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Yessss I love this guy.

Cheers.
Wasn't sure how this would be received but glad.

I just noticed in Remington's image that it looks like the Pope is being identified as 'The Hindu'.

Love Tipping Point. Blink is also good.

I have limited attention span and an Ipod Touch: Meaning that at any one time I'm going through 16 books simultaniously (because they all fit on the one screen together).

Now: Moby Dick, Atlas Shrugged, Grimm Tales, Wealth of Nations, Fairy Tales (Anderson), Last of the Mohoccans, Dracula, The Illiad, Autobiography of a Yogi, All's Well that ends well, Little Women, His Last Bow (Sherlock Holmes), The Bible, Herodotus: The Histories, The Secret Sharer and The Three Musketeers.

I got my registration form in and my constituency is one that changes with each change of government, after I got Payne to check the history.

The parties running in Southampton Test are Tory, Labour, Liberal Democrats , UKIP and the Greens, I am having a time deciding between the Green party and Liberal Democrats.

I may just flip a coin. 

Was reading in the paper today that Lib-Dems are surprisingly high up in polls, so that might be the way to play it.

I like purportedly; implies that he doesn't belive what's being said (or understands that it is false), though suggests that it is the popular view.

I'd live to see where this goes.

This piece stand alone but there's some other stuff that I've writtien ages ago that I just want to put out in the open, so I'll throw some more out later. Thanks.

(I'll probably try and change the name of this post actually to avoid spagging up the board with my stuff)

On contentment: It's worth reading (struggling) through the Hindu text of the Bhadgvad Gita (<Inevitable spelling mistake in there.)

Within that philosophy, contentment is fairly high up, to the point where ambition is seen as one of the great undesirables, and readers are warned to avoid fruitive (productive) action.

I listened to Beyonce today. It was on my music list, and I felt in the mood for it, so I put it on, and it made me happy.
A few years ago I'd never consider listening to Beyonce, even privately. And a bit before that I'd tear people apart if they said they did. Music had to MEAN sometihng. Had to be SPECIAL, SACRED. But now I listen to Beyonce, and get a kick from it. I listen to the Black Eyes Peas sometimes. Kate Bush is on my music list. So on.

There seems to be a feeling amongst some that to be wise to the bullshit that goes on in the world is to be consistantly overwhelmed by anger or misery or other unpleasent feelings. And I've had my share of those feelings. I've written angry rants and peoms and drawn up cartoons oozing misery. I kept a Livejournal and tore my eyes out publically with anger about the state of the world. Bush was in charge: Australia had Honest John on the top of the heap. My school was being taken over by religios imperialists. It was a dirty kind of mental environment to be in, and everything felt infected.

I worked some stuff out along the way. That everything doesn't have to be OK at once. Things are cyclical anyway, so it'll go better worse better etc. I worked out that it's better to be effective than outraged. I got prety over-revved about what's still going on in Dafur (and Palestine etc). Now, I'm still aware, but I dedicate more rational time to these things. I donated to a Palestinian guy on Kiva, and I imagine that it probably was mopre efficent than any three hour discussion about why some bogan's politics were wrong.

Maily though I worked out that I had to make the concious choice to be happy. Then I had to stick to it, and work on it. I made the concious choice during high school that i was NOT having the best years of my life, and would be having best years on every subsequent year of my existance. I worked out that death really shoudln't take up anywhetre near the mental time that it was taking up. And I learned to LISTEN to people, like REALLY listen to people. And I learned that it's ok for an argurement to be a negotiation, not a bloodsport.

The point I'm sort of kind of not really getting to is that there very much are shit things in the world. Ausralia's being run by 'I can't belive it's not Howard', who's being a jackass about refugees, with election challenges from Abbot who wants to show he's twice as tough on these scary brown boogeymen from other countries. And apparently we're not talknig about global warming anymore? And my scary scary cohabitant that I'm housesharing with, and my administration problems, no career certainty... but I have no interest in bitching about it any more. I don't get angry anymore. I get frustrated, but I don't have the time or the energy to.

Anyway. I was getting to the point.

The point is that Discordia, along with a general mass of 'stuff' has helped me be a bit happier, a bit less serious, a bit more open, a bit more practical, a bit less angry and angsty. I lost my wallet a while ago, and I kicked myself until I was in a reasonable mood, feeling a bit better. I then found my wallet hours later. I was glad I hadn't wasted those hours moping. Once upon a time I would have.

Anyway, in a nutshell; I think there's an illusion that 'the world sucks' and 'there are so many limits' seems to be what is regarded as 'getting it' or being enlightened, when really, these are just ideas that you reach and confront entering into your journey into 'enlightenment'... and then keep pushing.

I'm never sure if i'm expressing things with the intended clarity but I've been told I do, so I hope this makes the intended point also.

ta

Mr Mendelhorn sat into his chair comfortably and signaled to the waitress with a dignified air. The day was warm, with a light breeze that prevented the heat from becoming uncomfortable. There was a faint drone in the air, as the bees in the trees nearby jumped lightly between the pink and purple flowers.

