Nothing makes me so angry as people who get angry at someone who is angry and isn’t that a big problem. Take for instance all those right wing angry types who got angry with the ones who were angry enough to fly planes into buildings, they went on to kill more people than the ones who got angry in the first place. Then there is the ones who are so angry at angry people that they would dam them to hell for getting angry, all the time pretending to not suffer from the same infliction themselves. Mater of fact I am angry with all those self righteous types who make lists of natural human behaviours as the worst type of sins and leave out all those unnatural things like, murder, torcher, making atomic bombs, burning people at the stake, disembowelling anyone who disagrees with you, accumulating ridiculous amounts of wealth while other starve and worst of all planet stuffing.

I fell much better after getting angry about all that stuff, so anger is at least good for that. It saved me from having to take Prozac, which would have been a bigger sin because that would have funded the organizations that are making all the amphetamine based substances that seem to make people so angry and while we are on that subject, how come pot used to make people so laid back they couldn’t be bothered to even walk down to the shop to by some munchies for themselves, now it seems to make them so aggressive they go out and attack their dealers who are also moonlighting as crack salesmen. Maybe they are getting there stocks mixed up!!!!

Anyway, I enjoyed the lust and over indulged in the greed so I’m really looking forward to the gluttony and slothfulness to settle me down after the pride and envy

Are you finished being angry and yet over averagely, annoyed with people following you around all the time or maybe just really peeved by everyone talking about you? Then Over Par-Annoyed is for you.

We can provide a space to vent all your frustrations about the endless streams of CIA and ASIO types hanging like a bad smells. Rant and rave till you hearts content at men in black circling in Hummers or all those badly dressed operatives (hiding behind the official secrets act), too afraid to come out from behind their computer screens encase someone notices all the gravy stains on their pants.

Beyond deep purple has combined with OPA to provide a depression free zone, for the exclusive use of all those sick to death of forensic TV show detectives on every screen in the country. Nobody here will be monitoring your emitions or rummaging through your garbage, obsessed with body fluids and missing limbs. This type of paranoia will not be tolerated and anyone indulging in it will be hunted down and given a sever talking to.

Please sign up and feel free to leave your comments in the box below.

Happy venting

There’s nothing like a new view; whenever you think you’ve got it all rapt up, step back and take a fresh look and more than likely you will begin to see it (whatever it is) from a better perspective.

My experience, for what it’s worth, is there is nothing that can’t be improved on. Perfection is for the gods, we mere mortals have to be content with muddling along the path. So the chances are, whenever you think you’ve nailed it, you haven’t and if you think you have, you’re up yourself.

I’ll give you a very recent, relevant example; take for instance the George W Bush/ How-odd neo cons, one minute they think they are on top of the world, running everything, pushing everybody around the next minute they are the brunt of everyone’s jokes and look like the biggest pieces of crap the world has ever produced. Why, I’ll tell you why, they failed to take into account the bubbles in the morning light theory while they were murdering, torturing and ripping everybody off.

Now, what we have to look forward to is how the Obama/Rudd team are going to fair, will they get so rapt up in their present success that they forget the bubbles theory or will they move with the times and rise above making the same kind mistakes in Afghanistan and the Carbon debate? Only time will tell.

Russ Cro- magnum man, beat his mighty chest and stared down at the now beaten enemy. ‘Ha-Ha!’ he said ‘Me and my gladiatorial buddies have crushed your evil plan, Fearsome Foursome. We had you out numbered 10 to 1, ever since the senate increased our budget; Super Powers is working for me, ha-ha. He can use his super hearing to eaves drop on you and his super vision to look though walls, we are invincible. HA- Ha, ha, ha-Ha-ha.

Fearsome Foursome rolled over and spat back, ‘Ya big Meany’.

Big Russ turned his mighty back on the defeated FF and addressed the previously famous 300, ‘I have put on another 100 MEN and purchased 400 medals and if you gorgeous heroes had shirts I would pin them on you personally.

My plan worked perfectly, we scoured the land for the weakest, spineless individuals we could find and tricked them into admitting their pathetic plan to attack us.’

‘But they didn’t really have a plan, boss.’ Said Super Powers

‘I know,’ said Russ the invincible ‘that’s the brilliant part of it. We now know what they are thinking before they think it. I am awesome’ he said raising his twin swords to the roof and give out a coded bellow (which was understood immediately by those trained in understanding the code to mean -I am awesome.)

Stay tune for more exciting episodes in 400 the sequel, coming soon to a computer near you.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Commander Grant ran quickly, for a man of his age, into the control room of his ship. The code red sirens were wailing and the man at the controls was yelling at the top of his lungs.

‘INCOMING! INCOMING! WE HAVE TWO HOT FISH COMING STRAIGHT AT US!’

‘What’s the situation?’ called back Sir Hamish

‘We have a Collins shadowing us at ten k’s back, it’s just fired.’

‘Well what are you waiting for man, full speed ahead?’

‘Do you think we can outrun them?’ said a second sailor

‘I don’t know, but for sure we’re about to find out.’

‘What should our heading be, Sir?’

‘Just drop some chaff, aim for open water and hit the scram jets.’

Boom, boom was felt behind the craft as they were catapulted north away from Indonesia and towards the Philippines.

Commander Grant left the control room boys behind him and proceeded to the incident room where he was thought the others would be gathering right at that moment. He was there within moments and sure enough that’s where they were.

‘What the hell’s going on?’ demanded Laurie

‘Seems we’ve been tracked.’ Replied C.G

‘I thought you said we couldn’t be tracked.’

‘Well, it seem like I was wrong; doesn’t it?’

‘What will we do now?’ asked Jim

‘Find somewhere to lie low and recharge the batteries,’ answered the Captain ‘any ideas?’

Buzz put his hand up and everyone looked at him, oddly enough.

‘What’s the matter; do you want to go to the toilet?’ asked Laurie

‘No, I think I know somewhere to go?’

‘How, Where’

‘Before I was so rudely awaken, I was having the most amazing dream.’

‘Yeah, go ahead we all know about these strange dreams of yours.’

‘It just so happens that I was dreaming of traversing these very waters and low and behold I was shanghaied by Chinese pirates and taken to a under ground cavern that was large enough to hide this modern monstrosity in. If you can get me a map, I’m sure I can direct you to it and if no-one has a better plan, I think we should check it out.’ Said Buzz

They all went about the business of battening down the hatches and rigging for high speed running. Time flew by, securing them from the worry of death and failure, which they left in their wake as they sped towards a new safe haven; Chang’s cave.

As Captain Grant’s amazing vessel made its way through the slender, pipe like, entrance and into the huge cavernous hideout that Buzz had directed them to, he purposely found his younger C.O slapped him on the back.

‘Well done my boy, well done.’

Buzz just responded by squirming around with a painful expression on his face trying to rub his own back.

‘I told you I knew what I was saying.’

‘Aye that you did’

‘So how long do you think we should stay here?’ asked Buzz

‘Just long enough to get our bearings and recharge the batteries. You, my lad are going to have to come up with another heading for us because I have no idea where we are going.’ Replied Grant

‘No worries but you will have to stop slapping me around like that.’

