War today is the little curly-haired girl in the hospital in Agros, Greece, whimpering in the dark all night because her right arm hangs in blackened tatters and she wants her mother, who is dead.
War today is that man lying on the sidewalk with his guts sticking out of his belly, and a hole through his skull, and both hands blown off, screaming because he can't reach into his pocket to get a drachma to buy aspirin tablets to stop the funny feeling inside his head.
War today is the line of dead bodies in the doorways of little shops in Belgrade's terrazia, killed when they rushed out to see what that crazy noise in the sky meant.
War today is that Serbian girl you promised to get out of Yugoslavia before the Germans or Italians caught her, and then didn't. War is what you think when you say "God-damned coward" to yourself and wonder what the Germans or Italians did to her when they found your name in her passport.
War today is thousands of Australian soldiers lying on the deck of a boat taking them out of the hell of Greece and Crete, reading books like 'Propaganda for War' and trying to figure out what it's all about.
Foreward; From The Land of Silent People
-Robert St. John
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
The Worst Type of War
I remember the first Russian soldier I treated: a tall skinny boy with blonde hair, wearing filthy clothes, smelling horrible, and infested with bugs. It was hard to tell if he was moaning because he was afraid of us or because he was in pain from the shrapnel wounds near his spine. After I shot him full of painkiller, extracted the shrapnel, bandaged him, and sent him to the ward, he calmed down.
Later when I passed through the ward, I heard him and the Chechen fighter in the next cot discussing their wounds. They were laughing. There is nothing worse than this kind of war- where people who have lived with each other for so long in the same society, who have grown to know each other, often to like each other as individuals, who speak the same language, end up on different sides trying to kill each other
The Chechen fighter's mother, there to look after her own son, also fed the young Russian soldier and gave him clean clothes. She then passed his name to the council of elders, who tried to contact his family in Russia to come and collect him. A few days later there was a report on Russian television about the cruel way Chechens supposedly treat Russian prisoners.
Heaven and Hell,
The First War
The Oath: A surgeon under fire
-Khassan Baiev
Later when I passed through the ward, I heard him and the Chechen fighter in the next cot discussing their wounds. They were laughing. There is nothing worse than this kind of war- where people who have lived with each other for so long in the same society, who have grown to know each other, often to like each other as individuals, who speak the same language, end up on different sides trying to kill each other
The Chechen fighter's mother, there to look after her own son, also fed the young Russian soldier and gave him clean clothes. She then passed his name to the council of elders, who tried to contact his family in Russia to come and collect him. A few days later there was a report on Russian television about the cruel way Chechens supposedly treat Russian prisoners.
Heaven and Hell,
The First War
The Oath: A surgeon under fire
-Khassan Baiev
Weight of the Geneva Convention
For the next seven hours, I amputated several limbs, removed shrapnel, and sewed up gashes. It turned out I was the only person with medical training left in the hospital. Everyone else had fled. The hospital was out of commission - the work of the townspeople destroyed in seconds. The building had operated for only 3 weeks, and Zulai's white flag with the red cross lay in tatters under the rubble. So much for the protection of the Geneva convention. All that flag had done was to signal to the Russians where to bomb.
Chapter 6; The hospital opens
The First War
The Oath: A surgeon under fire
-Khassan Baiev
Chapter 6; The hospital opens
The First War
The Oath: A surgeon under fire
-Khassan Baiev
Criticism & Contempt
"You would think that criticism would be the worst, because criticism is a global condemnation of a person's character. yet contempt is qualitatively different from criticism. With criticism i might say to my wife, 'You never listen, you are really selfish and insensitive.' Well, she's going to respond defensively to that . That's not very good for our problem solving and interaction. But if i speak from a superior plane, that's far more damaging, and contempt is any statement made from a higher level. A lot of the time it's an insult 'You're a bitch. You're scum.' It's trying to put that person on a lower plane than you. It's hierarchical." John Gottman
Contempt is closely related to disgust, and what disgust and contempt are about is completely rejecting and excluding someone from the community.
The Theory of Thin Slices
Blink- Malcom Gladwell
p.33
Contempt is closely related to disgust, and what disgust and contempt are about is completely rejecting and excluding someone from the community.
The Theory of Thin Slices
Blink- Malcom Gladwell
p.33
Sunday, July 4, 2010
i wish you were here
I'll watch the night turn light blue
But it's not the same without you
Because it takes two to whisper quietly
The silence isn't so bad
Till I look at my hands and feel sad
'Cause the spaces between my fingers
Are right where yours fit perfectly
But it's not the same without you
Because it takes two to whisper quietly
The silence isn't so bad
Till I look at my hands and feel sad
'Cause the spaces between my fingers
Are right where yours fit perfectly
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Birds and angels get the wings to fly
You see I've been climbing stairs but mostly stumbling down I've been reaching high always losing ground
You see I've been reaching high but always losing ground
You see I've conquered hills but I still have mountains to climb
And right now right now I'm doing the best I can
At this point in my life
Before we take a step
Before we walk down that path
Before I make any promises
Before you have regrets
Before we talk commitment
Let me tell you of my past
All I've seen and all I've done
The things I'd like to forget
At This Point In My Life
Friday, June 18, 2010
From April 2004...6 years on and no action taken..
First Reliable Evidence of Widespread Rape in Chechen Conflict
Report author Dr Charlotte Granville-Chapman said: "Human rights groups have long suspected that sexual violence in the Chechnya conflict is widespread but have faced major difficulties documenting such cases due to the stigma attached to the issue. One female victim told the Medical Foundation said she had been insulted and physically attacked by a woman in her own community when it became known she had been raped."
In its report, the Medical Foundation also documents other forms of torture and ill-treatment, including repeated kicking, beating and burning. Its medical doctors have documented shoulder dislocations, fractures, and damaged kidneys.
Last week the Medical Foundation joined with Amnesty International, Human Rights Watch and the Moscow-based human rights organisation Memorial in calling for the United Nations Commission on Human Rights to issue a strong resolution condemning "gross and systematic violations" of human rights in Chechnya at the hands of Russian troops and pro-Moscow Chechen militias.
Torture and Rape stalk the streets of Chechnya
Where does the brutality of Chechen terrorists come from? Maybe from facing this kind of brutality from the Russian Army. While we rightly condemn the actions of the Chechen hostage-takers in Russia, let us also condemn just as strongly the atrocities committed by Russia that led to it.
They went to our neighbours' house, the Magomedova family. We heard shots and the screams of 15-year-old Aminat, the sister of Ahmed and Aslanbek. "Let her be!" screamed one of the brothers, "Kill us instead!". Then we heard more shots. Through the window we saw a half-dressed OMON commander lying on top of Aminat. She was covered in blood from the bullet wounds. Another soldier shouted, "Hurry up, Kolya, while she's still warm".'
They went to our neighbours' house, the Magomedova family. We heard shots and the screams of 15-year-old Aminat, the sister of Ahmed and Aslanbek. "Let her be!" screamed one of the brothers, "Kill us instead!". Then we heard more shots. Through the window we saw a half-dressed OMON commander lying on top of Aminat. She was covered in blood from the bullet wounds. Another soldier shouted, "Hurry up, Kolya, while she's still warm".'
Sometimes those who survive wish they were dead, as in Zernovodsk this summer, when townspeople say they were chased on to a field and made to watch women being raped. When their men tried to defend them, 68 of them were handcuffed to an armoured truck and raped too. After this episode, 45 of them joined the guerrillas in the mountains. One older man, Nurdi Dayeyev, who was nearly blind, had nails driven through his hands and feet because it was suspected that he was in contact with the fighters. When relatives later retrieved his remains, he was missing a hand. The relatives of another villager, Aldan Manayev, picked up a torso but no head. The families were forced to sign declarations that Dayeyev and Manayev had blown themselves up.
Torture and rape stalk the streets of Chechnya Polish writer Krystyna Kurczab-Redlich visited the region where she witnessed the brutal work done by Russia's soldiers in their fight against separatists
A Child
A great Muslim theologian, al-Ghazali, who died in the year 1111, taught as follows:
"A child is on loan from God, entrusted to its parents. Its pure heart is a precious uncut jewel devoid of any form or carving, which will accept being cut into any shape, and will be disposed according to the guidance it receives from others."
Thought for the Day, 26 February 2003
"A child is on loan from God, entrusted to its parents. Its pure heart is a precious uncut jewel devoid of any form or carving, which will accept being cut into any shape, and will be disposed according to the guidance it receives from others."
Thought for the Day, 26 February 2003
Abdal Hakim Murad
You're Gone Away
I wanted you to know I love the way you laughI wanna hold you high and steal your pain away
I keep your photograph, I know it serves me well
I wanna hold you high and steal your pain
'Cause I'm broken when I'm open
And I don't feel like I am strong enough
'Cause I'm broken when I'm lonesome
And I don't feel right when you're gone away
The worst is over now and we can breathe again
I wanna hold you high, you steal my pain away
There's so much left to learn, and no one left to fight
I wanna hold you high and steal your pain
'Cause I'm broken when I'm open
And I don't feel like I am strong enough
'Cause I'm broken when I'm lonesome
And I don't feel right when you're gone away
You've gone away
You don't feel me here anymore
-Seether ft Amy Lee
Broken
Watch the Rain
Sitting here, on this lonely dock
Watch the rain play on the ocean top
All the things I feel I need to say
I can't explain in any other way
I need to be bold
Need to jump in the cold water
Need to grow older with a girl like you
Finally see you are naturally
The one to make it so easy
When you show me the truth
Yeah, I'd rather be with you
Say you want the same thing too
Now here's the sun, come to dry the rain
Warm my shoulders and relieve my pain
You're the one thing that I'm missing here
With you beside me I no longer fear
-Joshua Radin
I'd rather be with you
Friday, June 11, 2010
Television By Roald Dahl (1916-1990)
The most important thing we've learned,
So far as children are concerned,
Is never, NEVER, NEVER let
Them near your television set --
Or better still, just don't install
The idiotic thing at all.
