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Showing posts with label Ghengis Fokner II. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ghengis Fokner II. Show all posts

Sunday, May 27, 2012

Olympics London 2012 : UCK THE YMPICS FREE PRICE






The Celts originated from an area around the Caspian Sea and came to the west at much the same time as similar migration into India . The Celts and the Hindus shared a common ancestry in a race known as the Battle-Axe People, whose mark was a stone battle-axe, whose home was in southern Russia with the language of the Celts coming from the same source as Sanskrit, the classical language of the Hindus. The Celtic language is called Indo-European and in it figures that correspond with the Indian deities whose likenesses between the brahmins, the priest-astrologers of India, and the druids, the priest-astronomers of Europe is striking. Celtic gods are depicted seated in a similar meditation posture to the Hindu deities.  T

The peoples drifted apart. The Hindus intermarried with older Indian races and developed a dark skin while the Celts went to colder Europe and became fair with reddish hair and piercing blue eyes. Plato thought them highly intelligent, although much given to drinking. They divided society into three groups. The druids, were learned priests, shamans and judges; the military aristocracy, who were the power-holders and the heroes; and the free men were farmers and owned cattle.Diodorus Siculus wrote that the Celtic women were not only like their men in great stature who were exceptionally tall and well-built but that they were also equal in courage. Women were honoured in Celtic society and lived in an equal way with men. 


A strict legal code ensured that women could inherit property, and name and title were taken from the mother rather than the father. They could marry whom they pleased and could claim damages if molested. They took their place in battle beside the men. There were two major waves of Celtic immigration and by 700-500 BC they had emerged as one of the most important peoples of Europe. By 387 BC they had conquered Rome it fell, according to the Roman historian Livy, because of the terror inspired by the 'magic' war-cry of the Celts, who went into battle naked and by 279 BC Delphi had fallen too, although both it and Rome were retaken later. France known as Gaul was entirely Celtic 











Its a day of rest, so I will keep it brief. Still here in Aden and its a day of rest, so I will keep it brief the gateway to the east. Besides Burma which we have covered, the British of course occupied India, officially now known as the Republic of India a country in South Asia, the seventh-largest country in the world,  with the second largest population of 1.2 billion people. Four of the world's major religions, Hinduism, Buddhism, Jainism, and Sikhis originated there. Sneakily brought under the British East India Company, starting in the early 18th century then rules directly by the British from mid-19th century it became an independent in 1947, after a non-violent resistance led by Mahatma Gandhi and inspired by Ireland adopting the colours of the Irish-tricolour to celebrate that fact.


I felt utterly alone in India after my friend abandoned our trip east many years ago but I had never envisaged being there on my own. I pressed on hoping that destiny would reveal itself? India becamea blur of brown faces, blue elephants and pink monkeys. Crowds gathered quickly whenever I stopped moving. There was always a crowd staring at me when somebody would usually ask, “Where are you coming from?, Why did you come to India, Are you looking for enlightenment?  Questions similar to the ones I asking myself.


Everywhere I went,  in railway stations, in parks, in restaurants I attracted attention by being just there. I considered finding an ashram to take me in to quiet place where I could find the meaning of life?  I got dysentery, was robbed, I had had no passport and no money when I arrived at an ashram up in the Himalayas. One can see him being shown into a simple white-walled room…a mat, a bed-sheet and a jug of water. He likes it. I really liked to get away from the realities of India. The evening were cool with a breeze usually wafting down from the Himalayas through the Ganges Gorge with the gentle chanting of other ashrams. I was able to turn off my mind, relax and drift into meditation?


I almost forgot about myself for a while. Whatever the joy of it, it didn’t last long. One morning the ashram in charge of accommodation told me the time had come to leave. “Where will you go?” I asked. He smiled. “No, not me its time for you to leave.” “Have achieved enlightenment?” “No, no, no, we need your bungalow. We have a group coming.” So started walking back along dusty roads to the towns at the foot of the Himalayas. Farmers were watering, weeding and minding their crops. The road itself was quiet except for numerous cows and women going to market. Suddenly it descended upon me a blinding light, or a vision of the future in with hundreds of of airborne hippies with fans on their backs and flowers in their hair with a psychedelic version of John Lennon with a North of Ireland accent singing and playing his guitar, with repeated instructions to make love not war.

Almost everyone was busy trying to follow his instructions  making one big orgy in flight. I saw Gerry Adams was among them he had very long hair and he was banging away at someone from Derry who also had long hair. Most of the fenians and loyalist who were banging each other were stoned on high grade hash garlanded with marigolds, sunflowers and orange lilies. Behind all of this on the road was a large bus labeled ‘Monarchy’ The queen was also participating and she was getting the full treatment from Lord Muck of  Londonderry. Paisley was also there mounted by a nun,along with Maggie Thatcher sitting on his face in a sandwich. I realized quickly it was a vision from the future or instant nirvana. Some kind of parallel universe thing, I may write a book about it sometime, if i ever get my head together. I have to add that the nun had great thighs and she was going hell for leather sitting on Paisley's shaft, as she screamed in ecstasy riding him. Thatcher was more subdued, while at the same time sititting on his face but she was merciless grinding him down in sadistic spasms as he gasped for air.


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Saturday, May 26, 2012

Olympic London 2012 SUCKS !



























I am English born and bred and moved to London about 18 months ago. I hate it. It’s noisy, dirty, expensive, uncaring and certainly not meritocratic.

What’s more, I hate every single one of my stupid countrymen who tries to convince me it’s the best place on earth. I don’t know where this myth comes from but they all think I’m dead lucky to be living here.

Every time I suggest the place could be better it’s like I’ve told them I’ve slept with their mother.

Can’t wait to get out. Trying to find a way to move to New York.

Ally 



Lived in London my whole life and it is my goal in life to emigrate to Oz or the States, i simply cannot stand living in this smelly, crime ridden, overpopulated SHIT HOLE and on top of it all, it’s one of the most expensive cities on earth! The fucking cheek!!

Liam, London -




i thought it was just me. Live there for one year as an 18 year old at The London College of Fashion. Lived in New Cross and went to school in Hackney. I am from Ireland where everyone is warm and talkative and welcoming. In London, I plunged into depression. I hated every single second of that year.

lollylady -



London is an amazing city, unless you’re interested in the evolution of humanity! I can’t stand this place. I’m glad I’m not alone. I moved here 5 years ago (my father is English) and I feel like I’ve been swallowed up by an overcrowded, overpriced, overstressed, outdated, and uninspiring black hole!! I’ve lived in Washington DC, Toronto, Chicago, New York, Kyoto and Hiroshima and visited even more, but London is frankly the most disappointing place to live. I’ve stepped back in time. The streets are dirty, the culture is arrogant, tolerance is low, public transport is a NIGHTMARE, the politics are juvenile and highly aristocratic, basic services like phone/gas/tv/banks/post office are never straight forward to set up and will always leave you feeling victimized. The bar and club scene is sooo disappointing. Difficult to make friends unless you want to look/talk/act like everyone else. And very difficult to find places that don’t play top 40 music crap. I’m leaving to settle back in Toronto this year. I can’t wait! Thank you for letting me rant. Peace to all.