‘It’s a done deal.’

Captain Grant spun around and marched off to instruct his crew on how to go about their duties.

Buzz turned to Nat who massage his shoulder while he complained about her uncle’s rough treatment. After she had restored his composure, he asked ‘How would you like to go exploring with me?’

‘Sure,’ she replied ‘I’d love to.’

‘Get your hiking boots on then.’

Soon they had made their way off the ship and Buzz was showing her around the cave that he had visited in his dream. He began to recount to her some of the things he had previously forgotten to explain and before long, was back in the past again, experiencing it first hand and detailing it to Nat as it happened.

The Grand Cavern had taken on a new glow, more golden light had enriched the previously dark corners and new colorful sheens glistened from small fires marking the various groups of now happy pirates. Some celebrated the new order and reconciliation of old friends and foes. The mysterious princess’s men were a much more agreeable bunch and the woman herself proved to be a gracious host. Buzz the relieved, luxuriated in her company as the pair made themselves comfortable in the now deposed King of the South China Sea’s pirate empire.

‘Lai Choy San, I don’t understand what has just happened. It doesn’t make any sense to me. You give me my treasure, that your father gave to you and then he takes it back off me, then your men overthrow him for it?’

‘My brave warrior, you have changed the course of history. Chang was not my real father, he owned me from the time I was a small child and for many years I have dreamt of this day. He was a tyrant, feared and served by many but loved by none. He had imprisoned me in my mountain of wealth, after I had stolen from him the treasure you sought and now I rule his kingdom because of you.’

‘So I was your bait?’

‘Not only, but also. I dreamt you up, so when you arrived in my passage I knew exactly who you were and what you would do for me.’

‘How did Chang get the Golden Eagle?’

‘He or his father, and I am not sure weather they are one in the same, stole it from the Great Genghis Khan or his descendants. As far as I know, they would have gone on to rule the world if we had not relieved them of the symbol you now possess. So you see we are thieves and you are the salvation of the people or their next despot.’

‘And what do you want from me now?’

‘Nothing, take your Eagle and go, it has not brought anything but sorrow to my kind and we will be better off with out it and don’t forget the Portuguese rule the waters between here and where you want to go.’

There was great wealth stashed in the coffers of Chang’s caches, all the maps and charts needed for our dreamtime hero to plan the next leg of his quest to return the Great Golden Eagle to its Himalayan high coupe.

In the days and nights spent in the company of his Dragon Lady, he studied the layout to the passages and safe havens that had previously only been known by Chang and his gangs of men, who now seemed perfectly happy to work for their new mistress. The Sinbad was refurbished, restocked and made ready, while his old crew started to take on the appearance of a well oiled unit ready for anything or anybody who might cross their path.

On the day they sailed out of the waters controlled by Lai Choy San, with the prize of their quest safely stowed out of sight, Buzz the once again magnificent, was confident of the successful path

laid before him. Now all he had to deal with was the Portuguese Navy based out of the old city of Bombay, hopefully the disguises they had prepared for themselves would suffice when the inevitable time would arrive that they would have to deal with these people who must not, under any circumstances, relieve him of his prize.

His ultimate goal was to make it to Northern India where under the protection of the Moguls he would begin the overland journey to Samarkand thru the Hindu Kush with his golden bird. Years of studying the stories told to him as a child in the Palaces built by the descendants of Genghis Khan, had sent him questing for the fabled bird he had vowed to return.

For now he had to content himself with the slow and steady pace the trade winds were propelling him at. All the preparations had been made and nothing more could be done but wait for the inevitable confrontation with the powers that presided between him and his goal. The Sinbad was sailing well, at their present pace they could expect to reach the open ocean between Singapore and Ceylon within days and as long as the weather held fair then the crossing was only a matter of weeks.

---------------------------

Natalie spoke bringing Buzz back to the moment, ‘So all that happened right here?’

‘What? Yeah, yeah, right here.’ He said somewhat distracted as he started pulling rocks away from a crevice in the cave wall. Before long, he was standing upright and proudly displaying a bejewelled dagger still beautiful if not somewhat encrusted by centuries of corrosion.

‘Amazing!’ exclaimed Nat, ‘What’s the story behind that?’

‘This is were I slept when I was him, the ancient mariner. It was much nicer then but I kept this handy just in case my princess changed her mind about my status as savoir of her people.’

‘Oh, so she slept here as well?’

‘Look Nat, I wasn’t really him; it was like I was seeing through his eyes, understanding with his brain, but not in control of what he did. I certainly don’t feel responsible for the men he killed or anything else; I was more like a passenger than the captain, you must understand that.’

‘I do, it’s just a little hard for me to accept it.’

He dropped the artefact and carefully moved towards her. She resembled a cat deciding whether to strike or flee, but as the freeze frame moments passed, did neither. He eventually embraced her more tenderly that ever before and breathed into her ear ‘I love you’.

---------------------------------

Meanwhile back at Nick’s headquarters, things hadn’t gone as well as Elisha had hoped, Nick had managed to get himself into a fowl mood and had begun throwing things, namely the cute little blonde, she was out on her ear. Eli was trying her best to calm him down, but by the time the reports started coming through that they had once again let those ‘arsholes’ get away, there was no consoling him. The day was off to a shit start and it didn’t look like it was going to get any better, he was threatening to pull the plug on their whole ‘holiday’.

To make maters worse the company suits and been sending reports that their operation in Afghanistan hadn’t been going well, the drug lords were getting greedy and demanding more and more for their crops everyday. General Pain in the Butt was making his presence felt by rallying support on just who ran this part of the world, pointing out the fact that while Nick might have inherited the business on paper, he still had the men on the ground in his employ and that if Nick didn’t want an army of bikies surrounding him, he might just want to reconsider his position.

‘Get that pilot’s lazy arse out of bed and tell him to start warming up the engines, it looks like we are going to have to run this ourselves from the air.’ Commanded Nickolas

Eli didn’t even try to disagree; she just put her head down and went about complying with Nick’s orders as was her habit when he got like this. If things didn’t get any better she would end up biting pillows while Nick worked out his frustrations on her. This was pretty much how it went and by the time they were leaving Australian air space, Elisha was having trouble sitting straight in her office chair and Nick was heavily sedated.

The trouble with ying and yang is that it’s a two-dimensional concept in a multi-dimensional universe. It works if you are bi-polar and only see things in black and white but as we all know, there are infinite shades of grey (not to mention colour).

An unevolved basic brain might not be able to see anything because it can’t distinguish shades. For example if everything was perceived as black there could be a whole world before you but you wouldn’t know it because all you would see is blackness, a worms eye view or as I like to think of it, mono-polar.

In our world today we have the equivalent in people with perfectly good vision, they only seem able to see things one way, theirs and if you don’t agree with them they label you bi-polar (as if it is a disease). You might recognise this problem in crazy Muslim terrorists, right wing Christian fundamentalists or, god forbid, evolutionary zealots.

