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The Wizard of Pinball's
Video Documentary Playhouse

"Why's a Raven Like a Writing Desk?"

University of Life Lecture	'Can plants and trees feel pain?'
To:	Be careful, apes can hit pretty hard. Mailto:spuriousmonkey@apeshit.ca
Subject:	Regarding tree pain. Does a Willow weep to it's soul? www.spuriousmonkey.com/lectures/lectures/022.html
You originally wrote:	It is a common question that lingers on the fringes of our society: can trees feel pain? Pain cannot occur without two major events. Something has to distribute a pain stimulus to a pain receiver, and the pain receiver must be able to perceive the pain stimulus. Science is always very straightforward. It is certainly true that many trees and plants are the focus point of physical abuse, normally associated with pain. We cut of the genitalia of plants (flowers) on a regular basis, and display them in a quite macabre fashion in our homes as trophies. We take tiny plant embryos (grain) and grind them into flour. We then burn them in an oven. On a beautiful Sunday afternoon we do not sit down quietly and think of world peace. Instead we venture out into the garden and decapitate millions of individual grass plants with specialized machinery, sometimes even electrical, or petrol engine powered to maximize carnage. We cut down old and large trees in the forest while we leave their children witnessing this heinous crime. We then turn them into Ikea couches, and park our assess on them as a last contemptuous gesture. The list of atrocities committed to the general family of plants and trees goes on and on. Hence there must be no question that we hurt plants and trees. Can plants and trees receive this multitude of pain stimuli? In the 1950s American researchers did some classical experiments with people with severed spinal cords. During the night they amputated the right leg without any anaesthesia, leaving the left leg. Most patients failed to notice the disappearance of their leg, until they were visually challenged with a bloody stump. Some people woke up during the night, but usually because of an auditory stimulus, or a full bladder. The conclusion reached was that there can be no pain if a pain stimulus cannot reach the brain. A Japanese group repeated this experiment with plants. They broke the stem of the plant and then amputated some of the roots during the night. There was no difference between the amputated plants and the control group in pain awareness. The Japanese rightly concluded that either the plants could not receive the pain stimulus to their brain, or they did not possess a brain. We would like to speculate even further and postulate that since no reports of a plant or tree brain exist we conclude that these green creatures cannot feel pain. —Spurious Monkey Professor at the UOL Invites you to respond: So there, you dirty, low down, sad, sorry excuse for a monkey's ass. Say So, bloody well write: Bite Me!
Marquis de Fouquet, Dr. Mark Turner Ph.D. responds in argument:	You don't even know to spell anaesthesia -- duh, -- it's 'anesthesia(thud.)' Japaneses are always capitalized, pro-nounicaly. I liked your allegory of parent slaughter, and add to it the image of an Oak nearby the crematory that stands sentinel to a procession of the finest polished wood caskets marched into a chamber of gas by a guard of six, only to emerge as ashes: Mouseswictz. ==============================Dead and Painless=============================== I must agree, however, that trees don't feel pain. In the sense that you and I feel pain at least. The tree bends in the wind, the wind helps & makes the tree grow stronger by assisting in the lifting of the sappy solution of nutrients. I believe that the tree feels the sap rise. I believe that the tree feels the warm sun. I believe the tree bends toward the sun. When a branch goes missing the tree knows there is sap coagulating like blood to seal the wound. Trees communicate within themselves, just not by the standards we, as mammals, can apply or even comprehend but most similar to our own pheromones coursing within our endocrine system. You are too quick to judge. Slow yourself down. A day in the life of a tree is like one solitary second to you and I. A tree knows enough to thank you for tasty cold dead fish. A tree will reward you for tending its needs with increased bounty of fruit. It then can be argued that the tree 'sees' the angle of the sun, and knows how it's different than before, and what to do to prepare before the next. By the same turn an argument can be made that the tree is intimately involved with the direction and intensity of the wind, earth's moisture content, soil resistance, temperature differential, canopy diffusion…. Nor have we even begun to explore ALL of the organic properties that may exist in dead wood, like piezoelectric effects, field effects, resonance, tuning, mechanical stresses, progeny protection, fiber warp… I would tend to believe we don't truly know yet to what degree pain is to plants, but will give the tree the benefit of the doubt so that I shouldn't harm any form of life, regardless of it's ability to experience pain. —Disney Wizard Write your problems down in detail, using only the box provided: You would know, Spurious Monkey, Heterosexual Homo sapiens sapien!
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We now rejoin your regularly scheduled mayhem… er, program - already in progress.

Wizard impersonates Louis Armstrong for the Meandering Mouse.

I see rivers o' green,
Plastic trees made of dreams.
The riverboat Mark Twain, 's waiting, for you and me.
And I say to myself, the Meanderin' Mouse.

This was supposed to be only an audio clip. So don't pay any attention to the screen behind the curtain.

Youtube embed script:

Giggles the Chicken reprises "Dodo."

What is this? Murder the bard day?

Giggles the Chicken asks "Why's a raven like a writing desk?"

