My Manifesto: The Incoherent Ramblings of a Madman

Debra Beasley Lafave - the school teacher who got caught sleeping with a fourteen year old - I don't know about what you think, but the kid seems to be doing alright for himself, half the photos they show of her she doesn't seem to scrub up to badly!

I feel sorry for the puppet government being installed into Iraq. I feel sorry for the people of Iraq. I feel sorry for the people of america and their naivity and poor judgement. How many CIA employees does it take to rule middle eastern countries before they will understand? or do they think that puting a puppet government in will create this wave of countries following their way of doing things? I pity them and their simple minds. Will they ever learn from their mistakes? For the sake of the world I hope so.

There's this hypnotist show on at the moment. Basically the premise is he's convinced all of the women that when he shakes their hands they will orgasm. So they're all pretty much there shaking his hand like crazy and moaning away then one of them goes: "I think I need, a ummm, toilet break" obviously she just has no stamina.

It's been a bitter-sweet week. My boss gave me my employee review and pretty much said the following:

1. I'm fast;
2. I'm efficient;
3. I'm profitable;
3. I've not learnt a single thing in a year (due mainly to him not training me); and
4. He doesn't trust my abilities as a structural engineer and believes I need to check my work better

I'm more than willing to accept criticism, however, the specific issues he brought up were not my fault at all, and in can be said, that it was not me who was wrong, but the checker - but not wanting to start an argument with said checker that would end my current employment, I just sat there and took it.

The ironic thing is that my boss contracts me out doing civil engineering design, civil engineering management, quality assurance - all of which involve - yeah you guessed it - CHECKING!

OF said he felt that I am very good at what I do and the others feel threatened. I hope for my sake he was being serious, rather than fatherly, when he said it.

The sweet part of the week has been going to the gym tonight to a punching class and seeing my friend, well, when I say my friend I really mean the girl I ogle at the gym bouncing around nicely......aaaaaawww...she's so nice- I guess one of these days I may even summon up enough courage to actually talk to her.

I want a perspective shot of a communication tower showing the truss aspects of it etc...but they don't seem to exist...all the communication tower photos in the world have been taken by ppl who don't know what the fuck the difference between one end of the camera and their blind-as-a-mole-arses..

Chernobyl. It is a scary thought. All of the people were evacuated after the disaster, albeit, up to four (4) years to late. Now there lies a 30 kilometre exclusion zone and about 2800 settlements located in the contaminated area with the population of more than 1.5 million people including about 420 thousand children. (http://www.belarusembassy.org/humanitarian/chernobyl_catastrophe.htm). The image is from yann arthus bertrand series "Earth From Above".

NOW, the hypothetical question is - is nuclear radiation that puts out no greenhouse gases better for the environmkent than Australia's prefered method of coal power? is the upfront pollution of coal power better or worse than the sustained pollution of nuclear power? is it better to burn or bury? either way it will eventually come back to hurt us.

Oddly Enough - Reuters:

A Canadian man, driving a car packed with weapons and ammunition, was intent on killing as many people as possible in a Toronto neighborhood but gave up the plan at the last minute when he encountered a friendly dog, police said on Thursday.

"He happens to be a pet lover, and decided that since there was such a nice dog in the area, that people were too nice and he wasn't going to carry out his plan," Detective Nick Ashley told reporters.


Police found 6,000 rounds of ammunition, two rifles, a shotgun, a semi-automatic pistol, a revolver and an air rifle in the man's car, along with a machete and a hunting knife. The car also contained a throwing knife, a camouflage mask and netting.

--> those damn Canadians, always trying to copy America - next thing and they'll be drinking budweiser and eating apple pie!

A cucumber, a pickle, and a penis were all sitting around one day
talking about how much their lives sucked.

The cucumber said, "Man, my life sucks. Whenever I get big, fat, and
juicy, someone cuts me up and puts me in a salad."

So the pickle looks at him and says, "You think you have it bad?
Whenever I get big, fat, and juicy, someone puts me in vinegar, puts spices on me,
and sticks me in a jar."

The penis glared at them both and said, "You guys think you have it
rough?

Whenever I get big, fat, and juicy, they put a rubber tarp over my
head, stick me in a dark room, and bang my head against the wall until I
throw up and pass out."