Benjamin



Like almost everyone says …i thought i was the only one that felt that way. I moved from NYC to London a year ago and I swear every time i get to JFK i wanna cry with joy and when i come in to Heathrow i spend a week getting over depression. The weather sucks ass i don’t think ur ever quite prepared for just how bad it is…why do i have to wear a coat in JUNE …..ahhhhh but its worth it because if it’s actually hot in june/july u have to contend with ac-less trains. WTF that should be a health violation!! 100 ppl in one train car 80+ degrees and no AC puh-lese. And the people are soo soo …words defy me…lets just say it’s not what i expected and i now deeply detest the “average” english accent and i swear if one more person tells me its to-MAH-to not to-MAY-to i’ll scream, i don’t say anything when u mispronounce “vitamins” and “Pantene”. Cant wait to get out of this grimy ass place….. ugggg and the shopping here uuuggghhh horrible..customer service WORSE!!!! i hate this place.

allie




I totally agree. London is a horrific place of epic proportions. The north of the UK is just so much better in callibre. Of course you’re going to get your crap places up there but NOTHING can be as bad as London. It is a fucking shithole. I do love my country, but London should be scrapped. It should be taken down and green fields allowed to grow. It is a wasteland that hasn’t been emptied for about 200 years.

puzzlehead 




hank you THANK you! what an amazing blog.. cant agree with you anymore.

london is vile, clostrophobic.. no1 speaks a word of english…. they look at you in hotels/shops/ whatever like your scum of the earth… the streets are littered with tramps… and a tenner wont get you more than a bus/tube ride a newspaper and a packet of crisps!

its pathetic

screw london

eli 



The pain of living in this country is destroying me mentally. It is so cathartic to read and relate to someone’s very accurate observations. London is SICK.

I have lived here all my life and I am trying to escape it as quickly as is possible because there is no life to live here. It’s not a city for ‘living in’, for obvious reasons. It’s a city to make money and then RUN AWAY FROM!!! The very vast majority of my friends have emigrated or have plans to emigrate.

I have a few aussie friends here who are making money and then plan to immediately return home. One friend actually spent a week crying when she was back in London from a visit home, sighting how unfriendly everyone is here.

We want to escape the dangerously high levels of pollution, the consistently horrendous weather, the despicable, angry, desperate people who habit the city who get become ferociously aggressive at rush hour, the filthy, ludicrously over-priced, filthy public transport services, the shocking lack of customer service, the overpriced everything, the small houses, small ‘super’markets, narrow roads, shit cars, population explosion, impossibly high levels of crime…. I could go on for days (literally) describing the crap this country offers.

THANK YOU for writing this. We all appreciate it greatly!

Lisa 



(a) arsewipes that say they want to live in a shithole area (generally greater London) because it ‘has character’. Might be true, if by character you mean filthy bucket of crap with dodgy people milling about a closed decrepit tube station at all hours of the night.
(b) mold and mildew infested flats with paper thin walls as some arsehole of a landlord has split a small terrace house into 8 flats charging 200 quid per room per week, extra if you want a luxury like window blinds – at least you get a free soap opera when the Asian family upstairs decides to have their bi-weekly domestic dispute. Never watching Bend it like Beckham again.
(c) black, nasty things that you have to pick out of your nose every evening after coming home from work breathing in that disgusting foul odour than seems to emanate from random points throughout the street
(d) an almost endless supply of scammers and small time conmen – ever tried buying a car from a second hand dealer in London? Trust me – been there, done that, took about a year off my life when they sold me a car WITHOUT THE WHEELS fastened on!
(e) limescale – i can’t believe this shit exists in the water here
(f) the useless roads and non-existent parking – the A406 story brought a smile to my face. Even the poor SatNavs get totally confused and give up when faced with those stupid roadabouts or huge intersections with five or six exits….with the street name uselessly painted on the road about 10 feet before the turn off and the white paint almost invisible due to wear and tear.
(g) and finally, the just plain horribleness of nearly every street. The same endless rows of Victorian housing without any endearing feature between one and the other.

I could go on..and on…the list would never end.

Mike



I am a fat English knacker who cannot be trusted, a snake, a rat, a man who pretends to be something that he is not. I preach trust and honesty whilst practising treachery.
I love London

Neil Grigg




I think the vast swathe of people agree that London is a shite-hole of the highest order…the only people who contest this point are either:
a)rich
b) limited in experience
c)not of sound mind (i.e Mental!).

Sure, it’s nice to go there for a holiday, see all the famous sites, and maybe even extend your stay to a few months. But living there a whole year and 4 months(2007/8 as a Postgrad at UCL) – is a completely different kettle of fish.

Admittedly i lived in the shite hole they call Plaistow, but when I arrived in London from Melbourne Australia, I thought there must have been some mistake…surely this wasn’t the London I’ve seen on TV? Samuel Johnson’s London? The london of the Queensguards and Wimbledon Championship etc etc?

There were sinister characters prowling the streets. There were gunshots and police sirens at night. There were rats in the streets and “hoodies” on every corner. And the Tube always reminded me of the nightmarish visions evoked in “Jacobs Ladder” with the twisted angry faces of the hell-bound passengers.

Someone above claims that it’s worse living in Australia…get real!!!

It was the underlying sense of distrust and dis-ease that got to me the most. I got racially abused about 6 or 7 times (I’m white) whilst living in London. The place is horribly divided along class / race and religious lines – see for example the recent racist murder of an elderly Muslim gentleman. After 6 years in Melbourne, the degree of aggression, distrust and hostility in London just blew my mind. Sharing a flat with a Senegalese and a Pole…now that was interesting. The Senegalese was an angry man..here illegally and the Pole…he was off his rocker. I used to be a patriotic Englishman but i thank God/Allah/Buddha every day that I managed to get an Australian passport whilst I was there – it’s my ticket out of that cess pit they call London.

jonno





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Friday, May 25, 2012

Olympics London 2012 : British Empire of Opium Death Dealer Games















In 1421, China's Ming dynasty Yongle Emperor ordered his fleet to convey an imperial edict with hats and robes on the king of Aden. The envoys boarded three treasure ships and left Sumatra to the port of Aden. As we shall see later there was good reason for the gifts, Aden at that time, along with the Suez canal later, being in many respects the naval port and gateway to facilitate east west trade which was critical to Chinese interests.

The Opium Wars, also known as Anglo-Chinese Wars, started with the First Opium War from 1839 to 1842 which were the result of disputes over trade between China in the Qing Dynasty and the British Empire. The Chinese Canton System in 1756  restricted trade to one port, so that they could monitor British trade, resulted in the British East India Company as result of the huge demand for tea in the west, facing an imbalance in favour of China, which the British redressed, with the cultivation of the Chinese population to opium addiction, in return for trading Chinese tea. Similar to Ireland today, after what  they call the peace process, where British intelligence agencies, control the distribution of hard drugs from their military in Afghanistan poppy fields, to their agents and paramilitary groups, in every part of Ireland, to control the Irish population with murderous consequence.   