Real evolutionary progress is to be had in the form of round table thinking, where in the evolved being takes his/her/whatever, place at the table, as an equal with only a perspective to be argued not a truth revealed. Whenever we thump the table and demand to be adhered to, we regress and trouble ensues.

So, it is with that in mind, I ask all evolved souls to be patient when dealing with the mono-brains even if they are exploding bombs, bashing bibles or kicking heads because after all, THEY have a mental problem.

Pass through this door and it will be like choosing the red pill instead of the blue.

What if nothing was as you had perceived?

What if all available channels were about keeping you out of the loop?

Suspend the part of your brain that keeps you locked into “reality” as we know it, and drift with me into the void of alternative possibilities.

Population control might not be as simple as keeping it to a minimum, it could be more advantageous to keep them ignorant. After all, power presides on a principle that is not for the ears of the multitude, but for the edge of privilege. Religion, for instance, has benefited by being so inclined for millenniums. So it is with that in mind, if you knew the secret, and it was within your capabilities to either reveal or stifle, how would you proceed?

Firstly, revealing might jeopardise all you know and love yet open up a world of possibilities far beyond any comprehension. Empowering the masses might be a scary thing if you didn’t include yourself in the numbers. Unleashing truths only ever uttered behind closed doors could have a tidal wave effect, previously shied from by greater entities than you. Yet somehow or another, you know it would be the right thing to do.

Secondly, stifling would continue a way of life that has become obviously unsustainable. Refusing to state the obvious seems as logical as hiding an advanced pregnancy. At this point you could be hailed as a hero or wait a minute and be panned as a villain; to be or not to be, that’s a question.

Forever Kings and Popes have denied knowing of the things that keep them perched above swarming humanity, without ever flinching from the task. The despots and divine mutually, have languished in knowledge not for the aspiring. Our great leaders are in no less a place but for the march of accountability. The times are upon them and the moment is at hand, just as if it had bean deemed inevitable from the ancients of days gone by. Keeping the people ignorant has passed it’s best before date, no one has the mandate, no one has the right.

Take the blue pill if you will but inevitably you will be sleeping on your own.

Maintain the charade if you have to but eventually you’ll look like Marcel Marceau.

Come out of the closet, lay it on the table and you may just be accepted for who you are, a dinosaur who made it into a future full of diversity and promise.

Once upon a time you could trust your eyes and ears, not any more!

We really must be vigilant in engaging the b/s meter when reacting to what we see or what we hear. Spinsters used to be single old maidens plying a trade beneficial to weavers, at least. Now there are spin-stirs, greedy good for nothing a’holes, capable of selling you anything for their own benefit. Take for instance the gun lobby, they would sell you the line everybody has the right to carry a gun, but they don’t really mean it. What they mean is that they want the right to be judge, jury and executioner of anyone they deem to be guilty of threatening their prosperity. If everyone carried a gun it would be Dodge City all over again and the guy with the biggest gun rules or the scumbag that sneaks up behind you gets to tell his/her version of events while you rot in boot hill.

Then there’s the Tobacco and Alcohol lobbyists, they would sell you the line people have the right to decide for themselves, while addicting children to their products which subtly take away their ability to choose. The government spin-stirs plaster our living rooms with advertisements condemning smokers and drinkers to an early grave while raking in billions in ill gotten gains; when if it wasn’t for their addiction to the generated revenue, they could pass a bill tomorrow and end the evil trade.

The Hocus Pocus of unethical professionals swirls before you every day with the sole intent of lulling you into a state of mind from which they can profit. Everybody knows, every body can see the comb over, but we are so mesmerized by it and so used to the conditioning, we just go along with it. They tell you aspartame will make you slim, trim and terrific and permanently overweight people lap it up by the truckload. They tell you Round up ready, genetically modified crops are the go and before you know it were all shoving it down our gobs. They sell you the concept there is no God while they are trying there damndest to become your god; believe me?

Women used to want the right to bare boobs, now they want to bare arms.

Men used to plot their pay off, now they pay off their plot.

Children used to inherit a future, now they doubt any future.

The poor, the meek and the ones who mourn used to believe one day they would have their reward but the spin-stirs have even converted that.

I believe in a creative force that doesn’t condone magic, but I sure wish someone would click their fingers and wake us all up.

Discrimination is no respecter of color and poor white people need a dream as much as the blacks, yellows or reds.

I have a dream and it has to do with the words of Martin Luther King Jr and it’s not that all men are created equal but that all men are entitled to equal treatment by the law. If a certain group of people decide to sell Drugs, Alcohol or Tobacco to addicts and it results in the death of those addicts; they can get off scot free, absolving themselves by quoting “personal responsibility” rhetoric. Yet if I (or Millions like me) sold Drugs, Alcohol or Tobacco to their loved ones and it resulted in deaths, then I would be held personally responsible regardless of what I said. Double standards are the norm, not the exception and “responsible” citizens are turning a blind eye to the appalling situation Drugs, Alcohol and Tobacco are being sold to our children legally from the moment they turn 18.

“We will have to repent in this generation not merely for the hateful words and actions of the bad people, but for the appalling silence of the good people.” MLKjr

Peril
by Toni Morrison,

Authoritarian regimes, dictators, despots are often, but not always, fools. But none is foolish enough to give perceptive, dissident writers free range to publish their judgments or follow their creative instincts. They know they do so at their own peril. They are not stupid enough to abandon control (overt or insidious) over media. Their methods include surveillance, censorship, arrest, even slaughter of those writers informing and disturbing the public. Writers who are unsettling, calling into question, taking another, deeper look. Writers — journalists, essayists, bloggers, poets, playwrights — can disturb the social oppression that functions like a coma on the population, a coma despots call peace; and they stanch the blood flow of war that hawks and profiteers thrill to.
That is their peril.

Ours is of another sort.

How bleak, unliveable, insufferable existence becomes when we are deprived of artwork. That the life and work of writers facing peril must be protected is urgent, but along with that urgency we should remind ourselves that their absence, the choking off of a writer’s work, its cruel amputation, is of equal peril to us. The rescue we extend to them is a generosity to ourselves.

We all know nations that can be identified by the flight of writers from their shores. These are regimes whose fear of unmonitored writing is justified because truth is trouble. It is trouble for the warmonger, the torturer, the corporate thief, the political hack, the corrupt justice system, and for a comatose public. Un-persecuted, un-jailed, un-harassed writers are trouble for the ignorant bully, the sly racist, and the predators feeding off the world’s resources. The alarm, the disquiet, writers raise is instructive because it is open and vulnerable, because if un-policed it is threatening. Therefore the historical suppression of writers is the earliest harbinger of the steady peeling away of additional rights and liberties that will follow. The history of persecuted writers is as long as the history of literature itself And the efforts to censor, starve, regulate, and annihilate us are clear signs that something important has taken place. Cultural and political forces can sweep clean all but the “safe,” all but state-approved art.

