WHAT?! I shouldn't have to keep PROMPTING you peeps to comment! I feel like an attention whore if I do. Either way, I'm too tired to keep typing, I had to format my computer and reinstall windows vista (Ultimate, baby) because it was being lame.
I was going to say being "gay" But then that would ruin my chances of becoming Prime Minister.
Oh yeah, that's my aim for the week...
Like I said, too tired to type, gonna leave you with this shambles of an excuse for a post and try to remain awake while watching Manning explain the decisions leading to the Iraq war. It's just that his voice is sooooooo droning...
ZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzz
Eid Mubbaarak for a few days ago. Cheers Baboor! My number ONE follower, who COMMENTS! Who ENCOURAGES! Who INSPIRES!
Who FANCIES ME I think. Nice.
Monday 30 November 2009
Sunday 29 November 2009
The good, the bad and the Russian.
I saw a fantastic film today at the IMAX. Ibn Batuta's Journey to Mecca was fantastic. You should check it out, see if you can get into watch it sometime, I reckon it's still by invitation only but if you spread the word, the BFI (British Film Institute) might distribute it across the nation like a normal movie. Which would be good.
Switzerland, the country that claims to have political neutrality with regards to international politics, has had a vote to see what people think of Minarets in their country.
55% of people voted to ban them.
I suddenly don't like the Swiss.
Terrorist attack in Russia. But I don't really like Russia because of what they have done and are doing to Chechnya. So that's all I'll say about that.
FFS! Chechnya isn't in the dictionary but Rothschild is?! What the WHAT?!?
Tired, I woke up early to watch it, so I'll leave this post here.
Switzerland, the country that claims to have political neutrality with regards to international politics, has had a vote to see what people think of Minarets in their country.
55% of people voted to ban them.
I suddenly don't like the Swiss.
Terrorist attack in Russia. But I don't really like Russia because of what they have done and are doing to Chechnya. So that's all I'll say about that.
FFS! Chechnya isn't in the dictionary but Rothschild is?! What the WHAT?!?
Tired, I woke up early to watch it, so I'll leave this post here.
Thursday 26 November 2009
If I become Prime Minister, Israel has a friend who will never turn it's back on Israel.
Yahooo advert, slogan: It starts with "you."
More accurate and apt to say it starts with "why?"
Conservative friends of israel
A thousand lebanese civilians killed, 3.6 billion dollars worth of economy destroyed. In retaliation for Hizbullah rocket fire and the death of two israeli soldiers and 2 soldiers who were kidnapped.
William Hague, recieved 21,000 pounds in donations from CFI Board members.
BICOM Britain Israel Communications & Research centre.
Fund trips for Journalists who write articles on Israel for newspapers like The Mirror.
One of the most well funded, pro Israel lobby groups in Britain.
Charlie Becket
LSE
Yahooo advert, slogan: It starts with "you."
More accurate and apt to say it starts with "why?"
Conservative friends of israel
A thousand lebanese civilians killed, 3.6 billion dollars worth of economy destroyed. In retaliation for Hizbullah rocket fire and the death of two israeli soldiers and 2 soldiers who were kidnapped.
William Hague, recieved 21,000 pounds in donations from CFI Board members.
BICOM Britain Israel Communications & Research centre.
Fund trips for Journalists who write articles on Israel for newspapers like The Mirror.
One of the most well funded, pro Israel lobby groups in Britain.
Charlie Becket
LSE
This took WAY too much out of my day...
I'm a bit of a conspiracy theorist and spend hours pining away through old articles, wikipedia entries and that sort of thing. Recently, I came across a video of a reporter interviewing a Lynn Forester de Rothschild on Youtube. De Rothschild was an avid supporter for Hilary Clinton when she was running for Presidency, so much so that she was in fact a fund raiser for her. Mrs. Clinton, for those of you who aren't aware was a democrat and many of her policies reflected those of Barack Obama. Some obviously, didn't but more of her ideals were in line with the current president's than with Senator John McCain's.
After she fell out of the election race though, de Rothschild switched completely from Democrat to Republican and supported John McCain calling Obama an Elitist, with some vigour. This seemed strange and made CNN news, which in turn went up on youtube and I watched. Good times.
Lynn Forester de Rothschild, was a millionaire woman who married into the Billionaire de Rothschild Family, through Sir Evelyn de Rothschild. Each having been divorced twice before, found each other at some sort of Suaree of some sort in Scotland. Anyway, Lynn Forester is small time, I've wasted far too many paragraphs on her already. It's the family and it's history that is interesting. You see, I watched this whole clip and read up on it many, many months ago, found it interesting and catalogued it into the back of my head somewhere.
Until today, when I was reading up on the history of Palestine, Israel and it's support from the US and UK. Deep rooted Christian and Jewish beliefs along with the tragedies of the Holocaust led to both states agreeing that Israel needed to be founded for the Jews.
In 1917, Britain's government issued the Balfour treaty which read:
I have much pleasure in conveying to you, on behalf of His Majesty's Government, the following declaration of sympathy with Jewish Zionist aspirations which has been submitted to, and approved by, the Cabinet: "His Majesty's Government view with favour the establishment in Palestine of a national home for the Jewish people, and will use their best endeavours to facilitate the achievement of this object, it being clearly understood that nothing shall be done which may prejudice the civil and religious rights of existing non-Jewish communities in Palestine, or the rights and political status enjoyed by Jews in any other country". I should be grateful if you would bring this declaration to the knowledge of the Zionist Federation.
And fair dinkum. But who should this letter be addressed to? Why, it's Lord Rothschild! Obviously not the Rothschild from ealier, but One of his predecessors, Walter Rothschild, 2nd Baron Rothschild.
And I swear to you, I only stumbled on it by coincidence. Which led me to look back on the whole Rothschild thing. Funnily enough, this particular Rothschild was an MP for Aylesbury from 1899 to 1910, the town my sister lives in with her husband. CrAzY stuff...
Anyway, these Rothschild dudes, they first appeared way back in the black and white days. They established worldwide banking and finance operations initially in five major cities: Frankfurt, Vienna, London, Naples and Paris. One dad, five sons, each got a city.
Throughout their history, the Rothschild Family have been prominent figureheads in political matters, particularly those surrounding the state of Israel. The supreme court of Israel, (this building here) was DONATED by a Rothschild to Israel.
As was this building...
It's not so much that people are giving stuff to Israel, I don't want to get into that can of worms at this point, but when people can hold so much power that they can literally, pay for a few major landmarks to be erected, or that they control some of the largest financial institutions in the world, it's no wonder then that some governments, that have become reliant on their fiscal stimulus would want to appease them. And that's dangerous.
I was gonna start this post only talking about funding for presidential elections, but came across that whole Rothschild thing that threw me. I'll go back to it though. If a person can give a candidate X amount of money, let's say $40 million, for their election campaign, then it's fair to say that it's on a quid pro quo basis. Not simply out of the goodness of ones heart does somebody simply donate such a grand sum of money to another ones plight... Especially those who are shrewd enough to be successful billionaires. They did not come to amass such a gargantuan sum of capital through simple expenditure, rather I can expect it to be quite the opposite.
No, no, it's a case of, you scratch my back, I scratch yours. And when someone is in a position of power like, let's say the PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES(!) and someone has lobbied for them, fund raised for them, donated to them, what would they expect in return?
Tax breaks?
And stuff on a much larger scale, I'm sure.
I hate to get into this, but for a family with such a vetted interest in Israel, and so much financial influence around the world, wouldn't it be great for nationalists of Israel or Zionist idealists, to have Israel prosper and be on good terms with the worlds biggest super power?
In terms of Governance; Israel was the first country America agreed to sign an FTA with. Meaning there would be no added tariffs for goods that come in and out of both America and Israel. What does this mean? When Wallmart decide to stock the cheapest dates for their customers, they won't need to pay import taxes on the ones from Israel. So they'd be more likely to want to buy those. Thus Israel's economy benefits. And vice versa for the states.
In terms of private companies; major corporations such as Motorola, IBM, Microsoft and Intel all have R&D centres in Israel. Why? Dunno? How does this benefit them? Well jobs. Israel has more companies listed on the NASDAQ than any other country outside North America.
And I'm sure there's plenty more, but my insane fixation with conspiracies can't simply be quenched from writing them up in a blog, I'm off to hunt for aliens!!!
One of my favourite pieces of Banksy art work, on the wall erected in Palestine.
I'd also like to point out, that Rothschild is a word that spellcheck immediately recognizes and knows is correct. The same spellcheck that underlines the word spellcheck! Or Youtube! Or... Martina! I'm sorry but Martina is a FAR more common name that Rothschild!
After she fell out of the election race though, de Rothschild switched completely from Democrat to Republican and supported John McCain calling Obama an Elitist, with some vigour. This seemed strange and made CNN news, which in turn went up on youtube and I watched. Good times.
Lynn Forester de Rothschild, was a millionaire woman who married into the Billionaire de Rothschild Family, through Sir Evelyn de Rothschild. Each having been divorced twice before, found each other at some sort of Suaree of some sort in Scotland. Anyway, Lynn Forester is small time, I've wasted far too many paragraphs on her already. It's the family and it's history that is interesting. You see, I watched this whole clip and read up on it many, many months ago, found it interesting and catalogued it into the back of my head somewhere.
Until today, when I was reading up on the history of Palestine, Israel and it's support from the US and UK. Deep rooted Christian and Jewish beliefs along with the tragedies of the Holocaust led to both states agreeing that Israel needed to be founded for the Jews.
In 1917, Britain's government issued the Balfour treaty which read:
I have much pleasure in conveying to you, on behalf of His Majesty's Government, the following declaration of sympathy with Jewish Zionist aspirations which has been submitted to, and approved by, the Cabinet: "His Majesty's Government view with favour the establishment in Palestine of a national home for the Jewish people, and will use their best endeavours to facilitate the achievement of this object, it being clearly understood that nothing shall be done which may prejudice the civil and religious rights of existing non-Jewish communities in Palestine, or the rights and political status enjoyed by Jews in any other country". I should be grateful if you would bring this declaration to the knowledge of the Zionist Federation.
And fair dinkum. But who should this letter be addressed to? Why, it's Lord Rothschild! Obviously not the Rothschild from ealier, but One of his predecessors, Walter Rothschild, 2nd Baron Rothschild.
And I swear to you, I only stumbled on it by coincidence. Which led me to look back on the whole Rothschild thing. Funnily enough, this particular Rothschild was an MP for Aylesbury from 1899 to 1910, the town my sister lives in with her husband. CrAzY stuff...
Anyway, these Rothschild dudes, they first appeared way back in the black and white days. They established worldwide banking and finance operations initially in five major cities: Frankfurt, Vienna, London, Naples and Paris. One dad, five sons, each got a city.
Throughout their history, the Rothschild Family have been prominent figureheads in political matters, particularly those surrounding the state of Israel. The supreme court of Israel, (this building here) was DONATED by a Rothschild to Israel.
As was this building...
It's not so much that people are giving stuff to Israel, I don't want to get into that can of worms at this point, but when people can hold so much power that they can literally, pay for a few major landmarks to be erected, or that they control some of the largest financial institutions in the world, it's no wonder then that some governments, that have become reliant on their fiscal stimulus would want to appease them. And that's dangerous.
I was gonna start this post only talking about funding for presidential elections, but came across that whole Rothschild thing that threw me. I'll go back to it though. If a person can give a candidate X amount of money, let's say $40 million, for their election campaign, then it's fair to say that it's on a quid pro quo basis. Not simply out of the goodness of ones heart does somebody simply donate such a grand sum of money to another ones plight... Especially those who are shrewd enough to be successful billionaires. They did not come to amass such a gargantuan sum of capital through simple expenditure, rather I can expect it to be quite the opposite.
No, no, it's a case of, you scratch my back, I scratch yours. And when someone is in a position of power like, let's say the PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES(!) and someone has lobbied for them, fund raised for them, donated to them, what would they expect in return?
Tax breaks?
And stuff on a much larger scale, I'm sure.
I hate to get into this, but for a family with such a vetted interest in Israel, and so much financial influence around the world, wouldn't it be great for nationalists of Israel or Zionist idealists, to have Israel prosper and be on good terms with the worlds biggest super power?
In terms of Governance; Israel was the first country America agreed to sign an FTA with. Meaning there would be no added tariffs for goods that come in and out of both America and Israel. What does this mean? When Wallmart decide to stock the cheapest dates for their customers, they won't need to pay import taxes on the ones from Israel. So they'd be more likely to want to buy those. Thus Israel's economy benefits. And vice versa for the states.
In terms of private companies; major corporations such as Motorola, IBM, Microsoft and Intel all have R&D centres in Israel. Why? Dunno? How does this benefit them? Well jobs. Israel has more companies listed on the NASDAQ than any other country outside North America.
And I'm sure there's plenty more, but my insane fixation with conspiracies can't simply be quenched from writing them up in a blog, I'm off to hunt for aliens!!!
One of my favourite pieces of Banksy art work, on the wall erected in Palestine.I'd also like to point out, that Rothschild is a word that spellcheck immediately recognizes and knows is correct. The same spellcheck that underlines the word spellcheck! Or Youtube! Or... Martina! I'm sorry but Martina is a FAR more common name that Rothschild!
Wednesday 25 November 2009
Who gives a fu*# about an Oxford Comma?
Spoke to my brother today.
He read the last blog.
In the nicest way possible, he consoled me. Always there for me. Great pal, inspirational icon, just, all round, swell buddy...
Your bitch cheated on you? You make me sad!
Well, firstly, nothing in that note said anything to do with anyone cheating on anyone, but let's just thank him for adding that to my thoughts. Oh wait, he- YOU read this; thank you bro bro.
He goes on to say:
And why are you messing with girls again you BUM!
I tell him that I'm not anymore- I've been dumped, DUH! Didn't you READ the last post? Sheesh, and that in all fairness, they're messing with me, again, didn't ya read the last one!? Gah!
And before he punishes me by insulting me in the comments section, I love you and I've learnt my lesson. Totally off girls until it's time for me to settle down, own a farm, all that palaver.
