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General >> Verstva, religije, filozofije, kulture >> Biblija http://www.gape.org/cgi-bin/yabb/YaBB.pl?num=1109883367 Message started by Kali on 03.03.2005 at 21:56:07 |
Title: Biblija Post by Kali on 03.03.2005 at 21:56:07 Petra. wrote on 08.02.2005 at 20:42:01:
wrote on 09.02.2005 at 20:44:41:
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Title: Re: Biblija Post by Kali on 03.03.2005 at 22:08:54 Douglas Adams Mostly Harmless=Pretežno neškodljiva= zadnji del Štoparskega vodnika po Galaksiji, to je vse kar o Zemlji piše v njem Anything that happens, happens. Anything that, in happening, causes something else to happen, causes something else to happen. Anything that, in happening, causes itself to happen again, happens again. It doesn't necessarily do it in chronological order, though. Chapter 1 The history of the Galaxy has got a little muddled, for a number of reasons: partly because those who are trying to keep track of it have got a little muddled, but also because some very muddling things have been happening anyway. One of the problems has to do with the speed of light and the difficulties involved in trying to exceed it. You can't. Nothing travels faster than the speed of light with the possible exception of bad news, which obeys its own special laws. The Hingefreel people of Arkintoofle Minor did try to build spaceships that were powered by bad news but they didn't work particularly well and were so extremely unwelcome whenever they arrived anywhere that there wasn't really any point in being there. So, by and large, the peoples of the Galaxy tended to languish in their own local muddles and the history of the Galaxy itself was, for a long time, largely cosmological. Which is not to say that people weren't trying. They tried sending off fleets of spaceships to do battle or business in distant parts, but these usually took thousands of years to get anywhere. By the time they eventually arrived, other forms of travel had been discovered which made use of hyperspace to circumvent the speed of light, so that whatever battles it was that the slower-than-light fleets had been sent to fight had already been taken care of centuries earlier by the time they actually got there . This didn't, of course, deter their crews from wanting to fight the battles anyway. They were trained, they were ready, they'd had a couple of thousand years' sleep, they'd come a long way to do a tough job and by Zarquon they were going to do it. This was when the first major muddles of Galactic history set in, with battles continually re-erupting centuries after the issues they had been fought over had supposedly been settled. However, these muddles were as nothing to the ones which historians had to try and unravel once time-travel was discovered and battles started pre-erupting hundreds of years before the issues even arose. When the Infinite Improbability Drive arrived and whole planets started turning unexpectedly into banana fruitcake, the great history faculty of the University of MaxiMegalon finally gave up, closed itself down and surrendered its buildings to the rapidly growing joint faculty of Divinity and Water Polo, which had been after them for years. Which is all very well, of course, but it almost certainly means that no one will ever know for sure where, for instance, the Grebulons came from, or exactly what it was they wanted. And this is a pity, because if anybody had known anything about them, it is just possible that a most terrible catastrophe would have been averted - or at least would have had to find a different way to happen. Click, hum. The huge grey Grebulon reconnaissance ship moved silently through the black void. It was travelling at fabulous, breath- taking speed, yet appeared, against the glimmering background of a billion distant stars to be moving not at all. It was just one dark speck frozen against an infinite granularity of brilliant night. On board the ship, everything was as it had been for millennia, deeply dark and Silent. Click, hum. At least, almost everything. Click, click, hum. Click, hum, click, hum, click, hum. Click, click, click, click, click, hum. Hmmm. A low level supervising program woke up a slightly higher level supervising program deep in the ship's semi-somnolent cyberbrain and reported to it that whenever it went click all it got was a hum. The higher level supervising program asked it what it was supposed to get, and the low level supervising program said that it couldn't