Can you walk on the rice paper?

Marching Forward into 2011

2011-01-06T05:19:00.000-08:00

Dear all:

The sun of 2010 has already set and disappeared resolutely beyond the horizon, leaving me with what feels like a clean state; this state provides me a canvas on which to draw up plans, however feasible, for the forthcoming twelve months. I, for one, have high hopes for 2011; what those hopes entail and where they will lead me is another matter entirely, but I know for sure, that whether trivial or not, I am going to try and enjoy every last second of my experiences.

This is about as upbeat as I can be really, seizing the opportunities when they arise, and attempting, as pro-actively as possibly, to mould my future into a sculpture of emanating beauty; after all, we only live once, so why not? Of course, in the past year I have not always been so full of optimism; far from it, in fact. There have been some lows that have scraped viciously and without remorse at the depths of my humanity, causing murky thoughts, not to mention actions; however, I have unceremoniously thrown away their toxic influence, and moved on the wiser.

However, that being said, the previous year has had many positive moments, ones to remember. Business has been swift and profitable, albeit at times asphyxiating and all-consuming. Nevertheless, I am very aware that nothing in this life can be achieved without graft, nothing; thus, I have thrown myself head-first into the project and, whether the gods are smiling or not, I’m all in.

Kay and I remain as strong as ever, yet we have had a tumultuous 2010 with her ‘so called’ family. Honestly, and with utmost sincerity, to go into details on this issue at this point would result in an unfettered diatribe of bilious battery acid being spat all over my computer, so, for the sake of midday decency, I will refrain from exposing the finer details. In short, Kay and I are hunky-dory, as always.

Aside form making money and prancing about like a meerkat on methamphetamine 15 hours a day, I have spent the last year reading as widely as the slivers of free time that I have allow me. These novels have provided me with essential vitamins, nourishing my mind and, for the best part, prevented the stresses of daily life erupting in a explosive aneurysm. For this I am indebted to Chekov, Camus, Hemmingway, Russell, Hunter Thompson, and last but not least, Bryan Magee on YouTube, for his succinct dissection of the great thinker of our time (Especially Wittgenstein)

Anyway, on that note, I am off to gorge myself on another chapter of Russell’s ‘History of Western Philosophy’ that was so generously send to me by one of today’s great philanthropists, Mr. Stephen Hanna.

For all of you who I have now been in touch with in some time, please write back and tell me how life is treating you.

To you all, Have a wonderful and successful 2011.

Tunes Currently Spinning Round in My Head

2010-08-19T20:24:00.001-07:00

In response to Mr.Ward's blog 'Desert Island Lists' http://serginhowardinho.blogspot.com/2010/08/desert-island-lists.html, I complied this 10 track list of my favourite current tunes.

1. Frank Zappa - Peaches in Regalia
2. The Raincoats - Fairytale in a Supermarket
3. John Cooper Clarke - Beasley Street
4. Husker Du - Something I learned today
5. The Fall - Totally Wired
6. The Future Sound of London - Papa New Guinea
7. The Orb - Blue Room
8. The Mekons - Where were you?
9. My Bloody Valentine - Soon
10. Roy Harper - The Same Old Rock

Mike

The Victorian Surrealism of Jeffrey Micheal Harp

2010-08-14T03:31:00.000-07:00

BEINART International Surreal Art Collective

http://beinart.org/artists/jeffrey-michael-harp/gallery/digital/

Moneyless in Moab

2010-08-13T00:20:00.001-07:00

Interweaving philosophical conversations with suelo in his cave and treehouse with colorful footage of his daily activities in town and in nature, MONEYLESS IN MOAB offers an intimate look at a person who embodies a radical alternative to our excessively consumeristic american way of life. The film opens our eyes to the fact that it is indeed possible to live happily without money, and to do so with joy, grace, and dignity, even in a world gone mad with attachment. about suelo Daniel Shellabarger (aka suelo) is a student of world religions and anthropology who is unhappy with the worldwide “money religion” and currently lives without the direct use of money. He likes nature, travel, and tequila—when someone else is buying. He is currently hitchhiking and roaming around the pacific northwest, living in the moment and practicing non-attachment. His blog is a good place to read his reflections as he surfs though this universe.

Link

Blog

http://www.everythingahead.com/watch.html

Socially Responsible Films

A Difficult Week

2010-08-12T22:22:00.000-07:00

As life continues to meander ever steadily from its source, the undulating landscape causes periodic turbulence, disrupting the steady flow. Unconsciously, one is jolted to a clear, lucid vision of immediate reality. A sandstorm of daily routine sweeps us unknowingly off our feet, blinding us of the immediacy of our existence.

The delightfully pessimistic 19th Century German Philosopher Arthur Schopenhaur succinctly alluded: ‘That which has been no longer is; it as little exists as does that which has never been. But everything that is in the next moment has been. Thus the most insignificant present has over the most insignificant past the advantage of actuality, which means that the former bears to the latter the relation of something to nothing.’

The hullaballoo of everyday life is overpowering on the senses, causing one to fatalistically neglect the present moment. Maintaining awareness of what is, in the face of grippingly powerful illusions of what might be and what has already been, is no mean feat. Plato summed up this notion in five powerfully profound words: ‘Continual becoming and never being.’

Wrestling oneself from this illusory state is a challenge that will last a lifetime. There is no finishing line, only endless laps to be run.

Events of the last week have provided me with a perceptual nudge in the direction of appreciating what is. I was indiscriminately attacked for reasons that will forever remain a mystery. One hears of incidents like this daily, but one remains oblivious to their arsenal of negative energy, until one becomes the victim.

Brutish, dirty, and thuggish episodes imprint themselves on the psyche, and are not easily erased. One must remain strong in the face of crazy thoughts, fighting off the urge to react like a wild animal. One must make a positive from a negative, and not fester in soul destroying hatred and self pity. To achieve this, a painful, yet liberating shift in thinking is required: Is one going to be thrown about violently in stormy sea of emotions, or take charge and say all is quite well? It’s a perceptual flick of a switch that frees one from falling into an abyss of negativity.

One has simply to be happy with what is, as this is all there is. Schopenhaur phrases this concept beautifully once again: ‘In the first place no man is happy but strives his whole life long after supposed happiness and he seldom attains it; as a rule, however, he finally enters harbour shipwrecked and dismasted.’

This week has been physically and mentally an uphill struggle, but an illuminated one all the same. Existentially, a golden egg has fallen from the sky and landed in my lap. For that I am grateful.

Mike

Burma VJ (2009)

2010-06-21T21:57:00.000-07:00

Burma VJ (2009)

Armed with pocket-sized video cameras, a tenacious band of Burmese reporters face down death to expose the repressive regime controlling their country. In 2007, after decades of self-imposed silence, Burma became headline news across the globe when peaceful Buddhist monks led a massive rebellion. More than 100,000 people took to the streets protesting a cruel dictatorship that has held the country hostage for more than 40 years. Foreign news crews were banned, the Internet was shut down, and Burma was closed to the outside world. So how did we witness these events? Enter the Democratic Voice of Burma (DVB), aka the Burma VJs. Compiled from the shaky handheld footage of the DVB, acclaimed filmmaker Anders Ostergaard’s Burma VJ pulls us into the heat of the moment as the VJs themselves become the target of the Burmese government. Their tactical leader, code-named Joshua, oversees operations from a safe hiding place in Thailand. Via clandestine phone calls, Joshua dispenses his posse of video warriors, who covertly film the abuses in their country, then smuggle their footage across the border into Thailand. Joshua ships the footage to Norway, where it is broadcast back to Burma and the world via satellite. Burma VJ plays like a thriller, all the more scary because it is true.

Torrent (Swedish Subtitles)

English RS Links

http://rapidshare.com/files/351152479/Burma.VJ.2008.LIMITED.DVDRip.XviD-SUBMERGE.part1.rar
http://rapidshare.com/files/351164534/Burma.VJ.2008.LIMITED.DVDRip.XviD-SUBMERGE.part2.rar
http://rapidshare.com/files/351177217/Burma.VJ.2008.LIMITED.DVDRip.XviD-SUBMERGE.part3.rar
http://rapidshare.com/files/351188483/Burma.VJ.2008.LIMITED.DVDRip.XviD-SUBMERGE.part4.rar
http://rapidshare.com/files/351191703/Burma.VJ.2008.LIMITED.DVDRip.XviD-SUBMERGE.part5.rar

Courtesy of Socially Responsible Films

The Future is the Internet - The Internet is the Future

2010-03-25T04:36:00.000-07:00

Picture from: http://www.impactlab.com

In recent days my head has been spinning. The internet is getting to me: Twitter, Facebook, Flickr, Blogger, Myspace, Wikipedia, youtube - the list goes on snaking its way ever skyward like some serpentine colossus. Where is this new cyber world located? Its physical tangibility is something that perplexes me. How can we rationalize this global phenomenon, and make sense of this pulsating beast of ever growing complexity, when its whereabouts are beyond the imagination of the majority of its users?

What got me thinking about all this was something that happened during my reading skills lesson this morning. For me this was a first and I am sure it is a sign of things to come.

After pre-teaching a handful of new adjectives and adverbs to two new excellent students, I gave them the opportunity to take down the work from the whiteboard into their notebooks – they declined. Instead a mobile phone appeared and a student began to take pictures of my semi-legible scrawl at the front of the classroom. Intrigued, I probed the eager students further to figure out the point of all this technological posturing. They stated that the pictures would be sent via email to each other, and then copied into their notebooks at home. I don’t know why, but this blew me away. Feeling introspective, I sat looking out at the rapidly rising sun as the mid-morning heat pulled dance moves in continuous waves scorching the leather on my desk.

The internet is a first in our history. It has made the unfathomable, fathomable; the unthinkable, thinkable. In the 1950s science fiction writers had shiny, metallic visions of the future full of flying motor vehicles, robotic servants, and delicious meals in a pill, but not one foresaw the advent of the internet

The late great Aldous Huxley in ‘Brave New World’ and ‘Brave New World Revisted’ demonstrated his belief that technology would eventually lead to our collective enslavement and subsequent downfall as a race. Could Huxley’s stirring of the predictive tea leaves turn out to be correct? Is man destined to over play his hand? What will be remains to be seen, but one thing we know for sure is that things can’t be un-invented.

The internet has the capacity for being the greatest tool for individual freedom the world has ever seen; but, what if it was used to thwart our development, and create something demonstrably awful. Could Huxley’s dystopic vision of technological dictatorship become a reality?

I don’t see the future as a bleak, shapeless and monotonous like Huxley. Expounding views such as these does little for the advancement of human kind, but at the same time it does not negate the possibility. The internet is an amazing resource when used responsibly.

The wealth of information at our fingertips has never been greater. It it an opportunity to grow intellectually, socially and financially heralding in a new age of understanding and coexistence on this planet. Advantageous information is out there and we can all access it and grow together in unison. In these terms the future is filled with wondrous possibility, rather than enslavement.

An eastern scholar once said that enslavement is only in the mind. The actions of my students today started a flow of thoughts running though my head, reverberating like a tuning fork. It took the form of a mantra, one that will have a succinct grounding for generations to come.

The future is the internet; the internet is the future.

Mike

TED Talk: Science Can Answer Moral Questions

2010-03-23T05:52:00.000-07:00

Lessons From History

2010-03-19T04:17:00.000-07:00

All political systems are flawed – This creates a fundamental problem when attempting to beat a path thought a dense thicket of societal inequality. Idealistic notions of cooperation between men, intellectual advancement and the slicing of society’s cake into equal pieces are dreams of any would be revolutionary.

Throughout history one problem has remained for those who desire to dismantle what is: the overthrowing of the state requires by default a need to defend oneself from the inevitable backlash, by the use of force – in other words, to become what you have opposed. Marx’s prediction that the state would ‘wither away’ has thus far in our history not proven to be a natural inevitability. More odiously, secrecy and ruthlessness have soon appeared on the revolutionary stage before the final piece of bunting has even been removed.

This paradoxical mirror imaging of the enemy is of course a matter for one to digest and rationalize in whatever way fits - One man’s revolutionary is another’s terrorist after all. Thus, what’s a budding Trotsky to do when faced with this seemingly intractable dilemma? He can sit on his hands and dream about a future that will never come, or puff out his chest, clear his throat, and embrace the unavoidable – it’s a do or don’t situation.

The reason for all this talk of subversive is this: as soon as night gives way to day tomorrow the sauna like streets of Bangkok will be shimmering with renewed revolutionary intent. The dramatically diminished numbers of UDD protestors would have had even the tightest fisted of gamblers laying his mortgage on a red free Bangkok by the weekend, but tens of thousands are to come from the Northern and North Eastern provinces tomorrow. For all those involved in grass roots politics, a collective tilt of the hat must be given for this admirable organizational feat that in reality gives the red shirts their last bite at the revolutionary cherry.

The potent whiff of violence is in the air once again - As long as the UDD’s mass gathering fails to achieve the dissolution of the lower house, there is a real possibility that the group could change tactics in favour of disruptive or even violent direct action. The blocking of main thoroughfares and shutting down the cities sky train system are the most likely cards to be played in tomorrow’s showdown.

Prime Minister Abhisit has now called for talks with the red shirts leadership on at least two occasions, both of which have been vehemently denounced from the stage at the main demonstration in central Bangkok – an amicable solution looks increasingly unlikely.

Within a democratic system the prize of protest is dialogue. This has been rejected by the red movement and could prove to be terminal to the group’s future. Participation in a process could have cemented the way for possible alliances with more minor parties in the coalition. In Democratic terms, changing the balance of power by these means has more weight when compared to a rushed stick-em-up job, which could end in tragedy.

As the history of revolution has clearly shown, disposing of the status-quo is a business in which idealistic intentions quickly become dogma. The political freedom that opposition grants dissolves frantically into a despotic and dangerous mirror image of what came before; like Siamese twins, inseparable in terms of action. The red shirts refusal to speak to the government may come back to bite them if violence takes centre stage tomorrow.

There is a fine line between agitation and violence, likewise democratic means and undemocratic means; therefore for the UDD to remain a credible political force they need to tilt their heads towards the past and learn form the succinct lessons that history has to offer.

BANGKOK - THURDAY 18TH MARCH

2010-03-17T22:05:00.000-07:00

The United Front for Democracy Against Dictatorship’s offensive on Thailand’s capital Bangkok looks to be entering it’s twilight hours as thousands of supporters make their way home, weather beaten and hungry.

Paradoxically, security levels have been beefed up in response to alleged CIA intelligence concerning a ‘hardcore’ element within the movement bend on stirring violent unrest. Security authorities in Bangkok claim to have cause for concern as possible acts of ‘sabotage’ are planned around the city. The U.S government vehemently denies these claims. Deputy Prime Minister Southep Thughuban commented yesterday stating, ‘If these attacks take place it would have a devastating impact.’

Numbers at the protest have fallen from a peak of around 100,000 on Sunday, to about 15,000 yesterday morning according to Bangkok Post estimates. The UDD leadership acknowledged the dwindling numbers but remain defiant saying fresh reinforcements will soon arrive from other provinces. Ousted Prime Minister Thaskin Sinnawatra called for all within the movement to keep up the pressure on the government: ‘We have to maintain our strength” he said via video link yesterday. Reports say he is presently in Montenegro. Despite this hard talk, investigators on the ground said that the majority of red shirts would be on their home by Friday.

Yesterday Prime Minister Abhisit reiterated his wish to hold talks with the UDD leadership to discuss the situation, although he refuses outright to dissolve Thailand’s lower parliament.

Mike

BANGKOK, THAILAND - MARCH 16:

2010-03-16T04:14:00.000-07:00

BANGKOK, THAILAND - MARCH 16:

Picture 1: Red-shirted supporters of ousted prime minister Thaksin Shinawatra (one of them wearing a mask of the man himself) shout slogans.

Picture 2: A supporter of deposed Thai Prime Minister Thaksin Shinawatra holds a syringe full of blood after making a donation at protest site on March 16, 2010 in Bangkok, Thailand. Protesters are donating blood with the intention of collecting one million cubic centimeters of blood to be thrown in demonstrations outside Government House, as the government of Prime Minister Abhisit Vejjajiva continues to reject calls for a dissolution of the House and a fresh election.

Picture 3: The streets outside the 11th infantry battalion barracks and at other protest sites in Bangkok remain full, although some reports on the ground say that, on day three of the protests, numbers are beginning to dwindle.

Whose Blood do The Red Shirts Have on Their Hands? - Their Own of Course

2010-03-16T02:16:00.000-07:00

All morning specially set up blood donation points have been extracting claret from the arms of red shirt protesters in central Bangkok Thousands are queuing to have their vein spiked in the name of democracy. The blood will be thrown around the entrances to government buildings at 3pm this afternoon, in a symbolic act akin to scene from a Sam Raimi movie.

The political significance of this move has to be questioned. Yes I agree, a point is being made, but with the clock ticking and peoples’ patience on both sides wavering, could efforts be used more effectively to achieve the movement’s main aim? – Dissolution of the lower parliament resulting in subsequent snap election.

The last few days have seen the red shirts frustrations grow with Prime Minister Abhisit brushing away their ultimatum with typical Ox-Bridge nonchalance. The message is clear: this government is not for budging.

Aside from the obvious health risks associated with throwing blood around in central Bangkok (in a country with a high aids rate), one has to wonder what tangible political gains will result from all this mayhem?

This sadomasochistic act certainly is a graphic and original show of defiance, but its measurable political impact remains to be seen. After all, Prime Minsiter Abhisit’s government is highly unlikely to change their mind and dissolve the parliament as a result.

The balance of power seems to be slipping away from a red movement that is visibly running out of steam and resorting to seemingly more desperate measures to bolster their campaign.

Fellow Thai blogger Somtow Sucharitkul summed up the situation perfectly with this masterstroke of close reasoning. ‘I suppose that the red shirts' other measures, such as breaking a pot in front of the statue of King Taksin, calling down a curse on the government, throwing plastic bags of rotten fish, and having the ex-PM descend through the airwaves from a place variously described as Germany, Cambodia, and Montenegro, have not worked. They were all very imaginative methods of bringing about political change, but when you have the all the resources of witchcraft and the supernatural at your disposal, why stoop to such mundane devices as, for instance, lobbying one of the smaller parties to switch sides so as to shift the balance of power?’

The question is how much longer is the collective ‘jai yen yen’(Thai phrase – ‘Have a cool heart.’) going to last before all hell breaks loose, and the streets of Bangkok are once again dripping with blood – this time non-consensually.

Mike

Bangkok Dangerous - Maybe Not After All.

2010-03-13T22:44:00.000-08:00

It seems that the sea of red expected in Bangkok is more of a medium size estuary. Having said that, tributaries are still flowing steadily from the source, and by tonight who knows how grand the spectacle will be. On Friday red shirt officials had expected 1,000,000 protesters to fill the capital’s streets, but presently, this looks highly unlikely. More realistic estimates lie around the 200,000 mark; sizable, yes; capable of forcing the dissolution of the lower parliament, I think not.

What could be the reason for this massive underestimation of people power? It could be the reduction in ‘expenses’ paid to the movement for travel costs. As in any country political influence does not come without considerable expense; Thailand is no exception. A handful of cash, a red t-shirt, and a plastic clapper can arguably buy you a political activist for the day, with whole villages seemingly reveling a collective sense of purpose.

From a Western perspective this practice is questionable, but with the majority of the reds shirts support coming from the abstractly poor North East, it can be excused. This is political expediency Thai Style.

The movement’s grievances have been exacerbated in the last two years by a government that has openly questioned the reds intellectual prowess, and thus, political credibility. Crass arrogance such as this is a major issue in a county where face, or the loss of it, is everything. But, as an objective observer it takes some effort to swerve around this cash for protest politics.

Somtow Sucharitkul, an noteworthy Thai blogger based in Bangkok (http://www.somtow.org/) has this to say: ‘What I am sure about it that my housekeeper told me that according to her sources upcountry the fee for protesting is 500 baht, minus 300 which must be paid to an agent. The newspapers printed that it was 1,500 and that people were objecting to how little money they were getting to protest compared to last time. If it's 500 a day for 3 days, I guess the figures match. My housekeeper said, "My village isn't coming to the protests. They're not getting enough money, and last time it was too hot and it wasn't what we were expecting.’

What ever your opinion a fine line exists between poverty and political exploitation, especially when an aggressive propaganda machine promises imminent wealth to those adorned with a red t-shirt. It would be too cynical to doubt red shirt sincerity entirely, but in the developing world a little money can go a long way.

Mike

Colourful Times in Thailand

2010-03-10T19:31:00.000-08:00

September 19, 2006 feels like only yesterday. I was coerced out of a bar in Bangkok’s Sukhumvit district by menacing men dressed in kaki, declaring Marshall Law from loud speakers, as Vaxhall Tanks rolled insidiously down the road in front of me. On this day, Thailand’s Prime Minister Thaksin Shinawatra was ousted from government, and sent packing to a life lived outside Thai borders. Thankfully I made it back to my bedsit unharmed that evening, albeit with the odious sent of violence in the air and a feeling in my stomach, that to this day, I can’t quite put into words. That day in October the ‘yellow shirts’ over threw the government, and ushered in the new age of colour politics.

Today, the dark undercurrents of political violence are threatening again, casting up reminiscent shadows that are all too familiar. A mass anti-government demonstration is to be held in Thailand’s capital at the weekend, and with Thailand’s record of violence at such events, the situation has the potential to explode.

The demonstration at the weekend is being held by the UDD.

Clad in red t-shirts, the UDD movement (The National United Front of Democracy Against Dictatorship), support the former prime Thaksin Shinawatra. (Bizarrely involved in Cambodian policy making at present)

The ‘red shirts’ as they are colloquially know, have a highly organized (and financed) grassroots movement based mainly in the heavily populated north east of the country. They are a self-styled party of the poor, and claim to have purer democratic intentions that the current government. The movement denounces Prime Minister Abhisit (leader of the Democratic Party), claming he and his party took power 'illegitimately', backed by the Thai army and bureaucrats. It calls for the Thai Parliament to be dissolved and a general re-election to be held. The ‘reds’ speak openly about their non-violent nature of their activities and discourse, and have a highly active propaganda machine; including a television station that pumps out the party message on a loop. Daily, I walk past road-side houses which have large televisions, hooked up to bass bins; in front a sea of red shirts sit crossed legged, drinking whisky, eating snacks, glued to the images ahead.

An armchair analysis of the situation will conclude that the ‘reds’ still lack vital inspirational/visionary leadership. They lack charisma at the top, and this could prove to be their undoing. The era of Thaksin as a tangible political force within the democratic system is undoubtedly over; and, if the ‘reds’ are going to advance within a democratic framework, they need to solve this problem. It seems clear that the way forward for the UDD, is to compact their deep and far reaching support base, and form into an independent labour party. This way they would have a clear vision, instead as acting as the ‘hired hands of a corrupt politician,’ as one writer succinctly put it in the Bangkok Post this week.

After examining the UDD’s six party principles, there is little that any Thai would disagree with: establishing a true democracy with HM the King as head if state; overthrowing the bureaucratic system; acting in a strictly non-violent manner; establishing justice and the rule of law; improving the economic well-being of all people; and bring back the 1997 constitution.

