tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38733091567050014372024-03-13T23:33:30.447-07:00 Ω EMPTY PLANETA Ω Welcome to EmptyPlaneta, blog in support of the defeat of capitalism worldwide. We have certainly entered an interesting phase in our collective existence. Enough for me to want to be your spot for honest reporting. And excuse me for having two jobs on the side. Patience is everything… For comments and questions please write to: jpjhamminga@gmail.com.
Jan Hammingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03734608414859037727noreply@blogger.comBlogger98125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3873309156705001437.post-43665523795609262002023-02-04T15:27:00.002-08:002023-02-04T15:27:22.393-08:00Erroneous Anonymous<p><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">A home play
script for up to six actors</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">You: Hello
everybody, welcome to our first meeting of Erroneous Anonymous, the
conversation group which aims to make you admit to mistakes. We all know how
difficult this is, the anxiety and pain you can go through when you feel
pressed to acknowledge you may have been wrong. I believe I am correct when I
say that most of you here have found it particularly hard to go this path,
hence your presence in this room today. Perhaps you are aware this resistance
to admitting can sprout from a variety of reasons. There is guilt, shame, loss
of face, or simply fear of the consequences when what one has been trying to
supress turns out to be true after all. These are common reactions and nothing
to be afraid of. We are here to openly talk about our feelings and learn to
manage them and hopefully one day we will all be able to stand up for what we
have done wrong in the past. But let’s start in a simple manner, is anybody
willing to tell us an innocent anecdote where they had difficulty conceding
their mistake? Yes, Mr A?</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">Mr A: The
other day I was at a petrol station where you have to pay before you fill up.
So, I gave the number of the dispenser and paid and when I went to my car, the
pump didn’t work. I checked my slip, it was the wrong pump number. I went back
inside and got angry with the girl at the counter. Why did you type in the
wrong number, I asked her, I happen to be in a hurry. She stayed calm and said
it was my mistake, I had given her this number. Now I almost exploded, but she
remained as cool as ice and told me she did this hundreds of times during a
shift and she never made a mistake. I was about to hit at her for her arrogance,
but then this voice inside me asked, what is the fuss all about? Isn’t solving
the problem more important? So, I gave in and she changed the number and I
filled up and was on my way.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">You: Now
isn’t that amazing, people? A voice told Mr A to calm down. That is the voice
we are all looking for. Glad to hear it didn’t get so far as to have you do
anything criminal, because it might have landed you in all sorts of trouble. Ms
B?</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">Ms B: There
was this insurance salesman at the door and I told him I wasn’t interested,
which is something of an automatic response I have. He told me we’d been in
contact over the phone and it had something to do with damage I had reported
and he was here to see whether the insurance would cover or not. I knew at that
instance he was right, that I had forgotten he was coming that day, but I just
couldn’t admit it. I played all surprised and said I didn’t know him and in the
end he went away, leaving me to pay up for repairs. It was so stupid of me, but
I just couldn’t bring myself to admitting my bad.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">You: Such a
minor incident, but with major financial consequences perhaps. That’s why you
are here with us at Erroneous Anonymous, B, to help you avoid such reactions in
future. Ms C?</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">Ms C: This
is a biggie, I’m afraid. It’s about those injections against Covid. You see, I
was afraid, I’d heard so many stories, and when it was my time to come and get
the shot I just didn’t go. I was alone at work for a few days, all my
colleagues were sick at home with a bad reaction, and when they came back they
wondered why I hadn’t had any problems and I told them I hadn’t had mine. They
all freaked out and now they don’t want to talk to me anymore. They avoid me,
even at the coffee machine, as if I were some kind of a leper. I could have
come up for the second round and tell them, look, I’m one of you again, but
somehow I couldn’t. I was afraid they might make fun of me and that seemed
worse than them being angry. This is quite a big deal for me, as I have no
relatives in this town and my co-workers are basically my family. Were, I
should say.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">You: Gosh,
that is a big one indeed. Luckily, you are never alone at Erroneous Anonymous.
Mr D?</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">Mr D: My
situation is similar to C’s, though it’s just the other way around. I have had
my shots, two boosters included, but my wife hasn’t. She’s got this girlfriend
who’s been telling her stories, and she got all scared and then she backed out.
I couldn’t, as my workplace left me no choice, and wouldn’t have anyway. I
believed in collective guilt as a positive force, so I joined up with the
programme. Then my wife didn’t want to have sex with me any longer. Soon we
stopped being romantic. We are ready for divorce, but housing is expensive and
our budgets are tight. I spend most of my time in the spare bedroom. We’d been
consciously waiting to have children and I guess they’re out of the question
now.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">You: That’s
a sad but well-told story, D. I think some people here will relate to that.
What was it in the end you couldn’t admit you were wrong about?</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">Mr D: I
still can’t. That’s why I’m here. You see, I have begun wondering myself,
lately, that perhaps it wasn’t such a good idea to have all these shots of a
new approach to immunisation, untested on humans and with poor results in mice.
I wonder, will I be fine? I know some people who have fallen ill at the wrong
stage of life, and it’s not a pretty thing. I am sorry, I don’t want to scare
you all with my stories. But you see, I will have to tell my wife that she was
right and I don’t know how to. I don’t want it to be true, I guess. I’m afraid
to admit to this particular mistake.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">You: That
is an interesting take you present here, D, but I don’t think politics should
be a topic to work with for all of us.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">Ms C: I
wouldn’t mind talking about it.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">You: Yes,
but there are more of us.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">Mr D: It’s
okay, I’ll keep quiet. But I want to learn, see if I can come up with an idea.
I’ll leave when I’ve seen enough.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">You: That’ll
be fine, thank you. Your entrance fee allows you four sessions. But we really
mustn’t speak about such things. That would be erroneous. Let us continue,
then. Ms E? What has brought you to Erroneous Anonymous? I hope it’s an honest
character weakness this time.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">Ms E: I
fear I can’t help you either, ER. I have been campaigning for Ukraine, you
know, bring refugees here and send weapons over there to resist the ghastly
Russians. I felt good about myself and was cheered on by many. I was the
it-girl of my town at forty. Forgive me for enjoying that.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">You: Enjoyment
is always encouraged here, my dear.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">Ms E: But
now I see the war dragging on, with those new weapons only prolonging the
suffering of the Ukrainian people. The only way to fight this war is directly
confronting Russia, but that is madness. There is no point to this war, apart
from emptying up a nice piece of fertile land in the heart of the European
peninsula. We need peace, but I’m afraid to say so. It’s not who my friends
think I am, and I’m not known for changing my mind a lot, if ever.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">You: Well,
a strange first meeting it is. We are used to having stressed and anxious
people, arrogant, stubborn and damaged people, a whole lot of those, as you all
as well may be, but for the moment I sense a defiant anger here with little
room for negotiating. It makes me wonder whether all of you have understood our
lemma Erroneous Anonymous correctly. Perhaps I should change the name to
Dickheads, as was suggested to me by a friend who is well-known for his ironic
wisdom. Yet, let’s not talk about me. Back to our session. If you could all get
one of those hand mirrors from the table and then look at yourself and say: I
am wrong. Have a good look first and then say those painful words. Take your
time. I will be passing round to assist you.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p>
<p></p>Jan Hammingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03734608414859037727noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3873309156705001437.post-29653707850793599262023-02-04T15:19:00.008-08:002023-02-04T15:19:59.982-08:00The iconification of Lionel Messi<p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">He’s done
it. Lionel Messi has won the world cup with Argentina. He can sit on his
laurels next to Diego Maradona. Argentina’s first world cup, in 1978, was
stolen on behest of the country’s military junta, the latter two, with all the
dirty tricks Argentina needed to keep up with stronger teams, waiting for their
stars to make the difference, were won on desire and belief. More than talent,
it was faith in the opportunity they felt they had that saw Argentina through. </span>
</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">If Diego
Maradona is God, and he is according to most Argentinian football fans, then
Lionel Messi is his son, Jesus Christ. When God died, two years ago, Jesus was
33 years old. High time to make his star shine brightest for all to see. Their
first chance, Messi and Argentina got at the Copa América, which they won last
year, beating Brazil in the final. Now, in December 2022, he was going to put
the crown on his career. </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">I felt so
sure, thanks to Messi’s new role in the Argentinian team. Ever since he debuted
as an international, Messi had to do everything alone, or at least he thought he
had, obstructed as he felt by teammates, coaches and press. Young Jesus was on
his own with his God given talent. He was so much better than anybody else in
every aspect of the game, whether dribbling, passing, scoring, even defending,
his bulging talent could at times seem like a form of doping that made fair
competition impossible. Argentinian society didn’t know what to think of the
Flea. Good, yes, very good, ridiculously good, but not magical, not as Diego,
who was God because he had come first and showed elegance in everything he did.
Barrilete cósmico, he was called during his famous rush over half the pitch
during Mexico ’86, shortly after his equally famous hand goal: tiny cosmic
barrel kite, what planet are you from?</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">Argentina
has always been in love with God’s seducing style of play, how he caressed the
leather, his dancing rhythm, the dramatic beauty of his goals, and on top of
that his inability to stamp his authority on a top club. Diego’s football was
too pure, his mind too depraved, to reign. His success was short-lived,
explosive and sublime, as befits a god. Contrast Messi, who left his motherland
as a child to win a never-ending string of titles with FC Barcelona. Above all,
Leo Messi possesses otherworldly reactive powers. He seems to exist in another
time reality which allows him to do everything he does at exactly the right
moment. Jesus’ first touch is of almost digital precision, wrapped in seemingly
chaotic movements to wrongfoot his opponents. He truly was exceptional, this
son of God, but he couldn’t be cheered on too loudly, out of piety with Diego.
And so, captained by Messi, Argentina lost four major finals. Until he found
the solution.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">In his
years at FC Barcelona, his teammates became to rely so much on Leo Messi’s
ability to break open a game with a quickfire run and a devasting shot, that
they started suffering from what the local press coined Messi dependència. He
had to literally solve every match they played, the rest reducing themselves to
the dreaded tiki taka. When Neymar left for PSG, Messi could no longer drag all
those pampered and overpaid losers around. He could be completely exhausted
after only half an hour, and he started losing his shape somewhat. Lionel Messi
was in danger of falling off the throne he had occupied for a good decade. And
Cristiano, though two years his elder, was still around and scoring goals.
Something had to be done.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">Messi
understood he could only continue being Messi as long as the team he was in
were playing well enough, and to have so, he had better let them to it and
analyse the opponent’s weaknesses a bit. When they got their nerves together and
began passing the ball around somewhat confidently, he would make his first
move. This could take up to half an hour, depending on his teammates
willingness to work for their money. Messi entra en el partido, the
commentators would remark incredulously. It might be some easy doubles with his
closest associates, or if luck had it an immediate rush. No longer used to
scoring at the first opportunity, the aim was to be close enough to get the
crowd going; the Messi, Messi coral working as speed on his aging legs and calculating
brain.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">That was
Barcelona. To get his compatriots accept his new role, something extra was
needed. For Argentinians to understand that Messi was no longer young Jesus
whose talent reaped him scorn, he needed to move on to the saviour’s next
phase, that is to get himself crucified. In his role as bearer of everybody’s
sins, he could give the team the spiritual impulse they lacked to rise above
themselves. Argentina rescata a Messi, the local sports paper got it all wrong.
Of course, this new style, with ten smoothly operating players around a fading
star, can in only one way be provided with a match winning intervention, and
that is when the old hero resurrects himself and leads his team to no longer believed
victory. Even the most loyal Maradona fans would love such a story.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">In this
world cup, Argentina needed time to get going. The opening match against Saudi
Arabia was typically lost, to emphasise the need for faith. Against Netherland
in the quarter finals, they did not yet feel up to an opponent of Dutch
calibre, so they chose to steal the match with typical Argentinian trickery.
They thought they’d done it, but defence gave two late goals away, so they had
to win the damned penalties. The semis were much better. The team were playing
well from the start and Lionel needed only a good fifteen minutes to get going
a bit. He shot them ahead with a Harry Kane penalty (Kane’s first one) and then
he had a nice little run around the outside of Joshko Gvardiol to assist the
game off. So, it was France after all in the final, as many pundits had
predicted. It could have been Morocco, who had reason to bemoan the referee’s
officiating. They were like street footballers forced by their coach to work
their socks of for each other, or else. They were admirable in both spirit and
technical mastery and will have made a lot of friends in bars around the globe.
Yet, in the end the big boys always win. Ask the Dutch and the Croats.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">I saw the
match in a nearby bar. The first penalty was easily given, but the counter goal
was beautifully executed, and Argentina were generally outplaying France, so
all looked well at half time. Whereas Deschamps had brought in some early
substitutes, Scaloni felt he couldn’t trust their second tier to be up to the
task. The choice team would have to stick it out. As so often when faith in
mortals outdoes the trust in football’s righteousness, disaster soon struck. An
equally dubious penalty was converted by Kylian Mbappé, who not even two
minutes later finished off a fine team move with a bullet of a volley.
Argentina were shell-shocked and dragged themselves to extra time, though at
the dead Messi delivered a rocket from outside the box that Hugo Lloris narrowly
tipped over the bar. Then in the added thirty minutes, both Messi and Mbappé
had another one, a tap in and another lousy penalty, so a shootout had to break
the tie.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">As
effective as they both were, more than either Mssrs. Messi or Mbappé the final
itself seemed divinely inspired. Luck and skill were evenly distributed, and an
interventionist approach effectively helped the story play out as intended.
Messi had to win it, there was no other Arabian tale for Infantino to sell the
neutrals. Yet, there needed be suffering. So, the best final whatever was born.
I was glad Argentina won the shootout decisively, so it could feel a bit as if
they’d scored one more. After that, I dropped out.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p>
<p></p>Jan Hammingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03734608414859037727noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3873309156705001437.post-84754814869358931092023-02-04T15:18:00.000-08:002023-02-04T15:18:13.754-08:00Intelligent design<p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">Music to
listen to while reading: </span><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=10s7MRYKYU4"><span lang="EN-GB">Anarchic System - Popcorn</span></a><span lang="EN-GB"></span>
</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"></span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Our system
is meant for intelligent beings that can scan their environment and make
decisions on where to go and how to get there, including dealing with their
energy needs. They were originally nanomachines, tiny robots if you like,
well-stocked with energy to hold out for a long while. We wanted more, though.
We didn’t like the idea of losing a well-going experiment because of energy
problems. In fact, we had been there before. The generation we were working
with hadn’t been quite ripe yet to use the extra energy they were scheduled to be
injected with to their advantage. Some of our team said we needed a perpetual
internal energy provider, and it had to be something natural, as technology
will fall apart in the end. We opted for a digestive system, a nanosized
greenhouse, or womb, where a simulation of mammal insides performs the
necessary tasks to turn food into energy. All this under strict control of the
machine, to make sure mother nature can’t play one of her decay and destroy
tricks on us. There are regular DNA updates available to keep elements of our
tiny pee and pooh factory in perfect shape. Such to the discretion of the
machine, of course. Isn’t that a clever little arrangement?</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">Let’s move
on now to our experiment. We were interested in seeing what forms of
organisation will shape under a range of circumstances. What then is the most
workable organisational model? What levels of order would have to be
pre-imposed? It is easy enough to equip our tiny machines with a variety of
capabilities. While discussing the best approach, aware there were inevitably
political similarities to be drawn from our initial choices, we came up with
the idea to first perform an a-political benchmark to test our programming on, in
other words pure anarchy. Set the machines free and see if some form of order
ensues, and when. If chaos persisted, we would cut this part of the experiment
cold and move on with our preconceived circumstances. I may say here that the
results have been rather surprising. Of course, the inevitability of anarchic
systems developing some form of organisation out of an implicit understanding
that collaboration bears better fruit than individuality, is well-known in game
theory. What shocked us, though, is how fast rudimentary order was established
and how far it would go in the end.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">Once our
organic machines started organising on the basic level I have just described,
very soon larger entities were created. These were without a clear need but
were the result of a special feature we had added late on in the preparation
phase. You see, our tiny organisms are capable of reciprocating if they manage
to clone their digestive system and then build a robot around it. This is
certainly not something easy, but they are programmed to perform this task
collectively. They also have a clear incentive to multiply, as it extends their
life cycle. While any nanomachine can in theory live forever, thanks to its
digestive system, the chances of success improve with every next copy they
create of themselves. The danger of sudden extinction diminishes, clearly. So,
we saw many organisms making clones in numbers to create what we dubbed clans
to protect themselves. We made sure to feed them enough materials to facilitate
this frenetic activity, and then, to our surprise, we noticed how some of them
started mounting different machines for new tasks. Apparently, they were able
to go beyond the capacities they were programmed with and create something new.
They were inventing, they were showing signs of intelligent behaviour. This was
a defining moment in the evolution of our system, and it is to my horror and
deception that I have to tell you these new machines they invented were meant
to attack each other. They were seeing each other as rivals in their quest for
endless copies. There was a lot of nasty infighting going on and we more than
once felt tempted to interfere, but we also knew we shouldn’t. Our
psychological team suggested it was fear of death that drove our beautiful tiny
robots to destroy the other. The digestive system was to blame, according to
these luminaries, as it was living matter and therefore likely possessed a
soul. The soul being the problem here. Whatever the deeper grounds of their malfunctioning,
we decided any fear of death or other forms of suspension must be considered a
design mistake that we should deal with before initiating the next phase of our
investigation. For now, we kept to our present arrangements, fascinated as we
all were by developments. </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">As
mentioned before, the clan forming soon aggregated to a higher level. The last
loners were briskly dealt with, and certain lineages (clones of clones) - the
shorter the better - were given preferential treatment - better bodies for one
- while other clones only worked and then died. There was originally no
difference between them, though we did use machines from various manufacturers,
so minor appreciations may always have existed. Yet we never had the intuition
it was down to a technical issue, as our miniature friends’ behaviour was
clearly driven by that bit of nature inside of them, that manifestation of
will. There is no reason for this system, this colony if you like, to exist.
Its constituents have no clear idea what they should be doing, apart from
perfecting their duplication methods. It’s in themselves, this desire to live,
and as I said before, that’s an error. Our smart machines should be working
better without conscious awareness. Because that is what will produces,
awareness. Those without will are like zombies. They work and they disappear.
Meanwhile, the favoured lines don’t do much more than keeping themselves alive,
often with great success. We have seen transplants of partial clones, with the
clear intention of maintaining the essence of the original clone. As I
mentioned, they are quite clever, our little robots. They show the ability to
reach sophistication through collective effort. What’s funny, though, or maybe
it’s tragic, is that many, in order to keep the system going, work below their
capacities. Only those in the core of a clan are free to use their machinery to
its abilities. Ironically enough, they tend to use it on idle activities. This
has led to sport, if one may call it so. Art, would be another interpretation. How
ever their movements should be qualified, they are useless and often beautiful.
In fact, this is the essence of beauty, useless behaviour. Only a power so
strong as love can manifest in failure.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">We don’t
know yet where our benchmark experiment with anarchy will lead. It is well
possible the end result will be total tyranny. We are already seeing
prematurely induced deaths to keep numbers manageable. You see, our basement is
quite big, but it does have its limits. We clearly notice these population
control measures in certain quarters. In a way, this talk has come too early.
We aren’t sure yet how far the madness will go, though we do fear the worst.