Adam's Quote of the Week:

"Sure there have been injuries and deaths in boxing - but none of them serious."
- Alan Minter, Boxer

Some dumb criminal things (these things always make me laugh) from some assorted dumb criminal sites:

England: A German "tourist," supposedly on a golf holiday, shows up at customs with his golf bag. While making idle chatter about golf, the customs official realizes that the tourist does not know what a "handicap" is. The customs official asks the tourist to demonstrate his swing, which he does--backward! A substantial amount of narcotics was found in the golf bag.

Indiana: A man walked up to a cashier at a grocery store and demanded all the money in the register. When the cashier handed him the loot, he fled--leaving his wallet on the counter.

The best-laid plans of a Canadian couple in a suicide pact went awry because the weapon they used nearly as old as they are. Harold Pinna, 89, and his 92-year-old wife decided to end it all with a .22 caliber pistol that hadn't been fired in 60 years. Mr. Pinna shot his wife in the head, but the rusty bullet ricocheted off a hair curler, and she suffered only a mild scalp laceration. He then put the gun to his right ear and fired again. The shot was so weak that the bullet lodged in his ear. The dazed couple then gave themselves up to the police... it was either that or throw themselves out the first floor window...

The police showed up at the victim's house after receiving a call of a break in while the man was away at work. The house was in a nice upper-middle class neighborhood. The police walked around to the side of the house with the victim, where they were shown the pried open sliding glass patio door. Clearly the entrance for the criminal. When asked if anything in the house was missing the man said nothing except his stash of marijuana. Police, not believing what they had just heard asked the man to repeat himself. The man, realizing that he had just admitted to possessing an illegal drug stammered and finally said, "oh forget the whole thing." He waved the police off and went back into his house. The police walked away laughing. --> the funny thing is almost this exact same thing happened with an incident involving my brother.

(Location Unknown): A man walked into a Circle-K (a convenience store similar to a 7-11), put a $20 bill on the counter and asked for change. When the clerk opened the cash drawer, the man pulled a gun and asked for all the cash in the register, which the clerk promptly provided. The man took the cash from the clerk and fled-- leaving the $20 bill on the counter. The total amount of cash he got from the drawer? Fifteen dollars.

Portsmouth, RI: Police charged Gregory Rosa, 25, with a string of vending machine robberies in January when he: 1. fled from police inexplicably when they spotted him loitering around a vending machine and 2. later tried to post his $400 bail in coins.

Unknown: A man walked into the corner store with a shotgun and demanded all of the money from the cash register. After the cashier put the money in the bag as instructed, the man demanded the bottle of Scotch he saw behind the counter. The cashier refused to hand over the Scotch because he did not believe the man was 21. The robber swore he was, but still the clerk refused. Finally, the robber handed over his ID and proved that he was indeed twenty-one. As soon as he left, the cashier called and gave the police the name and address of the man who had just robbed the store. The suspect was arrested two hours later.

Oklahoma City, OK: Dennis Newton was on trial for the armed robbery of a convenience store when he decided to fire his attorney. Oklahoma City District Attorney said Newton was doing a decent job until the store manage testified that Newton was indeed the robber. Newton jumped up, accused the woman of lying and then said, " I should have blown your f***ing head off" The defendant paused then added "If I had been the one that was there." The jury deliberated for twenty minutes before returning a verdict of guilty and recommended a sentence of thirty years.

Pontiac, Michigan: Charged with drug-possession, Christopher Johns claimed that he had been searched without a warrant. The prosecutor said the officer did not need a warrant because a bulge in Johns's jacket could have been a gun. "Nonsense," said Christopher who happened to be wearing the same jacket that day. When he handed the judge the jacket, a bag of cocaine fell out. The judge required a five minute recess so that he could gain his composure.

New York: As a woman exited her local convenience store, her pursed was snatched by a fleeting man. The clerk promptly called 911 and the woman gave a detailed description of the suspect. Within minutes, the police apprehended the alleged snatcher. They took him back to the store and told him to stand there for a positive ID. The man did as was told and said: "Yes officer, that's the woman I stole the purse from."

And finally:

Some criminals are not too bright and here's one to prove that: (at the time of booking)
Officer: What is your D.O.B.?
Criminal: What's a D.O.B., man?
Officer: When's your birthday?
Criminal: May 5th
Officer: What year?
Criminal: Every year, man.

A friend of mine:

Ainsleah: 20. Desperate for faith. Desperate for escape from the small town trap. Desperate for escape from so-called friends who are only holding me back. Just desperate.