remember exactly, but thought it was probably more of a sort of distant satisfied sigh, wasn't it? It didn't know what this hum was. Click, hum, click, hum. That was all it was getting. The higher level supervising program considered this and didn't like it. It asked the low level supervising program what exactly it was supervising and the low level supervising program said it couldn't remember that either, just that it was something that was meant to go click, sigh every ten years or so, which usually happened without fail. It had tried to consult its error look-up table but couldn't find it, which was why it had alerted the higher level supervising program to the problem . The higher level supervising program went to consult one of its own look-up tables to find out what the low level supervising program was meant to be supervising. It couldn't find the look-up table . Odd. It looked again. All it got was an error message. It tried to look up the error message in its error message look-up table and couldn't find that either. It allowed a couple of nanoseconds to go by while it went through all this again. Then it woke up its sector function supervisor. The sector function supervisor hit immediate problems. It called its supervising agent which hit problems too. Within a few millionths of a second virtual circuits that had lain dormant, some for years, some for centuries, were flaring into life throughout the ship. Something, somewhere, had gone terribly wrong, but none of the supervising programs could tell what it was. At every level, vital instructions were missing, and the instructions about what to do in the event of discovering that vital instructions were missing, were also missing. Small modules of software - agents - surged through the logical pathways, grouping, consulting, re-grouping. They quickly established that the ship's memory, all the way back to its central mission module, was in tatters. No amount of interrogation could determine what it was that had happened. Even the central mis- sion module itself seemed to be damaged. 6333 ; 3's and 6's, such as 363 or 336 - Your ascended masters are helping you manifest the material items you need for your Divine life purpose. Whether that means money for tuition or outlets for you to conduct your teaching or healing work, the masters are working to bring it to you . They want you to know that you deserve to recieve this help, as it will better enable you to give to others. 333 - Three into One - 12 pyramids each containing 3 entities =36 33,333 or 33:33 This number offers you a choice. Within it you are not allowed to straddle the razor blade fence of indecision. The trinity is the holiness within all of your choices. Your body, mind, spirit in agreement for your Soul's evolution. Connection with the wisdom of the Oversoul. Seeing the sacredness in all of your choices no matter what the outcome. 33 = univerzalno služenje skozi pohitritev našega Enega Bitja. universal service through the quickening of our One Being. Petra. wrote on 30.03.2003 at 03:40:53:
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Title: Re: Biblija Post by Kali on 05.03.2005 at 18:08:01 \chapter{} It is a mistake to think you can solve any major problems just with potatoes. For instance, there was once an insanely aggressive race of people called the Silastic Armorfiends of Striterax. That was just the name of their race. The name of their army was something quite horrific. Luckily they lived even further back in Galactic history than anything we have so far encountered - twenty billion years ago - when the Galaxy was young and fresh, and every idea worth fighting for was a new one. And fighting was what the Silastic Armorfiends of Striterax were good at, and being good at it, they did a lot. They fought their enemies (i.e. everybody else), they fought each other. Their planet was a complete wreck. The surface was littered with abandoned cities which were surrounded by abandoned war machines, which were in turn surrounded by deep bunkers in which the Silastic Armorfiends lived and squabbled with each other. The best way to pick a fight with a Silastic Armorfiend was just to be born. They didn't like it, they got resentful. And when an Armorfiend got resentful, someone got hurt. An exhausting way of life, one might think, but they did seem to have an awful lot of energy. The best way of dealing with a Silastic Armorfiend was to put him into a room of his own, because sooner or later he would simply beat himself up. Eventually they