I have been told that there are two human responses to the perception of chaos: naming and violence. When the chaos is simply the unknown, the naming can be accomplished effortlessly — a new species, star, formula, equation, prognosis. There is also mapping, charting, or devising proper nouns for unnamed or stripped-of-names geography, landscape, or population. When chaos resists, either by reforming itself or by rebelling against imposed order, violence is understood to be the most frequent response and the most rational when confronting the unknown, the catastrophic, the wild, wanton, or incorrigible. Rational responses may be censure, incarceration in holding camps, prisons, or death, singly or in war.

There is however a third response to chaos, which I have not heard about, which is stillness. Such stillness can be passivity and dumb-foundedness; it can be paralytic fear. But it can also be art. Those writers plying their craft near to or far from the throne of raw power, of military power, of empire building and counting houses, writers who construct meaning in the face of chaos must be nurtured, protected. And it is right that such protection be initiated by other writers. And it is imperative not only to save the besieged writers but to save ourselves. The thought that leads me to contemplate with dread the erasure of other voices, of unwritten novels, poems whispered or swallowed for fear of being overheard by the wrong people, outlawed languages nourishing underground, essayists’ questions challenging authority never being posed, un-staged plays, cancelled films — that thought is a nightmare. As though a whole universe is being described in invisible ink.

Certain kinds of trauma visited on peoples are so deep, so cruel, that unlike money, unlike vengeance, even unlike justice, or rights, or the goodwill of others, only writers can translate such trauma and turn sorrow into meaning, sharpening the moral imagination.

A writer’s life and work are not a gift to mankind; they are its necessity.

The above is an excerpt from the book Burn This Book: PEN Writers Speak Out on the Power of the World edited by Toni Morrison. The above excerpt is a digitally scanned reproduction of text from print. Although this excerpt has been proofread, occasional errors may appear due to the scanning process. Please refer to the finished book for accuracy.

Copyright © 2009 Toni Morrison, editor of Burn This Book: PEN Writers Speak Out on the Power of the World

About the Editor:
Toni Morrison was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1993. She is the author of many novels, including, Sula, Song of Solomon, Beloved, and most recently, A Mercy. She has also received the national Book Critics Circle Award and a Pulitzer Prize for her fiction.

About PEN:
PEN is the leading voice for literature and a major force for free expression and the unhampered exchange of ideas and opinions worldwide. Founded in 1921, it is the world’s oldest ongoing human rights organization, and it currently has 144 PEN centres in 102 countries dedicated to protecting the right of all humanity to create and communicate freely. By mobilizing the world’s most influential literary voiced and an international network of writers, readers, and human rights supporters, PEN makes a difference every day in the lives of writers who are facing persecution around the world. For more information about PEN, visit www.pen.org

For more information please visit www.therighttoread.com or http://theharperstudio.com/authorsandbooks/burnthisbook/about-the-book/

Buzz eventually exhausted his audience and settled for spending some quality time with Natalie, she was keen to discuss their shared experience of visiting the old Sumerian civilization in their combined meditation. They managed to find a cozy corner of an otherwise busied ship, focused on the topic at hand and quickly immersed themselves in a conversation of mutual interest. When they had last spoke of the events surrounding the evacuation of a pre-flood Babylon, the inhabitants had split into two groups.

Nat wanted to quiz Buzz about the ones he had followed and opened with, ‘Did those people who escaped to the mountains of North-eastern Iran eventually settle down?’

‘Good question,’ commented Buzz, before he answered in his usual style ‘In-between Pirate dreams, I looked up the descendants of Noah and the record is quite comprehensive in documenting the spread on nations after the flood. While the sons of Shem, Ham and Japheth were busy rebuilding Babylon, Nineveh and Egypt, the peoples associated with Elam and Aram were establishing themselves in the higher realms of the Himalayas. Now while I can’t be absolutely sure where it was, the final resting place of the Great Golden Eagle and the one’s who transported it, could only describe as the mystical kingdom of Shambhala.’

Natalie recoiled in her seat and looked at Gabriel with a smirk that indicated she was not totally on his wave link. He immediately realized she needed more information and quickly resumed his dialogue before she could even ask a question.

‘Shambhala has been very real to Buddhists and spiritual seekers for a very long time, albeit not a place you would find on any map today. Never the less I’m asking you to open your mind to the concept that it might have been a real place at sometime in the past.’

“O.K,’ she said, relaxing her poise ‘lay it on me.’

‘The Medes were the ones who occupied that area during the time we have been speaking about and although they didn’t emerge as a force in the region until the defeat of the Assyrians, their power base was out of the slopes of the North-eastern Iran from before recorded history. If any peoples were associated with the Aryans of Zoroastrian mythology it was them and this was where the stories of Shambhala came from. Ahura –Mazda was the wise lord God of the original inhabitants of ancient Iran and was depicted as a bearded man with the wings of an eagle.’

‘So you think he could have been the leader of the ones who carted the Golden Eagle out of pre-flood Babylon?’

‘Yes,’ answered Buzz ‘the center of an Enid that has dominated eastern mysticism till this day, the head Aryan, a Brahmin kite of mythical proportions and the one who existed before the creation of the world as we know it; a pre-flood deity.’

‘How does this relate to our understanding of the situation and why does knowing about the leader of a mythical kingdom, that people have sought for centuries, help our cause?’ Asked Nat

‘I think it helps to know the origins and legends of a culture that eventually had a great effect in our historical records as the ones who put an end to the Assyrian Empire and established their importance as an empire in their own right; at a time when the Old Testament, as we know it today, was first being penned by the exiled Hebrews.

In 539 B.C.E, to the cheers of the enslaved Jews, (Shah) Cyrus the Great King of the Medes gathered the mountain tribes from the slopes of the Himalayas and over ran the city of Babylon to begin an era of Human rights, multiculturalism and a freeing of slaves. He created the biggest, fairest and most open empire the world had ever known, all under the protecting wings of Ahura-Mazda

So, if there was a time when the Great Golden Eagle was to leave its secret nest, high in the Himalayas and return to a position symbolizing the all encompassing rule of God on Earth, then this was it. Cyrus was the rightful and worthy heir who allowed the return of the Jews to Jerusalem along with their scriptures and all the temple items that made it possible to kick start their claim of being Gods chosen people in that area. This situation prevailed until the rise of the Greeks and Alexander the Greats rampage into Persian and Parthian territories.’

This was Cyrus the Greats territory of 540 B.C.E superimposed over the modern map.

Nat had definably softened towards Gabe’s apostatizing of his view and offered her assistance by suggesting they retire to their stateroom and project themselves further into the research. He was obviously keen but as they bumped their way through the narrow passage, Buzz began speaking like a pirate again and before they could both come to a Shambhala of the mind, he was relaying to her another episode from the edge of the South China Seas.