In almost every house we've been,
We've watched them gaping at the screen.
They loll and slop and lounge about,
And stare until their eyes pop out.
(Last week in someone's place we saw
A dozen eyeballs on the floor.)
They sit and stare and stare and sit
Until they're hypnotised by it,
Until they're absolutely drunk
With all that shocking ghastly junk.
Oh yes, we know it keeps them still,
They don't climb out the window sill,
They never fight or kick or punch,
They leave you free to cook the lunch
And wash the dishes in the sink --
But did you ever stop to think,
To wonder just exactly what
This does to your beloved tot?
IT ROTS THE SENSE IN THE HEAD!
IT KILLS IMAGINATION DEAD!
IT CLOGS AND CLUTTERS UP THE MIND!
IT MAKES A CHILD SO DULL AND BLIND
HE CAN NO LONGER UNDERSTAND
A FANTASY, A FAIRYLAND!
HIS BRAIN BECOMES AS SOFT AS CHEESE!
HIS POWERS OF THINKING RUST AND FREEZE!
HE CANNOT THINK -- HE ONLY SEES!
'All right!' you'll cry. 'All right!' you'll say,
'But if we take the set away,
What shall we do to entertain
Our darling children? Please explain!'
We'll answer this by asking you,
'What used the darling ones to do?
'How used they keep themselves contented
Before this monster was invented?'
Have you forgotten? Don't you know?
We'll say it very loud and slow:
THEY ... USED ... TO ... READ! They'd READ and READ,
AND READ and READ, and then proceed
To READ some more. Great Scott! Gadzooks!
One half their lives was reading books!
The nursery shelves held books galore!
Books cluttered up the nursery floor!
And in the bedroom, by the bed,
More books were waiting to be read!
Such wondrous, fine, fantastic tales
Of dragons, gypsies, queens, and whales
And treasure isles, and distant shores
Where smugglers rowed with muffled oars,
And pirates wearing purple pants,
And sailing ships and elephants,
And cannibals crouching 'round the pot,
Stirring away at something hot.
(It smells so good, what can it be?
Good gracious, it's Penelope.)
The younger ones had Beatrix Potter
With Mr. Tod, the dirty rotter,
And Squirrel Nutkin, Pigling Bland,
And Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle and-
Just How The Camel Got His Hump,
And How the Monkey Lost His Rump,
And Mr. Toad, and bless my soul,
There's Mr. Rate and Mr. Mole-
Oh, books, what books they used to know,
Those children living long ago!
So please, oh please, we beg, we pray,
Go throw your TV set away,
And in its place you can install
A lovely bookshelf on the wall.
Then fill the shelves with lots of books,
Ignoring all the dirty looks,
The screams and yells, the bites and kicks,
And children hitting you with sticks-
Fear not, because we promise you
That, in about a week or two
Of having nothing else to do,
They'll now begin to feel the need
Of having something to read.
And once they start -- oh boy, oh boy!
You watch the slowly growing joy
That fills their hearts. They'll grow so keen
They'll wonder what they'd ever seen
In that ridiculous machine,
That nauseating, foul, unclean,
Repulsive television screen!
And later, each and every kid
Will love you more for what you did.
So far as children are concerned,
Is never, NEVER, NEVER let
Them near your television set --
Or better still, just don't install
The idiotic thing at all.
In almost every house we've been,
We've watched them gaping at the screen.
They loll and slop and lounge about,
And stare until their eyes pop out.
(Last week in someone's place we saw
A dozen eyeballs on the floor.)
They sit and stare and stare and sit
Until they're hypnotised by it,
Until they're absolutely drunk
With all that shocking ghastly junk.
Oh yes, we know it keeps them still,
They don't climb out the window sill,
They never fight or kick or punch,
They leave you free to cook the lunch
And wash the dishes in the sink --
But did you ever stop to think,
To wonder just exactly what
This does to your beloved tot?
IT ROTS THE SENSE IN THE HEAD!
IT KILLS IMAGINATION DEAD!
IT CLOGS AND CLUTTERS UP THE MIND!
IT MAKES A CHILD SO DULL AND BLIND
HE CAN NO LONGER UNDERSTAND
A FANTASY, A FAIRYLAND!
HIS BRAIN BECOMES AS SOFT AS CHEESE!
HIS POWERS OF THINKING RUST AND FREEZE!
HE CANNOT THINK -- HE ONLY SEES!
'All right!' you'll cry. 'All right!' you'll say,
'But if we take the set away,
What shall we do to entertain
Our darling children? Please explain!'
We'll answer this by asking you,
'What used the darling ones to do?
'How used they keep themselves contented
Before this monster was invented?'
Have you forgotten? Don't you know?
We'll say it very loud and slow:
THEY ... USED ... TO ... READ! They'd READ and READ,
AND READ and READ, and then proceed
To READ some more. Great Scott! Gadzooks!
One half their lives was reading books!
The nursery shelves held books galore!
Books cluttered up the nursery floor!
And in the bedroom, by the bed,
More books were waiting to be read!
Such wondrous, fine, fantastic tales
Of dragons, gypsies, queens, and whales
And treasure isles, and distant shores
Where smugglers rowed with muffled oars,
And pirates wearing purple pants,
And sailing ships and elephants,
And cannibals crouching 'round the pot,
Stirring away at something hot.
(It smells so good, what can it be?
Good gracious, it's Penelope.)
The younger ones had Beatrix Potter
With Mr. Tod, the dirty rotter,
And Squirrel Nutkin, Pigling Bland,
And Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle and-
Just How The Camel Got His Hump,
And How the Monkey Lost His Rump,
And Mr. Toad, and bless my soul,
There's Mr. Rate and Mr. Mole-
Oh, books, what books they used to know,
Those children living long ago!
So please, oh please, we beg, we pray,
Go throw your TV set away,
And in its place you can install
A lovely bookshelf on the wall.
Then fill the shelves with lots of books,
Ignoring all the dirty looks,
The screams and yells, the bites and kicks,
And children hitting you with sticks-
Fear not, because we promise you
That, in about a week or two
Of having nothing else to do,
They'll now begin to feel the need
Of having something to read.
And once they start -- oh boy, oh boy!
You watch the slowly growing joy
That fills their hearts. They'll grow so keen
They'll wonder what they'd ever seen
In that ridiculous machine,
That nauseating, foul, unclean,
Repulsive television screen!
And later, each and every kid
Will love you more for what you did.
Monday, May 24, 2010
I'll be Aright
I wanna feel a car crash
I wanna feel a capsize
I wanna feel the bomb drop, the earth stop
'Til I'm satisfied
'Cause I'm dyin' on the inside
I wanna let go and know
That I'll be alright, alright
Push me 'til I have to fly
I've shed my skin, my scars
Take me deep out past the lights
Where nothing dims these stars
Nothing dims these stars
I wanna feel a car crash
I wanna feel a capsize
I wanna feel the bomb drop, the earth stop
'Til I'm satisfied
I wanna feel a car crash
'Cause I'm dyin' on the inside
I wanna let go and know
That I'll be alright, alright
I wanna feel a capsize
I wanna feel the bomb drop, the earth stop
'Til I'm satisfied
'Cause I'm dyin' on the inside
I wanna let go and know
That I'll be alright, alright
Push me 'til I have to fly
I've shed my skin, my scars
Take me deep out past the lights
Where nothing dims these stars
Nothing dims these stars
I wanna feel a car crash
I wanna feel a capsize
I wanna feel the bomb drop, the earth stop
'Til I'm satisfied
I wanna feel a car crash
'Cause I'm dyin' on the inside
I wanna let go and know
That I'll be alright, alright
-Matt Nathanson
Car Crash
Car Crash
Saturday, March 13, 2010
go numb
I'd like to close my eyes, go numb
but there's a cold wind coming from
the top of the highest high-rise today.
It's not a breeze 'cause it blows hard.
Yes and it wants me to discard the humanity I know,
watch the warmth blow away.
So don't let the world bring you down.
Not everyone here is that fucked up and cold.
Remember why you came and while you're alive
experience the warmth before you grow old.
So do you think I should adhere to that pressing new frontier?
And leave in my wake a trail of fear?
Or should I hold my head up high
and throw a wrench in spokes by
leaving the air behind me clear?
-Incubusthe top of the highest high-rise today.
It's not a breeze 'cause it blows hard.
Yes and it wants me to discard the humanity I know,
watch the warmth blow away.
So don't let the world bring you down.
Not everyone here is that fucked up and cold.
Remember why you came and while you're alive
experience the warmth before you grow old.
So do you think I should adhere to that pressing new frontier?
And leave in my wake a trail of fear?
Or should I hold my head up high
and throw a wrench in spokes by
leaving the air behind me clear?
The Warmth
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Not Conceit
The idea of talking and acting the same way with everyone, no matter what their rank, makes you somehow a paragon of civilization – it is a terrible mistake. Those who below you will take it as a form of arrogance, and those above you will be offended, You must change your style and your way of speaking and your approach to suite each one. This is not lying, it is acting and acting is an art, not a gift from God. Learn the art. This is true for the great variety of cultures found in the modern court.
Never assume that your criteria of behavior and judgment are universal. This assumption will put you at the disadvantage.
Robert Green
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Thursday, February 25, 2010
omni-presence of religion
A side note about religion in Ireland: it's very Catholic. This may sound liek a foolish truism, but its really noticeable when you're there. In America we think we're used to the omni-presence of religion, but its really more a ubiquitous but generalized spirituality that surrounds us. Drive through any medium sized city and you'll see a variety of churches and temples and mosques. Keep driving and you'll probably find some yoga studios, a buddhist retreat, and a self-help center or two. But in Ireland you find Catholic churches. And you see catholic priests. And you see Catholic schoolkids. Everywhere. (Obviously this is in the Republic of Ireland. I'm not sure how it breaks down up north. I know that they have their fair share of Protestants, but i bet the Buddhist/mosque quotient is still in the low side.) Pretty much everything in Ireland is named after either something old and Gaelic or something old and Catholic (alot of times they're both).