realized that this was something they were going to have to sort out, and they passed a law decreeing that anyone who had to carry a weapon as part of his normal Silastic work (policemen, security guards, primary school teachers, etc.) had to spend at least forty-five minutes every day punching a sack of potatoes in order to work off his or her surplus aggressions. For a while this worked well, until someone thought that it would be much more efficient and less time-consuming if they just shot the potatoes instead. This led to a renewed enthusiasm for shooting all sorts of things, and they all got very excited at the prospect of their first major war for weeks. Another achievement of the Silastic Armorfiends of Striterax is that they were the first race who ever managed to shock a computer. It was a gigantic spaceborne computer called Hactar, which to this day is remembered as one of the most powerful ever built. It was the first to be built like a natural brain, in that every cellular particle of it carried the pattern of the whole within it, which enabled it to think more flexibly and imaginatively, and also, it seemed, to be shocked. The Silastic Armorfiends of Striterax were engaged in one of their regular wars with the Strenuous Garfighters of Stug, and were not enjoying it as much as usual because it involved an awful lot of trekking through the Radiation Swamps of Cwulzenda, and across the Fire Mountains of Frazfraga, neither of which terrains they felt at home in. So when the Strangulous Stilettans of Jajazikstak joined in the fray and forced them to fight another front in the Gamma Caves of Carfrax and the Ice Storms of Varlengooten, they decided that enough was enough, and they ordered Hactar to design for them an Ultimate Weapon. ''What do you mean,'' asked Hactar, ''by Ultimate?'' To which the Silastic Armorfiends of Striterax said, ''Read a bloody dictionary,'' and plunged back into the fray. So Hactar designed an Ultimate Weapon. It was a very, very small bomb which was simply a junction box in hyperspace that would, when activated, connect the heart of every major sun with the heart of every other major sun simultaneously and thus turn the entire Universe in to one gigantic hyperspatial supernova. When the Silastic Armorfiends tried to use it to blow up a Strangulous Stilettan munitions dump in one of the Gamma Caves, they were extremely irritated that it didn't work, and said so. Hactar had been shocked by the whole idea. He tried to explain that he had been thinking about this Ultimate Weapon business, and had worked out that there was no conceivable consequence of not setting the bomb off that was worse than the known consequence of setting it off, and he had therefore taken the liberty of introducing a small flaw into the design of the bomb, and he hoped that everyone involved would, on sober reflection, feel that ... The Silastic Armorfiends disagreed and pulverized the computer. Later they thought better of it, and destroyed the faulty bomb as well. Then, pausing only to smash the hell out of the Strenuous Garfighters of Stug, and the Strangulous Stilettans of Jajazikstak, they went on to find an entirely new way of blowing themselves up, which was a profound relief to everyone else in the Galaxy, particularly the Garfighters, the Stilettans and the potatoes. Trillian had watched all this, as well as the story of Krikkit. She emerged from the Room of informational Illusions thoughtfully, just in time to discover that they had arrived too late. |
Title: chapter 3, čist naključno Post by petra pan on 14.03.2005 at 19:51:39 ''Well, what about the real weirdness of the week, the real seriously loopy stuff. You know anything about these flying people?'' ''No.'' ''You must have. This is the real seethingly crazy one. This is the real meatballs in the batter. Locals are phoning in all the time to say there's this couple who go flying nights. We've got guys down in our photo labs working through the night to put together a genuine photograph. You must have heard.'' ''No.'' ''Arthur, where have you been? Oh, space, right, I got your quote. But that was months ago. Listen, it's night after night this week, my old cheesegrater, right on your patch. This couple just fly around the sky and start doing all kinds of stuff. And I don't mean looking through walls or pretending to be box girder bridges. You don't know anything?'' ''No.'' ''Arthur, it's been almost inexpressibly delicious conversing with you, chumbum, but I have to go. I'll send the guy with the