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"I'll be your baby tonight..." [Friday
April 8th, 2011 at 1:11pm]

'In the grand scheme of things' seems like a strange way to begin a thought, but at some point the words 'in the final analysis' got stuck in my mindset and now everything is either catastrophically regret-making or insignificant in extremis so I suppose typing words in to the internets at large isn't so scary anymore.

Although it does make me wonder whether it's the presence of bad judges or no judges at all that's scary. Bit of the ol' 'is the existence of a corrupt insititution the existence of an institution at all?' or, rather, is it a whole new body that needs to be assessed in relation to the system that it caters to and the alternate, idealized form that it is supposed to be embody, does that have to be mourned and rebuilt into its own right?

Reading about the development of the rule of law system in the UK is basically showing a development from judges being extremely pedantic to being... less so. The form was always important, or that's how it seems. I wonder how many centuries back it was when this wasn't the case. If Millar is supposed to be believed in his implications, it was never the case - not since before Roman times - and that's rather. Brilliant for them, and year awe-inspiringly overwhelming for those trying to study the broken down, opposite-of-pedantic arbitrariness of the Sri Lankan judicial system.

We need our pedants back, basically. Instead, we have sometimes 5 judges sitting through the same case, incredible delays and then (a forserious judgment) completely ignoring the medical evidence from judicial medical officers presented by the prosecutor. I suppose cases against police officers are 'extra terribe' but a normal case takes years and 'justice', such as it can be delivered by the courts at their optimum, is just a laughingstock.

This anthropomorphizing of Justice and tends to lead to a lot of sexist comments, yelling 'whore!' and so on, and yet somehow this exchange between V and Madame Justice is oddly endearing. In substantial substance, not execution.

[V is talking to the statue of Madame Justice atop the Old Bailey]

V: Hello, dear lady. A lovely evening, is it not? Forgive me for intruding, perhaps you were intending to take a stroll, perhaps you were merely enjoying the view. No matter, I thought that it was time we had a little chat, you and I. Ahh... I was forgetting that we are not properly introduced. I do not have a name. You can call me V. Madame Justice, this is V. V, this is Madame Justice. Hello, Madame Justice.

V: [as Madame Justice] Good evening, V.

V: There, now we know each other. Actually, I've been a fan of yours for quite some time. Oh, I know what you're thinking... "The poor boy has a crush on me... an adolescent infatuation". I beg your pardon, Madame. It isn't like that at all. I've long admired you... Albeit only from a distance. I used to stare at you from the streets below when I was a child. I'd say to my father "Who is that lady?" And he'd say "That's Madam Justice". And I'd say "Isn't she pretty?". Please don't think it was merely physical, I know you're not that sort of girl. No, I loved you as a person, as an ideal. That was a long time ago, I'm afraid there's someone else now...

"Madame Justice": What? V! For shame! You have betrayed me for some harlot, some vain and pouting hussy with painted lips and a knowing smile!

V: I, Madame? I beg to differ! It was your infidelity that drove me to her arms! Ah-ha! That surprised you, didn't it! You thought I didn't know about your little fling, but I do! I know everything! Frankly, I wasn't surprised when I found out. You always did have an eye for a man in uniform.

"Madame Justice": Uniform? Why, I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about. It was always you, V. You were the only one...

V: Liar! Slut! Whore! Deny that you let him have his way with you, him with his armbands and jackboots! Well? Cat got your tongue? I thought as much. Very well. So you stand revealed at last, you are no longer my Justice. You are his Justice now, you have bedded another. Well, two can play at that game!

"Madame Justice": Sob! Choke! Wh-Who is she, V? What is her name?

V: Her name is Anarchy. And she has taught me more as a Mistress than you ever did! She has taught me that Justice is meaningless without Freedom. She is honest, she makes no promises and breaks none. Unlike you, Jezebel. I used to wonder why you could never look me in the eye. Now I know. So goodbye, dear Lady. I would be saddened by our parting, even now, save that you are no longer the woman that I once loved. Here is a final gift. I leave it at your feet.

[V leaves a small heart-shaped chocolate box at the statue's feet. As V walks away, the box explodes, destroying the Old Bailey and the statue]

V: The flames of Freedom, how lovely, how just. Ahh, my precious Anarchy... "O beauty, 'til now I never knew thee".