Voices have been raised to terminate the project and move on. I hesitate. I
don’t feel prepared to end this promising, exciting experiment, as I am sure I
will be able to bring you better news next time we meet. We will then also be
bringing you the latest proposals for our deliberate set-ups, as we have
decided to name them, something most of our team are more than ready to get
going with. We are quite excited about the progress we have recently booked in
cancelling out the digestive system’s will to live without jeopardising its
ability to stay healthy for a sustained period of time. She’s the perfect farm
animal, if you allow me the comparison. As you might imagine, the concept of
anarchic development in a controlled environment as an effective tool for pain free
tyranny is being readied for human size life, I mean the animals we are used to
be dealing with. But isn’t it a beautiful thought that we can have these nano
organisms prototyping ideas to be later used on us. I mean, it’s a testing
ground, it’s a green house garden, it’s science anyone can follow. Thank you.”</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p>
<p></p>Jan Hammingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03734608414859037727noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3873309156705001437.post-33678397193120801982023-02-04T15:16:00.002-08:002023-02-04T15:16:18.430-08:00Davy Jones naked (not yet David Bowie)<p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">Filmmaker
Brett Morgen (with biopics of Kurt Cobain and Jane Goodall to his name) has
made a highly impactful sound and vision spectacle in which he lets deceased
rockstar David Bowie (1947-2016) talk about himself, and sometimes hush, as
when he aimlessly walks the streets of Singapore on his 1983 Serious Moonlight
tour, the one that got him worldwide popstar status. <i>Moonage Daydream</i>
(2022) is an onslaught on the senses, a high-density query into the mind and
soul of the self-invented artist David Bowie. Interestingly, we learn a lot
about the figure behind the scenes, known as David Robert Jones, but Bowie the
inventor, the one that mesmerised a percentile of 70s rock lovers into
idolising every move he made, remains as aloof as he always was.</span>
</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">Times have
changed. Back in the golden years, we fans marvelled at the future visions of a
tortured performer who had read his Orwell, Huxley and Nietzsche (so that we
wouldn’t have to), and a whole lot more. Bowie was weird intellect, let your
mind freak out and see what the fruits are. He totally fitted and encumbered
the mood of the days which since have widely been recognised as the best decade
to grow up in ever. Bowie the freak, of course, was on the money. We would be
owned, for sure, our children were to be of a different race (so to speak), our
societies as corrupted as depicted in The Man Who Fell To Earth. Punk’s no
future brand had already been well explored by Mr B and his contemporaries. Doors
had been opened that would never close again. So, yeah, we knew what was
coming. The truth being the future, it was equally conceivable not all of us
would live to see the day. It was the one thing that gave us hope. Much of this
has now changed dramatically.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">The onset
of covid and the dictatorial policies that followed in its wake have left us
with a concept of reality that is eerily close to the one described by Bowie over
the course of the nineteen seventies. See quotes above. This leaves us with the
question: how could Bowie be so prescient? Was he that smart, or did he receive
help from certain sources? It is well-known by now that the Beatles were mostly
fake. Wherever their honest musical talents took them, they wouldn’t have got
anywhere without the consent of the powers that controlled the impact of their
marketability. And they knew it. So did the Rolling Stones, Hendrix, and
others. It’s how the system works. Hit songs have always been considered
effective purveyors of useful information, even before the onset of rock ‘n’
roll. The sixties heroes were still mostly implicit about the despair awaiting
us, our seventies idols already a lot more opener and truer. But when Bowie
started singing about Kether and Malkuth in his European Vision song Station to
Station, he deliberately chose to chastise us with an overdose of bad news. </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">David
Bowie’s remarkable insights could have easily been handed down to him, code
words and messages that he would have to find a place for in his writing,
appeasing the masters who run the popstar business with iron logic, while
trying to maintain as much distance to the topic as possible. Bowie having a
way with words, he usually succeeded. <i>Oh! You Pretty Things</i> is perhaps his
most blatant cry for the present revolution, with our children belonging to the
coming race: look out, you rock ‘n’ rollers. He sounds like he really means it.
<i>Time</i>, on the other hand, is desperate enough in tone to make the
one-liner <i>we should be owned by now</i> sound like a warning rather than a recommendation.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">Bowie
certainly wasn’t the first one. Mick Jagger famously wrote about the devil in <i>Sympathy</i>,
or did he? He never gets closer than once mentioning the name Lucifer. Either
way, the masters don’t care. They want their magic words to be spoken, the mantras
supposedly brainwashing the public into preferring debauchery over decency. The
artists may do as they like as long as the public can be convinced they should
buy their product. And then there is the small business of one-eyed things and
triple 6 signs. Could one please show them regularly? It’s kind of important to
us, see. Bowie showed off his elegance with the upturned sixes finger mask (or
spectacles). His eye-patched appearance on Dutch TV’s Toppop, which has become
the preferred performance of <i>Rebel Rebel</i> on You Tube, had likely little
to do with a minor eye infection, as B’s clarification went. There were gestures
going on during live shows, at least from Ziggy’s farewell concert onwards, but
it never became more than a silly nuisance. In those days few people were aware
this was happening, and I wasn’t one of them. Nevertheless, the truth is out
there. If you go looking for it, you’ll see it everywhere. All of them. Some
managed to bail out and live independently on a sufficient fanbase from their
popular days. </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">Lou Reed
was one of those. After crashing out from the Bowie caravan in 1974, he
returned to being an honest storyteller who moved people deeply with his
gut-wrenching songs. Yet, when retirement loomed, his health betraying him (back
in the seventies he had been number one on the first to die hitlist for a cool
33 months) Reed was forced into a declaration of Jewish power on his
collaboration with Metallica, the hard rocking and sensationalist Lulu. Check
what he screams (he can’t sing anymore) about revenge in The View, turning
himself into a rather vicious and vitriolic promotor of Jewish primacy. The
former he never was and the latter he used to reserve for worthier causes, such
as asking attention for the many abandoned people in his city. Being a Reed
fan, I bought the record, but stopped listening to it soon. A similar sensation
captured me with Bowie’s last album Blackstar, as beautifully made as it is.
Bowie’s expressed fear of death doesn’t suit him at all, to my mind. Or rather,
it never suited David Robert Jones, the one who had created it all, the David
Bowie character and its many fanciful disguises. Jones would never seek death,
as he loved life too much, yet he neither seemed the cowardly type to me. Apparently,
David Bowie was supposed to have a different point of view.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">Amidst the
chaos of Moonage Daydream’s audio-visual presentation, Mr Jones offers a
coherent and insightful portrait of his inner sufferings. And suffer he did, in
his own words. They are taken out of only a handful of interviews among the
many hundreds Bowie must have given. We see a solitary man, a loner living in awe
of his own exceptional abilities, as they constitute a fortune coming with the
duty to make a difference. Jones was unable to maintain friendships and
commitments as long as he hadn’t found untraceable peace with himself. Whether
it was the fear he might be as crazy as his brother Terry, or he actually was,
or he was mentally abused into accepting his role of, as he himself once
phrased it when asked by another father at the posh boarding school he sent his
son Duncan to about his line of business: (I’m) a rock god, David Bowie for a
long while seemed pretty out of it. He was in fact much weirder than most of
his characters, who were merely indulging in the latest future fancy.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">I liked
Moonage Daydream. It’s over the top, but it offers an interesting perspective
on the boy from Brixton who grew up in Bromley and hung out in Swinging London
until he had made it and then conquered America and the world, feeling ever
lonelier along the way. Or so we are led to believe. And then he met Iman and
got happy. He left all his vices behind him and became hooked on his wife. It’s
a story we don’t get to know much about (who wants to hear about happy
couples?), though his final musings, a handful of wisdoms spoken by an older
Bowie, attest of his acquired ability to see himself with pity and love. That’s
what life is all about for exceptional people: stop hating themselves. One does
get the feeling Brett Morgen was working from a playbook handed down to him.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p>
<p></p>Jan Hammingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03734608414859037727noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3873309156705001437.post-88577381914055160882023-02-04T15:14:00.002-08:002023-02-04T15:14:44.050-08:00Are you ready for a brand new beat?<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-GB">Summer is
coming to an end and once more we haven’t changed the world, as summers seldom
fulfil their promise. It’s just endless showing off and spending big, flirting
and mating all around, and Barcelona has been hot and sweaty, causing many to
drink too much. The mood is relaxed, sometimes dreamy or just sleepy. Summer,
you are a wonderful intermezzo of little weight in human affairs. Come harvest,
we start working again. Always have. Soon we will be ready for summer to end. But
are we this time? Are we aware life is planned to become much harder in autumn,
and even more so in winter? Are we ready for that? Or are we simply clinging on
to what we still have left, while dreaming of it never going away?</span>
</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-GB">It is
rumoured covid measures are back on the agenda. Wearing non-protective masks,
closing down public life, lining people up for random injections, the whole
shebang. And if it isn’t for covid, then perhaps it is because some fools
believe we should breathe less to keep temperatures down, or whatever it is
these people are thinking. Meanwhile, they are threatening us with a freezing
winter and runaway inflation. Is that getting you worried already? How are you
going to live through that? </span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-GB">Perhaps we
shouldn’t be bothered. Perhaps we should resist further compliance with senseless
rules that are only leading our societies on the path to destruction. You’ll
own nothing, yeah, sure, but not just earthly possessions. We are going to lose
everything we have, all the human relations we have built in our neighbourhoods
and at work. We are going to be atomised, isolated from each other. Even
households are in danger. Are you ready for that as well? What continuing
acceptance of ever more tyrannical nonsense produces is degeneration.
Decadence, in the original Latin meaning of the word. People are losing their
connection with decency, with logic and kindness. The ongoing stress, even easy
summer is not completely without it, drives people to step into survival mode.
In such a situation, many will choose the safety of the herd. If we do as most
people do, then we should be okay in the end, is what they think. </span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-GB">Some dig
their studs in the sand. They see things their own way and refuse to budge. Yet
again others are actually reaching out to their neighbours in the hope of
building some form of communal resistance. What these heroes cannot avoid, is
that we will all go down together if this onslaught of tyranny isn’t halted
collectively. We each have an incentive here. You know, being well-connected
isn’t half the fun in a dictatorial system as it is in a humane society. So,
why don’t we bond? Let’s leave our differences aside and accept that very few
are going to have a nice winter if we do not stop our authorities. We cannot get
at the ones at the top, because we do not know who they are, but we can take on
the control system. It is filled with people like us, perhaps a tad more
ambitious and talented, who are just doing their job. They will suffer as well
in the end. </span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-GB">Come on,
people, the show is over. The consumer society has reached its conclusion. It’s
been a long while coming, and we always knew it couldn’t last because it is
simply unnatural to throw packaging away, to buy a new TV set every few years, to
suffer in traffic jams to get to work each day, to fly around the world only to
expand your tacky souvenir collection. Clearly, the elites have pulled to plug
on us, and we will have to accept their decision because there is no way back. The
days of stupidity are over. Yet, we can seize the moment that was created for
us and turn the planned disaster into a brand new start. It’s like judo, you
wait for the other to move and then you use that energy to your benefit.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-GB">We humans are
the salt of the Earth. What our rulers pretend to be, I don’t know and I don’t
care. I don’t need to understand them to want to get rid of them. Their actions
speak for themselves. It is a clever scheme. All who reach the top in their
field are in on the game, whether they realise it or not, because only their
actions are taken seriously (being expert and all), so they help create the
havoc our friend Yuval Harari is so enthusiastic about. “We shall destroy
ourselves because we can.” It is the western way of thinking. Yet, the world is
so much bigger. Plenty of cleverer solutions available.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-GB">The idea
that people should come together in one system where we are all thinking the
same to keep us from fighting each other, is a dangerous one. Who in such a system
are your leaders going to be? Who is making decisions for you? Can you trust
these unknown entities? Covid has shown us that the wrong decisions can quickly
spread through the ranks and do sudden harm on a worldwide scale. Cutting off
the patient-GP relation was a horrendous idea, inspired only by megalomanic
thinking, that must have cost many thousands of lives in any given country. It
was so stupid, in fact, that it became shameless. That authorities subsequently
refused to adapt their murderous policies to new insights is simply scandalous.
While admitting that covid wasn’t worse than any other flu, they keep pressing
for the same senseless mandates that have brought us nothing but trouble. I
know, people have died from covid, whatever it is, but many more have fallen
victim to the absurd fear campaign, this state of psychosis that has become the
ground which all further decision making is vested on. I don’t know about you,
but I believe love and trust are a healthier basis for responsible care than psychosis,
a condition that in individual cases is treated with lifelong medication.
Patients are not supposed to be carrying any kind of responsibility during
bouts of madness.</span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-GB">So, now you
have taken the jab. Many got one or two, some three or even more. That was
pretty stupid, pretty psychotic. No, you’re not all going to die. The system
would rather have you sick, so it can extract money from you. Some will die,
though, just enough to keep you fearful and come back for more. That’s weird,
isn’t it? You cling to what scares you. It’s like being a drug addict. With
every fix there is the awareness you don’t know what you were sold and you may
not get through this one alive. It is sickening, but such is the life of a
junkie. I sometimes wonder whether some addictive shit was put in the mix that we
are not allowed to know the ingredients of as we are still in the experimental
phase, so as to make you come back for more sooner. Sorry, this is conspiracy
thinking. My bad. Have you noticed how any attempt at understanding the world
amounts to conspiracy thinking? You are only allowed to read up on today’s official
opinions, presented to you by TV and papers.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-GB">It is not
in our interest to continue with this medical programme of endless
gene-altering injections. Sure, the theory says it can be done, how wonderful,
but do we need to fall into this trap again? That something is possible doesn’t
make it a good idea. We are losing ourselves on the road to technocracy. I
wonder if we will ever be able to get happy this way. We are giving up our
God-connection. For many people that is a very heavy price to pay, as it should
be.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-GB">I can go on
about tyranny and control for quite a while. I’ve written seven novels on the
topic. But let’s finish this rant on a high. Lokalize it.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-GB">Once again,
the idea of worldwide unity paints a beautiful picture, but it hasn’t been
showing its worth so far. Are we to believe that the same people who got rich
by abusing us will now come up with the benign solutions they promise us? That
is why I plea for local control. The smaller the unit, the easier its members
can successfully protest unjust and stupid laws. </span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p>
<p></p>Jan Hammingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03734608414859037727noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3873309156705001437.post-33493875246201098932022-06-02T07:25:00.007-07:002022-06-02T07:25:55.063-07:00It’s the madness in their eyes<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">Everybody
is going crazy, the subterranean traveller complained. I can’t have a normal,
reasonably intelligent conversation with anybody anymore. It doesn’t matter
what we are talking about, people say the stupidest and most trifling things.
Even the weather. I mean, people can’t talk about the weather anymore. Can you
imagine? After weeks of rain there is finally a clear day, and people go, oh,
it’s so hot. And when I say, aren’t you glad after all those grey days, they
look at me with glazy eyes and don’t know what I’m talking about. I mean, it’s
like they haven’t got any memory anymore. Not even the slightest. I find that
scary. It makes me sometimes wonder, have I got it wrong? I can’t be the only
one who remembers yesterday, so perhaps I am mistaken, but then I hear them say
other ridiculous things and I know it’s them. It’s just there are so many. It’s
an absolute plague.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">When I try
talking some serious stuff, say, the war going on in Eastern Ukraine, people
say, war is no good, it must stop. And I say, sure, but if you just keep poking
and threatening someone, at some point they will hit out at you. The same goes
for countries. And they say, what are you talking about? And I go, US has been
at Russia’s throat for a couple of decades now, and people say, what do you
mean? They just don’t know what’s going down there, they haven’t got a clue.
War is bad. Yeah, sure, war is bad, that’s why we call it war. We don’t call it
fun and games. But there’s something like karma, you know, there is getting
your comeuppance. You can’t just have it your way all the time and expect other
people to swallow whatever you throw at them. That’s not how the world works.
And people say, we are peaceful, our countries haven’t fought each other for I
don’t know how long. And I go, then tell me why your country is one of the
richest in the world? How did you manage to pull that off? And they don’t have
an answer. It’s like it is, they say. And they say, that’s why we should always
let other people come and live here if they want to. I go, so, it’s not because
we destroy their economies, and they have little choice but to come and live
among their enemies? Then their eyes glaze over once again. They just don’t
know anything. It’s madness.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">The worst
is perhaps the whole covid thing. I say, do you realise your leaders have been
trying to kill you with their idiotic policies? I give the usual examples, the
masks that don’t protect, the tests that can’t detect how bad you’ve got it and
whether you should consider yourself a danger to other people, like actually
feeling sick, you know, and the murderous lock-ups and the torture of our poor
children, refusing to treat people who really are sick and who then die because
nobody wants to help them, and the few doctors who do reach out have their
licence revoked. And then to top it off they push everybody into taking a
completely useless and at the same time very dangerous injection which they
call a vaccine, but which is something completely else. You know, the whole
shebang. And people say, what are you talking about? Covid is dangerous and we
are being protected. I say, no, covid is not dangerous at all for most people,
and you’re being robbed blind. Do you even remember what life looked like
before all this madness took off? And I see those eyes again and I know, no,
they do not remember. They have forgotten pretty much everything. Whatever the
reason, people are losing their minds. I find that very scary, but I believe I
already said that.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">People seem
to have stopped caring, the subterranean continued. You know, putting personal
relationships first. Now it is fear ruling their decisions, fear of
non-compliance and the inevitable consequences it might bring. Many people seem
to be losing their personality, not caring because they somehow have lost the
ability to tell real from fake. They think everything they see is real, not
realising the gripping, sensational stories the entertainment machine is
providing them with are completely untrue. And you live in this lie and the lie
offers the opportunity to be heroic while promoting the lie simultaneously. And
you accept, because everybody is doing it, it’s like a new normal. </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">I don’t
think we should be taking this road which is controlled by ambition and power
projection. It’s ugly and it’s senseless and it produces no Earth value.
There’s nothing there that Earth might be profiting from, apart from a few deliberate
restoration projects. I believe we are close to extinguishing ourselves as a
species. So many people seem to be going to disappear or get modified into an
externally controlled version of themselves, like street theatre puppets. The
richness of human existence, the many cultures and challenges people face, is
going to be mortally wounded. Human culture is disappearing, and our various
ways of life will be utterly forgotten. You own nothing and you’ll be happy,
remember that one? Whatever we whisper in your ear, dear.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">I don’t
want to stop this fight until it’s over, the traveller concluded, even if I may
at times seem a lonely fool to be resisting all the laughable yet equally
demeaning measures so many people obediently put up with. No, we’re not saving
anyone by agreeing with our governments which have over the years become
entrenched in conducting people’s lives – so many things you can’t or must do,
so many rules that didn’t exist twenty years ago. And the last two years have
seen a particularly sharp increase in behavioural dictatorship, or should that
be dictatorial behaviourism? It is how it is, and don’t you dare whisper it
ain’t true, so as not to be cancelled for indecent infringement. I say, please,
people, let’s free ourselves from this madness. It is not necessary, it is not
inevitable. We make it so, yes, that’s true, but we always have our free will –
some say God given, others say nature deriven – to do things in a different way
from what we are told, creating a different situation in which other types of
decisions are prone to be made, which then will further stimulate ongoing
promotion of the idea that nothing has to be like our self-appointed superiors
tell us it is. We are human beings still, I hope, we possess a soul, we have a
will, we are energy hidden inside an energy consuming machine called body. We
continuously feel the need to express ourselves. Shall I tell you something
funny? I see in fact a lot of expression of free will in people’s behaviour
these days. The endangered mask free status, for one, makes people find new
ways of showing their teeth and smiles. After all, you want to be remembered
well when they lock up your face again. Don’t do it any longer, please. Let’s
not get sucked into this monkey business. Resist. Be healthy. Don’t get
diagnosed. Don’t get tested. Please. It would make all the difference. We can
save ourselves by simple behavioural adjustment, pretty much like quitting
smoking. Bit tough for a few days, but soon enough you start noticing the
benefits. And no, there are no patches for mental strength, but rest assured
that someone somewhere is working on a synthetic version.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> </span></p>
Jan Hammingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03734608414859037727noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3873309156705001437.post-54028553537866000312022-06-02T07:24:00.001-07:002022-06-02T07:24:29.366-07:00Mask rules<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB">For close
to two years the Spanish population have been waiting for someone to finally
lift the ever more ridiculous mask wearing rule. People who were wearing masks
at work would meet outside or simply walk to the bus stop together mask free.
Children who were perfectly healthy and who were touching each other
continuously, as children do, had to wear the horrifying mask of shame for no
other reason than to be born in the wrong year. What grown-ups, whether parents
or teachers or strangers, have done to our children is a crime of unimaginable
cruelty. We have destroyed two years of their lives, years we often relish as being
among the best of our own existence. That is sadistic. You know you are going
to hurt them, and you do it anyway. You know the masks were not fit for purpose,
that was openly stated early on, yet you accepted the rule when it came along.
