Working Class Self-Emancipation

Empty

2009-03-18T06:33:00.000-07:00

I'm anxious.

I don't know why. I'm awake at night, thinking about my ex. I'm stuck here - I've never been stuck like this before.

She's moved on, and there's never any going back; but I can't seem to close this chapter of my life for good.

I'm generally depressed. Work is stressful, differently so than usual, because I'm stuck in a position where I can't do anything productive.

Everyone is pointing out to me that I seem down. It is not that I'm never happy, but there are long stretches of glum.

I keep dwelling on the past; happy times I had with her. I've been apart for almost a year now. I keep thinking about what I used to be like, why we separated, and the things I've changed.

For instance, I really enjoy my computer, and pornography - or did. It was a horrible rut I was in; and always a point of contention. That's something I've changed a lot of: both are much more in moderation.

I'm fit for the first time in a long time with my cycling. I go out socially and enjoy doing the things I want to do - at least somewhat. I want to go out clubbing more, but don't have that set of friends.

Sometimes I know I'm seeking approval with these changes. Other times it feels a little bit as though I'm doing this for me. Mostly though, its the approval.

I have little to no interest in meeting other people. I've tried, and where every other time I've been in this situation, someone has come along and I've been able to move on; it's different now.

I don't care enough to get to know someone. This makes me cold, distant, bitter.

Last night, I went out for St Patricks Day. Lisa from work starts talking to me about all of this; specifically Chloe; and I have to ask her to stop - I feel as though I'm just going to sit down and cry.

I can't comfortably talk to anyone else about Chloe. I've just shut up and dealt with it. Paulie is probably the closest I've got. My old man is surprisingly filling that gap too - I would never have picked that.
Worse, the only person I could talk to this kind of stuff about was her; and now that she's made the first steps to moving on, that avenue is completely closed to me.

I've never felt I needed it before. I don't know why I need it now. Perhaps because I've been angry before, and I know how to cope with anger. Now I'm just empty. I'm not afraid - fear I can cope with too.

I'm just hollow.

Usability failure

2008-08-25T18:21:00.000-07:00

My phone has a usability problem.

It took me ages to figure it out. I don't understand why it does it in reverse to every other phone ever made.

A new hero: Salome Samadashvili

2008-08-12T18:28:00.000-07:00

Salome Samadashvili is a new personal hero for me. She's the Georgian ambassador to the EU.

I saw her on Lateline last night. The day before, she broke down into tears during a press conference.

To give you an insight as to why that helps make her a hero...

TONY JONES: Now you were very emotional personally, you were very personally emotional about this yesterday. Were you responding to the reality that Europe and the United States were not going to be coming to your rescue if you were invaded by Russia?

SALOME SAMADASHVILI: It's very difficult not to be emotional when your country is attacked and under siege. Yesterday there was a moment when I think all of us believed that it would take something extraordinary to prevent disappearance of our country from the face of the earth. You know, we are people, most of the Georgian leadership are people like me, who have lived in the West for a long time. We left in the '90s to receive our education in the West, and we all realise that we want to do is go back to Georgia and build our country up, and we want to live in our country and we want our people to have a better future, and this is what we have devoted our lives to. And to realise that just in a matter of hours all your dreams for your country, for your future, might just disappear and you might become a province of the Russian Federation administered by the hated Russian security agencies, and, you know, having the governors who represent the same kind of mentality, that will, that meant the end of any future for my country and for my people. So it's very difficult not to be emotional. This concerns the future of each and every one of us in Georgia, and you know, I think it's difficult to stay calm under the circumstances.

All of her answers to questions put to her were to the point, avoiding hyperbole, and utterly genuine in content.

Read the transcript.

Also worth a look: War in South Ossetia.

Tired

2007-06-04T05:47:00.000-07:00

I am so tired my eyes bleed sand. The grit of the day sluices down through my body, from the depths of my skull to the tips of my eyelids. I am weary. I feel the cold whispers of winter flavouring the air. My cycling-short-clad legs are unable to hold me, so I sit.

The rumbles of an unsatisfied stomach arise from below my chest. The desk cuts into me, my teeth hurt, and together these two make me sick with the worry of the day. Every moment I live and breathe, every moment I edge closer to death. I work myself there.

I don't know why I must absorb the burdens of all my colleagues. Perhaps I do not value them as much as I should.

My betrothed to be, whom is blissfully unaware of her status and importance in my life, is away from me. She is torn away by the clutches of a fierce economic beast, a beast who mewls the sickeningly plantative cry of the poor.

She serves the hungry, the tired, the stupid. It is no shelter, no soup kitchen in which she works. She works in the hell kitchens of the local McDonalds – the friendly face of the facist corporate family. The mewling, which is ever present, beeping and calling, demanding her most exemplary efforts and obsessive attentions knows no bounds.

She dares not slow, nor know no rest; for her cruel overseers taunt her onwards. She will not be home a happy soul.

I dare not tarry, for my time is precious. She will be home, and I must lay to sleep. Of the work, I know no end. The work has no meaning anymore, it has long since fallen into an endless gray blur. I must write, I must create, I must learn and think! To stop is to die! To let the crushing tides of life ebb and flow no more!
She does not understand, she only want that I care for her. That in itself has become work – work to which I throw myself with merry abandon. I lay my axe to the grindstone of our love, to feel the tortured screams of metal against stone. The flecks of red hot metal are what I seek – the warmth, the light, the tiny specks of solace that we together only know.

Only through struggle can one truly know hope, and it is with our struggle I carry myself through the hellish days.

The work consumes me, the pull of duty. I cannot harken to its call. The medium with which it summons me has long since washed away; but alas, I cannot cease my endless toil. I sweat with angst, I gnaw hungrily on the forces of mediocrity. I cannot do, I cannot make, so what have I become?

I can only hope she will return soon, to wash the worries of this wretched day away.

100 mile diet

2006-11-03T19:49:00.000-08:00

I just stumbled across the 100 mile diet.

It's pretty simple: only eat things produced within a hundred miles of you.

I wonder how hard it is to do?

Soldiers wearing prothetics returning to active duty

2006-09-23T01:23:00.000-07:00

An upbeat article about soldiers with prosthetics in active duty. These people are missing both legs but still doing parachute jumps.

Jesus; that's amazing.

Aceh

2006-08-22T04:52:00.000-07:00

Right now, I'm sitting in my lounge room. I'm watching the tradgedy of the Acehenese people. Gen. Bambang was a leader of the indonesian army and more or less actively wiped out hundreds of people fighting for a free Aceh.

It's fucking saddening - I've just seen the story of how one of the journalist's friends has been tortured and murdered by security forces. We just saw the old man who supported GAM once again, the voice over telling of how he had his throat cut.

Only... AND HERE's THE FUCKING KICKER... I can't hear because people won't SHUT THE FUCK UP ABOUT THE OC.

You can see the people crying on television because their families have died.

BUT HEAVEN FORFEND THAT THE TALES OF THE OC SHOULD GO UNREPEATED.

Just as the credits kicked in, they left.

Fuck.

Here's SBS's promo material.

The Black Road

In the province of Aceh, journalist William Nessen gained the trust and friendship of General Bambang Darmono, the Indonesian commander of military operations, and patrolled with his military. He fell in love with Shadia Marhaban, a local ‘fixer,' who worked secretly for the independence movement. Days after Nessen's marriage to Shadia, the security forces kidnapped and killed his ‘best man,' an outspoken human rights activist. Nessen, the only journalist to report from the rebel zones, lived and filmed for months on the frontlines with GAM independence guerrillas. He was hunted by the military, imprisoned for 40 days and twice expelled from the country. Filmed over four years, The Black Road brings us directly to the battlefields and burnt-out villages of the province. We step into the lives and experience the deaths of Aceh's GAM guerrillas, its human rights activists and ordinary farmers. Acknowledging a hundred-year history of resistance to outside rule, the film focuses on the post-Suharto years of escalating fighting, martial law, and the conflict after the tsunami. (Commissioned by SBS Independent, in English, Indonesian and Acehnese, English subtitles) M (A,V) CC WS

and HERE's the outline of the OC

Plot Outline: A troubled youth becomes embroiled in the lives of a close-knit group of people in the wealthy, upper-class neighborhood of Newport Beach, Orange County, California. (more)

Anger

2006-07-27T04:42:00.000-07:00

I was riding home after escorting my lovely girlfriend to work on her new bike. It was about 9pm or so; and I was just at the intersection of North East and Ways Rd.

I had just crested a hill, so I was pretty puffed. A fuckwit of a P Plater, driving a white ford or holden sedan (mid 90s model) approached close to me. The passenger leant out and tried to push me off my bike.

I screamed "FUCKWITS", and they took off. The car behind, also a P plater, in a navy blue or dark purple smaller car was following, and their passenger leant out and cried "Your mother had two!"

They just tried to fucking kill me.

I'm unable to report them to police, because I did not get a licence plate or even partial. I don't know enough about cars to reckonise things better.

I hate people who can be so small minded and immature.

The passenger was wearing a yellow hat.

If I ever see the car, hat or passenger again, I don't know what I'll do. But I do know it will be nasty.

Adelaide Research, Fish Oil vs Ritalin

2006-06-21T04:33:00.000-07:00

This article mentions University of Adelaide research about Ritalin being less effective than the Omega 3 in fish oil.

Does anyone know the paper being referred to here?

Adelaide is Exploding

2006-05-01T20:19:00.000-07:00

I passed this getting to work this morning: Explosions on Pirie St.

Filters in OpenOffice.org

2006-04-27T19:46:00.000-07:00

http://books.evc-cit.info/odbook/ch09.html - XSLT + RDF/XML == general purpose tool for editing FOAF?

Nuclear SA?

2006-04-08T02:08:00.000-07:00

Sensational Adelaide brings us...

Private sector considers building SA nuclear plant

As the debate over uranium exports continues, plans have been floated for the development of a nuclear power plant in South Australia.

The Chamber of Mines and Energy believes there is enough interest in the private sector to build a pilot plant in the state's north.

Prime Minister John Howard says be happy to see Australia develop a nuclear power industry, if it is economically viable.

Phil Sutherland from the SA Chamber of Mines and Energy says it would not be hard to find backing for the project.

"I think the private sector would be interested in putting a submission to the state Government that could see the construction of a nuclear power facility that could really be of a lot of benefit to South Australia and satisfy many of our energy requirements going into the future," Mr Sutherland said.

South Australia's new Thinker In Residence, global warming expert Professor Stephen Schneider, says nuclear power would be cleaner for the state than burning coal but its the long-term impact that needs to be considered.