camera and the hose. Give me the address, I'm ready and writing.'' ''Listen, Murray, I called to ask you something.'' ''I have a lot to do.'' ''I just wanted to find out something about the dolphins.'' ''No story. Last year's news. Forget 'em. They're gone.'' ''It's important.'' ''Listen, no one will touch it. You can't sustain a story, you know, when the only news is the continuing absence of whatever the story's about. Not our territory anyway, try the Sundays. Maybe they'll run a little `Whatever Happened to ''Whatever Happened to the Dolphins''' story in a couple of years, around August. But what's anybody going to do now? `Dolphins still gone'? `Continuing Dolphin Absence'? `Dolphins - Further Days Without Them'? The story dies, Arthur. It lies down and kicks its little feet in the air and presently goes to the great golden spike in the sky, my old fruitbat.'' ''Murray, I'm not interested in whether it's a story. I just want to find out how I can get in touch with that guy in California who claims to know something about it. I thought you might know.'' \chapter{} ''People are beginning to talk,'' said Fenchurch that evening, after they had hauled her 'cello in. ''Not only talk,'' said Arthur, ''but print, in big bold letters under the bingo prizes. Which is why I thought I'd better get these.'' He showed her the long narrow booklets of airline tickets. ''Arthur!'' she said, hugging him. ''Does that mean you managed to talk to him?'' ''I have had a day,'' said Arthur, ''of extreme telephonic exhaustion. I have spoken to virtually every department of virtually every paper in Fleet street, and I finally tracked his number down.'' ''You've obviously been working hard, you're drenched with sweat poor darling.'' ''Not with sweat,'' said Arthur wearily. ''A photographer's just been. I tried to argue, but - never mind, the point is, yes.'' ''You spoke to him.'' ''I spoke to his wife. She said he was too weird to come to the phone right now and could I call back.'' He sat down heavily, realized he was missing something and went to the fridge to find it. ''Want a drink?'' ''Would commit murder to get one. I always know I'm in for a tough time when my 'cello teacher looks me up and down and says, `Ah yes, my dear, I think a little Tchaikovsky today.'.'' ''I called again,'' said Arthur, ''and she said that he was 3.2 light years from the phone and I should call back.'' ''Ah.'' ''I called again. ''She said the situation had improved. He was now a mere 2.6 light years from the phone but it was still a long way to shout.'' ''You don't suppose,'' said Fenchurch, doubtfully, ''that there's anyone else we can talk to?'' ''It gets worse,'' said Arthur, ''I spoke to someone on a science magazine who actually knows him, and he said that John Watson will not only believe, but will actually have absolute proof, often dictated to him by angels with golden beards and green wings and Doctor Scholl footwear, that the month's most fashionable silly theory is true. For people who question the validity of these visions he will triumphantly produce the clogs in question, and that's as far as you get.'' ''I didn't realize it was that bad,'' said Fenchurch quietly. She fiddled listlessly with the tickets. ''I phoned Mrs Watson again,'' said Arthur. ''Her name, by the way, and you may wish to know this, is Arcane Jill.'' ''I see.'' ''I'm glad you see. I thought you mightn't believe any of this, so when I called her this time I used the telephone answering machine to record the call.'' He went across to the telephone machine and fiddled and fumed with all its buttons for a while, because it was the one which was particularly recommended by Which? magazine and is almost impossible to use without going mad. ''Here it is,'' he said at last, wiping the sweat from his brow. The voice was thin and crackly with its journey to a geostationary satellite and back, but it was also hauntingly calm. ''Perhaps I should explain,'' Arcane Jill Watson's voice said, ''that the phone is in fact in a room that he never comes into. It's in the Asylum you see. Wonko the Sane does not like to enter the Asylum and so he does not. I feel you should know this because it may save you phoning. If you would like to meet him, this is very easily arranged. All you have to do is walk in. He will only meet people outside the Asylum.'' Arthur's voice, at its most mystified: ''I'm sorry, I don't understand. Where is the asylum?'' ''Where is the Asylum?'' Arcane Jill Watson again. ''Have you ever read the instructions on a packet of toothpicks?'' On the tape, Arthur's voice had to admit that he had not. ''You may want to do that. You may find that it clarifies things for you a little. You may find that it indicates to you where the Asylum is. Thank you.'' The sound of the phone line went dead. Arthur turned the machine off. ''Well, I suppose we can regard that as an invitation,'' he said with a shrug. ''I actually managed to get the address from the guy on the science magazine.'' Fenchurch looked up at him again with a thoughtful frown, and looked at the tickets again. ''Do you think it's worth it?'' she said. Total Topics: 4318 - Total Posts: 120833 |
