Welcome to the world!
Thursday, August 31, 2006
Monday, August 28, 2006
some loon predicting the end of the world on september 12th (presumably he felt that the 11th was a little old)......Yisrayl Hawkins.......better cash in my portfolio then.
Heres the Wiki article on Steorns perpetual motion machine.....Steorn - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
Sunday, August 27, 2006
More of Tittwhistles work can be found here...Strange in a stranger land: 02/01/2005 - 02/28/2005...a retrospective will appear some time in the past.
The Mystery of the Sheep Tick
A poem in the modern style by the Right Rev. Guthrie Tittwhistle.
Ah, dread fundament that I gazed into slack jawed in terror,
My Witherington Acme Eye Piece clamped in my eye,
Lord Archer lay before me prostrate on a French couch,
crouched with derriere (like a supplicant), rearing heavenwards.
‘No man save Doctor or Priest shall see my withers’ quoth he,
‘and that Doctor has a hint of the Spaniard around him’
Thus I found myself, feeble old man that I am,
Investigating Lord Archer’s case of chronic piles.
I shouted my findings rearward, so to speak,
And, through the oak panelled door
(such revealed anus, the room had never witnessed before)
mumbled the good, but swarthy, Doctor Stuart instruction.
‘Ye Gods’*, I muttered, as the full furnace of his last meal blasted forth,
Shuddering I pushed aside great divots of wiry ginger hair,
My trembling hand lightly squeezed by his stout, leathery thighs,
To gaze, like a pilgrim at the end of his travels, at his besmirched whole.
And, grotesque, and not of gods world,
I saw the root of the pain Lord Archer had lamented of,
when he rode his horse, servants or the stone wall he was,
on occasion, proud to sit on and survey his great tracts.
A tick, a vile insect of hideous proportions,
Peeped out from the fringe of his manky hair,
Teetering as it did on the edge of a dirty well,
Perhaps, like a crone, supping a little in thought from a cup.
Not piles then but of natures kingdom,
Was the source of Lord Archers great pain,
And with the aid of salt and burning torch – with great screaming,
I destroyed that vile insect in a veritable conflagration of burning.
Months later I heard from the village Major,
(a florid faced man most fond of plums),
That the sheep, on the high moor, were found much distressed,
And I wonder? Happen that tick by chance or by mischief?
*In many of his writing Tittwhistle uses expressions such as ‘Ye Gods’ and ‘ by Shubniggnarath, black goat of the woods with a thousand young’ which has suggested to many latter day scholars that his belief in a single God was perhaps not as strong as his title of reverend would suggest.
A poem in the modern style by the Right Rev. Guthrie Tittwhistle.
Ah, dread fundament that I gazed into slack jawed in terror,
My Witherington Acme Eye Piece clamped in my eye,
Lord Archer lay before me prostrate on a French couch,
crouched with derriere (like a supplicant), rearing heavenwards.
‘No man save Doctor or Priest shall see my withers’ quoth he,
‘and that Doctor has a hint of the Spaniard around him’
Thus I found myself, feeble old man that I am,
Investigating Lord Archer’s case of chronic piles.
I shouted my findings rearward, so to speak,
And, through the oak panelled door
(such revealed anus, the room had never witnessed before)
mumbled the good, but swarthy, Doctor Stuart instruction.
‘Ye Gods’*, I muttered, as the full furnace of his last meal blasted forth,
Shuddering I pushed aside great divots of wiry ginger hair,
My trembling hand lightly squeezed by his stout, leathery thighs,
To gaze, like a pilgrim at the end of his travels, at his besmirched whole.
And, grotesque, and not of gods world,
I saw the root of the pain Lord Archer had lamented of,
when he rode his horse, servants or the stone wall he was,
on occasion, proud to sit on and survey his great tracts.
A tick, a vile insect of hideous proportions,
Peeped out from the fringe of his manky hair,
Teetering as it did on the edge of a dirty well,
Perhaps, like a crone, supping a little in thought from a cup.
Not piles then but of natures kingdom,
Was the source of Lord Archers great pain,
And with the aid of salt and burning torch – with great screaming,
I destroyed that vile insect in a veritable conflagration of burning.