I want to TYPE about something else now!
Let's talk about Israel going ahead with their plans to build 900 more homes on occupied land! Huh? That should get some of you more people talking, right? Terrible stuff, isn't it?
Okay, not much going on there, don't intend to turn this into a political thing but...
ISRAEL GET OUT! GET RIGHT OUT! Now! Stop taking stuff that isn't yours! Take yourself OUT! NOW! OI! ENOUGH! GET OUT!
AMERICA! GET OUT! Get the HELL out! OI! GET OUT! Stop going into places that you shouldn't be in!
CHINA! Get out of TIBET!
And MPs! Pay back your expenses! Stop Lying!
DAILY MIRROR! STOP SPREADING HATE! Stop Spreading your tendrils of antipathy and bigotry and concealed fascism throughout people who think 30p is a decent amount to spend on news. STOP IT! STOP TAKING ADVANTAGE OF MORONS!
So anyway, there's a post which actually has some sort of reason behind them, then there are those which just.. Meh.
The titles a song by the way, by Vampire Weekend.
He read the last blog.
In the nicest way possible, he consoled me. Always there for me. Great pal, inspirational icon, just, all round, swell buddy...
Your bitch cheated on you? You make me sad!
Well, firstly, nothing in that note said anything to do with anyone cheating on anyone, but let's just thank him for adding that to my thoughts. Oh wait, he- YOU read this; thank you bro bro.
He goes on to say:
And why are you messing with girls again you BUM!
I tell him that I'm not anymore- I've been dumped, DUH! Didn't you READ the last post? Sheesh, and that in all fairness, they're messing with me, again, didn't ya read the last one!? Gah!
And before he punishes me by insulting me in the comments section, I love you and I've learnt my lesson. Totally off girls until it's time for me to settle down, own a farm, all that palaver.
I want to TYPE about something else now!
Let's talk about Israel going ahead with their plans to build 900 more homes on occupied land! Huh? That should get some of you more people talking, right? Terrible stuff, isn't it?
Okay, not much going on there, don't intend to turn this into a political thing but...
ISRAEL GET OUT! GET RIGHT OUT! Now! Stop taking stuff that isn't yours! Take yourself OUT! NOW! OI! ENOUGH! GET OUT!
AMERICA! GET OUT! Get the HELL out! OI! GET OUT! Stop going into places that you shouldn't be in!
CHINA! Get out of TIBET!
And MPs! Pay back your expenses! Stop Lying!
DAILY MIRROR! STOP SPREADING HATE! Stop Spreading your tendrils of antipathy and bigotry and concealed fascism throughout people who think 30p is a decent amount to spend on news. STOP IT! STOP TAKING ADVANTAGE OF MORONS!
So anyway, there's a post which actually has some sort of reason behind them, then there are those which just.. Meh.
The titles a song by the way, by Vampire Weekend.
Tuesday 24 November 2009
These bonds are shackle free,
wrapped in lust and lunacy.
That's Placebo with "Ask for answers". FAN-tastic. Not much going on in the world right now. Floods, stuff. I'm thinking of going back into education but unless I can decide what niche I want to go into, I don't see any point in going for the sake of just attributing a degree to my name. The problem is, I think, firstly, that I'm lazy. But I won't focus on THAT problem, whatever. The OTHER - ONE of the OTHER problems is that my mind wanders all over the place. One day I'm interested in maths, trigonometry and physics and REALLY want to learn about... those things but can't see myself enjoying a career in any of that kind of field. Three days later, I'm more interested in "The lesser Keys of Solomon" and other Demonic literature and again, three days later, I've got a three foot canvass up in front of me and I'm more interested in doing a big drawing of something or another. Then I enjoy writing these things, and stuff on my facebook page, maybe I'd like to try my hand at creative writing(?)
So maybe, its important that I go out, experience working life, see what it's like and then make a decision based on something I've ACTUALLY had a taste of and KNOW I'd like to go into.
Either way, it makes me think about how crucial little decisions like these can be in determining what the rest of your life is like and how you can never REALLY plan for your future. Do I a) start working, save up for uni which will cost me something like 3 grand a year. Then go uni debt free?
b) Go straight to a uni through some sort of foundation year, come out 4 years later and over ten thousand quid in debt?
c) just work
and there are x number of alternatives. And each comes with pros and cons.
I was sat on a stone, searching within myself for answers. I thought long and hard for the TRUTH behind our existence.
Is religion just man made in an attempt to comfort ourselves with regards to our mortality?
Is science just man made in an attempt for our brains to construct logic from the information it is presented through the body's senses?
wrapped in lust and lunacy.
That's Placebo with "Ask for answers". FAN-tastic. Not much going on in the world right now. Floods, stuff. I'm thinking of going back into education but unless I can decide what niche I want to go into, I don't see any point in going for the sake of just attributing a degree to my name. The problem is, I think, firstly, that I'm lazy. But I won't focus on THAT problem, whatever. The OTHER - ONE of the OTHER problems is that my mind wanders all over the place. One day I'm interested in maths, trigonometry and physics and REALLY want to learn about... those things but can't see myself enjoying a career in any of that kind of field. Three days later, I'm more interested in "The lesser Keys of Solomon" and other Demonic literature and again, three days later, I've got a three foot canvass up in front of me and I'm more interested in doing a big drawing of something or another. Then I enjoy writing these things, and stuff on my facebook page, maybe I'd like to try my hand at creative writing(?)
So maybe, its important that I go out, experience working life, see what it's like and then make a decision based on something I've ACTUALLY had a taste of and KNOW I'd like to go into.
Either way, it makes me think about how crucial little decisions like these can be in determining what the rest of your life is like and how you can never REALLY plan for your future. Do I a) start working, save up for uni which will cost me something like 3 grand a year. Then go uni debt free?
b) Go straight to a uni through some sort of foundation year, come out 4 years later and over ten thousand quid in debt?
c) just work
and there are x number of alternatives. And each comes with pros and cons.
I was sat on a stone, searching within myself for answers. I thought long and hard for the TRUTH behind our existence.
Is religion just man made in an attempt to comfort ourselves with regards to our mortality?
Is science just man made in an attempt for our brains to construct logic from the information it is presented through the body's senses?
Thursday 19 November 2009
Your a funny guy to bad about the rest of you, seriously you need to grow up
The book of love
is long and boring
And no one can lift the damn thing.
It's full of charts
and facts and figures
And instructions for dancing.
Ah, what a sloppy love song. Yes, I have it on my iPod. What? What bruv? What blud? Cha.
I'm wearing my nerd glasses. They bring out an unpleasant side of me.
I spoke to my brother on the phone recently- he's up in Scotland where he's purchased his own property (well done you) - and to this date, he greets me with a term he coined of an old school friend of mine. Back in year eleven (when kids are around 15 years old for those of my readers from around the globe ;D ) this old friend of mine had a website and the tag line was:
Wayasayin Ya Goose?
This struck a chord with my brother and he's still saying it to this day. It's fun to hear him say it.
I made the mistake of telling him about this blog. Which means I can't say offensive stuff about him. Or anything really, he'll tell me off. In front of you.
That last song's finished now and I'm trying to guess what this song is based on the introduction music. Much like Nevermind The Buzzcocks. Unfortunately, Damien Rice's introduction music, even the original rendition of it, is shit.
The song is cold water.
You may ask why I'm listening to such lame, soppy music. It's because I'm upset about having been dumped. And I'm an introverted, passive aggressive recluse at the moment reeling in agony and self pity, woe be unto me; hath a heart suffered as doth mine? Wouldst the sun rise on such a bleak world where a man would have his heart wrenched asunder with no care or compassion? Or doth it surrender beneath the craggy, wretched cliff tops elsewhere, hidden away, casting mine life to shame? Hath the sun shone at all but to warm me to it's glow that one day it might snatch itself from my face. Recoiled in disgrace, cast to the depths of shame, longing, longing for the embrace of it's arms, confirming my existence. O that it should come to this! Lament! Where do I find my light?
*Bows*
No but really, these past few days have been crappy and it wasn't until recently, when I decided to ask a few questions to figure out why I'd actually been let go that things started to perk up.
She told me loads of stuff, things that it's probably impolite to relay here. But among some of the less important things was that she actually began having doubts about our relationship on the day that we went to watch 500 days of summer. This was because (let me break down the day for you):
a) We meet to go cinema.
b) We decide to watch 500 days of summer.
c) We go in to watch it.
d) I enjoy film, she doesn't so much.
e) Midway through film, she starts covering my eyes because I'm enjoying the film.
f) She continues to complain about being tired.
g) "But if your tired, your sitting down, why is sitting down tiring you?!"
f) She is annoyed that I snapped at her.
g) "I can't believe you snapped at me. I get so much more tired than that, and complain so much, if you can't put up with that I don't know how you'll cope with me REALLY complaining."
And that was one of the reasons she broke up with me. And that's pretty fucked up. I'm dumping YOU because I want to be a petulant brat...
Anyway, that's when I remembered what little of the film she LET me enjoy and it was a film about a guy who fell in love with a woman who fell in love with someone else. At the end of the film, he picks himself up, gets his life on track and meets this newer, more attractive girl who just happens to be called Autumn. Was a good film, I'm sure you enjoyed it too. Since I more or less spoiled it for you there. Sorry.
But yeah, I've been down on that recently. But things are looking up, I've changed my play list to one that consists of more, upbeat songs; Now I'm listening to:
Another by Notorious B.I.G.
"What do you do when your bitch is untrue, you cut the hooker off and find someone new, I need another bitch, in my life"
I cringe at each derogatory term for woman, but then, there's Lil Kim insulting men too. Which makes it a little better I think.
is long and boring
And no one can lift the damn thing.
It's full of charts
and facts and figures
And instructions for dancing.
Ah, what a sloppy love song. Yes, I have it on my iPod. What? What bruv? What blud? Cha.
I'm wearing my nerd glasses. They bring out an unpleasant side of me.
I spoke to my brother on the phone recently- he's up in Scotland where he's purchased his own property (well done you) - and to this date, he greets me with a term he coined of an old school friend of mine. Back in year eleven (when kids are around 15 years old for those of my readers from around the globe ;D ) this old friend of mine had a website and the tag line was:
Wayasayin Ya Goose?
This struck a chord with my brother and he's still saying it to this day. It's fun to hear him say it.
I made the mistake of telling him about this blog. Which means I can't say offensive stuff about him. Or anything really, he'll tell me off. In front of you.
That last song's finished now and I'm trying to guess what this song is based on the introduction music. Much like Nevermind The Buzzcocks. Unfortunately, Damien Rice's introduction music, even the original rendition of it, is shit.
The song is cold water.
You may ask why I'm listening to such lame, soppy music. It's because I'm upset about having been dumped. And I'm an introverted, passive aggressive recluse at the moment reeling in agony and self pity, woe be unto me; hath a heart suffered as doth mine? Wouldst the sun rise on such a bleak world where a man would have his heart wrenched asunder with no care or compassion? Or doth it surrender beneath the craggy, wretched cliff tops elsewhere, hidden away, casting mine life to shame? Hath the sun shone at all but to warm me to it's glow that one day it might snatch itself from my face. Recoiled in disgrace, cast to the depths of shame, longing, longing for the embrace of it's arms, confirming my existence. O that it should come to this! Lament! Where do I find my light?
*Bows*
No but really, these past few days have been crappy and it wasn't until recently, when I decided to ask a few questions to figure out why I'd actually been let go that things started to perk up.
She told me loads of stuff, things that it's probably impolite to relay here. But among some of the less important things was that she actually began having doubts about our relationship on the day that we went to watch 500 days of summer. This was because (let me break down the day for you):
a) We meet to go cinema.
b) We decide to watch 500 days of summer.
c) We go in to watch it.
d) I enjoy film, she doesn't so much.
e) Midway through film, she starts covering my eyes because I'm enjoying the film.
f) She continues to complain about being tired.
g) "But if your tired, your sitting down, why is sitting down tiring you?!"
f) She is annoyed that I snapped at her.
g) "I can't believe you snapped at me. I get so much more tired than that, and complain so much, if you can't put up with that I don't know how you'll cope with me REALLY complaining."
And that was one of the reasons she broke up with me. And that's pretty fucked up. I'm dumping YOU because I want to be a petulant brat...
Anyway, that's when I remembered what little of the film she LET me enjoy and it was a film about a guy who fell in love with a woman who fell in love with someone else. At the end of the film, he picks himself up, gets his life on track and meets this newer, more attractive girl who just happens to be called Autumn. Was a good film, I'm sure you enjoyed it too. Since I more or less spoiled it for you there. Sorry.
But yeah, I've been down on that recently. But things are looking up, I've changed my play list to one that consists of more, upbeat songs; Now I'm listening to:
Another by Notorious B.I.G.
"What do you do when your bitch is untrue, you cut the hooker off and find someone new, I need another bitch, in my life"
I cringe at each derogatory term for woman, but then, there's Lil Kim insulting men too. Which makes it a little better I think.
Monday 16 November 2009
Tweeeet
The great thing about Twitter is that you can start topics and post to other peoples topics REALLY easily and once the ball gets rolling you can have some REALLY fun topics. The sucky part is when you have family on twitter and you REALLY want to reply to a post like this one:
#threewordsaftersex
But you just CAN'T. You sit there and you think of SO many three word combinations to say to that, like:
"Let me explain"
or
"Better than hand"
or
"Hey, wake up!"
or
"swallow it all"
EEEEWWWWW
I'm kidding. Ah I'm corrupted!
Ciao.
#threewordsaftersex
But you just CAN'T. You sit there and you think of SO many three word combinations to say to that, like:
"Let me explain"
or
"Better than hand"
or
"Hey, wake up!"
or
"swallow it all"
EEEEWWWWW
I'm kidding. Ah I'm corrupted!
Ciao.
Sunday 15 November 2009
DO NOT READ THIS TITLE!
Wohooo! I gots SEVEN followers! I don't like the term followers, it makes me seem like I'm some sort of dictator that's forcing you to follow me or some sort of idealist leading you people to some goal. That's totally the opposite of what this shambollic excuse for a blog is. No order, no coordination I dont even know what the next word I'm going to type is! Platterpuss.