There used to be so much here. So much. Internal malfunctions expressed so eloquently with words. It is still here, but now, it is hidden from the prying eyes of strangers.

It will be back in full effect one day. Soon.

I cannot hide forever.

--> I oft worry. I really do.

My friend is doing some prac-teaching of late. It's kind of funny. The class are all coming down with chicken pox.

Her: "They're dropping like flies"
Teacher: "Looks like we've lost two more"

If I was them I'd be having a class roster and making bets on who goes next.

Billy Jacobs is at 10/1 odds....etc...ah the fun you could have...

Hubert Michael is a death-row inmate who was convicted on his own confessions a few years back. It has come to light that after confessing everything and asking for the death penalty that he, after waiving his last right to appeal his case, wants to appeal. I for one cannot blame the man. Sitting there faced with your final moments of life. Staring at a blank wall as they strap you in the seat. It is not the type of thing you want to live through. It is not the type of thing you want to go through. It is something that would make the most hardened person weak. It is something that, innocent, or guilty, would make you want to try one last time to save your life. The question, now, is this - do we let a man who waived all rights to appeal - appeal? Do we re-open an investigation when the man has said he was guilty and wanted to die right throughout? Do we not blame the man for not wanting to die? DO we not give him one last chance? His motive - who knows - but I for one would not want his death on my conscious without giving him one last chance to prove his innocence - even if after all this time he has plead guilty - guilty or not guilty this man, due inpart to his own doing, has never actually had a trial.

The Mercy Seat - Nick Cave

It began when they come took me from my home
And put me in Dead Row,
Of which I am nearly wholly innocent, you know.
And I'll say it again
I..am..not..afraid..to..die.
I began to warm and chill
To objects and their fields,
A ragged cup, a twisted mop
The face of Jesus in my soup
Those sinister dinner meals
The meal trolley's wicked wheels
A hooked bone rising from my food
All things either good or ungood.

And the mercy seat is waiting
And I think my head is burning
And in a way I'm yearning
To be done with all this measuring of truth.
An eye for an eye
A tooth for a tooth
And anyway I told the truth
And I'm not afraid to die.

Interpret signs and catalogue
A blackened tooth, a scarlet fog.
The walls are bad. Black. Bottom kind.
They are sick breath at my hind
They are sick breath at my hind
They are sick breath at my hind
They are sick breath gathering at my hind
I hear stories from the chamber
How Christ was born into a manger
And like some ragged stranger
Died upon the cross
And might I say it seems so fitting in its way
He was a carpenter by trade
Or at least that's what I'm told
Like my good hand I
tatooed E.V.I.L. across it's brother's fist
That filthy five! They did nothing to challenge or resist.
In Heaven His throne is made of gold
The ark of his Testament is stowed
A throne from which I'm told
All history does unfold.
Down here it's made of wood and wire
And my body is on fire
And God is never far away.
Into the mercy seat I climb
My head is shaved, my head is wired
And like a moth that tries
To enter the bright eye
I go shuffling out of life
Just to hide in death awhile
And anyway I never lied.
My kill-hand is called E.V.I.L.
Wears a wedding band that's G.O.O.D.
`Tis a long-suffering shackle
Collaring all that rebel blood.

And the mercy seat is waiting
And I think my head is burning
And in a way I'm yearning
To be done with all this measuring of truth.
An eye for an eye
And a tooth for a tooth
And anyway I told the truth
And I'm not afraid to die.

And the mercy seat is burning
And I think my head is glowing
And in a way I'm hoping
To be done with all this weighing up of truth.
An eye for an eye
And a tooth for a tooth
And I've got nothing left to lose
And I'm not afraid to die.

And the mercy seat is glowing
And I think my head is smoking
And in a way I'm hoping
To be done with all this looks of disbelief.
An eye for an eye
And a tooth for a tooth
And anyway there was no proof
Nor a motive why.

And the mercy seat is smoking
And I think my head is melting
And in a way I'm helping
To be done with all this twisted of the truth.
A lie for a lie
And a truth for a truth
And I've got nothing left to lose
And I'm not afraid to die.

And the mercy seat is melting
And I think my blood is boiling
And in a way I'm spoiling
All the fun with all this truth and consequence.
An eye for an eye
And a truth for a truth
And anyway I told the truth
And I'm not afraid to die.

