tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-292700912024-03-13T00:42:34.497+00:00anorthodoxAn Unholy Invocation of Crippling DoomUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger314125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29270091.post-20249194766090955342013-01-19T11:25:00.000+00:002013-01-19T11:25:15.050+00:00Up-Goer Five Anarchism<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Are you familiar with Up-goer Five? No? That's OK. <a href="http://xkcd.com/1133/">That's what links are for</a>.
Up-goer Five is a way of expressing yourself using only the 1000 most common words in the english language. It is extremely difficult and frustrating. It is much more limiting than one might think.<br />
However, there is a tool that can help you. <a href="http://splasho.com/upgoer5/">The Up-goer Five Text Editor</a>. You can write anything you want in there and it will help you replace it with simpler and more common words by highlighting the words in your text that are not in the 1000 most common english words. Go, have fun. But before you do, here is my fun. It's a short description of anarchism (against-power in the text) using up-goer five language.<br />
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<i>Against-power is a way of thinking, acting and living which holds the state to be not wanted, not needed and bad. It is against power or control in human relationships. Friends of against-power back the idea of large groups of people without state held up by free relationships.
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<i>As a quiet and not wrong-headed way of thinking, acting and living, against-power draws on many lines of thought and acting. Against-power does not offer a fixed body of positions from a single way of seeing the world, instead changing and moving as a way of thinking, acting and living. There are many types and groups of against-power, not all of which are different. </i><br />
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<i> Against-power schools of thought can be so different, holding as important anything from being very alone to everyone being part of a group. Some friends of against-power don't like any form of fighting, while others hold as needed the use of some fighting, along with angry change and talking of the acting, on the way to an against-power world.
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29270091.post-75981265757458417802012-06-07T16:03:00.000+00:002012-06-08T10:59:48.420+00:00Memes and the Greek Far Right<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Do not misunderstand me. I will be talking about nazis. I do not use the term "far right" out of embarrassment. I only use it to refer to a group that includes but is not limited to the obvious, unevolved skinhead.<br />
In greece there is a rather wide spectrum of douchebags. By douchebags I mean right wing scumfucks. Let us find out more about them and their recent weird relationship to internet memes.<br />
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I will start randomly and move in no particular order. First there is LAOS (Laikos Orthodoxos Synagermos which can be loosely translated as Popular Orthodox Alarm and yes it is as stupid as it sounds). They are a populist fascist party. They do not present themselves as full blown nazis mainly because that would not serve their purpose but rest assured they are about as fascist as you can get without shaving your head and tattooing a huge swastika on it. Recently, I read <a href="http://stroug.blogspot.gr/2012/05/fail.html">this article</a> in one of the greek blogs I enjoy. It showed this:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq6bykVPsC2nr4AA7ayFPo_36MKYHyQd2bd0g11fArQtSl2ocg55QY3USX295TnXSXcqywzA2TueAdEvIYg73XYjtnBjiq5eIfHJ74-SPWn-jfDWa6zk8AV067s1aqYdeQiiTWFA/s1600/fail+laos.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq6bykVPsC2nr4AA7ayFPo_36MKYHyQd2bd0g11fArQtSl2ocg55QY3USX295TnXSXcqywzA2TueAdEvIYg73XYjtnBjiq5eIfHJ74-SPWn-jfDWa6zk8AV067s1aqYdeQiiTWFA/s400/fail+laos.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
It is a sticker on a non-descript surface by the youth branch of the party. It features <a href="http://knowyourmeme.com/memes/i-hate-sandcastles-success-kid">Success Kid</a> with its shirt in a different colour to match the party's. I wont bother translating the shit they say because it is fascist propaganda but notice the "muslim mob" at the back. That should convince everyone what they are about. I will not comment yet. There is more.<br />
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Next there is Nea Dimokratia (New Democracy), a neoliberal conservative party with a much longer history than the rest of the scumfucks presented here. However, I am semi-cheating here. The fuckwit I will be presenting has only recently moved to this party from the one mentioned above. Rest assured though he is a fascist piece of shit just like the rest of them. He also proves that the two parties, even though presented differently, cater to the same idiots. Without further ado:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoDEQKeSEdkZNMRII1GlS2yWY-Uf5QeAvo9Usn3CA5IxfKENXS0VHkNU6Wk2dbV7jCj3YRbUciGuz2in8NFrrtKG_YVeYlBfI5unRHYvxpw_NF1z_XNC6gvA92y4oDRxBe6y87-w/s1600/591225124.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="172" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoDEQKeSEdkZNMRII1GlS2yWY-Uf5QeAvo9Usn3CA5IxfKENXS0VHkNU6Wk2dbV7jCj3YRbUciGuz2in8NFrrtKG_YVeYlBfI5unRHYvxpw_NF1z_XNC6gvA92y4oDRxBe6y87-w/s400/591225124.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Yah! It is <a href="http://knowyourmeme.com/memes/islamic-rage-boy">Islamic Rage Boy</a>. As you can imagine he says and believes shitty things about immigrants and I wont soil this place with it. Total fucking shitstain. I will not comment yet. But here are some close ups of him:<br />
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<a href="http://www.neolaia.gr/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/georgiadis1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="217" src="http://www.neolaia.gr/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/georgiadis1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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And another one:<br />