And I'm still thinking about what the title of this blog should be! Who knows?? Well you do, chronologically that would have come first. Or you could just glance up to see what it is. Unless... I call title the blog THIS-> *gives blog its title*
Ahaha, there, now NO one will read it! Until I instruct you to. Ok now you can.
Now, moving onto a topic EQUALLY as redundant as the title of this blog, let's talk about my hair.
No. Let's not. It's THAT redundant.
I came across a rant from a guy who works at a game shop. It was funny and I felt like I could relate to a lot of his annoyances having worked at o2.
But I'll try to keep my rant original.
10 Things I hated about working at o2:
10. Pakis.
No not the Pakistani people who would visit me. Not Pakistani people in general I have a feeling of irrelevance towards them, they simply exist. I look beyond race or nationality.
No, I mean people that, as it happens were ALL Pakistani, and I hadn't really spoken to on average for the best part of 3 or 4 years, who would probably NOT say hello to me if they saw me on a street. These people suddenly saw me as a long lost friend and asked how much discount I could swindle for them. Now I'm not averse to giving people discounts, hell I had like 20 people I could give my discount to and I couldn't care less who took it- well that's a lie- none of those bastards got one, I made damn sure of THAT. At the risk of sounding like a Scrooge, I think I ended up using only 5 of those discounts.
9. Business Customers.
These fudgers can be a double sided sword. On one hand, they can know EXACTLY what they want, hand it all on a plate to you and quick and simple you process their request. Great. Other times, they know EXACTLY what they want, hand it on a plate to you BUT what they want is something like this:
7 handsets, around a thousand minutes, unlimited texts? Yeah why not, umm, the intermail thing... And how about free video calls? Nice. OK. So I'll pay you about £5 a month and I get the handsets free right?
MOTHER FUCKERS.
And then they EVENTUALLY warm to the fact that o2 itself is a business and not a NPO, in fact, it;s the very opposite of an NPO, it's a bloodthirsty money hungry bitch of a corporate machine that swallows anything and everything that may get in the way of it's aims of... whatever. And like I said, once they warm to a nice price plan, they sit down, give answers to the credit check. Then FAIL. You think it's frustrating for YOU to fail a credit check? Imagine what it's like for ME when I have to pretend not to want to laugh at the fact that you, a company director, failed to take out on credit, a phone that I, a blue collar employee have in my pocket.
8. Revolutionaries who oppose "the system".
There are people who would come into the shop, expect a free mobile and all the minutes you could fit in a calender and the texts you could fit into the old testament yet be aghast that I might need to ask them their address.
Why do you want THAT?
Err, you're taking a phone away, we need details so you can pay us monthly.
Okay fine.
And then the card number.
You need my card number? AND the start date? AND the security number?! AND THE ISSUE NUMBER?!?!
They should have people sit an IQ test before they sit a Credit check.
7. People who want a My Phone.
My mate got this My Phone from you, she said it's only on o2..?
ARGH!!!!
And these people are the kind of twats who would get offended if the wind blew their hair. How do you say respectfully:
"Yeah, well it's not ACTUALLY called a my Phone, that's just retarded it's called an iPhone. You're not very bright are you? Did you read the push sign on our front door or did you just bash into it and hope for the best?"
7. People who no longer like their my Phone.
My myPhone isn't working like my old Blackberry.
Well, that's because it isn't one. And it sucks that you don't get along with it like you used to with your old phone. Unfortunately, if it's been more than 7 days, oops it has, then you can only return it if it's faulty, which it isn't. Enjoy the next 18 months of your contractually bound relationship with o2.
Or in other words:
Fack off, the seven day returns policy is over.
6. People who's myPhone is mysteriously faulty after they tried to return it the other day.
Does this one need an explanation? No.
5. o2.
As a company, o2 is pretty shitty. I hate it. And that's not only because the pay is shit, the hours are worse and the perks are virtually non-existent, it's also got to do with the fact that the support network is shoddy, the commission has been phased out, the responsibilities are stupid and many other things that just DON'T spring to mind at 12.45 in the morning- at night- whatever.
I'm not gonna carry on. Well done guy for thinking up 10 whole things, I would much rather go to bed. I guess I just can't rant like I used to... Night.
And I'm still thinking about what the title of this blog should be! Who knows?? Well you do, chronologically that would have come first. Or you could just glance up to see what it is. Unless... I call title the blog THIS-> *gives blog its title*
Ahaha, there, now NO one will read it! Until I instruct you to. Ok now you can.
Now, moving onto a topic EQUALLY as redundant as the title of this blog, let's talk about my hair.
No. Let's not. It's THAT redundant.
I came across a rant from a guy who works at a game shop. It was funny and I felt like I could relate to a lot of his annoyances having worked at o2.
But I'll try to keep my rant original.
10 Things I hated about working at o2:
10. Pakis.
No not the Pakistani people who would visit me. Not Pakistani people in general I have a feeling of irrelevance towards them, they simply exist. I look beyond race or nationality.
No, I mean people that, as it happens were ALL Pakistani, and I hadn't really spoken to on average for the best part of 3 or 4 years, who would probably NOT say hello to me if they saw me on a street. These people suddenly saw me as a long lost friend and asked how much discount I could swindle for them. Now I'm not averse to giving people discounts, hell I had like 20 people I could give my discount to and I couldn't care less who took it- well that's a lie- none of those bastards got one, I made damn sure of THAT. At the risk of sounding like a Scrooge, I think I ended up using only 5 of those discounts.
9. Business Customers.
These fudgers can be a double sided sword. On one hand, they can know EXACTLY what they want, hand it all on a plate to you and quick and simple you process their request. Great. Other times, they know EXACTLY what they want, hand it on a plate to you BUT what they want is something like this:
7 handsets, around a thousand minutes, unlimited texts? Yeah why not, umm, the intermail thing... And how about free video calls? Nice. OK. So I'll pay you about £5 a month and I get the handsets free right?
MOTHER FUCKERS.
And then they EVENTUALLY warm to the fact that o2 itself is a business and not a NPO, in fact, it;s the very opposite of an NPO, it's a bloodthirsty money hungry bitch of a corporate machine that swallows anything and everything that may get in the way of it's aims of... whatever. And like I said, once they warm to a nice price plan, they sit down, give answers to the credit check. Then FAIL. You think it's frustrating for YOU to fail a credit check? Imagine what it's like for ME when I have to pretend not to want to laugh at the fact that you, a company director, failed to take out on credit, a phone that I, a blue collar employee have in my pocket.
8. Revolutionaries who oppose "the system".
There are people who would come into the shop, expect a free mobile and all the minutes you could fit in a calender and the texts you could fit into the old testament yet be aghast that I might need to ask them their address.
Why do you want THAT?
Err, you're taking a phone away, we need details so you can pay us monthly.
Okay fine.
And then the card number.
You need my card number? AND the start date? AND the security number?! AND THE ISSUE NUMBER?!?!
They should have people sit an IQ test before they sit a Credit check.
7. People who want a My Phone.
My mate got this My Phone from you, she said it's only on o2..?
ARGH!!!!
And these people are the kind of twats who would get offended if the wind blew their hair. How do you say respectfully:
"Yeah, well it's not ACTUALLY called a my Phone, that's just retarded it's called an iPhone. You're not very bright are you? Did you read the push sign on our front door or did you just bash into it and hope for the best?"
7. People who no longer like their my Phone.
My myPhone isn't working like my old Blackberry.
Well, that's because it isn't one. And it sucks that you don't get along with it like you used to with your old phone. Unfortunately, if it's been more than 7 days, oops it has, then you can only return it if it's faulty, which it isn't. Enjoy the next 18 months of your contractually bound relationship with o2.
Or in other words:
Fack off, the seven day returns policy is over.
6. People who's myPhone is mysteriously faulty after they tried to return it the other day.
Does this one need an explanation? No.
5. o2.
As a company, o2 is pretty shitty. I hate it. And that's not only because the pay is shit, the hours are worse and the perks are virtually non-existent, it's also got to do with the fact that the support network is shoddy, the commission has been phased out, the responsibilities are stupid and many other things that just DON'T spring to mind at 12.45 in the morning- at night- whatever.
I'm not gonna carry on. Well done guy for thinking up 10 whole things, I would much rather go to bed. I guess I just can't rant like I used to... Night.
Adverts that suck pt.1
Just saw this picture on an advert and thought:
It's just the angle she's being photographed from...
It's just the angle she's being photographed from...
Friday 13 November 2009
Another
Notorious B.I.G sang or rapped a song or a rap or whatever with Lil Kim many years ago titled "Another". I'm listening to it right now and taking solace in it. Rather than listening to Emo songs after my break up, as I have been for the last week, I've turned my play list into a more... ruthless one.
It's gone from songs with lyrics like:
In the chilly hours and minutes of uncertainty, I want to be, in the warm hold of your love and mine....
*Catch the wind* Duncan
or
Give a little bit, Oh give a little bit of your love to me, I'll give a little bit, I'll give a little bit of my love to you....
*Give a little bit* Supertramp
(Yeah, whatever...)
and moved on to songs like:
What do you do when your bitch is untrue, you cut the hooker off and find someone new. I need another bitch in my life...
or
I got 99 problems but a bitch aint 1...
or.. my favourite:
You know I thug 'em, fuck 'em, love 'em, leave 'em
Cause I don't fuckin' need 'em
Take 'em out the hood
Keep 'em looking good
But I don't fuckin' feed em
Doesn't change that I'm bloody missing my ex though.
It's gone from songs with lyrics like:
In the chilly hours and minutes of uncertainty, I want to be, in the warm hold of your love and mine....
*Catch the wind* Duncan
or
Give a little bit, Oh give a little bit of your love to me, I'll give a little bit, I'll give a little bit of my love to you....
*Give a little bit* Supertramp
(Yeah, whatever...)
and moved on to songs like:
What do you do when your bitch is untrue, you cut the hooker off and find someone new. I need another bitch in my life...
or
I got 99 problems but a bitch aint 1...
or.. my favourite:
You know I thug 'em, fuck 'em, love 'em, leave 'em
Cause I don't fuckin' need 'em
Take 'em out the hood
Keep 'em looking good
But I don't fuckin' feed em
Doesn't change that I'm bloody missing my ex though.
Thursday 12 November 2009
Emo songs.
I had a discussion with my sister today. Strangely I've been able to start talking to her about some of my more personal issues. We were speaking about why I've been having mood swings recently and she sussed that I had relationship issues.
I told her it wasn't just issues, that my girlfriend, who she's actually met, just broke up with me. She commented on how that was a pretty big swing on her part. She practically swung right out the relationship! (Fans of the Mighty Boosh might be able to get that joke) Anyway, she also knew about my previous ex. She knew how volatile that relationship was and commented on how she disapproved of the first one anyway.
The problem with my sister is that she's pretty brutal, even when she's trying to console me.
"You'll get over it, just be happy, she wasn't meant for you obviously! Probably wasn't THAT great anyway."
"No, she was great." I said, looking for more sympathy.
"Hmm, yeah you're right, she was really nice, oh well, it happens."
:|
Sheeesh.
But she said something that hit home. Your first relationship defines how all of your future relationships will go on. Now my first relationship lasted about 3/4 of the length of the movie "The league of incredible gentlemen" and a portion of the bus journey home together too. If all my future relationships were to shape up like that, they'd consist of very little talking, lots of action and no awkwardness when both parties decide to cease talking.
But I think she implied the first REAL relationship. Which consisted of lies, deceit, mistrust, anger, fighting. And a girlfriend who wasn't over her ex.
Lo and behold, I find one of the reasons my latest Ex has broken up with me is because she's still got feelings for her ex.
Ah so now to confide in you nice people. Messy break up. Which sucks. Because part of the break up consisted of me being told: Well, we're not really even a couple are we?
And listening to pathetic music like:
*Catch The Wind* by Donovan
*Give a Little Bit* By supertramp
*Times Like These* By the Foo Fighters
Doesn't help, in fact it anti-helps. It makes things worse but I don't feel like listening to happy music.
I told her it wasn't just issues, that my girlfriend, who she's actually met, just broke up with me. She commented on how that was a pretty big swing on her part. She practically swung right out the relationship! (Fans of the Mighty Boosh might be able to get that joke) Anyway, she also knew about my previous ex. She knew how volatile that relationship was and commented on how she disapproved of the first one anyway.
The problem with my sister is that she's pretty brutal, even when she's trying to console me.
"You'll get over it, just be happy, she wasn't meant for you obviously! Probably wasn't THAT great anyway."
"No, she was great." I said, looking for more sympathy.
"Hmm, yeah you're right, she was really nice, oh well, it happens."
:|
Sheeesh.
But she said something that hit home. Your first relationship defines how all of your future relationships will go on. Now my first relationship lasted about 3/4 of the length of the movie "The league of incredible gentlemen" and a portion of the bus journey home together too. If all my future relationships were to shape up like that, they'd consist of very little talking, lots of action and no awkwardness when both parties decide to cease talking.
But I think she implied the first REAL relationship. Which consisted of lies, deceit, mistrust, anger, fighting. And a girlfriend who wasn't over her ex.
Lo and behold, I find one of the reasons my latest Ex has broken up with me is because she's still got feelings for her ex.
Ah so now to confide in you nice people. Messy break up. Which sucks. Because part of the break up consisted of me being told: Well, we're not really even a couple are we?
And listening to pathetic music like:
*Catch The Wind* by Donovan
*Give a Little Bit* By supertramp
*Times Like These* By the Foo Fighters
Doesn't help, in fact it anti-helps. It makes things worse but I don't feel like listening to happy music.
Title:
ZERO COMMENTS?! ZERO COMMENTS?! What am I writing these things for? Self adulation and the chance to utter every single one of my thoughts and give them immortality through this modern wonder of interwebby-ness? I think you'll find the answer is YES. NONETHELESS people, where are my comments?! What good is all this writing if there is no RECOGNITION for my deeds! You think I'm writing altruistically and for no other purpose that it gives you people something to read for 5 minutes?! Sod that! I want your attention, I want it all! Give... It... To... ME!!!!