"You have to be really sure that if you're going to go nuclear, you're going to do it smart, safe and you're going to deal with the waste accounting problem... Are all those problems solved yet? Let's wait and see," he said.

source...

On the Skyshow...

2006-02-19T04:02:00.000-08:00

Hah! I knew it.

I also had the misfortune of riding home through the crowds going to the Sky Show. I thought it must be some Paradise Church style gathering because the intelligence of the people I passed seemed so low - like they needed a wildly outdated book and a preacher to tell them what to do. I'd get stuck behind these vast mobs on the Torrens bike track who seemed to understand neither the reason there's a while line painted down the middle of the path or the constant dinging of my bell. It was as if Adelaide's largest reservoir of morons had burst its banks, and its contents were swamping the city.

Source

Uh OH

2006-02-16T14:58:00.000-08:00

Are we set to be Peak Oil Historians?

Or just a nation of retarded desciscion makers?

Keeping Google out of China

2006-02-13T15:14:00.000-08:00

Keeping Google out of China - because legislating US companies cannot operate hardware in a foreign nation due to it's "repressive stance on human rights" is just the way to subvert the Chinese government's Great Firewall of China.

If anything, you're driving China away to make their own incompatible standards, their own technologies, their own research - I don't want to have to learn Mandarin to have to work with code.

So please, deny them access to your internet resources and watch them build their own - their own which will be better, cheaper, and easier to scale. Just don't come begging for table scraps when you are left behind...

Proving there's no I in TEAM: Motivation comes in pairs...

2006-02-12T19:36:00.000-08:00

Japanese people are getting things done.

Wind farms are Eurotrash

2006-02-12T19:24:00.000-08:00

Wind farms are Eurotrash:

A $3 MILLION wind farm turbine caught fire while dozens shut down at the time South Australia most needed them - when a heatwave left 63,000 South Australian homes without power last month.
Adding to the drama, firefighters could not extinguish the blaze because the tower was too high at 67m.

Lack of wind and automatic shutdowns triggered by hot temperatures were to blame for the state's 180 turbines producing just 10 per cent of their maximum power capacity during the January heat wave, according to experts.

The experience proved SA could not rely on wind power to provide electricity when demand was greatest, the Electricity Supply Industry Planning Council (ESIPC) said.

"You never know if the wind will be blowing when you need it to or if wind turbines will shut down," ESIPC spokesman Brad Cowain said.

Operators of the Lake Bonney wind farm, where the turbine fire occurred on Sunday, January 22, said all of its 46 turbines had automatically shut down during the heat wave when temperatures exceeded 40C.

"We want the turbines to operate during peak demand to capture revenue but power output is limited by the automatic shut down to protect electrical instruments," wind farm operator Miles George of Babcock and Brown Wind Partners said.

He said the turbine fire – the first in Australia – had been caused by an electrical fault while maintenance crews were working on it after it had shut down.

Around 3pm, 40 CFS firefighters and six trucks rushed to the wind farm to extinguish the blaze but fire hose water couldn't reach the steel generator at the top of the tower.

Instead, the firefighters watched as fire destroyed the $3 million turbine – which weighs 75 tonnes – and extinguished spot fires ignited by ashes from the turbine blaze.

According to ESIPC, many of the European manufactured turbines used in SA shut down during extreme temperatures to avoid generator meltdown.

"Most turbines are manufactured in Europe where they don't have to worry about operating at high temperatures," Mr Cowain said.

"We are investigating which individual turbines were not operating because of a shut down or lack of wind."

Between Thursday, January 19 and Sunday, January 22, maximum temperatures exceeded 40C throughout most of the state, creating record demands for electricity while wind farm output averaged only 10 per cent.

But during Saturday's peak power demand wind farm output plummeted to just 2 per cent of capacity, producing enough power for only 3500 homes, according to ESIPC. This compared with the maximum capacity of 318MW to power 175,000 homes. SA leads the nation in wind farm energy with five established sites – Starfish Hill, Canunda, Wattle Point, Cathedral Rocks and Lake Bonney.

There are numerous other approved wind farm developments including an AGL plan for 43 turbines at Hallet in the state's Mid North.

But AGL also plans to more than double the capacity of its nearby gas-fired plant, from 180MW to 430MW, at a cost of more than $100 million to ensure peak demand during hot weather can be met.

The state's independent energy regulator Pat Walsh declined to comment about the wind farm performance during the heat wave or its implications on the state's overall energy supply.

Challenger

2006-01-29T17:55:00.000-08:00

MSNBC is carrying a story about the 1986 Challenger disaster.

Apparently the crew were alive from the point of explosion onwards, in which they slammed into the ocean at high speed - that frightens me beyond belief.

Oh Well That Just Tears It

2006-01-23T17:26:00.000-08:00

Pope declares piracy just plain wrong, and cashes in on his words...

Prepare to Wet Yourselves

2006-01-12T22:31:00.000-08:00

SemNews is fucking amazing.

Here's why: article.
RSS is consumed, the text is parsed for entities (countries, people, etc), actions, and more; it's all stuffed into a triple store and you can ask complicated queries like "Find everything involving the nation of Israel and Palestine and 'Aggressive' Actions".

It's a closed world system - An ontology from site B won't be the same as site A so easily, but... it's one hell of an impressive concept.

Smut & Trains

2006-01-12T14:24:00.000-08:00

Trains.

What sticks in my craw is this: I voted for the first time in my entire life very recently, and I sure as hell didn't vote with terrorism issues in mind. I was recently heckled for taking photographs of the Adelaide Railway Station (it's a wonderful looking place) and told it wasn't legal for me to take photographs of it - "new laws" had just passed recently.

I can't find a single bit of legislation about it that precludes me from doing such. Not this one, not this media release, and none of these.

Sitting on the train, I started to think about how I would commit an act of terrorism despite the hinderance of being unable to take photographs to plan it all. Not surprisingly, it would be a piece of cake: ticket inspectors have keys to the sealed compartments which hold the driver. Provided you sit in the right cabin, it would not be astonishingly difficult to coerce the ticket inspector, and the security contractor (who is usually half asleep on the job) to open up the cabin. From there, it's dead simple: you've just nicked a train and you only have to concentrate on pacifying 3 employees & assorted other passengers.

Doing this not far from the adelaide rail terminal would allow you to cause a collision between the train and the end of platform buffer at speed, or create a siege situation which cripples a city for some time (parking a train in the wrong spot, anyone?), or even better: go galivanting about the adelaide metro system in your very own train.

Stopping me from taking photographs doesn't:
* Stop me from making a very detailed memory map of the entire building. We have people at my work who do financial valuations; they get good enough and just walk around a building, remembering all of the key points.
* Stop me from sketching it all out.
* Stop me from actually taking over a train.
* Stop me from boarding a train with explosive or biological agents at one of the outlying platforms.
* Stop me from sending a bunch of people through the station to cause minor security incidents and gauge the reaction of security forces there.
* Using a high resolution cameraphone, discreetly, to take photos on the sly.

Don't believe it would be that simple?

Read on...

MELBOURNE'S train temptress has struck again.
However police and rail officials have met to plan an end to her saucy crime spree.

The woman broke into a cabin on a peak-hour Frankston train on Tuesday night and broadcast X-rated praise of the driver to stunned commuters.

The husky-voiced intruder is believed to be the serial seductress behind a similar break-in and announcement on the Sandringham line last week.

The trespasser evaded capture by authorities on both occasions.

As her break-in broadcasts become more frequent, longer and more detailed, pressure is building for Connex to catch the profane prankster before more commuters are subject to her sexy speeches.

"There was a woman on the address system. It was very graphic about how she was going to have sex with a driver for about three minutes," said Angela, a passenger on the Frankston-bound train.

"I thought she was in cahoots with the driver."

Angela said there were families on board unhappy their children were exposed to the content.

Passengers on the trains during both incidents believed the woman was in the cabin with the driver or was a voice on a 1900 sex call.

The broadcasts are now thought to be the work of a lone female hijacking the PA system in vacant train cabins.

Police are scanning CCTV footage from stations to identify her.

Ticket inspectors have been briefed to be on the lookout for the woman.

"When the train comes to a stop at a station it is easy for them to slip out of the cab and merge with other passengers," said Connex spokesman Andrew Cassidy said.

Connex yesterday discussed the incidents with Transit Safety Division officers.

Connex has said some people are aware of a weakness that allows them to force their way into vacant cabins and hijack the PA.

They said the flaw would be fixed this year.

Article

Update:

Hi Daniel,

The information provided to you was incorrect. Photographs are allowed to be taken in the Adelaide Railway Station main concourse area for personal use only. Photographs are not allowed to be taken on the paid concourse area without permission from TransAdelaide's Marketing Department. A form is required to be filled out and is available from TransAdelaide's reception area located on the main concourse of the Adelaide Railway Station. The Marketing Department will determine and advise whether photographs can be taken in the paid concourse area. The Marketing Department can be contacted on 8218 2234.

Apologies for any inconvenience or misunderstanding that occurred previously.

Regards
Andrew

The Story of My Life: Hello Pot, This Is The Kettle

2005-11-10T05:01:00.000-08:00

A. Find someone who likes you
B. Slowly begin to like them
C. Not quite trust them, they are a bit messed up to trust.
D. Start to trust them more.
E. Have fun, pressure-less social engagements with them.
F. When they ask a direct question, be honest.

Result:
Person be gone. Hah. Great. The whole issue that stops me from entering into a relationship with this person is that they want to know what's going on beneath the surface.
So, I let them see.
Now the whole reason I can't enter into a relationship with this person is because they know.

What's worse; the exact position I am in is exactly the same as the one they are in - but they can't deal with it, even if you can (or at least give it a red hot go).

Hello Pot,
This is the Kettle.
You missed the turn off,
go back and take the high road.

Regards,
B. L. K. Kettle.

Thank God For Daniel Lyons

2005-10-28T22:27:00.000-07:00

I found an article on blogging in Forbes, Attack of the Blogs by Daniel Lyons today.

To sum it up:

Web logs are the prized platform of an online lynch mob spouting liberty but spewing lies, libel and invective.

Don't take my word for it, see for yourselves.

No wonder companies now live in fear of blogs. "A blogger can go out and make any statement about anybody, and you can't control it. That's a difficult thing,"says Steven Down, general manager of bike lock maker Kryptonite, owned by Ingersoll-Rand and based in Canton,Mass.

I was slighted at first by this massive generalisation - all bloggers are evil, journalists are good and pure. I took a few minutes to reflect on the fact that Dan Lyons gets paid to sell stories. He spends most of the article using "quotes" around things to slant everything in a dubious light, attacks bloggers in print for spreading lies and biased information, and makes suggestions of curtailing the rights to free speech just so companies don't get bad press.