It can be stated unequivocally, that the ‘reds’ have not only a democratic right to protest, but a good reason for voicing their grievances in the current political climate. In recent times, leaving aside last months liquidation of 1.2 Billion Dollars worth of Thaksin’s assets by the central government, there have been a number of economic blunders that deserve a more attention than a raised eyebrow: For instance, the GT200 bomb detectors, bought from a British company last year, have been proven ineffective in finding explosives in Thailand’s war-torn southern regions. Prime Minister Abhisit has spoken out against this purchase by the military, criticizing the top-brass, referring to the GT200’s as ‘useless.’ But, even in the face of scientific fact, and ministerial abhorrence, Army commander-in-chief Anupong Paojinda is defiant. Contrast this situation with the 350 million Baht ‘Sky Dragon’, the world first counter-insurgency blimp. The military are now in doubt to whether it is capable of flight. These two issues have compounded anti-government sentiment.

These issues have caused embarrassment in full view front of the medias watchful eye, but worryingly for Thailand, there have been many other such crippling misadventures with the public wallet.

Two wasteful episodes on their own are worth shouting about, and provide the ‘reds’ with a legitimate focus outside the arena of Thaskin worship. The ‘red’ leaders have called for justice on these issues, stating that those responsible should be brought to account, and righty so.

This situation leads me to some contradictions concerning the ‘red’ movement and their fight:

In their six party principles the UDD state firmly that they want justice and a rule of law, yet call the judicial system bias in the recent Thaskin liquidation case even though it previously acquitted Thaskin himself, his ex-wife, and five of Thaksin’s cabinet ministers on another charge Now, these don’t sounds like pre-determined judgments considering the seriousness of the latter changers and the equital that followed. Surely any bias system would have brought the heavy hand of the law down hard at this stage of the proceedings? Is the ‘red’ movement interested in true democratic justice, or some kind diluted ‘red’ justice.

Also, stated in the UDD’s six party principles was the avocation of non-violence. Now, one only has to cast one’s mind back to last years Asean Summit in Pattaya when a sea of red shirts attacked Prime Minister Abhisit’s car at the interior ministry. This stands in stark contrast to the movement’s claims to non-violence. And, with the fiery rhetoric being lambasted from the ‘reds’ leadership over the last few months, few would be surprised if events at the weekend turned sour.

The events in Bangkok at the weekend will be watches closely by many around there world. It is sincerely hoped that violence will not spoil the political aspirations of a movement that has built up a legitimate voice in Thailand, and has a realistic future within a democratic framework.

Mike

Alone With Thought

2010-03-06T05:11:00.000-08:00

A man with a blank expression sits on a rock. He watches in silence as the early morning mist begins to lift within the temple grounds. A horizontal line marks the underbelly of the mass of moisture. It moves slowly upward, as if pulled by a giant magnet in the sky. Day break signals the end of the battle between darkness and light. At sundown darkness is the victor, at daybreak light prevails.

He looks on in awe as the surrounding area is illuminated with a luxurious pastel hue: the horizon is shaded with a beautiful softness. Roosters signal the day’s arrival with their trademark throat clearing, cutting through the still air like a knife through damp clay.

He raises his notepad horizontally to his forehead, enabling him to avert the sun glare. In the distance, a Buddhist temple sits quietly below a hill, patiently waiting for the day to unfold. He is fascinated by the intricate patterns of light that are reflecting from the stained glass, casting spells of timeless beauty. As he walks slowly down a manicured lawn, the smell of Orchids drifts delicately in the breeze. Bees and butterflies appear from nowhere, aroused by the sensual smell perfuming the air.

At the far end of the lawn, a small path takes its place. Here, stray dogs cast watery eyed glances at his cautious movements. They pant mechanically, in a futile struggle against the elements. Their efforts are in vain. The man unbuttons the top three buttons of his shirt as the cold morning air retreats, leaving only a memory in its wake.

The path meanders past giant green shrubs and delicate flowers until it reaches a small wooden bridge. Perspiration trickles down the man’s back, creating a wet patch on his shirt. Ornately carved teak doors become visible to one side, their tearful departure from the shadows now complete. The man raises an eye brow impressed with the intricacy of the design.

He passes a wonderful golden archway that stoops down as if attempting to kiss the ground. Its physical beauty electrifies his imagination.

Everywhere he looks pinks and purples, reds and greens, mauves and yellows, compete as if in a beauty pageant. Natural selection is their make-up artist. The man’s stony demeanor is broken; he breaks into a smile. Two coconut trees sway like drunkards; between them a red hammock is stretched.

As the sun begins to assert itself, the man sits on the grass. Monks chant. The monosyllables are powerful and engage him. His attention is drawn upwards. Birds begin to sing, their mouths controlled by invisible thread. Melodious softness covers everything like a sea mist, momentarily sight and sounds melt into one.

A butterfly floats seductively like a silver feather and lands on an Orchid. It rests. Tentatively, slowly, and with great effort, the wings come back to life as he watches. It flies out of sight.

He stands up and brushes the dry grass from his shorts and back. Dry leaves crackle under his feet causing an unprecedented commotion. Panicking lizards retreat to a safe haven somewhere in the thick undergrowth.

The path comes to an abrupt end. Humble monastic dwellings hug the walled perimeter. In front of the huts he observes freshly washed orange robes sway leisurely to nature’s rhythm. To the left of the huts gawky chickens play medieval games of joust, baking under the white-hot plate in the sky. Their movements, like those of martial arts masters, deftly move between placidity and aggression. A cloud of dust forms above them. The man covers his eyes and tries not to breath.

Everywhere he gazes, symbols jump out at him: Brave stallions stand on hind legs, their expression that of utter fearlessness. Elephants raise trunks triumphantly, as if trumpeting in a new dawn in human understanding. Ancient Papal trees dressed luxuriously in brightly coloured silks, ward off evil spirits. His head spins wildly contemplating the meaning of it all.

An open expanse of sun-burnt grass leads him to a lone pineapple bush. Its isolation compounded by the barrenness of its immediate surroundings. On its own, like the robed men who eat its fruit, it lives out life without complaint. He exhales this thought, and breaths it in again: it resonates deep within him.

In the distance he sees, a shimmering golden spire peeping out of the dense jungle, pointing upwards towards the cloudless sky. The jungle intimidates him: ever encroaching. During daylight hours it gives off a silent, but intense energy. At nighttime it reverberates, teaming with life.

The sun slowly, but steadily climbs. The temperature accompanies this assent and pounds the man with wave upon wave of stultifying heat. He begins to tire.

With this his journey ends. A shady patch of grass silently commands his attention. Here he walks, dragging his feet on the gravel, listening to sound.

Mike

2010

2009-12-31T20:33:00.000-08:00

Balcony New Years Day:

As I finish my first coffee of 2010, an unusually cool breeze sweeps over my body; a welcome relief from the rapidly rising humidity. It's 11am and Cockerels confusingly sing their song of dawn, tricked by the absence of the sun's glare and the momentary dip in temperature. I close my eyes and drift away to a Greek rooftop. There I sit at a wicker table dressed in blue, with fresh bread, feta cheese, and steaming coffee. The white-wash buildings look at me with lustrous eyes, against perfect sky-blue visa - postcard perfect. My Mediterranean fantasy is cut short by a honking horn; a heavily tattooed lady is selling bamboo juice.

So here we have it - 2010. I can't fathom what this year has lying in wait, but; it feels good. Everything is in it's right place. A comfortable realization of mental calmness soothes my soul, leaving me smiling like a man who just found a lost ten pound note. The emerald green trees seductively russle as if attempting to flirt with an unseen entity, while street dogs lick their flees and sniff the ground.

On my left, the restaurant waits patiently for the grand opening day. Then, it's muscles will flex, and vault into action, morphing into a money making machine. Below me my classrooms are filled with the distant echos of last weeks lessons, their white boards covered in verb conjunctions - Everything feels beautifully sedated.

2009 was a year packed to the brim with achievement and nuances, to many to name. One has gorged himself on a buffet on classic literature, greedily attempting to feed an insatiable intellectual diet. The path to personal freedom has been activated by the words of Orwell, Huxley, Flaubert to name but a few; their wondrous texts as sweet as chocolate, and as filling as Christmas dinner.

A insightful individual stated: "When I don't like a piece of music, I make a point of listening to it more closely."
This has been my mantra for 2009. A wave of new music has pounded me like a crashing wave, leaving me at times gasping for air. Certain bands have captivated my imagination, most from the punk, and subsequent post-punk explosion of the late 1970s, and early 1980s. What a sparklingly exciting time for music! The hippy movement had had it's day, and people were tiring of laborious progressive rock of the decade. They found sanctuary in the nihilism of punk-poets like John Cooper Clarke and Mark E Smith. Their sardonic acidic cocktails are potent enough to drunken my psyche for years to come. One simply has to mention Souiex and the Banshees, The Mekons, The Cure, The Fall, The Buzzcocks, The Specials, The Clash, and a plethora of others, who have made my 2009 musicially very special indeed.

This is going to be a good year, I can almost taste it.

Mike

The Fall - Totally Wired

2009-12-13T06:30:00.000-08:00

Sam Harris - The Credibility of Miracles (Re-Evolution Festival 2009)

2009-11-19T19:35:00.000-08:00

Why Don't Students Like School - Daniel T. Willingham

2009-10-23T02:00:00.000-07:00

"Why don't students like school?"

It’s a question that most of us have asked at some point in our lives, some as an educators, others as a parents.

Many students ask that question too as they stare aimlessly at the front of the room, looking like a Goldfish at feeding time. What’s really on their minds is the outcome of their online gaming challenge, or which movie star they find the cutest.

"If you ask 100 high school students if they like to learn new things, almost all of them will tell you they like to learn," said Daniel Willingham, a University of Virginia cognitive psychologist. "But if you ask those same students if they like school, many of them will tell you they don't."

Willingham addresses these issues in a very readable and entertaining way in, "Why Don't Students like School?," where the reader finds out how the mind works, and more importantly, what implications this has for learning.

"The mind is actually designed to avoid thinking," Willingham said. "Thinking is a slow process; it's effortful and even uncertain. People naturally want to avoid that process, and instead rely on memory, the things we already know how to do and are successful at."

Willingham uses cooking as an example.

"If you want to make spaghetti sauce, you could go onto the Internet and search out new recipes. You could go through all your cookbooks. And if you are really into cooking, you might do exactly that. But most people will just make the sauce the way they always make it, because they already know how. And so it's a lot easier that way."

So when you switch on your child’s bedroom light at 6.30am in the morning and get a less than enthusiastic response, you know the reason why: At school they are forced to think and learn, putting them into direct conflict with how our their work. According to Willingham, we are not programmed to learn new things easily, thus it is difficult. Kids and adults naturally take the easy option and avoid the painful cognitive tasks.
But this is true only up to a point, as people are also curious beings.

"People actually enjoy thinking - when it is at a level that is not too simple, and not excessively difficult," Willingham said. "People like to be challenged. That's why we play games, it's why we read books, why we do many of the things we do. So there's a sweet spot, a level where learning is neither too simplistic to be interesting, nor too difficult to be enjoyable. This is the spot that teachers are always trying to find for their students in the classroom."

This is where creative teacher, using a combination of storytelling that evokes emotion and thought, and exercises that put lessons into context, that build upon students foundational knowledge, and help them progress.. It's also sustained hard work, Willingham said, that creates thinking skills dependent upon factual knowledge.

"We want to create learning experiences that last," he said.

Willingham spent about 15 years of his career as a research cognitive scientist, conducting studies under laboratory conditions. Then he started talking to teachers' groups and discovered that what he and other researchers had discovered in the lab was of great interest to teachers in the field.

One question teachers keep asking is how to work with students' different "learning styles." They don't really exist, Willingham said.

"There are different abilities, but really, we all learn the same way," he said. "It's not left brain versus right brain, or visual or auditory or kinesthetic. We learn using a combination of skills, and we are all more similar in our learning styles than different."

And students naturally learn better in the areas or disciplines where their abilities lie. So the challenge for teachers and parents alike is to recognize childrens strengths and exploit them. Obviously this presents a problem: Thirty teenagers in a classroom, some flirting, others fighting, and all with a burning desire to get out of the confined space as quickly as possible. It is a massive challenge, but one that has to be undertaken if the accumulated wisdom of generations is to be passed down to the next effectively. Reading this book is a great read for all those with an interest in the area of educational psychology, and also for an insight into the mind and cognition. Willingham has made complex subject matter highly readable and sparklingly entertaining.

Benny Hin - 'I Would Not Do This for Money

2009-10-22T09:00:00.000-07:00

If this does not make you want to vomit, I don't know what will.

Religious huxterism at the highest level.

Sick.

Mike

Flashes from a life that is.

2009-10-19T00:22:00.000-07:00

Jeff’s house was of the modest kind, nestled at the foot of a large hill amongst mature palm fruit trees. Every morning he walked through the dense vegetation, until he came to a small winding path that led to a magnificent natural lake, surrounded by pristine jungle. Here he strolled and thought about how beautifully simplistic life was. He walked over armies of ants that striped the path like pieces of black wedding ribbon, and was amazed by the sight of wild pigs and giant preying mantis. At the waters edge he felt free. He looked at his reflection in the water and saw a man that had found meaning in life. He was experiencing each sensation and savoring it. Every shade of green and flash of sunlight through the jungles thick canopy fascinated him. He was on auto pilot navigating his way through life’s beautiful meanders, absorbing it all with long slow strides; enjoying the spaciousness and sweet music of the jungle.

Jeff sat silently on his veranda at an ornate teak Sino-Portuguese table.. He watched as the sky turned a wonderful light blue. Grey and white wisps of cloud inched their way towards an unknown destination; a journey without a beginning or an end. Simultaneously, people, animals and plants breathed a sigh of relief, as the days suffocating heat began to subside. It was like a prayer had been answered. The early evening shadows began to lengthen on the rust coloured slopes of the mountain, making intricate black patterns on the dark red clay, like a traditional Chinese paper cutting. The Palm trees swayed flirtatiously in the soothing late afternoon breeze, and the crystal clear stream in front of the house trickled effortlessly. As the daylight continued to fade, a breathless dusk grew ever closer.

After a short drive the first of the encroaching out-of-town retail park became visible. The bright lights and clean cut interiors, made Jeff feel uneasy. There were too many people there: The Nuevo rich posed, students hunted in packs, and everyone else looked dazzled by the wonders of corporate America. Necessity brought Jeff to shop here, and he usually left as quickly as he came in. He knew it was melodramatic, but somehow he felt partly responsible for the whole vile circus show. His white skin made him guilty by association - a tacit consenter – a pawn in the corporate conspiracy.

The intercom sounded clear and direct: “Home-Pro’s Homecard – A card for lovers.” Shelves were stacked thirty feet up with all manner of DIY conveniences, and home improvement products, all promising the consumer a piece of happiness. Jeff walked down the power tool isle, his hands in his pockets; he wondered how the mountains of stock would ever be sold. As he pondered the thought he overheard two suited men talking in the Bathroom section. One of them had a beard and was sweating profusely. He seemed on edge to Jeff. He began to speak feverishly to the other man.

“To cash in on this particular bonanza, one has to live and breath the image of the ideal home – Picture this: A mother stands in her modern kitchen, fully equipped with time saving time devises, mahogany paneling and marble worktops; her bright eyed twins skip into the room, singing a sweet lullaby, brimming with youthful innocence; the father of the household sits on a wicker chair in the corner reading a newspaper, he nods in simple recognition, fully aware that his parenting skills are an example to all,”
His colleague stared at the floor. He exhaled deeply and said with a beaming smile. “This is without a doubt the Home-Pro family. It’s simple, offer people a dream. Let them get lost in the mediated environment, breath in the offers of the day, the mood lighting and the canned relaxation music – emancipate themselves from the painful reality of their own family – another future is possible - for a price.”

The two men retained straight faces thought out the conversation. Jeff’s stomach churned.

“Perhaps I can buy my way out of all this,” thought Jeff sardonically. He was only there to buy a light bulb, but already the situation was getting to him. He came to the island four years ago, fell in love and never left. Now the girl was gone and he was alone with his thoughts. When he was young he always imagined himself repeating the life of those around him – fulfilling cultural expectations like paying tax and going to church, but life for Jeff was very different. His time was his own and he used is wisely: he read and painted vivaciously, hungry for knowledge, on a never ending pursuit to entangle the mysteries of life. A gallery in the city had been exhibiting his work for seven months – he had a handful of sales. His agent talked incessantly of New York connections and the big time; Jeff simply smiled at this talk. Even if it was true, he knew that the limelight was not for him.

On the floor, workers in bright orange aprons competed for his attention. Commission was to be had, and Jeff was visible on the store radar. The blasts of air-conditioning, mixed uneasily with the humidity, giving him hot flushes like woman ten weeks gone. It seemed as if the staff were being controlled automatically: perhaps concealed above the ceiling was a nerve centre where every staff movement was planned in advance, then robotically follow for the duration of the shift. Jeff noticed the banal elevator music, its velvety smooth time signatures, numbing him into a false sense of relaxation. The intercom rang out once more. “Home-Pro discount card. The one way ticket to happiness for everything in your home.” For a moment, Jeff felt half convinced, as the employees swayed rhythmically, waiting to pounce, with their orange aprons glowing like cigarettes in the darkness. Jeff turned round, dazed by the entire experience, to find a worker smiling and ushering him to the lighting isle. “You like hear special price sir?” Jeff smiled and excused himself, safe in the knowledge that his delicious consumer bones were not for the picking. He inhaled the air deeply like a smoker having his first draw of the day, turned around, and walked out of the store.

Mike

Hitchens/McGrath - Religion: The Center vs The Fringe

2009-10-14T08:26:00.000-07:00

Sam Harris Religion is a failed science

2009-10-14T07:31:00.000-07:00

Sam Harris: Holy Scriptures lose against Modernity

2009-10-14T07:29:00.000-07:00

"Hells Angel: Mother Teresa" by Christopher Hitchens

2009-10-13T19:56:00.000-07:00

Originally broadcast in 1994 on Channel 4; Aired again on October 23, 2007

Mother Teresa has become synonymous with saintliness, but is her reputation deserved? Christopher Hitchens investigates the Mother Teresa myth, looking at her work in Calcutta, her global campaign against abortion, her alliance with the most conservative Pope in recent memory and her apparent penchant for right-wing regimes and dictatorships.

A Coconut Tree Moment

2009-10-11T00:35:00.000-07:00

Mid afternoon coffee and cake on the veranda. A man shuffles up a forty foot palm tree directly in front of me in search of coconuts - no harness - no fear. All he has to do is avoid a slip and he will be just fine. The man's flippancy and carefree attitude towards such a death defying act, got me thinking.

In my place of birth, Northern Ireland, people used to be free to take chances. I look back on my childhood with somewhat rose tinted glasses, remembering a time when there was such as thing as an accident - people allowed themselves the luxury of bending rules, to obtain what they wanted.

On a recent trip home, I spent a full year living and working within a system that I barely recognized. The workplace, and society at large, was a place where people where tripping over themselves, not to literally trip up. Accidents, it seems, have become a thing of the past. Now, as a result of a greedy a manipulative legal system, borrowed from the US, there is no such thing as an accident.

"Where there's blame, there's a claim."

I tried to explain this eventuality to a Thai friend and he was very confused indeed.

"But, what do you mean if you fall in work, it's not your fault?" was his perplexed response.

I might as well have been speaking Swahili.

A man in work, climbing up a tree with his own consent in Northern Ireland, would sadly now cause a large degree of nappy wetting. In fact, I could imagine it becoming front page news in a local newspaper, the headline reading:

"Man sacked, and jailed for deliberate and shameful health and safety violation."

One could picture the scene with police, ambulances, fire engines and rapid
response, yellow jacket wearing, private security experts on the street all looking skyward with a look of disgust of their faces.

"Where are his hat, goggles, and safety net"

"Does he have a climbing license from the local council?"

"Just who does he think he is?!"

At what point in the future will a beacon of rationality reveal itself and say:

"Enough of this bullshit. what have we become?"

Depressingly, Probably never.

The precedent has been set. The ball is rolling, and people are making real money out of common sense, at the expense of individual freedom of choice. Personal freedom is not what it was. Stressed workers from builders to engineers, are all tip-toeing round their work places, spouting the latest vomit inducing soundbite from the dinner time news.

"That's a health and safety", I was aggressively told my a superior in my last job in Ireland. "I wasn't aware that health and safety is a noun" was my forward and frustrated reply.

In all honestly, the year I spend back home I felt violated by nonsensical parroting like the aforementioned. Here in Thailand, there may be corruption, chronic dis-organization and borderline anarchy, but at least you feel human - animated. I saw people on the verge of hemorrhaging because a yellow mop bucket, was being used on a red mop bucket's floor space - I kid you not.

For those of you who live in Britain, this will not come as a shock, in fact you are probably thinking

" Yeah, of course you shouldn't be using the incorrect mop, that's simply ridiculous!"

Pithel of this type, has anesthetized an entire generation, squeezing their ability to think straight. Once trivial issues, are now punishable by one the spot fines, or even a lengthy stretch in jail. Personally, I question a governments ultimate intentions when shouting in a car, or arguing with a privately employed traffic warden are criminal offenses.

What's next in this crazy state of affairs; enforced euthanasia to solve the problem of an aging population? Is an aging population a helath and safety issue? Who knows where it will all end?

The point is that anything can become law if twisted in the right way, and repeated often enough. Rapidly, liberty is being eroded, and people are too busy working to pay tax to notice. Like a faulty tap dripping, freedom is being stolen drop by drop; insidiously sucking the joy of life from people, replacing what were everyday actions, into incriminating offenses.

Next time your in the car and your afraid to turn over the radio because there's a policeman nearby, think of the Thai man in the coconut tree, and wonder where it all went wrong.

Food, Inc. (2008)

2009-10-10T22:57:00.000-07:00

Food, Inc. (2008)

The current method of raw food production is largely a response to the growth of the fast food industry since the 1950s. The production of food overall has more drastically changed since that time than the several thousand years prior. Controlled primarily by a handful of multinational corporations, the global food production business - with an emphasis on the business - has as its unwritten goals production of large quantities of food at low direct inputs (most often subsidized) resulting in enormous profits, which in turn results in greater control of the global supply of food sources within these few companies. Health and safety (of the food itself, of the animals produced themselves, of the workers on the assembly lines, and of the consumers actually eating the food) are often overlooked by the companies, and are often overlooked by government in an effort to provide cheap food regardless of these negative consequences. Many of the changes are based on advancements in science and technology, but often have negative side effects. The answer that the companies have come up with is to throw more science at the problems to bandage the issues but not the root causes. The global food supply may be in crisis with lack of biodiversity, but can be changed on the demand side of the equation.

Mike

Download:

http://www.mininova.org/tor/3033237

President O Bama Recieves the Nobel Peace Prize

2009-10-10T21:24:00.000-07:00

Lets have a little glance at what he has been up to since coming to office.