And now that I've unleashed my self righteous, narcissistic self, let me give you a more sanctimonious rendition:
I'm doing this for YOU. I'm protecting you, nurturing you, enabling you to GROW, as a person, an INDIVIDUAL! To support you and save you from the auditory and visual RAPE of sites like YOUTUBE, helping you to see that there is in fact, another option than to simply stare at moving pictures. You can READ, my wonderful children, READ! And read you WILL with such vigor and poignant FLARE that you will find in yourself the capacity to WRITE yourselves!! And my doors are ALWAYS open for you to write on as much as you will. Write and write some more, to your heart's content write till you can only think to blink, to breathe, to feel and nothing more. Till the tips of your fingers are SO accustomed to the plastic of your keyboards, they wilt and tremble at the touch of anything but the aforementioned. Write and comment and argue and confront views, with vigour, with virtue, with VINDICATION if you must, at FlowerKid and his misleading name! At Mr. Fiesta-tastic and his choice of automotive name-tag, or by extension, the CAR he drives! Talk to C.L comment on her vivacious curves, her unruly hair and how you would just like to fall down and cry in it. Speak to dillruuba- ask her what the name means, speak to Phatrixsoccer about the phat-ness of soccer played in the matrix!
Speak to one another, this is a FORUM for the PEOPLE! A medium for mental masturbation! Excite you brains to the edge of climax and unleash it in a torrent of comments! You! You can do it!
If you're still my friends by this point, I'd just like to point out that I've had a tough few days. Firstly, my sister's back from Scotland and we all know what that means. I've had the pleasure of being promoted to a PROPER bed while she's been in Scotland. Hijacked her pillows, her mattress, her whole bedding, just lay there the first night I did. Just lay there and smiled. Ah that a man should have a bed to sleep on. Curled up in a foetal position, spread my legs as wide as I could and STILL had a bed to rest me feet on, it was FANTASTIC! Hell, I took over her whole room, soon her dressing table was covered in my deodorant, her coco channel replaced with my joop jump, my CK IN2U, her brush swapped for my razor. Yes, I was living the life.
And now she's back. So as swiftly as the train that reduced Germany's squad by one goal keeper, I was flung back onto my airbed. And I have a crank in my neck.
Gah! Until next time then?
And now that I've unleashed my self righteous, narcissistic self, let me give you a more sanctimonious rendition:
I'm doing this for YOU. I'm protecting you, nurturing you, enabling you to GROW, as a person, an INDIVIDUAL! To support you and save you from the auditory and visual RAPE of sites like YOUTUBE, helping you to see that there is in fact, another option than to simply stare at moving pictures. You can READ, my wonderful children, READ! And read you WILL with such vigor and poignant FLARE that you will find in yourself the capacity to WRITE yourselves!! And my doors are ALWAYS open for you to write on as much as you will. Write and write some more, to your heart's content write till you can only think to blink, to breathe, to feel and nothing more. Till the tips of your fingers are SO accustomed to the plastic of your keyboards, they wilt and tremble at the touch of anything but the aforementioned. Write and comment and argue and confront views, with vigour, with virtue, with VINDICATION if you must, at FlowerKid and his misleading name! At Mr. Fiesta-tastic and his choice of automotive name-tag, or by extension, the CAR he drives! Talk to C.L comment on her vivacious curves, her unruly hair and how you would just like to fall down and cry in it. Speak to dillruuba- ask her what the name means, speak to Phatrixsoccer about the phat-ness of soccer played in the matrix!
Speak to one another, this is a FORUM for the PEOPLE! A medium for mental masturbation! Excite you brains to the edge of climax and unleash it in a torrent of comments! You! You can do it!
If you're still my friends by this point, I'd just like to point out that I've had a tough few days. Firstly, my sister's back from Scotland and we all know what that means. I've had the pleasure of being promoted to a PROPER bed while she's been in Scotland. Hijacked her pillows, her mattress, her whole bedding, just lay there the first night I did. Just lay there and smiled. Ah that a man should have a bed to sleep on. Curled up in a foetal position, spread my legs as wide as I could and STILL had a bed to rest me feet on, it was FANTASTIC! Hell, I took over her whole room, soon her dressing table was covered in my deodorant, her coco channel replaced with my joop jump, my CK IN2U, her brush swapped for my razor. Yes, I was living the life.
And now she's back. So as swiftly as the train that reduced Germany's squad by one goal keeper, I was flung back onto my airbed. And I have a crank in my neck.
Gah! Until next time then?
Wednesday 11 November 2009
Google me baby!
*Give a little bit* By Supertramp
Wohoo! If you google Losserballs my blog comes up! Woot Patoot!
Whoopdi DOOOO!!!!
No really, I'm happy about this. I also found out that you can google my name and see my facebook photo. This, I'm not happy about. Chiefs.
But yeah, my blog is lovely isn't it!? Yes, yes it is.
Tomorrow I have got relatives coming over to my house and I'm desperately trying to find an excuse to get the HECK out of the house!
It's times like this I wish I was at uni so I could use it as an excuse to just leave the house. Not that I can't walk out of my house for whatever reason I choose. What am I? An Asian girl? HAH!
But still, I'd feel bad to leave without even a half baked excuse...
Though I'd feel worse sitting in a room with 4 Pakistani adults discussing the issues they tend to discuss. America, Afghanistan, War. Yes, I would appear to be highly opinionated on these things myself.... BUT!!! These are people who actually think they know what they're talking about! What do you say to a guy who says:
Yes, the Afghans pretend to hate the Taliban on the TV, but they're really just pretending to make the white people happy...
A quote from my dad. About 20 minutes ago...
Errr, yeah, your right dad, that's true.. hmmm.
And nod.
Convincingly. And try not to allow your eye to twitch...
Man, the work in the kitchen doesn't seem to end, though at least those relatives give us an excuse to stop working for a day. The guy coming over is FLIPPING opinionated though, so I can expect the day to be filled with questions on why we chose a particular floor type, or a particular cupboard door.
ARGH! I don't want to bump into these people tomorrow. It's decided, I'll pop a pen in my eye and hurry off to A&E tomorrow morning!
Or, just you know, a less integral part to one of my five senses. Like, maybe my toe. On my left foot.
*Times like these* Foo Fighters.
I've begun reading "The dark Knight Returns". It's a batman graphic novel. Wicked. Wicki wicki to the wild wild west. THAT wicked.
On the topic of me being socially retarded...
I tried commenting on one of my old friends walls today, a guy who I used to know in Secondary school. This guy is the kind of guy who might... spend a lot of his time outside chicken and chip shops, shave patterns in his head... you know... walk with limp, talk in a silly kind of way, Spike only the middle portion of his hair.. Really silly things.
Anyway, I TRIED to comment on his wall and aside from relaying facts, I found it IMPOSSIBLE to convey any sort of emotion aside from LOL, which is quite a generic and universally accepted method to convey laughter online. (People who SAY L O L in real life to demonstrate they find something funny need to be... pinned to a tree.)
But you see, when I want to try to convey an emotion, an opinion, some sort of IDEA on the internet, I would articulate it in a manner that would loosely be described as... writing it in English. The problem lied in the fact that it would seem completely out of place among his peers who seem to write in... well... I can't describe it accurately so I'll just give you a few examples:
Random guy #1: blad im at ur yard using ur laptop i found some private folders btw.... were isit mana gna play dat
Now I can decipher this one after running some tests and going over it a few times, referring to a few shady individuals and cross referencing their answers with urbandictionary.com:
Random guy #1 ACTUALLY said... Mister, I am at your home, using your laptop and I have found some private folders (by the way). Where is it? (Here's the tricky part) I'm going to play that.
Note mana translates into man are which in turn can be used to mean I am. Fascinating. Let's move on...
In response to this message, Friend responds with
Pusio get off that laptop n its in ma bag
This confused me. No, Random Guy #1 is not called Pusio, which stunned me at first. No, this message means:
You Vaginal Cavity, stop using my laptop and its (a game) in my bag.
Like me, you may have been dumbfounded at the fact the letter Y in the word My was not only dropped but bizarrely replaced with an A. As if this abbreviates the word in some sense. It doesn't. It makes it... Hip.
Another random person comments, to which my old friend replies:
Supreme u knw dt 1 init..sainsburys on MY ROAD 8am ting!! Wts ur ps3 tag
Shall I give you a few moments to try and work this one out on your own? OK then...
Right. So, this is special in that, a word with more than 2 syllables and 5 letters was used. Very rare indeed.
So this translates into:
Splendid! You too are aware of this merry set of circumstances are you not? Sainsburys, on MY ROAD! I was so moved by this that I went at 8 in the morning! What is your ps3 tag?
I'll admit that this last one made me dizzy and I had to ask someone else to work out the meaning.
Equally as baffling is Random Guy #1's next comment:
OI WE LINKIN UP TODAY BLADZ
N OMGGG IF PEOPLE SEE WHAT IM SEEING ON THIS LAPTOP...LOL U GOT BAITED
Which can be, when cross referenced with a few ancient dialects throughout the east Asian subcontinent, made to mean:
Oi, are we/ we are set to meet one another today.
And (Oh my god) if people see what I'm seeing on this laptop, (Laugh out loud) you have been caught red handed you silly wally you.
So my comment which would have been something along the lines of:
Oh really, you found call of duty for only 26 pounds? Wow, that's really good value? Where did you come across that? It's been a while since we chatted, get in touch mate.
Notice the lack of swearing, the inclusion of punctuation, the fact that my font was different and not coloured RED. OK fine, I edited the font and colour myself, but still.
Mine looks like a C.I.A dossier. In bold.
But aside from that, I'm not sure if this old friend would actually bother reading this..
He'd probably assume it's REAL English and thus something he reads enough of during his time at university. Why waste time on it where he doesn't need to. Well I've got news for you old buddy, old chap... You're SHORT!
And I bid you farewell as *She's so Lovely* by Scouting for girls begins playing.
Wohoo! If you google Losserballs my blog comes up! Woot Patoot!
Whoopdi DOOOO!!!!
No really, I'm happy about this. I also found out that you can google my name and see my facebook photo. This, I'm not happy about. Chiefs.
But yeah, my blog is lovely isn't it!? Yes, yes it is.
Tomorrow I have got relatives coming over to my house and I'm desperately trying to find an excuse to get the HECK out of the house!
It's times like this I wish I was at uni so I could use it as an excuse to just leave the house. Not that I can't walk out of my house for whatever reason I choose. What am I? An Asian girl? HAH!
But still, I'd feel bad to leave without even a half baked excuse...
Though I'd feel worse sitting in a room with 4 Pakistani adults discussing the issues they tend to discuss. America, Afghanistan, War. Yes, I would appear to be highly opinionated on these things myself.... BUT!!! These are people who actually think they know what they're talking about! What do you say to a guy who says:
Yes, the Afghans pretend to hate the Taliban on the TV, but they're really just pretending to make the white people happy...
A quote from my dad. About 20 minutes ago...
Errr, yeah, your right dad, that's true.. hmmm.
And nod.
Convincingly. And try not to allow your eye to twitch...
Man, the work in the kitchen doesn't seem to end, though at least those relatives give us an excuse to stop working for a day. The guy coming over is FLIPPING opinionated though, so I can expect the day to be filled with questions on why we chose a particular floor type, or a particular cupboard door.
ARGH! I don't want to bump into these people tomorrow. It's decided, I'll pop a pen in my eye and hurry off to A&E tomorrow morning!
Or, just you know, a less integral part to one of my five senses. Like, maybe my toe. On my left foot.
*Times like these* Foo Fighters.
I've begun reading "The dark Knight Returns". It's a batman graphic novel. Wicked. Wicki wicki to the wild wild west. THAT wicked.
On the topic of me being socially retarded...
I tried commenting on one of my old friends walls today, a guy who I used to know in Secondary school. This guy is the kind of guy who might... spend a lot of his time outside chicken and chip shops, shave patterns in his head... you know... walk with limp, talk in a silly kind of way, Spike only the middle portion of his hair.. Really silly things.
Anyway, I TRIED to comment on his wall and aside from relaying facts, I found it IMPOSSIBLE to convey any sort of emotion aside from LOL, which is quite a generic and universally accepted method to convey laughter online. (People who SAY L O L in real life to demonstrate they find something funny need to be... pinned to a tree.)
But you see, when I want to try to convey an emotion, an opinion, some sort of IDEA on the internet, I would articulate it in a manner that would loosely be described as... writing it in English. The problem lied in the fact that it would seem completely out of place among his peers who seem to write in... well... I can't describe it accurately so I'll just give you a few examples:
Random guy #1: blad im at ur yard using ur laptop i found some private folders btw.... were isit mana gna play dat
Now I can decipher this one after running some tests and going over it a few times, referring to a few shady individuals and cross referencing their answers with urbandictionary.com:
Random guy #1 ACTUALLY said... Mister, I am at your home, using your laptop and I have found some private folders (by the way). Where is it? (Here's the tricky part) I'm going to play that.
Note mana translates into man are which in turn can be used to mean I am. Fascinating. Let's move on...
In response to this message, Friend responds with
Pusio get off that laptop n its in ma bag
This confused me. No, Random Guy #1 is not called Pusio, which stunned me at first. No, this message means:
You Vaginal Cavity, stop using my laptop and its (a game) in my bag.
Like me, you may have been dumbfounded at the fact the letter Y in the word My was not only dropped but bizarrely replaced with an A. As if this abbreviates the word in some sense. It doesn't. It makes it... Hip.
Another random person comments, to which my old friend replies:
Supreme u knw dt 1 init..sainsburys on MY ROAD 8am ting!! Wts ur ps3 tag
Shall I give you a few moments to try and work this one out on your own? OK then...
Right. So, this is special in that, a word with more than 2 syllables and 5 letters was used. Very rare indeed.
So this translates into:
Splendid! You too are aware of this merry set of circumstances are you not? Sainsburys, on MY ROAD! I was so moved by this that I went at 8 in the morning! What is your ps3 tag?