Months later I heard from the village Major,
(a florid faced man most fond of plums),
That the sheep, on the high moor, were found much distressed,
And I wonder? Happen that tick by chance or by mischief?
*In many of his writing Tittwhistle uses expressions such as ‘Ye Gods’ and ‘ by Shubniggnarath, black goat of the woods with a thousand young’ which has suggested to many latter day scholars that his belief in a single God was perhaps not as strong as his title of reverend would suggest.
Last night would have been a good night for the new one to arrive. There was a massive thunderstorm and it rained so much that the streets were flooding - portents indeed. There were not any ravens flying around but it still was suitable norse god weather. However, no baby yet and the weathers grey and overcast, with a bit of drizzle. Obviously going towards the English gods then. And on that subject, they have Odin we have, erm, the Green Man and some morris dancers. Great.
Reading: Spider Man, X-Men, Transmetropolitan (always great), and 'Marvels' - which is a civillian view of superheros, really cool.
Listening: Assuming no baby, the 'Archers' omnibus.
Reading: Spider Man, X-Men, Transmetropolitan (always great), and 'Marvels' - which is a civillian view of superheros, really cool.
Listening: Assuming no baby, the 'Archers' omnibus.
Saturday, August 26, 2006
Thursday, August 24, 2006
bloody marvellous...lifelong disappointment : there's no i hate you in team and speaking of blood it was second, and third blood to the bicycle last night, though I got some revenge by bending the back break lever back in one of the more acrobatic spills. Yes, a combination of rain, dark and dirty contact lenses caused several accidents and at least one 'active dismount' in the space of an hour. The last, and the most impressive, was notable in that it took me at least 10 metres to fall off, trying to wrest control of the bike as it slithered across a massive, wet, metal grating which I had totally failed to notice. I also failed to notice the wall I charged head first into, a split second after I got control back. Fortunately, my fall was broken by the border of sea polished cobble stones artfully placed around its base. Result: cut knee, bruised elbow and bent brake lever. I celebrated my fortunate escape by jumping off things (on the bike). And I wonder why people point and laugh.
Waiting: For the baby.
Reading: The Atrocity Archives by Charles Stross. This is excellent Chuthlu mythos mixed with the British Civil Service. Tentacles on the chin, anyone?
Listening: Veruca Salt
Waiting: For the baby.
Reading: The Atrocity Archives by Charles Stross. This is excellent Chuthlu mythos mixed with the British Civil Service. Tentacles on the chin, anyone?
Listening: Veruca Salt
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
Strangeways, not Eton .........nothing new here, but just as a taster of bad smells to come....
The Eugent ships boiled out of dark space and deposited themselves, like turds on a sheet of glass, in orbit around the planet. They coasted for a while from the momentum of their remergence back into reality before their plague engines flared back to unlife with sickly incandescence. Within the bowels of their monstrously bloated forms the galley slaves who had survived the transit across the howlingly insane depths of space began to tread on the vast fly wheels. There was no purpose in their mindless stepping. It simply made the Eugent laugh.
The ships soiled their way down to the planets upper atmosphere. Dark pieces of hull cladding glowed suddenly red as thin gases grazed the ship's underbellies. They shook like nervous beasts. They creaked. They groaned. And sometimes they giggled. Nervously.
Dreadshaft (Caster of the of the Imperial Load, Catcher of the Holy Sow's Milk, Last Holder of the Lost Chance) stared out across the enormity of the battle bridge, across the shaven host and the calculating spider collective, and through the darkened windows. His gaze was on the crescent edge of the planet, and the dark spots which were the other Eugent ships, busily disgorging the Bone Storm soldiers into the upper atmosphere.His great armoured bulk creaked ponderously and the space between his eyes and their protective shield filled suddenly with a dark brown liquid. There was a low percussive boom from within the stygian depths of his body, a flat squeak, and then a metal vent at the side of his armoured, barrel like torso fluttered open and closed. The shaven host and the calculating spider collective swung, as one, on their fracture inducing chairs, away from the seizure control pods, and gazed, slackly, at their commander. Their mouths hung open, released from the mandible control arrays where they had been clamped, tormenting the ship across space. Cloudy, infected drool gathered briefly on the floor before being swept away by midget zombie chimps.