The British merchants brought opium from the British East India Company's factories in Patna and Benares in British Occupied India to China, where they sold it to Chinese smugglers, who then distributed the drug in defiance of Chinese laws. The Chinese realizing the drain on their silver currency and the growing numbers of addicts, resulted in the Emperor demanding action. Some officials advocated legalizing the trade in order to tax it but were defeated by those who advocated arresting opium dealers and demanding the British turn over their stocks, initially refusing but eventually the merchants surrendered their opium to be destroyed. The British government then sent military forces from India, which plundered the Chinese coast, in order to dictate the terms of a settlement. The Treaty of Nanking allowed further opium trade, ceded territory, including Hong Kong, fixed Chinese taxes at low rates, granting privileges to foreigners not offered to Chinese overseas. Disputes by British merchants in Chinese ports led to the Second Opium War later.


With British Occupied India and its poppy fields under Britain's control and the strong mass appeal and addictive nature, opium was an effective solution to the British trade imbalance problem and the British simply had an insatiable greed. Within the Chinese mandarinate there continued an ongoing debate over legalising the opium trade. The Emperor a teenager who spent most of his time in bed with his concubines, many of them opium users themselves.

The story of the mid-Ming dynasty, where opium was a gift by vassal states, then used as an aphrodisiac in court. Eventually Chinese people from different classes and regions began using it for recreational purposes in a complex culture of opium. The transformation overtime led to its spread across all sections of society, embraced by rich and poor as a culture in its own right. The alternative perspective on life in China during this time is still for political reasons confined to scholars of history, anthropology, sociology, political science, economics, East Asian studies. 


Around this time, the British were selling roughly 1,400 tons per year to China. In 1839, the Chinese Emperor Lin, published a letter addressed to Queen Victoria, questioning the morals of the British government. This was just before the British executed a holocaust of ethnic cleansing in Ireland, which cleared Ireland of 6 million people many of whom died of starvation. Citing a strict prohibition of the trade within Great Britain itself, Lin questioned how they could then profit from the highly addictive hard drug in China. He wrote: "Your Majesty has not before been this officially notified, and you may plead ignorance of the severity of our laws, but I now give my assurance that we mean to cut this harmful drug forever."  The British government and merchant's response to Lin was to send a large British Indian army to enforce their drug dealing.


British military superiority, based on new technology along with warships, raped Chinese coastal towns, with ships supporting gun platforms with very heavy guns. British troops were armed with modern muskets and cannons which fired more rapidly and with greater accuracy than Chinese firearms and artillery. The British took Canton, sailed up the Yangtze, took the Chinese tax barges, a huge blow to the Chinese Empire, as it slashed the income of their imperial court in Beijing. The Treaty of Nanking forced the Chinese to pay taxes to Britain, opening four ports and ceding Hong Kong to Queen Victoria. The Qing empire recognized Britain as an equal to China and gave British extraterritorial privileges in ports.

Opium is a story which historians have failed to set in its proper social and cultural context neither taking account of the extent of its consumption in the history of modern China. Preferring to dwell on the opium trade, opium wars, imperialism and the politics of control, which is very relevant in places as far away as contemporary Ireland. The political history of opium, like its wars are only part of the story. The questions are at the point of which opium transformed from medicine into luxury use and why it was so popular and widespread when people learned of its recreational value. Understanding modern China is not possible, without understanding who smoked opium, when and why. The fact is the Chinese embraced smoking and using opium.

The social life of ‘Mr. Opium’ from birth as a recreational item to his old age as a social icon, is a perspective on the circulation of commodities and the things that are exchanged  with their meanings inscribed on their forms, uses and trajectories. In the analysis of these trajectories we can interpret the human transaction and calculations that enliven China, for example.  The social significance of Opium smoking was inscribed in its vanguard consumers, who were the literati, the officials with the pipes packed with precious stones and symbolic designs. Chinese people from different classes, regions and times, endowed many meanings to opium from luxury to necessity.


Many of those who wrote about opium, used sources prohibitionist in nature, the products of political revisionism. It is  the same problem of writers about drinking and other popular cultures. Information on the lives of the common people or Ireland for example usually comes from the outsider or from those regarded as a 'socially superior perspective'. Opinions of elite observers, have shaped historical generations, as opposed to that seen through the eyes of popular cultures on say public drinking, resulting in expressions of a degraded perspective, on the lower classes, and the pub or bar a symbol of misery and debauchery. 


The perception of opium suffered the same fate. Historians using prohibitionist sources, provided by  governments of the day perpetuating the prejudiced official line in condemnation of opium. Scholars and officials have cautioned about the prejudice of official histories. Sources of a historian are threefold; official history, family history and unofficial history. Older generations of Chinese warned about the problem of Chinese history being written by bureaucrats for bureaucrats, explain why official history has a solemn ethical function, the duty of expressing praise and blame as in the instance of say modern Irish revisionist history. Below is an excerpt from an alternative.

"The ‘genealogical method of anthropological inquiry’ is revolutionary, as Kopytoff has pointed out. His example is slavery. Slavery began with capture; an individual was dehumanised, commoditised and later rehumanised when he/she was reinserted into the host group. Dehumanisation begins the biography of a slave; it also marks ‘the diversion of commodities from preordained paths’. Opium was likewise diverted; from a herbal medicine it moved to become a luxury item. Diversion is ‘frequently a function of irregular desires and novel demands’. This could not have been more evident with opium in 1483, when a medicinal herb became ‘the art of alchemists, sex and court ladies’.2 This diversion shaped the history of opium and indeed of China for five hundred years to come. ‘A more theoretically aware biographical model’, Kopytoff stressed, should be ‘based on a reasonable number of life histories’. This book is the life history of opium as an aphrodisiac from the mid-Ming, as an expensive yanghuo or ‘foreign stuff’ and hobby among the scholar–official elite in the eighteenth century, and as a popular culture in the late Qing–Republican era and beyond. These histories tell us who smoked opium, when and why; they also help us to stitch together a much more complete picture of the Ming–Qing–Republican economy, and of its culture and society, and enable us to see both change and continuity in the culture of opium consumption.

This book examines opium from a cultural perspective because, as Daniel Roche has emphasised, ‘Any object, even the most ordinary, embodies ingenuity, choices, a culture. A body of knowledge and a surplus of meanings are attached to all objects.’3 Roche’s example is clothing. ‘Clothing speaks of many things at once, either in itself or through some detail. It has a function of communication because it is through clothing that everyone’s relation to the community passes.’4 The same can be said of other forms of consumption, including opium smoking. Roche emphasised that one should pay attention to the whole as well as to the parts; the signs that indicate  minorities, the colours that can characterise social functions and membership of different groups, the cut, the material, the types of jewellery. For this, reference the smoking sets and accessories that accompanied opium smoking. Roche also advanced much more: ‘the history of consumption must include analysis of demand, and therefore of the structuring of needs, the classification of consumers, the circuits of distribution and the spatial organisation of supply’.5 To understand needs, we must understand ‘the texture of our ordinary life’, that is, ‘the real weight of everyday life’, or the ‘history of what seems to have no history: material life and biological behaviour, history of food, history of the consumption of food’.6 For the Chinese, opium smoking, like tea drinking, was material life and biological behaviour, a history of food and a culture of consumption.