1. Climate change regulation – India and China gave him a thumbs down and are still building coal fired plants.

2. Guantanamo bay – He asked it to be closed by February 2010, will not be done.

3. Health care reform – the opposition to that bill in the house and senate is mind numbing

4. Reduce nuclear weapons – Iran and North Korea want nuclear weapons. India, China and Israel won’t sign nuclear non-proliferation treaty.

5. Afghanistan – in his campaign he said he will bring the fight against terrorism hard to Al Qaeda, but now he has second thoughts about troop increase.

6. Job losses – Said job losses will not be above 9%, currently in the USA that figure stands at 9.8% with no end in sight.

7. Israel-Palestine conflict – Israel won’t stop building settlements and Hamas criticized that Obama received the noble peace prize.

8. Iran – USA wants sanctions, but co-operation from China and Russia is lukewarm to say the least.

9. Honduras – Wants the ousted president reinstated, no one is listening.

Does the power of rhetoric really count for more than real political achievements?

This remind me of a satirical joke.

The writers of the theonion.com could not have written this one any better.

Food for thought.

Mike

Morning in Ao Nang.

2009-10-01T01:30:00.000-07:00

Ao Nang.

Day one:

Rolled out of bed at 10am with a mild hangover. Nothing terminal. Had a superb breakfast of fresh orange juice, toast, fried rice, and coffee over looking the emerald green ocean. My heart went out to the sophisticated Germans who sat stiff and upright, at the opposite table. I was aware of their awareness. I breathed deeply the sea air. I was hungry. Have they never seen a man eating aggressively before? Does this not happen in the Munich beers halls? Anyway, eating like a man who just located his desert mirage, I soldiered on; appetite dangerously out of control on a beachfront table. Gluttonously, I filled my plate for the third time and strolled triumphantly past their beady stares, feeling like a medieval king covered in banqueting grease. Anyway, spotty teenagers can eat like a pig, and so can street drinkers for that matter, so why can't I? I hold my hands up; guilty as charged officer: I am a food lover, not a fighter - Bite me.

With breakfast hundred per cent swallowed, fifty per cent chewed, and zero per cent digested, it was prime time for a dip in the crystal clear pool.

At this point, the reader may be pondering why one would swim in a pool when twenty metres away is the wondrous Andaman Sea? The answer can be expressed in one simple word - monsoon.

The tidal surges at this time of year are as unstable as an alcoholic on a tightrope. One minute you are playing in a rubber ring, the next screaming at dots on the horizon.

Scores of well fed, sun burnt, white folk, lose their lives every year on these sun kissed shores. Their belligerent defiance of local advice costs them dear; sucked out as easily as a message in a bottle. The crystal clear waters hold dark secrets at this time of year; secret fables, not worth pursuing, and secret games, not worth playing. Beware

Mike

Holiday Time

2009-09-29T01:43:00.000-07:00

Breath deeply, and hold it, a bit more, then exhale. Relief.

Tomorrow Kay and i are setting off for a few days at a beautiful hotel in Krabi province.

- For once I have been busy:

The camera batteries are charging like little eggs in a basket; seven mix CD's containing over five hours of John Peel 'Festive Fifties', are sitting neatly on my unmade bed; reading materials and notebook are waiting our departure. In my infinite wisdom, I have proposed having an ceremony before setting off in the morning:

It has been decided that in unison, we will switch off our mobile phones with one hand, and clink our whiskeys and ice with the other, in thanks to the holiday God who has bestowed us with this plentiful bounty.

"For this we are thankful, oh merciful one. Thanks be to to booze, books, beaches, blogger, and of course, buggering off.'

Never one to turn my nose up at a bargain, Kay's cousin's 'bit on the side' happens to be a manager of a wonderful hotel beside an even more wonderful, sun set view point. Thus, in the spirit of family unity, corruption and nepotism, I am prepared to look the other way, for a 50% reduction is simply a thing of beauty.

So, a couple of days of mental refurbishment await.

Let me spare a moments thought for all those people getting up a 6.30 am in the cold, fighting for their position in rush hour traffic, or looking out their bedroom window, only to see another ash gray sky; my heart goes out to you all, it really does. But alas, the next few days belong to my wife and I, and we are going to make the most of this sparkling moment, that will be enjoyed wholeheartedly, and savoured forever.

Mike

Garbage Warrior (Movie of the Month)

2009-09-28T01:31:00.000-07:00

If I say the word 'Earthship' what immediately comes to mind?

A science fiction geek in a fit of madness, builds an intergalactic meeting place for humans and our extra-terrestrial cousins? If this was your guess, then you get top marks for imaginative ability, but you are way off the mark.

It may sound like something from a Star Trek episode, but is in actual fact the brain child of architect Michael Reynolds: an architect who is pushing the boundaries of design, with one eyes on the future, and another on the diminishing environmental security of our present. An inspirational figure; driven by an assiduous desire to make a practical difference to the global warming dilemma, with a combination of grit, determination, and direct action. Reynolds feels that design is not evolving quickly enough. As a result, is failing to keep up with ecological/environmental concerns.

Unbelievably, Reynolds makes his 'Earthships' which are livable dwellings, out of all matter of household waste, including, beer can walls, and car tire structures. For many, this may sounds like an eco-hippy trip gone too far, but when seen in practice, one can't help admiring him and his team of conscientious naturalists.

The movie was shot by director Oliver Hodge over three years, and follows the life and times of Reynold's and his team as they fight the laws that be for legal recognition just outside of Taos, New Mexico.

The 'Earthships' can in Reynolds own words 'take care of themselves.' By that he means they require no outside power or amenities. Amazingly, sewage, water, electricity, heating and cooling are all taken care of by an ingenious design that makes self-sufficiency a livable reality.

Reynold's vision is shared by a band of merry men and women who came and eventually built their own properties, calling themselves the Greater World Community in 1990. This is now a legal subdivision, but only after Reynolds and the families emerged from several tedious years of bureaucratic hell. Reynold's fight against the powers that be is a dirty and at times, heart-wrenching battle, that he eventually wins.

This is a movie for those who like the underdog. Reynolds is an architectural punk, whose gives two fingers to the system, but at the same time plays the game, and gets what he wants. His style is rather abrasive at times, referring to the bureaucratic 'horseshit' in one moment of frustration, but his sense of urgency and tenacity elicit mountains of admiration, and leave one with a sense that the world needs to change.

Mike

Hitchens on Q-TV

2009-09-23T04:14:00.000-07:00

Turner - Snowstorm

2009-09-23T01:03:00.000-07:00

I am astonished by the way in which Turner accepts the apparent randomness of the natural elements, and paints them as they are. There is brutal honestly in this work, and Turner gives one an insight into a helpless and unenviable moment; making it tangible for all. The madness of a second in stormy sea is represented as the chilling and terrifying moment that it must be.

Legend has it that Turner undertook a death defying voyage on a ship to experience at first hand, what he was about to render on canvas.

Turner said, "I only painted it because I wished to show what such a scene was like; I got the sailors to lash me to the mast to observe it; I was lashed for four hours and did not expect to escape, but I felt bound to record it if I did. No one has any business to like it."

Contemporaries saw Turner's work as having 'dreamlike' qualities. These 19th century flirtations with metaphor may seems to us now as uninformed, even a tad pretentious, but they contained some insight that is worth commenting on.

Thanks to the likes of Froid and Jung we now have knowledge of dreams as the expression of deep intuitions and buried memories, allowing us to examine Turner's work again and note that his pictures do have the oblique qualities of a dreamlike state. The warped perspectives, blurred focuses, image metamorphosis, and the general feeling of otherness and uneasiness: These are the images of the dreamer, or someone dabbling in hallucinogenic substances.

Within our sub-consciousness mind there are various patterns that pop up time and time again. One of these is the whirl pool or vortex, of which there is a strong suggestion in the Snowstorm. This became a reemerging image in some of Turner's later paintings.

Relax for a moment and allow yourself to be absorbed into the vortex, a scary and dangerous ledge, over which lies the abyss. The visual impact is caressed by the grim tunnel of darkness that leads one to the ships hull, at which point is shot towards the heavens by a band of bright light.

Mike

The Cups and Balls - Ricky Jay

2009-09-21T20:52:00.000-07:00

This is easily the best rendition of the classic magic trick on the net.

Truly breathtaking stuff.

Mike

A Meeting of Great Minds

2009-09-21T20:16:00.000-07:00

On the 30th of September 2007, Richard Dawkins, Daniel Dennett, Sam Harris and Christopher Hitchens sat down for a first-of-its-kind, unmoderated 2-hour discussion, convened by RDFRS and filmed by Josh Timonen.

All four authors have recently received a large amount of media attention for their writings against religion - some positive, and some negative. In this conversation the group trades stories of the public's reaction to their recent books, their unexpected successes, criticisms and common misrepresentations. They discuss the tough questions about religion that face to world today, and propose new strategies for going forward.

Credit:

The Richard Dawkins Foundation for Reason and Science

http://richarddawkins.net/

Hunter Thompson-The minuteman of the Rockies.

2009-09-20T21:07:00.000-07:00

By Christopher Hitchens. Posted in Slate magazine,Tuesday, Feb. 22, 2005.

In early August of 1990 I went to Aspen, Colo., to cover what looked as if it would be a rather banal summit involving Margaret Thatcher and George Bush. (The meeting was to be enlivened by the announcement of the forcible annexation of Kuwait by Saddam Hussein, who would go on to trouble our tranquility for another 13 years.) While the banal bit was still going on, the city invited the visiting press hacks for a cocktail reception at the top of an imposing mountain. Stepping off the ski lift, I was met by immaculate specimens of young American womanhood, holding silver trays and flashing perfect dentition. What would I like? I thought a gin and tonic would meet the case. "Sir, that would be inappropriate." In what respect? "At this altitude gin would be very much more toxic than at ground level." In that case, I said, make it a double.

The very slight contraction of the freeze-frame smile made it plain that I was wasting my time: It was the early days of the brave new America that knew what was best for you. Spurning the chardonnay and stepping straight back onto the ski lift, I was soon back in town and then, after a short drive, making a turn opposite the Woody Creek Inn (easily spotted by the pig on its roof). And there, at the very fringe of habitation, was Owl Farm and its genial proprietor, Dr. Hunter S. Thompson. Once inside these well-armed precincts, I could drink and smoke and ingest any damn thing I liked. I finished a fairly long evening by doing some friendly target-practice, with laser-guided high-velocity rifles, in the company of my host. An empty bottle didn't stand any more of a chance outside than a full one would have had within. It was vertiginous, for me, to be able to move from one America to another, in point of time and also of place, so rapidly.

It had been in 1970 that Thompson first ran for local office in Aspen, and stood against the wave of bourgeoisification that would soon make it a place where the locals could no longer afford to live. Local police officials tried to harass him in numberless ways, only to find that they were dealing not with some hippie or freak, but with one of the charter members of the Colorado National Rifle Association. Thompson was to pursue this feud, with absolutely Corsican persistence, for many decades. If he had done nothing else, he might be remembered as a village Hampden, or a minuteman of the Rockies.

But, as Carey McWilliams of The Nation had recognized a long time before, Hunter was more than just a "character." His proposal to write about the Hell's Angels for the magazine, once accepted, was more than a brilliant piece of observant and participant journalism. It helped to curtain-raise the '60s, and perhaps most especially the hectic excess of that decade in California. Keen as he was on the herbivorous and antimilitarist side of that moment, Thompson wasn't at all blind to the noir aspect, and helped prepare readers for the Manson and Altamont dimension. He'd been in this mood since at least November 22, 1963, when he first employed the words "fear and loathing" to express the way he felt about whomever it was who had murdered the president.

"The only things I've ever been arrested for," said Hunter in one late interview, "were things I didn't do." It would take a very long article to describe all the deeds for which he could have been indicted, and all the days and nights when he could well have ended up dead. I hope that it isn't true that he became depressed and miserable about the pain and immobility of a broken leg, and that the only lethal crime he ever committed was against himself in a dark hour, but the thing seems depressingly plausible, and there would always have been a firearm, and ammo, within easy reach.

I'm not that crazy about the gonzo school, or any other version of the new journalism either, but Thompson's signature style was not always, or not entirely, about faxing unedited notes or having his life insurance cancelled by Jann Wenner. He was, above all, a highly polished hater, and could fuel himself as well as ignite others with his sheer contempt for Richard Nixon and all that he stood for. This involved, for some years, a life where there was almost no distance between belief and action. And it is why his 1972 book on the campaign trail holds up so well. But even then he knew, as he was to keep repeating, that "the wave" of the insurgent '60s— "a fantastic, universal sense that whatever we were doing was right: that we were winning"—was a wave that had not only "broken" but had "rolled back."

This was a rapture that was hard to recapture. In Wayne Ewing's oddly effective movie, Breakfast with Hunter, it is possible to detect the sensation of diminishing returns. The old enrage doesn't really look that comfortable as he is card-indexed by the historian Douglas Brinkley (who edited his collected letters, for Chrissake) or venerated as an icon by George Plimpton. He doesn't even seem all that keen on being played by Johnny Depp in the celluloid version of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. He's fine when hanging out with Warren Zevon, but he appears a bit lost when he's discharging fire extinguishers, or hurling blown-up fuck-dolls around the scenery, as if this sort of thing was expected of him. "He was never one to hang around when it was time to go," a mutual friend e-mailed me on Monday. The realization that this might have occurred to him before it occurred to us is a very melancholy one.

Boogie Time on Karon Beach - RoyFest

2009-09-19T10:44:00.000-07:00

'Roy' means enjoyable, fun and delicious in Southern Thai dialect. When combined with an international music festival, expect no less than days and nights of musical ecstasy and dancing paradise.

RoyFest brings the best of domestic & international DJs and artists together to perform on the stunning sight of Phuket sea view for the first time. With the objective of endorsing local tourism, to wide spread the beauty of Thai beach and a vision to locate Thailand as one of the top destinations on the world party map.

Expect uncompromising entertainment from Ken Ishii (Japan), Adsorb (UK), Lord Warddd(USA), T-Bone (Reggae Ska Thailand), DJ Seed (GTRonline),
DJ Dragon (homebass commu) and many others who will contribute to “Roy”ness on Karon Beach, Phuket 25-26 September 2009.

Mike

Eight years on - HST and 9/11

2009-09-19T03:11:00.000-07:00

I'm a week late in posting this, but what the hell.

Eight years of mayhem and carnage have passed since September 11th 2001. Many countries have been made into places where freedoms are lost daily, and justification requires only one excuse: The War on Terror.

Since that terrible day the term has been repeated continuously, and has entered our daily language. Paranoia, and Cold War rhetoric have bolstered support for unbridled military spending, and consequent intervention in Afghanistan and Iraq. This sacred cow will be milked until it runs dry; paving the way for nation-building projects throughout the world.

On a recent visit to Britain I was sleeping in Heathrow and woke from my slumber to find a huge black Robocop figure pointing an assault rifle at me. For me, this was highly intimidating and unfortunately, a very common sight these days.

What would have deemed unthinkable ten years ago is now a reality for many around the world.

September 11th, 2009 was a sad day for humanity. When the planes hit you knew in your heart that the world was never going to be the same again.

The late great Hunter Thompson blasted on his typewriter as the events were unfolding.

His prescience is chilling, his anger is subtle, and his ability to make sense out of the chaos is what causes millions of readers around the world to pick up his books when in need of some courage.

Mike

'It was just after dawn in Woody Creek, Colo., when the first plane hit the World Trade Center in New York City on Tuesday morning, and as usual I was writing about sports. But not for long. Football suddenly seemed irrelevant, compared to the scenes of destruction and utter devastation coming out of New York on TV.

Even ESPN was broadcasting war news. It was the worst disaster in the history of the United States, including Pearl Harbor, the San Francisco earthquake and probably the Battle of Antietam in 1862, when 23,000 were slaughtered in one day.

The Battle of the World Trade Center lasted about 99 minutes and cost 20,000 lives in two hours (according to unofficial estimates as of midnight Tuesday). The final numbers, including those from the supposedly impregnable Pentagon, across the Potomac River from Washington, likely will be higher. Anything that kills 300 trained firefighters in two hours is a world-class disaster.

And it was not even Bombs that caused this massive damage. No nuclear missiles were launched from any foreign soil, no enemy bombers flew over New York and Washington to rain death on innocent Americans. No. It was four commercial jetliners.

They were the first flights of the day from American and United Airlines, piloted by skilled and loyal U.S. citizens, and there was nothing suspicious about them when they took off from Newark, N.J., and Dulles in D.C. and Logan in Boston on routine cross-country flights to the West Coast with fully-loaded fuel tanks -- which would soon explode on impact and utterly destroy the world-famous Twin Towers of downtown Manhattan's World Trade Center. Boom! Boom! Just like that.

The towers are gone now, reduced to bloody rubble, along with all hopes for Peace in Our Time, in the United States or any other country. Make no mistake about it: We are At War now -- with somebody -- and we will stay At War with that mysterious Enemy for the rest of our lives.

It will be a Religious War, a sort of Christian Jihad, fueled by religious hatred and led by merciless fanatics on both sides. It will be guerilla warfare on a global scale, with no front lines and no identifiable enemy. Osama bin Laden may be a primitive "figurehead" -- or even dead, for all we know -- but whoever put those All-American jet planes loaded with All-American fuel into the Twin Towers and the Pentagon did it with chilling precision and accuracy. The second one was a dead-on bullseye. Straight into the middle of the skyscraper.

Nothing -- even George Bush's $350 billion "Star Wars" missile defense system -- could have prevented Tuesday's attack, and it cost next to nothing to pull off. Fewer than 20 unarmed Suicide soldiers from some apparently primitive country somewhere on the other side of the world took out the World Trade Center and half the Pentagon with three quick and costless strikes on one day. The efficiency of it was terrifying.

We are going to punish somebody for this attack, but just who or what will be blown to smithereens for it is hard to say. Maybe Afghanistan, maybe Pakistan or Iraq, or possibly all three at once. Who knows? Not even the Generals in what remains of the Pentagon or the New York papers calling for WAR seem to know who did it or where to look for them.

This is going to be a very expensive war, and Victory is not guaranteed -- for anyone, and certainly not for anyone as baffled as George W. Bush. All he knows is that his father started the war a long time ago, and that he, the goofy child-President, has been chosen by Fate and the global Oil industry to finish it Now. He will declare a National Security Emergency and clamp down Hard on Everybody, no matter where they live or why. If the guilty won't hold up their hands and confess, he and the Generals will ferret them out by force.

Good luck. He is in for a profoundly difficult job -- armed as he is with no credible Military Intelligence, no witnesses and only the ghost of Bin Laden to blame for the tragedy.

OK. It is 24 hours later now, and we are not getting much information about the Five Ws of this thing. The numbers out of the Pentagon are baffling, as if Military Censorship has already been imposed on the media. It is ominous. The only news on TV comes from weeping victims and ignorant speculators.

The lid is on. Loose Lips Sink Ships. Don't say anything that might give aid to The Enemy.'

-- Dr. Hunter S. Thompson

A night to remember

2009-09-18T03:22:00.000-07:00

September 2006, Bangkok.

The air was thick like a winter duvet, full of leaded bus fumes. Mushroom clouds of black smoke bellowed from speeding Tuk-Tuks, dancing manically between the lanes. There was a conspicuous lack of people on the ground and I began to sense that something was not quite right. Ghost like figures floated past me with an urgency in their stride and a seriousness etched on their facial expressions.

Political riots are common in this city, so concerned; I stopped a commuter to find out the story.

"Is everything OK in the city tonight?” I asked her directly.

"Go back to wherever you are staying, this is not a good night to be walking on the streets” she said with a forceful air.

The ladies tone and lack of explanation left me in a mentally strange place; confusion and perplexity made my mind fizz with thoughts and images of homicidal craziness. I had to make a decision. This was not something that I felt could be made out on the street. The atmosphere was feeling sourer by the minute, like an acidic wind was howling down the intersection.

I needed a drink, so bounced into an adjacent gay bar for deliberation.

The bar was a standard Thai gay bar. Tables of all ages, struggling to connect thought the repetitious din of 4/4 dance music, with a few pouting lady boys roaming the room, making eyes with men in suits. It was a sleazy and dirty sight to behold, but this was no time for moral judgments.

I knocked back a beer and decided to have a large whiskey before I went back to my hotel. As I starred around the bar, men with dresses and eye shadow, chattered incessantly.

I stopped a waiter and spoke in Thai.

"Could you tell me what is going on outside?”

"Bad men fight – you go.” He replied with a cheeky grin; his sparkling eye lashes flashing under the roaming strobe.

I don’t know whether it was the waiter’s nonchalance, or a sudden burst of paranoia, but I knew I had to get out of there quick. A sea of mist descended on my thought process, making coherent evaluation impossible: it was time to go.

Gathering up my belongings I paid and made my way to the exit, passing strange gender benders; some groping at me on my way past. This was not a good place to be, like some weird acid flashback. I had my eyes g-clamped on the finishing line, my vision was blurred and my head spinning with dark thoughts.

Suddenly, the doors of the bar flung open and in marched men in uniforms. The rigid expressions on their faces told me immediately that this was no ‘men in uniform’ night; these monkey men meant business.

As the thoughts of a washroom window escape flashed through my mind, I was startled out of my trance by a megaphone.

"Martial law is in effect. You have thirty minutes to get home. Anyone seen on the streets after this will be shot."

This guy was not playing games, he was serious. My insides felt like a worn out mangle and my head as if a tumor was threatening to hemorrhage.

As the imperious messages were repeated from the megaphone, I composed myself and made my way out onto the street. Scores of anxious people tried to work out how they would make it home before the military asserted themselves.

In front of me the huge highway opened out. To the right were armored tanks with manned turrets and machine guns pointing in my direction. Swarms of military, heavily armed, were marching towards me - impenetrable lines of khaki.

I remember having what felt like a meltdown. Thoughts of capture, torture, hostage videos, and the Bangkok Hilton. (Notorious Thai jail) were flooding my consciousness.
There was only one option available: run very quickly in the opposite direction and hitch a ride on a Tuk-Tuk before martial law took affect.

I ran and didn’t stop for what felt like an hour. My lungs were burning and my eyes stung in the polluted chaos. Luckily, a multi-coloured Tuk-Tuk pulled up, the driver stuck his head out and said, “Where you go?”

I returned to my hotel disheveled and badly shook up. Luckily, the convenience shop was open downstairs and I bought a bottle of gin to unwind in the room.

After pouring a pint of Gin and tonic I laid down on the bed and switched on the television.

All the channels showed the same looped military video.

I had been caught in the middle of a revolution and had narrowly made it out alive.

People were being butchered on the streets as I lay and drank super human strength cocktails.

Gill Scott Heron came to my melting mind.

'The revolution will not be televised.'

And here I was in Bangkok, watching it unfold on the box.

Mike

2009-09-17T01:14:00.000-07:00

Here is an ambient mix from the black dog, the 2nd of a 12 part podcast series they're doing. I'm a big fan of mixes like this that show a different side to an artist. In this sense, it reminds me a bit of Cio's 'on clouds' mix. Anyway, it struck me as something worth sharing in blogland.

For all the hardcore audiophiles.