"Gross crew, my chosen emissions selected - despite erectile dysfunction - to join us on this great quest. This...glorious celebration of ultra violence. This communication of pain." Dreadshaft paused, as a particularly thick globbet of liquid squirmed through his helm."We attack now" He squeaked. The vent clanked shut, followed by a series of clicking noises as internal pipework opened and closed. His battle chair began to slowly move downwards, like a sinking ship, down into the depths of the battle cruiser. The shaven host swung back to their workstations, gripping the mandible arrays in their muscular jaws. The calculating spider collection stood and quickly skipped out of the room.
In the upper atomosphere of the planet the Bone Storm Elite streaked downwards on their ItchyCrotch 500 attack bikes. The bikes enabled one rider, and a rear gunner, to sit astride their half living, sausage like bulk. The bikes were like a lump of twisted muscle, pierced with weopons and equipment, a single great ominous eye looking forward. An eye which was currently shut tight, as the pilot cajoled the bike down to the planet at supersonic speeds. Above the contstant percussion of sonic booms could be heard the scream of the bikes war cry.
"oh shit, oh shit, oh shit......mother, fucking hell... I hate this....aaarrrrrgggggghhhhhhhh"The bikes, the sky peppered with them like gravel in slushy snow, tore down through the sky. They left vivid brown organic streaks in their wake.
****
Down on the planets unsuspecting and rather dull surface, Julian Fishguard (Cretin Class Accountant Grade 2) bimbled his way through the concourses and plazas of Capital City. It was a warm fine day with a fresh wind blowing from the deep blue sky (which, had he been paying more attention, he would have seen was criss crossed with vivid brown streaks which carved their way across from the horizon). Julian was vaguely humanoid, an vat bred offshoot from original Terran Stock Version 3.5, inhabiting a world which had long since been forgotten by the Greater Galactic Continuum. There possibly had once been a purpose in populating a plant completely with genetically engineered humans whose only aim was to be lawyers or accountants but the reason had been lost in the mists of time (or in a filing cabinet somewhere). He entered the portico of his office block, shrugging off a slight splash of rain, nodding his head at the security guard (Insipid Class Lawyer, ungraded) who, has ever, barely registered his arrival. The guard sat, behind his mirror polished desk, in a large bulky wheelchair as he had lost his legs in the great Factoring and Tax conflict of '35. Rumour had it, in the canteen, that he had singly handly deducted a nest of pen wielding export specialists.
High above Julian, and his sweaty musings of shared flat tax and leverage with the busty consultant he shared his office with, a ancient metrological airship drifted through the azure sky. It had long since ceased its use as a scientific platform and now served as a high end restaurant for the wealthier populous of the planet. Its massive yellowed bulk dwarfed the gondola which hung beneath it, but even that was capable of housing some 500 people, their servants and assorted hangers-on, lackeys and boot lickers. For its long since disappeared scientific staff the attraction of the gondola had been the open-air balcony which circled its girth, enabling them to operate their sensitive sniffing experiments and complex rain dances. The wealthy mainly used it for drinks partys, and spitting on Capital City.
Blim Fladderstock (Senior Partner, insurgency class, retired) lounged drunkenly in the bridge of the gondola and cast a lazy drink fogged eye over the bank of controls which, in their indolent ignorance, most of the crew (and particularly the captain) had little clue as to their purpose."I say Captain" Said Blim, waving a ring encrusted hand vaguely in the direction of the half asleep bulk slouched in the chair opposite him."what does the flashing red light, with the words 'Collision Imminent' mean, just beside the screen with the words 'impending doom likely' and just down from the console which is trying to climb out of the window with a parachute strapped to its back?""Well, its probably not good" said the Captain blearily, the gust of air from the now open window blowing his party hat off and sending swirls of coloured tape around him."I think..." begain Blim, which as his last words were unfortunate, as they were certainly not true. The Sausage Bike, its bone storm rider barely holding on (they were called shock troops simply because that was the state they were predominantly in) burst through Blims chest, after punching through the gondola wall, screeching to a halt which threw its madly chattering rider into the lap of the Captain.He looked down at the 1 metre long skeletal creature grinning up at him, its flash flensed skull adorned with largely uneccsesary flashing bionic implants."Definitely not good" he said, as it began to gnaw enthusiastically at his groin.