Pierre Bourdieu is significant here. His influential La Distinction: critique sociale du jugement studied ‘the science of taste and cultural consumption’.7 Bourdieu applied this science to the consumption of the arts and music; I shall extend it to that of opium. Bourdieu saw taste as ‘markers of class’ and consumption as ‘predisposed, consciously and deliberately or not, to fulfil a social function of legitimating social differences’. This was true with opium as its vanguard consumers, the literati and officials, enjoyed opium long before the ‘ordinary’ people heard about it. It was they who made opium smoking cultured and a status symbol; they who marked themselves apart from those below them, legitimating their social differences. Bourdieu analysed the consumption of pictorial and musical works. ‘A work of art has meaning and interest only for someone who possesses the cultural competence, that is, the code, into which it is encoded.’8 An opium pipe carved with an epic poem and served by a highly literate courtesan was limited to and had meaning for those who could appreciate the poetry and exchange-coded language. Bourdieu had ‘one foot in structural Marxism and the other in cultural studies’.9 The case of opium supports this approach. Opium was an aristocratic luxury item during the Ming dynasty. It became a necessity during the late nineteenth century. The story of opium is the story of taste and distinction; it is also the story of politics and class formation.

One of the most influential works on consumption is Jean Baudrillard’s La Soci´et´e de consommation: ses mythes, ses structures. For Baudrillard, consumption is ‘a language’.10 Breaking away from a standard productivist orientation, the post-modern social theorist believed that consumption was ‘both a morality and a communication system, a structure of exchange’.11 This was certainly true of opium smoking, where offering the smoke to friends, colleagues and guests involved a fundamental Chinese socio-cultural value in the late Qing–early Republican era. Regardless of whether one sanctioned opium or not, one must offer the smoke in order to be ‘ti mian’ (polite or fashionable), thus a Chinese ‘morality’, ‘communication system’ and ‘structure of exchange’ was created. Many sought to catch up with the Joneses; consumption became conspicuous. Consumption itself is subject to individual manipulation; it is also ‘subject to social control and political redefinition’.12 Parallels can be drawn to alcohol in general and vodka in particular. Opium is a perfect example of the political redefinition of consumption. When the rich smoked it, it was cultured and a status symbol; when the poor began to inhale, opium smoking became degrading and ultimately criminal. The lower classes made the consequences of smoking visible and social; the literati and officials had the power to reinterpret consumption. Consumption has never been a simple economic matter.

Mary Douglas proposed ‘a distinctive anthropological perspective’ in Constructive Drinking.13 Anthropologists brought ‘their own professional point of view to bear interestingly upon the same materials studied by specialists on alcohol abuse’. They argued that medical and sociological research exaggerated the problems. As Dwight Heath pointed out, ‘Even practitioners of the so-called “hard sciences” acknowledge that social and cultural factors must be taken into account, together with physiological and psychological factors, when one attempts to understand the interaction of alcohol and human behaviour.’14 I extend this distinctive anthropological perspective to opium because drinking and smoking are the obvious analogies. ‘Drinking is essentially a social act, performed in a recognized social context’; so it was with opium smoking.15 Many authors have studied the social context of consumption. David Christian’s Living Water argued that vodka played a crucial role in Russian society on the eve of the Revolution. Thomas Brennan illustrated the ‘positive uses of drinking’ in prerevolutionary Paris. And David Hardiman exposed the different political agendas injected into drinking in colonial India. Brennan’s work is important because it challenged the heavily used accounts of the intermediaries, ‘the three robes’ – the clergy, the nobility and the liberal professions – their condemnation of taverns and consequently their influence on the study of popular culture.16 Here, I will challenge the heavily used accounts of ‘the Chinese robes’.

Deborah Lupton has furthered our understanding of the history of food and the culture of consumption. ‘Food and eating habits and preferences are not simply matters of “fuelling” ourselves’, she writes.17 This was true of opium, since smoking did not fill one’s stomach. ‘Food is inextricably interlinked with group membership as well as kinship’, Lupton continues, and again, opium is a good example where friends and family gathered to share leisure through smoking. Food is ‘the ultimate “consumable” commodity’; so was opium.18 George Ritzer has identified ‘McDonaldization’, a process whereby corporations cater to the ‘lowest common denominator’ of mass consumer culture.19 The same happened with opium in the late Qing, when smoking catered for the lowest Chinese common denominator – coolie labourers and peasants. Peter Atkins and Ian Bowler have summarised recent trends in food studies. Where functionalists emphasise ‘the utilitarian nature of food’, structuralists focus on the ‘broader and deeper causes and meanings of food habits’ and on how ‘taste is culturally shaped and socially controlled’.20 Opium smoking was utilitarian in nature, but it was also socio-culturally conditioned. Structural functionalists such as Mary Douglas draw upon elements of both approaches. Douglas has deciphered the grammar of the meal, a structured social event. I will decode the syntax of opium smoking by ‘mov[ing] away from a reliance upon the production-oriented explanations of society, which [have] for so long dominated materialism, towards a framework that can accommodate considerations of consumption and lifestyle’.21 This is pertinent to the study of opium as a commodity and smoking as history of food and culture of consumption."


This culture is of course quite similar to the Concubinage culture, where a concubine generally a woman is in a marriage like relationship with whom she cannot get married for other reasons. Often only men of high economic or social status have concubines, because it can be expensive. Historical rulers maintained concubines, sometimes thousands, as well as several wives. Normally concubinage was voluntary by the woman or her family's by arrangement, providing a measure of economic security for both parties. In ancient China, concubinage was similar but inferior, to marriage. The children were recognized as legal offspring but their inheritance were inferior to children of marriage often receiving a smaller inheritance. Often concubines  bore heirs, when a wife was unable to produce sons.Western laws do not acknowledge the legal status of concubines or recognize only monogamous marriages as legal, leaving the woman a mistress without protection.  Romans did not class same-sex relationships as homosexual and a concubinus was a young male slave chosen by his master as a sexual partner.


Chinese Emperors sometimes kept thousands of concubines and in ancient China, successful men often supported several concubines and their families. Concubines on a few occasions were buried alive with their master to keep him company in the afterlife. Concubines sometimes achieved much power and influence. In the 'Four Great Classical Novels of China' there is the story of 'The Dream of the Red Chamber' believed to be a semi-autobiographical account of author Cao Xueqin's own family life where three generations of the Jia family are supported by the favorite concubine of the Emperor. Imperial concubines kept  in the Forbidden City, were always guarded by castrated eunuchs, to make sure they could not be impregnated by anyone, other than the Emperor. Dowager Empress Cixi who liked her opium, was perhaps the most successful concubine in China’s history. Cixi gave birth to the only surviving son, who became the Emperor Tongzhi. She eventually became de facto ruler of the Manchu Qing Dynasty in China for 47 years after her son's death.