2 comments|Sing it

May 20th, 2010 at 10:40pm]

I got some work done today. The disappearances project is a’going on, in its way, and I’m happy to have a motivation to get off my behind and learn about transitional justice, disappearances, collapse of the separation of powers model, collapse of institutions (most notably the judiciary), intermixed with the writers pausing to remind the reader that Kashmir is actually very beautiful, even the British said so, oh yes.

Phottercopied something on European Trade Competition Law but it’s so dull it’s difficult to get through a single paragraph, never mind chapters.

House has learned of the healing power of love, how lovely for him. Show has learned that writing a good plot with interesting insights into the human psyche and the world is far too time-consuming and inspires a far lesser profit than having pretty men and pretty women having ‘complicated relationships’, ‘cause if it’s not causing viewers to have spikes in hormone levels, it’s just not good TV. That said, if it had been House/Wilson, I would have been squee’ing all over the place because even if it’s boring, it’s still a rainbow celebration not ‘still-not-boring’, and I’m sure Huddy ‘shippers have a similar reaction in a different context.

*shrug* C’est les other people’s fantasies. Should get out of fanfiction, it's been close to a decade and it's just me living vicariously through western pop cultural mythology.

Also, on actually-relevant-to-life-probably things, met the little, sparky and spry kiddie I’m supposed to be ‘mentoring’. She’s nine, knows about five languages and is far more decisive and witty than I am. This should be fun :)

Anyway. Catching up with the buttload of work I have not done. Tranisitional justice, note typing, snooze and then walkies. Good, good.

Take care!
Sing it

Come on, come on, come on... [Tuesday
May 18th, 2010 at 10:13pm]
To do

Read, do daily homework things.

Disappearances project:
Re-read LLM, break down into distinct parts to research
Make summaries of theories

Pay library fines
Reserve European Trade Competition Law textbook

Exercise 2 hrs morning and 1 hr evening:

Go walkies
Jazz dance

SoCO meeting at 7:30.
Sing it

April 16th, 2010 at 8:27pm]

I... don't really know what to say. Have realized my place as the ultimate hedonist, burning bridges and internalizing bullshit while scoffing with aplomb at it.

Also have been told that people can't tell when I'm joking. Shame. Still, at least I can worry about delivery instead of crappeh sense of humour.

In addition, the project on disappearances is really interesting. I'm worried that I'm going to overbear all over her and she'll be all '... fuck off bitch, this is my turf.'

Sri Lanka seems to be headed to the descriptions in the Gulag Archipelago, without even the privacy that was available back them. The surveilance that Chinese companies are being asked to install penetrates the technology.

I suppose we've never known freedom. It's surreal being in Hong Kong watching it happen, like a myopic Dr Manhatten or... a series of other western references.

The blood is flowing again. History repeats and repeats and the innocent are captured and ruined.

What did Stalin think he'd achieve? What does Rajapakshe think he will achieve?

So many of us have been so silent for so long. Nobody knows why they killed Nadawathie's son, the postal peon, or why they killed tens thousands of other persons. They were exercising uncontrolled State power as they are doing now. Nobody knows why but that's no reason to ignore what is happening to the country.

And yet, those who should be crying out for Sri Lanka are silent. In the universities, the Sri Lankan professors teach Equity and Trusts, International Commericaln Arbitration and a series of other things than mean nothing to the lawless country.

Sing it

January 18th, 2010 at 11:17pm]

In the grand scheme of things, madness has a high value. Yet I can't help but wonder if this is part of the effects of game theory market democracy, whether this isolation comes from individualist capitalist propaganda - mistrust, mistrust, mistrust. Everything must be bought. I can't quite break out of my head and all the stereotypes and inefficiency and the admission that I am obsessed by the idea of things - being busy, eating disorders, maniacal levels of studying, success - yet the actual application of things is beyond what I've done.

My instinct is to shut down, and yet the slightest amount of feeling not shy turns me into an exhibitionist. And the talking about myself thing - this - has to be cut down oh wow.

Yet, as negative and ~mizundaztood~ as I feel, as hypocritical and directioness I act, there are still things to do. To fight for. And that's worth breaking out of the inertia. All the things I believed when I was ten I believe now. (I was a cynical kid, okay.) It's just that I have to fight, to act, to do. Break through. False epiphanies aside, something good is possible.