Chapter 7
12 tales about Getting Wrecked
drink play f@#k
Andrew Gottlieb
Chapter 7
12 tales about Getting Wrecked
drink play f@#k
Andrew Gottlieb
lyrics that melt my guts
So maybe what i said before, about how listening to too many records messes your life up...maybe there's something in it after all. David Owen, he's married right? He's taken care of all that, and now he's a big shot diplomat. The guy who came into the shop with the suit and the car keys, he's marrried too, and now he's, i dont know, a business man. Me, I'm unmarried - at the moment as unmarried as it is possible to be - and i'm the owner of a failing record shop. It seems to me that if you place music (and books, probably, and films, and plays, and anything else that make syou feel ) at the center of your being, then you cant afford to sort out your love life, start to think of it as the finished product. You've got to pick at it and unravel it until it all comes apart and you're compelled to start all over again. Maybe we all live life at too high a pitch, those of us who absorb emotional things all day, and as a consequence we can never feel merely content: we have to be unhappy, or ecstatically head-over-heels happy, and those states are difficult to acheive within a stable, solid relationship. Maybe Al Green is directly responsible for more than i ever realized.
See, records have helped me to fall in love, no question. I hear something new withg a cord change that melts my guts, and before i know it I'm looking for someone, and before i know it I've found her. I fell in love with Rosie after i'd fallen in love with a Cowboy Junkies song: I played it and played it and played it, and it made me dreamy, and i needed someone to dream about, and i found her, and...well, there was trouble.
chapter 16
High Fidelity
Nick Hornby
Monday, February 22, 2010
The Spider Song...Sydney is Evil
It came out of the dashboard, barely two foot from her face,
when the heating fan inside the vent began to oscilate.
She could not believe her eyes.
She thought the vent had come alive,
as the probing legs came blackly through the grate.
A spiky sheet of fear flew up her back.
She fought to force her fingers to relax;
but with one eye on the grate,
she stabbed blindly at the grate
and the battered Holden skidded off the track.
It squeezed past the plastic, fell forward with a 'plop';
she screamed and watched it run back through the car.
Like a herky-jerky doll, spring-loaded in a box,
she catapulted through the door onto the tar.
The night air hit her body like a blow.
It was very nearly four degrees below.
On the back road to Khancoban, from the lights of Jindabyne,
she'd been running with the coming of the snow.
Chorus: It's somewhere in the Car! Lord, it's somewhere in the car!
The cabin light's not working and the night is deathly dark.
You know there's matches somewhere, but you don't where they are;
and the damn thing is somewhere in the Car!
She'd driven down from Sydney, where it must have got on board.
She knew it was a Funnel Web; she'd seen the things before.
But they're rarely quite as large, or as ugly and as fast,
as the thing that she'd seen running on the floor.
Now she flipped the driver's rear door open wide;
but the moon was gone, she couldn't see inside.
Under the empty biscuit packets and discarded burger wrappers,
there was far too many places it could hide.
So she walked round in front of the Holden and looked at it,
as it lay in the ditch like a wounded beast.
She knew no one else was coming up the road that night from Khancoban...
She wondered what the hell she was going to do.
Several feet of fallen tree had gone in through the grill
and the one remaining headlight glimmered dimly in the chill.
Then the first few flakes of white spun and danced along the light,
as the blizzard came in howling from the hills.
The horror of her situation dawned.
She knew she'd freeze unless she sheltered from the storm.
With every nightmare that she'd known,
she climbed back inside the Holden;
driven by the desperation to be warm.
Through the hours of the darkness she stared into the blackness.
Every muscle in her body quivering in wild alarm;
every time she thought she heard it as it skittered through the papers;
every time she thought she felt it on her arm.
The howling mountain blizzard locked it's fingers 'round their prison
and the storm clouds blotted out the stars.
"Hell, isn't hot at all", she thought, "it's colder than the grave!
And it runs on silent legs inside this car!"
Now the spider died at midnight, frozen by the alpine air,
but as it fell down from the roof... there was a scream of wild despair;
and next day they found her there, with a catatonic stare,
and the Funnel Web still tangled in her hair!
So they searched the woman's body for a bite.
Though there was none, she was dead and icy white.
The coroner said, "Probably, a stress-related coronary."
('cause he didn't want to say she'd died of fright!)
Now there's a scientist on the Sunday social page
who's just been married to a girl who's half his age;
while back in his laboratory at Sydney University...
there's a Funnel Web.... that's missing from it's cage.
Somewhere in the Car
(The Spider Song)
Words & Music: Pat Drummond
when the heating fan inside the vent began to oscilate.
She could not believe her eyes.
She thought the vent had come alive,
as the probing legs came blackly through the grate.
A spiky sheet of fear flew up her back.
She fought to force her fingers to relax;
but with one eye on the grate,
she stabbed blindly at the grate
and the battered Holden skidded off the track.
It squeezed past the plastic, fell forward with a 'plop';
she screamed and watched it run back through the car.
Like a herky-jerky doll, spring-loaded in a box,
she catapulted through the door onto the tar.
The night air hit her body like a blow.
It was very nearly four degrees below.
On the back road to Khancoban, from the lights of Jindabyne,
she'd been running with the coming of the snow.
Chorus: It's somewhere in the Car! Lord, it's somewhere in the car!
The cabin light's not working and the night is deathly dark.
You know there's matches somewhere, but you don't where they are;
and the damn thing is somewhere in the Car!
She'd driven down from Sydney, where it must have got on board.
She knew it was a Funnel Web; she'd seen the things before.
But they're rarely quite as large, or as ugly and as fast,
as the thing that she'd seen running on the floor.
Now she flipped the driver's rear door open wide;
but the moon was gone, she couldn't see inside.
Under the empty biscuit packets and discarded burger wrappers,
there was far too many places it could hide.
So she walked round in front of the Holden and looked at it,
as it lay in the ditch like a wounded beast.
She knew no one else was coming up the road that night from Khancoban...
She wondered what the hell she was going to do.
Several feet of fallen tree had gone in through the grill
and the one remaining headlight glimmered dimly in the chill.
Then the first few flakes of white spun and danced along the light,
as the blizzard came in howling from the hills.
The horror of her situation dawned.
She knew she'd freeze unless she sheltered from the storm.
With every nightmare that she'd known,
she climbed back inside the Holden;
driven by the desperation to be warm.
Through the hours of the darkness she stared into the blackness.
Every muscle in her body quivering in wild alarm;
every time she thought she heard it as it skittered through the papers;
every time she thought she felt it on her arm.
The howling mountain blizzard locked it's fingers 'round their prison
and the storm clouds blotted out the stars.
"Hell, isn't hot at all", she thought, "it's colder than the grave!
And it runs on silent legs inside this car!"
Now the spider died at midnight, frozen by the alpine air,
but as it fell down from the roof... there was a scream of wild despair;
and next day they found her there, with a catatonic stare,
and the Funnel Web still tangled in her hair!
So they searched the woman's body for a bite.
Though there was none, she was dead and icy white.
The coroner said, "Probably, a stress-related coronary."
('cause he didn't want to say she'd died of fright!)
Now there's a scientist on the Sunday social page
who's just been married to a girl who's half his age;
while back in his laboratory at Sydney University...
there's a Funnel Web.... that's missing from it's cage.
Somewhere in the Car
(The Spider Song)
Words & Music: Pat Drummond
Monday, February 15, 2010
won't let you choke
It's empty in the valley of your heart,
The sun it rises slowly as you walk,
Away from all the fears and all the faults you've left behind.
The harvest left no food for you to eat,
You cannibal you meat eater you see,
But I have seen the same I know the shame in your defeat.
But I will hold on hope,
And I won't let you choke,
On the noose around your neck,
And I'll find strength in pain,
And I will change my ways,
I'll know my name as it's called again.
'Cause I have other things to fill my time,
You take what is your's and I'll take mine,
Now let me at the truth which will refresh my broken mind.
The sun it rises slowly as you walk,
Away from all the fears and all the faults you've left behind.
The harvest left no food for you to eat,
You cannibal you meat eater you see,
But I have seen the same I know the shame in your defeat.
But I will hold on hope,
And I won't let you choke,
On the noose around your neck,
And I'll find strength in pain,
And I will change my ways,
I'll know my name as it's called again.
'Cause I have other things to fill my time,
You take what is your's and I'll take mine,
Now let me at the truth which will refresh my broken mind.
-Mumford And Sons
The Cave
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Jonah, son of Marcus
Jonah, son of Marcus, was a Greek who was madly in love with a girl, also Greek. Actually she was his wife. Just before the arrival of the Muslims they had been married, but the ceremony of handing over the bride to the husband had not been completed when the Muslims arrived and laid siege to Damascus. Thereafter Jonah asked her people several times to hand over his bride to him but they refused, saying that they were too busy fighting and that this was a matter of survival; and how could Jonah think of such things at a time like this? Actually Jonah could think of little else!
Just after dusk, on or about September 18, 634 (the 19th of Rajab, 13 Hijri), Jonah lowered himself with the aid of a rope near the East Gate, and approaching the nearest Muslim guard, asked to see Khalid. As soon as he was ushered into the presence of the commander, he narrated his sad story and explained the purpose of his visit. Would Khalid help him get his bride if he gave intelligence which would lead quickly to the capture of Damascus? Khalid would. He then informed Khalid that in the city this night the people were celebrating a festival in consequence of which there was revelry and drunkenness everywhere, and few sentries would be found at the gates. If Khalid could scale the wall, he would have no difficulty in opening any gate he chose and forcing an entry into the city.