In the Mao era,  the whiff of an affair could get someone fired from their job, demoted or sent to self-criticism sessions and even jail. In the Cultural Revolution, extramarital affairs were condemned, labeled as Male-Female-Relationship Lifestyle. One of the most popular videos on the Internet  was a clip from an Olympics promotion event, rebrand the CCTV sports channel as the “Olympics Channel.” In the video, the wife of a popular anchor  crashes the event, grabs the microphone and accuses the anchor of sleeping with another woman. Polygamy is still around among upper class members of some minorities. Polyandry exists among Tibetans, Naxi and Pumi minorities. Modern marriage procedure have led to a rise in bigamy. In the old days wealthy Chinese men, married three or four women at the same time. The wives sharing different duties and responsibilities, raising the children.The first wife usually had the right to order secondary wives around and her children given precedence.


In consumerist China today sex, corruption and money are often intertwined in people's consciousness. Money scandals have a sexual element with Chinese expression saying: "Where there is corruption, there’s sex. And where there’s sex, there’s corruption. A wife dumped for a mistress says, ”Mistresses are always lurking in shadows of corruption cases. If you don’t have money, you can’t hold on to your mistress.” In Shenzhen there are "concubine villages," where thousands of young women live in luxury apartments, paid by their lovers, close enough to the border that the men can take off early from work, visit their lovers and be  backhome in time for dinner with their wives. 

Zhang Yu Fen a wife dumped by her husband for a mistress organized a “guerilla squad for attacking mistresses” made up of dumped wives.“Unless mistresses are completely wiped out, we won’t be able to achieve a harmonious society and will only be left with the menace” mistresses present, Zhang says, “We, the socially vulnerable, have to get together to eradicate the existence of mistresses. Our organization’s aim is to punish these husbands and claim the assets we are entitled to.”  The local media call them the “mistress killers,”because they have assaulted some mistresses.

There are many credible stories in Ireland of asylums being places for specially trained concubines. The asylums it is believed, trained young Irish girls in speciality skills, while sometimes later selling them off to rich men in England. There are such stories going way back to one of the beheaded wives of the King of England a certain Ann Boylan from east Galway whose name was changed to Ann Boleyn to hide her true identity. In the Victorian asylums built by the English in Ireland, girls were sold into Victorian slavery to be intensely trained as sexual slaves in some instances, with a specialty skill for purposes as a uniquely talented concubine. They probably still exist, perhaps more consenting now, trained in erotic and creative arts, often with some religious element involved. There are also many stories in Ireland of young nuns being individually trained by mentors to later satisfy some reverend Mother, parish Priest or Bishops in orgies conducted in the convents scattered around Ireland. 








London 2012, London 2012, 2012Olympics OlympicLondon, Armageddon, British Occupied Ireland, Galway Whooker, Ghengis Fokner II, london 2012, London Olympics, Nuked, Olympic, Olympic Games, Olympics, Olympics London



Tuesday, May 22, 2012

Olympics London 2012 : NO BLACKS NO DOGS NO IRISH








We'd all like to think that the days of these signs warning away certain "undesirables" were something of the past but certainly not London 2012 which is still unfortunately infested with rcism leading up to the Olympics in its obsessive immigration ignorance.

Estate agents are breaking international race relation standards by discriminating against Irish, Blacks or tenants with dogs and pretending their property is taken when this Irish undercover reporter requested info on it but jackpot when and enflish chappie strolls in it's available.


Landlord comment;"And exactly what business is it of yours or anyone else what people choose to do with their OWN property?"

Reply: "If your "property" is an island somewhere far from other people, then you might have a point. But once people start living together in groups, especially at the level of density one gets in a city, then there have to be rules about behavior anyplace where such behavior affects other people around you. The point of those rules should be to keep friction between people to a minimum, not to give certain groups an advantage and to shove other groups down. Prosperity for all comes from peace and harmony.
Few benefit from conflict, but many benefit from community."

Landlord comment;  All in all, I rent MY property to whoever I feel comfortable renting it to – not because I am ordered by some political rule as to what I can do with my own property

Reply: Everyone is entitled to an opinion but that doesn't mean all opinions are of equal value.

Barring people from renting because of the colour of their skin or where they are from, or what they believe, is otherwise known as racist, bigoted and illegal, thankfuly.

As I said, feel free to be a racist and break the law but don't expect any respect for doing that.

Bye bye now!"

DaddyPobbin:

'No Irish', 'Irish out' is all too common to me, growing up in Ulster, with a lot of no go area's for Nationalists and other Irish from the south.

I'm sure we can sympathize with other nationalities, our shared history under imperialism and in today's world, this emergence of heightened, public xenophobia and discrimination in jobs/housing which was rife in pre-70s Northern Ireland.

It's a crying shame this is continuing. Though Nationalists/Catholics were fighting for civil rights in their own country of birth, the same rights should be afforded to all people."


This bigotry and racism goes right up to the current Mayor of London, Boris Johnson who has in the past, referred to black people as "piccaninnies" with "watermelon smiles" and declared, in a discussion on 7/7, that "Islam is the problem". Jonson was extremely offensive earlier this year to London's Irish community, when he said: "I'll tell you what makes me angry - lefty crap," he thunders in response. Like? "Well, like spending £20,000 on a dinner at the Dorchester for Sinn Fein!" The Mayor of Londonreferring to the annual St Patrick's Day Gala Dinner, the £150-per-ticket black tie event that ran between 2002 and 2008 and was, ahem, self-financing?

The dinner that Boris cancelled in 2009 to save money despite the fact that it was, um, er, self-financing? The dinner that wasn't held "for Sinn Fein" but at the request, and for the sake, of the Irish community of Kilburn, Cricklewood and other parts of the capital?

He lied, the annual dinner for London's Irish community was totally self-supporting and to dismiss it as "lefty crap" and "for Sinn Fein" isn't just wrong but offensive. Irish footballers, television stars, singers and politicians  attended the St Patrick's Day dinner, including the mayor of Dublin and the Irish ambassador to the UK.

As a spokeperson for Ken Livingstone pointed out :To call the annual, self-financing, St Patrick's Day dinner "lefty crap" is both profoundly ill-informed and also an attack on Irish Londoners and their contribution to this city. Irish Londoners came together to celebrate the part they play in the life of London  and Boris Johnson has slapped them in the face. He is out of touch and ignorant of the facts. Another commented, "Poor Boris. It’s hard for a toff to be well mannered towards anyone but his own." No Blacks No Dogs No Irish was regularly seen all over England, particularly at boarding houses, where labourers would stay. Fortuantely it is not as common it used to be in your face but its still very much there in Olympic London 2012.

Donall MacAmhlaigh who came from County Galway, described the era well, in an Irish book called Dialann Deorai (Diary of an exile), from what at that time was a largely Irish speaking West of Ireland. He joined the First Battalion of the Irish Army, the Irish-speaking unit stationed in County Galway. After three years in the army, he emigrated to England. An Irish Navvy is also his account of six years labouring there. He died in Northampton in 1989 after a lifetime writing and working on building sites.

The Irish labour which helped rebuild Britain after the war expanded an existing culture, mainly in the areas where the A5, the main road from Holyhead, hits North London. The workers brought their regional loyalties with them. MacAmhlaigh took up navvying(builders labourer) with Mike Ned, a Curran from Cornomona. They mounted a wagon and set to breaking the ground with picks but when the ganger(supervisor) puts them on the mixer carrying bags of cement, MacAmhlaigh cannot straighten his back the next morning, but luckily finds himself digging a hole next day for three shillings an hour plus bonus.