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<a href="http://www.star.gr/PublishingImages/2012/04/140412104833_3908.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="192" src="http://www.star.gr/PublishingImages/2012/04/140412104833_3908.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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And yet another one:<br />
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<a href="http://www.aplita.gr/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/adonis-georgiadis.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="191" src="http://www.aplita.gr/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/adonis-georgiadis.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
These are not momentary derps by the way. That's how he looks (and thinks) all the time.<br />
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And then there are my favourites. Chrysi Avgi or Golden Dawn. They are about as nazi as can fit in a shitbag. And then a little more. They are thick, ugly, unevolved and pretty much fucking evil. They deserve to die horribly in a fire and hopefully they will. But hark! Do I hear the sound of fucking nazis being dumb as shit? Why yes! Yes I do. First, people mistakenly thought that <a href="http://weknowmemes.com/2011/04/son-i-am-disappoint/">this meme</a> was an actual member of this neonazi party:<br />
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<a href="http://www.fimes.gr/wp-content/uploads/giannis-mialogkonas-580x348.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="192" src="http://www.fimes.gr/wp-content/uploads/giannis-mialogkonas-580x348.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Which is understandable because they actually look like this. No, they really do. OK fine, here you go:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-BFFWjLvVgsnpf5b_tBIJfzlG_eB9Yc71PDYxi7T8JakBe0ddNwHODhBR5cQtv9DlB76f1g9ZaV8ZKn-Fsgb2DxR0poWRDxi2I75OEeybrQZNDhyPenBolAHMBo_2Oz2Lc5HHvQ/s640/61%CE%A1%CE%A10x.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="201" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-BFFWjLvVgsnpf5b_tBIJfzlG_eB9Yc71PDYxi7T8JakBe0ddNwHODhBR5cQtv9DlB76f1g9ZaV8ZKn-Fsgb2DxR0poWRDxi2I75OEeybrQZNDhyPenBolAHMBo_2Oz2Lc5HHvQ/s320/61%CE%A1%CE%A10x.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KICzzKEdHJQ/T7ZYYD7Wh-I/AAAAAAAAOCw/NgKat41G_40/s1600/%CE%BC%CE%B9%CF%87%CE%B1%CE%BB%CE%BF%CE%BB%CE%B9%CE%B1%CE%BA%CE%BF%CF%82+%CF%80%CE%B1%CE%B3%CE%BA%CF%81%CE%B1%CF%84%CE%B9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="234" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KICzzKEdHJQ/T7ZYYD7Wh-I/AAAAAAAAOCw/NgKat41G_40/s320/%CE%BC%CE%B9%CF%87%CE%B1%CE%BB%CE%BF%CE%BB%CE%B9%CE%B1%CE%BA%CE%BF%CF%82+%CF%80%CE%B1%CE%B3%CE%BA%CF%81%CE%B1%CF%84%CE%B9.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
See? I told you. Nazis are idiots and they look it.<br />
And then this happens:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib5T2GqcbgqCpL0lcsaP5vTVVtDeKu5Y-iUa8rvjeaCumJAzWX_yHJBMtxTNqa-E9e-gvy4yUcoitHg-MKagoKVKnmXe7I3Ll-gN-qBovJjxqkeVttFzuNU6E6YhOuCteOhMYBUQ/s1600/9to980.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="230" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib5T2GqcbgqCpL0lcsaP5vTVVtDeKu5Y-iUa8rvjeaCumJAzWX_yHJBMtxTNqa-E9e-gvy4yUcoitHg-MKagoKVKnmXe7I3Ll-gN-qBovJjxqkeVttFzuNU6E6YhOuCteOhMYBUQ/s320/9to980.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://knowyourmeme.com/memes/woll-smoth">Ring a bell?</a> I swear to fuck. They are not even trying to avoid ridicule. That's another nazi in the nazi party by the way. Notice the detail behind him. It is a nazi grenade, may it be live and explode in his face.<br />
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So now it is time to comment. There is an underlying theme here and it is not conservative stupidity. That is self-evident. I mean look at them. Do I have to try and prove that they are morons? They are also pretty obviously ugly but not in an aesthetic way. More in an unevolved kind of way. The same way that most of us would find pond scum unattractive.<br />
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No. The underlying theme here is that these people are as absurd and idiotic and detachedly funny as some of the most successful memes on the internet. This is so true that nobody is actually trying to do this to them. They are doing it all by themselves. Accidentally. They cannot hide the stupid.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29270091.post-32824464089088339692012-05-12T07:30:00.001+00:002012-05-12T07:30:55.882+00:00The Wine God<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ37unAJ4R3ll2Pox1zUqZmHYepnWtAm1S4FV86d0L4VFOhCFKsmgojEg0aEuMOZkwBXwj5pyrLu0JLStcY1QWMJdEtQZvvGf_E2nQ89m68CiMP65JGH3hEeiB0RfP3oYgLdp9vA/s1600/fotopagan+%285%29.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ37unAJ4R3ll2Pox1zUqZmHYepnWtAm1S4FV86d0L4VFOhCFKsmgojEg0aEuMOZkwBXwj5pyrLu0JLStcY1QWMJdEtQZvvGf_E2nQ89m68CiMP65JGH3hEeiB0RfP3oYgLdp9vA/s400/fotopagan+%285%29.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.ough.gr/index.php?mod=articles&op=view&id=815">Join the Bacchanal</a></div>
</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29270091.post-66196386037045027592012-04-18T16:00:00.000+00:002012-04-18T16:00:01.213+00:00Prozac People<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8NarWV3u5coqYPVC_kHncsD7kh_uRunGlQMc0HtMyKmIXqIwHQvbkLtjS5GksV77okDGI-t7mGZlU3pyHmjWe9pOPs1iTE3wHFbgUSXqurR7qkDdbS0tBfv3Om9UsweM8uFA2Dg/s1600/prozac.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8NarWV3u5coqYPVC_kHncsD7kh_uRunGlQMc0HtMyKmIXqIwHQvbkLtjS5GksV77okDGI-t7mGZlU3pyHmjWe9pOPs1iTE3wHFbgUSXqurR7qkDdbS0tBfv3Om9UsweM8uFA2Dg/s1600/prozac.jpg" /></a></div>
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I'm sick and tired of you. Yeah, you. The one that feels the need to maintain equal distances from everything. The one that is absolutely certain they are the voice of reason. All of you. I'm tired of your smug superiority and the obvious conviction that you are somehow more educated, more knowledgeable than me, than us.<br />