‘I am Captain of the Sinbad, leave my men alone and deal directly with me,’ he was describing a scene from his minds eye where the Bark of a previous dream was being boarded by a hoard of Asian looking pirates from a large Junk. Even though his men had fought bravely to defend him and their precious cargo, by sheer numbers they were overcome. By bellowing loudly and brandishing his sword in a magnanimous display, the murderous gaggles were distracted from their slaughter and the ensuing chaos minimized. Buzz, the large, became the center of attraction, surrounded by a circle of saber rattling motley crew who, for some strange reason, seemed to be amazed by his enormous sword.

Before too long, one of the multitudes stepped forward and asked quite politely, for a barbarian ‘Where did you get that from?’

Buzz, the now magnificent, didn’t think that it was such an unreasonable request at the time and began a long slow answer in a language all seemed to understand. He explained to all the now becalmed villains exactly how he had acquired it and the obvious huge golden eagle that just happened to be strapped to the deck at the time. This timely story seemed to calm down the whole situation and before he was finished they were all sitting at his feet enthralled by every word that proceeded forth from his mouth.

The man who had asked the question eventually stood up and began giving orders, which were immediately adhered to. Prisoners were being bound, sails were being set, ropes fastened and soon Buzz realized what was happening; they were being taken prisoners and lock, stock and barrel, back to the base of these alien marauders to suffer whatever fate had in store.

Within twenty four hours, their smallish craft had been sailed into a hole in the wall cavern somewhere between the South China and the Sulu Seas, where they were presented to the King or whatever he was, obviously an important figure, as he imposed himself over the faithful and the obedient.

‘So you say you have met my daughter!’ boomed the majestically presented figure of a man high from his throne as they were brought before him.

‘And who might you be?’ hailed back Captain Buzz with an air of arrogance not suitable for a man in his position

‘I am Chang and it is my treasure you have plundered.’

‘Not so, this is the Great Golden Eagle of Shambhala and I intend to return it to its nest high in the mountain kingdom of my forefathers.’

‘You speak bravely for a man who is about to die a horrible death.’

Buzz, the now not so sure, looked around and summed up the situation to himself; here I am thousands of miles from home in an underground fortress of a despot of merciless infamy, surrounded by his warriors with a great big, heavy bird, acquired by seducing the daughter of the man who held his fate in the palm of his hand.

‘I gave it to him!’ echoed a feminine voice from behind the light of the circle of all who were involved in the moment up until then.

‘You,’ exhaled our hero as he swung around to envision the tattooed, jewel encrusted beauty; now more modestly attired than the last time he saw her.

‘Yes, it is I who provide protection for this man and his crew; yet you detain him on his noble journey’ she said addressing the King as she moved further into the circle of light.’

‘He has stolen my property and I will have my right to judge.’

‘No,’ she said ‘he has stolen nothing; I have restored the icon to its rightful owner.’

‘What right do you have to over ride me, the one who has given you everything.’

‘You have given me nothing, I take my right to decide these matters,’ with those words the cavern was suddenly over run with the followers of this most amazing woman and without a drop of blood being shed, she was now in charge.

------------------------------------------

Nick and Elisha were rudely awakened, after a night of serious debauchery, by the constant rapping on the door of their resort suite. Eli launched herself towards the offending noise and ripped open the eight by four chunk of wood separating the naked banshee from her pray.

‘What the hell do you think you are doing, making such a racquet at this ungodly hour?’ She screeched at the now frozen and terrified figure standing before her ‘Come on explain yourself.’

‘I, I, it’s just that we have received an unusual phone call from a submerged captain who said he was having trouble contacting you and that it was imperative we informed you immediately.’

‘Oh,’ replied Eli, suddenly aware her implants were at eye level ‘well get back to whatever you were doing and take your drool with you.’

The door slammed and our vixen moved swiftly towards the lap top, positioned not five meters from were she swiveled. Soon she was talking directly to the captain of the sub who had been pursuing our band of rebels, via video link, and still she hadn’t bothered to cover herself.

Nick who had been listening to all this, finally came out of the bedroom in a dressing gown and took over from her.

‘So you finally have them in your sites,’ he said

‘Yes sir.’ Came the Captains reply

‘Well what are you waiting for; blow the bastards out of the water.’

‘But that would be an act of war!’

‘Against who?’ Questioned Nick

‘I thought you would know,’ said the Captain

‘I do, NOW BLOW THE BASTARDS OUT OF THE WATER.’ He screamed

‘Aye, aye, SIR.’

Nick turned away from the screen and gave the still naked Eli a full look up and down, ‘Can you try to have some clothes on when you deal with the Grunts.’

But before she could answer him, a sweet looking nubile wandered out of the main bedroom and asked ever so politely

‘What’s all the yelling about?’

‘Never you mind,’ answered Eli ‘just turn around, jump back into bed and we will be in soon.’

The Grinch that tried to force an early election

Once upon a time there was a pinched Grinch who lived in the place where they kept all the money. He conspired with his rich friend to take back all the Christmas presents the Ruddy King had given everybody, earlier that year. They thought they could make it happen with a magic potion called Double Dish Allusion. But their God (they call Media) found out about it and planned to tell everybody before the evil pair and big Joe the Sleigh driver, could spread the stuff around. While everyone was still sleeping, Media pasted pictures on all the cereal boxes in the land, clearly showing the Godless Grinch and the rich man passing a faked piece of paper off as a real document. This made everybody very suspicious (when they finally woke up) and to this day they don’t trust anybody who plans to force an early election.

God 1- Grinch 0

Kevin’s Ute is the biggest Ute because you can place the fate of a nation on it.

Kevin’s Ute can transport voters’ attention away from important issues and take them to the tip of fabricated irrelevance.

Kevin’s Ute is talked about more than the Wheat 4 Weapons scandal.

Kevin’s Ute can carry a heavy load of Governmental fertilizer over Turn Bulls Bluff to the Bank of Rudd’s River faster than you can say, ‘What a load of Crap’.

If anybody wants to buy Kevin’s Ute, they should wake up to themselves because the enormous cost of purchasing such a frivolously fast fiasco is the price of self respect.

Why would any clear thinking person want a G8, fossil fuel burning remnant of a way of life we all should be putting behind us, when they could have a state of the art, environmentally responsible, internet powered juggernaut to transport them towards a future free of lying, scamming, used Ute salesmen.

Friends and Romans send me your cheers because I am gathering up all the wasted adorations and will attempt to make something useful of them.

Those who frequent the coliseums are a strange breed, we regularly make our way into the various arenas, some virtual, to bond with our fellow enthusiasts and barrack for the chosen few. At great personal cost we put aside whatever it is we should be doing and dutifully assume the position. How satisfying it is when they kick the sacred ball through the upright posts of incredible achievement or cross the finish line in front of someone else? When our favourite hero launches him/herself above the herd, we are there to cheer.