Khalid felt that he could trust the man. He appeared sincere in what he said. Khalid offered him Islam, and Jonah accepted it. During the past few years he had heard much about Islam and was favourably inclined. At the hands of Khalid, Jonah now accepted the new faith, whereafter Khalid instructed him to return to the city and wait, which Jonah did. As soon as the Greek had departed, Khalid ordered the procurement of ropes and the preparation of rope ladders. There was no time to make a co-ordinated plan of attack for the whole army; and so Khalid decided that he would storm the fort by the East Gate, with just the corps of Iraq which was positioned there. The moon would rise at about midnight, and soon after that the assault would begin.
All Damascus was now awake. The Roman soldiers rushed to their assigned positions, as per rehearsed drills, and manned the entire circumference of the fort. Only a small reserve remained in the hands of Thomas as Khalid began his last onslaught to get to the centre of Damascus, killing all who stood in his way-the regiments defending the sector of the East Gate.
It was shortly before dawn, and now Thomas played his last card-brilliantly. He knew that Khalid had secured a firm foothold in the city, and it was only a matter of time before the entire city would lie at his feet. From the absence of activity at the other gates, he guessed that Khalid was attacking alone and that other corps were not taking part in the storming of the fort. He hoped-and this was a long shot-that the other corps commanders, especially Abu Ubaidah, would not know of the break-in by Khalid.
Thomas acted fast. He threw in his last reserve against Khalid to delay his advance for as long as possible, and at the same time sent envoys to the Jabiya Gate to talk with Abu Ubaidah and offer to surrender the fort peacefully and to pay the Jizya.
Soon after dawn Abu Ubaidah, followed by his officers and the rest of his corps, entered Damascus in peace from the Jabiya Gate, and marched towards the centre of the city. He was accompanied by Thomas and Harbees and several dignitaries and bishops of Damascus. Now Abu Ubaidah, walking like an angel of peace, and Khalid advancing like a tornado, arrived simultaneously at the centre of Damascus, at the Church ofMary.
Khalid had just broken through the last Roman resistance. The other corps commanders had also entered the city and were moving peacefully towards the centre.
Abu Ubaidah and Khalid stared at each other in amazement. Abu Ubaidah noted that Khalid and his men held dripping swords in their hands, and he guessed that something had happened of which he was not aware. Khalid noticed the peaceful air surrounding Abu Ubaidah and his officers, whose swords were in their sheaths and who were accompanied by Roman nobles and bishops.
For some time there was no movement. Then Abu Ubaidah broke the tense silence. "O Father of Sulaiman," he said, "Allah has given us this city in peace at my hand, and made it unnecessary for the Muslims to fight for it."
"What peace!" Khalid bristled. "I have captured the city by force. Our swords are red with their blood, and we have taken spoils and slaves." It was clear that there was now going to be a terrible row between these two generals, which could have serious consequences. Khalid was the commander and had to be obeyed; what is more, he was not a man who would take any nonsense from his subordinates. Furthermore, his towering personality and his unquestioned judgement in military matters made him difficult to argue with, especially on this occasion, when he was determined to regard the conquest of Damascus as a consequence of the use of force and not of peaceful negotiation. Abu Ubaidah, on the other hand, had none of the military stature or operational genius of Khalid, and would be the last person to assert otherwise.
But as a Muslim he was in the topmost class, one of the Blessed Ten, the Trusted One of the Nation. He was the Al Asram, the One without the Incisors-and no one could forget how he had lost his front teeth.
The Muslims gathered in groups to see the Roman convoy march out of the city. The convoy consisted of the garrison and thousands of civilians who preferred not to remain underMuslim rule and moved out of Damascus with their wives and children. Thomas's wife, the daughter of Heraclius, travelled with her husband.With the convoy went hundreds of carriages and wagons carrying all the belongings of the travellers and the merchandise of the city, including 300 bales of the finest brocade belonging to Heraclius. Some Muslims looked in anger, others in sorrow, as they saw Damascus drained of all its wealth. It was a bitter moment for the victors of Damascus.
Khalid stood with some of his officers and men, gazing at the saddening sight. It appeared that the Romans were leaving nothing of value in Damascus. There was pain in the heart of Khalid. He was the commander of the army; he had conquered Damascus by the sword; he had stormed the fort. And Abu Ubaidah had done this!
He looked at the others and saw faces red with anger. All this should have been theirs by right of conquest. All along the route stood groups ofMuslims watching in silence. They could easily have pounced upon the convoy and taken what they wished, but such was the discipline of this army, and such its respect for the moral obligation of the given word, that not a single soldier stirred to interfere with the movement of the convoy.
Khalid fought to control his rage. Then he raised his arms, to heaven, and in an anguished voice prayed aloud: "O Allah! Give all this to us as sustenance for the Muslims!" 1 But it was hopeless. Or was it?
Khalid heard a respectful cough behind him, and turned to see Jonah the Lover, still as sad as he had looked the night before in Khalid's tent. Jonah, meeting his bride after the surrender, had asked her to come away with him, and at first she was willing enough. But when he had told her that he was now a friend of the Muslims and had accepted their faith, she recoiled from him and swore that she would have nothing more to do with him. She decided to leave Damascus, and was even now travelling in the convoy of Thomas. Jonah, still the distracted lover maddened by his passion for the girl, had come to seek Khalid's help.
Could not the Muslims take the girl by force and deliver her to him? No, they could not. She was covered by the guarantee of safety and could not be touched. Could the Muslims not pursue and attack the convoy? No, they could not. The guarantee of safety for the convoy would last three days, and during that period no pursuit could be undertaken. He, Jonah, knew that the convoy was making for Antioch and would take many days to get there. He, Jonah, would be the guide of the Muslims. All he wanted in return was the girl!
After some more fighting, Roman resistance collapsed. Since the Muslims were too few to completely surround the Roman army and the fighting had become confused as it increased in violence, thousands of Romans were able to escape and make their way to safety. But all the booty and a large number of captives, both male and female, fell to the Muslims. Jonah found his beloved. He moved towards her to take her by force; but she saw him coming, and drawing a dagger from the folds of her dress, plunged it into her breast. As she lay dying, Jonah sat beside her with silent tears running down his cheeks. He swore that he would remain true to the memory of the bride he was not destined to possess, and would not look at another girl.
When Khalid came to know of the loss suffered by Jonah, he sent for him and offered him another young woman who stood nearby-one who was both beautiful and rich, judging by the clothes and the jewellery which she wore. His first look at the young woman left Jonah dumbfounded.When he found his speech again, he informed Khalid that this woman was none other than the daughter of Heraclius, widow of Thomas. He could not possibly take her, for soon Heraclius would send either an army to get her back by force or envoys to arrange for her ransom.
Jonah remained inconsolable. Nothing would cheer him up. Khalid offered him a large reward from his own share of the spoils, with which he could procure another wife, by purchase if necessary; but Jonah declined. He would remain true to his promise of celibacy. He also remained true to his new faith and fought under the banner of Islam for two years until the Battle of Yarmuk, where he fell a martyr.
Sword of Allah: Khalid bin al-Waleed
A.I.Akram
Just after dusk, on or about September 18, 634 (the 19th of Rajab, 13 Hijri), Jonah lowered himself with the aid of a rope near the East Gate, and approaching the nearest Muslim guard, asked to see Khalid. As soon as he was ushered into the presence of the commander, he narrated his sad story and explained the purpose of his visit. Would Khalid help him get his bride if he gave intelligence which would lead quickly to the capture of Damascus? Khalid would. He then informed Khalid that in the city this night the people were celebrating a festival in consequence of which there was revelry and drunkenness everywhere, and few sentries would be found at the gates. If Khalid could scale the wall, he would have no difficulty in opening any gate he chose and forcing an entry into the city.
Khalid felt that he could trust the man. He appeared sincere in what he said. Khalid offered him Islam, and Jonah accepted it. During the past few years he had heard much about Islam and was favourably inclined. At the hands of Khalid, Jonah now accepted the new faith, whereafter Khalid instructed him to return to the city and wait, which Jonah did. As soon as the Greek had departed, Khalid ordered the procurement of ropes and the preparation of rope ladders. There was no time to make a co-ordinated plan of attack for the whole army; and so Khalid decided that he would storm the fort by the East Gate, with just the corps of Iraq which was positioned there. The moon would rise at about midnight, and soon after that the assault would begin.
All Damascus was now awake. The Roman soldiers rushed to their assigned positions, as per rehearsed drills, and manned the entire circumference of the fort. Only a small reserve remained in the hands of Thomas as Khalid began his last onslaught to get to the centre of Damascus, killing all who stood in his way-the regiments defending the sector of the East Gate.
It was shortly before dawn, and now Thomas played his last card-brilliantly. He knew that Khalid had secured a firm foothold in the city, and it was only a matter of time before the entire city would lie at his feet. From the absence of activity at the other gates, he guessed that Khalid was attacking alone and that other corps were not taking part in the storming of the fort. He hoped-and this was a long shot-that the other corps commanders, especially Abu Ubaidah, would not know of the break-in by Khalid.
Thomas acted fast. He threw in his last reserve against Khalid to delay his advance for as long as possible, and at the same time sent envoys to the Jabiya Gate to talk with Abu Ubaidah and offer to surrender the fort peacefully and to pay the Jizya.
Soon after dawn Abu Ubaidah, followed by his officers and the rest of his corps, entered Damascus in peace from the Jabiya Gate, and marched towards the centre of the city. He was accompanied by Thomas and Harbees and several dignitaries and bishops of Damascus. Now Abu Ubaidah, walking like an angel of peace, and Khalid advancing like a tornado, arrived simultaneously at the centre of Damascus, at the Church ofMary.
Khalid had just broken through the last Roman resistance. The other corps commanders had also entered the city and were moving peacefully towards the centre.