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No, I don't care that I sound fanatical to you. Why would I, since you so obviously confuse fanaticism with passion/pathos. I care a little that you call me stupid, or ignorant, but not because I value your opinion, no. I care because it is frustrating to be called that by idiots.<br />
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I can't, in good conscience, suffer you anymore. Your opinion is no longer a valid one. It is not informed and as such is not important. I know that if it were up to you, the world would be a flatness with no end in sight. You would playfully joke about political correctness while meticulously upholding it, all the while using it as a mantle for your various inequities.<br />
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I know that if I let you have your way, there would be no ups or downs. If we let you have your way, we would have to suffer not only you but the endless violences of our daily lives. It would be miseries all the way down and you would make us feel guilty about the way we felt, thought, talked and acted. Really, I know that if you could, you would probably medicate us.<br />
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So, I suppose this is my very roundabout way of saying, fuck you rationalists. You can suck my hairy irrational ass.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29270091.post-79800662259871115962012-04-14T06:59:00.000+00:002012-04-14T07:00:19.201+00:00Kukeri<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPH7VzClt8Aqf1n9mkRZhtq2s_KuZkkQJ10mfYwCwBMs1I4u2Zw8Vxn342WSDR_pOWO8wGoQHJ9IjuuwmrN3-qZ_BsmM-D7VyTAknDzHHma1dEiB4Z5ZKDsPrkSgefw2Dr9BMZzg/s1600/Kukeri7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPH7VzClt8Aqf1n9mkRZhtq2s_KuZkkQJ10mfYwCwBMs1I4u2Zw8Vxn342WSDR_pOWO8wGoQHJ9IjuuwmrN3-qZ_BsmM-D7VyTAknDzHHma1dEiB4Z5ZKDsPrkSgefw2Dr9BMZzg/s400/Kukeri7.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<i>Kukeri is a traditional Bulgarian ritual to scare away evil spirits, with costumed men performing the
ritual. The costumes cover most of the body and include decorated wooden masks of animals (sometimes double-faced) and large bells attached to the belt. Around New Year and before Lent, the kukeri walk and dance through the village to scare evil spirits away with the costumes and the sound of the bells, as well as to provide a good harvest, health, and happiness to the village during the year. </i><br />
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sources:<i> <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kukeri">1</a>, <a href="http://www.environmentalgraffiti.com/news-when-monsters-come-out-play-bulgaria">2</a></i></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29270091.post-6370895415370604192012-04-04T08:22:00.000+00:002012-04-04T08:22:03.632+00:00Some call me Hermes<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt;"><span class="goog-gtc-unit" id="goog-gtc-unit-1"><span class="goog-gtc-translatable goog-gtc-from-human" dir="ltr">Thomas
Gandharas, also known as "the Black Bandit", came from Akri Elassonas,
became an outlaw in July 1918, was a partner of Georgios Velonis and
having deserted the army, was planning to kill a landowner who had raped
his wife.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt;"><span class="goog-gtc-unit" id="goog-gtc-unit-1"><span class="goog-gtc-translatable goog-gtc-from-human" dir="ltr"> </span></span></span><br /><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt;"><span class="goog-gtc-unit" id="goog-gtc-unit-2"><span class="goog-gtc-translatable goog-gtc-from-human" dir="ltr">A
little later, Gandharas and Velonis were caught and on July 21st 1919
the court martial of Larissa sentenced them to 14 years imprisonment.</span></span></span> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt;"><span class="goog-gtc-unit" id="goog-gtc-unit-3"><span class="goog-gtc-translatable goog-gtc-from-human" dir="ltr">On November 21st 1921 Thomas Gandharas escaped from the prison of Larissa and a year later a bounty was given for his head.</span></span></span> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt;"><span class="goog-gtc-unit" id="goog-gtc-unit-4"><span class="goog-gtc-translatable goog-gtc-from-human" dir="ltr">Thomas
Gandharas had a brother who was also a bandit, Georgios Gandharas, who
was killed in February 1920 in Koumaria Elassonas, in a conflict with a
pursuit squad.</span></span> </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt;"><span class="goog-gtc-unit" id="goog-gtc-unit-5"><span class="goog-gtc-translatable goog-gtc-from-human" dir="ltr">With him, the Bandit Manatsas was also lost.</span></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM5WSsRxQoGBHc80qsHgA797xVZbKViQq-MjvVYRlz2Ka-2K5ZWBw9rdjTbHTDs5Rth7PadiDyllQ_JTfrOMNcrAUs5cOpYfCbKwPNr_q4w_1Z2h685N_hfnHdoFeRXetclOo7kw/s1600/list_19.1_1_a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="276" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM5WSsRxQoGBHc80qsHgA797xVZbKViQq-MjvVYRlz2Ka-2K5ZWBw9rdjTbHTDs5Rth7PadiDyllQ_JTfrOMNcrAUs5cOpYfCbKwPNr_q4w_1Z2h685N_hfnHdoFeRXetclOo7kw/s400/list_19.1_1_a.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br /><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt;"><span class="goog-gtc-unit" id="goog-gtc-unit-6"><span class="goog-gtc-translatable goog-gtc-from-human" dir="ltr">One
night, the outlaw Gandharas wore his foustanela (greek kilt) and his
silver tsaprazia (greek male jewelery) and went secretly to the home of
the famous photographer from Trikala, Athanasios Manthos.</span></span> </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt;"><span class="goog-gtc-unit" id="goog-gtc-unit-7"><span class="goog-gtc-translatable goog-gtc-from-human" dir="ltr">He
descended quietly from the roof, came in and woke Manthos to come
photograph him with his bandit gang, because he understood that their