I'll admit that this last one made me dizzy and I had to ask someone else to work out the meaning.
Equally as baffling is Random Guy #1's next comment:
OI WE LINKIN UP TODAY BLADZ
N OMGGG IF PEOPLE SEE WHAT IM SEEING ON THIS LAPTOP...LOL U GOT BAITED
Which can be, when cross referenced with a few ancient dialects throughout the east Asian subcontinent, made to mean:
Oi, are we/ we are set to meet one another today.
And (Oh my god) if people see what I'm seeing on this laptop, (Laugh out loud) you have been caught red handed you silly wally you.
So my comment which would have been something along the lines of:
Oh really, you found call of duty for only 26 pounds? Wow, that's really good value? Where did you come across that? It's been a while since we chatted, get in touch mate.
Notice the lack of swearing, the inclusion of punctuation, the fact that my font was different and not coloured RED. OK fine, I edited the font and colour myself, but still.
Mine looks like a C.I.A dossier. In bold.
But aside from that, I'm not sure if this old friend would actually bother reading this..
He'd probably assume it's REAL English and thus something he reads enough of during his time at university. Why waste time on it where he doesn't need to. Well I've got news for you old buddy, old chap... You're SHORT!
And I bid you farewell as *She's so Lovely* by Scouting for girls begins playing.
Tuesday 10 November 2009
Break up blues
Isn't it annoying to hear people complain about their relationship ending? Yes, yes it is. Though when it happens to you, you want to do nothing but blurt out about it. Don't you? You pesky thing you.. Yeah, you do. You complainer. You winger. Yeah, you..
Tut.
No, really though, that's how I feel whenever a relationship ends weirdly or when it's not done on my terms. And it's not one of those relationships formed solely around the act of coitus based around the fact that neither you nor the obliging partner(s) have anything better to do.
But REAL, DEEP relationships where you can actually stomach going shopping with this person, where you actually want to know how a persons day was. Where you actually care for this person more than you would, let's say, another person you might not like as much.
AAAAAand then you catch them lying about what they do when they're not with you but you decide to let it slip because you know you've done some stuff you're not too proud of then suddenly, for no reason, they decide to break up with you the next day... And the process of self pity and lumbering feet across the floor and listening to Aimee Mann and staying in bed all day begins. Fortunately I haven't been so shocked that I have started posting things on Facebook- just this blog.
Then today, after I think two or three days, I realised that people who moap about this stuff can be, quite possibly, the most irritating thing since UAC on Vista. Which was quite recent. Let's go back a bit. The most irritating thing since... Megavideo's 84 minute allowance.
So with this, I went through my phone to look at my now ex's picture to try and put a face on what I was missing. And there they are: blurry, out of focus, hands covering her face, a look of resistance in each photo. Reminders that at the moment I'm looking at the relationship through rose tinted glasses.
She was propper out of line lying to me about what she did on her days off and who she spent them with. And because I found out, I'd probably never trust her again. So I guess it's good the relationship ended- I guess I'm more bummed at the fact that I wasn't the one who ended it.
Need to wee.
Tut.
No, really though, that's how I feel whenever a relationship ends weirdly or when it's not done on my terms. And it's not one of those relationships formed solely around the act of coitus based around the fact that neither you nor the obliging partner(s) have anything better to do.
But REAL, DEEP relationships where you can actually stomach going shopping with this person, where you actually want to know how a persons day was. Where you actually care for this person more than you would, let's say, another person you might not like as much.
AAAAAand then you catch them lying about what they do when they're not with you but you decide to let it slip because you know you've done some stuff you're not too proud of then suddenly, for no reason, they decide to break up with you the next day... And the process of self pity and lumbering feet across the floor and listening to Aimee Mann and staying in bed all day begins. Fortunately I haven't been so shocked that I have started posting things on Facebook- just this blog.
Then today, after I think two or three days, I realised that people who moap about this stuff can be, quite possibly, the most irritating thing since UAC on Vista. Which was quite recent. Let's go back a bit. The most irritating thing since... Megavideo's 84 minute allowance.
So with this, I went through my phone to look at my now ex's picture to try and put a face on what I was missing. And there they are: blurry, out of focus, hands covering her face, a look of resistance in each photo. Reminders that at the moment I'm looking at the relationship through rose tinted glasses.
She was propper out of line lying to me about what she did on her days off and who she spent them with. And because I found out, I'd probably never trust her again. So I guess it's good the relationship ended- I guess I'm more bummed at the fact that I wasn't the one who ended it.
Need to wee.
Monday 9 November 2009
Generic title hinting at the contents of this post.
HOLD UP!!!!!!!
!!!
!!!
If you google Looserballs and keep coming BACK to THIS page thinking, oh man, Usman hasn't updated this thing in AGES... This is NOT SO! You just keep coming back to this post and aren't browsing through the rest of the blog!!!
On the right there is the navigation menu, where you can chose which post you want to read, it's separated by DATE. Chose your month and read the posts of that month...
Or just click on the title at the top of the page to go to the home page where you'll find the latest posts.
Anyway, back to this post...
Actually, I never really liked that post. Tough, it's gone.
!!!
!!!
If you google Looserballs and keep coming BACK to THIS page thinking, oh man, Usman hasn't updated this thing in AGES... This is NOT SO! You just keep coming back to this post and aren't browsing through the rest of the blog!!!
On the right there is the navigation menu, where you can chose which post you want to read, it's separated by DATE. Chose your month and read the posts of that month...
Or just click on the title at the top of the page to go to the home page where you'll find the latest posts.
Anyway, back to this post...
Actually, I never really liked that post. Tough, it's gone.
Saturday 7 November 2009
Bleurgh.. But... UBUNTU!!!!
It's strange that suddenly a new feature that has sprouted up from the belly of Blogger (the company whos features I use to create my blog) that is called FoxyTunes, which allows you to add which music track you are listening to with just the click of a button. odd though isn't it, that this feature pops up the very moment I decide it's a good idea to tell you guys what I listen to as I blog isn't it? I think it has something to do with the phenominal success of this WORLD famous blog! Looserballs.
Anyway, it's been a while since I last blogged, I've been SWAMPED with that lame DIY work with dad and just not had much to type about. ALL that has cahnged since I've started running Ubuntu on my old laptop!
So awesome is it that I thought I'd let you guys know that I'm switching to it for good. (On my crappy old laptop, only though). It's suddenly made my ordinary trackpad have some cool multi touch features: rather than clicking on the side bar to drag down a screen, you can simply slide down the trackpad with two fingers and it does it! As if by MAGIC! Just like a ... Humph... Mac..
Also, it's fast. Streamlined and also, it's FREEWARE! No corporate tie ins or anything. Just plain, simple OS. How does it feel to read a blog posted using Ubuntu? Is it crisper? Does it smell nicer? Yeah.
So.. who heard about Fort Hood, huh? Man that's messed up. I wonder what's happening with that? Huh? I'm not gonna say anymore until more news is released. but America seems to be popping up in the news every day for the last few days with regards to people getting shot. First Fort Hood, Texas. Then Some place in Florida yesterday, now again in Texas some british dude got shot down.
More close to home though, who's been keeping ontop of this propsal to reform Parliamentary expenses? No money on any surplus made through mortgage payments, no second homes for a bunch of MPs. No relatives being allowed to be employed by MPs... Well... That's SOME stuff huh? And listening to LBC (97.3 FM) this wasn't exactly making a lot of people happy. Strangely, loads of people called and wrote in to the radio show to defend the MPs!
What do YOU think?
Ah, my back hurts, I think I need to relax and focus on my blogging skills, this one was lacklustre. Toodle Loo.
Anyway, it's been a while since I last blogged, I've been SWAMPED with that lame DIY work with dad and just not had much to type about. ALL that has cahnged since I've started running Ubuntu on my old laptop!
So awesome is it that I thought I'd let you guys know that I'm switching to it for good. (On my crappy old laptop, only though). It's suddenly made my ordinary trackpad have some cool multi touch features: rather than clicking on the side bar to drag down a screen, you can simply slide down the trackpad with two fingers and it does it! As if by MAGIC! Just like a ... Humph... Mac..
Also, it's fast. Streamlined and also, it's FREEWARE! No corporate tie ins or anything. Just plain, simple OS. How does it feel to read a blog posted using Ubuntu? Is it crisper? Does it smell nicer? Yeah.
So.. who heard about Fort Hood, huh? Man that's messed up. I wonder what's happening with that? Huh? I'm not gonna say anymore until more news is released. but America seems to be popping up in the news every day for the last few days with regards to people getting shot. First Fort Hood, Texas. Then Some place in Florida yesterday, now again in Texas some british dude got shot down.
More close to home though, who's been keeping ontop of this propsal to reform Parliamentary expenses? No money on any surplus made through mortgage payments, no second homes for a bunch of MPs. No relatives being allowed to be employed by MPs... Well... That's SOME stuff huh? And listening to LBC (97.3 FM) this wasn't exactly making a lot of people happy. Strangely, loads of people called and wrote in to the radio show to defend the MPs!
What do YOU think?
Ah, my back hurts, I think I need to relax and focus on my blogging skills, this one was lacklustre. Toodle Loo.
Tuesday 3 November 2009
Sabun's Lake.
Lake Manoon is in the western province of Cameroon and lies at the foot of the Ocu volcanic plain. It is the 15th of October, 1984. A cool, cloudless night, the moon hangs low above the bay, its crisp, white reflection distorted only by the ripples in the vast water. The deep blue of the water matches the velvety darkness of the night sky.
It is here that Sabun comes after his day of herding his few family cows across the plains half a mile from the foot of the volcano range he is now sat on. The stubborn livestock would beat and billow in protest to him bringing them to his favourite spot; preferring the richer plains and ample food to the poor footing of the craggy, slippery stones. So instead of basking in the sunlight atop of one of the warm rocks, he first stowed away his animals to the field outskirting his family's home and replaced basking for sitting cross legged, examining the ripples on the surface of the water through the perspiration of his warm breath.
Shying away from this enclose was a trend he found not only among the livestock, but among his friends and family members too. Often they would protest against the smell of the lake, the smoky, charred fragrance he had so become accustomed to. He knew better than to believe this alone was what lay at the root of their precaution. The ground of the volcanoes that encased him were to be encroached upon with precaution. Tales of eruptions and devastation, spread through the village; of dense smoke and vivid red flames from the sky. Of how the heat would render you immobile before the fire even reached you. And slowly, as you lay incapacitated- or stood even by some accounts- the fire, flowing like the thick oozing juice of a swollen solo papaya would engulf you.
This always struck a chord with Sabun, who wondered why these people could depict the fire so creatively when in the stories themselves, it was impossible to witness the all engulfing fire without being consumed by its all engulfing spread. The village people- those who would not scold him for his indiscretion and quick tongue- would retell the story then, though this time allowing for one brave man who had witnessed it all and escaped to tell the tale.
So from a parable to ward him away from playing in the treacherous mountains, they told him tales that inadvertently fuelled his passion for adventure, for exploration.
Sabun's frequent attempts to invite others along with him were more often than not frustratingly unsuccessful. After countless rejections though, he had developed the ability to predict at which point in his companions journey the look of panic would appear on their faces and at which point they would feign disgust at the smell of the water. Over time, his skin thickened and he no longer seemed to begrudge his friends, often preferring the coast as a solitary confine where he could imagine himself away from his home. Perhaps it was the rejections that had tempted him to escape the tribe in childish rebellion. Perhaps it was these vendettas that had evolved over time into aspirations and he could no longer distinguish between the silly day dreams of leaping from mountain to mountain and the seemingly plausible idea of climbing the top of the volcano and digging a hole to see if the fire really lived within it.
Tonight, companion-less and quietly observing the patterns of the ripples, Sabun's back arched forwards as he hugged his legs tightly, forming a small contrast against the enormous flat faces of the rocks about him. His red turban, though more maroon in this light, sat beside him, on top of his straw hat. It was cool tonight, not cold and though the skin on this calves was starting to bubble like the patchy skin of a lizard, he found the gentle breeze to be refreshing. In it, lingered the scent of yesterday's heavy storm.
He had nestled himself himself on a dry patch beneath an overhanging cliff-like rock. The rainstorm had pounded hard at the fields yesterday, forcing Sabun to find shelter from a pair of trees, one arching above the other. From there, he could see the exact spot on which he was sitting now, the cliff above it almost forming a waterfall with the sheer amount of water it let slide off of its surface. Motionless and in a trance, ignoring the pebble sized droplets of water the trees above him would let slip through their broad leaves, Sabun sat and gazed at the landmass before him. Despite the heavy rain, there was still the intense glow of the sun, though it was dulled behind the cover of the clouds, which themselves had an ambient orange glow, tinged with silvery grey at the edges. Occasionally there would be a parting in them, where two tufts would have been blown apart by separate winds and from the opening, a brilliant ray of light would shoot through and cause the droplets of rain in its path to glisten like the juice of an emerald mango, vibrant and elusive, lasting only for the brief moments the clouds would allow.
As much as he yearned to examine the patterns in the water, or to sit in the shelter of his cliff like enclose he knew that the storm would not permit it.
By today though, most of the water meandered it's way into the lake, or exhausted in the day's sunshine, the rest of its remnants were the few puddles in the crags between rocks and a thin, film like layer causing the surface of the stones to remain slippery.
He had begun to enjoy the slimy feeling on the soles of his feet, sliding them across the rock surface, backwards and forwards. Different from anything he had ever felt on his feet. He had forgotten about his sandals sitting beside him and stood up to skip between the large sheets of wet stone.
Steadying himself occasionally, reaching down and using all fours at times, he leaped and ran across the rock edges, leaving precaution with his sandals and bright red turban. The storm that had passed had completely reinvented his customary sprint along the rocks and though making it more difficult, it also exhilarated him more than ever. A splinter of some sort caught itself in his toe and caused him let out a short whimper- his first sound of the evening- and hop along on one leg. Precaution had crept up to him and stabbed him in the foot.