Writing. Writing exposes inadequecies in ways art cannot. Art is license - writing is an attempt at a rational theory. And that's why I'm so scared of writing. The exposure of being wrong. Misunderstanding a character in fandom. Misunderstanding humanity in any kind of writing. Overlooking, mishaping, falling apart and humiliation.

Turning 20's got me thinking. I've got to do, do, do - otherwise, what's the point? There's no such thing as doing nothing. If i'm not doing something constructive, I'm being destructive. Stasis does not work with time. I don't know if I really can believe that.
1 comment|Sing it

Early, late. [Wednesday
October 7th, 2009 at 5:48pm]
It was dawn in the Wilson, House and ghost household. Wilson was making notes in one of his many well-organised files (filled with forms and his scribbly handwriting) and House was enjoying the way the light filtered into the room. He’d woken up for this - perhaps he was growing old. He rubbed his eyes, then his forehead, and made the final-feeling decision to have this out.

"You tried to kick me out."

"No, House -" Wilson cocked his head up instantly; he'd been waiting for the tension to break.

"And you said that you'd tell Nolan that you were kicking me out. Tell a therapist that you, for a garden, are going to make their patient live alone -"

"I like this apartment. It's Amber's apartment."

"Bullshit. It's lonely here. And you don't like living with ghosts."

"I -" Wilson sighed.

"You knew - which means you wanted one or both of two things. You wanted to prove to me I could still fix things, still get things right. On my own terms. Or was it just that you wanted me to prove how much I wanted to stay?"

"Maybe I just really want the garden." Wilson was a bitch when his defenses came up. "Maybe I want the privacy."

"If you wanted someone else to move in, you'd move." And you'd find a way that seemed less selfish to do it. "Unless you're planning on moving wife number four into Amber's old place?"

"It's mine now."

"It's both of yours."

"So where does that leave you?"

"I'm the missing link." Think about it, House thought. I haven't.

The pause after his words grew, as did the tension in their shoulders, and House tried to figure out what came next.

Wilson obliged. "That doesn't make sense."

"So answer the question!"

"I will. Just give me time."

And House thought about a million ways to push, primarily by pointing to the general location of his liver and informing the bastard that time has a nasty habit of running out, but if he wanted a scared Wilson slobbering over him until all remaining boundaries simply collapsed and they were wrestling in the mud - he'd have gotten it already. They'd grown so very old, and far too tired to pick up the pieces. They either morphed or did nothing at all.

House had learned early that avoidance rarely worked, so he fought. Over the years, he'd been shown that sometimes submission was the only way. But this wasn't something to submit to alone.

Death was soon a'coming, an almost, almost, almost - gone.

He'd allow this to slide though. To count it towards some distant hope. Someday, maybe, he'd be allowed to submit.

He hobbled out of the living room and back to his side of the bed, resigned to fight another day.

concrit is love. Also, points for catching the Colbert quote.
6 comments|Sing it

‘Ils ont changé ma chanson…’ de Dalida :) [Saturday
September 26th, 2009 at 6:55pm]

They have changed by song. I’ve fallen in love with this phrase. It captures growing up so beautifully. Thoughts of what one would have been, could have been, wanted to be. They have changed my song. The world happens, the interrelatedness of things. Changing, over the course of time and circumstance.

Attention or validation? Is the latter really as shameful as it seems?

Martin used to sing that song. 'Ils ont changé ma chanson.' And the world did affect him so much. But he was a pillar in so many ways. A principled man. More than reality, he had a beautiful perception. Reality is perceived. He saw people as they were. Compassion, a deeper humanity.

Logic is to give a comprehension to the story, to our perception of reality. If logic doesn’t lead to this perception, is the logic wrong or is the perception wrong?

Ezra Pound, as I learned in a guest lecture yesterday, and the imagist movement, wanted to capture the feeling of epiphany in a poem.

In a Station of the Metro

The apparition     of these faces     in the crowd.
Petals     on a wet, black     bough.

It certainly feels like that. Gentle feeling of realization, a love for the provider.