end was near.</span></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg48HKsyl_IFWE7aSsag0LoBw7r8UwflpGpHunFO0qMNg7jmP58CLTxp0-JF1mXo2ZYlN7wZnshAv3OSJD2-G2XfY4ChuCa8X59548BrRbVVsSuSCGdu4cmo1PBcUOuyuF8K-qPXQ/s1600/listes_04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg48HKsyl_IFWE7aSsag0LoBw7r8UwflpGpHunFO0qMNg7jmP58CLTxp0-JF1mXo2ZYlN7wZnshAv3OSJD2-G2XfY4ChuCa8X59548BrRbVVsSuSCGdu4cmo1PBcUOuyuF8K-qPXQ/s320/listes_04.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br /><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt;"><span class="goog-gtc-unit" id="goog-gtc-unit-8"><span class="goog-gtc-translatable goog-gtc-from-human" dir="ltr">Thomas Gandharas was killed on August 5th 1923.</span></span></span> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt;"><span class="goog-gtc-unit" id="goog-gtc-unit-9"><span class="goog-gtc-translatable goog-gtc-from-human" dir="ltr">He
was killed in Oxia of Deskati Grevenon, near Mavreli, by the mavrelite
hunter Georgios Siakavaras, who participated in the pursuit squad that
hunted him.</span></span> </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt;"><span class="goog-gtc-unit" id="goog-gtc-unit-10"><span class="goog-gtc-translatable goog-gtc-from-human" dir="ltr">Gandharas'
head was cut, was transferred to Gerakari and then exposed to public
view in Kalambaka on August 6th 1923, as an example to all.</span></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEZI9VZ06BXi4oJcF1a48_yp7nRA5GDVFJptDOngkW3DjS8dHA7X2nV4B2el5Yu4Tf6fznf0MvP61XD63Ci-wnNEbXaMjXDPGiy8tdl9k06cg6U5EWaBfOq-9WOhklzlJ4_iBxWw/s1600/%25CF%2580%25CE%25B5%25CF%2581%25CE%25B9%25CE%25BA%25CE%25BB%25CE%25B7%25CF%2582+-+%25CE%25B3%25CE%25BA%25CE%25B1%25CE%25BD%25CF%2584%25CE%25B1%25CF%2581%25CE%25B1%25CF%25822.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEZI9VZ06BXi4oJcF1a48_yp7nRA5GDVFJptDOngkW3DjS8dHA7X2nV4B2el5Yu4Tf6fznf0MvP61XD63Ci-wnNEbXaMjXDPGiy8tdl9k06cg6U5EWaBfOq-9WOhklzlJ4_iBxWw/s1600/%25CF%2580%25CE%25B5%25CF%2581%25CE%25B9%25CE%25BA%25CE%25BB%25CE%25B7%25CF%2582+-+%25CE%25B3%25CE%25BA%25CE%25B1%25CE%25BD%25CF%2584%25CE%25B1%25CF%2581%25CE%25B1%25CF%25822.JPG" /></a></div>
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<br /><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt;"><span class="goog-gtc-unit" id="goog-gtc-unit-11"><span class="goog-gtc-translatable goog-gtc-from-human" dir="ltr">Thomas Gandharas left a son and two daughters, Eleni and Vasiliki.</span></span> </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt;"><span class="goog-gtc-unit" id="goog-gtc-unit-12"><span class="goog-gtc-translatable goog-gtc-from-human" dir="ltr">He had time to give Eleni, as an infant, to be guarded by the mayor of Kalambaka, Rammides.</span></span> </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt;"><span class="goog-gtc-unit" id="goog-gtc-unit-13"><span class="goog-gtc-translatable goog-gtc-from-human" dir="ltr">The two women met for the first time in 1998.</span></span></span></div>
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</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29270091.post-36429622079635078152012-02-24T19:34:00.000+00:002012-02-24T19:34:14.261+00:00Vagina Dentata<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxysmHpBvncu0NInZmrj3hL5AZ_K_O9otKx_xT36vc8FGO8hFmblgFQDYu1oTjZ_voyMnZuG-ZSYr4KNGO-KzN5b6DiI1JhkPmfE-ZNQ1JwXW2TOhiBMGxMrz38ryLW0UW8TVOYg/s1600/rapex-condom4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxysmHpBvncu0NInZmrj3hL5AZ_K_O9otKx_xT36vc8FGO8hFmblgFQDYu1oTjZ_voyMnZuG-ZSYr4KNGO-KzN5b6DiI1JhkPmfE-ZNQ1JwXW2TOhiBMGxMrz38ryLW0UW8TVOYg/s400/rapex-condom4.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
</div><i><br />
</i><br />
<i>Rape has been violating women since the dawn of humanity. Even before that, evolutionarily. Our Great Ape relations – chimpanzees and gorillas – are rapists, and approximately 50% of orangutans are the result of rape. Gang rape, war rape, prison rape, date rape, serial rape, spousal rape, incestuous rape... hundreds of millions of females have been terrified, humiliated, injured and scarred.</i><br />
<i>Rape has to be halted, but how? Is there a transhumanist remedy? A technological solution?</i><br />
<br />
<i>The “Rape Capital of the World” is currently South Africa, with a University of South Africa study estimating 2,777 rapes per day, for a total of 1 million a year. The South African Law Commission asserts the figure is considerably higher: 1.69 million per year. Journalist, rape survivor, and anti-rape activist Charlene Smith claims that a South African woman is raped every 26 seconds; 40% of the victims are children, and 65% are gang-raped, aka “jackrolled.” Human Rights Watch reports that 28% of South African males has admitted to sexual assault, in this nation where 16.9% of the adult population is HIV/AIDS infected.</i><br />
<br />
<i>To combat this atrocity, the citizenry invented two retaliatory devices. A “killer tampon“, developed by 72-year-old Jaap Haumann in 2000, sports a guillotine blade attached to a hollow cylinder that, if sprung, decapitates any intruding penile head. Haumann estimated that 1 million women would arm their crotches with his contraption, but he was ridiculed in the media and sales never materialized.</i><br />
<br />
<i>“Rape-aXe” was next. Unveiled in 2005 by medical technician Dr. Sonnet Ehlers, this simple latex sheath transforms the female orifice into a shark-like vagina dentata. 25 razor sharp barbs, facing inward, serve as a “rape trap” that painfully hooks the penetrator. The snared assailant, claims Dr. Ehlers, “cannot pee or walk when it is on, and if he tries to remove it, it will clasp even tighter.” The vengeful fangs can only be</i><br />
<i>removed surgically, a procedure that would alert police and imprison the rapist.</i><br />
<br />
Taken from <a href="http://anarchotranshuman.tumblr.com/">ANARCHO-TRANSHUMAN: A Journal of Radical Possibility & Striving</a> <br />
<br />
<br />