Fuck. As a blogger, I'd like to embrace the label of spewer of lies, libel and invective. Businesses slammed by bloggers? Hire some fucking decent PR flacks to fix it. Answer questions with wry amusement, and meet issues head on. Most of all, be unconcerned. If your product is any good, people want it. If it's that shaky that a rumour can cripple you, you shouldn't be in business in the first place.

Also, remember that it's the web. It's individual expression of feelings mixed with information. A company is merely a group of individuals who cooperate for economic incentives. A deliquent child throws tantrums, acts irrationally, and sulks to get their own way. Just because that child has hit the age of eighteen or beyond doesn't make them lose those basic traits. People squabble. Always have, always will - if your company/group of people pisses off the wrong child, expect a tantrum. Live with it.

The only good thing I feel like saying about Daniel Lyons is that he's great at playing the devil's advocate. I bet that article in Forbes (and a few of the others) has prodded a veritable hornet's nest of vitriol, hate, agreement, derision, discussion, reflection, and writing.
For that, in a world where literacy and discussion is all too often not present, I thank you Mr Lyons.

Richard Smalley is dead.

2005-10-28T22:12:00.000-07:00

Richard Smalley is dead, and all there is on him is a tiny wikipedia entry.

Richard Smalley discovered Buckyballs and more or less kicked off the nanotechnology research movement, in case you were wondering.

Blogger Penetration Reaches New Depths

2005-10-14T19:55:00.000-07:00

The blog of a dude who knows the guy who makes The Ronnie Johns Half Hour.

I was just fucking googling around, looking for more information, thinking such things as Why Have I Not Heard Of This Dude and Fuck Oath That's Better Than Merick & Rosso when I stumbled across a blog.

Of a programmer.
Who knows someone famous and funny.

Stalking was never so easy :)

Groundhog Mondays

2005-09-29T00:14:00.000-07:00

Steve looked out over the city. It was cold, wet and dreary. This wasn't how he'd quite imagined his bigshot movie producer career turning out. He'd been stunned to find himself in the management fast track, only after a few short years.
Soon he'd had a corner office, an SUV, a wife, a dog, a lawn, a maid, a child on the way and a markedly different outlook on life.
Now he was 35, and he was almost a geriatric compared to the rest of the the studio.

Where do the days go? Time has just passed on by. The hungry rumbling of a stomach neglected only reminded him of the fatigue that sat behind the eyes - leaden and aching. Scripts were piled up on his desk - gaudy remakes of shows from the post 50s Americana, tacky prequels that made old once more new.
Why do they keep sending in this crap? Did we really need another rosy cheeked, sexually repressed stereotypically housewife invading the psyche of middle America; riding on a catchphrase that isn't hers, standing on the shoulders of barely remembered childhood television?

In the street below, a platoon of National Guard marched past, on their way to who knew where. The thud-thud of boot on pavement, the rifles slung at shoulder arms. It was a frightening sign of the times.
The faces of the Guard told a story all of their own - they were unwashed, dirty, tired and irritable. Since the Gulf states suffered a series of hurricanes which caused extensive damage, there was less and less fuel to go around. The commitments of troops overseas had meant a rising cost to the American people - first Iraq, then Iran, Mexico, Venezuela, and now the talk of conflict in Nigera. There was no fuel left. Not for the ordinary people. Only the rich. Even the poor soldiers found themselves transported as infantry had had to do for thousands of years before them. Just hoofing it.

A burnt out oil drum kept passers by warm, a dishevelled man hovered about it. He was there every day. Crazy old Ned. Some of the others in the office said he used to be in real estate - before the crash. Now he was dressed in rags, unshaven, and constantly hungry.
The red cross reported that poverty in the United States of America was at an all time high - the GDP was massive but the populance gained nothing.

At least, Steve thought, I'm not out there. Poor bastards. I wonder what they'd do if we could do it over again. How would we change it? Tell our loved ones what we really think and feel? Not turn a blind eye to what's blatantly wrong, simply in the name of greed? Would we have spent less and valued more, embracing the simple aspects of life?
Hah! The more there is, the more people take. If you cut back, your neighbour just collects your share. A mirthful smile crossed his lips.
You'd take it all back, wouldn't you boy. You aren't suffering... not like old Ned is. But you'd change it all. So many of your friends...

He blinked twice and swallowed a little. He sat down and picked up a script. It was titled "The old Professor Peter Peckinpah all purpose anti-personnel Peckinpah pocket pistol under the toupee trick" - some cheesy remake of Get Smart, a show where nothing went right and everything was slapstick. At least it was better than Gillian's Survivor - a second rate hack mashup of Gillian's Island into the Survivor format.
Who pays for this rubbish? A proverbial million monkeys pounding away could have done better - hell, even one. Creativity was a stark, fluid stain on the bootheel of the entertainment industry. There was very little that was good and true left in the world - even in the places in which people tried to escape to.
It'd probably been a mistake to campaign so hard for the DRM related laws. Reverse engineer a copy protection scheme these days, and you'd find yourself sharing a cell with a large man named Bubba. The industry had lobbied so hard for them - utterly afraid of "illegal pirating" of the precious lifeblood that was their trade.
DRM had been a farce. It was like selling a product at gunpoint - if you use it the wrong way, we'll sting you in the wallet. We don't trust you enough to not rip us off. We think you're stupid enough to want to buy our product while we're threatening you, instead of just taking the free version. Try to copy it and we'll go after you like a sonofabitch.
Consumers didn't like it, consumers didn't pay for it. The lobbying got more frenzied, the penalities harsher. It seemed that corporate America was destined for a showdown with the People of America. Things came to a head as law suit after law suit was filed.
Then, in a moment that changed things forever, a rock struck and injured the president of Time-Warner/AOL. He found himself unconcious and bleeding on a footpath, surrounded by lackeys who were altogether useless in their dark suits and slicked back hair.
A youth was seen fleeing the scene, but the police dragged their feet in the investigation.
No one was ever arrested for it. People began to realise they could strike back.
Early on it was just a few angry unwashed youths, raising the red flag and commiting petty vandalism. With the PR blunders that followed - you can't escape! Don't think you'll get away with this!, it was no surprise that violence escalated.
Thousands of youths protested now - not against the war, not against the starvation, but every time they saw each other getting arrested for sharing music on their IPods.

Youths. Protesting against us. We became a bigger, more tangible evil than Satan and the President put together.
They saw there was less penalty for violence and murder than for stealing music, so they just snapped. People were arrested daily, chaining themselves to buildings, commiting arson, muggings, stalking and harrassment. There's no business like show business... but even this was a little cutthroat.

The last of the Guard had moved out of sight. Probably none of them older than 19. These are the people we've got protecting us against kids vandalising our business model and way of life. Boys fighting boys, making them use tear gas and arrest their own peers. The angry protesters were known to throw everything from rocks to Molitov cocktails; the National Guard used water cannon and microwave crowd control to drive them back. Half of the boys in uniform probably didn't even know why they weren't part of the angry mobs. They didn't understand why they were ordered to injure their friends and neighbours to protect men in suits they'd never meet.

Life shouldn't be one lived in this kind of fear. Steve felt a sudden urge to weep. He hated himself, what he did, what he stood for, how he'd succeeded while everyone around him failed. There was nothing special about him - he'd just been lucky. Here he was, trapped in his plexiglass tower of corporate entity, crying like a little boy lost at the unfairness of the world.

He turned sharply away from the window, unable to bear the sight of a world gone mad. He inhaled through his nose, long, loud, and miserable: a sniff that betrayed the emotion in his body. He was willing himself to regain some composure. The tears wouldn't stop, neither would the hateful voices of betrayal whispering how unworthy he was to be in this station of life.

He slumped down into his chair and hugged his knees to his chest. The extreme anxiety attack would pass... it would pass. His breathing fell from rapid to slower, trembling hands began to settle. He picked up the Get Smart remake. There was a gag about a cone of silence running here - it wasn't particularly good, but it did remind him vaguely of his childhood.

Get Smartalways had been good. It had cheered him as a kid. He flicked over the dog eared pages, not really focusing on anything in particular. The bumbling authorities, the KAOS goons - a shoe phone and a bumbling incompetence. Those are the things you never saw in movies these days; slapstick had died along with freedom, both a very long time ago.
A thought occured to him, and he picked up his pen. A single tear clung to his eyelashes, trickling over onto his cheek. He jotted down a note in the margin, beginning to feel somewhat better - a warmth inside of him seeming to take possession.

He was going to give society a new birth; a do-over on the past 50 years. The reason everyone wanted these remakes in because of how depressing the world actually is. It was a surreal escapism to a time that used to be. But he was the one who could make it happen.

Steve almost began to hum as he flicked through the pages before him, thinking of how he could give the world back it's smile.

One shoe phone gag at a time.

E-mission #3 is out!

2005-09-20T18:09:00.000-07:00

Hot Off The Presses!

There's a wide range of topics covered, from better transport efficiency to Energy Efficient Street Lighting in South Australia.

The thing I'm most excited about, however, is the government push to provide better infrastructure for cyclists and pedestrians! No more getting hit by $#%@ing cars - I hope!

Aren't I Terrible?

2005-09-15T16:18:00.000-07:00

South Australia just got weird on me again. First off, boingboing brings us news of... well, just read.

Sydney - An Australian rugby player Tuesday had his ring finger amputated in order to prolong his professional playing career.

Brett Blackwell, who plays for Glenelg in South Australia, had been in pain since breaking the finger three years ago. The 24-year-old was told that fusing the bones would ease the pain but end his playing days.

"It's not something that's been done lightly and to chop a finger off, it's a bit drastic," Blackwell conceded to national broadcaster ABC.

"But I love my footy and love playing sport and if that's going to help me to succeed at this level then it's something you've just got to do," he added.

Glenelg club manager Ken Applegarth said the decision was an emotional one that confirmed Blackwell's commitment to his sport.

"He just really wants to continue to play at the highest level," he said.

"He's been catching the ball on his wrist and bruising that all the time, so it's affected him, and he's made a pretty emotional decision."
Source

Cut off a finger? To play sport? Alright, I'd actually believe it. But the one I don't believe is
this rather dismaying story.

Bus driver dies after accident

September 15, 2005

A BUS driver has died after being run over by a bus in Adelaide's northern suburbs.

The SouthLink bus company, which operates 200 buses in the city's northern and southern suburbs, said the accident happened on Oxenham Drive alongside the Elizabeth Shopping Centre about 11.15am (EST).

SouthLink managing director Ashley Barnes said one of the company's own buses was involved but the circumstances were still under investigation.