So it is with that in mind, without employing complex mathematics, I begun adding up the sums of capital required to putting on these extravaganzas of human achievement:

· National football codes run in every city for almost every week of the year. BILLIONS+

· Handball games in ever increasing numbers BILLIONS+

· Bat and Ball series encompassing the world BILLIONS+

· Track and Field, Swimming and other Olympic style activities (not every four years anymore)

· Fuel burning competitions: TRILLIONS+

a. Formula One (car, bikes, boats, planes and snowploughs) BILLIONS+

b. Indy style alternatives BILLIONS+

c. Production racing and modified versions eg; Bathurst BILLIONS+

d. Rally and Moto X BILLIONS+

e. Drifting BILLIONS+

f. Monster Trucks BILLIONS+

g. Drag racing BILLIONS+

· Yachting eg; Sydney to Hobart & America’s cup BILLIONS+

I had the audacity to imagine what we could be using it for, if we were to transfer our worship and money to other fields of excellence in;

· Kicking goals in ending world poverty

· Saving endangered species

· Racing towards equality of the sexes

· Punching holes in racial discrimination

· Rallies for the latest Carbon neutral technologies

· Formula 1 (planetary salvation division)

· Sickness to Health plot race

· Animal Rights Golf

· Human Dignity Tennis

· Education 4 all ( online activity)

· Government for the people by the people ( on line activity)

This leads me to ask the eternal question,

Et tu Brutus?

Now, I don’t have any trouble with Skulls (matter of fact I have one) and Bones (where would we be without them?), but cross them, stick them on a pole and you can guarantee there’s DANGER ahead. Run it up a flag pole, see who salutes it and then you know who you can trust.

Buccaneers don’t value democracy, fairness or being nice. The guy with the biggest sword rules, so in the long run, swords inevitably cross and isn’t that the problem with the right to bear arms. It starts with a 38, quickly moves to M16’s or AK47’s and before you know it, every body wants an Atomic Bomb.

You can’t base a democracy on the rule of the gun because it ends up being run by Pirates. You can’t bring democracy to a dictator’s ship with an army of gun toting, rum running, rabble because you just replace one dick for another. People who want democracy should concentrate their efforts on disarming all the players, only then can the policies of free speech be enacted. While we have a bunch of armed thugs running around with loaded guns, who dares to disagree with them?

In the end, governments have to stop dealing in death. They have to stop making bullets, bombs and F111’s, they have to stop empowering some to have them and others not. They have to stop profiteering from the sale of alcohol, tobacco and drugs, just as we would expect the government of places like Afghanistan too, if they want to join our “democracy”.

Double Standards are the sign of the worst kind of trash that sailed the seven seas, one minute they are approaching you flying the flag of some friendly nation, next minute they are boarding you under the Skull & Crossbones to rape, murder and steal your personal stash.

If you truly value Democracy, don’t vote for warmongers, drug dealers or arms manufacturers. Create armies of whistleblowers ever ready to point to an armed and dangerous pusher of bullets, drugs or somebody else’s property, weather or not they are part of a recognized government or just filthy pirates.

As if kids didn’t have enough to worry about, what with global warming, the big financial institutions coming crashing down around their heads and a nuclear armed North Korea guiding missiles in their direction, now they have to deal with a world wide pandemic.

Why oh why can’t, so called, responsible adults keep their big mouths shut on matters such as this? What would it cost to stop the media from engaging in these massive advertising campaigns of fear and loathing? Is it not possible to quietly deal with these things without alarming everybody?

NO, NO, NO, I can hear the cries ringing around the offices of those who don’t give a rat’s bum. How would the pharmaceutical manufacturers sell their trillion dollar crop of anti-swine venin? How would the pathologist ensure their profits for this flu season? Where would the money come from the next pandemic, if nobody knew we were having one?

Think about the Psychiatrists, they are going to need a new generation of traumatised kids to keep expanding their business interests. The alcohol and tobacco executives know the more you worry people, the more they drink and smoke and that inevitably leads to gambling and harder drugs. There’s a multitude of responsible, upright and well heeled suits out there, rubbing their grubby little hands together every time the words Pig Flu or SARS are uttered.

So if you can’t beat them into the submission of crying wolf, join me in the chant;

PIG SARS PIG SARS PIG SARS PIG SARS PIG SARS PIG SARS PIG SARS FLU!

Buzz, the ordinary, finally came out of his cabin and ventured down into the galley, hungry for conversation as well as food. When he got there it was obvious he wouldn’t get either, not a soul in sight and none of the usual smells were emanating from the food preparation area; he was totally out of whack with the normal runnings of the ship. ‘Not to worry’ he said to himself while donning an apron, switching on the hotplate, juggling a couple of eggs and sleuthing out where they kept the thinly sliced smoked pig. By the time he done a fair impersonation of a breakfast chef and eaten his fill of cholesterol damage, the aromas of his presence must have drifted into other parts of the sealed hulls and the dining area began to fill with the appropriate cronies.

‘Well, well our long lost adventurer has returned to the land of the living.’ Piped the skipper in his broad Scottish brogue

‘Arrrgh, what swashbuckling tales do you have to tell us this time?’ added Jim in his best pirate voice whilst hobbling over to the table, feigning a wooden leg

‘Don’t sit down here with that parrot shit all over your shoulder.’

Laurie and Nat were next through the hatch with a couple of pirate jokes of their own but rather than a few rounds of ‘what should we do with the drunken sailor’ they pull a couple of chairs into the circle and settled down for the conversation they were all looking forward to. The interest in this gathering broaden as the many more of the crew filed in, soon the galley was a hive of activity and the java was flowing. Dr. Buzz was feeling as though he was about to begin a lecture and tried to shuffle himself into a suitable position, as to maximize the effect.

‘Why are we all here?’ he opened and then began to answer his own question ‘I would suggest most of us have been pressed into service because of somehow falling foul of our pursuers or making a moral stand against some particularly nasty aspect of how they go about their business.’

A short round of here, here’s’ seemed to confirm his opening pre-supposition and so he took it for what it was and ran with it.

‘I was an innocent researcher of the human condition, non-specifically specializing in truck loads of information that most diligent students, in pursuit of their targeted careers, jettisoned towards the scrap heap of an underfunded arts department Somehow or other I seemed to qualify myself for the non-paying position of standing apart from the commonly held beliefs of the various heads of departments that were well funded in their diligent efforts to prop up the crumbling moral structures of their various benefactors. As you can well imagine, I wasn’t a welcome sight in the corridors of power that honeycomb the higher tiers of society that control the day to day running’s of my country as well as yours; so I dedicated myself to understanding the nature of the beast I continually found myself butting heads with.

Now I know everybody here has their own valid concepts of what it is I am trying to define but before we go any further down the path of rebellion against it, I for one would like to put on the table the clearest picture I can draw of our mutual enemy. Power structures are elusively ever-changing and any attempt to circumnavigate the enormity of it can only ever end in getting lost up some creek without a paddle. Rather than go that way about it I have decided to examine the heart, liver and brain of the monster and sometimes my methods can seem as strange to the onlooker as a pathologist up to his armpits in an autopsy.