</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29270091.post-10294400562339021992012-02-14T11:20:00.000+00:002012-02-14T11:20:12.131+00:00Rat King<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwGOCN2YNTCaiTCgU919px61BR823asOHqFZ_X78e_oraTY_ZuAjKdBpOX2U8P4fly9A2dngFDcSQ77IWj846K4ghxIJI0gPp7hkDOtyYRfUb_QXb3TxsTUkXVGeVWinHVAxv0YA/s1600/Ratking.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="324" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwGOCN2YNTCaiTCgU919px61BR823asOHqFZ_X78e_oraTY_ZuAjKdBpOX2U8P4fly9A2dngFDcSQ77IWj846K4ghxIJI0gPp7hkDOtyYRfUb_QXb3TxsTUkXVGeVWinHVAxv0YA/s400/Ratking.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><i>"<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rat_king_%28folklore%29"><b>Rat kings</b></a> are phenomena said to arise when a number of rats become intertwined at their tails, which become stuck together with blood, dirt, ice, excrement or simply knotted. The animals reputedly grow together while joined at the tails. The numbers of rats that are joined together can vary, but naturally rat kings formed from a larger number of rats are rarer. The phenomenon is particularly associated with Germany, where the majority of instances have been reported. Historically, there are various superstitions surrounding rat kings, and they were often seen as an extremely bad omen, particularly associated with plagues."</i></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29270091.post-34042199205589144642012-01-27T16:22:00.001+00:002012-01-27T16:22:00.702+00:00Leviathan<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaks8sfi-VpS5ZDlUoG1gCy_THdgeeMQcrK-v-Yl6B5lJCp_d_5Cid-QIEKN_87Ig389uzy0Z8PuJkbCaMQRSX7OungW1vlvupzxtkZo9i_8OeYjlCI7W_ga1fOI6YIgEH6yoDMw/s1600/leviathan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="292" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaks8sfi-VpS5ZDlUoG1gCy_THdgeeMQcrK-v-Yl6B5lJCp_d_5Cid-QIEKN_87Ig389uzy0Z8PuJkbCaMQRSX7OungW1vlvupzxtkZo9i_8OeYjlCI7W_ga1fOI6YIgEH6yoDMw/s400/leviathan.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29270091.post-12312836076542492892012-01-08T15:43:00.000+00:002012-01-08T15:43:40.507+00:00La Fábrica de Muñecas<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8Z6z3fkwUTgPFLPrz9irni0_VUPsEdA4f5OjMZqXj79yqd0J5WkYfHCBdRNHgZO4OToH_kL6JTuC5Zhe5A4VQ6P_qB8DFmgRLZ3XiwYlbrE1bncP6l_cN0v2FSv8j0CBtAZVM7Q/s1600/brick-kilnjpg.img_assist_custom-600x453.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8Z6z3fkwUTgPFLPrz9irni0_VUPsEdA4f5OjMZqXj79yqd0J5WkYfHCBdRNHgZO4OToH_kL6JTuC5Zhe5A4VQ6P_qB8DFmgRLZ3XiwYlbrE1bncP6l_cN0v2FSv8j0CBtAZVM7Q/s400/brick-kilnjpg.img_assist_custom-600x453.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
A kiln in an abandoned doll factory. Creepy dismembered dolls after the <a href="http://www.environmentalgraffiti.com/urban-exploration/news-incredible-images-abandoned-doll-factory">leap of faith</a> (and in spanish <a href="http://abandonalia.blogspot.com/2011/05/la-fabrica-de-munecas.html">here</a>).<br />
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</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29270091.post-31154609497859804012011-10-19T12:03:00.002+00:002011-10-19T12:03:00.297+00:00What Is To Be Undone<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgirJIwHj_flPHtmMwyeMIAhI27qPehHmw5i0KmmVBk5LDpvd-CJgHRnvD5zcFxHJwg8eaDAN53uyiF_-275j_E2nT2qioW7lsl1YgNXqaS3sJHlR9yMLk-QTcgy1mXeDM68IInAA/s1600/eog-wallpaper.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgirJIwHj_flPHtmMwyeMIAhI27qPehHmw5i0KmmVBk5LDpvd-CJgHRnvD5zcFxHJwg8eaDAN53uyiF_-275j_E2nT2qioW7lsl1YgNXqaS3sJHlR9yMLk-QTcgy1mXeDM68IInAA/s400/eog-wallpaper.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<br />
The hate and the violence in my heart, you put it there. All I am doing is trying to get rid of it. Every stone, every hit, every smashing thing, every barricade on fire carries a little hate with it. A tiny bit of violence that you gave me without asking me if I wanted it. So now you're getting it back.<br />
<br />
And one day, when it has all left me. I will realise that I have no more hatred to give. No more violence to return to you. I'll probably cry.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29270091.post-67343282206814490902011-09-28T17:52:00.000+00:002011-09-28T17:52:41.592+00:00Family<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7CzpIiUSeyBE9Eq1Bi2mPasCUZLsDcYJ0ouMVStJUtsVS8_ZSeKTvTdSdRL6AixeEeIbFxafU39tMYC2rBbFU5QCC_cARkw-7Rs7LI_uRSS0SgpY-Pl708QTGtLUwZE8nJzg58A/s1600/tumblr_ls22lpaEsI1qg8f0jo1_500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7CzpIiUSeyBE9Eq1Bi2mPasCUZLsDcYJ0ouMVStJUtsVS8_ZSeKTvTdSdRL6AixeEeIbFxafU39tMYC2rBbFU5QCC_cARkw-7Rs7LI_uRSS0SgpY-Pl708QTGtLUwZE8nJzg58A/s640/tumblr_ls22lpaEsI1qg8f0jo1_500.jpg" width="425" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gu%C3%A9d%C3%A9">Papa Ghede</a> & <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mama_Lola">Mama Lola</a></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29270091.post-36240558160582569732011-09-20T18:08:00.002+00:002011-09-20T18:13:31.703+00:00Happy Birthday Mein Führer... I mean Mr President<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifBXY9NUNErrSN8tfwqj7nD7qcfWuhFV7-kkviXl2VRVDNQKhs41PBgNREkdJFemCOpzfS_jW-d90cdfOvhKmKmIXH0wlraQosvW8AIXQPpUMqb7ZS3_5v9ipsRKsUlysRan9dsA/s1600/tumblr_lru0njsy2C1qhwu0so1_500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifBXY9NUNErrSN8tfwqj7nD7qcfWuhFV7-kkviXl2VRVDNQKhs41PBgNREkdJFemCOpzfS_jW-d90cdfOvhKmKmIXH0wlraQosvW8AIXQPpUMqb7ZS3_5v9ipsRKsUlysRan9dsA/s1600/tumblr_lru0njsy2C1qhwu0so1_500.jpg" /></a></div>This is a poster/flyer for a Down/Melvins/Weedeater concert. Probably the best thing. Ever.<br />
<br />
The original can be found <a href="http://geisterstadt.tumblr.com/post/10446405787">here</a>. </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29270091.post-26117386992515513502011-08-01T16:20:00.000+00:002011-08-01T16:20:28.239+00:00Ignorance and Fear<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaW2JGH97nMZEVW6362iFKFER7Wl7JSfhi-xS7T-UOljj07ti3SWg3Kwp2C4nu0UwalYcC8kTsyOJM9kZlmxiHc5gGWs_eRFM458-jSKWpQZnrV7WVEcpT4PdWmuwiiPVxNzIGRw/s1600/warger006-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaW2JGH97nMZEVW6362iFKFER7Wl7JSfhi-xS7T-UOljj07ti3SWg3Kwp2C4nu0UwalYcC8kTsyOJM9kZlmxiHc5gGWs_eRFM458-jSKWpQZnrV7WVEcpT4PdWmuwiiPVxNzIGRw/s400/warger006-1.jpg" width="311" /></a></div>This is a 1918 german anti-anarchism propaganda poster. It reads: Misery and destruction follow anarchy.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29270091.post-44178714704308562972011-07-24T15:07:00.000+00:002011-07-24T15:07:00.868+00:00Death to Art Critics<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Fuck Roger Ebert. Yes, fuck him. Fuck film critics in general. Some people hate artists because they're pretentious or arrogant. I don't, they're just fools. But art critics. Oh. They are the parasite that feeds off the fool. And everyone else. They survive by trying to convince people that their opinion weighs more than anyone else's. And while they try to convince everyone else they also convince themselves. So they slowly adopt the appearance of a judge, condemning or praising a piece of creation based on their own, oft ill-informed, subjective criteria.<br />