And the mercy seat is waiting
And I think my head is burning
And in a way I'm yearning
To be done with all this measuring of proof.
A life for a life
And a truth for a truth
And anyway there was no proof
But I'm not afraid to tell a lie.

And the mercy seat is waiting
And I think my head is burning
And in a way I'm yearning
To be done with all this measuring of truth.
An eye for an eye
And a truth for a truth
And anyway I told the truth
But I'm afraid I told a lie.

Mass Destruction - Faithless

Whether long range weapon or suicide bomber
Wicked mind is a weapon of mass destruction
Whether you're soar away sun or BBC 1
Misinformation is a weapon of mass destruc
You could a Caucasian or a poor Asian
Racism is a weapon of mass destruction
Whether inflation or globalization
Fear is a weapon of mass destruction

My dad came into my room holding his hat
I knew he was leaving,
he sat on my bed told me some facts, son.
I have a duty, calling on me
You and your sister be brave my little soldier
And don't forget all I told ya
Your the mister of the house now remember this
And when you wake up in the morning give ya momma a kiss
Then I had to say goodbye

In the morning woke momma with a kiss on each eyelid,
Even though I'm only a kid
Certain things can't be hid
Momma grabbed me
Held me like I was made of gold
But left her inner stories untold
I said, momma it will be alright
When daddy comes home, tonight



Whether long range weapon or suicide bomber
Wicked mind is a weapon of mass destruction
Whether you're soar away sun or BBC 1
Misinformation is a weapon of mass destruc
You could a Caucasian or a poor Asian
Racism is a weapon of mass destruction
Whether inflation or globalization
Fear is a weapon of mass destruction

Whether Halliburton or Enron or anyone
Greed is a weapon of mass destruction

We need to find courage, overcome
Inaction is a weapon of mass destruction
Inaction is a weapon of mass destruction
Inaction is a weapon of mass destruction

The skin under my chin
is exploding, again.
I'm getting stress from some other children.
I'm holding it in, we taking sides, like a politian
an if I get friction we get to fightin.
I defend my dad he's the best of all men
an whatever he's doin he's doin the right thing.
Its frightenin but it makes me mad, why do all
of these people seem to hate my dad?
an if that ain't enough, now I've got these spots.
I go to sleep every night with my stomach in knots.
and whats more I can hear Mama next door
explore the radio for reports of war.
and all we ever seem to do is hide the tears,
seems Daddy been gone for years.
But he was right, now I'm geared up for the fight
an he would be proud of me if Daddy came home tonight.

Whether long range weapon or suicide bomber
Wicked mind is a weapon of mass destruction
Whether you're soar away sun or BBC 1
Misinformation is a weapon of mass destruc
You could a Caucasian or a poor Asian
Racism is a weapon of mass destruction
Whether inflation or globalization
Fear is a weapon of mass destruction

Whether Halliburton or Enron or anyone
Greed is a weapon of mass destruction

We need to find courage, overcome
Inaction is a weapon of mass destruction
Inaction is a weapon of mass destruction
Inaction is a weapon of mass destruction

My story stops here, lets be clear
This scenario is happening everywhere
And you ain't going to nirvana or farvana
You're coming right back here to live out your karma
With even more drama than previously, seriously
Just how many centuries have we been
waiting for someone else to make us free
And we refuse to see
That people overseas suffer just like we
Bad leadership and ego's unfettered and free
Who feed on the people they're supposed to lead
I don't need good people to pray and wait
For the lord to make it all straight
There's only now, do it right.
Cos I don't want your daddy, leaving home tonight

Whether long range weapon or suicide bomber
Wicked mind is a weapon of mass destruction
Whether you're soar away sun or BBC 1
Misinformation is a weapon of mass destruc
You could a Caucasian or a poor Asian
Racism is a weapon of mass destruction
Whether inflation or globalization
Fear is a weapon of mass destruction

Whether Halliburton or Enron or anyone
Greed is a weapon of mass destruction

We need to find courage, overcome
Inaction is a weapon of mass destruction
Inaction is a weapon of mass destruction
Inaction is a weapon of mass destruction

The guys onsite yesterday were funny. Max was trying to plug in a power tool. The situation: there is two (2) site offices with six (6) power sockets each; a lead-decontamination unit with three (3) power sockets; some garnet; a generator with four (4) power sockets; a diesel tank; and a powerpole with four (4) power sockets. Max was about to start the generator to plug the power tool into so he could cut out a door for the containment - the generator is right next to the power pole, his door was set up on four (4) cans sitting next to a powerbox with the four (4) sockets surrounded by buildings with ample power sockets. After realising how stupid he was he gingerly came up with the excuse " i was just trying to save you guys electricity"

It was a good night last night. Although it's a little un-nerving for one to be taken out by a guy who just flew you to bourke because he was going to "show you" how to drink - the night before he was going to fly you home I might add - it was still a nice night out (well as nice a night out as two (2) guys in bourke can have I guess).