Abu Ubaidah and Khalid stared at each other in amazement. Abu Ubaidah noted that Khalid and his men held dripping swords in their hands, and he guessed that something had happened of which he was not aware. Khalid noticed the peaceful air surrounding Abu Ubaidah and his officers, whose swords were in their sheaths and who were accompanied by Roman nobles and bishops.
For some time there was no movement. Then Abu Ubaidah broke the tense silence. "O Father of Sulaiman," he said, "Allah has given us this city in peace at my hand, and made it unnecessary for the Muslims to fight for it."
"What peace!" Khalid bristled. "I have captured the city by force. Our swords are red with their blood, and we have taken spoils and slaves." It was clear that there was now going to be a terrible row between these two generals, which could have serious consequences. Khalid was the commander and had to be obeyed; what is more, he was not a man who would take any nonsense from his subordinates. Furthermore, his towering personality and his unquestioned judgement in military matters made him difficult to argue with, especially on this occasion, when he was determined to regard the conquest of Damascus as a consequence of the use of force and not of peaceful negotiation. Abu Ubaidah, on the other hand, had none of the military stature or operational genius of Khalid, and would be the last person to assert otherwise.
But as a Muslim he was in the topmost class, one of the Blessed Ten, the Trusted One of the Nation. He was the Al Asram, the One without the Incisors-and no one could forget how he had lost his front teeth.
The Muslims gathered in groups to see the Roman convoy march out of the city. The convoy consisted of the garrison and thousands of civilians who preferred not to remain underMuslim rule and moved out of Damascus with their wives and children. Thomas's wife, the daughter of Heraclius, travelled with her husband.With the convoy went hundreds of carriages and wagons carrying all the belongings of the travellers and the merchandise of the city, including 300 bales of the finest brocade belonging to Heraclius. Some Muslims looked in anger, others in sorrow, as they saw Damascus drained of all its wealth. It was a bitter moment for the victors of Damascus.
Khalid stood with some of his officers and men, gazing at the saddening sight. It appeared that the Romans were leaving nothing of value in Damascus. There was pain in the heart of Khalid. He was the commander of the army; he had conquered Damascus by the sword; he had stormed the fort. And Abu Ubaidah had done this!
He looked at the others and saw faces red with anger. All this should have been theirs by right of conquest. All along the route stood groups ofMuslims watching in silence. They could easily have pounced upon the convoy and taken what they wished, but such was the discipline of this army, and such its respect for the moral obligation of the given word, that not a single soldier stirred to interfere with the movement of the convoy.
Khalid fought to control his rage. Then he raised his arms, to heaven, and in an anguished voice prayed aloud: "O Allah! Give all this to us as sustenance for the Muslims!" 1 But it was hopeless. Or was it?
Khalid heard a respectful cough behind him, and turned to see Jonah the Lover, still as sad as he had looked the night before in Khalid's tent. Jonah, meeting his bride after the surrender, had asked her to come away with him, and at first she was willing enough. But when he had told her that he was now a friend of the Muslims and had accepted their faith, she recoiled from him and swore that she would have nothing more to do with him. She decided to leave Damascus, and was even now travelling in the convoy of Thomas. Jonah, still the distracted lover maddened by his passion for the girl, had come to seek Khalid's help.
Could not the Muslims take the girl by force and deliver her to him? No, they could not. She was covered by the guarantee of safety and could not be touched. Could the Muslims not pursue and attack the convoy? No, they could not. The guarantee of safety for the convoy would last three days, and during that period no pursuit could be undertaken. He, Jonah, knew that the convoy was making for Antioch and would take many days to get there. He, Jonah, would be the guide of the Muslims. All he wanted in return was the girl!
After some more fighting, Roman resistance collapsed. Since the Muslims were too few to completely surround the Roman army and the fighting had become confused as it increased in violence, thousands of Romans were able to escape and make their way to safety. But all the booty and a large number of captives, both male and female, fell to the Muslims. Jonah found his beloved. He moved towards her to take her by force; but she saw him coming, and drawing a dagger from the folds of her dress, plunged it into her breast. As she lay dying, Jonah sat beside her with silent tears running down his cheeks. He swore that he would remain true to the memory of the bride he was not destined to possess, and would not look at another girl.
When Khalid came to know of the loss suffered by Jonah, he sent for him and offered him another young woman who stood nearby-one who was both beautiful and rich, judging by the clothes and the jewellery which she wore. His first look at the young woman left Jonah dumbfounded.When he found his speech again, he informed Khalid that this woman was none other than the daughter of Heraclius, widow of Thomas. He could not possibly take her, for soon Heraclius would send either an army to get her back by force or envoys to arrange for her ransom.
Jonah remained inconsolable. Nothing would cheer him up. Khalid offered him a large reward from his own share of the spoils, with which he could procure another wife, by purchase if necessary; but Jonah declined. He would remain true to his promise of celibacy. He also remained true to his new faith and fought under the banner of Islam for two years until the Battle of Yarmuk, where he fell a martyr.
Sword of Allah: Khalid bin al-Waleed
A.I.Akram
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Intertwined, u are my Sakeena
Amor mío
Te adora como a la más bella estrella fugaz en el cielo
Y cuando me siento sólo, sé que tú me entiendes
Sé que me comprendes
Sueño apoyarme en tu sonrisa
Toma mi mano y ven de prisa
Siempre me imagino Viejo y arrugado
Mis hijos ya crecidos mis nietos a mi lado
Y la luz de luna a revelado
Que tu palpitar es por mi, que siempre a sido asi
He practicado que decir muchas veces
Y cuando Dios lo quiera estaremos frente a frente
Será el momento de embrujarte
Ojalá que en tus ojos me retrates
Que aceptes mi pasado, que mis locuras yo no pague
Yo te prometere mi vida
Aunque la muerte nos separe
Translation
My dearest
I adore you like the most beautiful shooting star in the sky
And when I feel alone I know that you understand me
I know that you comprehend me
I'm looking for comfort in your smile
Let's hurry, follow me
'Cuz I've always seen myself old and aged
My children grown up, grandchildren by my side
And the moonlight has revealed
That your heart beats for me
And it has always been like that
I've practised what to say many times
When God is willing
We'll stand face to face
That will be the moment to put a spell on you
If only I could slide into your eyes
If only you would see through the past
If only I don't have to pay for my peculiarities
I'll dedicate my life to you
Even after death will separate us
Outlandish
Sakeena
Sakeena
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Friday, January 15, 2010
Ice-cold spring
Ламанах духдуьйлу шал шийла шовданш
Шиэн бекъачу кийрана Ӏаббалца ца молуш,
Ӏин кӀоргиэ буьйлш, мела муж муьйлуш,
Варшан йистиэ йолу маргӀал сийна буц
Шиэн оьздачу зоьрхана буззалца ца юуш,
Орцал лахабуьйлуш, сема ладуьйгӀш,
Иччархочун тоьпуо лацарна, кхоьруш,
Дехачу диэгана буткъага мотт хьоькхуш,
Мокхазан бердах куьрана га хьоькхуш,
Попан орамах торгӀала тӀа детташ,
Лергаш дуьхьал туьйсуш, кур аркъал туьйсуш,
Гу лекха буьйлуш, гӀелашка ва гӀергӀаш,
Масаниэ сай лиэла гӀелашца ва боцуш!
Вай биэн дац, ва кӀентий, аьлар ца хуьлуш?
Translation
From the depths of the mountains gush the ice-cold springs,
But he doesn't fill his lean stomach there.
Rather he descends to the depths of the ravine and drinks from a warm puddle.
The wooded slope is bordered by rising fresh blue grass,
But he doesn't fill his noble belly there.
Coming out below the wooded hills, he listens carefully,
Anxious to avoid the dreaded hunter's gun.
Licking his long body with his slender tongue,
Sharpening his branched antlers on the flinty shore,
Striking his spotted hind leg on the plane tree's root,
Pointing his ears forward, tossing his antlers onto his back,
Climbing high on the hill, bellowing to the does,
How many stags walk without their mates?
And are there not many lads besides us of whom the same is true?
-The Stag (Chechen folk song)
Monday, January 4, 2010
Belonging
...things have got so bad that i decide to go home , home home, mum and dad home, congealing gravy and Songs of Praise home. It was waking up in the middle of the night and wondering where i belonged that did it: i dont belong at home, and i dont want to belong at home, but at least home is somewhere i know.
chapter 11
High Fidelity
Nick Hornby
chapter 11
High Fidelity
Nick Hornby
Friday, December 25, 2009
Wrong way going down the one-way road
They come they take
It’s never enough because they can’t relate
To the real world
Thinking that the oyster is just for the pearl
They start those wars
They want to own the land, sea and all the stars
And right those wrongs
They change their history with their poison forked tongues.
All right, who’s they?
A Maybe it’s the government of today
Or B for the big business man who thinks the whole world revolves around him
Or C for the corrupt official for A and B he be the man in the middle
Or D for discoverer, for Cook and Columbus and the pirate plunderers.
-John Butler Trio, One way Road
It’s never enough because they can’t relate
To the real world
Thinking that the oyster is just for the pearl
They start those wars
They want to own the land, sea and all the stars
And right those wrongs
They change their history with their poison forked tongues.
All right, who’s they?
A Maybe it’s the government of today
Or B for the big business man who thinks the whole world revolves around him
Or C for the corrupt official for A and B he be the man in the middle
Or D for discoverer, for Cook and Columbus and the pirate plunderers.
-John Butler Trio, One way Road
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Nueva Sevilla beaches
They put on their swimming things under their clothes and went down to the sea. The shore was covered in Coca-Cola and Pepsi cans, empty Marlboro and Kent packets, and all the eternally indestructible plastic flotsam of United States economic expansion. Dioniso held up a Coca-cola can and said, 'It would not have been so bad if they still called it Inca-cola.'Chapter 36; Nueva Sevilla
Senor Vivo and the Coca Lord
Carnations
There is a disease that affects carnations. It lies dormant in the soil for decades, and then suddenly erupts and destroys all the carnation crop over the area it infests. When this happens, there is nothing to be done but burn the crops, abandon the greenhouses, and desert the land forever. Ambush is ever the way in which ugliness destroys beauty.