I fucking hate art critics. And most of all film critics. They have even developed their own dialect which they try to make more and more exclusive so that people will feel more and more stupid for not being privy to their secrets. In essence, it is yet another glorified boys' club.<br />
Not to mention they diss films I like and praise some of the dullest, most uninspired shite that was ever shat into creation. So yeah. Fuck them.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29270091.post-38458894683393487342011-07-19T13:35:00.001+00:002011-07-19T13:35:00.348+00:00Chasseurs de Skins<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQOeDJAbljFNmFnGnk4J1An6CrmwVk3fZ4LokKkKsYcuRkyuNxw1oVDXjuXu1jP-_Lrmd9HVOTvT2zlR2HpK6bsLhYEZvSLCG4tW_ZyNWzikN57QPAS_BNQm7miGLASim0kZBh2A/s1600/tumblr_lgdi2x6iP61qbs23do1_500.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQOeDJAbljFNmFnGnk4J1An6CrmwVk3fZ4LokKkKsYcuRkyuNxw1oVDXjuXu1jP-_Lrmd9HVOTvT2zlR2HpK6bsLhYEZvSLCG4tW_ZyNWzikN57QPAS_BNQm7miGLASim0kZBh2A/s400/tumblr_lgdi2x6iP61qbs23do1_500.png" width="295" /></a></div>These young men refused the brand of victimisation through the technique of cracking nazi skulls. And here I am, unable to stop thinking how hot they look.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29270091.post-76310976759709480862011-07-15T07:54:00.000+00:002011-07-15T07:54:57.436+00:00The Fierceness<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQmGW5uZ2N8wYJO6HeE5jLrnYjYZzjubE3ZVtCl75-w9WO0wxDlBpm-382FFzetP40AMOV_1tpHpYXKc5H1Lq1flmWLJif8j2cHXpmlb0hc_FvUSe_yxQaiyD6wsfavovkHWTL8g/s1600/2wc15x4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQmGW5uZ2N8wYJO6HeE5jLrnYjYZzjubE3ZVtCl75-w9WO0wxDlBpm-382FFzetP40AMOV_1tpHpYXKc5H1Lq1flmWLJif8j2cHXpmlb0hc_FvUSe_yxQaiyD6wsfavovkHWTL8g/s400/2wc15x4.jpg" width="321" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29270091.post-91666787148389285812011-07-14T14:23:00.000+00:002011-07-14T14:23:27.058+00:00Pat's Komodo Dragon<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6ZxVQt-CpOvLWFZGdc0WybeVSEgRKVf2AD6bHd-2jOhq3PF6oj0HmzKkrPY0nTxHsB_25z-L74QzEnwtmwbshrFxS25Xwuxw5em2EtSjtVy1sZALcVghyphenhyphenuh0ip2XYs0wg7rufVQ/s1600/enhanced-buzz-13987-1310420355-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6ZxVQt-CpOvLWFZGdc0WybeVSEgRKVf2AD6bHd-2jOhq3PF6oj0HmzKkrPY0nTxHsB_25z-L74QzEnwtmwbshrFxS25Xwuxw5em2EtSjtVy1sZALcVghyphenhyphenuh0ip2XYs0wg7rufVQ/s400/enhanced-buzz-13987-1310420355-1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29270091.post-36844283386225660972011-07-13T16:00:00.001+00:002011-07-14T14:24:39.171+00:00Where'd You Get Those Peepers?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ9yijskxARV69pKGYegEHTDyewa-VMzmMTf2qspGw1aYLk88XJiDxN9q7s6FBWY9LH0lXOqyvhmqhQ7nR4Tsn8GnC9HVmiYze0_TNXKFLRncb1HFmsN9IoROoFUTI3YpfTrqdWA/s1600/sheepers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ9yijskxARV69pKGYegEHTDyewa-VMzmMTf2qspGw1aYLk88XJiDxN9q7s6FBWY9LH0lXOqyvhmqhQ7nR4Tsn8GnC9HVmiYze0_TNXKFLRncb1HFmsN9IoROoFUTI3YpfTrqdWA/s400/sheepers.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29270091.post-75703829553898953322011-07-12T13:49:00.000+00:002011-07-12T13:49:37.208+00:00The Butterfly and the ChairExcerpt of a letter from Subcomandante Marcos to Angel Luis Lara, 12 October 2002.<br />
<br />
the butterfly<br />
<br />
Rebellion is like the butterfly that flies out towards that sea without islands or rocks. It knows that there will be no resting place, and yet it does not waver in its flight. And no, neither the butterfly nor rebellion are foolish or suicidal; the thing is, they know that they'll have a resting place, that out there is a huge old island that no satellite has ever detected. And this big island is a sister rebellion which will set out just when the butterfly, that is, the flying rebellion, starts to falter. Then the flying rebellion, that is, the sea butterfly, will become part of that emergent island, and will be the landing point for another butterfly already beginning its determined flight towards the sea. This would be no more than a mere curiosity in biology books, but as I-don't-know-who said, the flutter of a butterfly wing is often the origin of the greatest hurricanes. With its flight, the flying rebellion, that is, the butterfly, is saying NO!<br />
<br />
No to logic. No to prudence. No to immobility. No to conformism.<br />
<br />
And nothing, absolutely nothing, will be as wonderful as seeing the audacity of that flight, appreciating the challenge it represents, feeling how it starts to agitate the wind and seeing how, with those drafts, it is not the leaves of the trees that tremble, but the legs of the powerful who until then naively thought that butterflies died if they flew out over the sea.<br />
<br />
...........................................................<br />
<br />
And there are times that butterflies from all over gather, and then there is a rainbow. And the task of butterflies, as any respectable encyclopedia will tell you, is to bring the rainbow down closer so children can learn how to fly.<br />
<br />
the chair<br />
<br />