We ran into some other pilots - apparently pilots seem to just be attracted to each other and they talked their pilot talk about all their near death experiences. I just sat there stone-faced and clasping at my heart in terror - my hands were clenched tightly to the seat - and thankful we were on the ground, although by the end of the night, even the ground was moving before my very eyes.

I got back from the club and pretty much zonked out. In the middle of the night I'm there waking up in a hot, half drunken sticky, sweaty mess dreaming of a erm..friend of a friend who happens to be dating a pilot - and I must say - if this dream is anything to go by she is mighty fine - but the problem is - when sleeping, dreaming about doing all manner of erm sordid things and numb from the affects of alcohol you don't tend to lube up much - so now I find myself red raw and in urgent need of hand cream or some type of vitamin E revitalising ointment or something ---> did the "ponds institute" ever run tests on handcream for cases such as this ? is there a moisturiser that is called "I was drunk, sleeping, dreaming about sleeping with a friend of a friend, and subconsciously wanking over zealously revitalising penis-cream" ? I'm not sure if this has happened to anyone else - but god damn it - i'm sure there'd be a market for this type of stuff! This product could be marketing gold!

AND in honour of my drunken overzealous wanking mishap I give you the lyrics to another drunken over zealous wanking mishap:

Blister in The Sun - Violent Femmes

When I'm out walking I strut my stuff yeah I'm so strung out
I'm high as a kite I just might stop to check you out
Let me go on like I blister in the sun
Let me go on big hands I know your the one
Body and beats I stain my sheets I don't even know why
My girlfriend she's at the end she is starting to cry
Let me go on like I blister in the sun
Let me go on big hands I know your the one...

Ren and Stimpy is gold - I cannot understand why the hell they ever pulled that show - sure it's ratings were probably lagging behind the eight-ball but it was/is top notch stuff :)

It annoys me that we in this country so often copy other countries ways of doing things, particulary, the american way of doing things. Companies here look at the way an american company does something for the first year when they implement a new system, it works, they then implement it here. The year after the system has been implemented in the american company they realise that it is failing, and adopt a new strategy. The Australian company is still working because it is in it's first year. The second year, they fail. The problem is that five or six other Australian companies have seen the first Australian company working for its first year, so again, they all copy the strategy, and again, in the second year fail dismally. Do they not understand? Do they not look around them? Do they not care about long-term trends?

Often what happens is that we implement a "new system" based on an overseas system, however, by the time we implement the system the overseas systems have failed and they are implementing new ones. eg. privatisation. We often hear about how fantastic the privatisation of the electrical grid worked in America - do they forget Enron? Have they not noticed that the most successful electrical grid networks are still state owned? Do the government buy-backs in America mean nothing?

The American systems are obviously failing in many aspects. America is running scared. They know their time is limited. If the American way was such a success they would not need to be raping, pillaging, and plundering other countries.

On the other hand, the Europeans, have many fresh ideas that we could always look into implementing. Asian marketing methodology is also sound in some aspects. Why do we forget what the rest of the world has to offer and merely follow the American model? America is a very introspective country - they do not look outside the square. Infact, they do not look outside their own country very often at all. As far as new ideas go - they are very limited. Not in comparision to Australian ideas - of which the current situations show we have absolutely none of own - but relatively speaking compared to other regions, the Americans are lacking.

Why do we not think for ourselves? If we must adapt models to suit us - why do we not learn from others mistakes instead of making the same ones?

It is the time to play: “lets see what site we end up at when we go and do a google key-word search on Adam’s dodgy blog”. The keywords this time are: “Communist Manifesto”; longtime readers of my site, namely, myself, will remember that this was also the first key-word search meaning that we have come full circle already. I still stand by communism. Although it is merely a utopian idealism that can never be achieved in real life – at least it has been tried. We all have the right to be equal. It should not matter who you were born, where you were born, what you were born into. We all have the right to healthcare, we all have the right to an education, we all have the right to freedom.