Whenever a rule changed or a new one was implemented, you simply obliged,
considering the rule of law always above human relations. Mummy loves you,
honey, but the law says she must punish you with unnecessary mask wearing. We
must always follow the law, remember? Mummies are not allowed to protect their
children from the law.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB">As a
teacher and a neighbour, I’ve seen a lot of children suffering. For two years,
they were not allowed to have normal relationships, to breathe freely, or to
see faces. Out of the blue, they were forced into a different way of life, full
of restrictions, with strange and cruel rules such as distancing yourself from
your friends, which never seemed to make any sense. Suddenly, their youth was
taken away from them. And it lasted two long years. Remember how long two years
seemed when you were at school? Think about that if you haven’t already. Their
youth was stolen. These children’s brains must be seriously impaired. And we
did it. We let it happen. We screwed them over. So, how do you think they feel?</span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB">On holiday
in Madrid, we saw a remarkable number of middle-aged couples with one or two
masked teenagers in their wake. And while the lonely ones looked as if they
were being hauled off to the nearest slaughterhouse, the pairs often seemed
quite lively, though only among themselves. Whatever life still had to offer to
them, it clearly did so within a hostile environment. Back in class, the girls initially
kept their masks on, though hanging below the nose so as to be able to breathe
again. The boys did show their faces, and they were disappointingly ugly. I am
not going to describe them here, but let it be said that the girls noticed too.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB">Overall,
Madrid was pretty mask obedient, less than a week before the priorly notified
lifting of the main sanctions. On the metro, nobody opted for the below the
mouth wearing style that has become quite generally practiced in Barcelona
recently, a trend I pride myself in having been one of the early adopters of. Also,
in bars the ridiculous practice of sporting a mask while walking past tables,
only to tear it off immediately once being seated, was still enforced with
gusto. As welcoming as cafes generally are in the nation’s capital, even at
this late moment the mask laws still ruled supreme. Whatever the activity one
engaged in, hugging friends and strangers alike, being at work or simply
embezzling money, the mask had to be worn at all designated times and
locations. We don’t poke fun at humiliating rules here, remember? I guess it is
the price you pay for living near the centre of things.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB">It's not
only teenagers who love wearing their mask with an unhealthy desire. There are
the adults who have always believed that their society was the best possible,
if not perfect, and that government, with all its flaws, ultimately speaks the
truth because it was chosen by the people and is there for the people. They
have been the most fanatical in upholding the various lockdown measures –
always keeping distance, washing their hands continuously, sporting masks even
in the confinement of their own cars - and feel betrayed now that so many measures
have been eased. Double masked and with a straight back, their heads held up
high, they angrily walk past all the mask- and carefree losers who so
desperately need fun in their lives. See them sitting in the sun, having drinks
and snacks, laughing with friends! They, on the other hand, are not afraid to
be afraid and hate their circumstances. They feel well-prepared for the
necessary hardships that are inevitably coming our way. Bring on the new rules,
chastise us with well-deserved punishment. We are ready to give it all up for new
unpleasant realities.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB">It's
surprising to see how many of these covid fanatics – covidians in the tongue of
the infidels – are left leaning. I always thought that left in the West was a
mostly libertarian affair, giving people the means to have their own unique
experience, something like that, certainly since the unproven convictions of
the twentieth century after the fall of the Soviet Union started watering down
to become today’s cultural Marxism. Yet, it seems the covidians are more of the
Stalinist type, ready to slay all those who oppose the mask if only in the
deepest of their dreams. They really feel superior in a sadistic kind of way.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB">One week
in, many people are still expressing their joy at being freed from the horror
of being a stranger to neighbours and friends (while torturing their children at
the same time). So, I asked around: what are you going to do if the mask rule
is reinstated. You clearly hate it a lot, don’t you now? It’s a difficult
answer for most. They never want to wear the damn thing again, ever, and they
know it’s not childishness but their soul calling, that you just can’t live
your life wearing masks, that life is about something else, and you know it is
true and you really wish you could be free, but you also know that in fact you
can’t. You cannot change the world on your own, so there is no sense in
stepping forward. We need someone crazy enough to actually step forward, so we
can all be early adopters and help humanity moving on from the present madness.
So, that’s what everyone is waiting for. The new messiah. First public
appearances should take place before Pentecost if one hopes to make it through
revolution month. In the meantime, many would likely follow up renewed
regulations. You know, it’s the law, and remember, it’s probably only
temporary, more than two years it can’t last, just like the last time. There’ll
be life after that, perhaps.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> </span></p>
Jan Hammingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03734608414859037727noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3873309156705001437.post-46807423515086140902022-04-07T15:26:00.002-07:002022-04-07T15:26:24.175-07:00Cancel Culture<p> <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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</p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">“I would
like to welcome everybody to this extraordinary meeting of our city’s culture
chamber. As you all may know, there are pressing reasons for having convened
you here today. These reasons have everything to do with the war that is currently
going on in Ukraine.”</span>
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Putin Nazi!
Putin Nazi!”</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Thank you
for expressing your opinion. As you may be aware, all over the free world
governing bodies are taking measures to show our rejection of Russia’s
unfounded and unjustified actions against a peaceful neighbouring country.”</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Putin Nazi!”</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Your
support is heart-warming. Since we felt our beautiful town could not stay
behind, we convened all of you here today to determine what necessary cultural
measures we are going to take. To give you an idea of what is possible, our
local picture museum used to be the proud owner of two magnificent copies of works
by Ilya Repin, the great 19<sup>th</sup> century Russian painter of everyday
hardship. I can hereby announce that in close collaboration with the copier, who
is a locally known landscape painter in her own right, the museum has already
taken these two works off the wall and sent them to the municipal waste
management plant, where they will be incinerated.”</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Putin
Nazi!”</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Then of
course, there is the ballet. You all know how excited we were when we sealed
the contract that put our humble municipal auditorium on the European tour of Stravinsky’s
Rites of Spring performance for ballet and orchestra. As an aspiring provincial
town we are not afraid to spend money and energy on culture and I recall
vividly how our chamber played a pivotal role in securing the ballet’s
engagement, for which the councillor has thanked me personally.”</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">“We have
heard that story before, Emil, if you allow me, but it is as you say, in our
heartfelt desire to show our support for Ukraine by deleting everything Russian
we can impossibly allow anything by Stravinsky being performed.”</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Or sold.”</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Indeed,
brother Nathaniel. I can assure you that music stores have begun sending all
their Russian music back to its issuers, and in case this is not possible
because we are talking about early gramophone editions, to have them destroyed.”</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Putin
Nazi!”</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">“We need
all the support we can get, thank you.”</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Let us not
forget the invaluable effort our municipal libraries are making, Emil. All
Russian literature, and this includes dissident literature from Soviet times,
has been taken off the shelves and will be burnt this Saturday at a Special Book
Burning Gala to which our town’s book shops have been invited as well. The
Christian Marching Band will be performing inspiring Ukrainian folk songs.”</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Thank you,
I was just going to announce this. Then there is another matter, that of the
Russian imports. We understand Russian farming equipment has become quite
popular among the agrarian community in our region thanks to its attractive
price quality ratio. This of course must come to an immediate stop.”</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Putin
Nazi!”</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Yes, thank
you, it is understood.”</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">“But Emil,
this is none of our business, is it? We are the culture chamber, I don’t think
we should be deciding on matters of economy and employment.”</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">“You are
aware, Emil, that we have quite a few members of the farming community in our
midst. We can’t simply put them back financially. It’s not fair and it doesn’t
make sense.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">“And I
think you should be aware that everything is connected. I would therefore like
to express my gratitude, on behalf of this chamber, to those honourable
citizens who understand their civic duty in these trying times and without
being called upon come forward with denunciations of Russian paraphernalia
hiding neighbours. I also wish to mention an initiative from the educational
sector. A rendering of the Matthaeus Passion by Bach was planned on a local
high school for Easter Saturday, but as two participating pupils have Russian
sounding names, everybody thought it better to stop rehearsing and cancel the
event.”</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Putin
Nazi!”</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Yes, of
course. What I want to say is, we cannot really congratulate ourselves on our
following the science without first embracing the fact that almost everybody is
feeling the same. We must always be conscious and expressive of the reality
that we, as a nation, are on the right path, more than we perhaps have ever
been. We are vaccinated, we support Ukraine, and we know Putin downed MH17.”</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Well, we
don’t, actually.”</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">“We don’t
what?”</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">“They don’t
have much of a case, the Dutch, do they? It took them years to come up with an
argumentation that asks an awful lot of the imagination to be convincing, while
at the same time they never wanted to investigate the logical suspicion the
Ukrainian air force was involved. The even gave Ukraine a veto on the
committee’s findings!”</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Can we
please go back to the main topic, Emil? As erudite as this discussion is, I
believe we are out of our depth here.”</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">“You are
absolutely correct. We need to talk about literature.”</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">“We’ve just
covered that, haven’t we?”</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">“We have
spoken about book burning. As essential as that is, we must also look at the
influence many of these books have already had on their readers. Let’s be
clear, here, a lot of well-read Europeans grew up on Dostoevsky as a mainstay
in their foreign writers’ catalogue. And more than a few of those will have
read him at tender and impressionable age. This, of course, must be considered extremely
dangerous. We therefore ask our reading neighbours to step forward if they have
had this experience, so they can be freed from the influence and better serve
our Ukrainian friends.”</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Putin
Nazi!”</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">“We are
winning, my friend, we are winning.”</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">“What if
you are influenced by Tolstoy? Will I equally need to be freed from having read
War and Peace?”</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Yes,
naturally. But you must wait, we’ll deal with Dostoevsky first.”</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">“So, what’s
going to happen to those readers, then?”</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">“They will
have to be reprogrammed, I guess.”</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">“And how
are they going to do that?”</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Don’t you
worry about that, young man. Their names are already known.”</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">“I
nevertheless agree with our youthful member that we should be informed about
the methods.”</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Look here,
Emil, we have for two long years been swallowing an awful load of bullshit, a
murderous load of misinterpretation, and now you want us to accept your
Ukrainian solution in the same way? Do we really have to take this nonsense any
longer?”</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Well, I
don’t know what your thinking is based on, dear colleague, but your rant
receives little support here, so I would like you to please be quiet or leave
the room, thank you.”</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">“I do not
wish to upset anyone, I just feel it’s time we were treated as grown-ups again.”</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Nobody
ever treated you as a grown-up.”</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Now there,
let’s not get personal.”</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Lady Beth!”</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Yes, it’s
me. Still alive, and all that. I am of the opinion that if some of us haven’t
been quite as brave and accepting of the situation as they could have been,
then this is a common weakness which should be treated as such.”</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">“I am sure
our pharmaceutical industry would find a miracle cure in no time if only we asked
them.”</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Possibly,
yes.”</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Make that
likely. Look how few people have been dying from the vaccines so far. Just a couple
of thousands. That’s almost nothing, from a percentage point of view.”</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">“So, it is
settled, then? Those born in the twentieth century will have to show proof that
reading Dostoevsky has not influenced them in any meaningful way, such to be
judged by an interactive interrogation programme, in order to receive a derussianization
imprint on their QR code.”</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">“I am sure
it will not be as bad as it sounds.”</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">“For those
who comply it won’t.”</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> </span></p>
Jan Hammingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03734608414859037727noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3873309156705001437.post-20034083129659145342022-04-07T15:11:00.000-07:002022-04-07T15:11:58.354-07:00Stop acting so crazy!<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">We are
going through dangerous times for a specific reason. According to astrology,
the age of Pisces, also called the Christ era, is coming to an end, and, if
mental evolution has its way, humanity will enter the age of Aquarius. Some
believe the new era began in 1968, others think we aren’t quite there yet. What
is for sure though, is that society has been pretty convulsive over the last
fifty years. Some people have personally prepared themselves for Aquarius and
are already living in accordance with its principles, many still cling to
Pisces, and a small but influential elite would like us to never make it onto
the next stage.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">Pisces was
the era of a collective morality, led from above and duly followed by an
unthinking and sometimes unfeeling mass of insignificant people who were
deliberately kept in the dark about their true potential as humans. The Church
of Rome was the highest power, sustained by a feudal system that kept Europe
under control for well over a thousand years. Ever since the bubonic plague
though, a civil society that allows people to determine the course of their
lives themselves has slowly grown, reaching its heights in the decades post World
War 2. The downside of this rise in awareness in western human has been the
fact that it was facilitated by capitalism, a mindless free for all approach
which inevitably led to environmental and cultural destruction around the
globe, pushing many established societies back into more primitive
circumstances characterised by fear and abuse. As a result, an awakening global
citizenry sees its path to enlightenment blocked by karma. You cannot expect to
be saved by good will alone. More is warranted. Nevertheless, accepting the
need to step up and seek an aquarian mindset might bring good fortune. For sure
in these trying times it may give peace of mind to adopt a non-defensive,
transparent lifestyle.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">Capitalism
being our karma, there is yet a larger obstacle on our way to Aquarius. The
elites of our global world are not exactly looking forward to our possible
collective ascension. They’d rather keep us locked in our old stage, better even
further back. They feel it would be more convenient to have the world to
themselves rather than to share it with all of us. It is an old desire and they
have been looking for ways to fulfil this dream for many decades. Now, already
in the twenty-first century and with technological prowess peaking, the elites
feel their time has come. Listen to their horrifying aloofness. Knowing that
our pineal gland is the portal to higher awareness, the door through which we may
know without knowing what other living creatures are experiencing and what free
roaming spirits are trying to tell us, the rich and influential have done
everything in their power to obstruct its proper functioning. First of all,
attempts to inform the public about the gland’s significance were ridiculed.
It’s just a little hormone producer so long as official science has not
established any other uses – and hell it will. Secondly, and ostensibly to
protect against caries, tap water was adulterated with fluor, a highly toxic
substance that corrodes the gland and debilitates its functioning. It is
telling that while many people managed to get rid of the yoke of collective
morals, few succeeded in replacing it with a functional set of individually
upheld principles. Freedom for most is lack of rules. Recently, the final
attack on the pineal gland has been opened. If anything, the unnecessary and
thus highly suspicious so-called vaccines will stop the gland from working at
all. This is going to have disastrous consequences for you as a human, a soul
carrying body experiencing life on this living planet. The inability to connect
with higher realms will not only make entrance into Aquarius impossible, it
will also rob us from our inspiration, both heavenly and artistic. Without the
gland, your brain is nothing but a library of previous impressions. No new
ideas will enter. This will make you susceptible to manipulation.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">It is imperative
to the survival of humanity as an intelligent, creative species to make an end
to this ploy. If we fail, we will end up with an elite of physically clean and
clear-minded fake aquarians, basking in wealth and self-importance, and a mass
of zombified un-beings which at some point will likely be left to go quietly
extinct. Why keep so many useless eaters alive when you can clone the best
samples? We cannot have this. This was not supposed to be our destiny. It was
certainly not who you thought you were when your consciousness awoke in that
tiny toddler body of yours, a god in a temple under construction, waiting for
its completion to be marvellous. Of course, before you could be ready you were
sent to school, where that god complex of yours was successfully deconstructed
and replaced with a sense of utter insignificance (“we’re all nobodies in an
endless universe”), but still. If there is a modicum of spirituality left in
you, stop taking the poison and clean up, is what I say. There is information
out there on how to do it. But go off google first.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">The figure
of Christ is interesting in all this. He is the symbol of Pisces for many, yet
he is not your typical pisces male. At two thousand years old and first aired at
a time when the world was turning from Aries to Pisces, his teachings, which
have seldom been followed through as they were too trying for most people’s
everyday reality, have a distinct aquarian feel to them. You could say Christ
wasn’t showing his followers the beginning of the road but rather the end. One
didn’t have to be like Christ or live in eternal shame for failing to do so,
one had to get there in the end. I guess Christ knew the stars were giving his
believers a good two millennia to live up to expectations and he must have
thought it sufficient. Well, here we are, in danger of not making it. Having
let the fear of death take over our reasoning lately, we are duly waiting for instructions
from higher up to put on a mask, take it off, put it on again, keep distance,
come closer and hug, step away again, have a shot, have another one, forget
everything that was said before, now remember it again, be offended by war, and
repeat the whole cycle ad nauseam. Not exactly the behaviour of well-prepared
proto-aquarians.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">So, in
honour of Christ, who never died for our sins but was simply murdered and who accepted
his fate because he was not afraid (this was his gift, showing us that, while
the run in may be painful, death itself is nothing to be scared of), let us try
to become individually operating peace loving creatures, living without
self-obsession in a sea of positive feelings for environment and the people
around us. I believe this is what Aquarius means. From a collective morality
which is inherently willing to sacrifice the individual for the common good, we
must assume a personal morality which requires us to do the right thing
regardless of peer pressure. We must clean up our gland and concentrate on our
awareness and unspoken ways of communication. We must, to a certain extent, do
away with words. Realise, that a belief in the pineal gland’s unproven powers
by itself exerts influence. It is in fact quite easy to create a pleasant
atmosphere among cry-babies. Try it once.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">But first,
stop complying. Get rid of the Aries mindset our elites are pushing us into,
based on fear and bodily preservation. Remember it is not that long ago that we
were doing way much better. In fact, many of us actively participated in those
golden years. There really is no need to give up our potential just for some
unsubstantiated fears. Understand that we have billions of years ahead of us if
we want. The question remains: will it be their future or all of ours?</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> </span></p>
Jan Hammingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03734608414859037727noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3873309156705001437.post-56736737842854092262022-02-07T03:13:00.000-08:002022-02-07T03:13:18.126-08:00A Modest Proposal<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB">Dear fellow
humans, we’ve got ourselves in a right old mess over these last two years. We
have allowed our governments to control our lives into the tiniest details,
even when they were punishing our meekness with devastating sadism. Some
couldn’t even hide their triumphant smiles. Having grown stale after two
months, the covid scare has only been kept alive thanks to our weasel behaviour
in the face of an extraordinarily coincidental adventure in which reality
always seemed one step behind authorities’ reaction to the same. It was a kind
of Alice in Wonderland affair, with people locked to their looking glasses
telling them how dangerous life was becoming.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB">And then
you all took the elixir. They told you it was an experiment and that you
wouldn’t have any form of reclamation in case of damages, so why participate?
Why lend your body to genetic intervention? I was not raised in any
recognisable religion or denomination (a bit of everything and a load of
disbelief) but I feel a strong reprehension to having my genetic make-up
fiddled with under the scornful eyes of my maker, whether God or Mother Nature.