The book a collection of stories of work in hotels, in fields, on building sites, for railways and at the US Air Force base at Brize Norton. The work, hard as it was, was still better than Ireland, where an Irish labourer digging a Tube line in the fifties could make as much in a night as he would make in a week in Ireland. MacAmhlaigh and many of his comrades stay in huts on remote sites as theywere unwelcome in the boarding houses.

Brendan Behan described Irish labour under, gangers with the names of Bruiser Joyce or Horse Face Toole. The Irish world in London was a rural one, dependent, like many emigrant communities, on the remittances of migrants. London life was as far as people could manage it still a small-town life. They attended Mass on Sunday and fasted on Good Friday with a few pints or more in the evening.

MacAmhlaigh found the English well-dressed compared to the people back home. They were tall "and you’d never think from them that they hadn’t had enough to eat for years." The world MacAmhlaigh described is mostly gone for the Irish where emigrant Irish can now fly home for a weekend. The world of the start and the ganger is now the world of  agricultural labourers, the Chinese cocklepicker and the Filipino nurse. The Irish are coming back to join them with mass emigration again and while the signs,`No blacks, no dogs, no Irish’ are less frequent, they might as well be in many places of London 2012

2012Olympics OlympicLondon, Armageddon, British Occupied Ireland, Galway Whooker, Ghengis Fokner II, london 2012, London Olympics, Nuked, Olympic, Olympic Games, Olympics, Olympics London



London 2012 : OSAMA BIN LADEN JNR II SAVAGE JERK OF HIS SPERM JAVELIN












British officials have hailed British Petroleum for their sponsorship of London 2012 and their recent wonderful giant oil slick in the Gulf. It's a magnificent time for the British Empire, particulary in the capital where patriotic Londoners have been merrily clinking their glasses and singing songs in heaving pubs, until well past traditional closing time celebrating their Olympic Games and their recent revenge on America in the Gulf of Mexico for their defeat in the Battle of New Orleans. As midnight strikes nightly, landlords across the capital wink at their staff and clear their throats, to deliver the two words they'd been fairly bursting to say out loud ever since hearing them whispered over the counter by a BP executives before the start of the Gulf oil spill.




"Free beer!" the clarion call rang out in every packed bar from Chancery Lane to Hendon, from Cheapside to Hampton Wick. "That's right," the beaming publicans were obliged to explain to a sceptical audience. "It's not a wind-up, it's a British Petroleum tank-up. Barrels of amber nectar on the house, all you can drink between now and the end of the Olympic Games, courtesy of BP!"It was the official stamp of approval that pricked the punters' ears. Their quizzical looks turned to broad smiles, thence to uproarious cheers. The bars were besieged by hordes of revitalised patrons determined to ramp up the pace of their liquid intake and make the most of this unprecedented British munificence while it lasted.




Twenty-four hour licensing has been a huge step forward some months ago, and now it seems that the liberation of the drinking public is complete. It is hard to believe that the jovial publican pulling at the pump with merry abandon, eager to serve up the first complimentary pint, is the very same minging killjoy who in earlier times had regularly imposed a miserable end to the night on his downtrodden clientèle, forcing his customers to mournfully sip the dregs of a precious last order grudgingly served until he plunged them suddenly into darkness, a chilling prelude to being yanked up by the scruff of the neck and hurled out of the door onto the pavement by one of his hired heavies.




But this oil spill in the Gulf is a truly special occasion. The fully subsidised quaffing is no mere celebration but a meticulously planned and co-ordinated booze-up serving a high patriotic purpose. This red letter day had been etched indelibly on the minds of all British patriots ever since the Battle of New Orleans when the Americans boasted


In 1814 we took a little trip
Along with Colonel Jackson down the mighty Mississip
We took a little bacon and we took a little beans
And we caught the bloody British in the town of New Orleans



Ah! but to British, revenge is sweet, as they nightly perform with professional quality and stirring emotional force the joint Poo-Bowel presentation to the Gulf, which hasn't going down very well at all, with the brooding American President,whose eyes blaze with smouldering hatred as his military clutch their automatics, patently itching to fire off a couple of nuclear rounds. Ms Vaseline, spokesperson for  BP's special presentation is a delightful contrast. She treats the Americans to a glorious example of British mooning, baring her apparetly womanly buttocks with obvious relish, an emphatic gesture familiar to dedicated Bowel-watchers but a deeply shocking affront to devout Evangelicals, from the southern coastline states, especially Texas.


We fired our guns and the British kept a'comin'
There wasn't nigh as many as there was a while ago
We fired once more and they began to runnin'
On down the Mississippi to the Gulf of Mexico


Determined to strike while the iron is hot, she compounds the insult by delivering the British government's uncompromising yet slightly ludicrous opinion that the blowout itself was the work of the gorgeous six foot two specimen of lean, sinewy Arabic manhood, Mr Osama Bin Laden II, "an evil, nasty, horrible little man, almost as bad as his father" and that they will do everything in their power to help the Americans(while she winks, knowingly] track him down and exterminate him but having failed in that hopeless quest, they have turned the legendary might of the British armed forces and their explosive experts on softer targets, turning themselves from the second most hated country throughout the Arab world into little angels.




"Not bad, not bad," Mr Laden Jnr has admitted, mulling over the British handiwork. "You really are next best after New York...." Suddenly those fiery eyes caught sight of Viceroy Paterson crouching in the corner. "And what have you got to say for yourself?" demanded the fearsome Arabian, reputed to be a bit of a hothead and a chip off the old bloc, as he lifted his rifle and pointed it straight at the quaking  British Viceroy of Occupied Ireland. He cocked the trigger. "Out with it, Ghengis Paterson! Convince me to allow you to be second in command for the Olympics in London, we have a few vacancies!"




The great British Viceroy, made his own customary gesture in the back of his pants, living up to his wimpy name, shitting himself comprehensively, and yet rose manfully to the challenge, reeling off a list of possibilities, he left his trump card for last though, a glowing tribute to "Britannia Rules the Waves", when stating, "We're the best in the world at watersports, you know," Ghengis rounded off with a twinkle in his eye look at our contribution to Alaska and our beautiful browm rusty pipeline and of course those fireworks we had in Texas!.


We looked down the river and we seed the British come
And there must have been a hundred of 'em beatin' on the drum
They stepped so high and they made their bugles ring
We stood behind our cotton bales and didn't say a thing



This tantalising promise clinched the deal. The British party returned home to an ecstatic reception and several more knighthoods the had clinched the deal with the wealthy Arab. But then the long wait began. The annual festival of carnage did the rounds, starting with New York in 2001 where the local security forces led by the British WASPs showed tremendous resolve, in turning a blind eye to a series of suspicious goings-on, working hand in glove with the British to remove any red tape that might have got in the way of a truly awesome spectacle, and one that raised the bar to seemingly impossible heights for London 2012.



We fired our guns and the British kept a'comin' 
There wasn't nigh as many as there was a while ago 
We fired once more and they began to runnin' 
On down the Mississippi to the Gulf of Mexico


Yet the supreme leader Benny Jnr was becoming ever angrier with each passing year.
"We did our bit," he ranted and raved on the videolink from his cavernous mountain headquarters "but where are the waterworks? It seemed more like a trickle than a flood from where I'm sitting."