The Eugent ships boiled out of dark space and deposited themselves, like turds on a sheet of glass, in orbit around the planet. They coasted for a while from the momentum of their remergence back into reality before their plague engines flared back to unlife with sickly incandescence. Within the bowels of their monstrously bloated forms the galley slaves who had survived the transit across the howlingly insane depths of space began to tread on the vast fly wheels. There was no purpose in their mindless stepping. It simply made the Eugent laugh.
The ships soiled their way down to the planets upper atmosphere. Dark pieces of hull cladding glowed suddenly red as thin gases grazed the ship's underbellies. They shook like nervous beasts. They creaked. They groaned. And sometimes they giggled. Nervously.
Dreadshaft (Caster of the of the Imperial Load, Catcher of the Holy Sow's Milk, Last Holder of the Lost Chance) stared out across the enormity of the battle bridge, across the shaven host and the calculating spider collective, and through the darkened windows. His gaze was on the crescent edge of the planet, and the dark spots which were the other Eugent ships, busily disgorging the Bone Storm soldiers into the upper atmosphere.His great armoured bulk creaked ponderously and the space between his eyes and their protective shield filled suddenly with a dark brown liquid. There was a low percussive boom from within the stygian depths of his body, a flat squeak, and then a metal vent at the side of his armoured, barrel like torso fluttered open and closed. The shaven host and the calculating spider collective swung, as one, on their fracture inducing chairs, away from the seizure control pods, and gazed, slackly, at their commander. Their mouths hung open, released from the mandible control arrays where they had been clamped, tormenting the ship across space. Cloudy, infected drool gathered briefly on the floor before being swept away by midget zombie chimps.
"Gross crew, my chosen emissions selected - despite erectile dysfunction - to join us on this great quest. This...glorious celebration of ultra violence. This communication of pain." Dreadshaft paused, as a particularly thick globbet of liquid squirmed through his helm."We attack now" He squeaked. The vent clanked shut, followed by a series of clicking noises as internal pipework opened and closed. His battle chair began to slowly move downwards, like a sinking ship, down into the depths of the battle cruiser. The shaven host swung back to their workstations, gripping the mandible arrays in their muscular jaws. The calculating spider collection stood and quickly skipped out of the room.
In the upper atomosphere of the planet the Bone Storm Elite streaked downwards on their ItchyCrotch 500 attack bikes. The bikes enabled one rider, and a rear gunner, to sit astride their half living, sausage like bulk. The bikes were like a lump of twisted muscle, pierced with weopons and equipment, a single great ominous eye looking forward. An eye which was currently shut tight, as the pilot cajoled the bike down to the planet at supersonic speeds. Above the contstant percussion of sonic booms could be heard the scream of the bikes war cry.
"oh shit, oh shit, oh shit......mother, fucking hell... I hate this....aaarrrrrgggggghhhhhhhh"The bikes, the sky peppered with them like gravel in slushy snow, tore down through the sky. They left vivid brown organic streaks in their wake.
****
Down on the planets unsuspecting and rather dull surface, Julian Fishguard (Cretin Class Accountant Grade 2) bimbled his way through the concourses and plazas of Capital City. It was a warm fine day with a fresh wind blowing from the deep blue sky (which, had he been paying more attention, he would have seen was criss crossed with vivid brown streaks which carved their way across from the horizon). Julian was vaguely humanoid, an vat bred offshoot from original Terran Stock Version 3.5, inhabiting a world which had long since been forgotten by the Greater Galactic Continuum. There possibly had once been a purpose in populating a plant completely with genetically engineered humans whose only aim was to be lawyers or accountants but the reason had been lost in the mists of time (or in a filing cabinet somewhere). He entered the portico of his office block, shrugging off a slight splash of rain, nodding his head at the security guard (Insipid Class Lawyer, ungraded) who, has ever, barely registered his arrival. The guard sat, behind his mirror polished desk, in a large bulky wheelchair as he had lost his legs in the great Factoring and Tax conflict of '35. Rumour had it, in the canteen, that he had singly handly deducted a nest of pen wielding export specialists.