I should warn you that it is unfortunately only 128kbps.

http://www.theblackdogma.com/tbd/download-manager.php?id=26

01. Intrusion - Under The Ocean - Echospace [detroit]
02. Intrusion - Static Waves - Echospace [detroit]
03. Louderbach - Autumn - Minus
04. Terry Riley - Poppy No Good - Rough Trade
05. Robin Rimbaud - Sans Soleil - Bine
06. Peter Broderick - Music for Falling from Trees, Pt. 3_ Pill Induced Slumber - Erased Tapes
07. Peter Broderick - Music for Falling from Trees, Pt. 6_ Electroconvulsive Shock - Erased Tapes
08. Stars Of The Lid - Hiberner Toujours - Kranky
09. Robin Rimbaud - Anna Livia Plurabelle - Bine
10. Peter Broderick - A Glacier - Erased Tapes
11. White Rainbow - April 25th 11.14PM - Kranky
12. The Black Dog - Plinth (Tones) - Soma
13. The Black Dog - Plinth (Beatless) - Soma

have a good sunday people.

Mike

George Carlin - Saving the Planet

2009-08-28T07:20:00.000-07:00

George Carlin - Religion is bullshit.

2009-08-28T07:12:00.000-07:00

Telling the Truth About the Armenian Genocide

2009-08-27T19:14:00.000-07:00

We must resist Turkish pressure to distort history.

Fighting Words

By Christopher Hitchens

Even before President Barack Obama set off on his visit to Turkey this week, there were the usual voices urging him to dilute the principled position that he has so far taken on the Armenian genocide. April is the month in which the Armenian diaspora commemorates the bloody initiation, in 1915, of the Ottoman Empire's campaign to erase its Armenian population. The marking of the occasion takes two forms: Armenian Remembrance Day, on April 24, and the annual attempt to persuade Congress to name that day as one that abandons weasel wording and officially calls the episode by its right name, which is the word I used above.

Genocide had not been coined in 1915, but the U.S. ambassador in Constantinople, Henry Morgenthau, employed a term that was in some ways more graphic. In his urgent reports to the State Department, conveying on-the-spot dispatches from his consuls, especially in the provinces of Van and Harput, he described the systematic slaughter of the Armenians as "race murder." A vast archive of evidence exists to support this claim. But every year, the deniers and euphemists set to work again, and there are usually enough military-industrial votes to tip the scale in favor of our Turkish client. (Of late, Turkey's opportunist military alliance with Israel has also been good for a few shame-faced Jewish votes as well.)

President Obama comes to this issue with an unusually clear and unambivalent record. In 2006, for example, the U.S. ambassador to Armenia, John Evans, was recalled for employing the word genocide. Then-Sen. Obama wrote a letter of complaint to then-Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice, deploring the State Department's cowardice and roundly stating that the occurrence of the Armenian genocide in 1915 "is not an allegation, a personal opinion, or a point of view, but rather a widely documented fact supported by an overwhelming body of historical evidence." On the campaign trail last year, he amplified this position, saying that "America deserves a leader who speaks truthfully about the Armenian genocide and responds forcefully to all genocides. I intend to be that president."

For any who might entertain doubt on this score, I would recommend two recent books of exceptional interest and scholarship that both add a good deal of depth and texture to this drama. The first is Armenian Golgotha: A Memoir of the Armenian Genocide, by Grigoris Balakian, and the second is Rebel Land: Travels Among Turkey's Forgotten Peoples, a contemporary account by Christopher de Bellaigue. In addition, we have just learned of shattering corroborative evidence from within the archives of the Turkish state. The Ottoman politician who began the campaign of deportation and extermination, Talat Pasha, left enormous documentation behind him. His family has now given the papers to a Turkish author named Murat Bardakci, who has published a book with the somewhat dry title The Remaining Documents of Talat Pasha. One of these "remaining documents" is a cold estimate that during the years 1915 and 1916 alone, a total of 972,000 Armenians simply vanished from the officially kept records of population. (See Sabrina Tavernise's report in the New York Times of March 8, 2009.)

There are those who try to say that the Armenian catastrophe was a regrettable byproduct of the fog of war and of imperial collapse, and this might be partly true of the many more Armenians who were slaughtered at the war's end and after the implosion of Ottomanism. But this is an archive maintained by the government of the day and its chief anti-Armenian politician, and it records in the very early days of World War I a population decline from 1,256,000 to 284,157. It is very seldom that a regime in its private correspondence confirms almost to an exactitude the claims of its victims.

So what will the deniers say now? The usual routine has been to insinuate that if Congress votes to assert the historic truth, then Turkey will inconvenience the NATO alliance by making trouble on the Iraqi border, denying the use of bases to the U.S. Air Force, or in other unspecified ways. This same kind of unchecked arrogance was on view at the NATO summit last weekend, where the Ankara government had the nerve to try to hold up the appointment of a serious Danish politician, Anders Rasmussen, as the next secretary-general of the alliance, on the grounds that as Denmark's prime minister he had refused to censor Danish newspapers to Muslim satisfaction! It is now being hinted that if either President Obama or the Congress goes ahead with the endorsement of the genocide resolution, Turkey will prove uncooperative on a range of issues, including the normalization of the frontier between Turkey and Armenia and the transit of oil and gas pipelines across the Caucasus.

When the question is phrased in this thuggish way, it can be slyly suggested that Armenia's own best interests are served by joining in the agreement to muddy and distort its own history. Yet how could any state, or any people, agree to abolish their pride and dignity in this way? And the question is not only for Armenians, who are economically hard-pressed by the Turkish closure of the common border. It is for the Turks, whose bravest cultural spokesmen and writers take genuine risks to break the taboo on discussion of the Armenian question. And it is also for Americans, who, having elected a supposedly brave new president, are being told that he—and our Congress too—must agree to collude in a gigantic historical lie. A lie, furthermore, that courageous U.S. diplomacy helped to expose in the first place. This falsification has already gone on long enough and has been justified for reasons of state. It is, among other things, precisely "for reasons of state," in other words for the clear and vital announcement that we can't be bought or intimidated, that April 24, 2009, should become remembered as the date when we affirmed the truth and accepted, as truth-telling does, all the consequences.

Christopher Hitchens is a columnist for Vanity Fair and the Roger S. Mertz media fellow at the Hoover Institution.

2009-08-27T19:06:00.000-07:00

Afternoon in Kathu

2009-08-27T01:22:00.000-07:00

The rumble in my stomach has the quality of distant thunder and lets me know that it's around 2 pm. Eating patterns provide me with a practical and reliable alarm clock - one that relies on rice, not batteries.

Sometimes my insides can feel like they are brawling, an internal struggle for energy sources; a fight to the death - acids vs. enzymes.

At this point the mind gives up on many levels, and concentration gives way to a blinkered one way street, with a vender selling fried dumplings and bbq chicken visible at the end.

Images pour in to the mind like an intense light source; smiling faces smeared in meat juices and sticky fingers lifting delicious pieces of spiced pork, delivering them to their salivating resting place.

The day is long and bright, but for once the shining beacon in the sky is not burning white.

Monsoon weather has it's benefits. Humidity and suffocating heat are not present today.

The world looks like a different place.

I can look out into the distance without a painful squint, and can feel fresh in mid afternoon without the need for a paralytic nap.

This is a good time to be productive - no time to rest.

Productivity is not a given in Thailand; the climate does not always permit free flowing activity. Like a fisherman, you have to pick the correct moment and move fast, no stalling or the moment will pass.

As the evening draws ever closer people start coming out of buildings, like ants between the cracks of concrete, their motorbikes groan and then howl, as they make their way to their destinations.

Even with a forest of black clouds in the sky the locals wrap their bodies in clothing, afraid of it's relentless UV assault.

This lesson is ignored by the blossom faced tourists who ride bare-chested, oblivious to the damage to their skin, on an insatiable quest for temporarily darkened skin.

Vanity squares up and eyeballs cancer.

Only one can be the victor in this battle.

Eat where the locals eat and do what the locals do if you are serious about staying in an alien place for long.

Take heed and learn their lessons. Be open to things that you initially disreguard as nonsense - Hold back your pride and embrace the unknown.

It's time to leave the world of words on a blog level and assert myself within the classroom.

Teaching English is a rewarding and challenging job. One in which you will never know it all.

For that, I am thankful.

In the immortal words of Confusious, "A great teacher is always learning."

Time for class.

Mike

Music

2009-08-21T19:37:00.000-07:00

This morning a woke up earlier than usual. After gulping down a coffee and some cake, I could think only of one thing: Music.

The last seven months have been dominated largely by setting up a business, which is now doing very well indeed, and attempting to adjust and assimilate within Thai culture. The former has not been a problem, while the latter does provide one with challenges that are not always simple. These two factors have drained my energy and have soaked up my time, leaving me suffering from what feels like, severe music withdrawal.

Music has always played a very important role in my life, from early childhood experimentation, to formative teenage dabbling in all manner of sounds, then on to where I am now; a twenty eight year old man with a head full of the past, and a yearning for something new in the present.

It is time to find my way again musically; get the ship back on course. Seek out all that is new and inspiring, and let it do its work on my wanton ears. Music has the ability to sooth one’s mind, as well as energize and motivate. There is no time to waste.

I want music back in my life, for good.

Mike

Yale University Press & Freedom of Expression

2009-08-19T09:58:00.000-07:00

Christopher Hitchen’s latest article for Slate entitled, “Why did Yale University Press remove images of Mohammad from a book about Danish Cartoons?’ is a well reasoned piece that points out some ominous facts that if left to run their course, will result in not only the watering down of the medias effectiveness, but further the erosion of free speech and open inquiry.

Cast your mind back to 2005 and the controversy surrounding the Danish newspaper Jylland Portem that hosted a competition for cartoons depicting the prophet Mohammad. This caused a media shit storm that reverberated around the world, consequently resulting in the deaths of at least one hundred people.

I thought this particular issue had been laid to rest, but recent events have placed it firmed back onto the political agenda. Yale University Press has decided to publish a book called “The cartoons that shook the world” by Danish –born Jytte Klausen, who is professor of politics at Brandeis University. It tells the story of the horrid and preplanned campaign of “protest” and boycott that was orchestrated in the closing months of that year. The publication will see the removal of the twelve original caricatures that caused the initial hysteria. On one hand, this could be seen as expedient maneuver considering the related murders and threats carried out by Muslim extremists; on the other hand, a question has to be asked:

How far can the religious push this kind of censorship, and where will it end?

We can already hear Mullahs in the West shouting from their minaret tops for the banning of innocuous children’s fairy tales like “The Tree Little Pigs” and nonsensically lambasting fictitious television character like Miss Piggy. Laughably, one of the twenty centuries most revered novels, George Orwell’s profound and powerful “Animal Farm” has been banned from Muslim curriculums because of the central character is a pig.

The decision taken by Yale University is a momentous blow to all who believe that free speech is necessary and healthy within a functioning modern society. As Hitchens states, “According to the Yale logic, violence could result from the showing of the images-and not only that, but it would be those who displayed the images who were directly responsible for that violence.” This kind of logic creates all kind of problems and complexities. In theory an individual or group could be seen as the aggressor and perpetrator when in actual fact, they were upholding their right to freedom of expression.

During the first calamitous episode in 2005, those vehemently against the cartoons exclaimed that they would result in the “instigation” of violence. As Hitchens points out, “If you instigate something, it means that you wish and intend it to happen. If it’s a riot, then by instigating it, you have yourself colluded in it.”

The ramifications of this type of misinformation prove to be fatal, as the religious continue on their sadistic and sectarian crusade, against rationality and secularism. This particular masochistic bending of the rules by the religious can not go on if we are to maintain a level of decency and modernity in our world. Media outlets and the population writ large must have the confidence to stand up to these socio-religious bully boy tactics.

Sam Harris, one of the spearheads within the so called, “New Atheist Movement” postulates that religion should not be given such an elevated position within society, as it is merely a belief system, on a par with political allegiance. By this assumption, religion is given an artificial position within our society; one that can and should be challenged.

Hitchens surmises about the possibility of his own life being threatened or put in danger by his high profile polemics. He imperiously states, “Who’s to say a homicidal theocrat won’t decide to be offended now. I deny absolutely that I will have instigated him to do so, and I state in advance that he is directly and solely responsible for any blood that is on his hands.”

I take my hat off to Mr. Hitchens, and feel like him, that it is time for the media and people to stop sound biting democracy, and face facts that there is an encroaching beast at work - organized religion, that is not content to keep its views private; but insidiously attempts to force them upon others.

One would think that the religious would be overjoyed with the fact that they have uncovered the truth and discovered the dark and wondrous secrets of life to which, the rest of us are ignorant, but this is not the case. The religious with their tele-evanjelist conmen and their apocalyptic Mullahs continue to peddle fear, lies and damnation to the credulous, playing on peoples’ innate fear of death, and need for simple answers to life’s difficult questions.

A lot of blood has been split in attaining things that we now take for granted, such as free speech, which has undoubtedly accelerated our development as a race, and enhanced the lives of millions of citizens. It’s important to remember these undeniable facts, and not let the zealots dilute the effectiveness of progress made.

The monotheisms written as they were, by men sitting round iron-age campfires, have little relevance today and their majestic mutterings now look frail under the microscope of modern science and philosophy. These ‘great’ religions were probably our first attempt at understanding the big questions in life, of which some still baffle people today; but the point is that out first attempt at philosophy, has now been overshadowed and overtaken by sober, rational inquiry.

Evidence and facts, have felt their way slowly to the mainstream, and there they will stay.

The Yale University happenings are not the way forward for a democratic society and set a macabre example to all those who want to further their own fraudulent agendas. As Hitchens concludes, “What a cause of shame that the campus of Nation Hale should have pre-emptively run up the white flag and then cringingly taken the blood guilt of potential assassins and tyrants upon itself.”

I will conclude by saying that we all have the right to free expression in any form, and Yale University Press has provided a copybook example of what can happen when rationality is pushed a side in favour of a capitulation to the demands of opportunistic dogmatists.

Mike

The photograph voted the winning wonder of Ireland .

2009-08-19T09:54:00.000-07:00

Belfast Telegraph:

An amateur snapper from Co Down fought off thousands of competitors to win a tourist photography competition, it was announced yesterday.

Ryan Wilson impressed the judges with his entry entitled Into the West to take home first prize in the Wonders of Ireland contest.

The winning picture features Tyrella beach near Downpatrick against the stunning backdrop of the Mourne Mountains, with a horse and rider in silhouette.

The photo also shows a dramatic sky with heavy clouds and sun bursting through, which was described as “typically Irish”.

Irish and visiting tourists submitted thousands of photo entries, with 56% of images coming from visitors.

The 11 runner-up photographs were the work of Belgian, Dutch, Spanish, UK, German and Irish tourists.

The announcement was made by Gulliver Ireland at the launch of the GoIreland.com Photography Awards 2009 yesterday.

Held in association with John Hinde Ireland, the GoIreland.com Photography Awards is an international amateur tourist photography competition that highlights Ireland and its tourism qualities using a different theme each year.

Free Time Wondering

2009-08-16T20:09:00.000-07:00

I dander…………………………………….

Hellish Hondas zip past like belching bees, under a bruised and nebulous sky.

The relentless waves of heat and mugginess stultify the brains capacity to think.

Movement feels unnatural; awkward - controlled by an outside force like some celestial deity lounging in wicker furniture with fingers poised on a remote.

The heat stifles and entraps the form squeezing like a boa constructor.

There’s no escape, nowhere to run.

A refreshing, albeit, short-lived breeze massages my face, allowing me for a short moment to escape the tiresomeness of natures onslaught.

Quaint housing lines the narrow streets lined with pretty tropical flowers and trickling streams.

Families sit on plastic chairs, some stare into space and others watch them do the same. Life is on the move and so am I.

Breathe deeply and know your alive.

Feel the aliveness of the moment and march into battle.

The queen of Thailand stares down from her perch over the intersection, watching closely the circus show below.

Chaos and pandemonium compete on the roads for superlative status; wild driving and obliviousness of danger dominate the scene.

How does one stay alive for long in this rat’s nest?

One can duck and dive, but sooner or later a brush with death is on the cards.

Myriads of students dominate the sidewalks, unmistakable in their regimental white and brown uniforms; shining lights of impeccability.

Minuscule paces and grease smeared faced surround; seas of youth and happiness; every step an image of the beautiful spring time of life.

Beads of sweat continue to lose their grip with gravity and make their saline decent south.

...................................

Following the shade I come across Thalang Road which is like looking into a crystal ball at Phuket’s past.

Shops many more times longer than they are wide are adorned with heavily accented latticework entries, and brightly coloured exterior paintwork.

The scene is like that in Pennang, Malaysia crossed with the Big Bad Wolf’s sugar coated residence in the famous children fairy tail; a multi-coloured vista of brilliant colour and intricate bi-gone architecture.

Just off Thalang Road lies Soi Romani, an interesting little back lane that has had, even by Phuket’s standards; a sordid past.

This quaint blip on the map was once a red light district for the many Chinese labourers who came to work the tin mines.

It has been restored to it’s former self in recent years and now is full of small drinking holes.

This grandiose Sino-colonial spectacle, once occupied by Phuket's tin barons, stands as a living monument to the town's past.

The name of this soi is intriguing as 'romani' is an old-fashioned Thai word, roughly translating to 'naughty with the ladies'.

Having frequented this area by night I can reassure the reader that little has changed in a century.

By night, young ladies, scantly dressed prowl the street looking for ‘customers’ and men of all ages and nationalities do the same fueled by booze and a wanton lust for fresh meat.

There no point being shocked. No one cares. This is Thailand after all.

As the propitious locals would say,

“Relax......Same same, but different...... not serious”

Mike

Another Day, Another Dollar

2009-08-16T03:08:00.000-07:00

Well there we go folks, another fun packed day in the classroom has screeched to a halt in Thailand. It has not been a

remarkable day, nor has it been one to forget; it's time to simply pack up my things and go to a nice restaurant by the

beach for some well deserved down time. After a few tough days teaching, the best ways to unwind is with cold beer

and North Eastern Thai food - nicely settled, in time for sunset. That's enough for me really: simple, beautiful and

chilled. The roads on the island are not a busy on a Sunday night as for many the weekend is drawing to a close and

the world of work beacons tomorrow, but for me it's the end of a busy week, a week that has provided me with some

closure on issues that have been bugging me. It's a great feeling when something that has been weighing on your mind is

suddenly emancipated, leaving you energized and flighty. So, the time has come to change into the civvies, pour a very

large gin and tonic and get myself to a picturesque little table over looking the Andaman Sea.

Mike

Jeff Buckley - Grace (Live Nulle Part Ailleurs, Canal - 1995)

2009-07-23T12:40:00.000-07:00

He really was a special talent.

Mike

Bass Heaven

2009-07-22T21:20:00.000-07:00

Hitchens on the Labour Party

2009-07-22T00:18:00.000-07:00

Labour’s Lost?

No, Prime Minister

Britain’s Labour Party, the author’s first political home, when he was a young idealist, now stands for nothing in his eyes. Unless one counts the Nixonian power lust—dirty tricks included—of Prime Minister Gordon Brown.
By Christopher Hitchens August 2009

Prime Minister Gordon Brown took office in June 2007, and it’s been downhill for the Labour Party ever since. Illustration by André Carrilho.

Finally all other emotions were lost in the overflowing sense of relief that his days of waiting for achievement were over.… To Gordon it seemed no more than the inevitable entrance into a kingdom which was his by right of conquest. —Alec Waugh, The Loom of Youth.

Early this past June it became hard to distinguish among the resignation statements that were emanating almost daily from Prime Minister Gordon Brown’s Cabinet. The noise of collapsing scenery drowned out the individuality of the letters—one female minister, I remember, complained that she was being used as “window dressing”—but there was one missive from a departing comrade that caught my eye. It came from James Purnell, a man generally agreed to have done a more than respectable job as minister for work and pensions, and it began like this:

Dear Gordon,
We both love the Labour Party. I have worked for it for twenty years and you for far longer. We know we owe it everything and it owes us nothing …

I sat back in my chair. Yes, it’s true. One suddenly could recall a time when membership in the Labour Party (or “the Labour movement,” as it would call itself on great occasions) was a thing of pride. I remember deciding to go and join it in 1965, on the very first day that I was old enough to be eligible, and leaving the battered old union hall where I had signed up, delightedly clutching a membership card that called for common ownership of the means of production, distribution, and exchange.

Yes, well, you don’t need to tell me that there were some drawbacks to this position (though now that practically everything in sight is being nationalized by liberals and conservatives I occasionally allow myself a smirk). But in the political battles of those days, about inequality and exploitation, about nuclear weapons and apartheid and Vietnam, one went to a Labour Party meeting expecting, and getting, a fight over important matters of principle. There were even occasions when some of us would say, and mean it when we said it, that we would rather lose an election than give up on our ideals.

And now look. The British Labour Party has just, in elections to the European Parliament, received its smallest share of the vote since 1918 (when it was a new and young third-party force). Its candidates in local elections have trailed in third and even fourth place, losing ground in working-class districts to openly Fascist groups such as the British National Party. This is not a defeat. It is a humiliation. And on exactly what question of principle was Labour brought so low?

If you can’t answer that question, you are in good company. The main if not the sole “issue” appears to be the self-love and the self-pity of a prime minister—Gordon Brown—who has never won a general election or even a contested leadership election within his own party. He is in power only in order to be in power. He is in power only because he believes he has long had a natural right to be prime minister. For many years he waited as a resentful dauphin, swallowing his envy and bile. And then, like the fruit of the medlar tree, he went rotten before he was ripe.

Gordon Brown is Labour’s Richard Nixon.… The buttoned-up suit, the mouth slightly agape, the physical awkwardness, the alarming smile which seems to appear from nowhere as if a button marked “smile” has been pressed in his head. —Robert Harris, The Sunday Times, September 10, 2006.

The author of Fatherland wrote those words as Brown was staging the near-incredible “My turn! My turn!” tantrum with which he disgraced the transition between Tony Blair and himself. And the Nixonian diagnosis has recurred to many minds since then, because of the discovery of a “dirty tricks” operation run at the very heart of Brown’s own government. “Filthy tricks” might be more like it: the prime minister’s chief political aide, a bloated and mediocre nonentity named Damian McBride, was found using official e-mail channels to spread the rumors that David Cameron, the leader of the Conservative Party, suffered from an embarrassing ailment; that his economics spokesman, George Osborne, had been caught with hookers and a dildo and photographed in drag; and so forth. (There was also a planted slur about Mr. Osborne’s wife that not even Rupert Murdoch’s tabloid The Sun was prepared to print.) This you might think was foul enough: using the taxpayers’ money to smear the opposition party with baseless insinuations. But what shocked me much more was how unshocked the Labour Party was. “Put it like this,” said a stalwart old comrade of mine. “The Tories and the press are only now finding out how Brown has been bullying and threatening his own colleagues.” Fat Boy McBride, of course, was given the heave-ho as soon as his picknose activity was unmasked, and it was claimed, as is customary, that he had acted alone and without permission from his boss. I have asked around a good deal and have not met or heard from anyone—anyone—who believes that this cover story is true. Instead, and this in a party that used to pride itself on open debate, you hear dreadful whispers about carpet-biting, furniture-hurling spasms by someone whose contorted face reproduces the awful slobbering mask of a weak king.