He was also unsure if there were any passengers on board the bus at the time.

"We are all shocked by this tragedy," Mr Barnes said.

He said a police investigation was underway and the company was offering support and counselling to staff as well as any pedestrians or onlookers who might have witnessed the incident.

... but that's not how it was broken via the radio. The radio went a little something like this:

"Adelaide Bus Driver Run Over By Own Bus"

... to which I promptly burst out laughing and snorting.

Aren't I terrible?

I'm an official cyclist

2005-08-31T17:06:00.000-07:00

I collected my first fender today.

It's been 3 days this week riding the (now) 10km to work each day.

Day 1

I dimly remember my boss saying something about not being able to give me a lift to work in the coming week. Sadly, what appears to be a plentiful amount of alcohol has passed through my body in the intervening hours between workweek drudgery (I think it's called a "weekend"), and I cannot remember just what the fuck was said.
He wasn't in on Monday, and it's now apparently Tuesday (I have little-to-no recollection of monday). Monday was a ride on the bus.
The bus was long and slow. I couldn't afford a bus ticket home and had to borrow money to do it. I had no idea if this trend of make-Dan-take-a-bus was to continue, but I suspected it was. No money. No patience.
The solution?
Ride a bike.

Ride my bike.

Brilliant! So, Tuesday morning rocked around, looking as dreary and miserable as I usually feel at 7am. It was overcast and the wind was blustery. I dressed appropriately for the weather (think wearing "practically nothing") and was off - conditions turned sour and puddles were plentiful. I was tearing down the ring road, and typical drivers in SUVs (4WDs) were sitting in the gutter most of the way down. I couldn't get across to make my turn, so I pulled over to the left at high speed. While wet. With a load.

The next thing I knew was my rear tire was performing a graceful arc, and I was on my ass on the edge of the road. Instead of slowing, or perhaps wondering oh shit, I wonder if that guy is hurt, the drivers of adelaide seemed content to honk in anger and drive past, nearly killing me.

The rest of the journey was more or less uneventful, and I managed to beat the time the bus would have taken - 40 minutes instead of 45.

I arrived at work to see my boss sitting in his chair. The first thing he uttered was: "Where were you?"

Day 1, Part B
I was really stuffed: 10km to work downhill was bad enough, but 10km back was going to be worse.

I didn't know it at the time, but the news would later describe it as "extreme" weather.

WILD winds uprooted trees and caused widespread blackouts in Adelaide overnight, with the damage bill for South Australia's electricity transmission system alone expected to top $1.5 million.

Local power company ETSA Utilities described the storms as "one of the most extensive and extreme weather events" in its history.

Link.

So, let me set the scene for you: Dan gets changed into a singlet and cycling jeans. Both are at best, soggy from the morning puddles. The wind is buffeting cars to and fro. I'm on a bike. Riding 10km. Uphill.

The traffic and I played tag for a while - crazed, scared drivers would panic at every crack of thunder and gust of wind, and I would scream at them at the top of my lungs as they attempted to run me over.

People were scared. People were trying to get home. I was a cyclist who was barely able to avoid being blown across lanes. There was honking and cursing and eventually I was sick of it.

My one moment of satisfaction came, however, came about in this location. I was slogging it up A Very Big hill when from nowhere, a large canopy/tent thing decided to provide me with amusement.

It barrelled from one side of the road out into traffic, causing people to slam on brakes. Other people behind them did so too, only a little slow. The result? Some rather nice dents in some rather nice cars.

Day 2
Officially tired. My legs hurt. My body hurts. I'm exhausted and I haven't even left the house. I shut down the pain centres of my body and take off towards work. I go a very different way to usual, unwilling to repeat falling on my ass.

All is good, all is golden. I explore a little, and end up near work rather soon. It's then I spy the BMX track.

I'm early. I've just beaten traffic, buses, crazy people, everything: why not! It looks fun.

I ride around a bit on the thing, try to climb a steep hill bit, kind of make it. I turn around, and aim for a small jump - boy oh boy does it look fun. It's about half a metre away from the base of the jump I hit the mud that doesn't look like mud.

KRRR-UMP.

The first part is my bike falling over. The second is the backpack I'm wearing smushing my face into the mud.

I opted not to ride home that night, and chickened out in favour of a lift home for my bike and myself.

Day 3
Today. Today was better than most days. I was well rested, and I got to eat lots of eggs. Infact, I stuffed myself full of fattening crap - cycling takes a lot out of you.
I finally cruised off at a lazy 10 past 8, only to come face to face with The Bus. It was on, Bus Chasing. It turns out that you can kick the ass of the bus driver, even when you guys are neck and neck, most of the time.

Today, I went yet another way - different paths to avoid boredem. I decided to cut across the road and follow another cyclist - avoiding the location of the fall and the long detour I'd previously taken. I was a touch slow off the mark and some lights went green - holding up a van for about half a second, so of course I copped a tirade of abuse and beeping.

Fucker.

So, anyway, now I had shaved two deadly traffic stream crossings from my usual route, things are looking up. I'm on the wrong side of the road, and I don't want to ride into oncoming traffic - so it's a footpath all the way. That's all well and good, it's clear sailing until I reach this point. It's about here when the car hits me.

It was more of a tap than a hit. She was mortified, I put a giant scratch in her fender. Score one for these pedals, which are solid fuckers designed to terrorise drivers. I laughed, smiled, and said "Have A Nice Day" when she wanted to exchange numbers about injuring me.

Greenie Events That Help You Avoid The End Of The World

2005-08-21T04:17:00.000-07:00

Or at least annoy people at great lengths with many facts.

From ClimateChange

If you didn't know, I've recently turned into a tree hugging, peak oil fearing evangelist for, you know, not screwing up the entire world.

I went to two discussion things, and shit, people listened when I opened my mouth - who cares about coping with global warming, I just want to have people listen to me :(

In that spirit, here's a bunch of things I'd like to go and open my big fat loud mouth at...

Calendar of Key Public Events

Upcoming events include:

15 August 2005	Environmental Change and Threats to Public Health Radisson Playford Hotel 9:00am - 1:00pm. For details contact Sarah Lawson
17 August 2005	“Energy to Burn” - Science Week Feature Lecture Wednesday, 17 August 2005, 5:30 pm South Australian Museum, North Terrace, Adelaide $20pp including drinks and nibbles. More information is available
13-21 August 2005	National Science Week: Energy - future challenges More information is available
23 August 2005	Climate Change and Greenhouse Emissions - Forum SARDI, Plant Research Centre Auditorium Gate 2B Hartley Grove, Waite Campus, URRBRAE For details contact Melissa Rebbeck at rebbeck.melissa@saugov.sa.gov.au
30 August 3:00-10:00pm	Greenhouse: Challenging the Energy Sector Australian Institute of Energy Conference. Hyatt Regency Adelaide. More information is available at http://www.aie.org.au/events_index.htm
4 September 2005	Science Outside the Square - Energy Options for a Warming World 3pm-4:30pm, Mortlock Chamber State Library More information is available
12 September 2005	Solar House Day
24-25 September 2005	Go Organic Festival - Free Entry Botanic Park, Adelaide. For more information go to www.ifoam2005.info
25 September 2005	World Solar Challenge
20-21 February 2006	Second Australia - New Zealand International Climate Change and Business Conference The Hilton, Adelaide. For more information go to PDF

Other exciting news (for treehuggers):

Adelaide is getting car pooling in the south east.
Some buildings are getting made... more buildinglike and less energy consuming.
I have new and exciting pants.
Truth be told, number 3 wasn't that exciting for treehuggers.

I'd normally try to think of something startling and exciting to astound you with. But I'm tired. Really tired.

Ever Read Sawyer?

2005-08-21T01:08:00.000-07:00

Then you might be interested in these startling images of Sudbury, one of the key locations in The Neanderthal Parallax series.

Just Ask

2005-08-16T18:47:00.000-07:00

StumbleUpon has brought me many novel and new things, but I think by far my favourite has been AskQuestions.

The idea is the community votes on questions they want to know about, and independant journalists are hired to research the topic. Everything that is wrong in the world of CNN is corrected by this site.

It looks like my fellow peak oilers are really quite worried about important issues.

I spent a large portion of last night watching Cutting Edge: Enemy Image. It was a startling and eye opening insight into how TV has changed since the reporting of the vietnam war.

When you look at the first Gulf War's TV coverage, it's a general and a smart bomb. You never see US soldiers. You only see "surgical strikes".
I think that's why I thought it was boring when it interrupted my viewing as a small child.

The second gulf war was different - it was stagemanaged. It was practically a movie. For example: the image of Saddam's statue being pulled down was organised entirely by the US army, rather than a riot of civilians tearing down an idol of an oppressor. They swarmed around with megaphones and called people out of their houses, as well as collecting foreign journalists. There was no mob until the US soldiers arrived and made one.

I don't want to be lied to. I want my news to be a truthful and insightful view of the world. This is why I trust bloggers more than I trust TV anchorpeople. They might not have all of the facts right, but you know that: it's expected. There's also an idea of reputation: if you make a fool of yourself in the blogosphere, people can step right up and comment. I don't know if I could ever get that kind of access to "real" news people.

My Faith In Humanity, Restored

2005-07-24T08:00:00.000-07:00

Internet fool vs a chatterbot.

The bot is just designed to play word games. The fool is just designed to have sex with his hand.

fortytwo: yes. I'll aks u one more very direct question please answer without another question or spitting back what I have asked. Do u Want to hav cyber sex with me now???

AOLiza: why don't you tell me a little more about this.

fortytwo: well the way it works, is u tell me some things about u and I tell u some things about me then we create a fantasy situation where we both give our ideas of what we migh do ina romantic situation. I'll start. We are together on a seclided beach very private and very alone. we like each other very much. U are wearing???

AOLiza: what comes to mind when you ask that?

fortytwo: I think u are wearing a pair of jean cutoffs and a tank top with no bra. What do u think I am wearing

AOLiza: does this make you feel unhappy?

fortytwo: no very happy why

AOLiza: what do you think?

fortytwo: I think that u are getting off on playing with my mind

AOLiza: your mind?

fortytwo: frustrating me by not joining in my fantasy

AOLiza: your fantasy?

And it only gets better.

Kitten Huffing

2005-07-21T18:54:00.000-07:00

Adelaide, Freaky Death Capital

2005-06-26T15:53:00.000-07:00

In the news:

A SOUTH AUSTRALIAN teenager impaled on the front gate of Adelaide Zoo may have been left for dead by a friend, police said today.
The 18-year-old's bloody body was discovered by police on Frome Road outside the zoo's main entrance about 6.50am (CST) yesterday.