Does this mean I think that communism works? Hell no! It has failed. What sets communism apart from other forms of government is that it has been tried. Democracy has never and will never be tried, the half-arsed forms of democracy we live under at the moment are failing, dictatorships only work under certain circumstances, namely, when you are trying to control tribal uprisings and ethnic disputes, monarchies have been diluted, for the better or worse is not something I will delve into here, by the introduction of governments. Communism, as utopic as it may be, is still the only major form of government that has tried to create a classless society – and for that alone – I salute you.

Now, without further adieu:

http://www.anu.edu.au/polsci/marx/classics/manifesto.html:

A spectre is haunting Europe -- the spectre of communism. All the powers of old Europe have entered into a holy alliance to exorcise this spectre: Pope and Tsar, Metternich and Guizot, French Radicals and German police-spies.

Where is the party in opposition that has not been decried as communistic by its opponents in power? Where is the opposition that has not hurled back the branding reproach of communism, against the more advanced opposition parties, as well as against its reactionary adversaries?

Two things result from this fact:
I. Communism is already acknowledged by all European powers to be itself a power.
II. It is high time that Communists should openly, in the face of the whole world, publish their views, their aims, their tendencies, and meet this nursery tale of the spectre of communism with a manifesto of the party itself.

To this end, Communists of various nationalities have assembled in London and sketched the following manifesto, to be published in the English, French, German, Italian, Flemish and Danish languages.
The history of all hitherto existing society [2] is the history of class struggles.

Freeman and slave, patrician and plebian, lord and serf, guild-master [3] and journeyman, in a word, oppressor and oppressed, stood in constant opposition to one another, carried on an uninterrupted, now hidden, now open fight, a fight that each time ended, either in a revolutionary reconstitution of society at large, or in the common ruin of the contending classes.

In the earlier epochs of history, we find almost everywhere a complicated arrangement of society into various orders, a manifold gradation of social rank. In ancient Rome we have patricians, knights, plebians, slaves; in the Middle Ages, feudal lords, vassals, guild-masters, journeymen, apprentices, serfs; in almost all of these classes, again, subordinate gradations.

The modern bourgeois society that has sprouted from the ruins of feudal society has not done away with class antagonisms. It has but established new classes, new conditions of oppression, new forms of struggle in place of the old ones.

Our epoch, the epoch of the bourgeoisie, possesses, however, this distinct feature: it has simplified class antagonisms. Society as a whole is more and more splitting up into two great hostile camps, into two great classes directly facing each other -- bourgeoisie and proletariat.

From the serfs of the Middle Ages sprang the chartered burghers of the earliest towns. From these burgesses the first elements of the bourgeoisie were developed.

It worries me that so many people in this world are scared to do what is right because they are scared of losing their jobs. It scares me just as much that so many people in this world do not do what is right because they do not know any better.

it is really weird all the hoo-haa they've suddenly been making about the presciption drug aropax (orwhateverthehelltypeofnameyouwanttogiveit).

It causes suicide. It is not meant to be given to children.

Now, I can speak with second hand experience with this drug - my brother was on it. We all pissed ourselves laughing as we read the associated warning paraphanlia: "Not to be given to children" "May cause nervous, paranoia, depression, and suicide". It was very ironic that an "anti-depressant" drug given to depressed children would cause depression and suicide. Call me crazy - but if we could read the labeling - why the hell can't anyone else? If we can read the labeling - why the hell is GSK getting sued millions of dollars for giving it to children? Why the hell aren't the pharmacists being held accountable? Why the hell aren't the doctors being held accountable? BUT most importantly - why in the fuck hasn't anyone else taking this drug bothered reading the damn packaging before taking it or giving it to their child? If you choose to take something or give it to your child when you've been told it's dodgy - you deserve to be dead!

On another point - how in the hell can you say that a drug that is given to a depressed suicidal person is causing the depression and the suicide? Is it the depression and suicidal tendencies causing the depression and the suicide? or the "anti-depressant" causing the depression and the suicide? I'm buggered if I can tell the difference - and I'd almost be certain they can't tell the difference. How do they test these things? Do they get a lab-rat, traumatise him, and then put a little chair and a noose in his cage and watch, ever so patiently, until the poor little fellow doped up to the eyeballs on anti-depressants decides his life isn't worth living?