Have spent the day drinking milky, sugary coffee, and learning. Am trying to learn of the beauty in the world, trying not to simply block things out because I know they lead to terrible consequences, to ravaged bodies and emotions, to the overwhelming fear. But there’s no point sitting around wallowing in the fear. There IS beauty out there. We’re not on this planet very long in these forms. I want to understand as much as I can, to feel as much as possible, to express these connections. 'Ils n'ont rien compris à la chanson.' (My French is crap, but I think that means 'They have never understood the song.') To assume they wouldn't understand, without trying to be understood? I don't want that regret.

Only by understanding prior realizations do we move forward.

… yes, this post is cheese.

They have changed my song. The tempo, perhaps the words. But not the meaning.
Sing it

September 19th, 2009 at 6:53pm]

Hai tharr!

It's been an odd couple of months. Trying to understand law, I suppose. Trying to be a bit better.

Going out to find live jazz, that's the hope. Reading about psychopathy. Even inhumanity is human.

Found this old song. The version by Dr. John and Odetta is just stunning.

"Brother, Can You Spare a Dime," lyrics by Yip Harburg, music by Jay Gorney (1931)

They used to tell me I was building a dream, and so I followed the mob,
When there was earth to plow, or guns to bear, I was always there right on the job.
They used to tell me I was building a dream, with peace and glory ahead,
Why should I be standing in line, just waiting for bread?

Once I built a railroad, I made it run, made it race against time.
Once I built a railroad; now it's done. Brother, can you spare a dime?
Once I built a tower, up to the sun, brick, and rivet, and lime;
Once I built a tower, now it's done. Brother, can you spare a dime?

Once in khaki suits, gee we looked swell,
Full of that Yankee Doodly Dum,
Half a million boots went slogging through Hell,
And I was the kid with the drum!

Say, don't you remember, they called me Al; it was Al all the time.
Why don't you remember, I'm your pal? Buddy, can you spare a dime?

Once in khaki suits, gee we looked swell,
Full of that Yankee Doodly Dum,
Half a million boots went slogging through Hell,
And I was the kid with the drum!

Say, don't you remember, they called me Al; it was Al all the time.
Say, don't you remember, I'm your pal? Buddy, can you spare a dime?
Sing it

July 8th, 2009 at 12:17am]

It's a little strange, this big world and it's limitations.

In all the bizarre winds of change, the guillotine whose shadow we've never wanted to notice - fuck, the mischance and mishappenings, the fucking fear when every human achievement is not a foundation but a thread to hang on to, a piece of ice that may float or shatter without a firm base that may leave the individual to suffer.

Wrote a drabble of random awhile ago. For apathy and her warm, ambivalent embrace.

"They've got a little dream on, but I've got bedbugs in the brain…"

Gehen patted his friend on the head and waddled down to bed. Two little men kissed on the TV screen, enraptured in the hormones of a million dreams of mattering. No, they weren't going to Hollywood; but they'd spread around the world these days, making a little boys and girls dream of bigger things.

"See you in the morning, lovely." She's got a load to do, see, words to shoot out from the tips of her fingers, art to drip from her brain through her eyes on solid, waiting canvas. Oh there's so much to wait for, so much to do! She settles down to stare at a blank page for a minute or two – and her laptop for the next seven hours, flicking through video to video of other people's vapid dreams. Somehow it's always a little surprise waking up to another lost time. Vaguely remembering a time when she'd cry about the swift passing of moments, she trips over to bed.

"G'morning sweets," she murmurs in his waking ear, crawling in to enjoy the warmth he created.


And he's tripping off to another day, with bedbugs nestled in his brain. Bed to go; go to bed, waiting for the noon-time, dusk and finally the sweet feeling he was just feeling now; a warm bed after a night time of sleeping.

Sing it

March 25th, 2009 at 6:45pm]


Title: Bucket.

For Go Baby Go.


Wilson in drag. CONVINCINGLY. Gorgeous.