The Revolutionary (like that, with capital R) scorns ordinary chairs and says to others and himself: “I don't have time to sit down, the heavy mission commended to me by History (like that, with capital H) prevents me from distracting myself with nonsense.” He goes through life like this until he runs into the chair of Power. He throws off with one shot whomever is sitting on the chair, sits down and frowns, as if he were constipated, and says to others and himself: “History (like that, with capital H) has been fulfilled. Everything, absolutely everything, makes sense now. I am sitting on the Chair (like that, with capital C) and I am the culmination of the times.” There he remains until another Revolutionary (like that, with capital R) comes by, throws him off and history (like that, with small h) repeats itself. The rebel (like that, with small r), on the other hand, when he sees an ordinary chair, examines it carefully, then goes and puts another chair next to it, and another and another, and soon, it looks like a gathering because more rebels (like that, with small r) have come, and then the coffee, tobacco and the word begin to circulate and mix, and then, precisely when everyone starts to feel comfortable, they get antsy, as if they had ants in their pants, and they don't know if it's from the coffee or the tobacco or the word, but everyone gets up and keeps on going the way they were going. And so on until they find another ordinary chair and history repeats itself. There is only one variation, when the rebel runs into the Chair of Power (like that, with capital C, capital P), looks at it carefully, examines it, but instead of sitting there he goes and gets a fingernail file and, with heroic patience, he begins sawing at the legs until they are so fragile that they break when someone sits down, which happens almost immediately.<br />
<br />
<i><a href="http://the-butterfly-and-the-chair.paramana.com/tale.html">Shamelessly taken from here</a></i><br />
<i><a href="http://chiapas.toug.de/pdf/durito">The whole thing here (in .pdf)</a></i>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29270091.post-19681578450907585182011-07-11T14:34:00.000+00:002011-07-11T14:34:31.662+00:00Radio Pirate Artichoke: Fuck You and the Horse You Rode in on<object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/p/504A4B4723D6EA1C?version=3&hl=en_US&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/p/504A4B4723D6EA1C?version=3&hl=en_US&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="480" height="385" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29270091.post-66980567522369735882011-07-08T15:44:00.001+00:002011-07-08T15:44:00.583+00:00The Last Will and Testament of Alexander DragoumisMy name is Alexander Dragoumis and this is my last will and testament. I sense my end coming and I cannot help but feel blessed by Lady Fortune that my life will end by natural means. I have lived to see things no man should see, things I could not have hoped to see and retain my sanity. And yet I did. But perhaps that is not so fortunate. Maybe I should have lost my mind along with my naivete. Maybe then I would not have to carry this burden. But I cannot complain about what life dealt me.<br />
<br />
I used to be a ruthless man in my youth. A greedy little runt. Never looking beyond bottom lines and personal gain and for that I am sorry. But for some things I do not apologise. I still find man to be a sorry excuse of a being. A bottomless well into which the hopes of gods are forever cast, never to return. I do not hate man, I pity him. For he is a feeble beast, capable of brilliant ascension and uttermost horror but seldom the clarity to choose wisely between the two. Pardon me reader if these seem the last ramblings of a faltering old mind. My mind is as youthful as it ever was though my body is weakened by time. I have lived through things I would not wish upon my bitterest of enemies and yet my mind has steeled itself and stayed strong. Or at least I think so.<br />
<br />
As I said, I was a cold and calculating thing and it was this moral deformity that lead me into the line of work that made me a small fortune. In the shining glory of Smyrna and Constantinople I lived and worked in the dank shadows. I pawned off works of art to the highest bidder, effectively selling off the great culture of Asia Minor. At the time I may have rationalised what I did as providing a service to noble people that knew how to appreciate exquisite cultural artifacts but I see now that it would not have mattered what I sold and to whom as long the price was right.<br />
<br />
It was this social degeneracy of mine that lead me to flee with as much money as I could the troubles of Smyrna. I should have burned in its flames. Cruel but fair is the judgment of our future selves and woe to the man that fails himself as an old man for he shall be cast into non-existence. I have to live with the things I did and I can only hope that in the balance of my judgment my evils will not outweigh any selflessness I may have shown. I fled to Athens and slowly resumed my loathsome work there with a fledgling gentry almost literally devouring anything I could bring over. It helped that some of my clients were military men. The imperialist Greek army did most of my dirty work while I was in Greece. Soon I had enough funds and influence to try and get back to Constantinople and maybe even Smyrna to build again my foul business.<br />
<br />
I booked a ticket on the Orient Express and that was what condemned me and enlightened me. I have seen unspeakable horrors, O reader, the human form twisted and mutated until it is a mere mockery of its former self. Innumerable human lives treated casually as we treat dirt and dust. I looked into Insanity’s gaping maw and felt irresistible forces pull me in. I cannot pretend it was my resilience that saved me, nor my cunning, though I had plenty. It was sheer, dumb luck. I was a mere plaything in the infinite playroom of gods and though I was occasionally rattled, I was never broken.<br />
<br />
On that damned train ride I met a group of what now only seems as a group of broken and insane folk. People that had been poked and prodded once too many by the gods, their minds now lesser than what they used to be. I cannot blame them now, I used to, for surely they suffered much more than I did. They never trusted me and how could they. Our lives became inexplicably entwined on that train after facing a vile creature which at the time terrified me but only because I did not yet know what was to follow.<br />
I saved them and I am ashamed to admit that I felt vengeful that they did not recognise it. As if the goal of selflessness was profit. Such an imbecile I was. I helped them time and time again, facing unspeakable terrors with them until a horrible accident befell me and I was left with incurable wounds. They left me without a second thought and I must admit I blame them too for what I did next even though I take most of the responsibility. I betrayed them to enemies that then seemed inconsequential until I found out that bigger things were at stake than our little insignificant lives.<br />