The irascible Arabian was now so obsessed with this one particular physiological aspect of the response to terror, the barometer as he saw it of a truly successful atrocity, that he put through a final call to Viceroy Ghengis, threatening terrible vengeance on the popular peer and his family, unless there was a massive late surge in the all-important "wee factor"."This time I want Southern Belle and Yellow Rose panty-pissing," he demanded, "and lots of it!"

Old Hickory said we could take 'em by surprise 
If we didn't fire our muskets till we looked 'em in the eyes 
We held our fire till we seed their faces well 
Then we opened up our squirrel guns and gave 'em ..Well....we..


Viceroy Ghengis was unfazed, assuring Benny Jnr that years of meticulous preparation was coming to a head in a perfectly orchestrated climax. He could guarantee a pee spectacular on an awesome scale, far in excess of the golden waterfall that cascaded in downtown Manhattan on September 11th 2001, just before the final collapse of their twisted steel frames into the all-enveloping dust of Ground Zero.


…fired our guns and the British kept a'comin'
There wasn't nigh as many as there was a while ago
We fired once more and they began to runnin'
On down the Mississippi to the Gulf of Mexico



"We've been pulling out all the stops from day one," Viceroy Ghengis reiterated for the umpteenth time. "We've never lost sight of the golden rule. You know the golden rule, Benny?" (The world-class John Bullscutter turned slick diplomat, had by this time got the measure of his opposite number and knew how to coax him down from his high horse.) "Let's say it together then," he exhorted Benny in his most charming telephone manner: "Proper planning promotes piss perfect performance."


Yeah they ran through the briars and they ran through the brambles
And they ran through the bushes where a rabbit couldn't go
They ran so fast that the hounds couldn't catch 'em
On down the Mississippi to the Gulf of Mexico

Benny was appeased. And so it came to pass that after years of potty training in mass floodlit demonstrations led by Viceroy Ghengis Paterson's right-hand man, the herculean ambassador of British watersports Sir BP, possessor of the biggest bladder in Britain, London pub-goers had become highly proficient in the invaluable art of holding their beer. They could hold it for hours, for pint after pint, right through the serious bout of drinking in which they were still engaged long after sunrise as the clock moved slowly round and the frenetic pace of liquid consumption increased, until the bar finally closed and it was time to toddle off to work.


We fired our cannon till the barrel melted down
So we grabbed an alligator and we fought another round
We filled his head with cannonballs 'n' powdered his behind
And when we touched the powder off, the gator lost his mind





Apart from the unusually large number of bleary-eyed, pasty-faced individuals staggering drowsily through heavily-trafficked streets everything appeared normal in the metropolis at 8.45 am, yet the last piece of a perfectly engineered plan had clicked into place, with thousands of bladders primed and a top-ranking General shipped and secreted at each of the four pressure points of Gulf reserves, waiting for the off and charged with the task of orchestrating an imminent panic-stricken display.
We fired our guns and the British kept a'comin' There wasn't nigh as many as there was a while ago We fired once more and they began to runnin' On down the Mississippi to the Gulf of Mexico.




Suddenly an explosion ripped through the air in the Gulf of Mexico. The British were out of the trap like frightened rabbits and turning on the waterworks. Dropping their knickers to reveal stylishly bald pubises and John Bull tatooes, they watered the open-mouthed crowd in the Gulf with a generous golden spray. "Oh, it's such a relief to be back on form!" they gushed.




Yeah they ran through the briars and they ran through the brambles
And they ran through the bushes where a rabbit couldn't go
They ran so fast that the hounds couldn't catch 'em
On down the Mississippi to the Gulf of Mexico




Viceroy Ghengis himself had been pacing up and down his yacht in open-fly readiness in Belfast Lough not far from the remains of the Titanic, heard the loud bang and spurted the vast contents of his outsize bladder high into the air, describing a golden arc from somewhere near Belfast across to London as screaming cockneys victims tumbled from the their buses and floated upstream on the rising tide of piss pouring from the waterlogged pants of thousands of startled spectators in London, while the British urinary tracts blissfully relaxed by the blast and discharging pint after pint of pent-up wee down their sodden legs and into the swirling open urinal that was the pure waters of the Thames now filled with the scum of Olympic earth.




Watching with hand on weapon via satellite link in his secret guest-chamber somewhere in the Saudi royal palace, Osama Bin Laden Jnr II gave a final few savage jerks on his spam javelin and shot a tumultuous spurt, pissing himself in a delirious moment of double-barrelled pleasure reserved for the most godly of men, spattering the ceiling with a high-octane solution of purest Arabic piss that marked the shuddering climax of a truly phenomenal jihad.






Viceroy Ghengis kidnapper of Irish women, sturdy knight of the realm was slightly out on a limb seeking to revive those long-suppressed bitter folk memories of the Battle of New Orleans, unaware that in the mix of watersports and oil and tolling of the bell and chanting of "Ring-a-ring o' rosies" till he was blue in the face, he couldn't help going off-message by a predictable six inches when the first blast of shrapnel form Olympic London flew past his ear. He shat himself once again. It certainly cleared the Titanic area in Belfast in a matter seconds, long before the emergency oil services arrived, and creased the face of his Viceroy once again into a blissful smile.






It only remained for the British Lord Mayor of London Boris Jonson, professional Brit to the core the other Tory bullscutterer to give the final verdict on a red letter day for Britain. "It's been a bad day for London he said but good for Britain and good to be British," he blubbered with tears in his eyes. "Britain is right back on the map at the centre of the world, slap bang on the Greenwich meridian where it always belonged, we can intern the whole British population without trial, like Marian Price is now, forget about due process, they are all terrorists if we say so!. 

And if you need any more proof of how fuc*king brilliant Britain really, Revenge for the Battle of New Orleans, you've only got to look at the mess America is in, Revenge for New Orleans, Revenge for Suez, we're number one in the World again, were Number 1 in the Middle-east and the price of Oil is going to treble, just ask my best mates in the conservative Tea Party. Which Prompted the Obama response, " Phuk your goddamn Olympics and up your radioactive cockney hole !" Boris !


London 2012, Olympics 2012, 2012Olympics OlympicLondon, Armageddon, British Occupied Ireland, Ghengis Fokner II, London Olympics, Nuked, Olympic, Olympic Games, Olympics, Olympics London 

Monday, May 21, 2012

London 2012 : Galway Whooker Says Phuk 'Em - Human Rights British Occupied Ireland




London 2012 : Galway Whooker Says Phuk 'Em - Human Rights British Occupied Ireland

category international | rights and freedoms | opinion/analysis author Monday May 21, 2012 22:22author by BrianClarkeNUJ - AllVoices Report this post to the editors
Human Rights British Occupied Ireland
Her painful silence continues, I don't know what to do about Patricia? I'm madly in love with her, without knowing the status of our relationship? Were we engaged, going steady or what? I don't know?. I have been phucking like a red-rooster since she went. A different woman every night for several months now. With so much willing hippy flesh around, nobody knows what going steady means anymore. London crawls with sex-starved women who want it. Nothing permanent, without any hang-ups. The whole range on offer, from cool Swedish models, eager young English roses with their men away in the military, pushy yankee ‘chicks’, eager young, French demoiselles, Teutonic goddesses.
Human Rights British Occupied Ireland
Human Rights British Occupied Ireland
So we are still miles from nowhere, in the middle of the Indian Ocean heading for Aden or some such place, on the way to the Suez canal but right now I am more interested in watching the clouds as I lie on deck. I am not looking for omens or anything but I enjoy the constantly changing and evolving shapes. There are immense billows forming faces of Cameron, Obama and an Arab in disguise. Dark foreboding images that dominate along with a few celtic and pagan gods up there among the clouds, revengeful Gods of north Africa and the Euphrates. There are also Zeus, Anubis, Osiris, Set and alarmingly Mars in a massive war chariot.