High above Julian, and his sweaty musings of shared flat tax and leverage with the busty consultant he shared his office with, a ancient metrological airship drifted through the azure sky. It had long since ceased its use as a scientific platform and now served as a high end restaurant for the wealthier populous of the planet. Its massive yellowed bulk dwarfed the gondola which hung beneath it, but even that was capable of housing some 500 people, their servants and assorted hangers-on, lackeys and boot lickers. For its long since disappeared scientific staff the attraction of the gondola had been the open-air balcony which circled its girth, enabling them to operate their sensitive sniffing experiments and complex rain dances. The wealthy mainly used it for drinks partys, and spitting on Capital City.
Blim Fladderstock (Senior Partner, insurgency class, retired) lounged drunkenly in the bridge of the gondola and cast a lazy drink fogged eye over the bank of controls which, in their indolent ignorance, most of the crew (and particularly the captain) had little clue as to their purpose."I say Captain" Said Blim, waving a ring encrusted hand vaguely in the direction of the half asleep bulk slouched in the chair opposite him."what does the flashing red light, with the words 'Collision Imminent' mean, just beside the screen with the words 'impending doom likely' and just down from the console which is trying to climb out of the window with a parachute strapped to its back?""Well, its probably not good" said the Captain blearily, the gust of air from the now open window blowing his party hat off and sending swirls of coloured tape around him."I think..." begain Blim, which as his last words were unfortunate, as they were certainly not true. The Sausage Bike, its bone storm rider barely holding on (they were called shock troops simply because that was the state they were predominantly in) burst through Blims chest, after punching through the gondola wall, screeching to a halt which threw its madly chattering rider into the lap of the Captain.He looked down at the 1 metre long skeletal creature grinning up at him, its flash flensed skull adorned with largely uneccsesary flashing bionic implants."Definitely not good" he said, as it began to gnaw enthusiastically at his groin.
The debate continues to rage at :Steorn forum - All Discussions Viral advertising, hoax, truth? Heres a good article discussing steorn and their scientific approach. Remember, what the're effectively selling us is the idea of perpetual motion - almost certainly the greatest discovery of all time.
Sunday, August 20, 2006
Hoax? To good to be true? Steorn: "We have developed a technology that produces free, clean and constant energy."
sorry, still frothing at the mouth (see ranting below). According to wiki the practice was invented by some Californian lady who became interested in the practice after learning that chimpanzees left the placenta attached until it simply dropped off. Presumably a good thing she didn't watch any other documentaries about bonobo's eh? Once again, hello, monkey/man difference here......we have evolved somehwat not to have the pleasure of draging rotting bags of clotted blood around with us......oh I give up. Instead, heres a nice picture of some bonobos playing 'horse and jockey': 
Sorry just a quick rant, as I can't be bother to enter the debate on this at Wikipedia.....I came acrosss this:Lotus Birth - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia, which is the practice of leaving the placenta attached to the baby, after the birth, and allowing it to naturally drop off. One of the benefits is, apparently, that the baby receives more blood cells, inc. stem cells. Bollocks! These cells have a life span, just because you get more (and I doubt theres any significant amount entering the baby as, hello, no mothers heart attached to the placenta) does not mean they are going to be around for the rest of your life. Can you imagine the scene? "Heres my new baby, would you like to hold her" (gagging noises) "Good god, whats that foul smell, and whats in the bag......" (fighting off flies) "ohh, thats her placenta, we're leaving it attached, hopefully until she starts first school". The humanity.
