home dorian moore : (digital media) technologist

  • words how to make a website [2000.04.20]

    in 9 easy steps

    lloyd's sister wanted to know how to make a website. I was feeling like an cynic...

    1) Acquire multimedia content

    2) Develop into a format and structure which allows it to be easily
    maintained, content to be catagorized in a generic way, and easily navigated.

    3) Design the graphical look and feel of the site [being sure to take
    into account the required graphical impact]

    4) Develop appropriate systems to allow the design to integrate with the
    managed content, using tools such as PHP, PERL, CGI, RDBMS.

    5) Cut into small bits then sitick it all back together with HTML

    6) Leave unattended after the intial work has proven too much effort and
    cost, and focus your attentions elsewhere.

    7) Pretend that the site is being updated regularly, or providing an
    exclusive service

    8) Float company on stock exchange for large amount of money.

    9) Retire

    lloyd wrote:
    >
    > My Sister aged 11
    >
    > >Hi Lloyd
    > >It's me RACHEL.
    > >I would like to know how to make a web site.
    > >Please tell me quickly!!!
    > >big kiss Rachelxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

    Posted by Dorian Moore on Thursday, April 20, 2000 at 11:36 GMT
    Last modified Thursday, October 20, 2005 at 20:22 GMT

  • words we... [2000.04.20]

    we are the music-makers
    and we are the dreamers of dreams,
    wandering by lone sea-breakers,
    and sitting by desolate streams;
    world-loster and world forsakers,
    on whom the pale moon gleams:
    yes we are the movers and shakers
    of the world forever, it seems

    Arthur O'Shaughnessy

    Posted by Dorian Moore on Thursday, April 20, 2000 at 02:03 GMT
    Last modified Tuesday, September 11, 2007 at 14:12 GMT

  • words Kubla Khan [2000.04.19]

    by

    A Vision In a Dream: A Fragment (1816)

    In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
    A stately pleasure-dome decree :
    Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
    Through caverns measureless to man
    Down to a sunless sea.
    So twice five miles of fertile ground
    With walls and towers were girdled round :
    And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
    Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree ;
    And here were forests ancient as the hills,
    Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.

    But oh ! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
    Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover !
    A savage place ! as holy and enchanted
    As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted
    By woman wailing for her demon-lover !
    And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
    As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
    A mighty fountainmomently was forced :
    Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
    Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
    Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail :
    And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
    It flung up momently the sacred river.
    Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
    Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
    Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
    And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean :
    And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
    Ancestral voices prophesying war !
    The shadow of the dome of pleasure
    Floated midway on the waves ;
    Where was heard the mingled measure
    From the fountain and the caves.
    It was a miracle of rare device,
    A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice !

    A damsel with a dulcimer
    In a vision once I saw :
    It was an Abyssinian maid,
    And on her dulcimer she played,
    Singing of Mount Abora.
    Could I revive within me
    Her symphony and song,
    To such a deep delight 'twould win me,
    That with music loud and long,
    I would build that dome in air,
    That sunny dome ! those caves of ice !
    And all who heard should see them there,
    And all should cry, Beware ! Beware !
    His flashing eyes, his floating hair !
    Weave a circle round him thrice,
    And close your eyes with holy dread,
    For he on honey-dew hath fed,
    And drunk the milk of Paradise.
    Samuel Taylor Coleridge

    Posted by Dorian Moore on Wednesday, April 19, 2000 at 23:55 GMT
    Last modified Tuesday, September 11, 2007 at 14:14 GMT

  • words a resting place [2000.04.19]

    for my thoughts, feelings, ideas and nonsense

    I have decided to create a place to store the things i come across. wether it will have any worth is not the point. its a place to leave those things to partially remind me who i am, and maybe let other people know.

    this isn't a place to show off. it isn't a resource which should have any 'worth', it's just simply a collection of words, pixels and samples...

    Posted by Dorian Moore on Wednesday, April 19, 2000 at 00:00 GMT
    Last modified Thursday, October 20, 2005 at 20:22 GMT

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