Le Maître du 20 rue du Cirque va t’il faire plier le Maître du Kremlin?

Originally posted on L'horreur islamique:

La Crimée est maintenant sous contrôle militaire Russe:

http://www.slate.fr/monde/84037/crimee-passe-controle-militaire-russe

« Les communications entre la Crimée et le reste de l’Ukraine étaient coupées, vendredi 28 février dans la soirée, confirmant la prise de contrôle de fait cette région par les troupes russes. «Nous assistons aujourd’hui à une invasion armée russe […]. L’espace aérien est fermé en raison du grand nombre d’atterrissages d’avions et d’hélicoptères russes», a déclaré le représentant du président ukrainien en Crimée, Sergueï Kounitsyne, à la chaîne de télévision ART.

Mais c’est une invasion sans tambours ni trompettes. Les troupes ne sont pas vraiment identifiées, mais elles sont bien là. Ainsi, dans la nuit de vendredi à samedi des avions gros porteurs militaires russes auraient amené à Sébastopol 2000 soldats russes supplémentaires…. »

Le monde attend dans l’angoisse la réaction, qui promet d’être terrible, du « french lover » de la rue du cirque..

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finniche flu

Shize? I should shee! Macool, Macool, orra whyi deed ye diie?
of a trying thirstay mournin? Sobs they sighdid at Fillagain’s
chrissormiss wake, all the hoolivans of the nation, prostrated in
their consternation and their duodisimally profusive plethora of
ululation. There was plumbs and grumes and cheriffs and citherers
and raiders and cinemen too. And the all gianed in with the shout-
most shoviality. Agog and magog and the round of them agrog.
To the continuation of that celebration until Hanandhunigan’s
extermination! Some in kinkin corass, more, kankan keening.
Belling him up and filling him down. He’s stiff but he’s steady is
Priam Olim! ‘Twas he was the dacent gaylabouring youth. Sharpen
his pillowscone, tap up his bier! E’erawhere in this whorl would ye
hear sich a din again? With their deepbrow fundigs and the dusty
fidelios. They laid him brawdawn alanglast bed. With a bockalips
of finisky fore his feet. And a barrowload of guenesis hoer his head.
Tee the tootal of the fluid hang the twoddle of the fuddled, O!
Hurrah, there is but young gleve for the owl globe wheels in
view which is tautaulogically the same thing. Well, Him a being
so on the flounder of his bulk like an overgrown babeling, let wee
peep, see, at Hom, well, see peegee ought he ought, platterplate.
Hum! From Shopalist to Bailywick or from ashtun to baronoath
or from Buythebanks to Roundthehead or from the foot of the
bill to ireglint’s eye he calmly extensolies. And all the way (a
horn!) from fiord to fjell his baywinds’ oboboes shall wail him
7 UP
rockbound (hoahoahoah!) in swimswamswum and all the livvy-
long night, the delldale dalppling night, the night of bluerybells,
her flittaflute in tricky trochees (O carina! O carina!) wake him.
With her issavan essavans and her patterjackmartins about all
them inns and ouses. Tilling a teel of a tum, telling a toll of a tea-
ry turty Taubling. Grace before Glutton. For what we are, gifs
a gross if we are, about to believe. So pool the begg and pass the
kish for crawsake. Omen. So sigh us. Grampupus is fallen down
but grinny sprids the boord. Whase on the joint of a desh? Fin-
foefom the Fush. Whase be his baken head? A loaf of Singpan-
try’s Kennedy bread. And whase hitched to the hop in his tayle?
A glass of Danu U’Dunnell’s foamous olde Dobbelin ayle. But,
lo, as you would quaffoff his fraudstuff and sink teeth through
that pyth of a flowerwhite bodey behold of him as behemoth for
he is noewhemoe. Finiche! Only a fadograph of a yestern scene.
Almost rubicund Salmosalar, ancient fromout the ages of the Ag-
apemonides, he is smolten in our mist, woebecanned and packt
away. So that meal’s dead off for summan, schlook, schlice and
goodridhirring.
Yet may we not see still the brontoichthyan form outlined a-
slumbered, even in our own nighttime by the sedge of the trout-
ling stream that Bronto loved and Brunto has a lean on. Hiccubat
edilis. Apud libertinam parvulam. Whatif she be in flags or flitters,
reekierags or sundyechosies, with a mint of mines or beggar a
pinnyweight. Arrah, sure, we all love little Anny Ruiny, or, we
mean to say, lovelittle Anna Rayiny, when unda her brella, mid
piddle med puddle, she ninnygoes nannygoes nancing by. Yoh!
Brontolone slaaps, yoh snoores. Upon Benn Heather, in Seeple
Isout too. The cranic head on him, caster of his reasons, peer yu-
thner in yondmist. Whooth? His clay feet, swarded in verdigrass,
stick up starck where he last fellonem, by the mund of the maga-

Compactification in String Theory Part I: Motivation

Originally posted on Imaginary Potential:

A new attempt to reinvigorate the blog!

Yes, I am aware that I already have two physics related threads that have started and ended at « Part I » (false vacua and string theory). However, I’m really motivated by the introductory explanations. I promise to come back and finish the other ones real soon. But for a while, I’d like to talk about compactification.

A word about the word…I’ve had at least two scientist friends laugh when I’ve said « compactification ». Also, the text editor I’m typing this in thinks its a misspelling. Apparently in all other science fields, the correct word for taking big things and making them small is « compaction ». 

Well, we string theorists are just a little bit cooler then you « real scientists. »  We’re not taking some obsidian and making it smaller (like my roommate, the geologist, and one of the laughers), we’re making goddamned extra dimensions smaller…

Voir l'original 490 mots de plus