Reading empire magazine always makes me feel that I must watch more movies, I only get to the cinema a few times a month and recently, have barely visited the video store (given that the last time I went I got out 7 movies and returned them the next day its probably a good idea to keep a low profile - me, ripping them, no. Mind you, they probably don't care.). Anyway, the thing which occured to me - when I read an article on 'Snakes On A Plane' and the internet phenomena it created (and was partly created by) is that my experience of the internet is extremely limited (or perhaps conservative is a better word). I don't visit many forums (other than the English expat one, which is better these days but still full of comments which makes me want to scream 'if you don't like it, fuck off back home' as it tends to be full of whining 20 somethings complaining about Swedish people not buying rounds and the lack of off licences, oohh, don't get me started), particularly those like youtube and myspace which tend to be full of such internet related bollocks. I have a very middle class experience of the internet, reading the BBC and guardian sites, before downloading progressive metal tracks from iTunes.
But anyway, heres something from SOAP which made me chuckle.
Friday, August 18, 2006
hey hey, me old mate Ramtha's back on line....Ramtha's School of Enlightenment, the School of Ancient Wisdom...check out the Seattle Address, I found my eyes glazing over within seconds - surely not the reaction when you are listening, really listening, to a 35 000 year old Atlantean being channelled through a nice, honest, very rich, lady. You could pose lots of clever scientific questions to Ramtha (like, where the fuck is Atlantis) but theres probably little point, much better to bundle JZ Knight (the conduit for Ramtha) into the boot of a car and drive her into the desert. Wheres your Ramtha now, Knight?
BBC NEWS Asia-Pacific Filipino 'dwarf' judge loses case: "He told investigators three mystic dwarves - Armand, Luis and Angel - had helped him to carry out healing sessions during breaks in his chambers. "
I'm insulated from the news in a number of ways, firstly language - the TV announcers simply speak to fast (and as E has destroyed the TV control I cannot have subtitles), English newspapers are expensive and usually a day out of date and the Swedish ones worth reading take, still, a bit too much time to properly decipher. Its hard to remain enthralled of an article when you have to keep reaching for a dictionary. So articles like this I have to be a little careful of, as I've not seen enough in the news to form any kind of opinion (which is a bit naive anyway). Guardian Unlimited Comment is free The timing is political
Reading: Genesis: story of Apollo 8; The Demon Haunted World by Carl Sagan; The Dark Knight Returns by Frank Miller; Bad Astronomy (which has taught me that water does not go the opposite way down sinks in the southern hemishere, why the sky is blue, and how the seasons work. Its also full of some good facts for arguing against people who think the moon landings were faked).
Listening: Malmö Festival starts today, so live music for the first time in ages.
Reading: Genesis: story of Apollo 8; The Demon Haunted World by Carl Sagan; The Dark Knight Returns by Frank Miller; Bad Astronomy (which has taught me that water does not go the opposite way down sinks in the southern hemishere, why the sky is blue, and how the seasons work. Its also full of some good facts for arguing against people who think the moon landings were faked).
Listening: Malmö Festival starts today, so live music for the first time in ages.
Thursday, August 17, 2006
Another perfect way of wasting your life can be found at Google Trends, where you can search for what people are searching for.
Thus, I found out, more people in the UK, than anywhere else, and in particular Milton Keynes, have used the search term 'trousers'. The people who looked for 'wanking' the most were the British, and once again were concentrated in Milton Keynes. 'poo' drops MK down to third place, with Portsmouth taking the number one slot as the potty mouth of Britain.
I found this at Google Labs, the Mars phots are worth checking out.
Thus, I found out, more people in the UK, than anywhere else, and in particular Milton Keynes, have used the search term 'trousers'. The people who looked for 'wanking' the most were the British, and once again were concentrated in Milton Keynes. 'poo' drops MK down to third place, with Portsmouth taking the number one slot as the potty mouth of Britain.
I found this at Google Labs, the Mars phots are worth checking out.
I've had some interest in the whole free running deal since I saw the absolutley wild movie 'jump london' but this is fucking awesome....russian climbing - Google Video its actually latvian, but never mind.....heres some more latvian free running - Dvinsk Clan Awesome awesome!
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
First blood to the mountain bike then. A few seconds after the front wheel slipped away from me, after bouncing down onto a very wet and slimey piece of duck boarding, I lay on my back and studied first the sky and then, after the pain signals reached my brain, my elbow; where blood oozed through the layer of mud liberally caked on it. Fortunately all the important stuff seemed to be working so I was able to cycle away under the gloomy trees while the rain continued to do its best to undermine by bike and lightening marched across the sky. Bloody excellent, I love it.