I wouldn’t want to lose my soul, if that is possible, nor my mind or my heart
or any other organ. I just wouldn’t do it under any circumstance, kill me
first. If my existence on Earth is no longer appreciated, then why don’t you
get it over with. But don’t expect me to help you. You will have to outsmart
me. I despise you too.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB">Dear fellow
humans, you have been poisoned. There was no reason to protect you against a
disease which had become mostly controllable for the vast majority. The absurd
measures, beginning with disrupting the GP-patient relation, followed by
locking people up and refusing to treat them, never did anything to relieve the
burden of those who were in the fire line and who had mostly stopped paying
taxes, a cardinal sin in neoliberalist society. Think of that. By creating a
bogus scare, hospitals were nudged towards the wrong approach, thinking they
were dealing with the bubonic plague and killing thousands of elderly people in
the process before they understood what was actually going on and began to get
a grip on the situation. That’s when this whole epidemic was over, in May 2020,
yet nobody was interested in this fact. Nevertheless, the numbers are to this
day available on official EU pages. This screenshot was taken from euromomo.eu.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB"></span></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi7_67fOUyyXg6N41WOYxAjE65Ct3QKT6hLKByGAI-8nLwoFaVYEBVU__Akwf5PAoPHJWb35D7R8S7jtpcYCi0W8iwiXMdMP-7eQLD0beKvixLVYWaFvki3IMKaaIbo9WhQdIHxiWXY9jmMQ57Fg92J8vuWOKrNRky1op3aVF3ZH0Y5Ok3BX6ef4q4h=s950" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="348" data-original-width="950" height="222" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi7_67fOUyyXg6N41WOYxAjE65Ct3QKT6hLKByGAI-8nLwoFaVYEBVU__Akwf5PAoPHJWb35D7R8S7jtpcYCi0W8iwiXMdMP-7eQLD0beKvixLVYWaFvki3IMKaaIbo9WhQdIHxiWXY9jmMQ57Fg92J8vuWOKrNRky1op3aVF3ZH0Y5Ok3BX6ef4q4h=w607-h222" width="607" /></a></span></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /> </span><br /></span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB">So, here we
are. Covid has mutated into omicron and everybody gets it while very few people
take it hard. The virus is harmless and has become part of our constitution. As
it goes with viruses, the story has come to its natural conclusion. As always,
nature bats last. That is, if this whole virus story isn’t simply made up and
people were poisoned in different ways. That’s the stuff of speculation. It
doesn’t hurt to follow the viral narrative here. Covid imploded right after it
started, as it was obviously staged and the few wouldn’t release anything
honestly dangerous so as not to risk their own high net worth lives. Yet, few
were able to see this. Finally, a shift is noticeable. In the face of growing
civil impatience, countries are loosening restrictions and turning their
concerns to the possibility of war, that old and time tested fearmonger. Yet
for two whole years our governments have managed to forestall inevitable herd
immunity, forcing us to wear masks, close down our businesses and worst of all,
be maniacal monsters to our poor little children, stealing their lust for life
and their sense of being. My question is: fellow humans, are you willing to
learn the right lessons from this biblical tragedy? Are you ready to
fundamentally change your ways or are you already mesmerised by the looming
threat of nuclear war?</span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB">We have
come very close to extinction this time and we aren’t safe by a long shot,
especially the majority of you who have already had three kill shots and are
starting to feel a bit feeble, yet there seems to emerge a workable collective
of resilient individuals who are ready to confront the power elites who dreamt
up this fanciful idea of culling western consumers for the benefit of their
own, endless futures. At the same time, the elites are showing to be
surprisingly insecure of themselves. Think of it this way: three investment
funds rule the world with their money, which is basically the money of millions
of medium and small-time investors and which gives these savers – what in their
heart they still are – a shared responsibility for the tyranny that is
presently coming into being. And clearly, not everybody deals with this
realisation in a similar heartless way as the lizards at the top. Many of the
well-off love their land and town equally as poor folk, not imagining having to
say goodbye to either.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB">Dear fellow
humans, the time has come to put our daily struggles aside for a while and, in
the words of our great adversary Klaus S., imagine the world we want for
ourselves. I believe the time has come to rethink our relationship with
authority. For as long as I can think back and for at least two thousand years,
we have been subjected to the whims of church and landlords and later money, government
and other distant manipulators. We believed them to be superior to us at first
and then we believed they represented us and had our best interests in mind. Either
way we have been betrayed by those who threw themselves to the fore and
shouted: look at me, I’m wonderful, I’ll be your king, your priest, your
banker, your minister, your manager, all you must do is trust my kindness.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB">These
people are psychopaths. That’s how are system works, we select for the smartest
and the cruellest, with neoliberalism especially fruitful for the latter. We
cannot trust these people. They are the worst of our kind. They show it in
their willingness to save their world by getting rid of what they perceive as
useless eaters. The best you may hope for under their plans is to do at all
times as you are told by means of direct brain impulses, the technology for
which is being injected into you jab by jab. Of course, you may choose to play
it safe by not seeking your limits. This is how electric fencing works. But
don’t worry, your soul will be taken care of through genetic manipulation. You
will leave your body, if you not simply dissolve, rendering your experience
down here instantly worthless and your body a walking corpse. This is heavy
stuff. Check on what serious physicians have to say about it. You may want to
start </span><a href="https://www.laquintacolumna.net/"><span lang="EN-GB">here</span></a><span lang="EN-GB">.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB">At the same
time, ever since the real bubonic plague, we have managed to create a workable
society that offered a growing number of people comfortable jobs, exploding in
the twentieth century to the levels of non-primary employment we still see
today. We seemed to have learnt to live without too much overt authoritarianism
in our everyday lives and we believed in growing awareness. Early 21<sup>st</sup>
century brought shock and awe and a relapse in fortitude. The scandalous
financial crisis was subserviently assumed and covid follows a similar vain. Many
believe in obedience more than their own observations. It must be clear now to
everybody that we can’t go back to our old ways. CO<sub>2</sub> is fear porn,
but pollution is real and so-called green energy solutions are only making
matters worse as well as being incapable of providing for 8 billion people. We
will have to scale down and localise. One planet, a thousand oases, one people,
a thousand tribes. Let’s reoccupy our lands and build back our relationship
with nature. It will be hard, but we can do it. We surely will have some
comforts left. The Internet has proven to be a powerful tool in the hands of
well-meaning, caring and sharing humans all over the world. Let’s give Africa
the chance to be herself. But first, we must get rid of those at the top. They
are few and we are many and they live in constant fear of our uprising, which
we never do since we believe in their right to rule us. We don’t have to kill
them, all we have to do is go for their positions and possessions. New
centuries tend to get going only a decade or two in. If the 19<sup>th</sup>
century began after Napoleon and the 20<sup>th</sup> after 1918, the 21<sup>st</sup>
may very well start for real in 2022. So please, stop complying. Just stop.
Everybody is ready for it.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p>
Jan Hammingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03734608414859037727noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3873309156705001437.post-27618422361433982172022-02-06T03:42:00.000-08:002022-02-06T03:42:09.934-08:00Locked up in fright<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB">Life wasn’t
quite as merry as it used to be in the Empire. The golden years of prosperity
and fun seemed to have come to an end. While most people still had enough to
eat and a roof over their head, persistent rumours were going round that soon
the party may be over for many and bitter times were lurking. This instilled in
the people a sense of insecurity and they automatically clung on to what they
had, savings and stuff, rather than looking for new opportunities as a means of
regenerating their society, the approach which had brought them so much wealth
in the first place. </span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB">And then,
one day, seemingly out of the blue, a face appeared on screens all over the
world, a face that wouldn’t easily go away again. It belonged to Dr Toni, who
in his younger years had been a locally famous fearmonger, and who with his
nasal voice and closely set eyes managed to bring viewers worldwide in a state
of trance where they believed, as the good doctor had told them, that there
were plenty reasons to be fearful. In fact, no serious consideration could take
away the logical acceptance of fear as the only possible answer, since every aspect
of life carried the potential of entering in a major crisis. At least, that’s
what the screens told, that everything could basically go wrong so there was
always ground for fear. Life’s scary, you know. Especially, when your
civilization is taken away from you. </span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB">Fear is
democratic in that it offers everybody the chance to be afraid and indeed many,
mesmerized as they were by Dr Toni’s stare and his poorly veiled Brooklyn
accent, embraced fright wholeheartedly. Unsatisfied with life as it had been
lately, people found in fear a new belonging. Scared together, right now, over
me. It was tiresome, being scared all the time, it also led to more alcohol and
drugs consumption, yet at the same time it was the only thing to be. The faint
at heart were proud of their condition. Fright makes right, a wordsmith had
forged. </span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB">As so often,
children suffered from the madness that had grabbed the adult world. They were
forced to stay at home most of the time out of fear something might happen, and
they were only allowed to know a handful of people. At school they were kept
away from each other and encouraged to log in from home. Many children were
very unhappy at first, but they are children and they do what they have to do,
which is play with life as it comes. To a child even fear can be fun. So, for a
while, the children survived emotionally. Their parents were not always so
lucky. Many had a hard time keeping the faith and often felt that being scared
was not so different from that good old feeling guilty: both sucked.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB">After a
good half year of heavy panicking which some elderly people just couldn’t bear,
meaning they died from stress, while younger fainters sometimes felt they had
entered a bad lsd trip, Dr Toni, once again on every screen, came with the
solution: an injection, to calm the fears. And indeed, the mere thought that a
fright easer was on its way already cooled anxieties and distinctly lowered
flight hormone levels. Once the injections were starting to be given, a jolly
insouciance grabbed the population. Let’s all get back to normal, a popular slogan
went. Yet, this wasn’t in the planning.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB">The
cooldown wouldn’t last long. Dr Toni was at it again. There were new fears on
the way, he warned, and new injections, too. Some people were not ready to sink
back into fright, so they resisted the common scare and continued enjoying
life. Yet, many more still followed Dr Toni’s voice. Yes, there were new
reasons, there were always new reasons, in theory. There’s certainly reason to
fear theory. And so it happened all over again, the scare, the injection, relaxation
and a new scare, as if there were no end. At every round more people stepped
off the carrousel, yet Dr Toni stayed the course with his fear trip and a
sizable portion of the electorate was still following his dictates, taking the
scare and loving it.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB">And then, with
Christmas approaching, things turned ugly rather quickly. Many of the friends that
had jointly taken jabs that year suddenly suffered blood and heart problems. Still,
most did not, but numbers were going up fast. People asked: what’s going on,
but nobody knew what were happening. Maybe it’s climate change, somebody said,
and the next day everybody said it’s climate change and two weeks later nobody
mentioned such a silly notion anymore. Meanwhile, the heart patients themselves
were queuing for life-saving help. Hospitals were busy injecting
non-functioning fear relief potions. Cancers were also in recurrence. People
were dying when they shouldn’t be, and things were getting into large number
territory. Now there was something to fear, rather than fear itself. What was
going on in our bodies? Had the injections anything to do with it? And where
was Dr Toni? Dr Toni was rumoured to have taken his Brooklyn tongue to warmer
climes, where he was allegedly trying very hard not to appear on screens any
longer. </span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB">With Dr
Toni gone, had also the injections come to an end? People weren’t quite sure
whether they should fear such a situation or not. Freedom, from anything, from
drugs, rules, other people, it must be a noble achievement for sure, but it was
simply too dangerous to be seriously considered. It was hard not to be alert
all the time with so much going on, according to the media at least. Inevitably,
fear won out again, yet, while the jab frightened people more than anything by
now, they also knew only the next jab could give them temporary relief from
their scares. Whatever the injections contained and however dangerous they were
– nobody was supposed to know or even question – they also provided the short-lived
and intense relaxation every next shot delivered. Taking the jab had become
like smoking. You know it’s going to kill you but not necessarily immediately.
You also know the only problem with this comparison is that a single jab is
worth ten years of heavy inhaling. </span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB">Unfortunately,
this is where we’re at for the moment. While it is easy enough to shed the fear,
since it has no base in reality, most people still won’t do so. This has driven
the growing numbers of fearless humans to despair. Why is Earth ruled by the
meek? they wonder. The meek are mostly unbearable with their soft complaints
and lack of initiative, quite like the woke who are their children. While we
are changing the year, this is perhaps the right moment to share the plight of
the lonely unjabbed who get to swallow and neutralise all the bad shit the jabbed
are spreading around town and who then realise that they are much like Jesus
Saviour, loading the suffering these misguided people were causing onto their
bare shoulders. Inevitably, they were going to suffer beyond their dues. One
unjabbed said in a zoom call, you may as well torture me to death, as this is
what you seem to desire, a true expression of your anger, and I can no longer
sustain your nonsense. Hers was a story which yearned for a hero to save her
from crucifixion. But the hero won’t come, of course, ‘cause people are busy
complying.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> </span></p>
Jan Hammingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03734608414859037727noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3873309156705001437.post-23806296166667217772021-11-30T15:44:00.006-08:002021-11-30T15:52:09.869-08:00The Big Ask<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NBAjliTEXVs/Yaa3HjLe75I/AAAAAAAAA0Y/PazMzBcDgjMn49BV9w30o3oYyJL1gXnygCLcBGAsYHQ/s1522/Pandemia%252C%2Bthe%2Bboard%2Bgame.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1050" data-original-width="1522" height="221" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NBAjliTEXVs/Yaa3HjLe75I/AAAAAAAAA0Y/PazMzBcDgjMn49BV9w30o3oYyJL1gXnygCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Pandemia%252C%2Bthe%2Bboard%2Bgame.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Pandemia, the
bord game: get the disease and win!</span></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> </span>I’ll be
honest with you, said the subterranean traveller when we met on a municipal
park bench, one of the few places left where we could still see each other, his
slender torso turned into the path of conversation as if he were breathing his
truth. I am wanting people to die. I know, it’s not cool to desire such things,
but I feel I’ve done my bit to save humanity and now that nobody wants to
listen I should at least be left in peace. So I need people to die to create a
different dempanic among the public. I need them to realise they’re all going
to pass away soon and some faster than others but only few really slow. Quite a
collective adventure coming up. I want them to freak out and go angry and overthrow
their corrupt governments, finally. The traveller smiled. And us, clever
dickies, get to profit from that. Can you feel me?</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I let
nature have a break fill, listening to pigeons and parrots fighting over
breadcrumbs fed to them by an elderly unmasked gentleman. Yes, I can feel you,
I said. It’s not the greatest of feelings, though.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">It isn’t.
But I do need to think I made the right choice.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Again I
needed time to persuade myself to respond in the affirmative. I guess you are
entitled to your own survival.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Well, yes,
one would say so, but it doesn’t seem quite as straight forward in the real
world.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The
subterranean traveller let go of a deep sigh as if returning to his essence,
the rant a tad out of character. I know I shouldn’t be thinking like this, he
confessed again. But it’s hard, you know, I don’t want to die. Not yet. Life is
good in the moments I can still feel human, when I am together with my
neighbours or friends and feel love streaming through my body. I perhaps enjoy
these episodes more now they are becoming farther in between and the
in-betweens more tedious by the week. I cling to life, sabes? I may have
appeared aloof to you at times, and over-engaged at others, but I guess that’s
because life itself was never in question. It was there for me to experience it,
with a sufficient level of freedom to create one’s own reality. Be who you want
to be, that kind of thing.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">In silence
I asked him to let the camera of our attention have another pan over the
parkland surroundings, breathing in the rich, post rain air, let the birds once
more sooth our ears, and he acquiesced. Then he was all over me again: now that
the right to life has become debatable (as in believing there should be no such
thing) and your life itself being something the powerful get to play with, I
realise how little I have prepared myself for my earthly goodbyes. I have
reached an age where terminal disease may strike quite suddenly, if one is to
follow earlier examples, with life becoming a bit of a lottery, and I have
entertained fledgling thoughts on the probability of afterlife, as any serious
person should, yet taken all together I still believe in plucking the day. So
how am I going to continue this avaricious lifestyle of mine if I need to show
death jab compliance to simply have a beer in my local hang-out?</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">You use big
words, amigo, I managed to interrupt the traveller. I just want the freedom to
decide what I put into my body and what not, he countered from the baseline. I
don’t feel I should have any remorse towards other people’s suffering, as the
death numbers are still low. I am healthy, on average. I take care not to
endanger anyone. I feel I have every right to save myself and keep humanity
going for a while longer. After quite a long silence that I felt I had compelled
him to, I said somewhat disinterested: I second those words. The subterranean
immediately volunteered to fill the void my voice was leaving. I fear strongly
I will not be allowed to exercise my right, he put in gravely. I fear I will be
forced towards the fringes of a society that is evermore acceptant of being run
by the interests of a ruling class who are not at all interested in the fate of
those they do not deem to belong to their circle. What’s going to happen to me
and all those who equally want nothing to do with this obvious and utter
madness that is keeping western countries in an iron hold? Will we be murdered
in the end? I think this question should be asked and I for one am not too
optimistic about the winds we’re sailing.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Winds? I served
fruitlessly. Yes, winds, my friend, or should I just call you my editor? the
traveller came on pretty strong. Anyway, I’m looking for a change of hearts. I
need people, the people, every single individual or at least a sizeable number
of them, to wake up from their hypnotic state and start creating change. No
more fear, no more bullshit swallowing, no more betraying one’s fellow man. We
know this, don’t we? This has been played out before. Who says it can’t be done
again? Yes, they were different times and circumstances, but the helplessness
of the public in the face of radical and violent change is quite similar. Compliance
is what this is called. They go along to get along, all of them, some at least
convinced there must be a truth hidden in the obvious lie – one I haven’t found
yet – but the majority don’t even give a flying fig’s. It is like it is, so why
care? The public have never won. The public have never been attacked on quite a
similar scale, is what I say. This is not just one people getting murdered.
Well, you could say it’s only the white countries that are being done, but
their populations are not all so white anymore and anyway, it’s a hell of a lot
of people threatened with extinction at the same time. I’d say they may have
underestimated the chance people will unite across borders and quickly create a
worldwide movement. Remember, most countries around the globe are sufficiently
represented in the West to get something going back home.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">He
definitely had a point there and I almost rejoiced. So, I need a reaction, the
subterranean continued, I need an atom bomb. I need people to wake up and
resist. Stop compliance. They’re murdering you, slowly. But you’re not
listening, so I need a lot of you to die first. Or horribly injured. Only when
enough people are dying will the rest of you get angry. Only then will you understand
you are being lied to, and not for the first time. Only then will you see it
took just a handful of players to bamboozle a professional class only too
willing to be important in the cause. Only then will you realize you’re walking
around with a ticking timebomb in your body and that it might be a good idea to
restore public healthcare to answer your collective needs. And away with those
priests of doom, everywhere, the politicians, the medical authorities, all
those bureaucrats who find rules more important than people. This is what I
need you to do ‘cause if you don’t, I will be devoured by the mad system you
silently support. That’s why I need you to open your eyes. What do you say?</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">It’s a big
ask, man.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> </span>
</span></span>Jan Hammingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03734608414859037727noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3873309156705001437.post-91513327484485323292021-11-30T15:39:00.001-08:002021-11-30T15:53:10.587-08:00Astral planning<p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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</xml><![endif]--><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Now that
the end seems to be getting nearer for many, it is time to shed some light on
what may be coming next. Death is not the end all of it. Our personal growth will
not have been in vain. Very few things in nature are, have you not noticed? It’s
a beautifully balanced system, well-communicated if you will. I know this goes
against the reigning Darwinian idea that all striving is idle and doomed to
either perish or survive a while longer. No blaming Darwin here, he seemed to
have been a God-fearing man, but his proposals have been hijacked by all kinds
of indecent folk who want to suppress and torture their fellow human for the
satisfaction of some presumed superiority complex. Whether they’re scientists
or money robbers or power-hungry fools, they collectively have turned our
beautiful planet into a high-tech hell hole which is teeming on the brink of
destruction. Animals are dying all over the place, microscopic plastic chips
are invading and killing marine life, toxic fumes and edibles take care of the
land species. Meanwhile the atmosphere is heating up or cooling down or perhaps
both at the same time, nobody seems to know for sure but it is certainly a
topic worth destroying our civilization for. And so, our lives have been thrown
into a pit. After having been forewarned with a few unnecessary crises – this
is how we think of you, simple souls – the rug is being pulled from under our
feet, and since it has always been a magic carpet, our western society, there’s
not much underneath to catch our fall. So, you take the jab to help create herd
community, and after a while you start growing the unpleasant feeling you may
have been had and a dark winter is indeed beckoning.</span></span></span>
</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">This need
for destruction and self-control and ultimately complete reinvention of life on
Earth does not align with the scheme that was set up to satisfy the soul’s
desire for endless life. Reincarnation most likely exists. It’s the only way to
get something going on a planet which can’t seem to move beyond the level of
wanking chimps. Haven’t quite done what you once dreamt to be doing? Don’t
worry, you’re not alone. Most people need a number of lives to prepare their
souls for whatever comes next, Buddhist extinction or some new adventure. It’s
actually quite a simple system. You die, you leave your body and say goodbye to
your loved ones, you get to hang out with some dudes for a while and when your
soul energy is running out, you get cleansed and sent back to the next body,
having no other knowledge present than a vague sense of previous awareness. You
begin all over again and maybe this time you end up with stronger feelings of
eternity; eternity being relative, of course, but certainly a lot longer than
one human life. </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Unfortunately,
there are complicating matters. As below, so above, or the other way around,
however the saying goes. Seeing the madness we have created down here, the
wars, the exploitation, famines and crisis upon crisis, now culminating in the
vax death cult – what to expect up there, as people say when they mean the
elusive astral plane which is actually all around us? Could be dangerous
territory for the unprepared soul that has just lost its body and doesn’t know
how to be without physical impulse. Might some jackass come along and lure you
into their shiny heaven, or whatever it is you’re looking for. Considering that
many of us are going to die in the coming years (unless people rebel), the old,
the infirm, the obese, the middle-aged and eventually anybody without money, we
might as well get ready for what is awaiting us.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">As I have
come to understand from a source* I’m inclined to lend more credibility to than
older stories going round, the astral plane is not just the realm where the
soul gets liberated from its earthly misdemeanours and recharged for the next
life. It’s also filled with energies which have stopped playing by the rules
and pose a constant danger. First all, there are the gods, experienced souls
who at some point chose life on the plane over earthly existence and on their
last voyage down managed to assemble a faithful following of mostly
unsuspecting young souls whom they would meet and guide in their first moments
of post-mortal confusion and despair, only to be subsequently devoured, their
energy stolen and their souls extinguished, because everything needs soul
energy to keep the astral body, a sort of sense of physical presence, alive.
