Clashing colors

Hell grant soon we hear again the swords clash!
And the shrill neighs of destriers in battle rejoicing,
Spiked breast to spiked breast opposing!
Better one hour’s stour than a year’s peace
With fat boards, bawds, wine and frail music!
Bah! there’s no wine like the blood’s crimson!

Ezra Pound’s Sestina: Altaforte

What a serendipitous time to introduce my latest stylesheet creation: Clashing Colors. It’s been said that our words are all that matter; that the colors and pages we wrap around ourselves are but a gilding of a lily, and why is it that we don’t provide full feeds in RSS files?

What matter our page design?

It’s also been asked: why can’t we all just get along? Yes, why can’t we get along. Is it because we’re both unique and imperfect?

I have found there are six degrees of separation between these statements:

Why can’t we all just get along

…why can’t we complement each other

…why isn’t this environment more complementary than contentious

…so much of our writing to each other is contentious

…contentious or not, all that matters is the writing

…all that matters is the writing

What matters our page design?

Clashing Colors uses PHP to dynamically generate colors for different elements of the stylesheet. It also uses a random photo generator, except unlike Random Shot, the photos are all weather related and in black & white. The bit of code and CSS that controls blockquote is as follows:

blockquote {
<?php
$hx = substr(‘000000’ . dechex(mt_rand(0, 0xffffff)), -6);
echo “color: #” . $hx . “;”;
?>
}

Just use the $hx=substr… statement for each color area.

When I was playing with this page, I was surprised at how many times an attractive color combination appeared. Perhaps we worry too much about making sure everything fits together, and should just let chaos reign.

The man who fears war and squats opposing
My words for stour, hath no blood of crimson
But is fit only to rot in womanish peace
Far from where worth’s won and the swords clash
For the death of such sluts I go rejoicing;
Yea, I fill all the air with my music.

Papiols, Papiols, to the music!
There’s no sound like to swords swords opposing,
No cry like the battle’s rejoicing
When our elbows and swords drip the crimson
And our charges ‘gainst “The Leopard’s” rush clash.
May God damn for ever all who cry “Peace!”

And let the music of the swords make them crimson!
Hell grant soon we hear again the swords clash!
Hell blot black for alway the thought “Peace”!

Then again, maybe not.