Porting the Gnat tasking runtime system to the Java virtual machine

Porting the Gnat tasking runtime system to the Java virtual machine – Poem

Peter Jay Shippy

When our investment klatch took Sunday brunch with Wind Farmer Brown we expected eggs Benedict and strudel, maybe a pitcher of gin tectonics, not to green monkey with a buzz saw. To even enter Brown’s compound we had to puncture a picket line of protesters, holding signs, written in community dialect: GOD DOES IT BETTER–(DE)RIDERS ON THE STORM–EVERYONE KNOWS YOU’RE NOT WINDY–DOROTHY HATES U. Finally, air stanchions were turned on the mob, broadcasting those porous folks to those further time zones.

Inside those concertina-wired lines an arsenal of turbines produced ten dozen varieties of currents, including: scalding winds, Zephyrs, hawks, kite winders, busters, harmattan, devil spits, Thai blows and williwaws. Not to mention: thunder squall, scuds, hyperborean blasties, whiffets, pundits, nips, Wordsworth’s winds that sang of trees uptorn and vessels tost, two variety of sirocco, gales and one ornery Albertan megagale.

Out here in the mid-horizontals, where the odd silo denotes proper scale, 1000-foot towers with rotating blades announce man’s smackdown with nature.

Lunch left an asparatato taste in our mouths–until they served up the pecanese [c]heeze-cake. We were ready for some hardball.

Brown put in plain words–he was moving ten thousand miles per hour of air a week. And what with the ozone crisis now was a fine but finite time to invest in his operation. I mentioned those picketeers, now downwind.

Farmer Brown said, Those rad sacks need to have their dippy-sticks checked. Anyone against us is against us. It’s in the Almanac. Look it up. Look it down.

He leaned near enough his tinctures made my pores damask. Brown thistled, Nature, when left to her own devices can’t be trusted to produce a breeze in a heat wave. Nature is perverse.

I made like a nodder. I had to agree. Left to my devices I’d Mr. Coffee, spin Spielbergs and palm-pilot Czech porn all the blankety-blank day.

I instant messaged our broker, po-haste as Farmer Brown uncoiled his dotted lines.

Peter Jay Shippy is the author of Thieves’ Latin. Last year, he was awarded a fellowship by the NEA.

COPYRIGHT 2004 Fairleigh Dickinson University

COPYRIGHT 2004 Gale Group