The most successful gods, Moses and his reappearances, Jesus and Mohammed, must
have pretty smooth operations running. They may also have a court life, which
offers an opportunity to daring souls. The rest should fear to end up on the
wrong side of Odin’s banquet, once they step in the limelight. By taking it
easy at first and not letting any presence come up too close until you feel
strong enough to resist their persuasion, you can learn what it’s like being
out there. Watch out, though, there are free roaming poachers as well who
pretend to be all the hip thing but, in the end, just want your petrol either. </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">It’s not a
pretty picture I am offering, I know, yet it’s the one that makes sense
considering how population growth and an enduring belief in heaven have filled
the Earth with young, unknowing souls who are easily manipulable, as we are
seeing right now with the virus psyop and the social engineering following in
its wake. The idea behind reincarnation is of course that we become better
people as civilization progresses, fit to deal with the endless temptations
that godlike behaviour entails. Instead, we have been children in a toy store.
And now the store is closing. So, if you decide to check out the joint before
you step onto the stage, you might as well do the same down here for as long as
your forces allow you. Quit the show, honey, you’re done for anyway. Meditate,
seek contact with lost ones and learn to unconditionally love the life you will
soon say goodbye to, life in all its intricate details as also its grand scheme
of things. Be humble and be grand, be human and god alike, understand why life
must be eternal before you go. </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Remember,
the greater the loss of life here on Earth, the more there will be of us on the
other side. That might come to pass. If we can’t trust what’s going on up
there, at least we may stick together as an anxious but growing movement of
premature dead who find their own way in the end. It’s the sixties all over
again on the astral plane! And who knows, the so below principle may inspire
our poor children to finally get rid of those leeches and create the idealistic
society their wide-eyed parents raised them for.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">* War in
Heaven is suggested reading. If you can’t find it, write for a copy to </span><a href="mailto:coospalmboom@gmail.com"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">coospalmboom@gmail.com</span></a><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span>Jan Hammingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03734608414859037727noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3873309156705001437.post-52035937429431080932021-11-30T15:37:00.002-08:002021-11-30T15:53:38.215-08:00Archaic thinking<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Peratallada,
Palau-sator and Pals, situated in the south-eastern corner of Girona province,
offer well-preserved medieval town centres where tourists can purchase
regionally made handicrafts and eat expensive dinners in carved-out restaurants
or simply walk through deserted backstreets. While some of the merchandise on
offer is definitely worth serious contemplating, it does condemn the spectacular
surroundings to a background role. Don’t worry about sentiments, the houses
seemed to say, we’re just décor.</span>
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The subterranean
traveller and Trandi Romantic would not agree. Rather, they appreciated how
these tiny towns had been protected against perceived outside danger by
enormous stone walls and towers. There are more of such fortresses around Spain
and the two of them had been discussing the fear induced mindset of the original
townspeople before, so silence accompanied them this time. What was there to
say now that people all over the world appear to have fallen back on an eerily
similar perspective on life? Rehashing unpleasant truths is not their favourite
pastime.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Follow the
science, mate, this technique is at least 15 years old. They know what they are
doing.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">You think
so? They’ve never tried it on humans before. They admit it’s a test which will
be running for a good year more.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Well, my
friend got sick, so I took it for him.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">And I don’t
want no messing with my genetics. I’m not a potato.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Don’t
worry. When its work is done, the information will get lost.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Really? Who
told you so?</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Fear is the
great equaliser. There are no stone walls to hide behind these days, nor
enemies that can be held by them. Everyday life has all become so
incomprehensible, that surrender to the force majeur seems the sensible
solution in the eyes of many who believe society should be ruled by an ever
more efficient and invasive government. Yet, surrender always turns into
submission. There soon will be no freedom left to think or make decisions.
There will only be the prescribed way, which one must follow to the letter, or
else. Back in the day, in Eastern Europe, prescriptions came on paper and could
relatively easily be falsified. Those dreamy days are over. The Holy Digit has
got us in an iron grip.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Relax,
mate, we all follow the science here. No need to bother us with your theories.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">My
theories, as you call them, come from scientists who have been active in the
field of genetic manipulation most of their working life. It’s them who say the
jabs aren’t safe.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">That’s a
bit late, then, to say so.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I’ve been
saying it from the beginning, but nobody was listening.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Still, I
haven’t seen you at the vaccination centre.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">To do what?</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Warn us,
dammit! Now we’re stuck with this poison, as you claim.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Cleanse
your body. There’s still info out on the net. You’re not alone.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The only
way to somewhat survive seems to be focussing on preferred narratives time and
again to at least preserve a token of what was once considered reality but is
now dismissed as conspiracy theory. Imagine that, our collective memory has apparently
become a lie. We were not who we thought we were, nor are we now. Can we accept
a completely new reading of what we believe to be our profound being? The
traveller and Trandi for sure couldn’t. Their need to feel free, whether real
or not, was grounded too deep to simply abandon their faith in the face of
collective hysteria. As they were used to from long before the covid madness began
engulfing humanity, they were once again spending a good deal of money on a
weekend retreat in the countryside, and they were not going to have their fun spoiled
by depressing metaphors. </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I had
nothing more to say in my defence. My private thoughts on the matter I kept
quiet. Were they actually going to vent their anger on me? I quickly built up
faith to resist their reactions. They were four thirty-something office workers
of the gym-type. Not muscular, but definitely fit. While their thinking was not
very exciting, their collective strength was certainly impressive.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I believe I
must be going. My family expects me.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">You got a
wife, then?</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Or is it a
husband? With a dog for a kid.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Gentlemen,
my private life is none of your business. So why don’t you let me go my way?
I’m just a vax-free neighbour. Don’t get all upset.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">At that
point my telephone ran out of battery and recording stopped. Since memory fails
me here, there is no other end to this story than you make of it.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Inevitably,
their attention got caught by an overripe moon hanging in the midnight sky,
pretending to be eternal and emitter of forever flowing energies. Its sparkle
on the rippling surface of a slow-moving sea only exacerbated its pompous
self-importance. The moon, of course, is there only for those who want to see
it, whereas the sun is inescapable. They tried to capture the beautiful
spectacle before their eyes on camera but failed miserably. Big Digit wouldn’t
allow for a fair rendition of nature’s vibrations.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Yes, there
is something magical about watching the moon bossing it over turbulent waters,
directing the rhythm of the waves with the help of its bleak authority, she who
makes darkness a living part of day, forcing the restless currents to submit to
ancient tradition and nature’s demands. Free waves are just a meme, girl, it
never was like that. We all surrender to Earth’s desire, we have no choice. Do
you go down for fun or service? I guess it’s only natural people mistake power
for life. Just take what kills you and you will be okay.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span>Jan Hammingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03734608414859037727noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3873309156705001437.post-51377141868573254312021-11-30T15:34:00.001-08:002021-11-30T15:54:20.911-08:00Wheels on the shoulder<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> <span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">After the plane had safely landed and we’d
positioned ourselves in the rather small arrivals lounge in such a way that we
could easily be spotted, just off the fluorescent meeting point sign, we came
to understand at least ten of our fellow passengers shared our destination. All
going to Jane’s party, then, I asked around and indeed, they all were. Wouldn’t
want to miss it for the world, a thirtyish woman said, broadly smiling, and
then we all started chatting and acquainting. We could have done this three hours
earlier, but hadn’t. We were six couples, one lesbian, one gay, one black and
two mixed and the rest of us more or less white. But whatever our backgrounds
and life choices, none of us seemed the type to pull off a stunt in front of a
hundred plus anonymous holiday makers. We got to appreciate this common
weakness and laughed sheepishly. But now that we know each other, let the fun
begin, exclaimed Berta, a European looking woman in her forties whose French
Muslim husband Rashid stood quietly by his wife’s side, claiming not to
understand much English. What he did get, though, was Berta flashing her
admiration at me. Starshine, the one with the smile, lit up the mood by letting
us know it was still a two hours’ drive by bus through the mountains. She was
with a Swedish feller, Harold, who was clearly her younger. We were the oldies,
at 59 and 55 respectively. I knew Jane’s mum, I declared, I saw Jane grow up
during five years. We like each other and we correspond a bit in winter. I’m an
uncle to her. Now they all began laying out their own relation to our host, who
was celebrating her fortieth birthday at her remote mountain hideout off the
Mediterranean coast. Being hard to access, the party was spread over three
evenings, with after party invitations available for the unsatiable ones. I was
keen on being one of them, but the wife wasn’t up for it. We’d quibbled a bit
and then chose to let the party itself decide over goings on. Being older, we
don’t quarrel that much anymore, in fact, we have almost eradicated bitching
from our existence. I know, when you’re younger you find this boring. I
remember. </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The driver was stoned. I saw it immediately. He
arrived after an hour in a rusty people mover, one of those company coaches which
always seem too big for their wheels. I thought they were meant for city
transport, I joked. Michele, who was with his Spanish husband, agreed with me,
sending me nods of approval. I’m sure the driver knows where he’s going, the
husband interfered. Sure, dear, Michele consented, sending me an eyewink in the
process. The driver had not stopped being stoned in the next ten minutes that
we positioned our luggage and then ourselves in the 21-seat coach. He seemed
only more out of his head when he announced we would be picking up more folks
down the road. By the way, my name is Michelangelo. After such a statement,
nobody was going to say they were Jack or Jill, but we did club a bit closer at
the back. Some had used the hour wait to have drinks on the airport café
terrace and were now getting ready for a nap.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I hadn’t wanted to tell Trandi immediately
about the driver’s state of mind, or lack thereof, </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">so as not to piss on her weekend, but when we
started climbing up the first mountain range it quickly became clear to her
there was something not right in the way we were sweeping through the bends,
unnecessary wide and loose, perhaps. I noticed he was stoned, I said. That
startled Trandi. Why didn’t you tell me? And do what, get off? Get a taxi.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">That was not such a crazy idea, and I started
wanting it. We can think it over, I offered, there’s a stop later on.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">As it was, on our side of the mover we got to
sea the canyons a whole lot more than the rockface. After two inadvertent
yells, Trandi asked, why are you always so slow in your decisions? We’ll be
fine, I assured her, everybody wants to live. I sometimes wonder, my companion
let go.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">After an anxious ride, we finally arrived at
the halfway point. We’re off here, I told around, we want to have a bite and some
rest. It’s been a long day for us. For all of us, cried Berta, still totally
forgiving me. But how are you getting to Jane’s, then? Starshine asked the
logical question. There’s only one bus, Harold claimed. I wasn’t going to ask
him where he’d got that information. We’ll get a taxi, Trandi told.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">A taxi, shouted Femke, who was with her Belgian
wife, that’s terribly expensive. I looked at her smilingly, in the way of
willingly, and said, we’re halfway, so it’s two, perhaps three hours of the
driver’s time. How much is that here, one hundred? Modern taxis are quite big,
added Trandi, you can easily share them between four.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Starshine appeared to want it for a pulsating
moment. That’d be fifty pop each, she mumbled. Don’t worry about the money,
hon’, Harold stepped in. I want to be there tonight, right? he demanded. No
crazy adventures, please.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I think we should stick together, said Linde,
who was with Femke. We set off together and we arrive together. Her refreshing
simplicity won the day for most of our group. Fair enough, I concluded,
returning some head shakes, it’s just us, then. See you later tonight, or else
tomorrow. </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Now, Paulina stepped forward, an Argentinian
blonde in her thirties who lived with her Cuban husband in Paris. Why bother
coming at all if you can’t handle us now? she snapped with anger filled eyes.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">This is not about you, mediated Trandi, it’s
the driver. What about him? He is stoned, did I take responsibility for the
observation, he’s driving dangerously.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">This created renewed hesitation and panic, and
again it was Harold who posed as the spokesperson of those who don’t believe in
emotional intelligence. It’s you who’s talking stoned here. And don’t come
back, added Paulina. So we stepped out with our bags, feeling stupid in the
expectancy we were going to see them again later, us the fools. Well, let them
have a laugh. We passed the incoming crowd, not explaining our situation to
inquiring eyes, and made our way to a bustling bar across the road, bustling
meaning three people, loud music and neon lights. We had a mountain snack and a
beer and within twenty minutes our driver showed up, courtesy of the bar owner.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">It turned out, two of the second group hadn’t
made it to the bus either. I saw him drinking liquor, Delaine, a chubby African
American, said. That’s not my idea of a night out. Driver’s the one who stays
clean, Macy, his Hispanic partner, girlsplained. And he was already stoned. He
was? The four of us quickly convinced each other we had no business with
Michelangelo and his rusty people mover. Let’s share, then.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Two thirds of the way, we slowed down in a long
curve and came to a stop. Our driver backed up a bit. Look at that. In the
car’s headlights we saw two wheel prints bending to the right towards where a
stretch of one foot high stonewall used to be, now a hole in the dark. Something
went wrong here, and it wasn’t like this two days ago, he said.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">But how? Delaine asked.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The driver must have lost control, ours
expertsplained. Wheels on the shoulder, I’d say. Sweep to the left, sweep to
the right and slipping brakes. There you go. It’s a classic. </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Could it have been, Macy began, then fell
silent.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Your van? Of course.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">We all knew what we were going to find when we
stepped out and moved to that hole and the miniscule barrier either side of it.
The darkness seemed impenetrable. Shine your telephone torch. It made sense and
it worked. Four intersecting beams managed to reach down to an upside down six-wheel
vehicle surrounded by the remains of a rusty people mover carrosserie. Some
bodies could be seen, three of them moving and moaning, now that we were focusing.
We need to call an ambulance, cried Delaine. Make that a helicopter, I told the
driver. There’s no other way to get them out. They all agreed.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">You’re nervous, Trandi said. I need to go down.
Remember Wild at Heart? These people are dying. I must show them a living
person before they go, so they know they are leaving a planet bustling with
life, not that lifeless hell they suddenly found themselves in. Don’t touch
them. Of course not. And do come back. Might need that heli myself.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span>Jan Hammingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03734608414859037727noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3873309156705001437.post-54963387869224140222021-06-13T02:14:00.000-07:002021-06-13T02:14:02.672-07:00Beyond the point of no return<p lang="en-GB" style="break-before: page; line-height: 150%; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When the initial covid scare was over, about a year ago, </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">with death rates back to normal </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">and lots of people gearing up for the </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">needless </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">fear trip which has </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">been </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">stifl</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">ing</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> society ever since, it was easy to </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">stand out</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">. I knew immediately I wasn’t going to wear the mask outdoors. It was too absurd, too childish, or sheepish as we say these days. </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Who don’t want to show their </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">beautiful </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">smile </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">all around</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">? </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Wearing a </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">dys</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">function</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">al</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> mask </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">simply</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> because someone says so, was beyond me. </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I just couldn’t do it. </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Shoot me first, </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I wasn’t born for that. </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So I walked the streets of my neighbourhood </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">bare</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">face</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">d, as I always had, and endured the angry and frightened </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">looks of </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">my fellow city dwellers</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">, old, young and children. They told me I was killing them, their </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">eye</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">s I mean, and I wasn’t at all convinced they were wrong. </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">What did I know? </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I donned the diaper to enter a shop and I </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">turned</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">away from </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">the police patrolling </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">my </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">streets – </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I’</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">ve come to know a lot more about </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">windows</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> -</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">, but furthermore I pretended nothing was going on, as happened to be in general terms my assessment of the situation. </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Meanwhile, e</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">verybody </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">was </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">clearly go</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">ing</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> crazy. It was frightening and I wanted to help, but it was too soon. The fear porn was still too ex</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">hi</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">l</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">a</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">rat</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">ing</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">to</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> most. Let’s all pray for the jab. </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I struggled through winter, lucky to have found my local speak-easy where life went on behind </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">closed</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> shutters. </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I was living my useless but needed resistance, </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">because I didn’t know what else to do</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">. </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Writing was out of the question. I had written </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">all there was to write</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">, I had in fact </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">been </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">warn</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">ing</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">for </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">everything that was coming to pass </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">in some form or other</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">, there was no point in doing so any </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">longer</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">.</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">To ease my feelings</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">, I</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> learned to play the piano, </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">hoping </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">to create some beauty in the face of all the </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">s</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">adness. </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It hasn’t been easy for the old fingers but I manage some </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">much</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">-</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">appreciated </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">tunes. </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Then spring came with a stutter and finally people around me started pulling down </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">the denigrating fibre which had </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">been </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">cover</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">ing</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> their expressions for a full year. </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I was so happy for a couple of minutes! </span></code>
<span lang="en-GB"><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It took me that long to realise things </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">we</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">re </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">in fact </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">changing </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">in a dangerous way</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">. </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Despite concerns from once respected doctors and scandalously large numbers of deaths and disabled, e</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">ver more people let it </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">be </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">know</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">n</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> they’d had the jab </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">and were totally fine with that and the</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">y</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">were getting </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">ever younger. Inevitably, </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I was sent a text message, that I was electable to make an appointment for inoculation. </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I swiped the call away while driving to work. Next came the </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">voice</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">. When was </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">planning to </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">drop in</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">? No estoy interesado. A short silence and a pitiful sigh: I may always call if I changed my mind. I don’t think I will, thank you. Putting down my </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">screen</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">, </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">it struck me I had crossed a border. I was in pristine territory. So far, my resistance had been futile, just a reminder </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">for</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> my neighbours another solution was possible if everybody demanded it </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">at once</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">. Now, </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">with my refusal to comply </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I had entered the realm of the registered rebels. Registered rebel, your life is a mess. I was officially a menace to society. I had never before been a menace to public life. I had fantasi</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">z</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">ed about it in some stories, once how refusing military service (which I had) could be sufficient to get a round-up call in </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">crisis </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">times, yet I have never felt exposed to such an all-powerful adversary </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">for real</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">. </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">They know me by now. The system can crush me any time it wants to, the fact it hasn’t yet is </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">merely </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">proof of my insignificance. They’re too busy injecting </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">at the moment</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">, me and my peers will be dealt with in due course. The only hope I have left is that the whole farce will be exposed and the props fall down before the</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">y</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> get to me. </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Sorry for the obstinacy, </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">reader, </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">but I’ve got a family to protect. I also hope I’m not alone in this. I hope many thinking people feel in their guts something’s not right here and this </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">crazy </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">ride we’re on is leading us </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">like lemmings </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">straight to the precipice. </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Now we are not lemmings but humans, so many will turn </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">back </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">on time, but an even greater part seems destined not to be around much longer. Th</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">is i</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">s not my favourite thought.</span></code></span>
<span lang="en-GB"><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I’m 59 years old. </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I’ve had the easiest of lives imaginable. I grew up in the easiest of times in one of the easiest countries in the world, 1970s Netherland. I had everything going for me and lot</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">s</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> of fun messing up </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">my</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">self</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">, if not everybody were seeing the fun of me wasting my </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">life</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">. The nineties helped us straighten </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">ourselves out.</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Y</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">ou had to work for it but there was easy money for almost everyone. I established myself as a talent w</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">hore</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> and managed to live off my pen for the next seventeen years. Once here </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">in Spain</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">, with my business dissolved and nobody interested in my trade, I learned how to teach English to you lot. </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">h</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">as </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">been </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">an amazing experience. </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">New in the wonderful city of Barcelona, so beautiful and vibrant, so cheeky and elegant and full of emotion, I found in my students the environment that taught me how to mingle and be one of the crowd, in short how to find my place. And I believe I have after another 15 years. You see, I have 32 years of economic independence behind my back. I have never had a full-time contract in my working life. I’ve been on a zero hour contract for some years now is all. I have never earned much. There were a few smash hits in my previous profession – teaching doesn’t allow for spectacular successes – but over all I have covered my needs without ever pitching on an existing relationship. I am satisfied with that. </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Whenever the covid passport is required to keep moving around, </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I feel I can leave the labour realm without remorse. The question, though, is, what comes next?</span></code></span>
<span lang="en-GB"><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I guess I have little choice but to </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">keep </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">struggl</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">ing</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> till the end. I wonder if I’ll be sacrificed before those injections’ devastating effects set in. </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Because many people will get very sick, they are programmed to be. I really don’t get this, even less than masks. Why on earth would you let your genetic make-up be messed with, like you were some cheap potato? There’s no need for anyone who can reasonably </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">sus</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">pect to survive the disease, and that’s most of us. All you do, is create new virus variants which will require new vaccines and so on. You’re on a highway to hell.</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Stop this madness, please. Not the children! I won’t likely be around to see it end. </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Want </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">nobody left to tell all about it. </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">They will stick </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">with</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> the virus version, just </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">like</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> those fools who are destined to live a little longer. </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I once wrote a story </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">on </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">this theme, how an old man who had seen </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">the transition</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> happening </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">tried to keep </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">the truth hidden from </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">his </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">inquisitive granddaughter, </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">available in the hemeroteca of </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">agitadoras. </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It was done as a play. </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I reposted it on emptyplaneta.blogspot.es some months ago. </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Enough whining, now. </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I am waiting for people to join me in grabbing our last straw this summer and liberate us from th</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">e</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> madness, because come autumn come trouble again. We all know th</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">is</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">to be </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">true. </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I hope </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">you will </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">heed these words and </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">take time to learn a bit about the truth and nonsense of alternative insights </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">so you can </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">decide for yourself where you, as an individual, stand. </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Go to globalresearch.ca and follow </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">name</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">s, </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">or find your own strategy</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">. </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">S</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">ee you mask free on the streets of your town, </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">so we can talk business</span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">. </span></code><code><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And don’t be late.</span></code></span></span>
</p><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span>Jan Hammingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03734608414859037727noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3873309156705001437.post-14196953529035762632021-06-13T02:02:00.000-07:002021-06-13T02:02:22.684-07:00The Covid Era Survival Guide<p lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="en-GB">When it comes to managing the shadier workings of
government influence on everyday life, the subterranean traveller has
been somewhat of a close witness to sincere efforts at resistance,
and I consider him an adequate person to turn to for advice on safely
navigating the rough waters our world has been plunged into with the
advent of the covid phenomenon. As by magical serendipitous
happenstance, the traveller had recently stumbled upon an obscure
survival guide, CESG, written by a certain gender-unclear Jahani,
with practical tips for those who wish to continue their antiquated
full-human experience a while longer. I was granted permission by the
finder, that is the traveller, to quote some of its more poignant
insights.</span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span><p style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span>
</p><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span><p lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;">
</p><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span><p style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="en-GB">From
the first page onwards, CESG makes it clear that the existence of
Sars2 has totally lost its relevance with regards to the way we
handle covid and its many side-effects. What counts, are the
multitude of barriers our rulers have put up in our way and which
prevent us from living the simple and meaningful lives most of us
were used to. Always led to believe in external danger and the power
of authority to deal with it, many people these days are overwhelmed
by the elites’ ability to serve up horror and fear without end.