It does mean something for me on this Olympian protest voyage, Yemeni soldiers getting bumped off left and right today, lot’s of very angry young Arab men on the street, with plenty of unemployed time on their hands and missing WMDs, Cameron and the viceroy telling whoppers about Ireland again today in the house of commoners, like their predecessors while recently drones humiliating Islamic armies in almost all of their countries. Still the Arabs persist, now more Islamic than ever, now showing no respect for the loving Christian WASP god who came to bring them the gifts of a dying democratic consumerist society. How much more fire and brimstone before they admit the error of their ways, more shock and awe in Tehran ? Meanwhile, up there the clouds gods are hard at it. The sky is full of Gods jostling for attention, including inscrutable ancient Chinese deities, a procession of Hindus. Where is Buddha? Oh yes that's right! Buddha is not a God exactly!

Enough of the foreboding images of this protest trip to London 2012. I cast my mind back to gentler times, when I first hit London in innocence in the late '60s. My place was squat in a quiet part of hippie Maida Vale. A second floor bachelor flat and I am at home with my new friend. Her name is Nina if memory serves me right. I met her at a concert in the Elephant and Castle, can't remember the name exactly but they had great rock bands. I check my answerphone for messages. There's one from Patrick in Dublin, asking me to string a few sentences together, for a new magazine for the fast growing teenage market. The other message is anonymous from Rolling Stone who want me to to call them. I'm glad I got the answerphone but there is no message from Patricia.

Her painful silence continues, I don't know what to do about Patricia? I'm madly in love with her, without knowing the status of our relationship? Were we engaged, going steady or what? I don't know?. I have been phucking like a red-rooster since she went. A different woman every night for several months now. With so much willing hippy flesh around, nobody knows what going steady means anymore. London crawls with sex-starved women who want it. Nothing permanent, without any hang-ups. The whole range on offer, from cool Swedish models, eager young English roses with their men away in the military, pushy yankee ‘chicks’, eager young, French demoiselles, Teutonic goddesses.

Nina is on my bed flipping through vinyl album covers. Nina or something from Tokyo. Getting them was easy enough in John Lennon's time of make love not war. Getting rid of them next day was the difficult part. I crumbled a bit of grass, mixed it with a few strands of tobacco and slowly rolled a joint. Mustn’t forget that Van Morrison article, due tomorrow, I thought. As I skimmed some notes it occurred to me that I was living on the cutting edge of something amazing. Definitely the right time and place to be in London, right there where the action was, prior to the subsequent troubles in British Occupied Ireland. The Swinging London business of the 60s was it like the Olympics 2012 or just a marketing device?

Nah, the music had power all right. Power to excite pubescent hormones and cash flow from Japan to Abbey Road but where is the real power? Who rides the beast? Rock writing changed fast too, from gossiping about a group, their groupies and their girlfriends? to a new generation of writers emerging on Kerouac, Miller, Burroughs, taking it to another level. Readers became sophisticated wanting solid information, studio details, technical stuff and intellectual observations. Rolling Stone tapped into an audience where drugs had gone mainstream. The trick was to seduce the readers, tappity, tap, tappity, tap tap and it was done. Pulled it out of the typewriter folded it, put it in an envelope.

Now to quote Joni Mitchell on this ‘strange new flesh’ I found. I was wondering what this little Oriental creature had between her legs. She is still sitting on the edge of the bed looking at an album cover, as I move behind her on the bed and start playing with her hair. I was going to explain the album title but I was already getting her bra off? She had a couple of nice tits, in each of my hands from behind as the album fell to the floor. So did her jeans and panties in due course, exposing a particularly bushy muff. Yummy, Yumi, yum. She sat up to watch my fingers run through the hair and I move slowly back up along her body to kiss her on her mouth again ,while sneaking a finger, very discretely into her moist little cavern. She began to moan so I decided to slow the movement down a bit.

I needed to slip a few things off myself and women with one track minds do sexy writing so much better than me. But getting the fit took a while. So East met West for the first time in 60's London for this Irisb boy, in a resounding climax. Japanese Baby had driven my car. It had been a good phuck as phucks go but I wasn't sure what all the Japanese squealing was about but she seemed happy enough. Being young I planned to do her again in the morning if I could. I wondered what Rolling Stone wanted? The answering machine was definitely a good investment. The motorbike was parked properly, the fridge contained enough breakfast ingredients and I fell asleep really happy, as Nina snuggled up to me. London was a good place then, before it made forty years of war on my people.

I do try for emotional honesty but I have learned since my east west experience, that all these women with one track minds who say 'fuck' a lot or don’t give a flying fuck! like quite afew groovy chicks since the 60's, are quite ruthlessly mercenary hunters despite the illusion and they choose their victims accordingly. I try to present my intimate musings in a positive, progressive, and gender sensitive way, while at the same remaining brutally frank and true to my own sexual shortcomings, doing as best I can not to offend any minorities. However I have learned everything is political and like everyone else I have my shortcomings. At the end of the day I owe it to myself, to remain true to myself.

So after many such wonderful experiences, how could I have anything against London or its wonderful people I met there. No its the politicians who front the City money and the industrial-military-war-complex are cultivated to corruption and blood money. Most of these politicians dedicate themselves initially to the public welfare but are seduced by the greed of it all along the way. The politics of Empire and its consequence gets seriously on my tits with the extent of its tragedy and blood letting. I'd much prefer to focus my attention on cultural matters or new developments in the world of art, literature and the future of communication.

However when an unelected English despot wants to start it all over again with internment in British Occupied Ireland without trial and torture in solitary confinement an Irish sister with a political conscience, it starts the Irish troubles all over again. It makes Olympic London 2012 a grotesque facade of hypocrisy, especially with many of my Irish brothers tortured similarly. It makes London's slogans about human rights in Beijing or "Free Tibet" a mockery of justice and sheer hypocrisy, infuriating anyone humanely Irish, truly acquainted with the real extent of British genocide, political torture and ongoing crimes against humanity in Ireland into a rage. This is why this Olympic protest is important and we call for a boycott of Olympic London 2012 along with its sponsors.
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BOBBY SAND'S COMRADES TORTURED AGAIN OCCUPIED IRELAND

BOBBY SANDS COMRADES TORTURED AGAIN OCCUPIED IRELAND -http://... on Twitpic

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