Any and all criticism (constructive preferred) very much adored. Do tell me what I'm doing wrong, and for a bonus, how to fix it. Thank you.
4 comments|Sing it

December 6th, 2008 at 12:32am]

"What Just Happened?" I dismissed before I saw the film, which was a good mindset to see it in. That's where the poignancy lies – your mindset. Who the watcher is, what they expected and how they interpret all of it. The acting is superb, the plot points are dull to write out and yet the writing is ambivalent. Towards you, the watcher, the writing is… ambivalent. I don't know what they writers' intention was, but the subtle beauty of the "show not tell" approach shines out. Each character in their interplay loses the irritating shine of the cliché they represent. The acting is superb… from the guy who plays Taub in House to the director of the Sean Penn movie to Sean Penn to the big white dog. There are so many tells from so many small moments to highlight the contribution of the individual to the general vacuousness of what was supposed to be Art but it is really just another Business. The way that someone who tries to do everything the best way they know how can fail so terribly. And how, at the core of it all, days pass by us.

Also, I've been going joggingwalking. And uh. Studying.

Rest in peace Martin. We'll always love you.

And. "The Last King of Scotland" is a facinating portrayal of corruption.

Take care.

Sing it

December 4th, 2008 at 12:57am]

motorcyclehunk House/tatto gorgeous hooker lady LOVE. Andand Kutner/Taub cuddly love. Also AWESOME funny ep. POW kind of couldn't act, but since most of the POWs act pretty awesome that's okay.

Also Wilson would join in the sexyfuntimes. Yes, House is sexy Cuddy, but dammit you want a man with suicidal tendencies and a drug habit that is trashing his organs to have babies with you?


"So no more gorgeous caring woman to take care of you?"

He squinted at her. "My liver's going to fail… yesterday. Yeah, if I care about someone I should get into a co-dependent relationship with them right now."

With a limp and a hoist he mounted the bike and she jumped on behind him, hugging him through the leather. He revved and settled back, feeling the thrill of the bike rolling forward into a roar.

Human beings may be made to adjust, but House prided himself in his resistance to change. Yet after five or six years he'd learned his moods weren't so different… a beautiful tatoo'd underling behind him, the roaring bike between his legs and the ever blowing wind still got his endorphins going. To adjust to charming a hooker into camaraderie from the constant of a dedicated girlfriend wasn't difficult. He's solving his cases, he's enjoying what he can of his life and he's got Wilson to hug him through the inevitable failing of his organs into what he still likes to think of as eternal rest. He's going to live this shitbucket until the bottom gives out and they'll fucking remember him for it.

ANYWAY, AHAH YAY HOUSE. Ah Hugh Laurie, you and your animal sex appeal.

3 comments|Sing it

November 5th, 2008 at 9:07pm]

Despite my misgivings, I got sucked into this celebrating of Obama winning the election. He's a second generation Kenyan-American whose family was in Hawaii and spent four years in Indonesia learning about Islam and he won.

But is this just a symbolic win?

I was on the phone to a Pakistani woman and, forgetting the world, I asked if they were happy that Obama won. But Obama… will not hesitate to keep bombing Pakistan because saying the truth, that bombing only creates people who are willing to die in the fighting against their opressers, that bombing a country with political patheticness and natural disasters and human beings is WRONG, that bombing a people because there MIGHT be some people there who are against the US, that the horrors being perpetrated on the Pakistani people is WRONG.

Barrack Obama will not say that because he will lose popularity for saying it.

Obama wants to send more troops to kill Afghanis.

I wish I could just be happy for this history day, for the symbolic shift from slavery to equality, but the world is still suffering in three of its nations because of the USA, as well as the legacies from the wars started in the Koreas, in Vietnam, in Cambodia, the overthrowing of democracy in Chile… the war perpetrated on innocent Iraqis.

Put the war criminals on trial. Give so semblance of justice, give reparatioin for the damages, as much as America can. Because their victory can still stand to be the world's further loss.

American politics and their symbols are shining. But the blood still flows from the people they are torturing, the lands they are stealing from and the masses they massacre. There's always hope, right? Stop killing people USA, it's not okay. It's not even a little bit alright. In fact, they are war crimes and crimes against humanity.
Sing it

Seeking for the American Conscience [Sunday
September 28th, 2008 at 2:41pm]

As a foreign national and a human being I've had to cover my ears and cry my eyes out more than once at the crimes the United States of America has perpetrated on the world at large.

Now, close to choosing your next set of violent murderers you all seem very preoccupied with their skin colours, past killing records (one has in fact killed in Vietnam!) and the fact that both vice presidential candidates are idiots - one is a better idiot though, and in the land of the blind the one eyed man is king blah blah.