Ivan Lewis, a Labour M.P. and junior minister, developed a few mild criticisms of the Brown regime and suddenly discovered that news of indiscreet text messages of his, addressed to a female subordinate, had found its way from government channels to the gutter press. Martin Bright, political editor of my old lefty magazine the New Statesman, was effectively hounded out of his job because he was rash enough to object to the Labour machine that was then running the mayoralty of London.

Gordon had his fingers on the pedestal of fame, and he intended never to loose his grasp. —Alec Waugh, The Loom of Youth.

The true definition of corruption, it seems to me, is the diversion of public resources to private or politicized ends (see above). There are other and lesser definitions, such as milking the public purse or abusing the public trust by “creative accounting.” The cloudburst of lurid detail about the expenses racket, which has made the current Parliament into an object of scorn and loathing, is a cloudburst that has soaked members of all parties equally. However, the Brownite style is by far the most culpable. It was Brown’s people who foisted a Speaker on the House of Commons who both indulged the scandal and obstructed a full ventilation of it. As if that weren’t bad enough, Gordon Brown still resists any call to dissolve this wretched Parliament—a Parliament that is almost audibly moaning to be put out of its misery and shame—because he still isn’t prepared to undergo the great test of being submitted to the electorate. Say what you will about Tony Blair, he took on all the other parties in three hard-fought general elections, and when it was considered time for him to give way or step down, he voluntarily did so while some people could still ask, “Why are you going?,” rather than “Why the hell don’t you go?” For the collapse of Britain’s formerly jaunty and spendthrift “financial sector,” everybody including Blair is to blame. But for the contempt in which Parliament is held, and in which a once great party now shares, it’s Blair’s successor who is the lugubrious villain.

When I first met Gordon Brown, in the late 1970s in Scotland, we were both miles to the left of center. (What I remember best about him is his fingernails, which were gnawed down to the knuckle. Warning: Contents under pressure.) The Labour Party was in due course moved to the right, but not only, or not merely, to catch the votes and donations of the middle ground. Tony Blair, who supervised the makeover (and whose famous Chicago speech linking Slobodan Milošević and Saddam Hussein was delivered exactly 10 years ago), is still a figure who, even his enemies concede, has shown conviction and commitment.

Labour under Brown has forgotten even the meaning of such terms. The sweets and fruits of office are all that count. Take a single example. Brown’s allies leak to the press that the foreign secretary, David Miliband, is to be offered another job in a Cabinet “reshuffle.” Mr. Miliband then lets it be known that he has no intention of moving. So feeble is Brown’s position that he then retains, as the man responsible for Britain’s diplomatic relations, a person who clearly does not enjoy his own prime minister’s confidence in that important role. So, Britain’s allies and enemies both know at once that they are negotiating with a secretary of state who doesn’t count. But who cares about such a trifle? The survival of Brown and the retention of power are the main objectives, and even some of the cronies who hate and fear him are more afraid of the verdict of the voters.

Some of the elements of tragedy are present in Brown, as they were in Sir Anthony Eden, who fretted himself into misery while waiting for Winston Churchill to step down, and as they were in Richard Nixon, convinced that he had been robbed of the 1960 election. Like Eden and Nixon, Brown appears to have gone a little mad while in office. (He is also said to be gravely worried about losing the sight in his remaining eye.) But one’s natural sympathy is canceled by the realization that he is leading from behind, bribing his party to stay in line by clinging to their perks for just one more season, or one more year. The old Labour anthem had a couplet of especial scorn about “the weak and base / whose minds are fixed on pelf and place.”

Labour used to be a party of dissent, but now British policemen are to be seen on video as they mash puddles of blood out of demonstrators against the government and even out of bystanders who are not demonstrating at all. The inclination of traditional Labour supporters was perhaps not all that much in favor of monarchy, but Mr. Brown managed to insult the Queen, and the veterans of D-day on the Normandy beaches, for no better reason than that he wanted to hog the entire stage for himself. He got booed by the crowd on an occasion that is usually almost supernaturally silent, and then he contrived to make an idiot of himself by alluding to Omaha beach—a near-totemic name for anyone with a sense of history—as “Obama beach.” Enough is enough. The Labour Party must make up its mind to throw off and outlive this imposition, or else to endure it further and find itself a dishonorable grave.

As Gordon walked back alone, he had the unpleasant feeling that the best was over.… The friends of his first term … had all gone, scattered to the winds. He alone remained, and with a sudden pain he wondered whether he had not outlived his day, whether, like Tithonus, he was not taking more than he had been meant to take. —Alec Waugh, The Loom of Youth.

Christopher Hitchens is a Vanity Fair contributing editor.

Bangkok

2009-07-21T23:32:00.000-07:00

Enjoy a serene and tranquil drive in one of Bangkok's picturesque little streets. Breath in that fresh air and thank the good Lord that you are alive to experience such beauty. Deep breath now..............taste the bliss! When there is not martial law and the eminent threat of revolution, take in the sights and sounds of this wonderful place full of positivity and humanist virtue. Why not hire a prostitute, or hire a prostitute; or if your feeling really adventurous, get drunk and then hire a prostitute. Wow! Can you imagine that! The options really are endless in this city of endless joy, morality and unadulterated happiness

So come and relax in the jewel of south east Asia.

Bangkok.

You have to love it.

Mike

Kay & I and a Bangkok BBQ

2009-07-21T23:23:00.001-07:00

Now, those of you that know me know that I am never one to turn down food. Here in Thailand it is a food lovers paradise with lots to choose from including curries, seafood, traditional Thai, good Korean, Japanese etc. For those of you who feel strongly that turkey and ham a la traditional wedding fare is the epitome of extravagant gastronomic experience - then I have news for you my friends: Thailand's where it's at.

Kay and I did some serious munching and boozing this particular muggy evening in the big smoke.

Mike

View From a Bus

2009-07-21T23:18:00.000-07:00

While traveling back to Phuket from Bangkok I saw this in the middle of the road and quickly snapped the picture through the window.

Weird isn't it?

Mike

Burmese Days - George Orwell

2009-07-21T21:04:00.000-07:00

Imagine a book that combines E.M. Forster's colonial musing, with something naturalistic and very humanist and you are getting warm in your search for George Orwell's intensely readable and adeptly plotted, 1934 novel, Burmese Days.

This particular cocktail is one part satirical, two parts socialist red, add to this some Indian vindaloo, and a bucket load of English gin; and you ready to drink to the health of one of the 20th centuries greatest writers.

This book is highly recommended to anyone who has a general interest in good old British imperialism, or to individuals who are looking for a fast paced, rip roaring journey through one of the least auspicious postings in the ailing British Empire.

What ever your motive for picking up this book it will have you tearing through the pages like a man chewing coco leaves.

In 1930, Kyauktada, Upper Burma, a woefully bigoted group of English people live working in the teak industry. They frequent the European club, which provides them with an outlet for heavy drinking and predictable slurs of racial superiority to the natives. Orders come from above that a native member has to be accepted in to the imagined corridors of civility; bringing out the worst in the woefully closed society.

For the majority, the thought of a native in their club was too much. How could they accept a 'nigger' considering the 'insolence of the natives’? Club member preferred to sit around drinking and talking about ‘the supineness of the Government and the dear dead days when the British Raj was the Raj and please give the bearer fifteen lashes.' The topic was never left alone for long.

The books main Protagonist James Flory is a timber merchant, whose facial birthmark serves as an outward expression of the ironic and left-leaning habits of mind that make him inwardly different from his fellow Englishmen. The birthmark is mentioned countless times through out, banishing Flory mentally as well as physically, to the periphery of British colonial life.

He is a lonely and depressed individual who takes solace in gin and literature; little else. Flory appreciates the local culture, has native allegiances, and detests the racist machinations of his fellow Club members; but he doesn't always possess the moral courage, or the energy, to stand in defiance of what he sees as wrong.

Flory's Anglophile friend, Dr. Veraswami, the highest-ranking native official, seems a odds on favourite for Club membership, until Machiavellian magistrate U Po Kyin launches a campaign to discredit him that results, ultimately, in the loss not just of reputations but of lives. Whether to endorse Veraswami or to betray him becomes a test of Flory's moral fiber, and a test of the strength of his character.

Against this backdrop of politics and ethics, Orwell throws in some romance for good measure. The arrival of a young bobbed blonde, the attractive but resolutely anti-intellectual Elizabeth Lackersteen; provides Flory with his opportunity to escape his boredom and dark thoughts. Their tense and painful relationship shows Orwell’s ability in presenting nuanced social interactions as well as political intrigues; making him a formidable writing force.
The no-frills prose makes for historical fiction that stands triumphantly outside of time, twisting and turning the reader’s attention with beautiful simplicity.

I for one am going to read the book again to study more closely the wonderfully smooth direction and composition of the prose. It seems at time to flow so effortlessly and have the consistency of velvet or silk on the eye. It is in short: truly wonderful.

Mike

Blasphemy law a return to middle ages - Dawkins

2009-07-13T04:43:00.000-07:00

ALISON HEALY

THE NEW blasphemy law will send Ireland back to the middle ages, and is wretched, backward and uncivilised, Prof Richard Dawkins has said.

The scientist and critic of religion has lent his support to a campaign to repeal the law, introduced by Atheist Ireland, a group set up last December, arising from an online discussion forum. The law, which makes the publication or utterance of blasphemous matter a crime punishable by a €25,000 fine, passed through the Oireachtas last week.

In a message read out at Atheist Ireland’s first agm on Saturday, Prof Dawkins said: “One of the world’s most beautiful and best-loved countries, Ireland has recently become one of the most respected as well: dynamic, go-ahead, modern, civilised – a green and pleasant silicon valley. This preposterous blasphemy law puts all that respect at risk.” He said it would be too kind to call the law a ridiculous anachronism.

“It is a wretched, backward, uncivilised regression to the middle ages. Who was the bright spark who thought to besmirch the revered name of Ireland by proposing anything so stupid?”

Messages of support for the campaign were also received from the creators of Father Ted Graham Linehan and Arthur Matthews, and the European Humanist Federation. The federation, which represents 42 organisations in 19 countries, said it was “appalled” at the new law and it was “a seriously retrograde step”.

At the agm, Atheist Ireland members voted to test the new law by publishing a blasphemous statement, deliberately designed to cause offence. The statement will be finalised in the coming days.

Atheist Ireland’s chairman Michael Nugent said the group wanted to highlight the ridiculousness of the law. Labour Senator and barrister Ivana Bacik told the meeting that an amendment provides for a review of the law within five years. “There’s a great potential to have this very much altered if not removed altogether,” she said. The new law invited people to make complaints to gardaí and would result in “a huge amount” of wasted Garda time, she said.

“So for lots of reasons I think it’s going to be highly problematic . . . and it’s bad lawmaking if nothing else.”

Ms Bacik said the establishment of Atheist Ireland was “long overdue”. More than 150 people attended the meeting in Dublin and the group ran out of membership application forms. “I think it’s also good to see an organisation that has the word atheist in the title because for a long time many of us were in the closet,” she said.

“It’s not fashionable or popular to declare oneself to be an atheist. There are many people in Ireland who would like to describe themselves as atheists and I’m one of them. I think I may be the only self-confessed or card-carrying atheist in the Oireachtas.”

She said there should be space for atheists, agnostics and believers in organised religions. “And that’s the nature, to me, of a pluralist and tolerant and democratic republic, a country in which there is space for all of us, and in which no body’s belief elevates them to any particular position.”

The meeting agreed to campaign for the removal of all references to gods from the Constitution and for a secular education system. Ms Bacik said the education system, particularly at primary level, was “built on sectarian lines. It is a fundamentally sectarian system in which in our equal status legislation, schools are entitled to give priority to children of a particular religion”.

The group also launched a website www.countmeout.ie which provides information on how to formally leave the Catholic Church.

Atheist Ireland believes that many lapsed Catholics, agnostics and atheists are counted in the church’s membership and claims that these figures are used by the church to justify its continued involvement in education.

Atheist Ireland will also encourage people to read the Bible. Mr Nugent said an objective reading of the Bible was one of the strongest arguments for rejecting the idea of gods as intervening creators or moral guides.

Dick Spicer of the Humanist Association of Ireland welcomed the formation of the new group and said it illustrated the changes that had taken place in Irish society. “It’s a sign of how far we’ve come in Ireland, so take hope for the future. This society does move and it does move forward, more so, I think, than we appreciate.”

Being and Time, part 4: Thrown into this world How do we find ourselves in the world, and how can find our freedom here?

2009-07-12T19:27:00.000-07:00

Simon Critchley, The Guardian, Monday 29th June, 2009.

As I already tried to show, Heidegger seeks to reawaken perplexity about the question of being, the basic issue of metaphysics. In Being and Time, he pursues this question through an analysis of the human being or what he calls Dasein. The being of Dasein is existence, understood as average everyday existence or our life in the world, discussed in the last entry. But how might we give some more content to this rather formal idea of existence?

Heidegger gives us a strong clue in Division 1, Chapter 5 of Being and Time, which is a long, difficult, but immensely rewarding chapter and where things really begin to get interesting. The central claim of this chapter - which is deepened in the remainder of Being and Time - is that Dasein is thrown projection (Dasein ist geworfener Entwurf). Let me try and unravel this thought.

Heidegger tends to advance his investigation in concept clusters. One cluster contains three concepts: state of mind, mood and thrownness. State of mind is a rather questionable rendering of Befindlichkeit, which William Richardson nicely translates as 'already-having-found-oneself-there-ness'. OK, it's not particularly elegant, but the thought is the human being is always already found or disclosed somewhere, namely in the 'there' of its being-in-the-world. This 'there' is the Da of Dasein.

Furthermore, I am always found in a mood, a Stimmung. This is mood is the strong Aristotelian sense of pathos, a passion of the soul or an affect, something befalls us and in which we find ourselves. The passions are not, for Heidegger, psychological colouring for an essentially rational agent. They are rather the fundamental ways in which we are attuned to the world. Indeed, musicologically, Stimmung is linked to tuning and pitch: one is attuned to the world firstly and mostly through moods. One of the compelling aspects of Heidegger's work is his attempt to provide a phenomenology of moods, of the affects that make up our everyday life in the world.

This is another way of approaching his central insight: that we cannot exist independently of our relation to the world; and this relationship is a matter of mood and appetite, not rational contemplation.

Such moods disclose the human being as thrown into the 'there' of my being-in-the-world. As Jim Morrisson intoned many decades ago, 'Into this world we're thrown'. Thrownness (Geworfenheit) is the simple awareness that we always find ourselves somewhere, namely delivered over to a world with which we are fascinated, a world we share with others.

We are always caught up in our everyday life in the world, in the throw of various moods, whether fear, boredom, excitement or – as we will see in the next entry – anxiety.

But, Heidegger insists, Dasein is not just thrown into the world. Because it – we – are capable of understanding, we can also throw off our thrown condition. Understanding is, for Heidegger, a conception of activity. It is always understanding how to do something or how to operate something. Understanding is the possession of an ability (etwas können) and the authentic human is characterised by the ability or potentiality to be (Seinkönnen).

So, the human being is not just a being defined by being thrown into the world. It is also one who can throw off that thrown condition in a movement where it seizes hold of its possibilities, where it acts in a concrete situation. This movement is what Heidegger calls projection (Entwurf) and it is the very experience of what Heidegger will call, later in Being and Time, freedom. Freedom is not an abstract philosophical concept. It is the experience of the human being demonstrating its potential through acting in the world. To act in such a way is to be authentic.

Being and Time, part 3: Being-in-the-world (How Heidegger turned Descartes upside down, so that we are, and only therefore think)

2009-07-12T19:24:00.000-07:00

Simon Critchley, The Guardian, Monday 22nd June, 2009.

I talked in my first blog entry about Heidegger's attempt to destroy our standard, traditional philosophical vocabulary and replace it with something new. What Heidegger seeks to destroy in particular is a certain picture of the relation between human beings and the world that is widespread in modern philosophy and whose source is Descartes (indeed Descartes is the philosopher who stands most accused in Being and Time). Roughly and readily, this is the idea that there are two sorts of substances in the world: thinking things like us and extended things, like tables, chairs and indeed the entire fabric of space and time.

The relation between thinking things and extended things is one of knowledge and the philosophical and indeed scientific task consists in ensuring that what a later tradition called "subject" might have access to a world of objects. This is what we might call the epistemological construal of the relation between human beings and the world, where epistemology means "theory of knowledge". Heidegger does not deny the importance of knowledge, he simply denies its primacy. Prior to this dualistic picture of the relation between human beings and the world lies a deeper unity that he tries to capture in the formula "Dasein is being-in-the-world". What might that mean?

If the human being is really being-in-the-world, then this entails that the world itself is part of the fundamental constitution of what it means to be human. That is to say, I am not a free-floating self or ego facing a world of objects that stands over against me. Rather, for Heidegger, I am my world. The world is part and parcel of my being, of the fabric of my existence. We might capture the sense of Heidegger's thought here by thinking of Dasein not as a subject distinct from a world of objects, but as an experience of openedness where my being and that of the world are not distinguished for the most part. I am completely fascinated and absorbed by my world, not cut off from it in some sort of "mind" or what Heidegger calls "the cabinet of consciousness".

Heidegger's major claim in his discussion of world in Being and Time is that the world announces itself most closely and mostly as a handy or useful world, the world of common, average everyday experience. My proximal encounter with the table on which I am writing these words is not as an object made of a certain definable substance (wood and iron, say) existing in a geometrically ordered space-time continuum. Rather, this is just the table that I use to write and which is useful for arranging my papers, my laptop and my coffee cup. Heidegger insists that we have to "thrust aside our interpretative tendencies" which cover over our everyday experience of the world and attend much more closely to that which shows itself.

The world is full of handy things that hang together as a whole and which are meaningful to me. In even more basic terms, the world is a whole load of stuff that is related together: my laptop sits on my desk, my spectacles sit on my nose, the desk sits on the floor, and I can look over to the window at the garden and hear the quiet hum of traffic and police sirens that make up life in this city. This is what Heidegger calls "environment" (Umwelt), where he is trying to describe the world that surrounds the human being and in which it is completely immersed for the most part.

Heidegger insists that this lived experience of the world is missed or overlooked by scientific inquiry or indeed through a standard philosophy of mind, which presupposes a dualistic distinction between mind and reality. What is required is a phenomenology of our lived experience of the world that tries to be true to what shows itself first and foremost in our experience. To translate this into another idiom, we might say that Heidegger is inverting the usual distinction between theory and practice. My primary encounter with the world is not theoretical; it is not the experience of some spectator gazing out at a world stripped of value. Rather, I first apprehend the world practically as a world of things which are useful and handy and which are imbued with human significance and value. The theoretical or scientific vision of things that find in a thinker like Descartes is founded on a practical insight that is fascinated and concerned with things.

Heidegger introduces a distinction between two ways of approaching the world: the present-at-hand (Vorhandenheit) and the ready-to-hand (Zuhandenheit). Present-at-hand refers to our theoretical apprehension of a world made up of objects. It is the conception of the world from which science begins. The ready-to-hand describes our practical relation to things that are handy or useful. Heidegger's basic claim is that practice precedes theory, and that the ready-to-hand is prior to the present-at-hand. The problem with most philosophy after Descartes is that it conceives of the world theoretically and thus imagines, like Descartes, that I can doubt the existence of the external world and even the reality of the persons that fill it – who knows, they might be robots! For Heidegger, by contrast, who we are as human beings is inextricably bound up and bound together with the complex web of social practices that make up my world. The world is part of who I am. For Heidegger, to cut oneself off from the world, like Descartes, is to miss the point entirely: the fabric of our openedness to the world is one piece. And that piece should not be cut up. Furthermore, the world is not simply full of handy, familiar meaningful things. It is also full of persons. If I am fundamentally with my world, then that world is a common world that experienced together with others. This is what Heidegger calls "being-with" (Mitsein)

Being and Time, part 2: On 'mineness'

2009-07-12T19:21:00.000-07:00

Simon Critchley, The guradian, Monday 15th June, 2009.

As Heidegger makes clear from the untitled, opening page with which Being and Time begins, what is at stake in the book is the question of being. This is the question that Aristotle raised in an untitled manuscript written 2500 years ago, but which became known at a later date as the Metaphysics. For Aristotle, there is a science that investigates what he calls "being as such", without regard to any specific realms of being, eg the being of living things (biology) or the being of the natural world (physics).

Metaphysics is the area of inquiry that Aristotle himself calls "first philosophy" and which comes before anything else. It is the most abstract, universal and indefinable area of philosophy. But it is also the most fundamental.

With admirable arrogance, it is the question of being that Heidegger sets himself the task of inquiring into in Being and Time. He begins with a series of rhetorical questions: Do we have an answer to the question of the meaning of being? Not at all, he answers. But do we even experience any perplexity about this question? Not at all, Heidegger repeats. Therefore, the first and most important task of Heidegger's book is to recover our perplexity for this question of questions: Hamlet's "To be or not to be?"

For Heidegger, what defines the human being is this capacity to be perplexed by the deepest and most enigmatic of questions: Why is there something rather than nothing? So, the task of Being and Time is reawakening in us a taste for perplexity, a taste for questioning. Questioning – Heidegger will opine much later in his career – is the piety of thinking.

The first line of the text proper of Being and Time is, "We are ourselves the entities to be analysed". This is the key to the crucial concept of mineness (Jemeinigkeit), with which the book begins: if I am the being for whom being is a question – "to be or not to be" – then the question of being is mine to be, one way or another.

In what, then, does the being of being human consist? Heidegger's answer is existence (Existenz). Therefore, the question of being is to be accessed by way of what Heidegger calls "an existential analytic". But what sort of thing is human existence? It is obviously defined by time: we are creatures with a past, who move through a present and who have available to them a series of possibilities, what Heidegger calls "ways to be". Heidegger's point here is wonderfully simple: the human being is not definable by a "what", like a table or a chair, but by a "who" that is shaped by existence in time. What it means to be human is to exists with a certain past, a personal and cultural history, and by an open series of possibilities that I can seize hold of or not.

This brings us to a very important point: if the being of being human is defined by mineness, then my being is not a matter of indifference to me. A table or chair cannot recite Hamlet's soliloquy or undergo the experience of self-questioning and self-doubt that such words express. But we can.

This is the kernel of Heidegger's idea of authenticity (Eigentlichkeit), which more accurately expresses what is proper to the human being, what is its own. For Heidegger, there are two dominant modes of being human: authenticity and inauthenticity. Furthermore, we have a choice to make between these two modes: the choice is whether to be oneself or not to be oneself, to be author of oneself and self-authorising or not. Heidegger insists, as he will do throughout Being and Time, that inauthenticity does not signify a lower or lesser being, but many readers have had reason to doubt such assurances. Theodor Adorno, famously critical of Heidegger, asks: doesn't authenticity end up being a jargon that we are better off without? Let's just say that the point is moot.

Regardless of the twin modes of authenticity and inauthenticity, Heidegger insists early in Being and Time that the human being must first be presented in its indifferent character, prior to any choice to be authentic or not. In words that soon become a mantra in the book, Heidegger seeks to describe the human being as it presented "most closely and mostly" (Zunächst und Zumeist).