Mr Mendelhorn's waitress looked much like she had in the photo he'd seen, young and cocky, yet distinctively feminine. She was now wearing glasses though, which so far as he could tell, were simply cosmetic, and her hair had been cut to half length and dyed black. The nose though, the soft curve of the neck, the greeny hazel eyes betrayed her identity perfectly.

"How may I help you?" she asked.

"Tea, thank you. A pot, two cups. Darjeeling."

"Would you like anything to eat with that?"

"The tea will suffice for present."

The waitress walked off, and Mendelhorn pulled a small pouch of tobacco from his jacket pocket and rolled a small cigarette. He placed it gently between his lips and began to feel for a lighter, but soon seemed to loose interest, and placed the unlit cigarette in his breast pocket. He pulled a small mirror from his pocket and used it to check his hair, before tilting it further to gain a glimpse of The Doctor.

The Doctor was dressed smartly, though he had attempted to dress down a little to avoid being conspicuous. There were a number of individuals around him, equipped to prevent an attempt of his life. Mendelhorn placed the mirror back into his pocket and reclined a little in his chair.

The footsteps of the waitress approached, and he sat up a little as she came into view, placing down the tray with the pot, cups, milk and sugar. Mendelhorn gave a slight smile as she poured the tea into a cup. he took the pot with one hand - the other remained below the table out of view - and filled the second cup also.

"Will that be all sir?" she asked.

He shook his head. "I'm afraid, despite your excellent service, I must find fault here."

"I am certainly willing to help."

"I'm afraid the tea is poisoned."

There was a short shocked pause. The girl had made to disguise her distress, but it had already flashed across her face. Her composure had returned though, and she seemed unaffected. She smiled politely.

"I am sure that is not the case, but I am happy to return your tea to the kitchen if it is not to your satisfaction."

He waved aside the idea with a flick of his hand. "That won't be needed," he said dismissively. "I am quite happy to drink it regardless. But I would have you drink with me."

The concern was quite evident on her face by this stage. "With due respect sir," she said, "It is store policy that I am not to dine with customers. Especially while I am at work."

"I insist."

"I will replace your tea presently."

She leaned over the table, and grabbed the tray. His hand placed itself gently on hers, and he leaned forward, speaking in an urgent whisper, a new sound, a husky violence creeping into his hushed speech..

"My hand is under the table madam, my finger curls a trigger. The tea is poisoned, the effects of our present actions are of great consequence. Do not mistake my geniality for indifference. I will shoot you and leave you on the floor to bleed to death." He reclined again, and flashed a warm smile. "Please, go ahead, sit. Your boss will understand. I will tell them I insisted." He gave a wide, cheesy grin. "If need be, I'm sure I can tell him that I will have the Party ensure his taxes are looked after." he gave a small, humourless chuckle.

The girl sat in front of him, and visibly held back a physical reaction as she saw him lift the teacup to his lips and gulp down mouthfuls of tea. He placed the cup down and nodded thoughtfully.

"You have chosen a good substance," he said, "one can barely distinguish a difference between the two. Taste your cup. You will not be disappointed. You have clearly made a great deal of tea in your time."

The girl took her cup nervously and held it to her lips. Mr Mendelhorn kept one hand conspicuously beneath the table as she did, his eyes probing her face curiously, lustful of a reaction, an insight beyond her well rehearsed veneer. She took a small gulp, then, with nothing to lose, another larger, and another, and placed the cup on the table again, nearly empty.

"The tea is pleasant," she said. "I should think it is unlikely it is poisoned. I do not feel any effects. I suspect you only try to frighten me to make me more susceptible to your advances." She shook a finger reproachfully at him, but she was still clearly ill at ease, and the effect was not convincing.

Mr Mendelhorn pulled a small vial of aqua blue liquid from his jacket pocket and placed it on the table.

"We shall have a little of this," he said, "when we are done talking. Provided I am satisfied with the conversation. It will undo what harm has been done from the tea." He waited patiently for a reaction, but she did not show one.

He picked up his cup and drank the last, refilling from the pot, adding a little milk and sugar, and stirring slowly. He tapped the teaspoon twice, and placed it on the tray.

"My question is this," he stated, "What are your feelings about The Doctor?"

"Which Doctor, sir?"

"The Doctor, my dear. The great gallows-man of our political institution. The executor of dissidents. The bogeyman we have hidden in the closet of our society, to keep the people imprisoned and the Party free. Is that clarified."

The girl chose her words with care. "I'm afraid my views are not so energetic as yours, Sir."

"And those views are?"

"I do not have a view. I suspect he is simply doing a job."

"You say then, you have no hatred of him?"

"I see no need for hatred," she said, but a very slight pang of disgust betrayed the lie. "Should you expect me to hate him?"

"Of course," he said, matter-of-factly. "Most people do. Even those inside the party who defend the value of his role openly despise him."

"I suppose you are telling me you despise him?"

Mr Mendelhorn sipped again at his tea. The girl caught herself staring at the antedote of the table, and averted her eyes.