"Red lined bills for blackened quills." I quip as she longingly glazes through the gass.

Then I think about it. "Why, she wanted to, of course!" "She must have been in love."

Love Triangle:
I postulate plausible probability personally, perhaps it's a pleasure pyramid. The raven eats chicken for lunch.

Chuckles the Chicken didn't say any thing. She wasn't very good. Small rubbery meal that she was. So then I asked

"If you toss a bucket of KFC into a chicken coop, are there then cannibal chickens?" "Yes." she replied.

Giggles the Chicken then promptly snapped her big beak shut.

Stupid, naive chicken.

Love The Hat!

This ends with "Kickin' it with Goofy." Mr. Hatter wanderlusts the road, The Vanderbilt's road. Evidence is not enough. The Mad Hatter at Disneyland Main Street, Town Square, Opera House, asks Cruella deVil to see my vest.
Vanity sized: Cruella then bests Mr. Hat, announcing ALOUD he represents the hind quarter, bearing baboon's blue butt vest best, of an Oversized, Vanity sized BABOON!. She rubbers it for the best vest test.
There is quite an interestingly magnificent South American fellow in Ms. deVil's frame when we approach. He must be a leader of his community, as evidenced by his fine representative threaded decorations. Him cursing her, me laughing 'cause I ecumenically know what he just did at her, and what it does, and what it's for, and why it's for, and why the poor castmember can't shake it, but can take it home and sleep on it. Yeah, kickin' it with the King, Cruella deVil, Goofy and two hit men err… HAT guts… GUYS - The Mad Hatter & 'n li'l ol' me. Wizard, laughing in the face of Emperors once again.

Accidentally Hatter/Alice

Counting Crows - Accidentally In Love.

Mad Hatter Magic Show

and Jesus said "O.K., now close your eyes… close your eyes…" Thank you Matt and Trey, found in housewares at the Emporium and for their visit with me at One Colorado, in front of Victoria's Secret on their way to the Emmies. Whereupon I called them "So… we got a couple of housewares. Welcome Matt!"

Now I am the clutching raven.

A ravens clutch is much more than a collection of clutter.
A writing desk is likewise more than a collection of pigeon-holes.
Now she is the writing desk.
Empty and dust-free, ready to use, the writing desk feels ready to task.
Chock-full of knicker snacks, and Hoodoo-dads, empty envelopes, and so full she is unable to close, the writing desk weeps like the willow she's made from.
The writing desk holds not the Ikea catalog in desire to return to life, that fate is sealed. True to the contrary, she desires to be unencumbered of the shackles of balls and chains represented by overburdened tote of trash.

Such that a raven could no sooner change its ways, that of pack-rat-isim, a writing desk could never enjoy broken shelves from stuffing past limit. Simple clean and elegant, a model for more like her to be made is her inherent desire.

And so I, as the raven, must now gaze from afar at my true love, knowing she loves me dearly, loves to watch me dance, delights in the trinket cache of my clutch at the root of the willow as we wave in the wind, wild and woeful to her, through the window.
And this I grant her, for it is her desire, and therefore my duty as dedicated by her love.

Right, now, with that out of the way…
Here is our response to our proposal of marriage - Alice, Hat & friend.
"Not only that but you are an UN-WINNER!" so sayeth the hat.

Writing desk and raven, to compare and contrast? And so it remains among the great unanswered questions, although I have bastardized it by slightly tweaking the punctuation to devious end, this feeling of mine.
My nefarious end is this. I am a hatter of sorts, and I have my sort of Alice. I'm not dead, I'm just pining for the fjords.
I think she wants to roll with the Big Tea, but remains much too inquisitive to be distracted with my nonsense.
"NONSENSE! That's not nonsense! A writing desk is made from a dead tree, Fjord Pine, for example.
And that's a fact! Why, my writing desk reads Ikea (likely homesick, I should put my catalogs away, instead of leaving them on the desk.)"
I pneuma replied, presently pendulating a penetratingly provocative past participle:
"Don't be Preposterous! Like placing the plow before the pony, the plate before the Paltrow, the plane before the pine!

A writing desk likening to a raven… THAT'S NonSense!"

— Wizard of whatever, polishing prized personal poetic prose to my personal pal, while considering how the desk would feel (plainly smooth.)

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Enjoy the videos, pay the piper. Feel good about yourself and

The Wizard of Pinball's Video Documentary Playhouse

"Why's a Raven Like a Writing Desk?"

Universityof LifeLecture

'Can plants and trees feel pain?'

$

I see rivers o' green, Plastic trees made of dreams. The riverboat Mark Twain, 's waiting, for you and me. And I say to myself, the Meanderin' Mouse.

Enjoy the videos, pay the piper.
Feel good about yourself and

The Wizard of Pinball's
Video Documentary Playhouse

University
of Life
Lecture

I see rivers o' green,
Plastic trees made of dreams.
The riverboat Mark Twain, 's waiting, for you and me.
And I say to myself, the Meanderin' Mouse.