Ugh! Not sleeping sucks!

I woke up in the middle of the night suddenly thinking about my contract - it has been a week and I've not heard from them - I wonder what the hell is going on in Bourke?

Someone asked me about my brother yesterday and if I felt any more or any less love for him....if the things he's done that have affected me personally and my family have changed the way I see him....if the distance that has grown between us upsets me - it is something I try not to think about.

It does upset me that my brother and I are not as close as what we used to be. However, let's face it, as we all grow up, we grow apart. Each of us finds our place in the world with our own families and friends.

The best we can do is be close spectators in the lives of our family because no matter how much we wish to go back the past it will never happen.

I don't blame my brother for the way he turned out. I don't blame my parents for the way my brother turned out. I think he's as much a victim of circumstance as he is of anything else. He took drugs, he robbed people, he was a bad person. The important thing is that he has been to the bottom - and is intelligent and determined enough to get himself up from it.

Blame is such a useless thing to do. What is in the past is in the past - we only learn the past so as to not make the same mistakes again in the future. Will he re-lapse? of course he will. History always repeats itself in the most terrible ways. Either way - he knows we love him and always will.

I don't understand the fuss about Peter Garrett possibly joining labour. Labour have always been a political party lead by the people, for the people. They have always been environmentally sensitive, at least to the point where they have convinced us they are. They have always been pro-education. They have always been pro-reconciliation. They have always been pro-equality. They have always been pro-choice. They stand for everything that Peter has always stood for.

Fuck America and your bombs. Fuck Britain and your lies. Fuck Australia and your apathy.

America has kindly given Australia a whole bunch of dodgy cheap-arse army tanks. Australia was a little confused with why we were buying the dodgy American army tanks, instead of, say, the good German or Brittish ones. My friend, OF, said a few weeks back that the Americans were selling us their dodgy army tanks because they were going to create a "joint army training facility" here. Sure enough, it was announced that they're creating a "joint army training facility". Joint army training my arse! The American military are pretty poor at learning how to use anything other than their own equipment, hence, we've bought all of these cheap and nasty army tanks from them purely so they know how to use the army tanks that we're going to teach them how to use. We'll be doing all of the training - and who's going to be paying for all of this? The damn tax payers...yup...that's right...me! the stupid tax payers! Ugh! Damn govenments...can't get anywhere with them...and they bring in the big-guns and kill you without them...

Recollections Of A War To Remember
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Michael Kirkland (UPI) Tuesday 1st June, 2004

I remember my father. His life was short, and when he was little more than a child by our reckoning, he was plunged into the cauldron of war.

My parents' contemporaries have been called, in Tom Brokaw's phrase, "The Greatest Generation" so often that it's become a cliché.

Whether they were or not I have no real way of knowing. In their time, everything was possible, but life was chancy and with the big war looming over the nation, every moment counted. I know they were heroes to me.

My father and I had very little in common.

I was a reader, content to find a quiet corner of the house to devour a book. He was a doer, constantly in motion. If he came home from a hard day's work he usually found several things to do around the house or yard. And if he finished his own chores, he was quite happy to grab a broom and start sweeping, or grab the youngest of his seven children and get them ready for bed.

While others who had not seen war enjoyed the holiday, my father never had a Veterans Day off from work.

He couldn't understand why I wasn't more like him.

But there was one way we could relate. I could ask him about his war.

This was in the 1950s, when the bitter struggle that engaged the whole world was much fresher in people's minds than Vietnam is today.

I think I was about 3 when I first heard my father talk with contempt about his commanding general, Patton, "old blood and guts."

"Our blood, his guts," Dad sneered. This from a man who rarely had anything bad to say about anyone.

Still, he was proud of his role in the war. He had left school and volunteered at 17. Both of his brothers ended up in uniform. All three would be in combat at the same time.

My father was an infantryman in the 4th Armored Division, which was the spearhead of Patton's Third Army. At the tip of the spear were three or four half-tracks carrying combat troops ahead of the tanks. When they met opposition the infantrymen would debouche to protect the tanks.

My father usually found himself in one of the first two or three half-tracks, 25 miles ahead of the line.

My mother and father met in Washington at a USO dance before he was shipped out. She was an Italian-American, too naïve to let wander about by herself, visiting some friends working for the War Department. Over the past two years, she had turned down four proposals of marriage. She just hadn't met the one.