So it is with that in mind I ask you to persevere with me as I open up the cadaver and expose the rotten organs that inhabit it; firstly the heart. Religion has pumped the blood of despotic regimes since the beginning of time, its circulatory system spreads to every part of the body forming capillaries, so dense, that you can’t stick a pin in it without the evidence of it bleeding out. Of course it always has two opposing factions allowing it to function; venal and arterial, one sucks and the other blows. For the healthy running of a fascist regime you need a working pump distributing and retrieving the oil of dispute to the working parts of the body; in our world today Judeo Christians suck and Muslims blow.

The liver is the largest organ within the body; it facilitates the absorption of nutrients into the system. Secular politics brings to our monster the meat and potatoes that stop it from starving to death without seeming to have anything to do with religion, but I think you will find the two are intricately linked. Together they build the strength of arms needed to reinforce dominance over any opposition, ever ready to hammer into submission anything that gets in the way.

Now to the brain and its central nervous system; this organic computer sits over and above everything else with its tentacles reaching into every part of the body. It secretly gathers and stores all the information needed to fulfill its purpose for existing, issuing instructions and demanding obedience. It controls both sides of the heart as well as the liver and it will give its teeth the instructions to chew its own leg off if it thought it would aid to its own preservation. Be under no misunderstanding, when we choose to do the things we are presently engaged in, this is what we are going up against and we have about as much chance of success as

an independent finger has of shoving itself up a nostril to perform a lobotomy on a diseased brain in its own defense.’

After a brief round of applause, Buzz returned to the topic at hand. ‘Understanding the brain as it exists today requires a suspension of previously held beliefs on how it operates because the very nature of its condition is that it lies to the body about itself. Now how that happens is how we begin to understand it; when you analyze what it is you know about it, you have to ask yourself how you come to know the things you think you know? Chances are you heard it on the radio, saw it on the T.V, read about it in a book or was told something by an insider that has been under the influence of the very thing we are now not trusting; these are the lines of communication that are owned and used by our adversaries similar to the way the diseased brain uses the central nervous system to deliver its propaganda to its beast.

What I am suggesting is revolutionary in the sense that we can use intuitive methods to analyze the information in a way not possible if we continue to believe all that we think we know. For instance: If the body wants to improve its conditions, do the veins fight the arteries? No. If the mussels find themselves depleted of nutrients, do they rip out the liver? No. When the nervous system becomes agitated for no obvious reason, should it turn on itself when possibly, a simple brain alteration might restore order?

When every action has been taken by instruction of the brain and yet no relief is in sight, then maybe it’s time we analyzed the brain to find out what’s going wrong upstairs. In our world today maybe it’s time Jews, Muslims and Christians stopped fighting one another and combined forces to find out which part of the brain is the offending piece. Maybe it’s time for the armies of the world to unite in the common cause of kicking out the troublemakers in their own organizations. Maybe the intelligence gathering community should use its intelligence to locate the offending bits and disempower them from influencing policy.’

‘All well and said,’ commented Laurie ‘But how does that effect what we are doing right now? We are totally off the radar, hundreds of miles from anywhere in particular and if we don’t gain some kind of strategic advantage sometime in the very near future, not even likely to see the light of day ever again.’

‘Exactly my point if I am going to die or worse, in the pursuit of idealism, then I want it fresh in my mind what that ideal is and I can’t speak for the others but I imagine it’s the same for them. I want to constantly reinforce what it is we are doing this for and what it is we hope to achieve. If one day I get to stand before the asshole who probably thinks of me in the same way, then I want to be able to clearly articulate what it was that put me up against it ’

Another round of applause went up, which Laurie joined in with and by the time it calmed down they were all looking as if they were interested in hearing more; so Buzz steadied himself with a fresh cup of coffee and prepared to continue on. ‘I don’t know if everyone here knows about the origins of the intelligence agencies, that are probably on our heels as we speak, but a little bit of review couldn’t hurt; so bear with me while I digress.

At the beginnings of the First World War, when capitalism and communism where beginning to go head to head, the spying agencies were a shadow of what they have become today. Very little in the way of infrastructure and even less in monetary support and even though Germany hadn’t become the monster in everybody’s book yet; Britten, America and even Russia had sent spies into the fatherland to investigate the possibilities of them becoming a common enemy. In what was to become an important piece in understanding the formalization of the trade, all the suspect players were rounded up and put into a camp that eventually laid claim to producing more than its fair share of agency founders.

Ruhleben, its inmates and its associated news letter became the common thread on the resumes of the men and women who combined together with the officers of the British and French internment camps and ran the secret services during the Second World War. It was during this period the agencies got all the support they required to grow into the out of control monster they are today. Sir John Masterman, a noted resident of Ruhleben, wrote about this time in his book ‘The double cross system in the war 1939-45’, in which he describes how the line between which country, or agency, you worked for becomes totally blurred. The big moment in it all seems to be when Roosevelt, the then President of America, decides to form a pact with the Russians to fight Hitler and Churchill follows suit; up until then the common enemy for anyone who worked for the agencies was Russia. This created an irreparable rift in the fabric of the behind the scenes designated drivers organization that was to become M.I.5, C.I.A, A.S.I.O and the many other affiliated organizations.

Many, up until then, trusted operators within the agencies who had openly favored supporting Hitler over Stalin, were suddenly the enemy and had to be watched carefully for any signs that they might not be going along with their countries policies. But after Germanys defeat and the reinstatement of all those officers who would lead the cold war against U.S.S.R and communism, where ever it reared its ugly head including America and Australia, then the trouble really began because they were happy to sign up men who had served in Hitler’s S.S; low and behold, the agencies became the very thing our soldiers fought to keep out of our so called fascism free countries.’

‘Is this true Sir Hamish, you were a Wing Commander with the S.O.E during that period?’ asked Natalie

‘Sadly, yes.’ Answered our now friendly Captain Grant ‘This is why I had to leave the organization; I couldn’t stomach the Nazi bastards that were running it.’

‘Laurence, you were in a position to know whether or not this is true, what say you?’

‘I can’t really confirm or deny anything, although I have my suspicions, which was enough for me to leave them as well.’

‘So, who is really running the shop?’

‘Well, I’ve met a few operatives in my day,’ said Laurie ‘and the ones they seem to have to report to are their editors or publishers.’

‘Are you telling us the big media tycoons run everything?’

‘ I haven’t personally known any so I can’t really say, but I do know that one of the biggest in the business used to be the largest printer of Nazi training manuals in Hitler’s Germany and that the Head of the S.S worked with McCarthy in America, after the war.’

‘What do you reckon, Buzz?’

‘Media barons, Politicians, Lawyers, Doctors, Generals, Weapons manufacturers, Popes and priests they all seem to work for the same thing MONEY; he who prints the money pretty much controls everything. I mean if you ran everything would you let someone else be in charge of your money. In the entire world who owns the most reserve banks, which organization runs the most influential economies? Who really are the richest people in the world?

-------------------------

After Nick and Elisha had celebrated checking into their North Queensland crib, by knocking the head off a bottle of Moet, they dressed themselves in the appropriate poolside attire and ventured out to the gazebo area to rattle the bars and stars of some of the world most decorated retirees.