On the vast plain outside the capital were countless carnation greenhouses, where workers travailed in appalling humidity amidst clouds of carcinogenic chemical fertilisers and insecticides, producing perfect white flowers to adorn the lapels of wedding guests all over Europe, to grace the statues of saints in churches, to decorate the corpses of the freshly dead, and to fill out the bouquets of hopeful lovers.
The two assassins took Anica to a derelict greenhouse long abandoned because of the disease. El Chiquitin jabbed into her neck the submachine gun that her own father had sold to El Jararca, and marched her into the building while El Guacamayo got out from the capacious trunk of the Ford Falcon his comprehensive bag of tools. Because it was growing dark he also brought in a lantern for them to work by.
Chapter 49, Another Statistic
Louis de Bernieres
Senor Vivo and the Coca Lord
How many authors go thro that much research to explain the background setup of a scene, instead of just saying they drove down to an abandoned warehouse, so much explanation has been put into describing why it was abandoned, and can even be interpreted as a metaphor for what will take place there.
On the vast plain outside the capital were countless carnation greenhouses, where workers travailed in appalling humidity amidst clouds of carcinogenic chemical fertilisers and insecticides, producing perfect white flowers to adorn the lapels of wedding guests all over Europe, to grace the statues of saints in churches, to decorate the corpses of the freshly dead, and to fill out the bouquets of hopeful lovers.
The two assassins took Anica to a derelict greenhouse long abandoned because of the disease. El Chiquitin jabbed into her neck the submachine gun that her own father had sold to El Jararca, and marched her into the building while El Guacamayo got out from the capacious trunk of the Ford Falcon his comprehensive bag of tools. Because it was growing dark he also brought in a lantern for them to work by.
Chapter 49, Another Statistic
Louis de Bernieres
Senor Vivo and the Coca Lord
How many authors go thro that much research to explain the background setup of a scene, instead of just saying they drove down to an abandoned warehouse, so much explanation has been put into describing why it was abandoned, and can even be interpreted as a metaphor for what will take place there.
In Love and War
Where does it all begin? History has no beginnings, for everything that happens becomes the cause or pretext for what occurs afterwards, and this chain of cause and pretext stretches back to the palaeolithic age, when the first Cain of one tribe murdered the first Abel of another. all war is fratricide, and there is there-fore an infiniate chain of blame that winds its circuitous route back and forth across the path and under the feet of every people and every nation, so that a people who are the victims of one time become the victimisers a generation later, and newly liberated nations resort immediatly to the means of their former oppressors. The triple contagions of nationalism, utopianism and religious absolutism effervesce together into an acid that corrodes the moral metal of a race, and it shamelessly and even proudly performs deeds that it would deem vile if they were done by any other.
Chapter 50
Louis de Bernieres
Birds Without Wings
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Poor Them
Here, in a state whose economy and mindset are bound up in an endless war against nature, private citizens have beheld the paralysis of government agencies and began taking conservation into their own hands.
If all this sounds a little bleak and dramatic, remember that Australia has the worst record of mammal extinction in the world. Since European settlement twenty seven species have disapeared entirely and 1500 birds, reptiles, plants, amphibians and mammals are currently vulnerable or endangered. marsupials, the creatures unique to the continent, are in perilous decline and many of the smaller species are gone for good.
Tim Winton
Silent Country: Travels through a Recovering Landscape
If all this sounds a little bleak and dramatic, remember that Australia has the worst record of mammal extinction in the world. Since European settlement twenty seven species have disapeared entirely and 1500 birds, reptiles, plants, amphibians and mammals are currently vulnerable or endangered. marsupials, the creatures unique to the continent, are in perilous decline and many of the smaller species are gone for good.
Tim Winton
Silent Country: Travels through a Recovering Landscape
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Fireflies
I'd like to make myself believe
That planet Earth turns slowly.
It's hard to say that I'd rather stay
Awake when I'm asleep
Cos everything is never as it seems.
Leave my door open just a crack
Cos i feel like such an insomniac
Why do i tire of counting sheep
When im far too tired to fall asleep
I'd like to make myself believe
That planet Earth turns slowly.
It's hard to say that I'd rather stay
Awake when I'm asleep
Because my dreams are bursting at the seams
-Owl City, Fireflies
That planet Earth turns slowly.
It's hard to say that I'd rather stay
Awake when I'm asleep
Cos everything is never as it seems.
Leave my door open just a crack
Cos i feel like such an insomniac
Why do i tire of counting sheep
When im far too tired to fall asleep
I'd like to make myself believe
That planet Earth turns slowly.
It's hard to say that I'd rather stay
Awake when I'm asleep
Because my dreams are bursting at the seams
-Owl City, Fireflies
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Page {110}
All is dark but for the greenish glow
Of the bedside clock radio
It's 3a.m. - here they come again
Just like they've done before
First there's one and then a couple more
Like little birds perching on a wire
And soon there's a gathering
A crooning, restless choir
Of thoughts in the middle of the night
...
Paul Kelly
Of the bedside clock radio
It's 3a.m. - here they come again
Just like they've done before
First there's one and then a couple more
Like little birds perching on a wire
And soon there's a gathering
A crooning, restless choir
Of thoughts in the middle of the night
...
Paul Kelly
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Diversity
May I paraphrase the wisdom of famous political prisoner and convict John Mitchel, born to the son of a Unitarian Presbyterian minister on the Ulster border, transported to Tasmania, escaped to the U.S.
"Australia has two kinds of people and they are not Christians and Muslim. They are those who profiit by Australia's diversions and those who suffer for them"
Flattened By A Falafel
Tom Keneally
"Australia has two kinds of people and they are not Christians and Muslim. They are those who profiit by Australia's diversions and those who suffer for them"
Flattened By A Falafel
Tom Keneally
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
I am Philothei (7)
My mother had been making recel, and I was a little sick from eating so much of it. She used more grapes than most people, and extra sugar, and I’d put a lot of it on to bread, because that day there was new baking, and that’s why I was queasy.
I went outside to breathe away the sickness and it was getting dark, and it was just about to rain so that everyone else had gone indoors and was wondering whether or not it was dark enough to warrant lighting the lamps, and the nightingales were starting to sing, and there were only cats in the street, when suddenly Ibrahim arrived at my side, and I was very surprised, and he said , ‘Quick let me kiss your hand,’ and I said, ‘Its got jam on it,’ and so he looked swiftly to all sides, and the he took my hand and licked the jam from my fingers with his tongue, and afterwards I was trembling and I wasn’t normal for hours, and I couldn’t wash my hands because I couldn’t bear to wash away the traces of his tongue.
chapter 35
Louis de Bernieres
Birds Without Wings
I went outside to breathe away the sickness and it was getting dark, and it was just about to rain so that everyone else had gone indoors and was wondering whether or not it was dark enough to warrant lighting the lamps, and the nightingales were starting to sing, and there were only cats in the street, when suddenly Ibrahim arrived at my side, and I was very surprised, and he said , ‘Quick let me kiss your hand,’ and I said, ‘Its got jam on it,’ and so he looked swiftly to all sides, and the he took my hand and licked the jam from my fingers with his tongue, and afterwards I was trembling and I wasn’t normal for hours, and I couldn’t wash my hands because I couldn’t bear to wash away the traces of his tongue.
chapter 35
Louis de Bernieres
Birds Without Wings
Monday, September 7, 2009
Tonio Treschi's Past
Guido was alone looking at the objects which Tonio had left open for anyone to see.
And Guido examining those things carefully, was filled with such a sense of desolation that he could not speak.
And Guido examining those things carefully, was filled with such a sense of desolation that he could not speak.
The trunk contained many things.
There was music, mostly the work of Vivaldi, in old volumes bearing Marianna Treschi’s name in a girlish script. And there were books, French fairy tales, and stories of the Greek gods and heroes of the sort one might read to a child.
But those objects which most surely chilled Guido and caused him to feel the keenest misery were the clothing and effects of a small boy.
Here was a white christening gown, most likely Tonio’s, and half a dozen little suits of clothing, all lovingly kept. There were tiny shoes, there were even little gloves.
And finally there were the portraits, enamelled miniatures and one very lifelike painting of the exquisite dark-eyed little boy that Tonio had once been.
As Guido looked at these things, he realized they were all relics of one’s life that are treasured by others, but rarely kept by one’s self.
And they had been cleared out, packaged up, and sent away to Rome in perfect evidence that no one now remained in the house of Treshi who loved this young man who had once lived there. It was as if Tonio and all those who had once shared his life were dead.
Part 6, chapter 4
Anne Rice
Cry To Heaven
And they had been cleared out, packaged up, and sent away to Rome in perfect evidence that no one now remained in the house of Treshi who loved this young man who had once lived there. It was as if Tonio and all those who had once shared his life were dead.
Part 6, chapter 4
Anne Rice
Cry To Heaven
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
A Circassian Mistress
Rustem Bey told no one why he was going. This was not the kind of world where men unveiled their hearts to anyone, and in any case the aga had no one in whom he could confide, but the truth was that Rustem bey was looking for a woman. His brief time with Tamara had provided him with inklings of what might be between a man and a woman, and his heart, his stomach, his loins and his throat yearned for something that he could not articulate even to himself. He needed someone to meld with. He knew himself to be something like a garden where the only flowers were those of potatoes, ragweed and neglected onions, butwhere a true gardener would have been able to drape the trellises with vines, and coax up tulips from the earth. It would be too simple to say that Rustem Bey was looking for romantic love, because in reality he was looking for the missing part of himself, and these are not often the same quest, even though we sometimes think that they are. Rustem bey had conceived the idea that if only he could find himself a Circassian mistress, amusing in demeanour, accomplished in music, red-lipped and fair of skin, excellent and enthusiastic in the techniques of physical love, then his life would be transformed.chapter 25
Tales from the Journey to Smyrna
Louis de Bernieres
Birds Without Wings
Monday, August 10, 2009
A Feel Good Song
Take all of your wasted honor
Every little past frustration
Take all of your so-called problems,
Better put ‘em in quotations
Say what you need to say
Walking like a one man army
Fighting with the shadows in your head
Living out the same old moment
Knowing you’d be better off instead,
If you could only . . .
