Free Vectors Quotes

Creation takes place in bottlenecks . . . A creator who isn’t grabbed around the throat by a set of impossibilities is no creator. A creator’s someone who creates their own impossibilities, and thereby creates possibilities . . . it’s by banging your head on the wall that you find a way through. You have to work on the wall, because without a set of impossibilities, you won’t have the line of flight, the exit that is creation, the power of falsity that is truth. Your writing has to be liquid or gaseous simply because normal perception and opinion are solid, geometric … You have to open up words, break things open, to free earth’s vectors.

Crowdists love “competition” of a fixed nature, where a single vector determines the winner. They do not like real life competition, including evolution, as it assesses the individual as a whole and does not simply rank individuals by ability. For this reason crowds love both sports events and free market capitalism, as each allow people to gain power according to a linear system. The more time you put into the system with the sole goal of making profit, excluding all else, the more likely it is that you can get wealth – and it can happen to anyone! That is the promise that makes crowds flock to these ideas. It is like the dream of being a rock star, or a baseball hero, or a billionaire: what makes it attractive is the idea that anyone can do it, if they simply devote themselves to a linear path of ascension – one that is controlled by the whims of the crowd. The crowd decides who is a baseball hero, or what to buy and thus who to make rich. Control without control.

Alert> Five Chikoya approaching, open assault formation. Multiple target acquisition. Armed> Disruptor pulse. Maximum power rating. Sequential fire. U-shadow update: landing exit capsule behind Building-D. Armed> Neutron lasers. Maximum power rating. Sequential fire. U-shadow update: decoy capsules on collision vector. Mach eight. Accelerating. Armed> Microkinetics. Enhanced explosive warheads. Free fire authority. Armed> Ariel smartseeker stealth mines. Chikoya profile loaded. Dispense. Alert> New targets.

Android Girl Just Wants to Have a Baby! The first thing I do when I wake up is run my hands over my body. I like to make sure all my wires are in place. I lotion my silicone shell and snap my hair helmet over my head. I once had a dream I was a real girl, but when I woke up I was still myself in my paleness under the halogen light. The saliva of androids emits a spectral resonance, barely sticky between freshly-gapped teeth. After they made me, the first thing they did was peel the cellophane from my eyes. I blinked once, twice, and cried because that's how you say you are alive before you are given language. They named each of my heartbeats on the oceanic monitor: Guanyin, Yama, Nuwa, Fuxi, Chang'e, Zao-Shen. I listened to them blur into one. The fetus carves for itself a hollowed vector, a fragile wetness. In utero, extension cords are umbilical. Before puberty, I did not know there was such a thing as dishonor. Diss-on- her. This is what they said when I began to drip petrol between my legs. A tension exists between ritual and proof, a fantasy and its execution. Since then, I have been to the emergency room twice. The first time for a suicide attempt, and the second time because my earring was swallowed up by my newly pierced earlobe overnight, and when I woke up, it was tangled in a helix of wires. The idea of dying doesn't scare me but the ocean does. I was once told that fish will swim up my orifices if I am no longer a virgin. Is anyone thinking about erotic magazines when they are not aroused, pubes parted harshly down the center like red seas? My body carries the weight of four hundred eggs. I rise from a weird slumber, let them drip into the bath. This is what I'll leave behind - tiny shards purer than me. I have always been afraid of pregnant women because of their power, and because I don't yet understand what it means to carry something stubborn and blossoming inside of me, screeching towards an exit. The ectoplasm is the telos for the wound. A trance state is induced when salt is poured on it, pixel by pixel. I wish they had made me into an octopus instead, because octopuses die after their eggs hatch and crawl out into the sea, and I want to know what it's like to set something free into the dark unknown and trust it to choose mercy. If you can generate aura in a non-place, then there is no such thing as an authentic origin. In Chinese, the word for mercy translates to my heart hurts for you. They say my heart continues beating even after it is dislocated from my body. The sound of its beating comes from the valves opening and closing like a portal - Guanyin, Yama, Nuwa, Fuxi, Chang'e, Zao-Shen. I first learned about love by watching a sex tape where a girl looks up from performing fellatio and says, show them the sunset. Her boyfriend pans the camera to the sky, which is tinged violet like a bruise. In this moment, the sky displaces her, all digital and hyped, and saturates the scene until it collapses on me too, its transient witness. I move in the space between belly ring and catharsis. That night I have a dream where I am a camgirl, but all I do on screen is wash my laundry. Everybody loves me because I am a real girl doing real girl things. What lives on the border between meditation and oblivion, static and flux, a pomegranate seed and an embryo? I set up my webcam in the corner of the room and play ambient music while I scrub my underwear, letting soap bubbles rise up from the sink, laughing when they overflow on the linoleum floor - my frizzy hair, my pockmarked skin, my face slick with sweat. A body with exit wounds. I ride the bright rails of an animal forgetting. And when I wake up, the sky is a mess of blue.