"I do not," he said finally. "No more than I despise the man two tables down, with the beard. As I walked towards the guests entrance, he perceived I was heading towards the main gates, and rudely shoved past me to ensure any unreserved table would be his, not mine. The human condition is not simply the pursuit of happiness, but the pursuit of power, the imposition of the appearance of order over chaos. The need to know that tomorrow the sun will rise, the bus will arrive, there will be a spare table provided for lunch, and the political zeitgeist will remain undisputed. We do not hate a man for seeking power, but we see fit to demonize one who wields it. I hate The Doctor for his acts of killing no more than I'd hate a spider for eating flies. Each man has the right to seek the power of a tyrant, and to wield it where he can."

"But not the right to resist him?" said the girl. The remark was casual, but instantly regretted.

"Resistance is not the noble alternative to the pursuit of power," he replied. "It is only the label placed on it by those who would wish to impose the illusion of nobility on their own power seeking actions. You believe you have the right to take the power of The Doctor away. You have wrapped your intent in the veil of utilitarianism, and when your suitcases explode and tear off the face of a woman awaiting the birth of her child, you will cling to this veil like a childish toy."

"I didn't mean to imply anything," said the girl hurriedly, "I'm not about to kill him! I admit he makes me ill, but I wouldn't kill him!"

"You are more correct than you suspect you are," said Mr Mendelhorn, looking at his watch. "You took great care, all of you, to ensure your success, but you overlooked the simplest of details; The carpet on the left back wall, behind the kitchen area hides a staircase downstairs, to a cramped area below where the indoor diners eat. In four minutes, your two companions will make their move to place their explosives within killing distance of The Doctor. And they will be stopped short by two of my own gentlemen, who lie under these floorboards, prepared to shoot them."

Time slowed to a painful crawl. The girl seemed to sit a little higher up as they waited. The low drone of the bees seemed lower in pitch, and the tables seemed full of couples paused in the midst of conversation. The girl pressed her fingers more firmly against the wood of the table. She felt as though she could feel the poison seeping into her muscles and leeching into her brain. The first step, from what she had been told, would be the failure of her ability to speak, as her tongue went numb. Then to walk. Then the failure of consciousness, and finally the complete stopping of her heart.

Then it hit.

The ground vibrated as an explosion shattered the serenity of the day. There was the distinct sound of the shattering of wood and glass. The girl leaped across the table, thrusting a hand into Mr Mendelhorn's face and grabbing the vial, rolling off the table and landing with her back to the ground, Mendelhorn falling backwards off his chair, clumsily staggering to his feet. The pistol had fallen beside the table, and she reached over to snatch it up, and jumped to her feet. Gripping the vial tightly she tore the lid off with her teeth and downed the whole of the sickly sweet liquid, throwing the glass vial away. She held the gun out at Mr Mendelhorn who simply stood before her.

She pulled sharply at her shirt and several buttons broke off, reveling the skinny microphone strapped to her light chest.

"They hear you! They heard it all!" she cried, "They knew all about your ambush! Your little game has been lost you swine! You lose!"

Mendelhorn did not make any effort to move, but pulled the cigarette from his pocket and placed it between his lips.

"Of course you had a microphone," he said. "How else would your two compatriots have been convinced to delay their operation in order to walk into an ambush?" He reached into his pocket and pulled out a lighter, lighting his cigarette.

"You perhaps still take satisfaction in your having prevented my drinking of the antidote," he said. "However, one soon finds when one works intimately with such things, that it is not difficult to bribe a dealer of poisons. You were again more correct than you supposed when you suggested there was no poison in my tea."

The girl looked to the side, and saw clearly; the explosion had occurred behind the restaurant, and standing flanked by security, and looking straight through her with an expression of painful smugness was The Doctor.

She turned her head back to Mendelhorn and, filled with panic, tried to ask what was in the vial if not an antidote, but her tongue was already to numb to form the words.

Papal Infallability only extends to matters of Theology.

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And also, there are a couple schools of thought, both political and philosophical, that have names that do not make sense. The one that comes to mind is Objectivism. Given what it advocates, the name makes no sense.

I remember reading that what she really wanted to call it was Existentialism, but that one had already been taken.

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I looked up Eichman but couldn't find research... did you mean Mengel, Dok?


Wiki:

Contemporary knowledge concerning the manner in which the human body reacts to freezing is based almost exclusively on these Nazi experiments. This, together with the recent use of data from Nazi research into the effects of phosgene gas, has proven controversial and presents an ethical dilemma for modern physicians who do not agree with the methods used to obtain this data.[17] Similarly, controversy has arisen from the use of results of biological warfare testing done by the Imperial Japanese Army's Unit 731.[27] However, the results from Unit 731 were kept classified by the United States and the majority of doctors involved were given pardons

I'd certainly rather we used this information for what good it can do rather than pretend it doesn't exist.

Apologies for posting on topic but

Yes, the Eddie Veder soundtrack is COMPLETELY mindblowingly beautiful. I listened to it on a plane to and from the UK.