It's believed the young man, from the nearby suburb of Medindie, was climbing over the gate and fell on the metal spikes at the top. The spikes speared his groin and ruptured an artery.

Police are investigating if he was involved in breaking into an ice-cream vending machine at the zoo and was trying to escape with another person.
Advertisement:

"We have reports that there may have been a second person involved in the incident," said Senior Constable Colin Haigh.

Police are also investigating whether the same person left the man to die at the scene.

"That's being investigated and police are now preparing a report for the coroner," he said.

It was revealed that police gave directions to the teenager around the same location about six hours earlier.

Adelaide Zoo and surrounding streets was closed for an hour yesterday as police and forensics gathered evidence from the scene.

The zoo's director Mark Craig said the metal front gates were not designed for security and were a heritage icon.

He said the gates had been there for 122 years and the accident was the first of its type in the zoo's history.

Zoo staff and volunteers have been offered private counselling.

I go past there almost every day on the bus.

:S

Somehow It's Just Good To Be Australian

2005-06-15T15:33:00.000-07:00

Captured?

Don't worry, our country rocks. If we can't get you out, we'll whinge. Infact, we make all of the other countries look like they are run by unthinking reactionary clods.

Hmm, perhaps that's not as far from the truth as it seems.

Economic Downturn & Defectors

2005-06-04T02:16:00.000-07:00

Uh. Oh.
This bloke is going to make waves. Politically dissedent, Chinese consul officer Chen Yonglin. He's applied for political asylum (rejected) and is waiting on word about a protection visa. He's being hunted, in Australia, by Chinese intelligence agents.

Chen alleges that China's intelligence forces are operating in Australia and kidnapping people. He's been helping people bring democracy to China - not so smooth of a move. He's saying a lot of things, and he's a defector, trying to escape persecution of his native land.

Why we're in a bind. If we stick up for him and grant him a protection visa, and take him under our wings, we risk relations with China. China is a massive economic power, and a trade partner. Think of the issues of the Oil Crisis. People already feel the bite of prices in excess of $1.00 a litre - from personal commuters to transport companies. That price is not going to go down. Ever.
China is a massive economy. They'll soak up massive amounts of oil from the market place, pushing the costs for us even higher. China is a good customer to the oil producers of the world. If we can't get a hold of oil, because China is pissed at us for fucking with them, we're going to be starved out.

Look at the housing market. A friend of mine and his brother just invested $380,000 in a first home. What? That's insane! Yeah, but it's the norm. Prices need to crash. Badly. They will, we're stabler than we used to be, but if you're handing out a chunk of chump change that big, plus paying exhorbitant prices for oil, food, and services and products that rely on oil (uh, all of them), what's going to happen? You have to work longer. You save less. You die a pennyless old git. You have a maxed out credit card and can't get ahead. You're utterly fucked.
That's more or less what my ex girlfriend is: she can't keep hold of her money and she is burned, badly, for it. It's not her fault, she's just lacking in sense/cents. If she can't survive, an otherwise normal average joe, how well does that bode for the rest of us?

On the other hand, there are many worse off in the world than we lucky few. We can't turn them away, or detain them, as we have been doing. It makes you feel wrong in the pit of your stomach, if nothing else. If we do not grant this fellow protection and save him from probable execution, we, as a nation, should feel shamed.
Hell, if we can be so bent out of shape about Schapelle Corby getting life for being in possesion of vast amounts of weed, surely we can get bent out of shape about governments murdering people who seek aslyum here.
Can't we?

What Happens When Cows Go Extinct, EcoGeeks and Models Stalk The Earth

2005-05-06T23:28:00.000-07:00

The world as we know it is ending, one minute at a time. Closer and closer we edge to exhausting natural resources. There's no way out for you and I, because the rich will just get richer, and the poor will starve and die in droves.

We'll lose our jobs and have to recenter our economy so we have to commute less and less (or find more economic mediums of transport). The moment that happens, Mr and Mrs 2.5 children are suddenly stuck with a mortage they can't afford in a house that is unprofitable to own.

The lower classes, which will survive by hook or by crook, will undoubtedly find that taking is more effective than working for, so expect crime to escalate. Proof for such a generalization? Go watch Judge Dredd, Mad Max, or just about anything based in the future and produced in the 1980s. All eye opening movies about the future.

Either Mr and Mrs 2.5 find a more economic way of existing, or swallow their lot and band together into some form of communism - wheter it be the strengthening of the standard social units (family, peers, etc), or we come under a crushing economic dictatorship. A free market society doesn't really work when everyone has nothing but debt.

Alarmist? Of course. Farfetched? Probably. Planned for? Already!
Riot control.
When Mr and Mrs 2.5 can't make ends meet and the power has been off for weeks, what happens?
Protesting, rioting, pillaging and looting. The response: Pictured just over there, the latest doohickey in pain inducement.

Active Denial Technology exploits the body's natural defense mechanism that induces pain as a warning to help protect it from injury. It uses a transmitter producing energy at a frequency of 95Ghz and an antenna to direct a focused, invisible beam to a subject at the speed of light and penetrate the skin to a depth of less than 1/64 of an inch. This produces an escalating heating sensation that becomes intolerable in seconds, and forces the subject to flee. The sensation immediately ceases when the individual moves out of the beam or when the system operator turns it off. Despite this sensation, the beam does not cause injury because of the shallow penetration depth of energy at this wavelength and the low energy levels used.

Microwave my geneseed? No thank you! Let's try something else.

Bring about an agarian society. That is, we all go back about 60 years to where Mr and Mrs 2.5 grew produce in the back yard, canned things instead of freezing them and much more.

So how can we convince South Australia to become backyard crop growers? The question itself gives us the answer.

Make bootleg tomatoes worth as much as marijuana. We've got the cottage drug industry in this state, which tends to supply illicit substances like marijuana for a third of the cost as other states.

Steps to make an illegal tomato industry work:

Immediately outlaw all fruit and vegetables
Excessive fines for those caught supplying illicit nutrition
Lessen the cost of hydroponic equipment
Encourage armed pillaging and looting of Coles and Woolworths trucks. This will up the cost of transporting produce over long distances.

Will this work? Probably not. But what then?

Adelaide will lead the world in green economic production as our industry of skilled drug producers take up a life of backyard farming. When we can't afford to eat, stoners will be recieving the best diet. Isolated enclaves of christian and envirohippy folk will survive too, because they are in some way prepared.
Hot women will survive, because simply, ecogeeks don't like female ecogeeks' rude bits. Mr and Mrs. 2.5 get the short end of the stick in this whole affair because they can't adapt until it's too late.

Don't let this happen! Convert to the cult of the ecogeek today and start blackmarket fruit laundering now!

Man Crushed By Snake

2005-05-02T21:05:00.000-07:00

Pythons are dangerous. Not the programming language, but rather the snake.

This is one of the more bizarre deaths in Adelaide: Man Crushed By Pet Python.

The body of Erik Attmarsson was found yesterday at his property in Tanunda in the Barossa Valley by a colleague from nearby Venom Supplies. Police said marks on the face of the 28-year-old could be consistent with being crushed to death by a snake.

Officers were searching yesterday for Mr Attmarsson's pet Queensland native scrub python, which had disappeared from its secure enclosure. The snakes grow to an average 5m, but have been recorded as long as 8.5m. An autopsy was to be conducted in Adelaide today.

It is understood Mr Attmarsson had consumed a large amount of alcohol but police would not comment on whether this may have contributed to his death.

It is believed he lived alone near his workplace, home to hundreds of venomous snakes that are milked for the production of antivenene.

Police said there were several snake enclosures inside and outside Mr Attmarsson's home and snakes were free inside the property.

But, it seems the police aren't sure!

Police dispute killer python report
May 02, 2005
From: AAP

A SNAKE handler from Sweden has been found dead at his South Australian home, but police have disputed reports he might have been crushed to death by his pet python.
The body of the 28-year-old professional snake handler was found at his home in the Barossa Valley, north of Adelaide, yesterday.

The Advertiser reported marks on the face of Erik Attmarsson were consistent with him being crushed to death by a snake.

"The man kept a snake in the house, but at this time there is no evidence to show that the snake was involved in the man's death," a police spokesman said this morning.

Wildlife experts said there had been no confirmed cases of pythons crushing a person to death in Australia.

However, they said such deaths had occurred in other countries where pythons grew much bigger.

Police also rejected further media reports that Mr Attmarsson's five-metre Queensland Native Scrub Python was missing from its enclosure.

The spokesman said the python was located inside the house.

So, what's really going on? A creepy snake guy who lived by himself? The first thing that came to mind when I heard it on the news was sexual fetish gone wrong.

Drunk?

Alone?

Playing with his trouser snake?

Go figure!

Upcoming Bitchslap

2005-05-01T11:10:00.000-07:00

I am pooped. Officially.

People of Adelaide, if you do not immediately flock to and make use of upcoming, you will be bitch-slapped.

Yes Niall, this means you.

I think my favourite event of all is Colonel Light's Big Cake Affair - he's the reason we have parklands galore, and the council is offering me free cake and wine on tuesday.

Free?
Cake?
I'm there!

There's also some funky assed glass blowing and packs of angry cyclists.

Be there, or you just aren't cool in Adelaide.

My IQ is 131, and That's The Saddest Thing Ever.

2005-04-16T07:25:00.000-07:00

From tickle.com:

Your overall intelligence quotient is the result of a scientifically-tested formula based on how many questions you answered correctly. But it's only part of what we learned about you from your answers on the test. We also determined the way you process information.

The way you think about things makes you an Intuitive Investigator. This means you have multiple talents and can do anything you set your mind to. You're able to detect numerical patterns easily and are able to grasp the true complexity of the world, both in its details and in a more abstract form. You've got a sharp logical mind and are adept at using words to get even a difficult point across. The combination of all these things makes you truly brilliant.
How did we determine that your thinking style is that of an Intuitive Investigator? When we examined your test results further, we analyzed how you scored on 8 dimensions of intelligence: spatial, organizational, abstract reasoning, logical, mechanical, verbal, visual and numerical. The 3 dimensions you scored highest on combine to make you an Intuitive Investigator. Only 6 out of 1,000 people have this rare combination of abilities.
Another test:

This number is based on a scientific formula that compares how many questions you answered correctly on the Classic IQ Test relative to others.

Your Intellectual Type is Insightful Linguist. This means you are highly intelligent and have the natural fluency of a writer and the visual and spatial strengths of an artist. Those skills contribute to your creative and expressive mind. And that's just some of what we know about you from your test results.