He was a handsome young Texan, red hair shining, crisp in his new private's uniform. He asked her to dance, towering over her, and they danced together for the rest of the night.

In those days, every young woman had to have a service member to write. It was just what you did. My mother's first serviceman, in the Navy, died at Pearl Harbor. So when on an impulse my father asked her to write him in Europe, she said yes.

She would write him every day. He would write her once a week most of the time. He proposed in a letter and she accepted.

But she would say that she really didn't know him, that she accepted him as her life's partner after spending only a few hours with him in person.

In combat, you buddied up with someone you could trust to watch your back. In one letter, he told her how his best friend had just been killed beside him. "He went on and on and on about how much he was going to miss his friend," my mother said later. "I thought, 'Is he drunk?'"

He wasn't of course. He was an emotional Texan, in a Lyndon Johnson kind of way, given to broad gestures and sentimentality.

My father's war was particularly bloody. His squad suffered "100 percent casualties," he would tell me, always with a kind of wonder that he survived and others did not. "Four killed and eight of us wounded." My father was wounded twice, both times by shrapnel. For the first wound, the most severe, they let him recover in Paris.

Like all wars, my father's had its atrocities. He would tell me how other GIs would cut the fingers from swollen German corpses to get their gold wedding rings.

Late in the war, they overran an SS position, and the men in Nazi uniforms tried to surrender, yelling out that they were Czech, not German. The U.S. soldier beside my father was carrying the Browning automatic rifle, and as the enemy stood up, hands in the air, he killed them all before my father could intervene.

But he understood why it was done. "His best friend had just been killed," Dad said, repeating it to make sure I understood as well. "His best friend had just been killed."

They also overran a concentration camp. The SS guards tried to use heavy equipment to bury the corpses, but the 4th Armored was coming too fast. The people living in the town below the camp claimed they didn't know what was going on. My father's general had the troops march the townspeople past the stacks of corpses at gunpoint -- everyone except for one pregnant woman. "Now you know what was going on," the general said.

My father participated in the great left turn, the tanks and half-tracks rolling fast, up to Luxembourg for the relief of Bastogne. The fighting was heavy and they had outrun their supplies. "All I had to eat for Christmas (1944) was an apple."

Toward the end, the boys and men of the 4th Armored were driving hard to Berlin. They would have beaten the Russians to the city if President Truman hadn't promised Stalin to let the Red Army have the honor -- and take the heavy casualties.

My father's unit ended up making a right turn into Czechoslovakia, Hitler was dead and the war in Europe was over. Truman used the atom bomb, and the troops in Europe knew they wouldn't be going to Japan. The fighting stopped all over the world.

When I was very young, I'd sometimes ask my father if he had killed anyone in the war. Being young and stupid, I desperately wanted him to say yes. He always said no, but he wouldn't look at me when he said it.

My father came home and visited my mother in her little West Virginia town. He was wearing his uniform. Like most soldiers who had just been mustered out, it was the only suit of clothes he had.

My mother hadn't spoken to her father in two years after some argument that wasn't worth remembering. Still, she asked my father to talk to the old man before they could become engaged.

Luckily, my father never met a stranger. He asked my grandfather formally for my mother's hand, and called him "Dad" when he did it. The old Italian, who slept with pistols under his pillow and sometimes carried a derringer in his sleeve, usually scared the hell out of people. When my father called him "Dad" his eyes filled with tears.

The marriage was a success. But it was forged in a different time, when our own worries and modern self-involvement would have seemed alien and petty. Though my mother outlived my father for 15 years, she carried his wedding ring on a gold chain around her neck until the day she died.

They're buried together now on a hill in West Virginia.

Al-Yawer Named Iraq's New President
By HAMZA HENDAWI, Associated Press Writer:

On Friday, the far more powerful post of prime minister went to Iyad Allawi, a U.S.-backed Shiite Muslim with military and CIA connections. All sides had wanted the presidency to go to a Sunni Muslim Arab.

Iraqi officials had said Allawi was chosen because he was considered the best choice to cope with the deteriorating security situation.

With more than 800 U.S. military dead since the Iraq war began in March 2003, Washington is eager to see a government that can tackle the security crisis, including a year-old Sunni revolt in Baghdad and areas north and west of the capital and a Shiite uprising to the south.

Another puppet leader for another puppet democracy - for a country (USA) who preaches democracy they may like to try it sooner or later.