Say what you need to say
Have no fear for giving in
Have no fear for giving over
You’d better know that in the end
Its better to say too much
Then never say what you need to say again
Even if your hands are shaking
And your faith is broken
Even as the eyes are closing
Do it with a heart wide open
Say what you need to say
Say - By John Mayer
Every little past frustration
Take all of your so-called problems,
Better put ‘em in quotations
Say what you need to say
Walking like a one man army
Fighting with the shadows in your head
Living out the same old moment
Knowing you’d be better off instead,
If you could only . . .
Say what you need to say
Have no fear for giving in
Have no fear for giving over
You’d better know that in the end
Its better to say too much
Then never say what you need to say again
Even if your hands are shaking
And your faith is broken
Even as the eyes are closing
Do it with a heart wide open
Say what you need to say
Say - By John Mayer
Monday, August 3, 2009
Real and Hyperreal
"The very definition of the real has become: that of which it is possible to give an equivalent reproduction...The real is not only what can be reproduced, but that which is always already reproduced: that is, the hyperreal...which is entirely in simulation."
Simulations
Jean Baudrillard
Simulations
Jean Baudrillard
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Cruelty thro Live Export
To The Hon Kevin Andrews,I am writing to you about the live export of millions of Australian sheep for slaughter to the Middle East.
In 2008 alone, over 35,000 sheep died on sea voyages from Australia to the Middle East.
They'll spend weeks at sea in a crowded and poorly lit pens, vulnerable to injury, heat stress and disease. For sheep that have enjoyed space and have had little human contact, the long and gruelling road and sea journey can be terrifying. Tens of thousands of sheep die during the journey every year because they fail to recognise the unfamiliar pellets as food.
Live exports is jeopardising Australia’s international reputation as a country with high standards of animal welfare. Our animals deserve better. Australia is a nation with generally high animal welfare standards but the only way to truly protect the welfare of Australian animals is to end live exports.
Humanely killing sheep as close to the farm as possible will benefit both the animals and Australia. The cruelty of live export is unnecessary, with Australia already having a significant and growing export trade in chilled and frozen meat from animals that have been humanely transported and slaughtered in Australia. More emphasis on chilled meat export will increase trade growth in this area and create more Australian jobs.
I am calling on the Australian Government to end live exports, and I urge you to do everything in your power to bring an end to this cruel and unnecessary trade, for our economy, our jobs and for the safety and wellbeing of our animals.
Attach your name and send in a similar letter now, by clicking on this banner.It will only take a few minutes and all u need to do is choose the sentence order and enter your area code.
"Ive lived in the Middle East, and i use to choose Australian lamb while over there, there is a viable alternative, which shouldnt raise any concerns from their side regarding the slaughtering, there do exist slaughter houses which function according to the islamic way in Australia, why not get that part of the job done here? Even Islam is against the torture of these animals, so its a win win win situation on behalf of Australia, the Sheep, and the Middle East."(mbf)
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Capitalist Nuclear Family
"The gender roles associated with the capitalist family – strong, aggressive male and nurturing, passive female - pervade all of society through the education system, the mass media, entertainment and so on. No individual can escape them, even if they do not live in the so called nuclear family, whether they marry and have children or not. It is the inequality between men and women, the contradiction between the ideal life of happiness and bliss the family seems to hold out and the reality of long hours of work, the struggle to make ends meet, the constraints on social life because the lack of decent child care facilities and son on which make the family a site of frustration and oppression. The use of women’s bodies as sex objects reinforce old ideas of women’s responsibility to satisfy men’s needs. And it is not just men who view women this way. All studies of attitudes show how women internalize this view of their role, causing feelings of guilt and inadequacy if they do not come up to their husband’s demands."
Rape, Sexual Violence and capitalism
by Sandra Bloomworth
(intro)
Triggered a thought in my head;
The family unit in islam, is not a precise point cornered brick room either, by that i mean not defined by the mum, dad and kid(s). The concept of a family has more fluidity and flexibility than that, ie a family could consist of a mum, n dad, kids, grandparent(s), or in the case of divorcee or a widower, a single parent, kid(s), aunty, aunty’s husband and grandparents. It would still be considered a family unit. This is in place as a social support structure so that there is always family to rely on, in case of old age, financial difficulties, baby sitting etc..That why even in marriage, whole families get adopted into this social support network, and this becomes a basis of the community. Its not a pre-requisite of religion, but it seems to exist where this religion is.
And as i was told recently, the nuclear family is a relatively new concept that arose after WWII thanks to capitalism...ill need to research that further tho.
Rape, Sexual Violence and capitalism
by Sandra Bloomworth
(intro)
Triggered a thought in my head;
The family unit in islam, is not a precise point cornered brick room either, by that i mean not defined by the mum, dad and kid(s). The concept of a family has more fluidity and flexibility than that, ie a family could consist of a mum, n dad, kids, grandparent(s), or in the case of divorcee or a widower, a single parent, kid(s), aunty, aunty’s husband and grandparents. It would still be considered a family unit. This is in place as a social support structure so that there is always family to rely on, in case of old age, financial difficulties, baby sitting etc..That why even in marriage, whole families get adopted into this social support network, and this becomes a basis of the community. Its not a pre-requisite of religion, but it seems to exist where this religion is.
And as i was told recently, the nuclear family is a relatively new concept that arose after WWII thanks to capitalism...ill need to research that further tho.
Friday, June 5, 2009
The Meaning of Art
According to Trotsky, "art, it is said, is not a mirror, but a hammer: it does not reflect, it shapes. But at present even the handling of a hammer is taught with the help of a mirror, a sensitive film which records all the movement... The deeper literature is, and the more it is imbued with the desire to shape life, the more significantly and dynamically will it be able to 'picture life..."
Saturday, May 9, 2009
This Life Of Mine lyrics
Don't you ever wonder what might be if you lived life free?
Don't you ever wonder what it's like to fly off the high dive?
Don't you think the dreams in you are meant to ever come true?
Don't you know that hopes are slaves 'till you free them and see them thru?
Can you find a little life in you and make your days and nights worth living?
I swear there's more for us to do; there's more for the taking and the giving
Want to build a kingdom of Heaven, so it's time to lay the foundation
Want to know my neighbors in the world and finally lay down idle speculation
This life of mine, this life of mine ain't the life I had in mind
But if I'm bold enough, wise enough, then I can make this life worthwhile
I can make this life worth a smile
Kareem Salama.
This Life of Mine
Don't you ever wonder what it's like to fly off the high dive?
Don't you think the dreams in you are meant to ever come true?
Don't you know that hopes are slaves 'till you free them and see them thru?
Can you find a little life in you and make your days and nights worth living?
I swear there's more for us to do; there's more for the taking and the giving
Want to build a kingdom of Heaven, so it's time to lay the foundation
Want to know my neighbors in the world and finally lay down idle speculation
This life of mine, this life of mine ain't the life I had in mind
But if I'm bold enough, wise enough, then I can make this life worthwhile
I can make this life worth a smile
Kareem Salama.
This Life of Mine
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
A word about the Jury
Whispered by the public prosecutor to Pappilon in court before the hearing.
"Prisoner at the bar, just you keep quiet, and above all don't you attempt to defend yourself. I'll send you down the drain, all right. And i trust you've no faith in the jury? Don't kid yourself. Those twelve men know nothing whatsoever about life. Look at them, lined up there opposite you. Twelve bastards brought up to Paris from some perishing village in the country: can you see them clearly? Small shopkeepers, pensioners, tradesmen. It's not worth describing them to you in detail. Surely you don't expect them to understand the life you lead in Montmartre or what it's like to be twenty-five? As far as they're concerned Pigalle and the Place Blanche are exactly the same as hell and all night-birds are natural enemies of society. They are all unspeakably proud of being jurymen at the Seine Assizes.
And what's more, I can tell you that they loathe their status - they loathe belonging to the pinched, dreary lower middle class. And now you make your appearance here, all young and handsome. Do you really suppose for a moment that I'm not going to make them see you as a night- prowling Montmatre Don Juan? That will put them dead against you right away. You're too well dressed: you ought to have come in something modest indeed. That was a huge tactical error of yours. Cant you see how jealous of your suit they are? They all buy their clothes off the peg - they've never even dreamt of having a suit made to measure by a tailor."
First Exercise Book, Down the Drain
The Assizes
Papillon by Henri Charriere
"Prisoner at the bar, just you keep quiet, and above all don't you attempt to defend yourself. I'll send you down the drain, all right. And i trust you've no faith in the jury? Don't kid yourself. Those twelve men know nothing whatsoever about life. Look at them, lined up there opposite you. Twelve bastards brought up to Paris from some perishing village in the country: can you see them clearly? Small shopkeepers, pensioners, tradesmen. It's not worth describing them to you in detail. Surely you don't expect them to understand the life you lead in Montmartre or what it's like to be twenty-five? As far as they're concerned Pigalle and the Place Blanche are exactly the same as hell and all night-birds are natural enemies of society. They are all unspeakably proud of being jurymen at the Seine Assizes.