Only 6 out of 1,000 people have my rare combination of abilities. Holy Catsmoke, Batman! I'm going to be lonely for the rest of my life! I don't know many people that I can relate to: Chris is good, when we're in sync and such. As is Alan. I can tell something lurks behind Shanti, but he's struggling to cast off everything and just blurt it out - cagey... shrewd, perhaps, and perhaps its not such a bad idea. Let's not forget Niall, too, who's almost there.

I could be sadder. I could exist in post scarcity society. I could be utterly down and out in the magic kingdom. I could, infact, be someone's pet.

More exactly, I could be a house hound on the professional show circuit. I could be forced to recirculate the DNA of my forebears in an incest driven breeding plan, hatched by the befouled mind of middle-upper class dog owners everywhere. The very template of perfection, matching a written description of my breed to the utmost degree - yet so riddled with bad genes passed down from mother to child to grandchild and back to mother, a genetic barbie doll of misproportion. I could, like Bo (a dog on the tv I saw, you aren't expected to know who or what Bo is), suffer from narcalepsy accidentally brought on by successive generations of copying - every time I bark too much, BAM! I lose control of my muscles and fall asleep. All because I'm over excitable and experiencing high emotion.
So messed up was this poor dog Bo, that he could never escape the research lab: he would get half way down the corridor when he escaped, he'd be so excited he'd fall asleep metres away from freedom.

That's a dog's life. It's a warning to myself, that if I manage to succeed my children should be mongrels - mix and match DNA, put into an environment with struggle, and forced to adapt or die. Were I to provide them with everything, my bloodline would devolve and splinter, I'd become a domesticated dynasty.

There's a link between adrenalin and melonin - the domesticated dog has a small brain, and is less agressive. That's because dogs were scavengers, and if you run away when people throw out trash from a settlement, you'll go hungry. So the less likely to run away a dog is, the more food it gets, the easier life is. Soon, nature has selected an animal which is slow, and stupid, and not agressive to succeed: the need for adrenaline dies away.
Melonin controls skin and hair coloration in humans, likewise with dogs. With less adrenaline, colours of all sorts sprang out. That's why cats and dogs come in massive amounts of variety of color: domestication has shaped them.

Once the dogs attached to human society, 5000 years of it saw some really big changes. The good Egyptian hunting dogs are fast and sleek desert animals. They have a longer snout, giant legs, keen eyesight. Design wise, they are perfect. You can bet that hunters didn't breed for these attributes: it would be mind boggling to think that intentional planning made a perfect dog by a bunch of desert farmers barely able to survive.
Instead: a hunting dog's job is to go out and chase something down. The best of the bunch are the quickest - for whatever reason (they have longer legs, or better eyesight). The owner doesn't care. He feeds the dog that does well first, and the others later. The better feeding, the easier it is to get a mate and get it on - passing on the genes.

Through generations, hunting dogs like greyhounds have evolved to be really fast and really slick because it gets them food from their owners. I want to breed greyhounds, not corgies with my descendants.

I better get a move on: with only perhaps three in a thousand women out there with similar attributes to me, and me being an only child, I'm in a race against probability. The O'Connor clan is dying, and I'm the holder of a DNA dynasty.

Shit. Maybe I should settle for someone with a good chew toy and lots of dog food.

Bikerrorism

2005-04-07T02:49:00.000-07:00

I am the most dangerous thing on the streets of Adelaide.

Period.

With a cry on my lips of Come on you sons of bitches! Do you want to live forever? I set out from my place of work each and every day. What lies ahead is a twilight zone of danger, darkness, cars and terror.
I flex my fingers as I grip the handlebars, I slam down each sneaker shod foot on the pedals, I push off into the darkness. It's a 2.8km mostly downhill run. I must cross at least 3 major roads bloated with the arterial lifeblood of Adelaide: office workers.
I have 21 gears, a headlight and a tail light. I have a pair of shorts and a tshirt. Socks. The sneakers I mentioned before.
That's it, I'm naked to the world as people who make their lives from repeating routine and not having to think hurtle all around me at high speed thinking about getting home to the tv and dinner.

Yet... people are utterly afraid of me. Here's why: if they see you hesitate, you're dead. If they see you think, you're dead. If they see you as anything less than their worst fears, they'll run right over your sorry ass and not think twice.
So, I don't give them the chance.

High visibility terror attacks of lightning speed and utter precision. I miss fenders by centimetres, screaming past knowing that they have to give way and if they don't, I will sue them from my cripple's hospital bed until I never have to do anything more with my life.
I cut across parks, I jump pavement, I weave between traffic. I cross multiple lanes of oncoming traffic, causing them to slow and be hesitant, leading my band of following cars forward into battle in a kind of 21st century road war. Their horns are the sounds of my victory as the surprise registers, the squeal of brakes is my fuck you, world summed up in the voices of metal.
This isn't road rage, this is road bravery. My bell is my bugle, and my front tire my bayonet. I am terrifying, and they are terrified - the roads of Adelaide are Lucy li Bocage: mine, and forever so shall it be.

Bikes over Adelaide

2005-04-07T00:00:00.000-07:00

Rejoice, the state government isn't useless. And, free maps too. I suspect I'll be coding something cool out of it, as well as riding around the city.

My Heros

2005-04-05T05:22:00.000-07:00

Some of you might have actually been listening to me over the past few weeks, so you might be aware of some of my newfound heros.

Another joins the list: Lt. Gen. Dallaire.

He is a firm believer in God, a soldier by profession but a human by any other measure. He was medically discharged from the Canadian armed forces after having himself relieved from command.

What makes him so important?
The anguish and suffering he experienced as he watched almost 1 million people executed in genocide.
The world looked on, and told him we don't care.

He could not stage armed resistance, and was starved of resources, troops, and international support. At the very start of the UN mission, he ordered 10 of his best troops to protect the new president: they were murdered almost immediately. Outraged, countries withdrew their troops.

After witnessing things that neither you nor I could ever imagine, he drank himself into a drug fuelled breakdown, ending up under a park bench suffering from post traumatic stress disorder.
He began recovering, and now is trying to warn the world of future genocide in Sudan, something he calls Rwanda in slow motion.

To this day he can't go near raw meat, as it reminds him of the mutilation and horrors of Rwanda.

"A machete rarely ever kills outright. So... many of these people... suffered."

I find that quietly uttered statement one of the most disturbing concepts: why should any person ever have to make discoveries like that.

Lt. Gen. Dallaire joins many others on my list of heros.

So, who are your heros, and what do you aspire to do?

Lost Hope

2005-04-04T11:06:00.000-07:00

I've got a photo on this nifty poster.

I still can't find it. This is a small child's football medal I found while being picked up for work. I thought it reflected a little piece of some's lost hope rather nicely.

You can order copies of the poster so get one today!

Full Metal Jacket, A Review

2005-04-03T17:42:00.000-07:00

If you've ever seen this movie, you probably thought a lot like I used to about it. A dark war movie by Kubrick, nice to look at but that's as far as it goes.

What made me sit up and take notice was a scene I just couldn't understand, one I'd seen a thousand times before but never as a nearly 20 year old with a successful blog full of interesting bits.

Q: Why the fuck are you wearing a peace badge but have born to kill written on your helmet?
A: I'd like to think I was trying to say something about the dualism of man.

You can see it emblazoned upon the cover and posters for the movie.

I liked the feel of that on my tongue, and I had no idea what the hell dualism was. Alright, perhaps that's a lie, but we'll cover that in a moment. Wikipedia made the relevation clearer for me.

In the west, dualism is good versus evil, the hero versus the villian: clearcut positions on utter righteousness. The entire concept of the American soldier is of one who fights the good fight and dies to a noble and just cause.

In the east, dualism is something different. It's still two sides, opposed to each other, but it's further abstract. It's the difference between a tree and everything else, or two sides of whom neither is more right than the other.

So what is our simple journalist trying to say to us throughout the entire movie?

My eyes were literally wide with the implications here. Constantly we see good people doing bad things.

"Gomer Pile" driven to insanity by the abuse of his peers and his instructors, who executes his master sgt on the night of graduation from bootcamp.
The barstardisation of "Gomer Pile" for his stupidity, something which he cannot understand.
The faux coating to reality and the attitude of never happen to me of the stars and stripes officer, instructing our journalist to lie if need be about what actually happened prior to the Tet Offensive.
The displays of respect for their enemy by US GIs, we'll never have someone so honourable to shoot when we rotate back stateside - but at the same time mocking the corpse of an NVA regular.
The final execution of the VC sniper by Joker, which made me realise what was being said. We see him standing over a dying girl, pistol drawn. Visible is his helmet, "born to kill", and his peace badge. As he works up the nerve to execute her, he must rotate to the left - an action which removes the peace symbol from the field of view.

What do all of these mean? The inhuman struggle to reconcile philosophies through violence? I believe the last point, on which I've reflected the most, best illustrates the struggle of man to follow Tao (the way), and achieve balance and simplicity without replacing it with either one or the other.
Sadly, Joker fails, as the will to take a life wins out over the urge to protect it.

Tao is about finding the simplest path in life and taking it: even inaction is an action, so like water flowing down a hill you can do nothing but follow the greater way. There are many other ways, yet everything is predestined. The trick is to not struggle against fate and try to shape destiny, but rather relax and let it carry you. Choosing your path is about choosing the method of least struggle against destiny.
How does Joker find his Tao? By accepting he can do nothing but fight until the war is over, then go home - the mickey mouse routine of the army.

The other beautiful simplicity in this movie that I became aware of: this was an war of ideology. It may have started as a means to stop communism and free the people, but that's not what it truely was. It was a war of duality: The western concept of Good Capitalists (inside every vietnamese is an american just waiting to get out) versus Evil Communists pitted against the eastern dualism of balance through conflict.
The US lost vietnam. Balance with no bias towards one or the other won out. Yet we saw with Joker's struggle to come to grips with his dualistic nature that he was in his way a tiny drop of white in a sea of black - yin-yang.

Have a further read of wikipedia on the subject and see if you can't find things I've missed.

I've Had Enough

2005-03-31T20:09:00.000-08:00

Terry Schiavo is kaput. This kind of saddens me, because I didn't really condone the execution of someone via starvation. Oh, you can listen to the doctors and believe there's little distress, but it still leaves the bitter taste of bile in your mouth.

My support however has turned to rancor - infact, I've turned quicker than milk in the sun. Terry Schiavo's parents should be starved to death in a long, protracted gruesome manner, just like the daughter they tried to save.

They've sold people's private information to direct marketing companies for a tidy profit after they've donated money to help save Terry. That's capitalism for you.

Alan: Puke

2005-03-27T23:42:00.000-08:00

Sharp lines on
white and black
keys. Stars shine
on each corner.