Still no insightful oberservations about life in Sweden other than, erm, its crayfish party time soon which means lots of crayfish and silly hats in the stores. Not so good for pregnant people though (bottom feeders and all that (not pregnant people, the crayfish...that would be one wierd craving, wait a minute, a crayfish craving bottom feeder, stop stop, bed time I think)) so will be missing out this year (its not much fun eating an entire mountain of the red critters by yourself. And on the pregnancy point, the little one has being making concerted efforts to freak me out 'alien' style. Remember the dream sequence in Aliens, where Ripley is the Gateway Station Hospital, and you get the idea.
and with the world still going to hell in a hand basket its good to see that JC decides to manifest himself to man 'going through a nasty divorce WDSU.com - News - Holy Shrimp: Man Sees Jesus In Dinner....so thats all right then. On the subject of 35 000 year old Atlantean warriors channeling themselves through a grunting multimillionaire I was hoping to take a look at ramtha.com to see whats going on and what self help courses I could enlist for but sadly its down.
Still no insightful oberservations about life in Sweden other than, erm, its crayfish party time soon which means lots of crayfish and silly hats in the stores. Not so good for pregnant people though (bottom feeders and all that (not pregnant people, the crayfish...that would be one wierd craving, wait a minute, a crayfish craving bottom feeder, stop stop, bed time I think)) so will be missing out this year (its not much fun eating an entire mountain of the red critters by yourself. And on the pregnancy point, the little one has being making concerted efforts to freak me out 'alien' style. Remember the dream sequence in Aliens, where Ripley is the Gateway Station Hospital, and you get the idea.
and with the world still going to hell in a hand basket its good to see that JC decides to manifest himself to man 'going through a nasty divorce WDSU.com - News - Holy Shrimp: Man Sees Jesus In Dinner....so thats all right then. On the subject of 35 000 year old Atlantean warriors channeling themselves through a grunting multimillionaire I was hoping to take a look at ramtha.com to see whats going on and what self help courses I could enlist for but sadly its down.
Friday, August 11, 2006
Guardian Unlimited Arts In Glasgow, beware of flying axes: "Don't take crap from your own audience
Jean Jacques-Burnel, the Stranglers
'Very early on we decided that audience interaction made things an event. We developed a philosophy called Truth Through Provocation. For the encores, we'd be in Edinburgh and say, 'At least people in Glasgow know they're Scottish whereas in Edinburgh they think they're English,' and all hell would erupt. We had a similar approach with hecklers. If people spat at us, we'd wade into the audience, until one day we decided it would be more fun and more effective to drag them on stage and stick a banana up their arse. In New York we couldn't get bananas so we used celery. Some people were amused - when Terry Wogan mentioned it on the radio people started queuing up to get it done. But when we tried it in France, it ended our career there for years.'"
Which, despite all hell breaking loose around the world, gives me hope for humanity.
Jean Jacques-Burnel, the Stranglers
'Very early on we decided that audience interaction made things an event. We developed a philosophy called Truth Through Provocation. For the encores, we'd be in Edinburgh and say, 'At least people in Glasgow know they're Scottish whereas in Edinburgh they think they're English,' and all hell would erupt. We had a similar approach with hecklers. If people spat at us, we'd wade into the audience, until one day we decided it would be more fun and more effective to drag them on stage and stick a banana up their arse. In New York we couldn't get bananas so we used celery. Some people were amused - when Terry Wogan mentioned it on the radio people started queuing up to get it done. But when we tried it in France, it ended our career there for years.'"
Which, despite all hell breaking loose around the world, gives me hope for humanity.
Thursday, August 10, 2006
Guardian Unlimited The Guardian After 40 years' burrowing, Mole Man of Hackney is ordered to stop: "Until six weeks ago they had the audacity to tell us the house was structurally sound. The whole of the opposite street lost power one day after he tapped into a 450-volt cable.'" I admire this, in my first student house I fantasised about doing the same. I think I got as far as, when drunk, digging in the loose soil of the understairs cupboard. I managed a few centimetres.