They seem enthralled by so much bad news and follow every mad rule
with religious zeal, fully embracing their lifetime’s great
disaster, a bit like WW3 but then without the fall-out. It is this
mindset you must first get rid of, writes Jahani, as it renders you
powerless to outside manipulation. No fear. Remember that nineties
slogan? The chances of dying are slim enough to accept the risk
without much thought. And if you do fall sick, intelligent behaviour
and your grandmother’s flu recipes will get you a long way. A cool
head is a first requirement.</span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span><p lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span>
</p><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span><p style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="en-GB">Subsequently,
it’s important not to follow any covid rule so as not to get
infected by the idea there might be something understandable or
acceptable about the whole mad circus. In Spain, the first rule to
stop abiding by is mask wearing. Masks do not protect, as several
recent studies have shown – if they did, you wouldn’t be able to
breathe -, yet they can cause long term harm through the build-up of
bacteria in your lungs, something which is especially dangerous for
elderly people with their weakened respiratory systems. Cast them
off, those face diapers, and open a window if you must, much
healthier. The fear of getting fined can be ameliorated by the
realisation that most police officers have stopped handing out
tickets as long as you do not openly provoke them. There seems to be
an understanding these fines will not hold in a court of law as the
ruling lacks any scientific or logical basis. So, show your face
again and throw us that smile of yours.</span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span><p lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span>
</p><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span><p style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="en-GB">Jahani’s
next tip may sound somewhat controversial, though I believe it is
well-intentioned and would make sense. The author suggests anyone who
isn’t at high risk of developing adverse reactions should get
themselves infected with the virus. The positives are twofold: you
build up antibodies against the disease and you help establishing
herd immunity. It has always been inexplicable why governments
worldwide would resist this natural and basically unavoidable
practice of blocking the virus from spreading. Was it really only to
offer Big Pharma a windfall or does Sars2 harbour dangers the public
is not informed about? Overall death numbers suggest such dangers
can’t be considered too serious, and anyone with a big heart is
invited to do their bit. There is a caveat, though. Rumour has it
that inoculated people may be continuously producing spike protein
and therefore virus, making them particularly dangerous to anybody
not yet shot up with the experimental gene therapy treatment which is
sold to us by the innocuous label vaccine. So, be careful who you get
sloppy with.</span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span><p lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span>
</p><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span><p style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="en-GB">Avoiding
mask wearing may imply for a lot of people they should leave their
current jobs, as offices, shops and workplaces offer scant
opportunity for following your own logic. If you have got any
savings, use them to get you and your loved ones through the present
ordeal with an eye on what the future holds. Remember, the more
people engage in this practice, the quicker the economy crumbles and
governments may be forced to end the mad show, as their goal clearly
is to destroy only certain segments of society, mostly those where
people are either self-employed or work in small family businesses.
It’s always scary to be the one who lays down the gauntlet, but be
assured that under the present circumstances the vast majority of the
population would love to see all restrictions lifted and many may be
ready to join in. The more we are, the sooner all this will be over.
Of course, if you are able to make money from home through some form
of teleworking, do so, as nobody should be forced into starving for
the common good. A basic rule to follow would be that the longer you
can hang on without a steady job, the stronger the commitment to
resistance required of you.</span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span><p lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span>
</p><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span><p style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="en-GB">Concerning
covid care, Jahani implores every reader to stay far away from
testing and inoculation. It is becoming quite clear that the gene
therapy roll-out is a vast experiment an unwitting world population
is often forcefully submitted to and, while at present no more people
are dying from the injection than from infection, this may change as
soon as the cold weather returns and all those DNA altered bodies
start overreacting to natural virus attacks. This being the case, it
would of course be best to retreat to a solitary hide-out which
offers the possibility to grow your own food and generate your own
electricity. With the threat of disconnect from public utility
services growing ever louder, city life may become mostly impossible
for those who still believe they should follow their own mind and
heart instead of being pushed around by a bunch of malevolent
psychopaths and their henchmen in government. Remember Adolf
Eichmann? He was the one who during WW2 organised the train
transports to the death camps in Poland, and a stellar job he did. In
the midst of all the scarcity and danger that warfare brings, he
managed to keep his trains running on the clock. After the war, he
claimed he had only been following orders and that was probably
correct. He had simply forgotten to use his moral sense. When I see
our current crop of politicians and “health” professionals on TV,
I can’t help but seeing lots of Eichmänner. Will they one day
offer the survivors a “Wir haben es nicht gewusst” for
consolation?</span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span><p lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span>
</p><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span><p style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="en-GB">Jahani
leaves a sobering truth for last: do not pin your hopes on the
future. There is no future. The covid measures are meant to take the
future away from us. If we, as humanity, want a future, we will have
to create it ourselves. For most people, this will constitute an
insurmountable task, used as they are to following leaders. It will
therefore be up to those who rather rely on their own gut feelings to
take their friends and neighbours by the hand through leading by
example. Whether we can be successful depends on many factors, most
of which we do not control. If all this is not the sideshow of
blunders and stupidity many like to see in it, but actually a
concerted effort to get rid of a large swath of humankind, then our
resistance may be too little too late. Yet what else can we do than
resist going into that dark night meekly? Me, I’m not the
revolutionary type and I’m often willing to accept the shortcomings
of life on Earth plane as a given, but I was raised through
circumstance and conviction in the belief my life, my physical
integrity, belongs to nobody but myself and I am planning to defend
that right until its final consequence.</span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span><p lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span>
</p><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span><p style="line-height: 108%; margin-bottom: 0.28cm; text-align: left;"></p><p><br /></p><p style="line-height: 108%; margin-bottom: 0.28cm;">
<br />
</p>
Jan Hammingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03734608414859037727noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3873309156705001437.post-34411288414468215592021-04-10T16:43:00.000-07:002021-04-10T16:43:06.455-07:00“We should be owned by now”<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> <i><span lang="EN-GB">The sad and
disturbing case of the metropolitan elites</span></i></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">Back in the day, when the seemingly endless
post world war economic growth had come to a screeching halt and unemployment benefits
offered youths the chance to use their brains for independent thought, the
metropolitan elites were quite sure that capitalism had run its course and
should be replaced by a more inclusive system, a bit like communism as it
existed in Eastern Europe but without all the mind-numbing and fruitless
control mechanisms. Everybody poor and happy in a harmonious society which was
developing only ever so slowly. Imagine, the metropolitan elites’ favourite
car, the Deux Chevaux, would never go out of production! What joy! What
insignificance! For a while, we seemed to be going in this direction and new
metropolitan cohorts enthusiastically embraced the idea. No future! Poor and
free they sailed through the nineteen eighties, denying that around them the
capitalist engine was restarting under the impulse of neoliberalism and its
absurd premise that greed and disregard could ever be the lubricants of human agreement.
Then came the nineties. New money was pouring into the economy and everybody
was invited to take their little part in the great global grab fest. The
metropolitan elites, still convinced that one day the system would fail, found
arty niches for themselves where they could pleasantly spend their days and
make only just enough money to pleasantly survive. While financialised
globalisation was taking the world in a wrong direction, at least it wasn’t
their fault. They were in and doing fine, just not quite that radical anymore.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">And so the decades came and went. Crises, too.
Every ten years, it seems, something nasty is befalling humankind, something
organised and executed from above, something that hurts. First, the monied interests
and their minions pulverised some skyscrapers in downtown Manhattan and blamed
it on their good friend Osama bin Laden, who was living in a cave in
Afghanistan at the time. Then they crashed the stock market and ran off with
the loot, leaving ordinary wage workers around the world to foot the bill. And
finally, they gave us covid, the perfect excuse to lock us up and destroy the
remains of our livelihoods. You would be forgiven to think these people really hate
us for our freedoms. Yet, the metropolitan elite no longer felt aggrieved by
what was going on in their world, since they mostly had managed to steer clear from
the real pain, living in the West after all. They had gone making kids round
the turn of the century – often with their best friend’s ex – and they felt their
old perspective was not the ideal atmosphere to have a child grow up in. They
used to have it nice and easy in their youth because their world was expanding
and they wanted to give their offspring a mimicked version of that. So, they
began thinking positively. They chose to want to understand how country
management works, rather than criticise it. They became moderate, and middle
class. They had nice incomes and nice apartments and they preferred to look the
other way when disaster struck.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">Apart from all the other havoc it is wreaking,
covid is having a devastating impact on the intellectual capacities of the culturally
advanced middle classes in our metropolitan centres. They have seen themselves
forced to go along with a narrative spun by a government and some international
voices that simply had to be true in the name of uninformed consent. Don’t
worry, our leaders know what they are doing. Yeah, sure, I just would like to
be informed a bit sooner, sometimes. Well, you can’t know everything, you know?
Nevertheless, authorities clearly can. And so, it has become accepted wisdom
that government is basically good and merely needs our full support to get us through
this ordeal as quickly as possible. Whatever the rules in the country you
happen to reside in – wear masks in the street, stay at home in the evening,
have a stick shoved up your nose every now and then – they are necessary to
conquer the invisible and so far unproven menace. The unwashed masses that
somehow feel things are not quite right and start gathering in the streets to
protest the ongoing bullying, well, they are just that, unwashed. They have most
likely been led astray by attention seeking internet bloggers who think they
know better when they clearly lack the information our leadership possesses.
You don’t honestly think these people can be right, do you? And if you do, you
obviously also believe the Earth is flat. Come to think of it, you’re a dangerous
fool and I don’t want to know you any longer.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">All it takes is a deep breath to forgive such
harsh words. I know that you are scared. You’re often not that young anymore
and you’ve had your fair share of substance abuse in the day and you’re not so
sure you can still trust your body’s inherent strength. Yet that should not be
an excuse to hide behind when you see the elderly suffocating on their
religiously worn mouth masks, steadily filling their old lungs with a deadly
mixture of bacteria and fear, being left alone all of a sudden at an age when
they are needing our support ever more. Or when you hear how children are
instilled with guilt for their grandparents’ survival chances, forced to be
living already for a year – sheer forever when you’ve only recently joined the
party! – behind masks and screens when they should be jumping about like the
little lambs they are, meanwhile slowly losing their interest in life. What
about small businesses suffering from arbitrary closures that one by one
disappear? When so many are losing perspective, can you still be on the
side-lines? Let’s be clear here, - with due sympathy to the poor souls who’ve
lost their lives or their health – overall death numbers show covid was under
control as of May last year and we could have gone for herd immunity and kill
the motherfucker before it could further harm us, being summer and all and
there being a window of opportunity to face winter with a more resistant
population. The powers wouldn’t have it, of course not, as they were busy
pushing their injection, and neither, unfortunately, would the metropolitan
elites, afraid to put their savings on the line. Revolution will inevitably
destroy small fortunes, ask the Russians, which is why your hypocrisy is
understood and certainly not looked down on. It’s just that we’ve been
suffering for a full year and nothing good has come of it, people still dying
in larger numbers than they should. That’s from the measures, mind, and the
absence of health care.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">And now the metropolitan elites want to get the
jab when they have nothing to fear personally. They even line up their bloody
children! This, in my mind, is simply too much, this is sheer madness. It is
abuse of one’s body without gain. I do not usually submit my mind to the Abrahamic
god, but I do believe we ought to celebrate and nurse our mother, Earth, the
life giver, and live in harmony with Her, and I don’t see where changing her design
is going to contribute to this idea. Creating life is not a pissing contest. So,
I cannot consent with any mad GMO experiment. It’s against my convictions. I probably
should leave it here. I have a family to care for, I have my own reasons for
hypocrisy. Still, it hurts to see life being destroyed for younger generations.
I’m sure there will be space for most of them in the new society, if it were
coming to pass, but they’re not going to have the fun we had and we’re not
going to mimic the coming control state away. Yes, I know, they make it look
cool, our cities are getting greener and cleaner and not having to travel is a
great idea, but there won’t be room for all of us inside the new world’s walls,
not by a long shot. I wrote a novel about this phase we’re heading into, some
years ago, no virus in sight but with similar results. I invite you to read it.
Write to </span><a href="mailto:coospalmboom@gmail.com"><span lang="EN-GB">coospalmboom@gmail.com</span></a><span lang="EN-GB"></span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span>Jan Hammingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03734608414859037727noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3873309156705001437.post-47721405241060802072021-04-10T16:41:00.003-07:002021-04-10T16:41:24.722-07:00P.H.E.A.R., a future message<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-right: 2.85pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 150%;">In his quest for underground realities, the
subterranean traveller chanced upon an alternative reading of events that are
currently harassing human brain functions and our belief in sanity as a mental
concept. It was a glamorous story, a bit like a seventy’s social drama sci-fi
movie, and it ventured into the future just that bit faster than officially
ordained reality, so that by the time things were seriously going down the
drain, as in now, the film version was more or less a decade ahead of perceived
cutting-edge foreboding. The traveller loved it and decided to disseminate his
feelings about other people’s bright ideas at that precise moment in time, the
sensation being that his body was somehow worth it. So here is how stuff went
down.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-right: 2.85pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 150%;"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-right: 2.85pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 150%;">In the early 2020s, a terrible crisis befell planet
Earth. People started dying by the thousands and millions, even billions.
That’s why we are living under <b>M</b>achine <b>A</b>ssured <b>R</b>ealtime <b>S</b>afety
(an Elon Musk initiative) today, because of what happened then. It all started
with a huge mistake, something which became later known as the <b>CO</b>llective
<b>V</b>iral <b>I</b>nfection <b>D</b>elusion. People all over the rich world
were freaking out over a virus their media told them was all around and extremely
lethal. Frightened and obedient they accepted every rule foisted upon them.
Anything better than having to think and take a stand, as thinking quickly had
become quite dangerous. It could easily cost you your job and your family, just
for being a fool with an opinion. People, as it turned out, were too <b>W</b>ilfully
<b>O</b>bscuring <b>K</b>nowledge <b>E</b>xamples to handle reality. They had
their favoured dreams to live by and they weren’t going to trade them for facts
or figures.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-right: 2.85pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 150%;"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-right: 2.85pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 150%;">Mistakes are not usually made without a trigger, and
here it was a declaration from the <b>W</b>orld <b>T</b>ransformation <b>F</b>orum,
a wealthy debating society of self-declared societal transformers with a
surprising hold over the minds of most politicians which quite suddenly, in
late January, issued a stark warning. Soon, the message read, hospitals around
the world would stop functioning as usual because of a <b>P</b>ublic <b>H</b>ealthcare
<b>E</b>vent with <b>A</b>stonishing <b>R</b>esults, an acronym that read like
a rapper with a scary name and which quite rightly was understood by the
general public as a ban on demanding and receiving ordinary medical assistance.
At first, this seemed just a minor nuisance to the majority of the public who
were not in need of regular care, although of course for the old and infirm it
meant a severe strain on their survival chances, but then a rumour started
spreading on social media: smack in the middle of the healthcare event a new
and as yet poorly understood virus was making the rounds and presumably killing
people by the thousands. Within days, television and politicians took on the
story and the <b>CO</b>llective <b>V</b>iral <b>I</b>nfection <b>D</b>elusion
was born. We were all chased by an invisible enemy right at a time when
hospitals were off-limits. Where could we hide? Luckily, our brave politicians soon
found the answer: go home and lock the door, do not go to work or school or gym
or bar, avoid contact with family, friends and strangers alike, and if one
really had to go out, to go shopping for food, wear a diaper over one’s face to
prevent the invisible fiend from entering your body, where it may do
unspeakable harm. Religiously, the people followed up these proposals – and
those who wouldn’t were heftily fined – with predictable results. Whole sectors
of the economy, the arts, entertainment, tourism and local business,
disappeared, while people’s health was quickly deteriorating through a
combination of isolation, fear, excessive alcohol consumption and continuous
diaper wearing. Come the next winter, many people died from being unprepared
for colder weather, with the blame of course put on the unseen enemy instead of
the <b>CO</b>llective <b>V</b>iral <b>I</b>nfection <b>D</b>elusion. In a
desperate attempt at stopping the onslaught, untested vaccines were rolled out,
but as no one knew what virus to beat, the inoculations were both useless and
dangerous, killing even more people, which were again blamed on the invisible
one.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-right: 2.85pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 150%;"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-right: 2.85pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 150%;">And so it went, season after season. First, the
octogenarians died in large numbers, then they were the over seventy, then the
over sixty as well as many disabled and other people dependent on state
allowances. Meanwhile, unemployment soared and once thriving neighbourhoods
made Eastern-Europe in the 1980s look prosperous. Our brave politicians were
seen on television crying hot tears over the terrible ordeals they were forced
to put us through. Think of the children, one stammered between sobs and wails,
their childhoods are destroyed and their futures are taken away from them. When
they grow up, many will end up in a life of crime and drug abuse, and all of
that because of this horrible invisible danger we must fight all together.
Inevitably, some people lost their appetite for the unstoppable descent into
hell and with that their belief in the existence of the feared disease. It’s
all a delusion, they cried, we just need to resume our old ways and all will be
fine. Luckily, the police were able to teach such foolhardy snobs a good lesson,
and those who still believed could feel assured the strong arm was fully on
their side.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-right: 2.85pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 150%;"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-right: 2.85pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 150%;">Nevertheless, such episodes made it clear to the <b>WTF</b>
that the <b>COVID</b> cycle was coming to its conclusion and that new scares
were needed if they wanted to keep <b>PHEAR</b> alive. By now, few people still
were in contact with their general practitioner, with many dying at home from
once curable cancers, heart conditions and infections of all kind. A clever
moniker should be able to join such wildly diverging health problems and focus
the public’s attention again on the necessary destruction of everything they
once held dear. Where previously the blame was put on an invisible enemy, this
time it was the most visible of all, the one in the mirror, your one and only
you, the person you perhaps held dearest of all. And it went like this. </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-right: 2.85pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 150%;"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-right: 2.85pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 150%;">They said you were a danger. It wasn’t the virus,
after all, which had been an illusion all along (we are now able to confirm),
it was the person. And some persons were more dangerous than others. They were
considered a <b>T</b>ransmitting <b>H</b>uman <b>E</b>mergency <b>M</b>enace. This
indisputable fact made clear that undesirable types were not going to be
rescued. It was the ultimate guilt trip many had been waiting and sometimes
even longing for. Just to not be one of them! The false escape from fear such
thinking offered, drove many people insane. They were on a high they knew was
sustained by nothing but temporary lies. So, they became unreasonable. It was
not nice.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-right: 2.85pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 150%;"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-right: 2.85pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 150%;">With the West sinking into despair, countries in the
Southern hemisphere started wondering why they were taken for a ride. One by
one, their peoples rose up against the needless and very harmful measures in
the name of <b>COVID</b>, with their governments often too weak to resist
popular revolt. It happened just before the internet turned 100% nationally
oriented (something I predicted in my novel <i>Jungle Town </i>would happen),
and the story spread so fast it became hard to know where it had actually
originated, though most accounts spoke of an African beginning. Initially, the Western
sheeple ignored the ongoing liberation of large swaths of the planet (the few
reports leaking through were considered fake news), but lately more and more individuals
have been waking up to what has been going on right under their noses. Perhaps,
they will recognise their Southern brethren’s collective power and finally
(after hundreds of years) decide to grant them the initiative, with <b>A</b>stonishing
<b>R</b>esults.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="ES"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="ES"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span>Jan Hammingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03734608414859037727noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3873309156705001437.post-63289012876103977352021-04-10T16:39:00.000-07:002021-04-10T16:39:26.433-07:00Strawberry Fears Forever<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 150%;">Music
to go: </span><span lang="ES"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HtUH9z_Oey8"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 150%;">strawberry fields</span></a></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 150%;"></span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 150%;"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 150%;">Nothing’s
real anymore, have you noticed? Life is merely a mirror image of what we held
for true until very recently. Social relationships, especially the looser ones,
have suffered greatly from people not daring to approach. Tucked behind our
masks, all we can give each other is the eye, a fearful, hungry, obedient eye
with only a touch of anger mixed in. It’s not enough to make things happen.
