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Stallman's Opinion About Steve Jobs

Steve Jobs, the pioneer of the computer as a jail made cool, designed to sever fools from their freedom, has died.
As Chicago Mayor Harold Washington said of the corrupt former Mayor Daley, "I'm not glad he's dead, but I'm glad he's gone." Nobody deserves to have to die - not Jobs, not Mr. Bill, not even people guilty of bigger evils than theirs. But we all deserve the end of Jobs' malign influence on people's computing.
Unfortunately, that influence continues despite his absence. We can only hope his successors, as they attempt to carry on his legacy, will be less effective.

Хороший дем. Становление демократии

Становление демократии

Igor Rasteryaev - Camomiles (lyrics translation to English)



Chamomiles

There are planes flying in the sky all day, they are probably carrying someone to his vacation in Pattaya.
But I am in an open country dragging on foot by wild grass, to my friends Vasily and Roman who died from alcohol.
Not just one of my friends lies on one of these country cemeteries, where warm wind sings a song about counterfeit vodka playing the oval photographs.
The guys chose their road by themselves; but, God sees, somebody pushed them and let them down.
So (they did not have) jobs nor homes, just bottles and glasses. So instead of Vasya and Roma, just cornflowers and chamomiles.
Not just one of my friends lies on one of these country cemeteries, where warm wind bounces amazed, remembering all the blue crosses by their names.
But all words are vain and nothing can be fixed, so all I can do is to put a bouquet of chamomiles into a tin can.
Let it will just stand there and be the most beautiful on a village graveyard in (of) a country named Russia.

* In Russian, Vasily (Vasek, Vasya) sounds close to "vasilek" (cornflower), and Roman (Roma) reminds "romaska" (chamomile).
* Counterfeit vodka was frequent in Russia during period of "democratization" (1990s) when normal production of everything stopped; it was often made using technical-grade spirit (i.e. poisonous).

Про холод

Замечательное стихотворение для знатоков английского языка, в порядке психологической подготовки к приближающейся зиме. Thx 2 @stricky_.

The Cremation of Sam McGee

by Robert W. Service
There are strange things done in the midnight sun
    By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
    That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
    But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
    I cremated Sam McGee.

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