Note the radical nature of this initial move: philosophy is not some otherworldly speculation as to whether the external world exists or whether the other human-looking creatures around me are really human and not robots or some such. Rather, philosophy begins with the description – what Heidegger calls "phenomenology" – of human beings in their average everyday existence. It seeks to derive certain common structures from that everydayness.

But we should note the difficult of the task that Heidegger has set himself. That which is closest and most obvious to us is fiendishly difficult to describe. Nothing is closer to me than myself in my average, indifferent everyday existence, but how to describe this? Heidegger was fond of quoting St Augustine's Confessions, when the latter writes, "Assuredly I labour here and I labour within myself; I have become to myself a land of trouble and inordinate sweat." Heidegger indeed means trouble and one often sweats through these pages. But the moments of revelation are breathtaking in their obviousness.

Being and Time, part 1: Why Heidegger Matters

2009-07-12T19:15:00.000-07:00

Simon Critchley, The Guardian, Monday 8 June 2009

The most important and influential continental philosopher of the last century was also a Nazi. How did he get there? What can we learn from him?

Martin Heidegger (1889-1976) was the most important and influential philosopher in the continental tradition in the 20th century. Being and Time, first published in 1927, was his magnum opus. There is no way of understanding what took place in continental philosophy after Heidegger without coming to terms with Being and Time. Furthermore, unlike many Anglo-American philosophers, Heidegger has exerted a huge influence outside philosophy, in areas as diverse as architecture, contemporary art, social and political theory, psychotherapy, psychiatry and theology.

However, because of his political commitment to National Socialism in 1933, when he assumed the position of Rector of Freiburg University in south-western Germany, Heidegger continues to arouse controversy, polemic and much heated misunderstanding.

The hugely important matter of the relation between Heidegger and politics is the topic for another series of blogs entries. Indeed, to my mind, the nature and extent of Heidegger's involvement in National Socialism only becomes philosophically pertinent once one has begun to understand and feel the persuasive power of what takes place in his written work, especially Being and Time.

The task I have set myself in this series of blogs is to provide a taste of the latter book and hopefully some motivation to read it further and study it more deeply. But once you have read Being and Time and hopefully been compelled by it, then the question that hangs over the text, like the sword of Damocles, is the following: how could arguably the greatest philosopher of the 20th century also have been a Nazi? What does his political commitment to National Socialism, however long or short it lasted, suggest about the nature of philosophy and its risks and dangers when stepping into the political realm?
Being and Time

Being and Time is a work of considerable length (437 pages in the German original) and legendary difficulty. The difficulty is caused by the fact that Heidegger sets himself the task of what he calls a "destruction" of the philosophical tradition. We shall see some of the implications of this in future entries, but the initial consequence is that Heidegger refuses to avail himself of the standard terminology of modern philosophy, with its talk of epistemology, subjectivity, representation, objective knowledge and the rest.

Heidegger has the audacity to go back to the drawing board and invent a new philosophical vocabulary. For example, he thinks that all conceptions of the human being as a subject, self, person, consciousness or indeed a mind-brain unity are hostages to a tradition of thinking whose presuppositions have not been thought through radically enough. Heidegger is nothing if not a radical thinker: a thinker who tries to dig down to the roots of our lived experience of the world rather than accepting the authority of tradition.

Heidegger's name for the human being is Dasein, a term which can be variously translated, but which is usually rendered as "being-there". The basic and very simple idea, as we will see in future entries, is that the human being is first and foremost not an isolated subject, cut off from a realm of objects that it wishes to know about. We are rather beings who are always already in the world, outside and alongside a world from which, for the most part, we do not distinguish ourselves.

What goes for Dasein also goes for many of Heidegger's other concepts. Sometimes this makes Being and Time a very tough read, which is not helped by the fact that Heidegger, more than any other modern philosopher, exploits the linguistic possibilities of his native language, in his case German. Although Macquarrie and Robinson, in their 1962 Blackwell English edition, produced one of the classics of modern philosophical translation, reading Being and Time can sometimes feel like wading through a conceptual mud of baroque and unfamiliar concepts.
The basic idea

That said, the basic idea of Being and Time is extremely simple: being is time. That is, what it means for a human being to be is to exist temporally in the stretch between birth and death. Being is time and time is finite, it comes to an end with our death. Therefore, if we want to understand what it means to be an authentic human being, then it is essential that we constantly project our lives onto the horizon of our death, what Heidegger calls "being-towards-death".

Crudely stated, for thinkers like St Paul, St Augustine, Luther and Kierkegaard, it is through the relation to God that the self finds itself. For Heidegger, the question of God's existence or non-existence has no philosophical relevance. The self can only become what it truly is through the confrontation with death, by making a meaning out of our finitude. If our being is finite, then what it means to be human consists in grasping this finitude, in "becoming who one is" in words of Nietzsche's that Heidegger liked to cite. We will show how this insight into finitude is deepened in later entries in relation to Heidegger's concepts of conscience and what he calls "ecstatic temporality".

Being and Time begins with a long, systematic introduction, followed by two divisions, each containing six chapters. I have just finished teaching the whole book in a 15-week lecture course at the New School for Social Research in New York and I estimate that I spoke for about 2 hours a week. As they say here in New York, just do the math! Therefore, in the following 7 short blog entries, I can only give a taste of the book and offer some signposts for readers who would like to explore further.

Stephen Hawking -The Planet has Entered a New Phase of Evolution

2009-07-11T01:17:00.000-07:00

From the Daily Galaxy

Although It has taken homo sapiens several million years to evolve from the apes, the useful information in our DNA, has probably changed by only a few million bits. So the rate of biological evolution in humans, Stephen Hawking points out in his Life in the Universe lecture, is about a bit a year.

"By contrast," Hawking says, "there are about 50,000 new books published in the English language each year, containing of the order of a hundred billion bits of information. Of course, the great majority of this information is garbage, and no use to any form of life. But, even so, the rate at which useful information can be added is millions, if not billions, higher than with DNA."

This means Hawking says that we have entered a new phase of evolution. "At first, evolution proceeded by natural selection, from random mutations. This Darwinian phase, lasted about three and a half billion years, and produced us, beings who developed language, to exchange information."

But what distinguishes us from our cave man ancestors is the knowledge that we have accumulated over the last ten thousand years, and particularly, Hawking points out, over the last three hundred.

"I think it is legitimate to take a broader view, and include externally transmitted information, as well as DNA, in the evolution of the human race," Hawking said.

In the last ten thousand years the human species has been in what Hawking calls, "an external transmission phase," where the internal record of information, handed down to succeeding generations in DNA, has not changed significantly. "But the external record, in books, and other long lasting forms of storage," Hawking says, "has grown enormously. Some people would use the term, evolution, only for the internally transmitted genetic material, and would object to it being applied to information handed down externally. But I think that is too narrow a view. We are more than just our genes."

The time scale for evolution, in the external transmission period, has collapsed to about 50 years, or less.

Stephen-hawking Meanwhile, Hawking observes, our human brains "with which we process this information have evolved only on the Darwinian time scale, of hundreds of thousands of years. This is beginning to cause problems. In the 18th century, there was said to be a man who had read every book written. But nowadays, if you read one book a day, it would take you about 15,000 years to read through the books in a national Library. By which time, many more books would have been written."

But we are now entering a new phase, of what Hawking calls "self designed evolution," in which we will be able to change and improve our DNA. "At first," he continues "these changes will be confined to the repair of genetic defects, like cystic fibrosis, and muscular dystrophy. These are controlled by single genes, and so are fairly easy to identify, and correct. Other qualities, such as intelligence, are probably controlled by a large number of genes. It will be much more difficult to find them, and work out the relations between them. Nevertheless, I am sure that during the next century, people will discover how to modify both intelligence, and instincts like aggression."

If the human race manages to redesign itself, to reduce or eliminate the risk of self-destruction, we will probably reach out to the stars and colonize other planets. But this will be done, Hawking believes, with intelligent machines based on mechanical and electronic components, rather than macromolecules, which could eventually replace DNA based life, just as DNA may have replaced an earlier form of life.

Casey Kazan

Virgin Mary 'appears in tree stump'

2009-07-09T18:45:00.000-07:00

-We're all saved! The saviour is here! Where you may ask? Why in Ireland of course!

'And if there were a God, I think it very unlikely that He would have such an uneasy vanity as to be offended by those who doubt His existence' - Bertrand Russell.

From the BBC.

Virgin Mary 'appears in tree stump'

Tree stump... or something more?
Some believe the willow stump is in the image of the Virgin Mary

A tree stump which some believe shows an image of the Virgin Mary has attracted thousands of people to a rural churchyard in County Limerick.

Workmen came across the stump at the Holy Mary Parish Church in Rathkeale while cutting down trees on Monday.

"One of the lads said look, our Blessed Lady in the tree," said Noel White, chairman of the Rathkeale Community Council Graveyard Committee.

"One of the other lads looked over and actually knelt down and blessed himself, he got such a shock.

"It was the perfect shape of the figure of Our Lady holding the baby."

As news of the tree stump has spread, people from across Ireland have travelled to the churchyard.

While we do not wish in any way to detract from devotion to Our Lady, we would also wish to avoid anything which might lead to superstition
Fr Paul Finnerty

A petition seeking to make the stump a permanent fixture at the church has got thousands of signatures.

However, local parish priest Father Willie Russell remains unimpressed.

"I have seen the tree ... it's only a tree," he said.

Fr Russell said views were mixed on whether the image looks like that of the Virgin Mary.

The Catholic Church's hierarchy in Ireland also feels dubious about the tree stump, according to Limerick diocese spokesman Fr Paul Finnerty.

"The Church's response to phenomena of this type is one of great scepticism," he said.

"While we do not wish in any way to detract from devotion to Our Lady, we would also wish to avoid anything which might lead to superstition."

Mike

Generation X - Douglas Coupland

2009-07-08T00:48:00.000-07:00

I have now read this book four times and still is feels relevant and very much alive.

Coupland's main characters, Dag, Claire, and Andy, are three young people born between the late 1950s and the early 1970s (i.e., Generation X). They come from upper-middle-class homes; but they are neither financially ambitious nor lazy. Although they do their fair share of complaining, they also try to make sense of their lives and their culture by telling abstract stories to each other; attempting to put some order within the chaos of existence. They see modern ways and consumptive living anathema, and instead choose to live outside the system in a southern state desert.

One passage that you may find useful, although not without the reader having some knowledge of Generation X and Douglas Coupland, is the following:

"When someone tells you they’ve just bought a house, they might as well tell you they no longer have a personality. You can immediately assume so many things: that they’re locked into jobs they hate; that they’re broke; that they spend every night watching videos; that they’re fifteen pounds overweight; that they no longer listen to new ideas. It’s profoundly depressing. "

Perhaps the most "quotable" and comparatively short bits of text are Coupland's definitions of terms within Generation X. Some are funny; all are poignant; none is obvious without some context. I offer the following as examples:

"McJob: A low-pay, low-prestige, low-dignity, low-benefit, no-future job in the service sector. Frequently considered a satisfying career choice by people who have never held one."

"Clique Maintenance: The need of one generation to see the generation following it as deficient so as to bolster its own collective ego: 'Kids today do nothing. They're so apathetic. We used to go out and protest. All they do is shop and complain.' "

"Mental Ground Zero: The location where one visualises oneself during the dropping of the atomic bomb; frequently, a shopping mall."

"Consensus Terrorism: The process that decides in-office attitudes and behaviour."

"Emotional Ketchup Burst: The bottling up of opinions and emotions inside oneself so that they explosively burst forth all at once, shocking and confusing employers and friends - most of whom thought things were fine."

Mike

"Han XiZai Gives a Banquet" painted by Gu HongZhong (about AD 910-980) Five Dynasties

2009-07-07T23:41:00.000-07:00

"Han XiZai Gives a Banquet" - Gu HongZhong (about AD 910-980) Five Dynasties Period

2009-07-07T23:24:00.000-07:00

Aoxomoxoa -The Grateful Dead (Album of the Month)

2009-07-07T00:26:00.000-07:00

1 St. Stephen (Garcia/Hunter/Lesh) - 4:25 Lyrics
2 Dupree's Diamond Blues (Garcia/Hunter/Lesh) - 3:40 Lyrics
3 Rosemary (Garcia/Hunter/Lesh) - 2:02 Lyrics
4 Doin' That Rag (Garcia/Hunter/Lesh) - 5:15 Lyrics
5 Mountains of the Moon (Garcia/Hunter/Lesh) - 4:15 Lyrics
6 China Cat Sunflower (Garcia/Hunter/Lesh) - 4:15 Lyrics
7 What's Become of the Baby (Garcia/Hunter/Lesh) - 8:30 Lyrics
8 Cosmic Charlie (Garcia/Hunter/Lesh) - 5:45

If you haven'y heard this album then shame on you. The content is by no means immediately assessable, but it will grow on you slowly; and still sound fresh after a hundred listens. Has been getting serious action on my CDplayer in the last five months.

The Grateful Dead's masterpiece 'Aoxomoxoa' remains one of their best records. In fact, I think it's their best studio record. Phil Lesh, Bob Weir and Jerry Garcia all just jam on this one.

'St. Stephen' became a concert staple for the Dead, and it appears on many of their bootlegs (look at most of the 'Dick's Picks' series and you'll probably find 'St. Stephen' on the bootlegs, say, 10 or 11 times maybe). The vocals are strong, and the guitar riffs are powerful, as only Jerry could deliver.

Other highlights here are 'Doin' That Rag,' 'Cosmic Charlie' and another concert classic, 'Rosemary.'

Overall, this is highly recommended for any Deadhead. Released in 1971, it sounds just as good today as it did back then.

Highly recommended. ENJOY!!!

Uighur Resentment at Beijing's Rule

2009-07-07T00:13:00.000-07:00

By Michael Dillon
Historian on Islam in China

The violence in Xinjiang has not occurred completely out of the blue.

Despite economic development, life for some Uighurs is said to be harder
Its root cause is ethnic tension between the Turkic Muslim Uighurs and the Han Chinese. It can be traced back for decades, and even to the conquest of what is now called Xinjiang by the Manchu Qing dynasty in the 18th Century.
In the 1940s there was an independent Eastern Turkestan Republic in part of Xinjiang, and many Uighurs feel that this is their birthright.
Instead, they became part of the People's Republic of China in 1949, and Xinjiang was declared one of China's autonomous regions, in deference to the fact that the majority of the population at the time was Uighur.
This autonomy is not genuine, and - although Xinjiang today has a Uighur governor - the person who wields real power is the regional secretary general of the Chinese Communist Party, Wang Lequan, who is a Han Chinese.
Inward migration
Under the rule of the Communist Party, there has been considerable economic development, but life has been made more difficult for the Uighurs over the past 20-30 years by the migration of many young and technically-qualified Han Chinese from the eastern provinces.
These new migrants are far more proficient in the Chinese language than all but a few Uighurs, and tend to be appointed to the best jobs.
Not surprisingly, this has created deep-seated resentment among the Uighurs, who view the migration of Han into Xinjiang as a plot by the government to dilute them, undermine their culture and prevent any serious resistance to Beijing's control.
More recently, young Uighurs have been encouraged to leave Xinjiang to find work in the rest of China, a process that had already been underway informally for some years.

There was particular concern at government pressure to encourage young Uighur women to move to other parts of China in search of employment - stoking fears they might end up working in bars or nightclubs or even in prostitution, without the protection of family or community.
Islam is an integral part of the life and the identity of the Uighurs of Xinjiang, and one of their major grievances against the Chinese government is the level of restriction imposed on their religious practices.
There are far fewer mosques in Xinjiang than there were before 1949, and they are subject to severe restrictions.
Children under the age of 18 are not permitted to worship in the mosques, and neither are Communist Party officials or the government.
Madrasas - religious schools - are also strictly controlled.

Other Islamic institutions that were once a central part of religious life in Xinjiang have been banned, including many of the Sufi brotherhoods, which are based at the tombs of their founders and provided many welfare and other services to their members.
All religions in China are subject to control by the State Administration for Religious Affairs, but the restrictions on Islam among the Uighurs are far harsher than against most other groups, including the Hui who are also Muslims but are Chinese speakers.
This severity is a result of the association between Muslim groups and the independence movement in Xinjiang, a movement that is absolute anathema to Beijing.
There are groups within Xinjiang that support the idea of independence, but they are not allowed to do so openly because "splitting the motherland" is viewed as treason.
During the 1990s - after the collapse of the Soviet Union and the emergence of independent Muslim states in Central Asia - there was an upsurge in open support for these "separatist" groups, culminating in huge demonstrations in the city of Ghulja in 1995 and 1997.
Beijing suppressed these demonstrations with considerable force, and activists were either forced out of Xinjiang into Central Asia and as far away as Pakistan or were obliged to go underground.
'Climate of fear'
Severe repression since the launch of a "Strike Hard" campaign in 1996 has included harsher controls on religious activity, restrictions on movement and the denial of passports and the detention of individuals suspected of support for separatists and members of their families.
This has created a climate of fear and a great deal of resentment towards the authorities and the Han Chinese.
It is surprising that this resentment has not erupted into public anger and demonstrations before now, but that is a measure of the tightness of control that Beijing has been able to exercise over Xinjiang.
There are a number of emigre Uighur organisations in Europe and the United States; in most cases they advocate genuine autonomy for the region.
In the past Beijing has also blamed an Eastern Turkestan Islamic Movement for causing unrest, although there is no evidence that this ever existed in Xinjiang.
The authorities in Beijing are unable to accept that their own policies in Xinjiang might be the cause of the conflict, and seek to blame outsiders for inciting the violence - as they do in the case of the Dalai Lama and Tibet.
Even if Uighur emigre organisations wished to provoke unrest, it would be difficult for them to do so, and there are, in any case, sufficient local reasons for unrest without the need for external intervention.

Zen Master Seung Sahn

2009-07-04T22:50:00.000-07:00

Zen Master Seung Sahn is one of the most fascinating personalities and wise teachers in Buddhism today. His style is so approachable from the videos, quotes and writings that I have seen/read.

He has a way of teaching serious subjects in fun, innovative and yet always challenging ways. The ability to teach from so many different angles is the sign of a great teacher to me because people learn in various ways and are at different points along the spectrum of practice.

From the 1985 Sumner Kyol Che Opening, Ceremony:

Linc just said, "Zen is very simple. Dishwashing time, just wash dishes; sitting time, just sit; driving time, just drive; talking time, just talk; walking time, just walk." That's all. Not special. But that is very difficult. That is absolutes thinking. When you're doing something, just do it. No opposites. No subject, no object. No inside, no outside. Outside and inside become one. That's called absolutes.

It's easy to talk about "When you're doing something, just do it," but action is very difficult. Sitting: thinking, thinking, thinking. Chanting: also thinking, thinking. Bowing time: not so much, but some thinking, thinking, checking, checking mind appear. Then you have a problem.

But don't hold. Thinking is OK. Checking is OK. Only holding is a problem. Don't hold. Feeling coming, going, OK. Don't hold. If your mind is not holding anything, it is clear like space. Clear like space means that sometimes clouds come, sometimes rain or lightning or airplane comes, or even a missile blows up, BOOM! World explodes, but the air is never broken. This space is never broken.

Yeah, other things are broken but this space is never changing. Even if a nuclear bomb explodes, it doesn't matter. Space is space. That mind is very important. If something in your mind explodes, then don't hold it. Then it will disappear. Sometimes anger mind appears but soon disappears. But if you hold it, you have a problem. Appear, disappear, that's OK. Don't hold. Then it becomes wisdom. My anger mind becomes wisdom. My desire mind becomes wisdom. Everything becomes wisdom. That's interesting, yeah? So don't hold. That's very important point.

John Keats-Ode to a Nightingale

2009-07-02T03:02:00.000-07:00

I have a minor obsession with this poem at the moment.

Enjoy the reading.

Mike

Big Brother Parody

2009-06-29T02:20:00.000-07:00

Hoy Ma-lang-poo Pad Num Prik Pao-Stir Fried Green Mussels with Roasted Chili Paste

2009-06-24T22:45:00.000-07:00

This recipe will have you thanking me till the cows come home. Don't be lazy, make the effort and get down to you local market for fresh mussels to make this delicious dish. It will be worth it; I promise.

Ingredients
450 grams fresh green mussels, cleaned well

1 teaspoon sugar

3 tablespoons vegetable oil

1/2 cup sweet basil leaves

2 tablespoons roasted chilli paste

4 fresh chillies, cut into long strips

2 teaspoons garlic, finely chopped

1 tablespoon fish sauce

Preparations
1. Heat water in a pot until boiling. Then scald green mussels in boiled water until cooked. Remove and drain.

2. Heat oil in a wok over medium-high heat. Add garlic in the hot oil and fry until it becomes golden.

3. Add cooked green mussels and stir for a 20 seconds. Then add fish sauce, sugar, chili and roasted chilli paste.

4. Before removing from heat, sprinkle with sweet basil leaves and red fresh chilli. Stir-fry for another 10 seconds. Transfered to a serving dish and served with hot steamed rice.

Mike

Impression Sunrise 1873 - Claude Monet

2009-06-24T22:05:00.000-07:00

The sun is set against the dawn, the orange color against the gray and the vibrant force of the sun against its motionless surroundings. To many spectators, the sun undulates or pulsates slightly. Why is this so? The sun is nearly the same luminance as the grayish clouds. I am in two minds whether Monet's work fills me will hope or helpnessness. On one hand, it could be seen as the beginning of a new day filled with hope and promise, or perhaps the beginning of another drab, dark and monotonous twenty four hours of life; no fills no thrills, only bare existance. Saying this, the sun does seem to provide a focal point in the painting, perhaps reminding us that in life there is always a bring light of hope somewhere in the distance.

Do you have any views on this work?

Mike

Coming up for Air-George Orwell

2009-06-21T20:33:00.001-07:00

Like most people, I had heard of George Orwell long before I had read any of his books. ‘1984’ and ‘Animal Farm' have achieved such fame that Orwell is known through them and associated with them from early age to anyone with the slightest interest in reading. So much so that it is easy to overlook the main body of his work, which, given its quality and importance (both to an understanding of the author, but also of the time in which he lived) would be a mistake.

‘Coming Up For Air’ was the last book that Orwell wrote before the second world war, and there is a pervasive, oppressive air of threat throughout the narrative that forebodes the great cataclysm that was to come. Written and set in nineteen thirty nine, it is the first person narrative of one George Bowling, a fat, middle aged insurance salesman (earning ‘five to ten quid a week’), trapped in a desperate life of suburban mundanity.

George is a family man, in hate with his wife and father to two children he could happily live without. He lives in the suburbs of London, on a road which he memorably describes as ‘A line of semi-detached torture-chambers where the little five-to-ten-pound-a-weekers quake and shiver, every one of them with the boss twisting his tail and the wife riding him like the nightmare and the kids sucking his blood like leeches.’

The opening of the book thus sets the scene for the reader. George is appalled by the times he is living in, choking on them. Eating a revolting fish-flavoured frankfurter inspires him to sum up his feelings thus: ‘It gave me the feeling that I’d just bitten into the modern world and discovered what it was really made of. Everything slick and streamlined, everything made out of something else… Rotten fish in a rubber skin.’ George’s only hope and joy lies in his possession of the princely sum of seventeen pounds, won on the horses, and kept secret
from his wife, as he tries to decide how to spend it.