And what's more, I can tell you that they loathe their status - they loathe belonging to the pinched, dreary lower middle class. And now you make your appearance here, all young and handsome. Do you really suppose for a moment that I'm not going to make them see you as a night- prowling Montmatre Don Juan? That will put them dead against you right away. You're too well dressed: you ought to have come in something modest indeed. That was a huge tactical error of yours. Cant you see how jealous of your suit they are? They all buy their clothes off the peg - they've never even dreamt of having a suit made to measure by a tailor."
First Exercise Book, Down the Drain
The Assizes
Papillon by Henri Charriere
Saturday, May 2, 2009
Papillon
I really enjoy reading fiction, i had assumed that non fiction was too close too reality and therefore boring, not able to hold my interest for long, focussing too much on inter-human relationships and menial day to day things...if i was going to invest time from my day to put into reading a book, i had always wanted it to exciting and daring; the opposite of how i see my own life, that way i could use it as a welcome escape to long boring weekends, between tedious chores.
Then some guy came along and requested that i read this specific book, an autobiography...damn i wasnt welcoming the task, and put it off for a few days before deciding to give it a chance...now im on page 45 out of 560, so thats almost 1/11 th...and so far im hooked, and i was impressed with the Translator's Introduction, a piece of which i will quote here;
"The new world in question is of course the underworld, seen from within and described with extraordinary natural talent by one who knows it through and through and who accepts it's values, which include among others courage, loyalty and fortitude. But this is the real underworld, as different from the underworld of fiction as the act of love is different from adolescent imaginings, a world the french have scarcely seen except here and there in the works of Jean Genet and Albertine Sarrazin, or the English before Defoe; and it's startling fierce uncompromising reality, savagely contemptuous of the Establishment, has shocked and distressed many a worthy bourgeois. Indeed we have a minister's word for it (a minister, no less) that the present hopeless moral decline of france is due to the wearing of miniskirts and to the reading of Papillon.
Nevertheless all properly equipped young women are still wearing miniskirts, in spite of the cold, and even greater numbers of Frenchmen with properly equipped minds are still reading Papillon, in spite of the uncomfortable feelings it must arouse form time to time. And this is one of the most striking things about the phenomenone Papillon: the book makes an immense appeal to the whole range of men of good will, from the Academie francaise to the cheerful young mason who is working on my house. "
Page 11, Translator's Introduction
Papillon by Henri Charriere
translated from French by Patrick O'Brian
Then some guy came along and requested that i read this specific book, an autobiography...damn i wasnt welcoming the task, and put it off for a few days before deciding to give it a chance...now im on page 45 out of 560, so thats almost 1/11 th...and so far im hooked, and i was impressed with the Translator's Introduction, a piece of which i will quote here;
"The new world in question is of course the underworld, seen from within and described with extraordinary natural talent by one who knows it through and through and who accepts it's values, which include among others courage, loyalty and fortitude. But this is the real underworld, as different from the underworld of fiction as the act of love is different from adolescent imaginings, a world the french have scarcely seen except here and there in the works of Jean Genet and Albertine Sarrazin, or the English before Defoe; and it's startling fierce uncompromising reality, savagely contemptuous of the Establishment, has shocked and distressed many a worthy bourgeois. Indeed we have a minister's word for it (a minister, no less) that the present hopeless moral decline of france is due to the wearing of miniskirts and to the reading of Papillon.
Nevertheless all properly equipped young women are still wearing miniskirts, in spite of the cold, and even greater numbers of Frenchmen with properly equipped minds are still reading Papillon, in spite of the uncomfortable feelings it must arouse form time to time. And this is one of the most striking things about the phenomenone Papillon: the book makes an immense appeal to the whole range of men of good will, from the Academie francaise to the cheerful young mason who is working on my house. "
Page 11, Translator's Introduction
Papillon by Henri Charriere
translated from French by Patrick O'Brian
Monday, April 13, 2009
After Sorry
I just recently read an article by Jon van Tiggelen and i am speechless about the information portrayed in it. basically how the "white" just totally wrecked an aboriginal community to a degree beyond reproach. The children do not fear being sent away and the parents are drunks who gamble away any income or government support money. Here's a few exerpts;
'Incidently, among the kids are also several of the six boys who, along with three young men, were let off with a warning after pleading guilty to the statuatory rapes of a ten year old girl. In words that were to resound around the world, the persecuter had submitted that the act was 'a form of childish experimentaion' and 'consensual in the non legal sense.' Arukun kids are 'very naughty' he'd said to the judge, as if with a wink. 'she probably agreed to have sex with all of [them],' Judge Sarah bradley acknowledged, before releasing them back into the community.'
'One or two males face the circuit cort for rape every month, but mostly it goes on drunk, stoned and ignored. A non-indigenous Wik Mungkan speaker told me how a few years ago she was flown into a Cairns court to interpret for a girl who'd been dragged around the community and raped multiple times. In court the girl clammed up, the case was dismissed, and the girl and her assailant flew home to Aurukun on the same plane. 'So much goes unreported because of the threats, the price you pay if you tell. There is real fear.'
The parents might receive First-world welfare handouts, but the kids get Third-world parenting.
After Sorry
by John van Tiggelen
'Incidently, among the kids are also several of the six boys who, along with three young men, were let off with a warning after pleading guilty to the statuatory rapes of a ten year old girl. In words that were to resound around the world, the persecuter had submitted that the act was 'a form of childish experimentaion' and 'consensual in the non legal sense.' Arukun kids are 'very naughty' he'd said to the judge, as if with a wink. 'she probably agreed to have sex with all of [them],' Judge Sarah bradley acknowledged, before releasing them back into the community.'
'One or two males face the circuit cort for rape every month, but mostly it goes on drunk, stoned and ignored. A non-indigenous Wik Mungkan speaker told me how a few years ago she was flown into a Cairns court to interpret for a girl who'd been dragged around the community and raped multiple times. In court the girl clammed up, the case was dismissed, and the girl and her assailant flew home to Aurukun on the same plane. 'So much goes unreported because of the threats, the price you pay if you tell. There is real fear.'
The parents might receive First-world welfare handouts, but the kids get Third-world parenting.
After Sorry
by John van Tiggelen
Saturday, April 4, 2009
how do you define israel?
These are snipets of an article written by Israeli/American peace activist Jeff Halper for the Australian Jewish News but the paper refused to run the piece...
Why should discussing such important issues for Israel be the cause of such distress for you? Because, I venture to say, you have a stake in preserving Israel’s idealized image that trumps dealing with the real country. In my view, Israel is being used as the lynchpin of your ethnic identity in Australia; mobilizing around a beleaguered Israel is essential for keeping your kids Jewish. I would go so far as to accuse you of needing an Israel in conflict, which is why you seem so threatened by an Israel at peace, why you deny that peace is even possible, why a peaceful Israel that is neither threatened nor “Jewish” cannot fulfill the role you have cast for it, and thus why you characterize my message as “vile lies.”
full article here
Why should discussing such important issues for Israel be the cause of such distress for you? Because, I venture to say, you have a stake in preserving Israel’s idealized image that trumps dealing with the real country. In my view, Israel is being used as the lynchpin of your ethnic identity in Australia; mobilizing around a beleaguered Israel is essential for keeping your kids Jewish. I would go so far as to accuse you of needing an Israel in conflict, which is why you seem so threatened by an Israel at peace, why you deny that peace is even possible, why a peaceful Israel that is neither threatened nor “Jewish” cannot fulfill the role you have cast for it, and thus why you characterize my message as “vile lies.”
full article here
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Wet Sponge
" Every vessel, every container, will only pour out what is contained in it, and that’ s very obvious. And so, your tongue, is your ability to express what lies in your spirit. Television, movies, the friends you hang out with, the music you listen too, everything around you is environmental forces that shape how your being is and how your heart is, and when you open your mouth to speak, it’s like like your heart is a sponge that absorbs all of this material from around you.
Essentially, what you’re doing is squeezing what is in you, and what comes out is going to be what has been compiled in your mind and in your memory. Obviously you can only express what in your heart what has been placed in it. And so in order for the outcome and the output from the tongue to be positive, the input in that needs to be positive; in spirit, in silence, in talking, and throughout our lives "
Essentially, what you’re doing is squeezing what is in you, and what comes out is going to be what has been compiled in your mind and in your memory. Obviously you can only express what in your heart what has been placed in it. And so in order for the outcome and the output from the tongue to be positive, the input in that needs to be positive; in spirit, in silence, in talking, and throughout our lives "
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Thoughts from an Elderly Person
There comes a point in life where each one of us who survives begins to feel like a ghost that has forgotten to die at the right time, and certainly most of us were more amusing when we were young. It seems that age folds the heart in on itself. Some of us walk detached, dreaming on the past, and some of us realize that we have lost the trick of standing in the sun. For many of us the thought of the future is a cause for irritaion rather than optimism, as if we have had enough of new things, and wish only for the long sleep that rounds the edges of our lives.
Louis de Bernieres
Birds without wings
Louis de Bernieres
Birds without wings
Sunday, March 1, 2009
The Alchemist
It's what you have always wanted to accomplish. Everyone, when they are young, knows what their personal legend is.
At that point in their lives, everything is clear, and everything is possible. They are not afraid to dream, and to yearn for everything they would like to see happen to them in their lives.
But, as time passes, a mysterious force begins to convince them that it will be impossible for them to realize their personal Legend.
...
There was no need to imprison them: the arabs simply confiscated their horses. So, once again, the world had demonstrated its many languages: the desert only moments ago had been endless and free, and now it was an impenetratable wall.
At that point in their lives, everything is clear, and everything is possible. They are not afraid to dream, and to yearn for everything they would like to see happen to them in their lives.
But, as time passes, a mysterious force begins to convince them that it will be impossible for them to realize their personal Legend.
...
There was no need to imprison them: the arabs simply confiscated their horses. So, once again, the world had demonstrated its many languages: the desert only moments ago had been endless and free, and now it was an impenetratable wall.
The Alchemist
Paulo Coelho
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