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
aacch, just spent the last five minutes listlessly surfing the net looking for new age wankers to point fun but, you know, it really just made me sad after I'd read the 10th testimonial from, I dunno, Cynthia from Greenwich, who said 'after five days of the program I felt the toxins leaving my body'. Bollocks you did. You just felt l0ts of cash leaving your body. Anyway, I just couldn't be arsed to continue. Continuing with the science theme I was reading Ben Goldacres Bad Science website and learnt the disturbing news that Brainiac have been falsifying 'experiments' to make bigger bangs for TV..disturbing indeed, and no real surprise. Instead here's some blokes doing the real thing, and just for the hell of it, chucking kilos of sodium metal into a lake.
Swedish life is getting back to normal, E is going back to day care and the days are steadily counting down to the spawning of the next one. Gosh. Had a few beers with a Swedish chum last night which was most excellent. We went to the Pickwick pub, the local British bar and I noted that it comes complete with Adamant urinals. Aaaah, the taste of home....or something.
Reading: Snapped up complete collection of 'Moonshadow' so currently rereading that.
Potty Training: Not going well, the boy just needs to wee on a few more bits of the wooden floor and it will all be a uniformly off-yellow colour.
Swedish life is getting back to normal, E is going back to day care and the days are steadily counting down to the spawning of the next one. Gosh. Had a few beers with a Swedish chum last night which was most excellent. We went to the Pickwick pub, the local British bar and I noted that it comes complete with Adamant urinals. Aaaah, the taste of home....or something.
Reading: Snapped up complete collection of 'Moonshadow' so currently rereading that.
Potty Training: Not going well, the boy just needs to wee on a few more bits of the wooden floor and it will all be a uniformly off-yellow colour.
Monday, August 07, 2006
Something which has bothered me for the two years or so that I have lived in Sweden is the weather forecast. Not just for the grimness of the winter reports (i.e. grey, cold and miserable, stay indoors, try to think happy thoughts and stay away from sharp objects) but for the wierd fact that weather, in sweden, does not seem to happen in the morning. By which I mean that the prediction for, tommorow, will only be from 1400 hours onwards. This has led be to believe that the weather in the morning does not actually exist and is, in all probability, a special effect. Or perhaps its that the weatherman can only be bothered to get up and wave seaweed around, rattle pinecones and squeeze his spots after lunch.
Listening to: Managed to have a quick listen to the archers, after missing about 5 weeks of it. Ed's come back and Mikes getting frisky with Clary. Oh, the humanity.
Reading: X-Men, in Swedish.
And in the news today:......New Scientist SPACE - News - Alien 'art' soon to be revealed
Listening to: Managed to have a quick listen to the archers, after missing about 5 weeks of it. Ed's come back and Mikes getting frisky with Clary. Oh, the humanity.
Reading: X-Men, in Swedish.
And in the news today:......New Scientist SPACE - News - Alien 'art' soon to be revealed
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
Welcome :: Hoffworld :: David Hasselhoff King of the Internet - Powered by Pipex!.........a brief burst of chest hair madness to start the day off.
The wedding was bloody excellent, the evidence being that I still feel knackered. I wish I had the energy to write more, but it would probably come out as the crazed meandering of a diseased mind. Very tired, like I said.
Book: Marrow, by Robert Reed, most excellent and with a very, very large spaceship, how could it be anything else?
Music: Soundgarden (A sides) and Mr Cash.
Footnotes from History #34: The Endorian Holocaust. Read more. oh, and heres the link to the Star Wars Holiday Special, if you can be arsed.
The wedding was bloody excellent, the evidence being that I still feel knackered. I wish I had the energy to write more, but it would probably come out as the crazed meandering of a diseased mind. Very tired, like I said.
Book: Marrow, by Robert Reed, most excellent and with a very, very large spaceship, how could it be anything else?
Music: Soundgarden (A sides) and Mr Cash.
Footnotes from History #34: The Endorian Holocaust. Read more. oh, and heres the link to the Star Wars Holiday Special, if you can be arsed.