Orwell’s prose is electric in this section of the book. There is so much disgust for the pre-war world here that one has to wonder whether the words were written in bile rather than ink. Whether describing the slavery of a mortgage, or the tyranny of petty shop floor managers, Orwell hits his mark with deadly accuracy. In these early chapters are clearly visible the beginnings of the train of thought that would ultimately lead to ‘1984’.

In parenthesis, it is interesting that Orwell’s sympathy when he considers the evils of modernism seems to lie entirely with the middle classes. He writes: ‘There’s a lot of rot talked about the suffering of the working class. I’m not so sorry for the proles myself. Did you ever know of a navvy who lay awake thinking about the sack?’ As in ‘1984’, the author seems to be thinking of the poorer classes as a vast herd of cows, contentedly chewing the cud, never having the imagination to see the bleakness of their lives. It’s certainly a harsh judgement, and perhaps a surprising one, when one considers Orwell’s experiences on the bread line as a 'plongeur' in Paris, as described in ‘Down and Out in Paris and London’. However, I recall a line from that book where Orwell says of his desperate circumstances: ‘One talks so often of going to the dogs. And here are the dogs, and you are among them, and you can bear it. It takes off a lot of anxiety’. For Orwell, the physical hardships of the poor are lesser evils than what he sees as the hopelessness of the middle class. Having never been to the dogs I can’t truly say if I agree or not, but I don’t think I do.

Inevitably, from his sickness with the present, George Bowling seeks escape in nostalgic reflection. A newspaper headline propels his mind back into the past as he remembers his childhood i
n the town of Lower Binfield. Orwell’s pen suddenly runs out of venom, and colour an warmth flow into the world of the past he describes. Part one of the book ends as George muses ‘Is it gone forever? I’m not certain. But I tell you it was a good world to live in. I belong to it. So do you.’

In the following chapters Orwell describes the world Bowling comes from. I don’t know how much of this section of the book is autobiographical, I suspect not that much of it, as what I know of Orwell’s life does not tally with the reminiscences of George Bowling. However, the result is never less than believable. And while the author is more renowned for the savage satire of his later books, he manages to paint a picture of the past that seems nostalgic, but without succumbing to the temptation to give soft focus and rose tint.

I think the reason that he is successful in this is that Orwell is charting what he sees as a sea change in the way life was lived that took place very early this century. It is easy to cynically dismiss nostalgia as a failure of the ageing to keep up with modern life, but I think that it would be a mistake to classify this part of the book in that way. It strikes me that what in this case the author is describing is the birth of the modern era. The beginning of a time when to simply subsist was no longer enough, when competition began to destroy livelihoods that had supported families for generations, when people learned to strive. Orwell takes as a powerful example George Bowling’s father, a seed merchant, who watches in bewilderment as his business slowly starts to fail, destroyed by competition as market forces reach even to this countryside idyll. ‘None of us had any grasp of what was happening. Father had had a bad year and had lost money, but was he really frightened by the future? I don’t think so. This was 1909, remember. He didn’t know what was happening to him. He wa
sn’t capable of seeing that these Sarazin people would systematically undersell him, ruin him, and eat him up. How could he? Things hadn’t happened like that when he was a young man.’

Bowling describes his formative years in detail, his hobbies and day to day life. We learn that his passion used to be fishing, (most apt, for a man who would grow to spend life floundering on the end of a hook) and he recalls a lost pool in a forest near to his home town, where swam the most enormous, beautiful fish a fisherman could dream of. Spurred by this reflection he decides to spend his seventeen pounds on a trip back to the village he grew up in, to spend a week there, to fish in the pool, to get back his nerve ‘before the bad times begin’. In short, on coming up for air.

What he finds in Lower Binfield on his return I will leave to the reader to discover, but suffice to say that Orwell clearly did not believe that the clock could ever really be turned back. Perhaps it was the impending war, perhaps just a general and genuine horror of the modern way of life, but Orwell clearly felt at this stage of his life that civilisation was leading mankind to ruin. In another passage that can be seen as a precursor to the thinking in ‘1984’, Bowling attends a lecture given in which he watches an anti-fascist speaker, himself driven by hatred and a burning desire to smash faces, ‘trying to work up hatred in the audience’. And as some of the audience are drawn in, George realises ‘They’re the long sighted ones, the first rats to spot that the ship is sinking. Quick, quick! The fascists are coming! Spanners ready, boys! Smash others or they’ll smash you. So terrified of the future that we’re jumping straight into it like a rabbit diving down a boa constrictor’s throat.’

That after the war Orwell wrote ‘1984’ would seem to indicate that it wasn’t just the imp
ending conflict that made the author feel so bleak. Orwell’s nightmare of the future of mankind was that fear, the fear engendered by the way we modernists live, and the hatred that inevitably grows to help us bear that fear, will drive those who should know better to extremes of barbarism and evil, as personified by the rule of Big Brother. Needless to say the herds of unthinking proles will be drawn along, without protest. Thank goodness that so far it has not come to pass.

To finish, then, ‘Coming Up For Air’, while in no wise a cheery novel, remains worth reading for any number of reasons. I would recommend it to anyone who has read ‘1984’ and ‘Animal Farm’ as a fascinating insight into the development of Orwell’s ideas. For anyone else I’d recommend it as a superbly written account of a man’s life, as an insight into the psychology and mood of the world as it is dragged inexorably toward war, and as a meditation on the dawn of the age in which we live.

Fromage doyoo.co.uk

Washington Square-Henry James

2009-06-18T19:00:00.000-07:00

If there is any writer in the history of American literature who is a testament to the fallacy of category, it's Henry James. During a 50-year career in which he tackled the art of the novel, short story and essay with religious fervor, he established a persona that meant many things to many people, but nothing that anyone has able to peg upon him convincingly. Too often his detractors partake in sloppy, self-indulgent reading that is synonymous with the decline in the literacy of the times. Yet too often his defenders trot out tired cliches in defense of him, ("Art for art's sake," "Style works as form," etc. ) marginalizing James profound and introspective search for human nature and character in the process. Yet again, I take umbrage with the scores of second-rate novelists who throughout history thought they were crafting their own "Bostonians" and "Ambassadors" by putting a half a dozen commas and semi colons in every one of their sentences (with a sprinkle of bad psychological analysis in between).

So am I writing you with any definitive answers about who many believe to be the leading man of American letters? Hell no. But from reading five of his novels, two books of essays, and two short story collections, I have my opinions and reasons why I consider myself a Jamesophile.

To me, reading James is taking a glance of the limitless possibilities of the English language. The beauty of his prose doesn't come from a cohesive whole, but sentence to sentence, sometimes terse and concise, sometimes extending to a half a page. Yet his style wouldn't have as much meaning if it didn't augment his sophisticated theories on fiction. James established a detached, high flown literary style that gave him a distance from his characters, which in turn enabled him to give them numerous ambiguities, shades of personality, and depths of thought. The result is a highly powerful and wildly imaginative brand of realism exemplary of the power of great fiction. Although I haven't read all his oeuvre, Washington Square is a great introduction to James, showing the full range of his creative powers.

The book centers on the three person dynamic of the Sloper family. There's Austin Sloper, a semi-wealthy doctor whose two parts disdain, two parts sardonicism and one part charm. He has a daughter named Catherine, who he kinda loves between his fits of misogynistic contempt for her. Catherine isn't, in James portrayal, the most attractive person in a world, but she has a warm humanity to her that is easy to like. Lavinia, the aunt, serves as a buffer between the two, comforting Catherine and charming the mercurial Austin.

Entre Mssr Morris Townsend, a charming, amorous huckster, who is a toxic mix of seduction and bullsh*t. Before he entered the world of the Slopers, he was a grifter who relied on his wit and good looks to steal and gamble away women's fortunes. He originally doesn't look on Catherine too kindly, but upon hearing that her father has a steep trust fund for her after he dies, Morris suddenly deems her to be his Beatrice. Their courtship is a torrid yet fraudulent one, so transparent to all but Catherine that by the time he asks for her hand in marriage, I found myself yelling at the book for her not to. Upon hearing that a two-bit con man asked for her daughters hand in marriage, Dr Sloper becomes apoplectic and demands that Catherine not see him, sending their father/daughter relationship into a steep and brutal downward spiral. Lavinia is torn between her love for Catherine and the chance of a wedding and a bigger piece of the Dr Sloper trust fund pie.

As the story unfolds, the immense depth of the characters give it great intrigue and nuance. James masterfully sidesteps the temptation of typecasting by letting their actions speak for themselves. There are no easy enemies here: although Dr Sloper is at times a loathsome cur, you get the sense that deep down inside he really cares for his daughter, but is a member of his times and subject to the sexual morays of them, which were the presupposed inferiority of women and the demand for their submission. Even Morris, who by his own words and actions can be quite a slime ball, has an youthful, angst-ridden charm to him. Lavinia is no simple saint either, as in the course of this novel she ends up conning her niece nearly out of house and home.

But there is one "saint " in this novel and her name is Catherine Sloper. Throughout the arc of the story, she loses almost everything that she holds dear in her life except her sense of self. Her father, scared that his money is going to be wasted when Catherine marries Morris the degenerate gambler, decides to not give her a dime. Upon hearing that the fiduciary petals had been clipped from his newfound rose, Morris decides to ditch Catherine. And all the while Lavinia, her loving aunt, hustles her until there is almost nothing of Catherine left, financially or spiritually. But Catherine survives, her innocence gone, bank account depleted but soul intact. In the end, she's more than a plaster saint, she's a real, brave and vividly written woman who's been through a lot and come out a survivor. Few female characters by male novelists I have read have been more believable.

Again, I must admit that I am only a rank amateur in the scope of Jamesophiles. My personal favorite James era is between 1881-1890, in which the psychological thought was married to his prose and the prose became psychological thought in itself. While The Golden Bowl and some of his later stories have many moments of brilliance, they are works that are too insular and don't have the deft craftsmanship of James at his very best. But I could read another one of his late era novels and be proven dead wrong. Henry James is a writer that all people should read, and Washington Square is a good place to start. To those who want to obtain a high amount of coherence in American literature, or literature in general, his is a bridge that you must pass.

Blog Critic

Thai Masaman Chicken-Gaeng Masaman Gai

2009-06-17T19:09:00.000-07:00

The "massaman" indicates that the recipe is of a "musselman" or islamic origin. It probably owes
something to early Portuguese influences, and is similar in concept to the "sour and hot" Goan style
vindaloo dishes. By Thai standards this is usually a fairly mild curry, so I find it is a good starting point.

Ingredients

about 1 pound chicken (you can also use pork or beef), cut into the usual "bite sized pieces"
3 cups of coconut milk.
2 tablespoons roasted peanuts (unsalted)
5 peeled, but whole, small onions.
5 small potatoes, peeled and partly boiled.
3 bay leaves,
5 cardamom seeds
a small piece of roasted cinnamon stick
2 tablespoons palm sugar
1 tablespoon tamarind concentrate mixed with 2.5 tablespoons water
3 tablespoon lime juice
2-3 tablespoons Masaman curry paste.
about 1-3 teaspoons crushed garlic. (optional)

Method

Peel potatoes, boil them partly in a cooking pot for 10-15 minutes, and cut in 1 to 2-inch pieces.

Allow the coconut milk to separate and you will have about two cups of thick "cream" and one cup of
thin "milk". In a small saucepan bring the milk to a simmer and add the chicken or pork. If you are
using beef you will need another two cups of milk. Simmer the meat until it begins to become tender
(beef takes longer, hence the additional milk).

Put the coconut cream in a wok and bring to a boil, add the massaman paste and "stir fry" until the
flavor is brought out and maximized. Add the remaining cream and curry paste to the meat.

Add the peanuts. Taste and adjust the flavor until it is (just) sweet (by adding sugar), sour and salty
(by adding tamarind juice, lime juice and fish sauce).

Add the remaining ingredients and cook until cooked.

Note : the potatoes used in Thailand for this dish are a yellow fleshed sweet potato of the type sometimes
called a yam in the US. Western style potatoes can be used, but absorb less of the sauce and flavor.
The potatoes act as a "moderator" to reduce the heat of the curry, and should not be left out.

You can either serve it on a bed of Thai jasmine rice, or double the amount of potato and serve it alone.

Accompany it with a dressed green salad and a bowl of "ajad" (pickled cucumbers--see recipe below). The
traditional Thai table also offers chilis in fish sauce (Phrik nam pla--see below) chilis in vinegar (prik dong,
see below), and ground chilli (not to be confused with the powedered chilli mix sold as chilli powder in the US),
sugar, and often MSG. You can if you wish add about a teaspoon of MSG to the above recipe to bring out the
flavors, but we don't think it is necesary.

Ajad

4 tablespoons white rice vinegar
1 teaspoon sugar
2-3 tablespoons cucumber, very coarsely chopped, or sliced
2 shallots (purple onions) chopped
3-4 Thai chile peppers, thinly sliced

Combine the ingredients, and leave to stand overnight.

Nam pla prik

Put two thirds of a cup of Thai chile peppers or jalapeno peppers in a 1 pint jar, and fill with fish sauce.
Seal and keep for a week before using.

Prik dong

Put two thirds of a cup of sliced Thai chile peppers in a 1 pint jar, and fill with white rice vinegar.
We also offer a ready-made prik dong.

Enjoy cooking.

Mike

Hitchens debates.

2009-06-14T04:35:00.001-07:00

Fantastic debating by Hitchens.

Mike

Northern Style Spicy Chicken Soup (Tom Yum Guy)

2009-06-12T17:57:00.000-07:00

This version of Tom Yum soup (the popular Thai spicy soup) is eaten in the North of Thailand, it is made with chicken rather than the shrimp (tom yum gung) eaten in the south and coast. If you prefer chicken its a good spicy soup.

Remember: Soup in Thailand, like most Asian countries, is eaten communally-so share with friends along side another more filling rice or noodle dish.

Ingredients:

150 gms Corn Fed Chicken
8 Bird Chillies
2 Garlic Cloves
20 gms Lemon Grass
20 gms Galanga
4 Kaffir Citrus Leaves
2 Teaspoons Salt
2 Tablespoons Fish Sauce
3 Tablspoons Tamarind Water
1 Tablespoon Lemon Juice
50 gms Straw Mushrooms
300 ml Water

Preparation
1. Put water in a saucepan and bring to the boil.
2. Chop the lemon grass and galanga into 3cm lengths and add to the pot to make a soup base.
3. Pound the garlic and bird chillies and add into the soup.
4. Chop the chicken into bite sized pieces, then add to the soup and cook for 3 minutes.
5. Cut the straw mushrooms into half and add to the soup.
6. Add the fish sauce, salt, tamarind water, lemon juice, and kaffir leaves into the soup and cook for an additional 30 seconds.

Serve With
Hot fragrant rice and iced cucumber.

Mike

Spicy Sardine Salad (Yum Bla Gapong)

2009-06-12T17:49:00.000-07:00

Who doesn't have and old tin of sardines lurking in a kitchen cupboard?

Thai food can be overwhelming, with lots of strange ingredients and foreign vegetables. So here we have a very simple and very tasty recipe using sardines! We used sardines in oil, but you can also use sardines in tomato sauce, in which case you don't need the tomato puré. This should be served with fragrant Thai rice, but can also be served along with salads.

Ingredients:

2 Cans of Sardines in Oil
2 Teaspoons of Tomato Puré
20 gms Lemon Grass
20 gms Coriander Leaves
50 gms Onion
2 Red Chillis
2 Bird Chillis
1 Tablespoon Lemon Juice
1 Tablespoon Fish Sauce

Preparation
1. Remove the sardines from the can.
2. Mix the oil from the can with the tomato puré in a small mixing bowl.
3. Slice the onion, lemon grass, and chilles, and add to the bowl.
4. Add the fish sauce and lemon juice and mix all the ingredients together well.
5. Pour over the sardines.
6. Chop the coriander put around the edge of the sardine plate.

Serve With
Hot rice or salads.

Mike

Hitchens on Fire

2009-06-11T00:35:00.000-07:00

Louis MacNeice - Prayer before Birth

2009-06-10T20:09:00.000-07:00

I am not yet born; O hear me.
Let not the bloodsucking bat or the rat or the stoat or the
club-footed ghoul come near me.

I am not yet born, console me.
I fear that the human race may with tall walls wall me,
with strong drugs dope me, with wise lies lure me,
on black racks rack me, in blood-baths roll me.

I am not yet born; provide me
With water to dandle me, grass to grow for me, trees to talk
to me, sky to sing to me, birds and a white light
in the back of my mind to guide me.

I am not yet born; forgive me
For the sins that in me the world shall commit, my words
when they speak me, my thoughts when they think me,
my treason engendered by traitors beyond me,
my life when they murder by means of my
hands, my death when they live me.

I am not yet born; rehearse me
In the parts I must play and the cues I must take when
old men lecture me, bureaucrats hector me, mountains
frown at me, lovers laugh at me, the white
waves call me to folly and the desert calls
me to doom and the beggar refuses
my gift and my children curse me.

I am not yet born; O hear me,
Let not the man who is beast or who thinks he is God
come near me.

I am not yet born; O fill me
With strength against those who would freeze my
humanity, would dragoon me into a lethal automaton,
would make me a cog in a machine, a thing with
one face, a thing, and against all those
who would dissipate my entirety, would
blow me like thistledown hither and
thither or hither and thither
like water held in the
hands would spill me.

Let them not make me a stone and let them not spill me.
Otherwise kill me.

Kylesa - Static Tensions (Album of the Month)

2009-06-09T19:27:00.000-07:00

With all the raving going on over this latest outburst from Kylesa, it’s important to point out that this wasn’t the dead cert it may have looked for an album of the month slot. It isn’t an unqualified piece of waxen genius. It’s scarily close though.

Where Melvins singularly failed to keep themselves lively on the two drumkit path, Kylsea have succeeded. If ever the old ‘you gotta listen to it on headphones’ trope was appropriate, it’s now. So when you pick this album up, make sure to double your fun.

The opening charges of ‘Scapegoat’, ‘Insomnia For Months’ and ‘Said And Done’ demonstrate what’s cool about this idea which is gradually gaining more and more currency. With tubs thumped left, right and centre (and indeed probably in 5.1 surround next time), it’s like an attack from all sides. They’re clever though, in that the depth of rhythmic detail is disguised by the absolute simplicity of what could loosely and highly accurately be called their pure rock fury.

‘Unknown Awareness’ is the sound of a band at one with themselves. It is the creative peak of this album: drums beat ritually and announce the arrival of a riff so beautiful and gargantuan that it needs be the only one in the whole song. It says so much with so little, and so hair raisingly well, that no others are necessary. The liquid guitar lick that trickles over the top of it is as beautiful a Fender twin tributary as you will ever hear. It’s the most mature thing on here, and if their next album is full of gear like this we will be worshipping at the feet of Gods.

They very nearly equal it when ‘Only One’ slams into it’s almost Today Is The Day wail-drenched truncheon fest, before ‘Perception’ darkens things down again. So essentially what we have here is an album with two very distinct feels. One, the hoary rock that will appeal to fans of the usual suspects, being Baroness, Torche, Today Is The Day, Boris and Melvins in no particualr order of evil. Two, a dark and more tingling mixture of Russian Circles, You Judas and dare I mention even Swans, hinting toward a future that looks almost more intriguing than even this excellent slab.

Ciaran Tracey (Metal Ireland)

Som Tam Issan

2009-06-07T18:13:00.000-07:00

This will complement your Kai Yang dish exquisitely. It's another offering from the North East of Thailand and one that has become famous through out the country for it's careful combination of 4 flavours: sweet, spicy, sour and salty.

Have fun with it.

Ingredients
One papaya julienne.(or use carrot julienne)
8-10 Thai chili peppers, de-stalked, cut in four length-wise then in half cross-wise.
8-10 cloves of garlic, chopped coarsely
2 tomatoes sliced thinly
half a cup of long beans (green beans) cut into 1" pieces
pinch of sea salt
two teaspoons of fish sauce - nam pla
1 tablespoon tamarind concentrate mixed with 3 tablespoons water
juice from two tablespoons of pickled mud-fish - Bala. (optional)

Method
1. Sprinkle the julienne papaya with salt and let stand for half an hour or so, then squeeze and discard any fluid.
2. Add the chili, and pound in a clay mortar and pestle.
3. Add the remaining ingredients except the tomato,
4. pound until mixed and tender.
5. Add the tomato, and serve with a bowl of sticky rice.
An optional ingredient you can add to the mix is dried shrimp.

You can increase the proportion of chilies until this is a bowl of red fire, and it will still be authentic. On the other hand you can reduce the chilies to just a hint and it will also still be authentic. It all depends on your taste preference.
The above 50:50 mix is about typical of the region.

If you wish you can decorate the salad with chopped roast peanuts, sliced green onions, and mint leaves. You can also include raw bean sprouts and sliced cucumber as side dishes. Thai's generally eat lettuce or some cabbage related vegetable as a side dish also.

The normal way to eat it is to rip a piece of lettuce leaf, and take a mouthful of som tam in the leaf and eat it without knife, fork or spoon. If you want to be a bit more western use a standard salad, or even an exotic such as a Waldorf Salad as a side dish.

Kai Yang

2009-06-07T18:04:00.000-07:00

Ok folks, it's time to share with you some of the delicious food that I have the pleasure of munching my way through in a day. All of these dishes are freely available here in Thailand, and make up part of the staple diet of the country.

It is a striking accolade for a counties cuisine when it is consistantly named 'the bet food in the world' by temerarious travellers.

Here are some of my personal favourites; and a recipe so you can have a go at home.

First up is Kai Yang (BBQ Chicken)

Recipe for Kai Yang (Barbecued Chicken)

Method:
Rub the chicken all over with salt and pepper. Blend all marinade ingredients and mix with coconut milk in a marinade bowl. Add fish sauce, sugar, oil and stir until well mixed. Pour the marinade over the chicken, cover and leave for marinade for at least 2 hours. Charcoal grill the chicken over low heat for 30 -40 mins or until cooked. Turning and blasting regularly the remaining boiled marinade. Leave the chicken for 5 mins before chopping into small pieces and serve with accompanied dishes such as green papaya salad (Som Tam), steamed sticky rice (Khao Niao) and dipping chilli sauce.

Ingredients:
1 whole chicken about 1.5kg cut in half
2 stalks of chopped lemon grass
1 tabespoon of chopped ginger and galanga
1 tablespoon of choppped corriander root
20 cloves of peeled garlic
1 teaspoon of black pepper
1 teaspoon of salt
1 tablespoon of fish sauce
2 tablespoons of sugar
1/4 cup of cooking oil

Enjoy,

Mike

There is Manifest Beauty in Simply Being.

2009-05-27T18:08:00.000-07:00

I just read a very well written and thought provoking piece by a fellow blogger entitled 'The mysterious Avoidance of Philosophy in American Schools,' and it got me thinking.

The writer in the blog in question read Alan Watts for the first time when she was 18 and as a result saw the world differently.