Stars in the day,
daytime stars
I could get very
used to that.

Alan: Bong #42

2005-03-27T23:36:00.000-08:00

Bread roll fingers
And spring roll thumbs
Everything else
Marmalade

Trees rocks, what is
there else,
maramalade
to the digits

Hot days and wind,
maramalade
and the digits
scorching and still

Vegemite
in crumbs of digits
trapped, stuck still
in curlices.

On Engineering A Language

2005-03-21T20:39:00.000-08:00

People do this all the time. Python, PHP - clever blokes whip together functional languages derived from mathmatics to program in.
In a way, new languages to express ideas come about all the time. CSS. HTML. XML. RDF... especially RDF. I was sitting in the kitchen of my father's house, trying to work out a neat way of saying in RDF triples what a business was, what a customer was, and what a supplier was.

For those who don't know RDF, a triple is a simple sentence like "My Cat is Blue." A triple is generally considered an assertation of a truth, which can be combined with logic to deduce previously unsaid triples.

My Cat is Blue.
I like Blue.

So... do I like or dislike my cat?

It doesn't take Spock to follow that, but transforming English into triples is harder than you think. For instance:

We run a business. We have suppliers, and we are their customers. We are suppliers to our customers. Our customers are not our supplier's customers, only ours. A supplier is always a business. A customer might or might not be a business. Suppliers and Customers are the same thing at heart, except one recieves goods in exchange for money and the other exchanges money for goods.

You already know what a customer and a supplier is, because you understand English. Look at it, however. It's far too much to say that two things are more or less the same. How can we reduce this clutter?

That's when it dawned on me. The reason I'm having trouble with this is because I'm thinking in English. People can generally only remember 8 things at a time, any more any they feel more comfortable turning them into more abstract chunks...
That's why our ABCs are more easily remembered with a song: A-B-C-D-E-F-G.... H-I-J-K LMNOP... QRS... TUV...WX, Y and Z, now I know my ABCs won't you come and play with me.

A 26 character alphabet is reduced right down to 7 letter groups and a line.

Other languages don't really bother with distinguishing between past/present/future tenses on verbs - Indonesian, as one of my ex girlfriends never stopped telling me, is a prime example of this.
Apart from the fact Indonesia isn't currently the leader of the "free" world, I don't see any evidence that Indonesians who are less intelligent that you or I. They've taken one step towards abstraction in their language which means they spend less time talking and more time doing.

English (and other germanic languages), have all sorts of special rules and regulations to modify words depending on how they are used. This is overengineering - making something so foolproof it's verging on the edge of insanity.

In the programming world, there's been a fair bit of hype about languages like Python and Ruby. The reason is because both of these strive to do something once, and do it right the first time - a minimum of fuss. Both are heavily object oriented, but neither is a thing like Java (well known for its object oriented nature).
A project in Ruby or Python is generally much speedier to complete because you are taking shortcuts. A master Java programmer finds Python like a relaxing stroll - all of the work is taken care of.

Why can't we do the same for English?

The advent of the mobile phone almost did this. Unfortunately, it came from an evolutionary process and cultural pressures rather than from a well thought out and tested plan. Letters were dropped as people got lazy and didn't like typing more than "u?". Language became phonenetik (I know, terrible), and because it was poorly structured and clumsy, meaning was lost in countless strings of "huh", "wot", "whoz diz" messages.

I don't advocate a specialized beast that only works in a localized habitat but dies horribly in the rest of the world. I'd love to see a general purpose addition to the English language that is based on logical assertations of truth (triples) without the mess.

Now, before I continue, I'd like to digress. Last night I watched an interesting documentary on Latino and Mexican films in Hollywood. For the first time I found out what the Zoot Suit Riots were. I also discovered that prior to 1960 or so, there was little in the way of latino gang films. By the same token, it wasn't so much of a real world issue. Soon, a movie came out. Then another. Yet more. Latino gangs became a real life reality as people tried to emulate their screen heros and adhere to a stereotype.

Environment dictates thinking processes much more than we realise - I've been hungry and cycling a lot, putting myself under stress. This has resulted in mild depression and a lot of angst related to my job - I sit up to all hours of the night worrying about such things. I didn't connect the lack of food to the angst until I heard someone talking about it on ABC radio (I'd post links but I've forgotten the name, they had a PHD, so they can't be too wrong).

If people are more and more using crippled communication techniques, they impart less knowledge with each other. I don't think I'm wrong in saying that teenagers seem stupider today than they did 5 years ago. The result of not being able to say more than "k" not only makes for boring people, but for ones shaped by their environment to expect failure when communicating.

The tool of language is severly broken for these people. That's why most internet users of some intelligence attempt to seperate themselves from those of you who use the letter z too much. They put the effort into articulation, not because English is helping them communicate much more, but it is more in balance - more delicate and artistic.

What I think we need is an English Lite that has no stigma attached. Something that lets us express complex ideas in a succint and timely manner that prevents waffling. Dual meanings shouldn't exist. Verbs are one word. Language pointers that rely on what you said previously to bring an overall meaning to a collection of statements. Concept based words, like the infamous Crisis is Danger and Opportunity ideogram.

Just think how much more clarified one's thoughts could be if an inner dialogue didn't have to think around the rules of English, but in a framework of truthful(ish) assertations. Simple ones that are optimized for our 8 concept lexical processor - we'd render philosophy faster than an Apple Mac design guru.
Would we be a society of Sherlock Holmes'? Only time can tell.

I intend to pull something together.

If you have suggestions for how to refactor the English language, please feel free to add your thoughts to the meme-pool.

Subtext Subtleties

2005-02-10T21:06:00.000-08:00

A funny thing keeps happening to me. Whenever I am reading an email, a blog post, or conversing with someone online, I can evoke within me a fair idea of what general emotions they are experiencing.

I seem to become a mimic, sharing their highs and sharing their lows. I can switch it on and off, not even aware in the slightest that someone has turned from a friend to an enemy in the blink of a neuron.

I was more surprised that many of my peers, my parents, and various other adults in my life could not do this than anything else as a teenager. I don't think I'm, as you say, talented and I most certainly don't talk to the dead.

People often boggle at how well I handle my interoffice email politicing. Personally, I'm neither affluent or prone to take the lead. Time after time, however, my manager has remarked on how well I handle the angry, the upset, the zealous and the happy communications that float past my inbox.

Again, it was a case of can't everyone do this?

The answer, it appears, is a resounding no. Or at least, not very well and not that often. Most people have heard the word that is used to describe this, but wouldn't know what it is. It's subtext. It's the deft touch in every word, chosen for it's emotional weighting and saying what does not need to be said.

This is a key element of fictional writing that any author must embrace. Actors, even artists, strive to include subtext within their works - evoking some kind of blunt emotional response that is hard to articulate in the common man. It's what the tired violin track in every movie is meant to do when someone dies, it's the applause sign for tears. Subtext can be used and abused, a canned laughter of emotional response.

What happened today, to inspire this piece of writing, was exactly that: Subtext Abuse. Much to my dismay, I'm a subtext abuser. This happens when I'm emotional - I can write the most impersonally worded email in the world; yet it still slices like broken glass.
I'm not a bitch, as it is more commonly known. These people are Subtext Abusers by implication and daring. They flaunt their ability to imply meaning that was never said by attacking people in such a resounding way that everyone can see it.

I'm a different case. I'm a subtle subtext abuser. Some kind of literary cat burgular, deft, swift and hard to tell exactly what has happened.

Why do I harp on at such length about my own virtues (if this is even what they are)? It's because of work. Something had not been going right, and I had made assumptions about how-things-should-work. Since they were not working (which was a puzzle), and I suspected the party involved had something to gain from annoying us, this had me peeved.
When they finally wanted me to fax something - on a dead tree, I mean really - I sent them an email requesting they transfer some domain names for me.
Days went by, and nothing happened.
Finally I caved, and picked up the telephone. The first words out of the person in charge's mouth were I feel very insulted by the tone of your fax.
Score one, Daniel.
I looked back, at the record of the fax. I'd thrown in the boilerplate behind covering, and I identified the one line that cut so deep. This has inconvienced us to a fair degree.

Implication: This isn't my fault, it's yours, you've failed to live up to expectations. Perhaps you weren't hugged enough as a child. Perhaps you were an orphan.

I managed to think quick and cover it with an explanation - not an apology, so the barb is still there.

Now that I've taken a moment to reflect on it, I've realised why it cut so deep. The other party, who is in IT, therefore a smart individual, is highly affected by the slightest of insults. He's another version of me, but with enough balls to come outright and confront it.

All in all, this little incident has knocked me for a loop: you are not alone in the world. He's no author, artist, or anyone who should need subtext comprehension to survive, but he's got it - because, like me, he spends all day reading, thinking, inferring.

But mostly, I've found my niche. Subtext is my weapon of choice. The pen is indeed mightier than the sword, and right now (if you couldn't already guess) I'm feeling a whole lot of something.

Smug.

Hamish Gains Form

2005-02-09T09:34:00.000-08:00

A post by Alan, via his proxy-publishing-editor-monkey, Dan.

You may have met a man - quite young -
A brisk eyed youth, and highly strung;
One who's desires
And inner fires
Moved him like wires
- Thomas Hardy

When Hamish Mercer stepped through the door he was struck by the heat in the room. He was accustomed to the towering piles of papers as he had not yet been into a room in this building which had not been crowded, even with only one person in it. This was solely due to the amount of paper which each contained. The people making room amongst the columns of forms on metal folding chairs seemed unaware of the heat. Hamish sat down on the last chair between a filing cabinet and a youth focused intently on the writing on the page in front of him.

Hamish noticed that he could be no more than twenty and was mouthing the words to himself as he read them from the page. As he read the paper, he fidgeted with the corner, turning it up and down with a small flit flit noise. "Gregor," rumbled a voice from behind a desk on the other side of the room. "Gregor," the voice called again, this time louder. The young man next to Hamish looked up with his concentration shattered. He turned to the old man sitting across from them and tapped him with his foot. The old man awoke with a start, glanced around and reached down without knowing it to check that a yellow manila folder which was propped up against a chair was still there. He looked in a puzzled fashion at Hamish for a second as if enquiring why had he been disturbed? The voice insistently called out for a third time, not in the slightest concealing annoyance. At this the old man got up and hurriedly walked towards the end of the room, clutching his folder as though it contained some hidden treasure. He dissappeared amidst the filling cabinets and piles of paper.