‘Well, God bless America and all who serve and protect, if it isn’t little Nicky all growed up and wearing his pappies boots.’ Boomed the loudest floral shirt from the biggest cloud of cigar smoke

‘Hell no, that lily livered pansy, wouldn’t dare show his face around here; not after the last fiasco.’ Added the human keg with legs on the next stool

‘Just my luck! Its General Pain In-the-Butt and his Rear Admiral Ima Homophobe holding court with Major Screw Up and Captain Cock Sucker.’ Lashed back Nick well before he had reached their table

‘I hope you’re here to pay up on all those Poker game I.O.U’s you seem to leave a trail of smart ass.’ Said Captain C.S

‘No way tight ass, I’ve come to do some work for my collection agency on all those unpaid bills you have been evading by hiding out here.’

‘Aar, come on Nicky, just joking; don’t make it personal.’

‘Don’t worry; I know it would be harder to get Osama Bin Hiding out of Pakistan than it would be to get money out of you.’

‘Hey! We’re working on that.’

‘Pity bullshit isn’t money, no trouble getting that out of you.’

‘You should have a little more respect, Nick; you’re in our country now.’ Said General P.I.B

Nick let out a loud, large laugh; followed by ‘with all the intelligence you pay us for; I would think you, of all people would know who really owns this place.’

‘You jumped up little upstart, I was running things here while you were still in nappies.’

‘You should show a little more respect, General; you’re in my resort now and if you don’t like it you can piss off.’ Said Nick

‘I don’t have to put up with this crap.’ Yelled the General as he stood up and began striding towards the rooms

‘Hey fatso,’ yelled Nick back towards him ‘you forgot your cheerleaders and their ugly wives.’

After a whole lot more yelling and abusive insults, Nick and Elisha had the whole pergola to themselves as a fleet of Limo’s began draining the resort of its inhabitants.

‘That’s what I like about you Nick,’ stated Eli ‘your motivational skills. I’ve never seen anybody empty a place as quick as that.’

‘So now we’ve got rid of those dead shits who would you like to invite.’

‘They are already on their way.’ She said

‘Then it’s party time!’

Whether you consider the Nazi Party as Socialist or Fascist is irrelevant. Whether you think Hitler had a point or not, when the interests of a group overrides the right for others to exist, or seek happiness in an opposing lifestyle, the judgements and actions of society should be called to account. In pre-war Germany anti-Semitic fervour boiled over because simple people failed to recognise the line between Arian pride and National insanity. In my opinion not enough discussion has been had in our country to educate the population on how to recognise the disease our forefathers fought so valiantly, to keep from our shores.

No matter what axe you choose to grind, if you don’t know when to stop you will defeat any good intentions you may have had by taking to the task. We all should be able to recognise the signs of the unsavoury behaviour, which tore Europe apart last century, before it becomes a nightmare. At street level fascism is not hard to recognise when it’s in your face. When your standing on a corner waiting to cross the road with a family of Asian tourists and a car full of strapping young Aussies drive past and hurl foul insults at the visitors, that’s fascism. When you’re sitting on a bus and a schoolie, heading out for a night on the town with his father and uncle, drops his pants and yells at the top of his voice towards a shocked group of Muslims women to suck on this, that’s fascism. Yet those lads would be first to sign up if called to go and fight a Hitler, a Sadam Hussein or a Kim Jong-il and we would support and honour them.

So, something’s not right in our little piece of paradise and not just towards foreigners or different religions. We can be intolerant towards our own, whether it be single mothers, dole bludgers, bikies or druggies. We did it to Commos in the sixties, Hippies in the seventies and Abos since day one, although it definitely wasn’t you.

On the acceptable face of it all we look great and our Media generally powders that face but scratch the surface and the puss begins to ouse. Now my thrust here isn’t aimed at trying to change anyone’s opinion, or to personally attack individuals, but to look at the interested parties that promote and profit by separatism.

Who profited when the English went up against the French? Who gained when America was spit asunder with civil war? Who were the winners, financially, of the first and second world wars and who were the big winners of the war against Iraq?

The answers to these questions should be obvious but lets state it anyway; the weapons manufacturers and their Bankers, the General and the Admirals, the richest and most powerful people in the world today.

These institutions manipulate the conscience of Australian today, they beetle away at our attitudes, they infest our political system, they shape our children’s future and yet we don’t seem to have any say in the way they go about their business. If they choose to have another big war tomorrow, what chance do we have of saying no? What say would you have in preventing your children suffering the same fate as our parent generation of war affected memories?

Anti-authoritarian behaviour can be counter-productive but it can also be the duty of all conscientious human souls who don’t what to go down an unacceptable path. What a different world it could have been if conscientious objectors had of been successful against Hitler and maybe we could of prevented the insanity of Vietnam. Real heroes aren’t always the ones who pick up guns and defend one group of people over another. Sometimes they are the quiet achievers who rot in a jail while fascist rule, like Nelson Mandela, Tank man or Aung San Suu Kyi.

So in conclusion, go ahead and enjoy yourself when your recounting a story of how an Asian held the bus up because they didn’t know enough English or what a bunch of losers boat people are, but if you really want to make a difference try saying no to the profiteers of war.

PEACE MAN

What never ceases to astound me, is how relatively normal people are kept in a state of Bi-polar disarray by the rhetoric of a system that constantly proclaims the necessity for buying one extreme view, over the opposite extreme view. For example;

If one is so bored, or boring, they find themselves listening to the goings on in the Canberra Headquarters for Bickering Over Fiscal Facts and Indigenous Needs (BOFFIN’s), then what they would be taping into is the torrential flowing river of hot and steamy bovine droppings that forks into two separate and totally incompatible tributaries; the La-boaring and the Lie-beral. The fumes emitted from each of these great national steams are equally toxic, while the air over the middle ground only reeks when the wind is blowing from one direction or the other. Groupings of Gucci clad orators float downstream on rafts of tightly bound policies crying out to potential punters for the support and succour they desperately need to continue on there course. This adds to the acidic nature of the atmosphere and seems to have an intoxicating effect on all, especially when the two parties of rafters are within earshot of one another.

Now this could be viewed as good fun, or a sport, if not for the fact that if one breaths the air for to long they end up mutating into a one eyed monster and because it is a national obsession, the trolls are in plague proportion. If you are relatively unaffected and happen to express an opinion, you will be immediately surrounded by one or another of the optically challenged and beaten with a big stick.

Shocking as this situation is, there could be a way out if those who have managed to keep a clear head could get themselves organised, stem the flow of excrement and divert it into the desert of Who Cares. This would begin a new way of dealing with the Fiscal Fiasco or the War on everything where ordinary citizens could have their views recognised, on any particular issue, without having to go down the old rivers of inane argument and pathetic party policy.

Think for yourself, Kevin is not always right and Malcolm would say anything just to disagree with him. The Tax Payer funds that type of insanity and you should be appalled and insulted when you here the obviously ridiculous bickering’s of the Government and Opposition. Decide how you would deal with it, speak to those you can trust and don’t forget; the One Eyed Monster is out there! .