He began making his way back to the spot where he left his sandals. A cool wind blew through the whole of the Crater like lake, whistling like it always did when the air poured through the different contours of the mountain edges, reverberating against the depth of the water. Only, the echo was different tonight. It wore thin against the rocks and had Sabun been paying attention to the wind rather than his bare feet, perhaps his frequent visits and numerous occasions of doing nothing but listening to the wind would have caused him to be alarmed.
A strong gust of wind tore at the clouds sending them flailing wildly in all directions, including towards Sabun. Though they were at the bottom of the mount, they climbed quickly, excitedly, through gaps in the stones, jumping over them, clambering onto them, efficiently and effortlessly they spread. Wisps of smoke tore away from the mass and vanished into thin air. Sabun looked past the smoke on the ground now to see that more was still coming from beneath the bubbling water. He kicked at the earth and dragged himself away from the cliff edge using his hands and feet. He pulled away till he could no longer see the clouds advances up the incline. He composed himself, stood up and turned to hurry for his home.
Quickly he sprinted away from the edge, further along the large, slated stones, careful this time not to fall, choosing to step on the stones that were less reflective and had returned to a drier, lighter shade of grey. As he progressed down the rocks, the crunch of vegetation beneath his feet confirmed that he was coming closer to the path to his village. The moonlight wasn't enough though, to differentiate between grass and nettle and as Sabun paced through the shrubbery, the nettles cut and tore at the gaps in his sandals. Sore and tired, he turned back to the cliff and it was only as he stopped that he could feel the ferocity with which the wind was blowing. Covering his face, he looked to see if the cloud of smoke had climbed up to the peak of the mount he was on. Not only had it climbed up, it had made progress to the start of the vegetation; more than half the distance he had covered since laying at the top of the mount. As it was closer to his own footing now, he could more accurately ascertain the amount of cloud that was behind him. It stood far taller than him, dense enough to for him to no longer see the position he sat on just moments ago.
As the vegetation grew thicker, so did it grow taller. Running was now more difficult, swerving between weeds or evading bushes in the hopes that his foot would recognize the tread of the path he was desperately searching for. But to no avail. He trampled on flowers, their stems crunching beneath his feet, tugged taller vines out of their roots and out of his way, he dodged around tree trunks, mindful of their often protruding roots. Looking back, all that was now visible was the white fog wrapping itself around the first few meters of the trees. It was closer now. Far too close to outrun and wider than what he could hope to circumvent. His breathing was sharp and jagged, the white haze only meters away now, a sharp pain between his ribs no longer allowing him to run. His vision was becoming unsteady. He wasn't so out of breath so suddenly, surely? He would run like this many times, in the full heat of day even. So why was his breathing so laboured? Why was it now an effort to even straighten his back?
Inch by inch the cloud drew closer, shrubbery on the ground being eaten by its white tendrils. It appeared as though his vision was being eaten away by the white mist until all that was visible to him was only that which was meters away.
His gasps for breath now had a strange taste to them. When breathing from his nose, it smelled like the gasoline used to light the lanterns. Was there a car nearby? No, not in shrubbery this dense.
It seemed as though the white would engulf him now. Eat him, mercilessly as it had done the flowers that lay in it's path, the rocks of the cliff he adored so much, even the water he admired for so many years. All gone into this mysterious white fog and it almost seemed fitting that he should go with it. If only that he had so many places yet to visit, so many mountains left to scale, to discover the mystery of the liquid like fire within them, to sale perhaps, or to fly an aeroplane.
No, this white fog would not catch up to him before he discovered where it came from. Whats more, it was making it's way to the village, he had to warn them before it consumed them in their sleep...
The pain in his chest had dulled, he no longer noticed it. His attention was more on managing to wheeze in what little air that he could.
The only place left to go was up one of the nearby trees. The smoke seemed to reach a foot or two above his head, though a fair deal beneath the branches of the trees. The trouble was how to actually get high enough up one. Their barks were too large to hold easily with little to grab hold of in the way of leverage. Panting now, deep in the hot, white cloud, he bent over, panting for air though the white cloud was heavy in his lungs, the more he breathed, the less air he seemed to take in. His turban was unsteady, the part wrapped around his neck dangled as it rolled off of his head and his straw hat beneath it fell to the ground. He loosened the turban from around his neck and picked up the straw hat and fanned about himself to ward away the white clouds. The turban, now just one long strand of cloth, he tied around his left wrist. He felt his way back towards the nearest tree and looped it around the bark, grabbing hold of the other side of the cloth in his right hand. Pulling it taut, while biting down on the straw hat to prevent himself from breathing in unescesarily, he lept up and climbed, bit by bit, the trunk of the tree, walking unsteadily up the bark.
He progressed slowly, he didn't have the energy nor the will to try again, should this fail. Three times he had tugged the cloth marginally higher up the trunk, he had lost count of the tiny steps he was making up the tree. Perhaps nine? At times, the cloth would seem to slip, causing Sabun's heart to sink to his stomach. At another point, it caught itself in the thick bark of the tree, preventing him from being able to scale any higher. He could see nothing, he felt little but the hot fog on his back. He slid the cloth side to side, untrapping it from the twigs and as proceeded. The smoke had thinned where he was now, the leaves above him were descernable. Again he tugged and again he took a few more baby steps until suddenly, his head emerged from the white puff of cloud. All around for all he could see was white smoke beneath him. His own body was lost to him. Another series of tugs, and yet more steps, his midrift emerged slowly, painfully aching now. For all it's life sapping qualities, the fog seemed to make his pains dissapear. Though, now he had left the mass, they flooded back to him. He could feel the ache in his chest, the soreness in his arms, the cuts in his knees, the nettles in his feet. As he approached the first few branches of the tree, he wrapped his legs tightly to the bark and while keeping the cloth pressed tightly to the trunk, reached for a branch and hung on with all his might. Lifting his feet up above the cloud, and with the inside of his knee he hooked a leg around a branch besides the one his hands had in a vice like grip. His slender frame made it somewhat plausable to maneuver between the thick ensable of branches and work his way up through the maze.
He stayed near the middle of the tree, where the branches were more than thick enough to support his weight. And now that he was free from the mindless cloud, he leaned back and breathed deeply from his nostrils. Gasping in the air greedily, snorting it, puffing it, coughing the cloud out from his insides and replacing it with the fresh air he had so desperatly faught for.
He reclined on a branch, twisted his legs and arms around as many as he could, becoming a distorted, mangled puppet, and fell asleep.
It is here that Sabun comes after his day of herding his few family cows across the plains half a mile from the foot of the volcano range he is now sat on. The stubborn livestock would beat and billow in protest to him bringing them to his favourite spot; preferring the richer plains and ample food to the poor footing of the craggy, slippery stones. So instead of basking in the sunlight atop of one of the warm rocks, he first stowed away his animals to the field outskirting his family's home and replaced basking for sitting cross legged, examining the ripples on the surface of the water through the perspiration of his warm breath.
Shying away from this enclose was a trend he found not only among the livestock, but among his friends and family members too. Often they would protest against the smell of the lake, the smoky, charred fragrance he had so become accustomed to. He knew better than to believe this alone was what lay at the root of their precaution. The ground of the volcanoes that encased him were to be encroached upon with precaution. Tales of eruptions and devastation, spread through the village; of dense smoke and vivid red flames from the sky. Of how the heat would render you immobile before the fire even reached you. And slowly, as you lay incapacitated- or stood even by some accounts- the fire, flowing like the thick oozing juice of a swollen solo papaya would engulf you.
This always struck a chord with Sabun, who wondered why these people could depict the fire so creatively when in the stories themselves, it was impossible to witness the all engulfing fire without being consumed by its all engulfing spread. The village people- those who would not scold him for his indiscretion and quick tongue- would retell the story then, though this time allowing for one brave man who had witnessed it all and escaped to tell the tale.
So from a parable to ward him away from playing in the treacherous mountains, they told him tales that inadvertently fuelled his passion for adventure, for exploration.
Sabun's frequent attempts to invite others along with him were more often than not frustratingly unsuccessful. After countless rejections though, he had developed the ability to predict at which point in his companions journey the look of panic would appear on their faces and at which point they would feign disgust at the smell of the water. Over time, his skin thickened and he no longer seemed to begrudge his friends, often preferring the coast as a solitary confine where he could imagine himself away from his home. Perhaps it was the rejections that had tempted him to escape the tribe in childish rebellion. Perhaps it was these vendettas that had evolved over time into aspirations and he could no longer distinguish between the silly day dreams of leaping from mountain to mountain and the seemingly plausible idea of climbing the top of the volcano and digging a hole to see if the fire really lived within it.
Tonight, companion-less and quietly observing the patterns of the ripples, Sabun's back arched forwards as he hugged his legs tightly, forming a small contrast against the enormous flat faces of the rocks about him. His red turban, though more maroon in this light, sat beside him, on top of his straw hat. It was cool tonight, not cold and though the skin on this calves was starting to bubble like the patchy skin of a lizard, he found the gentle breeze to be refreshing. In it, lingered the scent of yesterday's heavy storm.
He had nestled himself himself on a dry patch beneath an overhanging cliff-like rock. The rainstorm had pounded hard at the fields yesterday, forcing Sabun to find shelter from a pair of trees, one arching above the other. From there, he could see the exact spot on which he was sitting now, the cliff above it almost forming a waterfall with the sheer amount of water it let slide off of its surface. Motionless and in a trance, ignoring the pebble sized droplets of water the trees above him would let slip through their broad leaves, Sabun sat and gazed at the landmass before him. Despite the heavy rain, there was still the intense glow of the sun, though it was dulled behind the cover of the clouds, which themselves had an ambient orange glow, tinged with silvery grey at the edges. Occasionally there would be a parting in them, where two tufts would have been blown apart by separate winds and from the opening, a brilliant ray of light would shoot through and cause the droplets of rain in its path to glisten like the juice of an emerald mango, vibrant and elusive, lasting only for the brief moments the clouds would allow.
As much as he yearned to examine the patterns in the water, or to sit in the shelter of his cliff like enclose he knew that the storm would not permit it.
By today though, most of the water meandered it's way into the lake, or exhausted in the day's sunshine, the rest of its remnants were the few puddles in the crags between rocks and a thin, film like layer causing the surface of the stones to remain slippery.
He had begun to enjoy the slimy feeling on the soles of his feet, sliding them across the rock surface, backwards and forwards. Different from anything he had ever felt on his feet. He had forgotten about his sandals sitting beside him and stood up to skip between the large sheets of wet stone.
Steadying himself occasionally, reaching down and using all fours at times, he leaped and ran across the rock edges, leaving precaution with his sandals and bright red turban. The storm that had passed had completely reinvented his customary sprint along the rocks and though making it more difficult, it also exhilarated him more than ever. A splinter of some sort caught itself in his toe and caused him let out a short whimper- his first sound of the evening- and hop along on one leg. Precaution had crept up to him and stabbed him in the foot.
He began making his way back to the spot where he left his sandals. A cool wind blew through the whole of the Crater like lake, whistling like it always did when the air poured through the different contours of the mountain edges, reverberating against the depth of the water. Only, the echo was different tonight. It wore thin against the rocks and had Sabun been paying attention to the wind rather than his bare feet, perhaps his frequent visits and numerous occasions of doing nothing but listening to the wind would have caused him to be alarmed.
Sabun didn't notice though, he didn't notice that the sound of the wind was different, that across the lake from him, the well worn rock edges were moments away from giving in under their own weight- in addition to the water they had absorbed and carried over the last day.
Near the plateau, one tree with its roots embedded in rocks tens of meters across under large boulder like stones, stood with a pool of water at it's trunk. It was as Sabun sat, putting his sandals on that the waterlogged base gave way across the lake from him.
Almost like a cat, his ear twitched to the faint sound of wood hitting stone. He turned to watch it plummeting down, vast branches spinning across the steep decline of the mountain edge, slowing down on occasion and speeding up on others until finally, it reached the precipice of its descent along the slope and fell off the ridge.
Sabun inhaled slowly, deeply, his mouth ajar until the tree fell out of view at which point he leaped up and hung over the rocky edge to view the ensuing splash. All that remained though, by the time he reached the edge, was the disturbed motion of water encircling the large, upturned tree, its bark bobbing in and out of the water at a peculiar angle, the uppermost part, nowhere to be seen. As it drifted along, Sabun followed it, as if tied to it by a chord. He noticed it dancing in the waves, backwards and forwards, up and down, as if unsure which way to go. He noted that in the light of the moon, where its reflection hit the water, the tree brought with it countless speckles of what appeared to be torn off twigs and leaves.
He continued to pursue the fallen tree though as a breeze caught him by surprise, he realised he was without his red turban. Quickly, he turned on his heels to fetch it, his eyes constantly gazing back to where the tree was, in case he lose it. As he returned to where he placed his turban and straw hat, he looked across to where the tree had fallen from. Even now, dirt and debris fell from between the rocks on the way down. He looked around in the darkness for where the tree had made impact in the water. While there was white foam on the surface earlier, it caught the light of the moon and was easier to see. Now though, the foam had vanished and in its place there were shapes, hard to discern under the shadow of the mountain. Still though, he found it peculiar that the waves were still crashing so wildly where the tree had landed. By now, the tree had made its way quite far down the stretch of lake and seemed to have surrendered itself to the rhythm of the lake.
Climbing down from where he stood before, he noticed a constant, rapid movement in the shapes in the shadows. The climb down was long and arduous, the slippery stones causing Sabun to slip on more than one occasion, though as he approached, the water's surface seemed more and more discernible. Was it because he had bridged the gap between himself and the lake? Or was it that the moon was now higher up in the sky? Either way he could now put a name to what shapes he saw in the water. Bubbles. Quick, furious bubbles, beating out of the water, gurgling to the surface, higher than what seemed natural, as though a fountain was running under the water. It was far too much for it to be the breath of an animal, surely. It hadn't stopped for well over a minute. Was the water boiling like the coco yam stew his mother would brew? Impossible, there was no fire beneath the water!