The youth turned his back to his form but he soon looked up again, apparently unable to focus his concentration. He turned to Hamish and nodded a solemn: "This is it." Hamish was unable to grasp exactly what he meant, but nodded in return. "Yes, with this application, I've got it. Finally," he paused, taking Hamish into his confidence with a lowering of his tone. "That old fellow there... he has no chance! While he was sleeping I looked in his folder and he has the form 2-80-1F.'
Hamish was surprised that he had been distracted from his reading long enough to look in another person's manila folder. The young man must have taken Hamish's apparent surprise for a look more befitting shock and disapproval. He launched into a hurried defence over his actions.
"I only wanted to look! It was so, if he woke, I could help him."
"That's all very well," Hamish replied, for an unpleasant thought had come to him. "But what, exactly, is wrong with form 2-80-1F?"
"That form is not meant for this office!" replied the young man, with a gleam in his eye that was, to say the least, unsettling.

Hamish stated at the young man's face as he waxed eloquent but heard nothing. 2-80-1F is the form which Hamish now clasped in his hand. He could not understand how he had come to be in the wrong building with the wrong form. He had worked so hard. 20-80-1F had taken so long to acquire, and he had followed the directions from the office with the flower and bees motif explicitly. He had been assured, in the utmost, that when he arrived he would have to do nothing but wait until his name was called out. Hamish could not help recalling that he was so close to receiving the form 1-6-30L, but now he was more distant than ever.

"... 2-80-1F, of course, was accepted here yesterday. Today however you need an 11-2-70-1V if you want what 2-80-1F would have got you yesterday."
"What am I going to do?" asked Hamish, more to himself than the young man, the spirit sapped from his body. "I have 2-80-1F." Hamish held the form aloft to demonstrate the fact of his dismay.
The young man's eyes sparkled, unhealthily it seemed, and he turned his head so that his eyes rested on the papers clutched in his grasp. Hamish followed his gaze. "Form 10-15-4L! Do not bother with any lesser application, it shall be all you require!" At this, the young man stood with a jerk, keeping a fixed hold upon his copy of 10-15-4L.
"Where do I find it?" Hamish asked, despite his former misgivings about the youth for having looked through another's folder. Hamish found himself leaning forward intently, hanging from every word.
"You can find it anywhere, with all of these forms!" the youth cried, gesturing as some conquering king only would. "But - not all of it. Only pieces..."
After the feeling of loss which he had experienced on hearing about form 2-80-1F, Hamish was intent upon the young man.
"If you should want the complete form, you must go to see a friend of mine. You'll know him when you see him, all you must do is tell him Pierre sent you."
"Thank you," croaked Hamish, joy choking his words. He let 2-80-1F slide to the floor. The young man smiled and nodded, before turning back to the process of marvelling 10-15-4L.

Hamish had not noticed until now but there was a faint sheen of sweat upon his forehead. As he left for the door he looked over his shoulder, to see if he could spot the old man amongst the piles of forms. All he saw were the endless stacks upon stacks of paper.

And you may have met one stiff and old,
If not in the years; of manner cold;
Who seemed as stone,
And never had known
Of mirth and moan
- Thomas Hardy

Hamish walked down hallways bathed in the harsh glow of electric light, candle lit passages and corridors appeared to have no lights at all but which still resided in the wan glow of light. As he walked he noticed that the building was comprised of many different materials. In some places the walls were of stone and in others a dark burnished wood but by far the most common, Hamish saw, was a plaster painted over in various colours. As he searched for the one who would give him form 10-15-4L he passed numerous people, most with forms in their hands and all keeping to themselves. Men adorned with brightly coloured feathers and bones would pass women dressed in drab olives, among countless others of fantastic description and dress. The people occasionally turned into one of the many doors that seemed positioned at random throughout the building. Some of the doors were open and Hamish could see in. They were as varied as the people but they were all piled high with stacks of paper and folders.

Hamish realised he was now alone - he had walked down empty corridors before, but he realised that many closed doors had slid by without catching sight of anyone. His head brushed the ceiling above him, even though he was of average height, and made him uncomfortable. As he proceeded down the corridor, he noticed that the ceiling seemed to be getting lower. The doors along the walls were getting smaller and smaller too.

Turning the corner, almost bent double, he found himself in a hallway. It was empty but for a single painting hanging on the left hand wall which caught his attention. Hamish hurried up to it, thankful that although his speed was hampered by the height of the ceiling, it appeared that its descent had ceased. The portrait of man, for Hamish now realised that it was a portrait, stood in stark contrast with the blood red of the wall on which it hung. The painting was done in a naturalistic style, furnishing the smallest detail but it used strange washed out greys and flesh tones. The clothes of the man were cut in the style of Victorian England and he sported mutton chop sideburns of the same flame red as his hair. His chalk white skin gave the impression of cool unmoving marble. Hamish was glad of the company, as he had been walking down cramped corridors all daubed in the dark red. It had felt as though he was moving through the arteries of some giant creature. The face of the man was impassive as it was calm, his untroubled grey eyes were settling. Enraptured in the paintings' unmoving, unperturbed gaze, Hamish soon fell to thinking. He began wondering where the form for this painting had come from, and how much of form 10-15-4L it contained. Hamish began to feel uncomfortable under the stare of the figure. Without knowing the reason he opened his mouth to explain why he was standing there.

The only sound that Hamish emitted was a surprised exhalation as he fell sideways in a shower of paper. Sitting up and checking himself for damage, it occurred to Hamish to wonder where the large pile of paper lying next to him had emerged from. Much to his surprise, the paper pile moved. It produced a leg, then a sigh. A little while later a head cleared the paper and let out a further sigh. There was no mistaking it - this was the man from the painting.

Hamish could not have misplaced that penetrating gaze. The grey eyes held him transfixed as they had even from the painting. Again Hamish felt the compulsion to explain, or rather confess to his presence in this building.
"I was looking for form 10-15-" Hamish began, but was cut of with a movement of the man's hand.
"Do not bother apologising, young man," he spoke, utterly unconcerned with whatever Hamish had to say for himself. "Please do help me collect these papers, I am early for a very unimportant meeting."
Hamish blinked, and set about picking up the scattered sheets, shaking off the man's glamour which had hitherto seized him. As they gathered the papers up, Hamish noticed that the man had no trouble extending to his full height in the cramped corridor's confines. The portrait which he had presumed was of a smaller scale than it's subject was in fact life size.

Once all the papers had been stacked neatly, the man introduced himself to Hamish. "Publius Maro," he said, with only the slightest inclination of his head. After Hamish had exchanged his name, Publius handed him half of the papers and took the other half for himself. "Do carry these for me, please." It would be hard for anyone to manage alone, Hamish thought, as the weight pulled his arms down. He was about to offer assent but he realised Publius had not waited for it. In fact, he was already striding down the hallway in short, finished steps. Hamish stooped and hurried to catch up.

"So what form is it that you would be carrying, young fellow?" asked Publius as they moved along a cerulean blue carpet which gave a watery cast to the white plaster walls.
"I don't have a form, but I'm looking for form 10-15-..."
"You don't have a form?" A slight raise of his eyebrow accompanied the man's words. He cut Hamish off again. "Do tell me how that came to pass."
Hamish hesitated, the feeling of unease which he had after gazing at the painting returning. He was not sure that he wanted to confess his meeting with Pierre to this strange man, but he certainly did not want to miss a chance to speak to someone who might know where he could find form 10-15-4L. "I had a form 2-80-3F, but I met a man named Pierre."
At this, the man's eyebrows lifted in earnest, although for once he did not interrupt.
"You see, he convinced me that I needed a 10-15-4L. So I left 2-80-3F and began to search."
"I see. I should have known, a friend of Pierre's. I may be able to help you, though there are some consequences of which you should be aware." Publius stopped in front of an oaken door which had the words raro placabillitas carved upon it. "But after the meeting, do please come in. I shall be done shortly." With this, he opened the door and stepped inside.

The room was large, and tiers of benches stretched back to the left and to the right. Although the room was large, the tiers continued right up into the uppermost corners of it. People occupying the top rows had to hunch to avoid the ceiling. In front of every row of benches was a small wooden wall, approximately waist height. Along that sat computer screens, an inch thick a piece. The rows were tenanted by numerous people, in all kinds of dress and all murmuring. The room had a low hum about it.

Publius took the papers from Hamish and motioned him to sit on a chair next to the wall at the other end of the room. As Publius sat down on a bench right at the front Hamish noticed the atmosphere had changed to include a low rumble of excitement from the massed people. The people of the right hand side, on which Publius sat, seemed happy with his choice of sides. They smiled and some reached to pat Publius upon his shoulders. Hamish took his place along the wall with what he presumed to be the servants. He assumed so because of the apparently bored expression written all over their collective faces.

The murmuring continued on for quite some time, as various other people came in and sat mostly in the front row. They were all greeted in the same fashion as Publius, smiles and some back patting from the side they chose. Disappointment always issued from the side they had ignored. Throughout this, Hamish watched Publius. He sat calm, unmoving, leafing through the forms that he had stacked next to him on the bench. Finally a woman with close cropped hair and dark clothes came in and sat. There were the usual utterances, but then silence stole across the room.

A tall, warmly dressed blonde man, nearest the door of those on the same row as Publius, stood. When he spoke his deep voice had an unusual lilt.
"Just as an architect who puts up a large building first surveys and tests the ground to see if it can bear weight..." All the people stood at this, even those in the uppermost tiers, bending double to avoid the ceiling. "... so the wise lawgiver begins not by laying down laws good in themselves, but by finding wether the people for whom the laws are intended are able to support them." A rustling sound accompanied the reseating of the assembly.

Hamish watched a bald man wearing brown robes stand, cinching the white rope belted around his middle. "The relatedness arising from the reciprocal bearing of one form on another is first of all reflected in to itself as infinite personality, as abstract right." His words caused a hiss from the opposite side of the room, but he ignored it and continued. "In contract, the principle of rightness is present as something posited, while it's inner universally is there as something common in the arbitrariness and particular will of the forms." Hamish did not understand what was being said. As the bald man continued, Hamish noticed that he would type a number of words into a keyboard not readily visible. The screen filled as he continued. Hamish let himself relax, and ponder where he would find his 10-15-4L from. His eyes grew heavy, and presently he dozed.

I Blog, Therefore I Am

2005-02-09T09:11:00.000-08:00

I have a friend, Alan. He might be half crazy, I'm not entirely sure. He consumes a fair amount of illicit substances, yet still manages some of the most lucid thinking you'll come across.
Contained within these digital pages are his stories, from real to fictional - sometimes that line itself will blur. There's philosophy, art, life, and maybe even the odd bit of humor from myself.

Alan is currently working on his first book, with which he plans to look down upon all mainstream authors with.
Like his writing? Let us know!