The awakening she experienced with Mr Watts was akin to myself, when I first read 'The Tibet Book of Living and Dying.'

I too started to look at things in a different light and question what I had always perceived to be real - all there is. The whole business was indeed an eye opener, and something that required further investigation.

Being educated in the West only teaches the existence of duality, and it's unwavering commitment to rational thought. We are only here on this tiny planet for a infinitesimal period of time, thus to say one understands 'life' as we know it; is to show an arrogance that I can't comprehend.

For when when one looks at a great piece of art or stands on top of a mountain and gets that feeling that there is more to all of this than form, that we are connected and interconnected to the greater scheme of things; the duality that we once held close to our hearts fades away into nothingness.

Essentially though, this only happens for a short period of time, then the 'thinker' and the 'doer' come back into play, and the separation from the nature of reality steamrollers on with it's desires, expectations and frustrations.

It really would be proper if the education system in the West made provision for the teaching of some basic Eastern philosophy, as it would give many people a chance to see life in a way that they had never imagined.

There is more to life that rationality and definite conclusions.

I think everyone deserves that chance to see themselves without the shackles of a pronoun and battle with the idea that the mind itself creates our reality, nothing else.

'I think therefore I am not,' as the dictum so imperiously states.

Mike

Alan Watts-Music and Life

2009-05-25T04:46:00.000-07:00

Mike

2009-05-15T18:57:00.000-07:00

In the Name of Justice (2007)

Contents:

**** Disc One ****
1.1 THE MEXICANS
- Mexico - a country rich in oil resources but heavily influenced by the policies and politics of its near neighbour, the USA. In a country dominated by the thought that the revolution is only half over, is Mexico a potential Iran on American doorsteps?

1.2 STREET OF JOY
- John Pilger investigates how product marketing techniques used in advertising are applied to politics, specifically the US Presidential campaign in the mid- 1970s. In doing so he uncovers the spin doctors at work and witnesses how they can make less-than deserving presidential candidates into frontrunners through reworking their public image.

1.3 PYRAMID LAKE IS DYING
- Due to the damming and changing of the water flow from two lakes in the Nevada desert to accommodate white settlers, the Pyramid Lake Paiute reservation is on the verge of extinction. With Lake Winemucca already dead and Pyramid Lake dying, the Paiutes have to resort to legal remedies to survive.

**** Disc Two ****
2.1 A FARAWAY COUNTRY
- John Pilger investigates the Czech Underground and interviews members of the group known as the Charter 77 Movement. Outlawed by the then-incumbent Government's oppressive regime, the Charter 77 activists were denounced as traitors and renegades.

2.2 DO YOU REMEMBER VIETNAM?
- John Pilger was one of the last journalists to leave Vietnam at the end of the war. Three years later, he returned to examine the state of the country under the new regime.

2.3 VIETNAM: THE LAST BATTLE
- Nearly twenty years after making his "Do You remember Vietnam?" documentary, and with the embargoes on that country lifted by President Clinton, Pilger returned to Vietnam to review those two decades. He investigates the scandal of cheap labour and the Hollywood-isation of the war.

**** Disc Three ****
3.1 THE TRUTH GAME
- An examination of the propaganda and policy surrounding the nuclear arms race - from the initial nuclear detonations over Japan to the stockpiling of arms by world superpowers. It also looks at the way "official truth" is used to condition the public against the real facts of a nuclear war.

3.2 JAPAN BEHIND THE MASK
- Denied a sense of nationalism since World War Two, Japanese society slowly re-established itself as a 'corporate society'. This documentary reports on the contrast between the popular image and stereotypes of Japan and the actuality of the lives of ordinary people who do not fit the image.

3.3 APARTHEID DID NOT DIE
- Banned in the sixties by South Africa's oppressive apartheid regime, John Pilger returns to the country to examine the benefits of democracy. He interviews Nelson Mandela and tries to uncover to what extent the black majority has benefited under the new regime.

**** Disc Four ****
4.1 THE LAST DREAM: HEROES UNSUNG
- First of a three-part documentary on the history of Australia's development over the last two centuries. This first show examines the plight of the Aborigines whose land was stolen by British settlers and who are still seeking justice.

4.2 THE LAST DREAM: SECRETS
- An investigation into the massive racial inequalities in the Australian society between the native Aborigines and the whites. It also examines the massacre of thousands of its indigenous peoples.

4.3 THE LAST DREAM: OTHER PEOPLE'S WARS
- This third and last part looks at the relationship Australians have with war, often engaging in conflicts that pose no threat to their country.

ABOUT JOHN PILGER:
John Pilger is a well-known journalist (twice named British journalist of the year and recipient of UN Media Peace Prize) whose stories - whether it's in the form of documentaries, books or articles - are always told from the perspective of the poor and suffering people of the world. He brings up issues that mainstream media won't even touch. His works are very serious, there is nothing "conspiratorial" about them, and if you have not yet read or seen anything by him, now is a great opportunity.

Mike

Collision - Sneak Peak

2009-05-14T01:11:00.000-07:00

COLLISION - 13 min VIMEO Exclusive Sneak Peek from Collision Movie on Vimeo.

A preacher and an atheist walk into a bar....

You've read the book. You've seen the stage play. Now get ready for the movie. This is a sneak peak trailer of the first 13 minutes of Darren Doane's forthcoming documentary Collision. The film follows renowned author and anti-theist Christopher Hitchens and Pastor Douglas Wilson as they debate the topic: "Is Christianity Good For The World?"

You boys know the rules. There will be no punching after the bell, no hits below the belt, and absolutely no mixing of epistemology with ontology. And the contest will be decided on the basis of three falls from grace, three moral submissions, or a knockout.

Are you as excited as I am?

Of course you are.

Mike

Sharpton / Hitchens Debate - Can Morality Exist Without God?

2009-05-13T09:58:00.000-07:00

The Hitch is simply in a different league.

Mike

Some Exceptionally Scary Music

2009-05-12T10:13:00.000-07:00

This has to go down as some of the scariest music of all time.

Sit down, get settled, and switch this mother as loud as possible.

Make sure you are not of a weak disposition, or this magnificent musical score might just send you over the edge!

Dark images and twisted delusions await.

Mike

Literature, Music and Poety floating my boat.

2009-05-11T18:17:00.000-07:00

Fantastic poetry review of immense British-Indian poet's recent reading in Belfast, Northern Ireland.

http://www.culturenorthernireland.org/article.aspx?art_id=2616

Music to watch out for:

http://www.culturenorthernireland.org/article.aspx?art_id=2617

Great new Nick Laird novel:

http://www.culturenorthernireland.org/article.aspx?art_id=2587

Enjoy the links.

Feedback welcome.

Mike

Vermeer-Women Holding a Balance (1664)

2009-05-07T21:04:00.000-07:00

This painting has it all in my opinion. It invokes feeling of serenity, peace and harmonious oneness. The figure looks perfectly at peace, not quite with the viewer, but in a place of blissful content. She is holding sales symbolising the importance of balance in life; with her scales almost perfectly balanced she has found that equilibrium. The woman's clothes cast up comparisons with the Virgin Mary and the light from the window conjures up spiritual imagery with its soft, yet deliberate presence. The point where the woman is holding the scales seems to be the exact centre point of the painting, again giving the viewer an expression of balance and togetherness; at one with her surrounds and content in her being.

Do any of my fellow bloggers have an opinion on this highly evocative painting?

Mike

Dublinesque

2009-05-04T20:05:00.000-07:00

Down stucco sidestreets,

Where light is pewter

And afternoon mist

Brings lights on in shops

Above race-guides and rosaries,

A funeral passes.The hearse is ahead,

But after there follows

A troop of streetwalkers

In wide flowered hats,

Leg-of-mutton sleeves,

And ankle-length dresses.There is an air of great friendliness,

As if they were honouring

One they were fond of;

Some caper a few steps,

Skirts held skilfully

(Someone claps time),And of great sadness also.

As they wend away

A voice is heard singing

Of Kitty, or Katy,

As if the name meant once

All love, all beauty.

Philip Larkin

Albums of the Month (April 09)

2009-05-04T19:33:00.000-07:00

And You Will Know Us By The Trail Of Dead- Worlds Apart (2005)

- (Rock/Progressive Rock/ Post Hardcore/ Early Emo sound)

This is an album that will stretch your musical limits, as well as tickling the taste buds of the ear. It is a colossus of an album; a massive, sweeping piece of musical maturity from Austin, Texas. At the time of its release some critics lamented the bands demise and denounced the album as a discombobulated mish-mash of pretentious, art-school noodlings - another album that tried a too hard to be 'epic.' I stand in deviant ambivalence to criticism of this album, with two fingers raised firmly in the air; and smirk so belligerent that would make Christopher Hitchens look positively anemic. This is a marvelous album that is highly recommended to all who want a record to play with, not just to listen to. It's vast oceans of musical depth can be quickly navigated, leaving one with a head full of killer hooks and tunes so addictive, that one will be singing in the shower like a true rock star.

Mike

Relative Calm Returns to City of Angels

2009-04-14T21:20:00.000-07:00

The Army have taken control of Bangkok once again after the United Front for Democracy against Dictatorship (UDD) leaders called off their rally at 11am yesterday.

Many in the capital have hailed the army as their new saviours after enduring 48 hours of anarchy on the streets.

A state of emergency was called 24 hours ago and after pitched battles the 'Red Shirts' leaders called off the protests vowing to re-organise and re-group at the later date.

Nearly 10,000 soldiers were sent from Bangkok, Prachin Buri, Kanchanaburi and Lop Buri to quell the riots and end the UDD protests with tanks on the streets of the capital for the secone time in as many years.

Mike

Songkran Thailand 2052

2009-04-14T21:08:00.000-07:00

The most obvious celebration of Songkran is the throwing of water. People roam the streets with containers of water or water guns, or post themselves at the side of roads with a garden hose and drench each other and passersby. This, however, was not always the main activity of this festival. Songkran was traditionally a time to visit and pay respects to elders, including family members, friends and neighbors.

Besides the throwing of water, people celebrating Songkran may also go to a wat (Buddhist monastery) to pray and give food to monks. They may also cleanse Buddha images from household shrines as well as Buddha images at monasteries by gently pouring water mixed with a Thai fragrance (Thai: น้ำอบไทย) over them. It is believed that doing this will bring good luck and prosperity for the New Year. In many cities, such as Chiang Mai, the Buddha images from all of the city's important monasteries are paraded through the streets so that people can toss water at them, ritually 'bathing' the images, as they pass by on ornately decorated floats. In northern Thailand, people may carry handfuls of sand to their neighborhood monastery in order to recompense the dirt that they have carried away on their feet during the rest of the year. The sand is then sculpted into stupa-shaped piles and decorated with colorful flags.

Some people make New Year resolutions - to refrain from bad behavior, or to do good things. Songkran is a time for cleaning and renewal. Besides washing household Buddha images, many Thais also take this opportunity to give their home a thorough cleaning.

The throwing of water originated as a way to pay respect to people, by capturing the water after it had been poured over the Buddhas for cleansing and then using this "blessed" water to give good fortune to elders and family by gently pouring it on the shoulder. Among young people the holiday evolved to include dousing strangers with water to relieve the heat, since April is the hottest month in Thailand (temperatures can rise to over 100°F or 40°C on some days). This has further evolved into water fights and splashing water over people riding in vehicles.

Nowadays, the emphasis is on fun and water-throwing rather than on the festival's spiritual and religious aspects, which sometimes prompts complaints from traditionalists. In recent years there have been calls to moderate the festival to lessen the many alcohol-related road accidents as well as injuries attributed to extreme behavior such as water being thrown in the faces of traveling motorcyclists.

The water is meant as a symbol of washing all of the bad away and is sometimes filled with fragrant herbs.

Songkran is also celebrated in many places with a paegant in which young women demonstrate their beauty and unique talents, as judged by the audience. The level of financial support usually determines the winner, since, to show your support you must purchase necklaces which you place on your chosen girl.

Church Going

2009-04-14T01:42:00.000-07:00

Once I am sure there's nothing going on
I step inside, letting the door thud shut.
Another church: matting, seats, and stone,
And little books; sprawlings of flowers, cut
For Sunday, brownish now; some brass and stuff
Up at the holy end; the small neat organ;
And a tense, musty, unignorable silence,
Brewed God knows how long. Hatless, I take off
My cycle-clips in awkward reverence,

Move forward, run my hand around the font.
From where I stand, the roof looks almost new-
Cleaned or restored? Someone would know: I don't.
Mounting the lectern, I peruse a few
Hectoring large-scale verses, and pronounce
"Here endeth" much more loudly than I'd meant.
The echoes snigger briefly. Back at the door
I sign the book, donate an Irish sixpence,
Reflect the place was not worth stopping for.

Yet stop I did: in fact I often do,
And always end much at a loss like this,
Wondering what to look for; wondering, too,
When churches fall completely out of use
What we shall turn them into, if we shall keep
A few cathedrals chronically on show,
Their parchment, plate, and pyx in locked cases,
And let the rest rent-free to rain and sheep.
Shall we avoid them as unlucky places?

Or, after dark, will dubious women come
To make their children touch a particular stone;
Pick simples for a cancer; or on some
Advised night see walking a dead one?
Power of some sort or other will go on
In games, in riddles, seemingly at random;
But superstition, like belief, must die,
And what remains when disbelief has gone?
Grass, weedy pavement, brambles, buttress, sky,

A shape less recognizable each week,
A purpose more obscure. I wonder who
Will be the last, the very last, to seek
This place for what it was; one of the crew
That tap and jot and know what rood-lofts were?
Some ruin-bibber, randy for antique,
Or Christmas-addict, counting on a whiff
Of gown-and-bands and organ-pipes and myrrh?
Or will he be my representative,

Bored, uninformed, knowing the ghostly silt
Dispersed, yet tending to this cross of ground
Through suburb scrub because it held unspilt
So long and equably what since is found
Only in separation - marriage, and birth,
And death, and thoughts of these - for whom was built
This special shell? For, though I've no idea
What this accoutred frowsty barn is worth,
It pleases me to stand in silence here;

A serious house on serious earth it is,
In whose blent air all our compulsions meet,
Are recognised, and robed as destinies.
And that much never can be obsolete,
Since someone will forever be surprising
A hunger in himself to be more serious,
And gravitating with it to this ground,
Which, he once heard, was proper to grow wise in,
If only that so many dead lie round.

Philip Larkin

'Mobocracy' and the Land of Smiles

2009-04-13T03:12:00.000-07:00

"I believe the darkest days in Thailand's history are yet to come, as we see no swift solution to ongoing divisiveness," said Prinn Panitchpakdi, an Asia-Pacific analyst.

Today is the Thai New Year, Songkran. For the uninitiated, it is a wonderful celebration that marks the end of the dry season and heralds the start of the wet season with much frivolity. Whole communities take to the streets and propel water by whatever means possible at anything that comes within their visual range. Overloaded pick up trucks stacked with barrels of water drive the streets soaking anyone and everyone with indiscriminate, non-confrontational splashes of new year cheer.

These are the scenes that I have witnessed today in Phuket but the same can not be said of Bangkok. News bulletins are beaming in to my computer screen showing a violence and escalating anarchy on the street of the kingdom's capital. The 'Red Shirts' as they are colloquially know, have been part of highly organised and intricate anti-government campaign calling for the current government to step down. Their campaign has been thrusted forward in recent months and one can't help feeling that an attempted revolution is not far away. If this were to occur, it would be Thailand's nineteenth revolution in sixty years, and the fifth change in prime minister in four years. Political unrest and instability are becoming the norm for this country which is bad news for the fragile economy and wafer thin infrastructure.

Thailand's immediate future will depend on the ability of the Thai army to hold their nerve in the face of petrol bombs and extreme violence. The army have been firing off rounds from M16 assault weapons over the heads of riotous protesters today pushing tensions to a dangerous cliff edge.

The red shirts vitriol is being massaged by the ousted former prime minster Thaksin Shinawatra who is in exile as a result of a corruption conviction he recieved in 2008. Mr Shinawatra has been giving tele-conferences to crowds of thousands on the street via video links from Dubai, stoking the flames with incendiary language and imagery.

The next few days are critical and its impossible to predict what will happen with a very real possibility of more bloodshed or worse.

Mike

Picnic at Hanging Rock (1975)

2009-04-12T02:50:00.000-07:00

Review and analysis by Carlo Cavagna.

At the end of the millennium, few people give a moment's thought to the indigenous religious faiths of the so-called "Western" world (i.e., Europe, North America, Australia). They have virtually disappeared from conscious awareness, existing only within the confines of academia and in the minds of a few eccentrics. Yet Europe gave birth to numerous spiritual traditions that worshipped various personifications of the features and forces of nature, or the forces of nature themselves. Other indigenous pre-Christian traditions, such as the Australian aborigines, held similar beliefs. The common thread among all these traditions was a profound reverence for the earth and a belief that certain sites, such as rocks, hills, or mounds, were places charged with special power.

All of these "pagan" traditions were supplanted by Christianity. Although Catholicism admittedly was influenced over the centuries by pagan ritual and thought, Protestantism rejected pagan influences in favor of a more austere, intellectual approach to spirituality. Regardless of sect, however, Christianity teaches that, in general, God has made humans the masters of the earth, which is devoid of power or vitality of its own. To the extent that Christianity recognizes that raw natural forces exist--sexual energy, for example--it tends to associate them with temptation and evil. Such forces must be repressed and denied. The world is flawed and imperfect; only in heaven, a distinct and separate place, does perfection exist. Nothing could be more contrary to the teachings of the religions that existed before Christianity arrived.

In Picnic at Hanging Rock, director Peter Weir's second feature film, Weir explores what happens when long-disregarded and discounted "pagan" forces touch the inhibited world of Victorian/Edwardian-era society in Australia, circa 1900. The story opens at Appleyard College, a boarding school for teenage girls. The girls are all perfectly molded china dolls trained to conform to the strictures of the time, their vitality and budding sexuality suppressed by their regimented schedule and constricting clothing. Early in the film Weir shows us a blooming rosebud being flattened in a flower press--a harsh metaphor for the girls and the school.The girls at Hanging Rock

On Valentine's Day, Mrs. Appleyard (Rachel Roberts), the strict headmistress, sends the girls on an ill-fated outing to Hanging Rock, a massive outcropping of volcanic origin. Before they go, the disciplinarian Mrs. Appleyard describes the rock in unintentionally suggestive terms, describing it as forced up from below the ground in a "highly viscous state." The fact that the outing occurs on Valentine's Day is also suggestive of carnality. The holiday itself originates from an ancient Roman festival of sexual license called Lupercalia, which occurred on the ides of February and was dedicated to Juno Februata, goddess of the fever of love. Young men would select partners for erotic games by drawing small papers with women's names on them--obviously the ancestors of modern-day Valentine cards, which the girls give to one another in Picnic at Hanging Rock. As with other pagan celebrations, Christianity attempted to suppress Lupercalia by co-opting it, designating it the day of the martyred St. Valentine.

Hanging Rock itself turns out to be a raw, primitive place. The solitary outcropping is a craggy maze of passages and hidden recesses, and its exposed cliff faces feature odd formations that look unmistakably like faces. With dreamy cinematography and portentous music, Peter Weir gently evokes the presence of something supernatural without being obvious about it.

After lunch, three of the Appleyard girls request permission to go for a walk by themselves. One of the girls is Miranda (Anne Lambert), a graceful, pretty blonde who is the most popular student at the school. Everyone seems irresistibly drawn to her. Miranda's roommate, the melancholy Sara (Margaret Nelson), appears to be actually in love with her. When Mrs. Appleyard excludes Sara from the outing to Hanging Rock because her tuition hasn't been paid, Sara is heartbroken. Similarly, Michael Fitzhubert (Dominic Guard), a young man who spies Miranda as she and her friends begin their walk, is immediately enchanted. Yet Miranda seems to be preparing to depart Appleyard. She quotes from A Dream Within a Dream, a leave-taking poem by Edgar Allan Poe. She tells Sara that she "won't be here much longer."

Just as there is something otherworldly about Hanging Rock, there is something otherworldly about Miranda herself. It's as if she, too, is the incarnation of some sort of elemental force. Miranda at Hanging RockAs Miranda leaves to explore the rock, she turns and waves goodbye to one of the teachers, Miss DePortiers (Helen Morse), who exclaims, "Now I know!" "What do you know?" asks Miss MacCraw (Vivean Gray). "I know that Miranda is a Botticelli angel," responds Miss DePortiers. The Renaissance artist Botticelli was one of the first to paint classical (i.e., pagan) scenarios after centuries in which Biblical scenes were the only acceptable subject matter for an artist. Tellingly, Botticelli's most famous paintings include Venus Rising from the Waves, depicting the nude goddess standing on a large seashell floating on the sea, and The Rites of Spring, which portrays the nymph Chloris being transformed into Flora, the goddess of the spring, while the Three Graces, the companions of Venus, dance nearby. Three is also the number of girls who leave to explore Hanging Rock.

It will not spoil the suspense to say that the three girls vanish without a trace, because Weir gives this fact away in a caption at the beginning of the movie. Miranda and her two friends float like nymphs through the trees and boulders, while poor dumpy Edith (Christine Schuler), who has insisted on tagging along, has difficulty keeping pace. Edith pleads with the girls to return back to the others. They ignore her, and continue their surreal ascent of Hanging Rock. Gradually, they strip away layers of clothing, the confining trappings of civilization, until finally the three figures, dressed in a few stitches of white and holding hands, disappear into the upper reaches of the rock.

The second half of the movie examines the enigma of the girls' disappearance and the deleterious effects of the incident on stodgy Appleyard College. Weir never explains exactly why the girls disappear, and the movie is stronger because of it. Numerous explanations are suggested, ranging from the mundane to the supernatural. Did they fall into a hole? Were they raped and kidnapped? Or were they spirited away some supernatural power? Weir suggests at times that Miranda has turned into a swan, an obvious symbol of beauty and metamorphosis, but also more than that. The Heavenly Nymphs (Asparas) of Hindu mythology were swan maidens, and in European folklore, the swan was associated with Venus and with the Valkyries (warrior maidens who wore magic swan-feather cloaks to transform themselves) of Norse legend. Viewers are left to draw their own conclusions about the girls' fate.

Picnic at Hanging Rock is no simple mystery. Appleyard College comes into direct, visceral contact with unseen forces--forces about which the film's characters have little knowledge, and what knowledge they do have is scholarly and theoretical. After her almost sexual description of the origins of Hanging Rock, Mrs. Appleyard reduces the rock to a homework assignment, informing her charges that she expects them to write an essay on its geology. Later, the students amuse themselves by reciting Shakespearian sonnets ("Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?"), but they have no experience with the passions behind the words. At the moment of the three girls' disappearance, Edith, who is trailing behind, becomes terrified and lets out a piercing scream. She witnesses something, but she is unable to explain, or even remember, what she saw.

Picnic at Hanging Rock is not a movie that I would recommend to everyone, but if the film's themes sound at all interesting, you will find that Picnic at Hanging Rock is a highly absorbing and thought-provoking two hours. No detail in the movie is accidental. You will be able to watch it over and over and continue to discover nuances and possibilities that you hadn't seen before.