Neither do we want anything to happen. When things are getting worse, let
tomorrow be today. We are going through the motions. We are living in a dream,
all of us. With society breaking down under isolation and poverty, we are
quickly losing our culture. There are lots of incomprehensible and repulsive
laws and regulations imposed everywhere, but what really strikes is that the
rule of life has gone. There’s no logic to our existence any longer, no
adherence to a guiding principle, be it politics, religion or selfishness,
other than fear - fear of disease or fear of repression. We are lost in our
private interpretations, deprived of bars and shops and busy streets to monitor
our sanity. What we’re left with is an exercise in self-assessment. Howdy,
mirror image, do I still look sane? Can I still pretend? ‘Cause that’s what it
is about, this so-called new normal. Let’s imagine everything is like it always
was, even though nothing is. And see if we can maintain our mental well-being
in the face of total madness. Jay Krishnamurti said: it’s no measure of health
to be well-adjusted to a profoundly sick society. Yet, we see people everywhere
do whatever they can to adapt. Look at me, I can wear a mask, I can stay away
from you, I can shame myself, I can even hate myself. How am I doing, overlord?</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 150%;"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 150%;">Following
the leader in the face of a great, unknown fear hasn’t turned out to be a very wise
tactic, has it? Ten months in and counting, we haven’t got any closer to the
end of our ordeal. Rather, people are being told to get used to permanent
lockdowns. By the way, the vaccine is not going to save us, the virus has been
mutating a lot lately and we can’t guarantee it will be of any use. But take it
anyway, you know, it’s new and it’s been paid for. By you. So shut up and lock
up and stay put till we tell you to come out again. Don’t blame or sue us for
any damages your inactivity may have incurred, we all accept these measures are
necessary. Wouldn’t want anybody to die this year, would we? Not in the news,
that is. Not from fabled covid, the grand executioner. The silent killer of
alcoholism, drug abuse, eating disorders, depression, auto mutilation and
suicide is not taken into account. Who cares about losers who can’t cope? The
new normal is here for the successfully desensitised.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 150%;"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 150%;">Pardon
my sarcasm, I do understand why people want to follow the official explanation.
There are so many stories these days and so many of them are challenged, it’s
very difficult to come to some sort of understanding of what’s going on in the
world. Besides, we have been conditioned into trusting authority. For thousands
of years we used to place our fate in the hands of Gods, and when we had enough
of their dictatorial ways there were peers and icons to look up to. Yet, many
of us were groomed in a society that had managed to secure certain freedoms for
the individual, the most important being the right to be who you were and put
faith in your own decisions. Don’t follow leaders, Bob Dylan warned around the
time it was becoming clear in certain circles that progress and prosperity
could not be shared by everybody on the planet, as our poor mother seemed
incapable of carrying such a heavy load, and ideas for serious population
reduction began floating. Think for yourself, the reasoning went, make up your
own mind. It proved attractive but not easy to realise for many. Now, we have obeyed
under threat. As the director of one of Netherland’s leading newspapers recently
said (and I’m not straight quoting): since nobody knows what’s going on, we
found it wiser not to criticise the government in any capacity. Indeed. Soon,
people will start to regret this. Some already have. They understand they have
gained nothing with giving up their fundamental civic rights. They realise all
this is not going to be over until some hotshot says so, whenever that may be.
Perhaps some even see they should have known up front this might happen. This
is not the first time a crisis is being used against us, though it certainly is
playing out to be the most devastating to date.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 150%;"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 150%;">It
is difficult to pinpoint a precise starting date, but let’s argue things began
changing by the end of the last century, somewhere during those comfortable
nineties. Little by little, carefree Western consumers were being lured out of their
comfort zone and acquainted with a rougher reality where life is not always as
shiny as advertising still would like you to have it, where bad luck and severe
consequences are to be accepted as what inevitably will happen to your loved
ones. The first big whammy came with 911, which led to a lot of those carefree
freedoms getting lost and irritating rules implemented, life having the fun
taken out of it to a certain extent. But hey, we were strong, we knew how to
persevere, individually, we would come up with practical solutions to our first
world predicament. Next, they stole our money, or part of it, with the Wall
Street induced worldwide financial contraction whose consequences were placed
on the weakest shoulders, as always. That made many people dependent on
government largesse, with those who so far had escaped the blade fearing the
next round of quantitative tightening. Easing is only there for the already
rich. As consequences go, suddenly it wasn’t so thrilling anymore to oppose the
official version (poor man bad) as it might get you into trouble with your bank
account feeding institutions. Many people kept quiet and accepted they were
being skinned by their overlords, who now had them out of peace and out of
money. Then came the third blow.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 150%;"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 150%;">Yes,
covid. There’s nothing accidental about it. She was meant to be. It is
debatable whether fate interfered with her release or it was all human
engineered, but no questions can arise over the abuse authorities are making of
her. Highly arbitrary decisions wipe out whole business communities and nobody
is thinking any of it. Children are melting away before our eyes. Meanwhile, we
are being ridiculed with those facemasks, now compulsory anywhere outside the
home in many places, though their influence is close to zero. They tell that we
are sheep, those masks, and it is true. We place enormous trust in a government
that tells us we can’t trust ourselves any longer, let alone our neighbours. But
we don’t care about such inconsistencies; all we seek is comfort and relief
from fear. Let it be over! We have become too weak, too civilised, to see that
we are being had. By the time sufficient people understand what’s going on, we
will be atomised into our private rooms which we may not leave, hooked on
censored internet and regular doses of poison, for our own good. We will be
locked out from any physical contact. If that doesn’t kill us, then what will?</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 150%;"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 150%;">Desperate
thoughts should not seek their final outcome, so I will try to end on a more
positive note. These are revolutionary times. The elite are ahead, as they made
the revolution, but they equally grasp for control of the chaos they
deliberately created. We know, whenever there has been a chance of change, it
was in difficult times. We have failed, so far. We never even came close. Now we
are closer to the end of our era, our world, our lives, then ever before. I’m
not talking linear time here, but the eb and flow of history. So, can we do it?
Can we get rid of this parasitic bunch and create the world of ordinary people,
the vast majority in any country, who have come to get to know each other a bit
through internet and who have realised that within money differences most
citizens around the world live in comparable circumstances? This is our task.
This is the enlightenment of the human race. A world without oppressive
leadership where people make informed decisions and share as much as they can.
In a way, it is the world of Klaus Schwab without Klaus Schwab. Or any other
Klaus Schwab. Let them eat cake.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="ES"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span>Jan Hammingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03734608414859037727noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3873309156705001437.post-13131260112784792852020-12-15T10:10:00.001-08:002020-12-15T10:10:39.014-08:00Get yourself a copy of The Price of Return<p class="Standard" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MpqijArwkLk/X9j7nq6aG7I/AAAAAAAAArc/8T_5MCb83WkXsi_EVIUudH88aoYTzegrgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2000/the%2Bprice%2Bof%2Breturn%2BCover.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2000" data-original-width="1332" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MpqijArwkLk/X9j7nq6aG7I/AAAAAAAAArc/8T_5MCb83WkXsi_EVIUudH88aoYTzegrgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/the%2Bprice%2Bof%2Breturn%2BCover.png" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">When Pep Gun receives a visit from a lookalike
robot who quickly copies his mannerisms and claims to be instructed to take his
place as the lodger of his flat, Pep understands the best he can do under the
circumstances is run away as fast and far as he can. With the help of a
colleague from work he manages to escape to the countryside, away from the city
and the internet of things which is able to track his every move. Pep becomes the
unlikely hero of his own story, an anxious adventure which lands him under a
tree with a bag of food and utensils. With the promise of regular refill Pep begins
laying out a place for himself, a total nobody but free from the super brain
that’s following most of us and deciding for us what our lives should be like. Pep
knows, as soon as he becomes somebody, showing even the slightest trace of a
somebody, police will quickly be all over him and anything could happen after
what has already happened. Or so thought Pep. Police were not impressed and
charged him with trace and retrieve costs, but that happens only later on.
First, Pep has to learn to love his dirt floor den under cover of plant life
and to do so he will have to control his fear of nature. Luckily, there seems
to be very little wildlife around, insects also notably failing, giving the
city dweller he is much needed respite.</span></span></span><p></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="Standard" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">Pep is a healer of sorts in his spare time. He
sucks off negative energy from depressed and otherwise unhappy people, to give
them a short look into a happier version of themselves, which they then must
see to extend up till the next session. More than anything, Pep sees the
robot’s appearance as interference with his well-established private practice. Some
people perhaps didn’t like him keeping individuals away from pills. It’s easy
to get paranoid when you are trying to be totally alone because it’s really the
only safe thing you can do. Nobody to talk to and no alcohol either, unless you
had brought a bottle, so you had better find something to keep the mind busy.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="Standard" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">Pep needs focus to keep himself sane and he
chooses to write the story of his escape, the one he is at that very moment
experiencing, hoping success may render him immune from the law. Nobody wants
to see a beloved author get into trouble, do they? Even so, there doesn’t seem
to be any other way out of his predicament. So, Pep starts writing. He is
turning his adventure into a story for popular consumption. </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="Standard" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="Standard" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">In spite of all the hardships, The Price Of
Return is a funny story, full of crazy situations as they happen when you’re
out of place in a place where there is no place to go. For instance, people do
the weirdest things when they think nobody sees them and for some the great
outdoors are the best place to freak out, so there are lots of cyclists and
other intruders of his initial hideout habitat he was told would be remote. Pep
witnesses plain repulsive stuff and everyday madness and even steaming sex - so
as not to forget the good sex thriller fans - and he is close to interfering a
couple of times, but it would be the immediate end of his escape. And he’s not
ready for that, yet. </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="Standard" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="Standard" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">Want to read the full story? For only € 4.49 (</span><span lang="EN-GB">$</span><span lang="EN-GB"> 4.99) you can order The Price of
Return as e-book from Kobo, Scribd, Barnes & Noble or Apple. Pdfs for phone
reading or printables can be ordered straight from the author. Send an email
to: <a href="mailto:coospalmboom@gmail.com">coospalmboom@gmail.com</a>, stating
the preferred format, phone, A5 or B5.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="Standard" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span>Jan Hammingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03734608414859037727noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3873309156705001437.post-58574149713087897742020-12-07T02:17:00.001-08:002020-12-07T02:17:51.218-08:0010.6 seconds, an instant T-shirt moment<div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZzoLkzdE7P4/X83_ym7cXSI/AAAAAAAAAqc/JPmz2IEgAJIxZZkQ6iiX3j8cVntLtxnOQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Maradona%2B10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1540" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZzoLkzdE7P4/X83_ym7cXSI/AAAAAAAAAqc/JPmz2IEgAJIxZZkQ6iiX3j8cVntLtxnOQCLcBGAsYHQ/w243-h320/Maradona%2B10.jpg" width="243" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I was there, on the 22nd of June 1986. Well, I was not
present in the magnificently looking Azteca Stadium in Mexico DF, of course, I
was at home in front of a giant black-and-white tv set, what we considered
giant in those days. Colour tv’s were still expensive back then, whereas a
second hand black-and-white one could be had for the equivalent of fifty euros.
Besides, watching television was a much more relaxing activity without
screaming colours giving you a taste of reality. So I was sat in the sofa on a
balmy summer’s evening, noon in Mexico, ready to watch Argentina consume their
revenge on England, the country that four years previously had fought what
looked like a colonial war to retain its possession of a group of tiny islands
off the Argentinian coast after the Argentinian army had occupied them in a
move of gratuitous aggression. The nationalist frenzy England were being served
as a reaction by Margaret Thatcher, managed to severely dent my enthusiasm for
that weird and wonderful island which had given the world great pop music, bizarre
food and a style of football which on the continent was considered ridiculous,
out of fashion and counter-productive. Little wonder, that most of us rooted
for Argentina to give perfidious Albion a good beating, and our hopes were
resting on the shoulders of that diminutive star of nineteen eighties’
football, Diego Maradona.</span></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"> </span></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">The first half, in my memory, was nothing special,
England well-organised at the back and Argentina seeming to lack the
inventiveness to get behind. Then came the second half. Five minutes in, Maradona
was approaching the English penalty box. He played the ball to I heard was
Valdano, who scooped it up for Maradona to jump for the header, a great jump
but never high enough for the overplayed pass. The English goalie, not
expecting to be troubled by the 5-foot 5-inch finest footballer of his
generation by a long shot, readied himself to calmly collect the leather sphere
with a lazy show jump. But then the short guy raised his arm like a ballet
dancer, straight and purposefully, and let the ball ricochet off his hand into
the net. It was a handsome move and it was the clearest example of handball
ever, yet the linesman stayed mute and the referee conceded the goal. Argentina
were one-nil up. England were fuming.</span></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"> </span></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">It was a brazen act of gamesmanship and should have been
punished with a yellow card, yet the fact that Argentina were winning was just
what many had been hoping for. Let those English go to hell, if they couldn’t
be defeated in a fair way, then an unfair one would do just fine. This was
knock-out football and we wanted to see England sent home. It is also true that
having a corrupt worldview was considered cool that year.</span></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"> </span></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Just a couple of minutes later, Maradona received a
short flick in his own half, elegantly avoided an opponent’s challenge with a
double back flip which left the other look the wrong way and then set off on a
rush which would leave football fans mesmerised. Cleverly looking for space to
avoid further challenges from those big, strong, well-trained English players,
Maradona ran towards the English goal, having to change direction a few times
to keep them away. The ball, whether it was on his golden left foot or just a
few feet away, always seemed to do as he wanted it to behave. This was classic
Maradona, no other football player had such complete understanding with the
ball, such technical and mental command, as if both were cut from the same
cloth. Platini and Van Basten come to mind as challengers. The inseparable duo
nearing the penalty box, I unconsciously sat up straight. This had to be a
goal, it just had to. Anything less would be utter disappointment. Fate, the
stars, the gods of sport, whoever were in control of destiny at that very
moment, simply had to guide the player and his ball past the final obstacles to
a point were a shot at goal couldn’t go wrong. People around the world wanted
it that way, and in their common desire a worldwide instant admission was
expressed that a wonder was happening before our eyes, the start of a cult. The
moment seemed to come four yards into the box, with the keeper rushing out and
a clear gap left to the far corner. Yet, Maradona chose to play it safe and
round the goalie as well. My heart stopped beating for a split second, as the daunting
figure of one of those big English defenders loomed large just to the right of
Maradona. He wasn’t going to tackle him of the ball, was he? With so much
weight attached to the moment, these crucial two seconds seemed to drag out
into what felt like a minute. Argentina clearly needed a second goal, as they
were not the better side and there was the ongoing danger of Blighty scoring themselves
(as they would a good ten minutes before the end). Also, the fate of a nation
was hanging in the balance. Were they going to get the satisfaction of having
sent a promising English squad home, and receive at least a minor settlement
for their failed efforts to kick the Brits off those rocks, a stupid move in
itself by a bloody regime that felt unwanted, or were they heading for double
defeat? </span></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></div><h2 class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"> </span></span></span></h2><div style="text-align: justify;"><h2><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">
</span></span></h2></div><h2 class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Ever so slowly in that timeframe I was in, Maradona
went past the keeper, now only having to find the right balance to shoot the
ball into an empty goal. Already, the charging defender had initiated his final
desperate lunge, going to the ground and stretching his leg towards where he
targeted the ball to be. Maradona really needed to act quickly now, or the ball
might be picked off his feet. There was a clear possibility of a penalty here,
but after such a magnificent rush that would have been an anti-climax, even if
no one expected the golden boy to miss from the spot. No, he had to score now.
Football demanded it, his country demanded it, history demanded it. The clichés
were dripping from my black-and-white screen.</span></span></span></h2><div style="text-align: justify;"><h2><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">
</span></span></h2></div><h2 class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"> </span></span></span></h2><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">And so it was. While never totally clear whether it
was Maradona himself or rather the defender’s toe that sent the ball goal
bound, it definitely went in and the world erupted in joy and celebration. The
globe’s finest football player had scored the greatest goal. It was the total
instant T-shirt moment. Never again would we see such a rush, until some twenty
years later another magical player copied his compatriot’s effort with a
remarkably similar run, albeit against an opponent of lesser calibre. But that
was still very far in the future on that sunny, miraculous day in the summer of
1986. And now he is dead, too old to die young and to young to die old. Gracias,
Diego, por su arte.</span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span>Jan Hammingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03734608414859037727noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3873309156705001437.post-29051049660314561862020-09-15T02:56:00.000-07:002020-09-15T02:56:14.995-07:00A lopsided history of the last 50 years<p class="Standard" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I wrote this story two years ago. Time to publish it again</span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span><p class="Standard" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I was six years old half a century ago when youths around the world
caught on with the new craze which had sprung up the year before in USA and
perhaps England: if we all take enough drugs to be peaceful, we might live life
in a completely different way, not just the common people but the chiefs and
the bosses, if still needed, as well. Now ain't that a gas? This wonderful
sounding idea was pushed upon the nascent anti-Vietnam war movement, brought
along by spaced-out eighteen year old nitwits who could only talk about music
and love as a concept, with the express aim to dillute its resolve with
indifference and inaction. Peace, man, all you need is love. 'Cause that's the
thing, music was heavily involved in this scam, this psyop as it would be
called these days. In Los Angeles in 1966, a number of bands were readily
formed to convey carefully scripted messages, and thanks to lots of airplay and
lavishly positive press they were big from day one. The whole show was
organised and paid for by the CIA and involved talented children of families
belonging to the higher ranks of military and intelligence. Famously, The Doors
singer Jim Morrison's father was commander of the fleet which performed the
Gulf of Tonkin false flag, and there were many more with funny stories. But
things didn't exactly work out as planned. The youths, uneducated and
unknowing, weren't necessarily stupid. So they did pick up on the war thing
while perhaps some musicians forgot their designated role and became true
spokespersons for the new generation, paying for this sin with their lives, and
by the early seventies society in its majority felt it was time for a new
approach, away from the war for profit scam. According to gonzo reporter Hunter
Thompson, then US president Nixon at some point understood he couldn't fight
the swelling tide and had better channel it into calmer waters. And that's
exactly what happened in the next five years: everybody took a break from
reality. The seventies (74-79) were a totally weird and goofy adventure where only
fun and nonsense counted. The western world became a giant Brady bunch (and me
desperately trying not to be one of those boys). It was all paid for by
non-existing money of course, so when Wall Street invited Iran to pull the plug
on them the wonderful dream quickly evaporated, leaving us with the cold turkey
of a short deep crisis and a decade long aftermath.</span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span><p class="Standard" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> </span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span><p class="Standard" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">With the new reality, no work, no housing, cheap drugs, came the need
for new music as well. The pullers of strings had already set up the scene with
the introduction of punk in 76, another hike at giving no shit, followed by a
turn to computers as the saviour of pop music, and of the rest of society also.