<br />
What fools men are. And our enemy was the biggest one. I took great pleasure in killing him and enjoyed it even more the second time around. I kept them safe from danger and they did not even know it, let alone acknowledge it. In the end, when I had stopped caring for my life we faced cruel, cavernous intellects beyond the planes that any mortal should ever be allowed to inhabit. Elder gods that no living thing should ever have to face no matter how heinous its crimes. And yet we survived.<br />
I left them and everything else behind. No kind of normalcy could ever be expected after that. We never really became friends. Necessity kept us together and now I felt that I was needed elsewhere. Smyrna pulled on my soul and now I knew what I had to do. Since then I have dedicated my life making sure that no man will ever have to face what I did. I have uncovered every possible kind of artifact imaginable that channeled powers that should not be and made sure it would become unusable.<br />
<br />
I am a man that has made his peace with how the world is and with himself. I hope I have redeemed myself and I hope I leave the world in a slightly better shape than when I found it. May no man ever see the things I have seen and if they do, may the gods grant them mercy in the form of insanity or a swift death.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">Smyrna, 11th August 1953</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29270091.post-21277165422724711872011-06-23T06:47:00.000+00:002011-06-23T06:47:51.053+00:00Nicolas Lampert<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsa9wz5UYNP3qIcYwMkX1q6IrmRBvj8k0Emr-gagPo0pKW2_k81MKggiIH4hfushURwS7z3hUoLiqiMiw0rhTdYs9iKDV9oOH6xxe-YF9yCOix1RLmE1uDs5_TYbnIhyphenhyphenaiu7oADA/s1600/Turtle-Tank.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="249" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsa9wz5UYNP3qIcYwMkX1q6IrmRBvj8k0Emr-gagPo0pKW2_k81MKggiIH4hfushURwS7z3hUoLiqiMiw0rhTdYs9iKDV9oOH6xxe-YF9yCOix1RLmE1uDs5_TYbnIhyphenhyphenaiu7oADA/s400/Turtle-Tank.gif" /></a></div><br />
<a href="http://www.machineanimalcollages.com/">Moar.</a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29270091.post-87660355191724486322011-06-19T06:58:00.000+00:002011-06-19T06:58:58.233+00:00Sanjhih<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhib1NTeg2D5PH2ZFdt70C-xIWVhyphenhyphenlxHHA0gjw8scDnCild_oij7otj16aO-CpWO-tB9LDMpaNEYwhRoEdkcYC_8Nu7ROHU_m9AqiA49Zsd7FnBy-BnZ7rG_7IWM2nQ-9pkq3vJOQ/s1600/167815028_1b125a84b7_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="266" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhib1NTeg2D5PH2ZFdt70C-xIWVhyphenhyphenlxHHA0gjw8scDnCild_oij7otj16aO-CpWO-tB9LDMpaNEYwhRoEdkcYC_8Nu7ROHU_m9AqiA49Zsd7FnBy-BnZ7rG_7IWM2nQ-9pkq3vJOQ/s400/167815028_1b125a84b7_b.jpg" /></a></div><br />
It's futuristic. It's haunted. It's abandoned. It's the pod-town in Taiwan. <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/cypherone/sets/72157600694356865/with/2306740619/">More pictures here.</a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29270091.post-86774288462476369812011-06-16T15:48:00.000+00:002011-06-16T15:48:14.922+00:00Post-Revolution Blues<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwREN2Uk0C-wUUqvjKJmM6xd-cnaWw86VWmVZAhbjymnTBtsTa8PC3yz6nnXASx1Uk5iUx-VoWolu4_Y5ScRY2EB03_SzeSBud4ovp4EwuAqB86qyrvjmRb7bWayIaFbaUBX2UrA/s1600/greece-athens-protest.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="300" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwREN2Uk0C-wUUqvjKJmM6xd-cnaWw86VWmVZAhbjymnTBtsTa8PC3yz6nnXASx1Uk5iUx-VoWolu4_Y5ScRY2EB03_SzeSBud4ovp4EwuAqB86qyrvjmRb7bWayIaFbaUBX2UrA/s400/greece-athens-protest.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<br />
I think I'm suffering from a light case of burn-out. Yesterday I practically pushed myself beyond my limits. I woke up at 7:30 in the morning, had a small and quick breakfast that was going to be my only meal for the next 12 hours. I traveled in a train packed with early commuters to the centre of Athens to meet with the people from my union. There we joined in solidarity with another union to block the entrance to a huge coffee shop that has been using and abusing its employees. That was an amusing way to wake up and start your day. After that we handed out a call for more people to join our union and joined another three unions to form a bloc that then marched all the way to the central square of Athens. I held the banner too.<br />
<br />
I was hot, thirsty, possibly sunburnt already and a bit tired. I spent some time with the people I've met in the union and when shit started getting kicked, and they decided to leave, I stayed and watched and participated depending on the tides of battle I suppose. I inhaled cubic arseloads of teargas and various asphyxiants and thank fuck I was wearing a mask otherwise I may have been deadified by now. I came face to face with plenty a pig in all shapes and colours and I walked tens of kilometers.<br />
<br />
We built and lit barricades, flung rocks, insults and other debris at cops and tried to protect ourselves and other people, some of whom didn't even want us there. That's the shittiest thing of all. To be treated like an unwanted servant. Fuck you lady. I didn't come here for you, I came here for me. I'm alive and you're still dead. Underneath the mask I'm smiling.<br />
<br />
I met a lot of people, I like most of them and I was genuinely happy. I only had water and cigarettes, I was definitely sunburnt and dehydrated by the end of it, very dirty and tired but I was fucking happy. The explosions didn't scare me or the fire. That's not to say I wasn't scared. This was happiness resulting from fears being faced and defeated.<br />
<br />
Today, I'm healing. Apparently the government will be changing but that won't change my life. Or the life of most other people. It'll still be "same shit, different asshole". And I'm kind of down today. I feel like a wild animal that has been caged for all its life, has tasted freedom for a day and then has been shoved back in its cage. I still have to find a shitty job to pay my shitty rent. But yesterday. O yesterday I lit fires.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0