns.

I tell you what, though, he’s still worth talking to.  He’s seen it all, and he’s still the King.  Take it from me, son, Old King Coal’s yet got a few tricks up his sleeve.  Convince him to change his ways, well, and you’ll be on your way with a whistle and done a world of good for us all.  He’s nothing fancy, but he’s a good man, that old King o’ Coal.

Ode to a Fossil

Little one, pale-cast,

You were, once,

In the Cambrian

When the waves crashed on

Stones still unsmoothed by time’s hands,

Now you are

Poetry still breathing, but

Inside the stone.

I saw you, once,

Your last wake was a

Trill of tents perched above your grave.

Word of the Day

Oubliette:

A peculiar type of French dungeon, accessible only through a hatch in the floor, and a little like an attic with chains.  Hardly as efficient as Bentham’s Panopticon, but the advantage is that it’s impossible to escape without help from below, which means that the ruler can just ‘file and forget’ you.

Internet access, alas, is probably not included.