Punk was fun for a year, rolling out across the channel in waves and reaching
the outlying shores latest, both in shine and demise. Yet again, the masses
proved smarter than their overlords wish to see them. They understood punk's
message as having nothing to expect from those in control. It's you and what
you do, nobody else there, and many young people went for that idea. It took
the nineties to cash in on the effort, suddenly there was money around again,
but the attitude was born in those bleak early eighties.</span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span><p class="Standard" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> </span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span><p class="Standard" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Or perhaps they do know, our controlling elite. After a couple thousand
years of manipulating society they perfectly understand our nature and that is
why they like giving us hardship to get us back to work after we have once
again become too complacent, which is of course our preferred state of being.
Remember the noughties, anyone, how comfortably we were waiting for the next
crash to happen? Well, it came when some started believing it might never
happen after all. End of history, endless controlled growth, that kind of
dangerous nonsense. They are poachers, our leaders, they hide behind trees and
start financial crises, invent sanctions and declare war to get us off our lazy
arses. You might think, if we were more responsible, wouldn't they have less
need to unleash their wrath? 'Cause that's the thing, it's all so unappealing,
so very byblical in its approach, full of moral outrage and deliberate
punishment of the innocent to induce maximum fear, as if they honestly enjoyed
the good book. I actually don't mind people being led by their beliefs, I like
to think it is indeed a natural state of affairs for most. They are busy
running everyday life and find letting other people have a go at organising the
set-up a practical solution. They have always lived by this principle. This is
why I don't believe people are easily desillusioned when an unexpected dream of
honest affairs dies out, something our treacherous media love to stress, as
they were sufficiently prepared for the coming disingenuity. Nothing new, here.
People believe because they want to believe. They are sad, yes, an opportunity
was lost, but they happily move on to the next challenge. This is how most
people live their lives, full of love and energy, waiting for the day their
leaders will finally understand those angry parent methods are absolutely
dysfunctional.</span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span><p class="Standard" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> </span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span><p class="Standard" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Many ordinary westerners have sworn off their gods and try to live by
the heavily pushed ideal of universal brotherhood, another psyop if ever there
was one, deliberately blind to the immediate effects on their personal
situation this position creates. Mind you, being a well-embedded big city
professional is not the same as always being the last to find work, in this
respect. It's all too easy to tell off the downtrodden who feel they have
little to gain from the deliberate mash-up of the world's cultures. To them it's
just new rules and more competition. Why can't the lords come up with a better
script? one wonders. If we all work together in smart ways and stop reproducing
for a while, we might sail those rocks in unison. No need to cut away at the
playground. Unfortunately, the master's image seems to be the total opposite:
just them in their computer generated garden of eden and the memory of us some
old fable about how we did it to ourselves. Not to be repeated, precious
children! You can see the little ones chilling at the thought of having to live
through such horrible times, not yet aware that with ten parents each they
should be cool on the matter. Next phase: population reduction is so successful
that it becomes a hype and all types of back to zero cults spring up. And, by
the way, should it all come to a sudden end, they can forget about surviving
anywhere beyond ten years in their South Island hide-outs. A droplet of time in
eternity, is that worth mocking nature for and bringing it to its final
destruction? Only to those who don't believe in survival, one would say.</span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span><p class="Standard" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> </span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span><p class="Standard" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> </span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span>Jan Hammingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03734608414859037727noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3873309156705001437.post-73623924958679628782020-09-10T01:41:00.001-07:002020-09-10T02:20:05.945-07:00Dirt<p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="Standard" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">as sung by Iggy Pop back in </span><span lang="ES"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cF-q_JdcCD8"><i><span color="windowtext">1970</span></i></a></span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="Standard" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> <br /></span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="Standard" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dUb0e9AhCkI/X1nmJxUB8HI/AAAAAAAAAnw/hnvYAxBN2_wgxoBroX-GhftCdq4DKxc-wCLcBGAsYHQ/s642/dirt%2Bone.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="642" data-original-width="516" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dUb0e9AhCkI/X1nmJxUB8HI/AAAAAAAAAnw/hnvYAxBN2_wgxoBroX-GhftCdq4DKxc-wCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/dirt%2Bone.jpg" /></a></span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="Standard" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><p class="Standard" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">image by BrittPM</span></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"></span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="Standard" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="Standard" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">In the midst of the covid craze, the subterranean traveller could no
longer go underground, as there was nowhere to go anymore besides the metro,
which was forbidden territory for him as he wasn't going to wear a fucking
facemask. No cattle yet. So he cruised the streets and the parks of his city,
the latter pleasant and cool hideouts from the ticket police. He saw people
everywhere wearing the mask, some he knew and some he thought he knew. It got
difficult to recognise people because so many adapted their behaviour to the
new rules. No contact? Fine, then it's just us and the internet and the
neighbours we quietly pass by. Poor subterranean! In his measured existence,
there was no room for obedience. He had always roamed the lower circles of
society to come up with stories of resistance. He was a mood reporter and it
was all he knew. He wasn't a real human being and he was aware of that, so how
should he make the change-over normal people so easily seemed to make? The traveller
was who he was made to be and he certainly wasn't ready yet. Remember, you can't
change attitudes all the time as a character. It's like a Hollywood make-over,
they don't usually go back. Besides, it wasn't even September, so enjoy the
summer a bit more.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="Standard" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="Standard" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">There were some beautiful girls in his neighbourhood. They were still
walking up and down the high street, showing their amazing legs and laughing
together. Their boyfriends were often busy with their telephones, causing the
subterranean in passing to search their eyes for a moment and mutter a few
words with marcello innocence. Now that they were wearing their mouth masks,
his interest was changing. He couldn't talk to them or even come near – which
was a good thing in itself – so what he was left seeing were their bodies.
Long, tall bones and cutie eyes, but no expression. To be sure, even as a
character the subterranean traveller considered himself a bit old for these
gazelles, he just loved having small talk with all women he happened upon, an
impossible ideal which nevertheless deserved being pursued. Or so he felt.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="Standard" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="Standard" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">The subterranean meets his equally unreal friends when they appear in a
story together and he hasn't seen any of them for a while, his entertainer busy
understanding reality. He feels he has no other choice than to go out and meet
real people. But those masks! And the fear behind them, or the sullenness, the
bored acceptance, the miraculous hope that this will soon be over, a message
many parents feel pressed to tell their suffering children. Six-year-olds tortured
at school while there are hardly people dying anymore! All these emotions are
related to the mask. It has so far proven devilishly difficult to see people
with masks as people without masks, a necessity if we ever want to recognise
each other again. Fortunately, there is the internet. Depending on your
connection, you get to see slightly weird images of your contacts with
telephone quality voices. It's similarly not real, but it doesn't seem to
affect people's thinking so much. In the end, the traveller needs his
neighbours, plain and simple. He can still go to bars, but if he is the only
one sitting there's nobody to listen in on. So there's the street and the masks
to get round to. The subterranean traveller suddenly feels a strong urge to
grab the first person and hold them tight to his aging breast. Might get him in
all kinds of trouble though.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="Standard" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="Standard" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">There's people in cars who all are wearing breath masks, even the little
ones, and the windows well-shut. They usually drive very unsafely. These people
don't believe the government. They check the internet for the harshest measures
anywhere in the world and they apply them on themselves. Ain't no virus gonna
catch us, they think. At the grocery store everybody is wearing masks, as has
been customary in shops since day one, but at least distancing is impossible,
so some smells are exchanged in passing, even if we don’t fully notice. There's
a mother of two outside waiting little ones whom the traveller fancies. He
pretends to be looking for a peach opposite her apples and gives her his
curious look, once again marcello style. She smiles under her mask, he can
clearly see. His return smile tells her to liberate herself from the signal
cloth for a moment, but she can't. Mothers can't make mistakes. That's okay,
the subterranean acquiesces, take care of your babies. It could have sounded
condescending and it would have in previous circumstances, but her guilt stigma
made her embrace the traveller's outreach with unrestrained desire. Not to be
outed, of course, this desire, as desires were dangerous, but heartfelt
nevertheless. Don't worry, she smiled again and this time the subterranean
traveller saw she had a really nice face.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="Standard" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="Standard" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">People who can't breathe behind the damn thing often free their nose and
sometimes even their mouth, having it hanging below their chin as if they were
back in school again. Others wear it on their wrist, elbow or even ankle during
off limit activities. These are exercise, eating and smoking. People love off
limit activities. They can be free again as long as they have the occasional beer
and snack. Bars without terrace meanwhile are quietly closing. The measures
favour some businesses and kill off other ones, it's easy to imagine many
owners nervously awaiting the next rule jumping out of the hat. Will it crush
me or do I get to live another day? It's all becoming a lottery. On a long ago
written novel the traveller's entertainer had glued the title Tombola!, an in
those days perhaps not fully understood description of fate which was now
coming apparent in rather perverted fashion. Then again, the novel did not
pretend to go beyond cynicism as a solution for human suffering.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="Standard" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="Standard" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">The subterranean traveller is ready to get hot over those mouth-masked
girls. There's the mother whose life he is not going to upset, not unless she
pertinently so wishes, that is. And then there's the girls, the only other ones
who seem to be aware of his presence. He sees them one night at a sidewalk
terrace, showing each other their smiles, and manages to share their table.
Boyfriends are out of sight. Tonight they are their normal selves, as they
engage in two of the off limit activities. The idea of some exercise suddenly
nestles in the traveller's brain. He gets over it by giving them a funny old
geezer story and elicits some laughs. Paqui, the one with the beautiful face
and not so beautiful legs, hits back with a story of her own while Elsa, the
pretty one with the amazing legs, is throwing him all kinds of assurances,
using her whole face and personality to lure him into her world. The
subterranean feels totally intimidated. Not so fast, girls, I don't think my
entertainer had such developments in mind. Then again, they could be equally
unreal, put here to give his report a needed edge. So he is bungling between
two possible outcomes, as is his preferred stance. H</span></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">e asks Elsa if she has an
adventure to share and she has. She tells it straight to his face and it's
about sex with two men at the same time. The subterranean traveller smiles and
tries to hide his growing interest. All ears. And something else too, laughs
Paqui. The traveller is now wondering whether he will soon be introduced to the
other man or that Paqui turns out to be the number three. It's a whole new
bungle position and a good lot further down the road.<span> </span></span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="Standard" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="Standard" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">Nothing happened in the end. The subterranean had an entertaining
evening with two early tweens who told him a lot about young people's thinking
and after he had paid for their drinks, he said Elsa and </span><span lang="ES">Paqui</span><span lang="EN-GB"> goodnight. I'll be waiting for the
next time, Elsa said with a hot kiss and a shameless ha</span></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB">nd in his crotch.
Smelling her sweat, he promised somewhat stupidly to keep the dream alive.
Paqui then did exactly the same, she was the better kisser in fact, leaving him
aroused and assured Elsa's story was about them and those girls had a clever
way of operating together. Need to plea with my maker, he thought. After a
deeply satisfying sleep the subterranean traveller once again hit the streets
of his sterilized neighbourhood. All wearing their fig leaf, forbidden to
breathe and speak, forbidden to make contact, forbidden to work, forbidden to make
money and live. Our new safe world is as empty as a stock photo, laced with
fear and disinfectant. Angst essen Seele auf (fear eats your soul), as the ever
more popular and accurate Fassbinder quip explains. Meanwhile people are being expelled
from consumer paradise in growing numbers.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="Standard" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><u><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="text-decoration: none;"> </span></span></u></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span><p class="Standard" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></span>Jan Hammingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03734608414859037727noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3873309156705001437.post-7693723586257311382020-05-31T01:36:00.000-07:002020-05-31T01:36:16.611-07:00Hami’s sneeze
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">While socially
distancing himself well beyond the minimum limits set by the nunormle on a
sunny Saturday morning, Hami let go a wild, explosive sneeze. And another one.
And then another one. Always three of those liberating monsters. Many airmasked
heads turned his way, some in anger and fright, others merely out of curiosity.
Don’t worry! Hami, on his way to the nearby supermarket, called out, it’s those
pollen again, happens to me every spring. While some people accepted his
excuse, others grabbed their phones to take his picture and send it to a snitch
page. That won’t be necessary, Hami yelled nervously, clasping his hands over
his face, suddenly aware of the possible consequences of his sneeze. He turned
and made his way up the hill where he could disappear between the shrub and
tree of the municipal park there. Let things calm down while lying under some
roots. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">He was never going to
make it, of course. Within thirty seconds of his movement, two police cars
approached, one from either side. Hami couldn’t be bothered to look for an
escape. With three guns pointing at him he had little choice but to accept
defeat. Wouldn’t want to disturb the good neighbours with my blood spatting,
right? They put him in the back of a car which had a glass partition like a
London taxi and raced off to a nearby hospital. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">In younger years, Hami
might have seen the fun side of it all, enjoy the ride and remember the
experience and stuff, but as a happily married father of two beautiful
daughters he feared he might not be there for them for a while, just when they
needed him most with the lockdown keeping them away from school. The whole
madness was turning ridiculous, Hami thought, a tragicomedy with too many
victims in its wake.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Look, I’m fine, he said
when they pulled him out on arrival and handed him to a muscle-toned triage
nurse with a giant moustache. See, it was just pollen.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">That’s what we’re going
to find out, his nurse said, handing him an airmask and latex gloves. It could
be covid.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Hami felt the fear the
word covid was causing him flush through his body and mind, so he had to close
his eyes for a second and pretend life was as before, just to feel some
strength flow back. Sure it could, he responded sympathetically, wrestling with
his equipment, though it equally couldn’t. In fact, the chance it is something
else is much greater still. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">He felt the facemask
condemning him to eternal silence and it hurt more than his pride, it hurt his
soul. Ooh, ma soul, Little Richard already knew. They were not going to keep
him here, were they? Had he become cattle already? We should be owned by now,
another favoured singer reminded him.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The nurse threw an ever
so short smile and started moving towards the interior of the hospital,
inviting Hami to do the same. Such dangerous words can only be your individual responsibility,
sir, he declared. Here we are fighting the disease.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Both the verb and the
definite article shocked Hami more than he would have liked. Is it that bad? he
struggled for words.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The nurse slowed his
step and allowed for a short eye-meet which Hami, naturally inclined to the
supernatural, accepted. We’re doing all we can. We follow the rules and we work
hard, but people keep dying on us. We don’t understand.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">He seemed honestly
distressed, hence his willingness to inform a stranger, one delivered by the
police and therefore suspected of bad intentions, why would he tell me? I can’t
help you, mate. I can only make life easier for you by going home. Wouldn’t
that be the best? Hami saw in his eyes the nurse totally agreed with his reasoning,
yet acknowledging it was impossible. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">You can’t, I’m afraid,
we must all follow the protocol, he uttered with a pleading smile. With two
policemen still following discretely behind them, in case he might get funny
ideas, Hami was going to embrace that damned protocol himself, as well. It
started with a quick temperature read which gave off 37.1. Oh, that’s quite
normle for me, Hami shouted, but the damage was already done. I’m afraid we will
have to keep you with us for a while, sir, his nurse announced. The norm says
37.0.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">But I’ve got a family
waiting for me, Hami tried.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Don’t worry, they will also
be checked.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">That sentence triggered
an uncontrollable fear in Hami. He had been sitting in a chair while awaiting
his verdict but now he jumped up and grabbed his nurse by the shoulder. Now
don’t you dare touch my family, he snapped. The other pushed him away. Now
don’t you dare touch me, mister, he rebuffed in a similar feline sound.</span></span></div>
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</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">He was right, of course.
And the policemen were already there to apprehend Hami.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Lock him up somewhere, nurse
said, it’s not his turn yet.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Again a quick glance
from soul to soul, trusting you to leave my dear ones in peace a while longer,
my friend. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The agents pushed Hami
ahead of them, discussing what to do with him. I ain’t gonna drive ‘round town with
this here fucker. No worries, mate, I’ve got a nice place for him. Will nobody
come and find him there. Out on the street, they pushed Hami into a narrow
alley between the hospital’s old ward and the next-door apartment block, full
of darkness and bad smells. Hami was freaking out. This is it, he knew, they’re
going to shoot me, I’m going to die in some lousy alley. He wasn’t. They sat
him on a stone doorstep and locked his waist to a bull’s ring lain in the wall.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Ain’t nobody gonna get
ya outta here, mister, the other agent explained. But ya got ya arms and legs
to defend yaselves.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Thanks for the
comforting thought, Hami tried sarcasm. But it was true, he felt comforted by
the idea they weren’t going to shoot him yet. The other policeman didn’t bother
to check for any reaction to his words and walked away.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Don’t scream, the
original agent advised, you will definitely attract the wrong people. Then he
too was gone. It is possible that one or both of them had a quick look back
before emerging from the alley. Though not advisable, these things keep
happening.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Little has been heard
from Hami ever since. He hasn’t used his telephone in any capacity. One could
go and see that the lock had been opened cleanly, the bull’s ring was in no way
scratched or damaged, but further tracks of Hami’s whereabouts remained
undisclosed. Was he still alive? Was he being turned into a secret agent? We
don’t know. All we know is his wife and kids have been left in peace so far.</span></span></div>
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</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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Name="Body Text 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text Indent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text Indent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Block Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Hyperlink"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="FollowedHyperlink"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="22" QFormat="true" Name="Strong"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="20" QFormat="true" Name="Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Document Map"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Plain Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="E-mail Signature"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Top of Form"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Bottom of Form"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Normal (Web)"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Acronym"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Address"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Cite"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Code"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Definition"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Keyboard"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Preformatted"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Sample"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Typewriter"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Variable"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Normal Table"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="annotation subject"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="No List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Outline List 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Outline List 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Outline List 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Simple 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Simple 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Simple 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Classic 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Classic 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Classic 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Classic 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Colorful 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Colorful 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Colorful 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 7"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 8"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 7"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 8"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table 3D effects 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table 3D effects 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table 3D effects 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Contemporary"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Elegant"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Professional"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Subtle 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Subtle 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Web 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Web 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Web 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Balloon Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="Table Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Theme"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" Name="Placeholder Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="1" QFormat="true" Name="No Spacing"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" Name="Revision"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="34" QFormat="true"
Name="List Paragraph"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="29" QFormat="true" Name="Quote"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="30" QFormat="true"
Name="Intense Quote"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="19" QFormat="true"
Name="Subtle Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="21" QFormat="true"
Name="Intense Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="31" QFormat="true"
Name="Subtle Reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="32" QFormat="true"
Name="Intense Reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="33" QFormat="true" Name="Book Title"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="37" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Bibliography"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" QFormat="true" Name="TOC Heading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="41" Name="Plain Table 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="42" Name="Plain Table 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="43" Name="Plain Table 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="44" Name="Plain Table 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="45" Name="Plain Table 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="40" Name="Grid Table Light"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46" Name="Grid Table 1 Light"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51" Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52" Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46" Name="List Table 1 Light"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="List Table 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="List Table 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="List Table 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="List Table 5 Dark"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51" Name="List Table 6 Colorful"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52" Name="List Table 7 Colorful"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="List Table 1 Light Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="List Table 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="List Table 3 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="List Table 4 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="List Table 5 Dark Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="List Table 6 Colorful Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="List Table 7 Colorful Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="List Table 1 Light Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="List Table 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="List Table 3 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="List Table 4 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="List Table 5 Dark Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="List Table 6 Colorful Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="List Table 7 Colorful Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="List Table 1 Light Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="List Table 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="List Table 3 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="List Table 4 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="List Table 5 Dark Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="List Table 6 Colorful Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="List Table 7 Colorful Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="List Table 1 Light Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="List Table 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="List Table 3 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="List Table 4 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="List Table 5 Dark Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="List Table 6 Colorful Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="List Table 7 Colorful Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="List Table 1 Light Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="List Table 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="List Table 3 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="List Table 4 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="List Table 5 Dark Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="List Table 6 Colorful Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="List Table 7 Colorful Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="List Table 1 Light Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="List Table 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="List Table 3 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="List Table 4 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="List Table 5 Dark Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="List Table 6 Colorful Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="List Table 7 Colorful Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Mention"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Smart Hyperlink"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Hashtag"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Unresolved Mention"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Smart Link"/>
</w:LatentStyles>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]>
<style>
/* Style Definitions */
table.MsoNormalTable
{mso-style-name:"Tabla normal";
mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
mso-style-noshow:yes;
mso-style-priority:99;
mso-style-parent:"";
mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt;
mso-para-margin-top:0cm;
mso-para-margin-right:0cm;
mso-para-margin-bottom:8.0pt;
mso-para-margin-left:0cm;
line-height:107%;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:11.0pt;
font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif;
mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;
mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}
</style>
<![endif]-->Jan Hammingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03734608414859037727noreply@blogger.com0