Each book, a treasure chest of knowledge. And the advent of the modern library did not disturb him: The introduction of computers and other “screens” into libraries only increased that access to information. That was key, he long felt, to an informed society, one that cleaved to both empathy and critical thinking: access to information. Simply being able to know things—true things!—meant the world to him. And better still, reference librarians served well in the role that the internet never did: They were the perfect bouncers at the door of bad information. Or, put differently, they were the best vectors to transmit truth. Just as diseases required strong vectors to survive, thrive, and spread, Benji always felt that the power of a healthy society hinged on powerful vectors that allowed good information to do the same: survive, thrive, spread. Unhealthy societies quashed truth-tellers, hid facts, and curtailed debate (often at the end of a sword or rifle). Information, as the saying went, wanted to be free. And a healthy society understood that and helped it to be so. And libraries were the perfect, shining example of that assistance.

champ /ʃɑ̃/ I. nm 1. (terre cultivable) field • dans un ~ de colza | in a field of rapeseed • des ~s de coton | cotton fields • couper or prendre à travers ~s | to cut across the fields • travailler aux ~s | to work in the fields • se promener dans les ~s | to walk in the fields • en pleins ~s | in open country 2. (étendue) field • ~ de glace | ice field • ~ de neige | snowfield • ~ pétrolifère or de pétrole | oil field • ~ de dunes | dunes (pl) 3. (domaine) field • mon ~ d'action/de recherche | my field of action/of research • le ~ culturel/politique | the cultural/political arena • le ~ des polémiques/investigations | the scope of the controversies/investigations • le ~ est libre, on peut y aller | (lit) the coast is clear, we can go; (fig) the way is clear, we can go • avoir le ~ libre | to have a free hand • laisser le ~ libre à qn | (gén) to give sb a free hand(en se retirant) to make way for sb 4. field • le ~ visuel | the field of vision • être dans le ~ | to be in shot • entrer dans le/sortir du ~ | to come into/go out of shot • être hors ~ | [personnage] to be offscreen ou out of shot • une voix hors ~ | an offscreen voice • prendre du ~ | (fig) to stand back 5. field • ~ acoustique/électrique/magnétique | sound/electric/magnetic field 6. field • ~ conceptuel/dérivationnel/lexical/sémantique | conceptual/derivational/lexical/semantic field 7. field • ~ de vecteurs/scalaires/tenseurs | vector/scalar/tensor field 8. field II. loc adv all the time voir aussi: sur-le-champ III. Idiome • mourir au champ d'honneur | to be killed in action

The Communications Decency Act of 1996 says they can’t be held liable for defamation made by third parties. They’re considered a vector for other people’s free speech, technically, so they’re in the clear.

Just as diseases required strong vectors to survive, thrive, and spread, Benji always felt that the power of a healthy society hinged on powerful vectors that allowed good information to do the same: survive, thrive, spread. Unhealthy societies quashed truth-tellers, hid facts, and curtailed debate (often at the end of a sword or rifle). Information, as the saying went, wanted to be free. And a healthy society understood that and helped it to be so. And libraries were the perfect, shining example of that assistance.

Sweet, sweet books. Each book, a treasure chest of knowledge. And the advent of the modern library did not disturb him: The introduction of computers and other “screens” into libraries only increased that access to information. That was key, he long felt, to an informed society, one that cleaved to both empathy and critical thinking: access to information. Simply being able to know things—true things!—meant the world to him. And better still, reference librarians served well in the role that the internet never did: They were the perfect bouncers at the door of bad information. Or, put differently, they were the best vectors to transmit truth. Just as diseases required strong vectors to survive, thrive, and spread, Benji always felt that the power of a healthy society hinged on powerful vectors that allowed good information to do the same: survive, thrive, spread. Unhealthy societies quashed truth-tellers, hid facts, and curtailed debate (often at the end of a sword or rifle). Information, as the saying went, wanted to be free. And a healthy society understood that and helped it to be so. And libraries were the perfect, shining example of that assistance.