Title: Biblija...knjiga 1. Post by petra pan on 15.03.2005 at 21:01:21 Their names were Lunkwill and Fook. For a few moments they sat in respectful silence, then, after exchanging a quiet glance with Fook, Lunkwill leaned forward and touched a small black panel. The subtlest of hums indicated that the massive computer was now in total active mode. After a pause it spoke to them in a voice rich resonant and deep. It said: ''What is this great task for which I, Deep Thought, the second greatest computer in the Universe of Time and Space have been called into existence?'' Lunkwill and Fook glanced at each other in surprise. ''Your task, O Computer ...'' began Fook. ''No, wait a minute, this isn't right,'' said Lunkwill, worried. ''We distinctly designed this computer to be the greatest one ever and we're not making do with second best. Deep Thought,'' he addressed the computer, ''are you not as we designed you to be, the greatest most powerful computer in all time?'' ''I described myself as the second greatest,'' intoned Deep Thought, ''and such I am.'' Another worried look passed between the two programmers. Lunkwill cleared his throat. ''There must be some mistake,'' he said, ''are you not a greatest computer than the Milliard Gargantubrain which can count all the atoms in a star in a millisecond?'' ''The Milliard Gargantubrain?'' said Deep Thought with unconcealed contempt. ''A mere abacus - mention it not.'' ''And are you not,'' said Fook leaning anxiously forward, ''a greater analyst than the Googleplex Star Thinker in the Seventh Galaxy of Light and Ingenuity which can calculate the trajectory of every single dust particle throughout a five-week Dangrabad Beta sand blizzard?'' ''A five-week sand blizzard?'' said Deep Thought haughtily. ''You ask this of me who have contemplated the very vectors of the atoms in the Big Bang itself? Molest me not with this pocket calculator stuff.'' The two programmers sat in uncomfortable silence for a moment. Then Lunkwill leaned forward again. ''But are you not,'' he said, ''a more fiendish disputant than the Great Hyperlobic Omni-Cognate Neutron Wrangler of Ciceronicus 12, the Magic and Indefatigable?'' ''The Great Hyperlobic Omni-Cognate Neutron Wrangler,'' said Deep Thought thoroughly rolling the r's, ''could talk all four legs off an Arcturan MegaDonkey - but only I could persuade it to go for a walk afterwards.'' ''Then what,'' asked Fook, ''is the problem?'' ''There is no problem,'' said Deep Thought with magnificent ringing tones. ''I am simply the second greatest computer in the Universe of Space and Time.'' ''But the second?'' insisted Lunkwill. ''Why do you keep saying the second? You're surely not thinking of the Multicorticoid Perspicutron Titan Muller are you? Or the Pondermatic? Or the ...'' Contemptuous lights flashed across the computer's console. ''I spare not a single unit of thought on these cybernetic simpletons!'' he boomed. ''I speak of none but the computer that is to come after me!'' Fook was losing patience. He pushed his notebook aside and muttered, ''I think this is getting needlessly messianic.'' ''You know nothing of future time,'' pronounced Deep Thought, ''and yet in my teeming circuitry I can navigate the infinite delta streams of future probability and see that there must one day come a computer whose merest operational parameters I am not worthy to calculate, but which it will be my fate eventually to design.'' Fook sighed heavily and glanced across to Lunkwill. ''Can we get on and ask the question?'' he said. Lunkwill motioned him to wait. ''What computer is this of which you speak?'' he asked. ''I will speak of it no further in this present time,'' said Deep Thought. ''Now. Ask what else of me you will that I may function. Speak.'' |
Title: Re: Biblija Post by Roman. on 02.11.2005 at 07:58:34 Kaj hočeš povedati? |
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