Why aren't you asking why you're bombing Pakistan? Yes, you. Ask for solid reasons why destroying parts of a country where the rule of law has already broken down will help. You’re responsible, it’s your money funding their deaths.

Ask why the government was so demented that it wanted to take the writ of habeas corpus away from torture victims in Guantano Bay. Ask why America has gotten away scot free from the killings of countless Afghanis and Iraqis.

Ask what these candidates will do to ask the world forgiveness for the war crimes of the United States of America and what they will do to rectify these wrongs.

Henry Kissinger is a respected man in your country. He's a war criminal out here in the world.

Mr. Bush and co. will have a nice rest after their 8 years of terror, with nary a word of apology for the hundreds of thousands of lives ended and ruined by their politics.

The American people haven't cared enough to properly protest. Make fun of these officials all you want - it's the rest of the world that has to die for your choices.

Melodramatic? Tell that to the people of Iraq, Afghanistan, Pakistan, Chile, the Koreas, Vietnam, Palestine, Cambodia and on and on and on.

Whoever you elect, stop them from killing people out here in the rest of the world. 19 people bombed the trade towers. The thousands that were killed that day, in their name you've killed hundreds of thousands. 9/11 was about 1/4 of a day in places like Iraq and Afghanistan that the USA happily bombs for years.

Please start to give a shit. I know we're brown and insignificant in your big American lives, and when we die you get richer... but here's seeking out the conscience of the American people, if the shreds of the thing that was present during the Vietnam war still exists.

(ONTD_political rejected this post: the mod "agrees" but doesn't think ONTD_political is the place. I'd be offended but I'm more "..." tbh.)

11 comments|Sing it

September 27th, 2008 at 10:31pm]

I was just thinking about an arguement I had with someone on the internets about using the word "miscenogation" as a prompt for fanfiction.

It's like using the word "caste". The horror that both words conjure is immense.

But the idea - why it happened, the philosophy of it, the sociology of it, how it's applied in so many different ways - that's a facinating idea.

And by banning its use for ficcers of any time I think is a restriction of free thought.

As well as the supression of a historical but also flawed thought that could arise in situations nowadays.

It's not like racism is dead. It's not like people are still not thought of as animals in some parts of the world. I don't think it's logical to supress the idea of exploring the term metaphorically, see how many many people use understand the term, how they can show the thinking and the flaws in it.

What's the point of supressing that?

No point, that's what.
3 comments|Sing it

September 26th, 2008 at 9:39pm]
[Title]: Husk
[Summary]: Just two old vagabonds trying to make sense.

A/N: Any and all of your thoughts appreciated. Looking to improve :D.

More importantly, thank you very much to lurker_of_note for her looking through this... aaand putting up with me. Apologies for my rushing lovely, and thank you.

so please
lets take these broken hearts, and use
lets use only what we really need
you know we only have so little, so please
take these broken hearts and leave

- Cocoon by Jack Johnson.

I done an odd.Collapse )
3 comments|Sing it

September 23rd, 2008 at 11:04pm]

Driving through the curving roads on a rainforest path, the man behind the wheel who comes as often as he can to spend a night or two in the forest tells us that in the forest he feels small.

"You usually feel very big then?" I crudely make a crack.

"No, it's not like that…"

"It's a joke, just a joke…" I try to play it down. That good feeling of smallness was there, but I didn't know how to explain it.

But listening to Jon Stewart talk about a man he admires, using these words:

"You make me feel small. You make me want to be better. And to have that effect on people, I think that's best gift you can give to those around you."
- Jon Stewart

I think I've found some small way of what it feels like in the sheer utterness of the rainforest, as an ambling observer.

The rainforest makes you feel small. It makes you want to be better.

Sing it

September 22nd, 2008 at 7:45pm]

Law is ridiculously interesting. Tort law, at least. That was the one I was told would be boring. Contract law isn't interesting, nope nope.

Anyway. I've been getting more and more into research these few days, research on Sri Lanka. Everybody knows something is terribly wrong and people are just too overwhelmed with knowing it to record it, because. Well, because it's a ridiculous thing to expect hope en mass when you never knew where to get it. They never really knew democracy, so they know it's wrong but there's no collective idea of what's right.