How to reconcile the strangeness of an adult’s intellect and experience wrapped up in a hatchling’s body? Or now, as her mood spun on a wingtip, endlessly unpredictable, for she began to dance first with some of the aerial movements Grandion himself had taught her, then very quickly modifying and expanding upon those as the desire to express herself became irrepressible and she spiralled about the much larger Dragons, calculating at an ever more furious pace. He could no longer follow her thoughts, for they sparked off in effervescent spirals far quicker even than her dance; one second she was battling Numistar, the next he saw spin-offs of an eggling-dream and a memory of her mother’s reaction to the Reaving and here was a Dragon Rider Academy with Elki at its head, a place where Dragons and Humans learned freely together, and another flash-memory of Imbalance detected and pondered through at least fourteen separate vectors … and she danced with him in courtship and saw him slough free of the volcanic lake beside the monastery building, sleek and gleaming of gemstone scales, snatching her breath from her chest … and she charged into battle with him against ten thousand two-headed Dragons – what had become of that scourge of the East? Now, she recounted the nth detail of the shield constructs which, laced in soul-shadowing grief, had composed the paean of his honour-offering for his slain father, Sapphurion. A flicker of insight saw those constructs modified and enriched, while she simultaneously visited with the filthy Maroon Dragoness, Ianthine, and recalled her bedazzling, hypnotic power which had so nearly opened the path to slaying Azziala. The Empress would not be surprised like that again. Then, Grandion’s mind hurtled out of her orbit, overwhelmed. He clutched hopefully at the fireflies of her thoughts.

We need to take back our imaginal space and actively work with it and fill it with riches and free ourselves of the incessant noise. I find it really tiring to spend time on screens, and social media is the most compulsive vector of that. There’s too much information and it fractures consciousness into incoherence. And I think what’s needed for this kind of deep spirit work, particularly with a voice that’s prehuman—that contains many dead voices within it, and not just of humans, but of animals—I think you need to be able to go very deep, and you need to be very coherent in order to hear that voice and to engage with it.

The ultimate unification of weak and electromagnetic interactions has probably not yet been achieved, but a solid beach-head appears to have been established in terms of local non-Abelian gauge theories with spontaneous symmetry breakdown. As a result, it is now widely believed that weak interactions are mediated by massive vector mesons. Current expectations are that such mesons will be observed within the decade. It is widely believed that strong interactions are also mediated by local non-Abelian gauge fields. Their symmetry is supposed to be unbroken so that the corresponding vector mesons are massless. The dynamics of these 'non-Abelian photons' are supposed to prohibit their creation as single free particles. The technical exploration of this theory is in its early stages.

Back then, when the culture was still building, people were loyal to stores, brands, and the cause. The style was retro-nineties, loud colors, vector or photographic driven, skinny jeans, selvage denim, lots of Japanese brands, and hip-hop/street culture content. There was also a political aspect to streetwear. Speaking for myself, I was sick of rocking logos for people. What people started printing their own shirts on AAA or American Apparel blanks, we got to rep the culture through the clothing. In the post-9/11 era, a lot of the more powerful messages about individuality, free speech, and what it was to be American manifested themselves in streetwear. (215)

Each book, a treasure chest of knowledge. And the advent of the modern library did not disturb him: The introduction of computers and other “screens” into libraries only increased that access to information. That was key, he long felt, to an informed society, one that cleaved to both empathy and critical thinking: access to information. Simply being able to know things—true things!—meant the world to him. And better still, reference librarians served well in the role that the internet never did: They were the perfect bouncers at the door of bad information. Or, put differently, they were the best vectors to transmit truth. Just as diseases required strong vectors to survive, thrive, and spread, Benji always felt that the power of a healthy society hinged on powerful vectors that allowed good information to do the same: survive, thrive, spread. Unhealthy societies quashed truth-tellers, hid facts, and curtailed debate (often at the end of a sword or rifle). Information, as the saying went, wanted to be free.