No, there must be a creature beneath there. But it had been over two minutes now, closer to three! Any creature to exhale that long must be either very large or very full of Millet beer, he thought. Entranced, he clambered further still, to see that along with the bubbles, the water was shooting to the surface a scarlet red. With this, Sabun took a step back. He quickly replaced the idea of a large exhaling, bloody creature with what seemed far more logical. A demon was appearing from within the lake. Perhaps this is what the villagers intended to keep him away from! Were these a sort of liquid, red flame, arising from the depths of the lake?
Sabun tore his eyes away from the water and raced as fast as he could to higher land. He grabbed at stone, lunged over gorges, scraping his knees with little regard. His breath had left him and he had forgotten it, all that concerned him was the distance between himself and the lake. Eventually, having reached the top of the rock surface, he collapsed on his back and gulped in air to his lungs. Peering over at the demonic red water, the bubbles had ceased though the red in the water was spreading?
Perhaps it is the demon that is bleeding? He was still gulping for air. A feeling of foolishness came over him yet at the same time a sense that he had somehow escaped a terrible fate. He began to laugh at this. First quietly, to himself he giggled, and as he relayed his panic in his mind his laughter grew, to a roar, as he envisioned himself scampering across the stones.
And once again, his ear twitched to the sound of something distant. Though this time, it was not quite so faint. He turned, still smiling towards where, he realised, the tree had originally fallen from.
The face of the cliff that had supported the tree had loosened and from its departure, with a great lurch, the ground near the top began to tumble. Crashing into lower ground which in turn gave in under its own weight, a landslide of rock and earth made its way down upon itself.
As one column of rock fell, as did adjoining ones beside it, until the entire rock face opposite him slid down the hill, as though shedding a very large layer of skin.
This time, Sabun was in position to see the splash, though on this occasion, the rocks created an orchestra of colossal waves, crashing into one another, swallowing up smaller waves, bursting onto his side of the lake. White spray leaped out at each individual contact of stone and water, spewing meter's above the water, hurtling across to the bank.
The rocks submerged, and the water slowly steadied itself.
Sabun lay still.
Was it dead? Was the demon killed? He went back to thoughts of the demon, watching for the red water, the bubbles. The rocks disturbed the water, mixing the small patch of red with the vast, clear blue. It was almost unnoticeably tinged with a red now. Perhaps not at all.
But then it reappeared. A thin streak of what firstly appeared to be blackish brown, and eventually a thick stream of blood red fluid approached the surface, bubbling lightly. And then it spread. Far more bubbles now than when the tree hit the water, the bubbles were spreading all across the far side of the lake. And they were getting wider and wider, closer and closer to Sabun until it actually did appear as though the lake was on fire. Boiling and bloody, it was humming from beneath him. It grew louder to a fierce rumbling as the stream of water grew larger and pushed higher against the surface of the water.
Sabun squinted to make sense of what was happening before him. The lake, now a completely different colour to what it was an hour ago, was steaming now. Truly as though it was on fire. White streaks wafted above the water, creating shapes in the wind. As the smoke became thicker, it grew more like thin clouds than the smoke that Sabun had seem rise from his mother's pans. It twirled in on itself, swaying back and forth, wherever the water boiled, there the clouds would appear, following the path of the bubbles.
Sabuns turban billowed in the wind. He wrapped the hanging scarf-like end around his neck without averting his gaze. And then he noticed that the same wind that blew against his face drew the clouds closer to him. Inch by inch, the water was being engulfed until it had reached the shore on his side of the lake. And then it stepped on the land.
Near the plateau, one tree with its roots embedded in rocks tens of meters across under large boulder like stones, stood with a pool of water at it's trunk. It was as Sabun sat, putting his sandals on that the waterlogged base gave way across the lake from him.
Almost like a cat, his ear twitched to the faint sound of wood hitting stone. He turned to watch it plummeting down, vast branches spinning across the steep decline of the mountain edge, slowing down on occasion and speeding up on others until finally, it reached the precipice of its descent along the slope and fell off the ridge.
Sabun inhaled slowly, deeply, his mouth ajar until the tree fell out of view at which point he leaped up and hung over the rocky edge to view the ensuing splash. All that remained though, by the time he reached the edge, was the disturbed motion of water encircling the large, upturned tree, its bark bobbing in and out of the water at a peculiar angle, the uppermost part, nowhere to be seen. As it drifted along, Sabun followed it, as if tied to it by a chord. He noticed it dancing in the waves, backwards and forwards, up and down, as if unsure which way to go. He noted that in the light of the moon, where its reflection hit the water, the tree brought with it countless speckles of what appeared to be torn off twigs and leaves.
He continued to pursue the fallen tree though as a breeze caught him by surprise, he realised he was without his red turban. Quickly, he turned on his heels to fetch it, his eyes constantly gazing back to where the tree was, in case he lose it. As he returned to where he placed his turban and straw hat, he looked across to where the tree had fallen from. Even now, dirt and debris fell from between the rocks on the way down. He looked around in the darkness for where the tree had made impact in the water. While there was white foam on the surface earlier, it caught the light of the moon and was easier to see. Now though, the foam had vanished and in its place there were shapes, hard to discern under the shadow of the mountain. Still though, he found it peculiar that the waves were still crashing so wildly where the tree had landed. By now, the tree had made its way quite far down the stretch of lake and seemed to have surrendered itself to the rhythm of the lake.
Climbing down from where he stood before, he noticed a constant, rapid movement in the shapes in the shadows. The climb down was long and arduous, the slippery stones causing Sabun to slip on more than one occasion, though as he approached, the water's surface seemed more and more discernible. Was it because he had bridged the gap between himself and the lake? Or was it that the moon was now higher up in the sky? Either way he could now put a name to what shapes he saw in the water. Bubbles. Quick, furious bubbles, beating out of the water, gurgling to the surface, higher than what seemed natural, as though a fountain was running under the water. It was far too much for it to be the breath of an animal, surely. It hadn't stopped for well over a minute. Was the water boiling like the coco yam stew his mother would brew? Impossible, there was no fire beneath the water!
No, there must be a creature beneath there. But it had been over two minutes now, closer to three! Any creature to exhale that long must be either very large or very full of Millet beer, he thought. Entranced, he clambered further still, to see that along with the bubbles, the water was shooting to the surface a scarlet red. With this, Sabun took a step back. He quickly replaced the idea of a large exhaling, bloody creature with what seemed far more logical. A demon was appearing from within the lake. Perhaps this is what the villagers intended to keep him away from! Were these a sort of liquid, red flame, arising from the depths of the lake?
Sabun tore his eyes away from the water and raced as fast as he could to higher land. He grabbed at stone, lunged over gorges, scraping his knees with little regard. His breath had left him and he had forgotten it, all that concerned him was the distance between himself and the lake. Eventually, having reached the top of the rock surface, he collapsed on his back and gulped in air to his lungs. Peering over at the demonic red water, the bubbles had ceased though the red in the water was spreading?
Perhaps it is the demon that is bleeding? He was still gulping for air. A feeling of foolishness came over him yet at the same time a sense that he had somehow escaped a terrible fate. He began to laugh at this. First quietly, to himself he giggled, and as he relayed his panic in his mind his laughter grew, to a roar, as he envisioned himself scampering across the stones.
And once again, his ear twitched to the sound of something distant. Though this time, it was not quite so faint. He turned, still smiling towards where, he realised, the tree had originally fallen from.
The face of the cliff that had supported the tree had loosened and from its departure, with a great lurch, the ground near the top began to tumble. Crashing into lower ground which in turn gave in under its own weight, a landslide of rock and earth made its way down upon itself.
As one column of rock fell, as did adjoining ones beside it, until the entire rock face opposite him slid down the hill, as though shedding a very large layer of skin.
This time, Sabun was in position to see the splash, though on this occasion, the rocks created an orchestra of colossal waves, crashing into one another, swallowing up smaller waves, bursting onto his side of the lake. White spray leaped out at each individual contact of stone and water, spewing meter's above the water, hurtling across to the bank.
The rocks submerged, and the water slowly steadied itself.
Sabun lay still.
Was it dead? Was the demon killed? He went back to thoughts of the demon, watching for the red water, the bubbles. The rocks disturbed the water, mixing the small patch of red with the vast, clear blue. It was almost unnoticeably tinged with a red now. Perhaps not at all.
But then it reappeared. A thin streak of what firstly appeared to be blackish brown, and eventually a thick stream of blood red fluid approached the surface, bubbling lightly. And then it spread. Far more bubbles now than when the tree hit the water, the bubbles were spreading all across the far side of the lake. And they were getting wider and wider, closer and closer to Sabun until it actually did appear as though the lake was on fire. Boiling and bloody, it was humming from beneath him. It grew louder to a fierce rumbling as the stream of water grew larger and pushed higher against the surface of the water.
Sabun squinted to make sense of what was happening before him. The lake, now a completely different colour to what it was an hour ago, was steaming now. Truly as though it was on fire. White streaks wafted above the water, creating shapes in the wind. As the smoke became thicker, it grew more like thin clouds than the smoke that Sabun had seem rise from his mother's pans. It twirled in on itself, swaying back and forth, wherever the water boiled, there the clouds would appear, following the path of the bubbles.
Sabuns turban billowed in the wind. He wrapped the hanging scarf-like end around his neck without averting his gaze. And then he noticed that the same wind that blew against his face drew the clouds closer to him. Inch by inch, the water was being engulfed until it had reached the shore on his side of the lake. And then it stepped on the land.
A strong gust of wind tore at the clouds sending them flailing wildly in all directions, including towards Sabun. Though they were at the bottom of the mount, they climbed quickly, excitedly, through gaps in the stones, jumping over them, clambering onto them, efficiently and effortlessly they spread. Wisps of smoke tore away from the mass and vanished into thin air. Sabun looked past the smoke on the ground now to see that more was still coming from beneath the bubbling water. He kicked at the earth and dragged himself away from the cliff edge using his hands and feet. He pulled away till he could no longer see the clouds advances up the incline. He composed himself, stood up and turned to hurry for his home.
Quickly he sprinted away from the edge, further along the large, slated stones, careful this time not to fall, choosing to step on the stones that were less reflective and had returned to a drier, lighter shade of grey. As he progressed down the rocks, the crunch of vegetation beneath his feet confirmed that he was coming closer to the path to his village. The moonlight wasn't enough though, to differentiate between grass and nettle and as Sabun paced through the shrubbery, the nettles cut and tore at the gaps in his sandals. Sore and tired, he turned back to the cliff and it was only as he stopped that he could feel the ferocity with which the wind was blowing. Covering his face, he looked to see if the cloud of smoke had climbed up to the peak of the mount he was on. Not only had it climbed up, it had made progress to the start of the vegetation; more than half the distance he had covered since laying at the top of the mount. As it was closer to his own footing now, he could more accurately ascertain the amount of cloud that was behind him. It stood far taller than him, dense enough to for him to no longer see the position he sat on just moments ago.
As the vegetation grew thicker, so did it grow taller. Running was now more difficult, swerving between weeds or evading bushes in the hopes that his foot would recognize the tread of the path he was desperately searching for. But to no avail. He trampled on flowers, their stems crunching beneath his feet, tugged taller vines out of their roots and out of his way, he dodged around tree trunks, mindful of their often protruding roots. Looking back, all that was now visible was the white fog wrapping itself around the first few meters of the trees. It was closer now. Far too close to outrun and wider than what he could hope to circumvent. His breathing was sharp and jagged, the white haze only meters away now, a sharp pain between his ribs no longer allowing him to run. His vision was becoming unsteady. He wasn't so out of breath so suddenly, surely? He would run like this many times, in the full heat of day even. So why was his breathing so laboured? Why was it now an effort to even straighten his back?
Inch by inch the cloud drew closer, shrubbery on the ground being eaten by its white tendrils. It appeared as though his vision was being eaten away by the white mist until all that was visible to him was only that which was meters away.
His gasps for breath now had a strange taste to them. When breathing from his nose, it smelled like the gasoline used to light the lanterns. Was there a car nearby? No, not in shrubbery this dense.
It seemed as though the white would engulf him now. Eat him, mercilessly as it had done the flowers that lay in it's path, the rocks of the cliff he adored so much, even the water he admired for so many years. All gone into this mysterious white fog and it almost seemed fitting that he should go with it. If only that he had so many places yet to visit, so many mountains left to scale, to discover the mystery of the liquid like fire within them, to sale perhaps, or to fly an aeroplane.
No, this white fog would not catch up to him before he discovered where it came from. Whats more, it was making it's way to the village, he had to warn them before it consumed them in their sleep...
The pain in his chest had dulled, he no longer noticed it. His attention was more on managing to wheeze in what little air that he could.
The only place left to go was up one of the nearby trees. The smoke seemed to reach a foot or two above his head, though a fair deal beneath the branches of the trees. The trouble was how to actually get high enough up one. Their barks were too large to hold easily with little to grab hold of in the way of leverage. Panting now, deep in the hot, white cloud, he bent over, panting for air though the white cloud was heavy in his lungs, the more he breathed, the less air he seemed to take in. His turban was unsteady, the part wrapped around his neck dangled as it rolled off of his head and his straw hat beneath it fell to the ground. He loosened the turban from around his neck and picked up the straw hat and fanned about himself to ward away the white clouds. The turban, now just one long strand of cloth, he tied around his left wrist. He felt his way back towards the nearest tree and looped it around the bark, grabbing hold of the other side of the cloth in his right hand. Pulling it taut, while biting down on the straw hat to prevent himself from breathing in unescesarily, he lept up and climbed, bit by bit, the trunk of the tree, walking unsteadily up the bark.