Sri Lanka was colonized since about the 8th Century AD, by India (Hindus), then Portuguese (Catholic) then Dutch (Protestant, methinks), then British (confused, but also took the trouble to go and kill the king and properly subjugate the country).

So there was no place for art to really develop, art that can be called Sri Lankan. There was Michael Ontaaje's Anil's Ghost to record a part of the horror of the 1980s, some writing by Martin Wickramasinghe, but generally the horror has gone... on and on and on, and nobody really analysed it overmuch. www.disappearences.org has an attempt...

How South Asia is churning comes to Hong Kong in bits and pieces. Stories of tragedies and near collisions, almost-victims and victims of bomb blasts, police brutality, extra-judicial killings.

On the day before yesterday morning, 10 a.m. Nishantha Fernando was shot while he was in his van with his 11 year old son. The son was physically unhurt. Nishantha Fernando was pronounced dead in Negambo hospital, Sri Lanka. RIP Nishantha Fernando.

On Janaka Perera, the general responsible on the deaths of many, many people in the 1980's... an idea of his depraved mind.

And more on this sad case.

some thoughts on Sri LankaCollapse )

a poemCollapse )

Sing it

September 13th, 2008 at 1:02pm]

Fuck, really. I thought it was dangerous that Obama was talking about being willing to bomb Pakistan, but I was being a naive fool - because for two weeks now they've decided to OFFICIALLY (after all this time! Acknowledgment, oh.) murder Pakistanis, irrespective of age, gender, eye colour or job.

Thank you, USA. Murder SHOULD come to random places where there MIGHT be random people who don't like you! And everyone around them must die too!

It's shocking that nobody went "okay, anything that stinks of what we did in Vietnam will. not. happen. again."

Fucking bastards.

" * September 3, 2008 - Helicopter-borne American Special Operations Forces land and open fire on the Pakistani village of Jalal Khel killing 20 people including women and children. No high value targets killed.

* September 4, 2008 - American missile strike on the village of Mohammad Khel. Officials say all five people killed were low-level militants of Arab origin. No high value targets killed.

* September 5, 2008 - American unmanned aircraft fire three missiles at houses in Kurvek in North Waziristan. Local TV channels report women and children among the dead. No high value targets killed.

* September 8, 2008 - Five missiles fired from American pilotless aircraft hit Sirajuddin Haqqani compound in North Waziristan killing 23 people, including 8 children. High-value targets Sirajuddin and his father Jalaluddin Haqqani are not present at the compound at the time of the strikes although two other mid-level operatives were killed. No high-value targets killed .

There is now a clear pattern of unilateral U.S. military action in Pakistan resulting in disproportionate and unacceptably high levels of civilian casualties without any commensurate success in terminating high-value targets. It is in the interest of U.S. national security and for the security and stability in the region that these actions be halted immediately."

This all rings of that poem by Pastor Martin Niemöller

First they came for the Communists, and I didn’t speak up,
because I wasn’t a Communist.
Then they came for the Jews, and I didn’t speak up,
because I wasn’t a Jew.
Then they came for the Catholics, and I didn’t speak up,
because I was a Protestant. (See above)
Then they came for me, and by that time there was no one left
to speak up for me.

To be replaced by the Vietnamese, the Afganis, the Iraqis, the Pakistanis... and they're coming closer and closer. People spoke up for the Vietnamese and it stopped further bloodshed, but they didn't force the US to help repair the wounds it caused to the nation. The Afganis got a little sympathy, the Iraqis got some too, and now maybe the Pakistanis will get some bleeding heart platitudes too... but fuckdammit, why is the US allowed to continue like this?

Sing it

August 9th, 2008 at 5:00pm]

May be visiting the british colonial land! I hope nobody says "English Tea" in a non-sarcastic way.

... thought of a man I met in India, a toilet-cleaner in a washroom. But I didn't have any money to give him. I was told that he... hung about, cleaning the loo, but he wasn't employed there.

Anyway. Started painting a painting and wrote a poem.

love lawsCollapse )

Title comes from the book by Arundhati Roy, "The God of Small Things", which is the quite possibly the best thing ever. A contender.


How're you doing?

Take care.
Sing it

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