He progressed slowly, he didn't have the energy nor the will to try again, should this fail. Three times he had tugged the cloth marginally higher up the trunk, he had lost count of the tiny steps he was making up the tree. Perhaps nine? At times, the cloth would seem to slip, causing Sabun's heart to sink to his stomach. At another point, it caught itself in the thick bark of the tree, preventing him from being able to scale any higher. He could see nothing, he felt little but the hot fog on his back. He slid the cloth side to side, untrapping it from the twigs and as proceeded. The smoke had thinned where he was now, the leaves above him were descernable. Again he tugged and again he took a few more baby steps until suddenly, his head emerged from the white puff of cloud. All around for all he could see was white smoke beneath him. His own body was lost to him. Another series of tugs, and yet more steps, his midrift emerged slowly, painfully aching now. For all it's life sapping qualities, the fog seemed to make his pains dissapear. Though, now he had left the mass, they flooded back to him. He could feel the ache in his chest, the soreness in his arms, the cuts in his knees, the nettles in his feet. As he approached the first few branches of the tree, he wrapped his legs tightly to the bark and while keeping the cloth pressed tightly to the trunk, reached for a branch and hung on with all his might. Lifting his feet up above the cloud, and with the inside of his knee he hooked a leg around a branch besides the one his hands had in a vice like grip. His slender frame made it somewhat plausable to maneuver between the thick ensable of branches and work his way up through the maze.
He stayed near the middle of the tree, where the branches were more than thick enough to support his weight. And now that he was free from the mindless cloud, he leaned back and breathed deeply from his nostrils. Gasping in the air greedily, snorting it, puffing it, coughing the cloud out from his insides and replacing it with the fresh air he had so desperatly faught for.
He reclined on a branch, twisted his legs and arms around as many as he could, becoming a distorted, mangled puppet, and fell asleep.
Sunday 1 November 2009
Yes, yes he can.
Today was one of those days.
You know?
Possibly not. Allow me to elaborate.
I woke up at around mid-day. This annoyed my father with whom I was intending to work with in the morning. I got in the shower and used a new shower gel I'd recently been bought- FCUK (which the spell check on Mozilla Fire fox is telling me to spell as FUCK =] ) and enjoyed smothering myself in the smell of 1972. It was a difficult choice to make- deciding between the different fragrances in the FCUK shower gel range- because both 1972 and Steel smelled identical. I'm not knocking them for this- maybe 1972 smelled of steel? I don't know, I wasn't around.
But if they DID smell similar, why have two different labels that smell so similar? Why not go for Steel and 1992- which would have smelled more like blondes, bush and blowfish.
So today I came across an article in this months New Yorker regarding the C.I.As drone programme. Drones are planes which fly around 2 miles above the ground, are unmanned and used primarily for surveillance. The C.I.As drone program consists of (from what I've read) two types of drones, the Predator and it's more lethal counterpart, amply named, the Reaper. The writer of the article is describing the detail that is visible from the feed that is captured using the predator drones.
The live video feed clearly shows footage of one of the most wanted terrorists in Pakistan at the time. Baitullah Mehsud is shown laying on the rooftop of his in-laws' home. He is joined by his wife, his uncle, a medic and in the vicinity are his parents in law. During the feed, Mehsud is receiving an intravenous drip as he suffered from diabetes and a kidney illness.
The author continues to comment on how the image remains just as stable as the C.I.A remotely fire two hellfire missiles from the drone. And how after the dust cleared from the explosion, all that remained of Mehsud was a detached torso.
In that attack, eleven others died: his wife, his father-in-law, his mother-in-law, and, well, 8 other people.
I'd love to go through the ins and outs of the article but the damn thing is EIGHT pages long. It questions America's right to use such tactics in warfare, and when it is legitimised in using them.
Under international law, for a government to target civilian terror suspects abroad, the group must be engaging in armed conflict and the use of force must be a "military necessity. There must be no reasonable alternative to killing, such as capture, and to warrant death, the target must be directly participating in hostilities.
Now, in the scenario above, where the target was getting an intravenous drip, how was he participating in hostilities? Understandably he was classified as a terrorist, and what have you... But does this not show how America seems to consider itself above international law? Understandably you have more Atomic Missiles than anyone else in the world and subsequently the capacity to more or less destroy the world, that doesn't really put you... Gah what am I saying, there's no Americans reading this. Yet.
The first two C.I.A air strikes that took place in the Obama Administration, were carried out on the 23rd of January. Three days after he started his term.
And one of two was a failure. The second air strike hit the wrong home....
Killing a pro-government tribal leader and his entire family. This included three children, one of them five years old. There was however, no official acknowledgement of either strike. It just seems strange that Obama, who has been awarded a Nobel peace prize, has carried out as many aerial attacks as George W Bush did in his final 3 years in office. Those figures are according to a study carried out by the New America Foundation- who could be a bunch of anti-Obama nuts, but (well actually, visiting their site- they seem to be... er... A Group For Reform.) the figures people, the figures!!
Regardless of whether they should award Obama with a peace prize, or whether they should be simply overlooked when breaking international laws, the fact remains that the coalition forces are fighting a war that they can't sustain for much longer. If the states consider drones to be "the only pressure currently being put on Afghanistan" then that's clearly the route they are willing to take. Bruce Riedel (who has too many titles to attribute to his name coherently) feels:
It's really all we've got to disrupt Al Qaeda. The reason the Administration continues to use it is obvious: it doesn't really have anything else.
If this is the case, then let's consider the approach that the states are considering with regards to paying combatants to disarm from the Taliban. If America wishes to take on the role of partner with people within the middle East, if it wishes to spread a democracy in the region, it can't simply be done by remote controlled missiles being shot from planes two miles high in the sky.
People in that vicinity have been marred by errors in targeted killing for decades. The article brings on a list of victims; a Moroccan waiter murdered by Israeli intelligence agents, his identity mistaken for a terrorist who killed Israeli athletes at the Munich Olympics.
America attempt at revenge against the Libyan leader Muammar Qaddafi for his suspected role in a German disco. The result: an air strike that missed him but killed his fifteen month old daughter.
In the search for Osama Bin Ladin, similar mistakes have occurred.
And in September of the previous year, a NATO air strike which was supposed to be targeting members of the Taliban killed between seventy and a hundred and twenty five people who were taking fuel from two stranded oil trucks.
That story was covered by the Guardian, I remember reading it at the time, where the charred remains of the victims were so badly disfigured and torn apart that families had to ration out body parts in order to bury their loved ones. The sub- heading read: I took a piece of flesh with me home and I called it my son.
If you want to read that article in particular it's here:
http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2009/sep/11/afghanistan-airstrike-victims-stories
If events like this occur with such frequency and on such a large scale, what else do the coalition forces expect to happen other than for groups such as the Taliban and Al Qaeda to gather support?
As David Kilcullen (a counter-insurgency warfare expert) puts it in a study he carried out:
Every one of these dead non-combatants represents an alienated family, a revenge feud, and more recruits for a militant movement that has grown exponentially even as drone strikes have increased.
His co writer of the journal goes on to say:
We're not saying drones are not part of the solution. But we are saying that right now they are part of the problem. If we use tactics that are killing people's brothers and sons, not to mention their sisters and wives, we can work at cross-purpose with ensuring that the tribal population doesn't side with the militants.
It's also interesting how some ex military men are saying that such a detached manner of fighting a war is wrong simply based on the principle of fighting a war with soldiers.
There's something important about putting your sons and daughters at risk when you go to wage a war as a nation. We risk loosing that flesh and blood investment if we go too far down this road.
Surprisingly, some Predator pilots (remember predators are unmanned- they are controlled remotely from a safe location e.i Langley, Washington) wear flight suits when they operate the Predator's remote controls. What's also interesting is that some of these pilots actually suffer from combat stress that equals or exceeds that of pilots in the battlefield.
BIG BIG BIG chunks of this information was taken out of October's issue of the New Yorker and I could hardly do the article justice, it goes into so much detail. If you would like to have more information on this though, someone has been kind enough to publish it online.
http://cryptome.org/0001/predator-war.htm
That took a lot out of me, I think I'm gonna go drink a pale of a carbonated beverage from my fridge. Later.
To those of you who have me on Facebook, you may have spotted the double entendre in my title. No, you didn't. Don't pretend. It's regarding Obama and Bob the builder. Yes He Can!
Ahh never mind... Just one of those days...
You know?
Possibly not. Allow me to elaborate.
I woke up at around mid-day. This annoyed my father with whom I was intending to work with in the morning. I got in the shower and used a new shower gel I'd recently been bought- FCUK (which the spell check on Mozilla Fire fox is telling me to spell as FUCK =] ) and enjoyed smothering myself in the smell of 1972. It was a difficult choice to make- deciding between the different fragrances in the FCUK shower gel range- because both 1972 and Steel smelled identical. I'm not knocking them for this- maybe 1972 smelled of steel? I don't know, I wasn't around.
But if they DID smell similar, why have two different labels that smell so similar? Why not go for Steel and 1992- which would have smelled more like blondes, bush and blowfish.
So today I came across an article in this months New Yorker regarding the C.I.As drone programme. Drones are planes which fly around 2 miles above the ground, are unmanned and used primarily for surveillance. The C.I.As drone program consists of (from what I've read) two types of drones, the Predator and it's more lethal counterpart, amply named, the Reaper. The writer of the article is describing the detail that is visible from the feed that is captured using the predator drones.
The live video feed clearly shows footage of one of the most wanted terrorists in Pakistan at the time. Baitullah Mehsud is shown laying on the rooftop of his in-laws' home. He is joined by his wife, his uncle, a medic and in the vicinity are his parents in law. During the feed, Mehsud is receiving an intravenous drip as he suffered from diabetes and a kidney illness.
The author continues to comment on how the image remains just as stable as the C.I.A remotely fire two hellfire missiles from the drone. And how after the dust cleared from the explosion, all that remained of Mehsud was a detached torso.
In that attack, eleven others died: his wife, his father-in-law, his mother-in-law, and, well, 8 other people.
I'd love to go through the ins and outs of the article but the damn thing is EIGHT pages long. It questions America's right to use such tactics in warfare, and when it is legitimised in using them.
Under international law, for a government to target civilian terror suspects abroad, the group must be engaging in armed conflict and the use of force must be a "military necessity. There must be no reasonable alternative to killing, such as capture, and to warrant death, the target must be directly participating in hostilities.
Now, in the scenario above, where the target was getting an intravenous drip, how was he participating in hostilities? Understandably he was classified as a terrorist, and what have you... But does this not show how America seems to consider itself above international law? Understandably you have more Atomic Missiles than anyone else in the world and subsequently the capacity to more or less destroy the world, that doesn't really put you... Gah what am I saying, there's no Americans reading this. Yet.
The first two C.I.A air strikes that took place in the Obama Administration, were carried out on the 23rd of January. Three days after he started his term.
And one of two was a failure. The second air strike hit the wrong home....
Killing a pro-government tribal leader and his entire family. This included three children, one of them five years old. There was however, no official acknowledgement of either strike. It just seems strange that Obama, who has been awarded a Nobel peace prize, has carried out as many aerial attacks as George W Bush did in his final 3 years in office. Those figures are according to a study carried out by the New America Foundation- who could be a bunch of anti-Obama nuts, but (well actually, visiting their site- they seem to be... er... A Group For Reform.) the figures people, the figures!!
Regardless of whether they should award Obama with a peace prize, or whether they should be simply overlooked when breaking international laws, the fact remains that the coalition forces are fighting a war that they can't sustain for much longer. If the states consider drones to be "the only pressure currently being put on Afghanistan" then that's clearly the route they are willing to take. Bruce Riedel (who has too many titles to attribute to his name coherently) feels:
It's really all we've got to disrupt Al Qaeda. The reason the Administration continues to use it is obvious: it doesn't really have anything else.
If this is the case, then let's consider the approach that the states are considering with regards to paying combatants to disarm from the Taliban. If America wishes to take on the role of partner with people within the middle East, if it wishes to spread a democracy in the region, it can't simply be done by remote controlled missiles being shot from planes two miles high in the sky.
People in that vicinity have been marred by errors in targeted killing for decades. The article brings on a list of victims; a Moroccan waiter murdered by Israeli intelligence agents, his identity mistaken for a terrorist who killed Israeli athletes at the Munich Olympics.
America attempt at revenge against the Libyan leader Muammar Qaddafi for his suspected role in a German disco. The result: an air strike that missed him but killed his fifteen month old daughter.
In the search for Osama Bin Ladin, similar mistakes have occurred.
And in September of the previous year, a NATO air strike which was supposed to be targeting members of the Taliban killed between seventy and a hundred and twenty five people who were taking fuel from two stranded oil trucks.
That story was covered by the Guardian, I remember reading it at the time, where the charred remains of the victims were so badly disfigured and torn apart that families had to ration out body parts in order to bury their loved ones. The sub- heading read: I took a piece of flesh with me home and I called it my son.
If you want to read that article in particular it's here:
http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2009/sep/11/afghanistan-airstrike-victims-stories
If events like this occur with such frequency and on such a large scale, what else do the coalition forces expect to happen other than for groups such as the Taliban and Al Qaeda to gather support?
As David Kilcullen (a counter-insurgency warfare expert) puts it in a study he carried out:
Every one of these dead non-combatants represents an alienated family, a revenge feud, and more recruits for a militant movement that has grown exponentially even as drone strikes have increased.
His co writer of the journal goes on to say:
We're not saying drones are not part of the solution. But we are saying that right now they are part of the problem. If we use tactics that are killing people's brothers and sons, not to mention their sisters and wives, we can work at cross-purpose with ensuring that the tribal population doesn't side with the militants.
It's also interesting how some ex military men are saying that such a detached manner of fighting a war is wrong simply based on the principle of fighting a war with soldiers.
There's something important about putting your sons and daughters at risk when you go to wage a war as a nation. We risk loosing that flesh and blood investment if we go too far down this road.
Surprisingly, some Predator pilots (remember predators are unmanned- they are controlled remotely from a safe location e.i Langley, Washington) wear flight suits when they operate the Predator's remote controls. What's also interesting is that some of these pilots actually suffer from combat stress that equals or exceeds that of pilots in the battlefield.
BIG BIG BIG chunks of this information was taken out of October's issue of the New Yorker and I could hardly do the article justice, it goes into so much detail. If you would like to have more information on this though, someone has been kind enough to publish it online.
http://cryptome.org/0001/predator-war.htm
That took a lot out of me, I think I'm gonna go drink a pale of a carbonated beverage from my fridge. Later.
To those of you who have me on Facebook, you may have spotted the double entendre in my title. No, you didn't. Don't pretend. It's regarding Obama and Bob the builder. Yes He Can!
Ahh never mind... Just one of those days...
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