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Dos estadounidenses se declaran culpables de sobornar a directivos de Pdvsa t.co/hIAopej8VP #Economía #ACN t.co/ynFI1h25sD (via Twitter twitter.com/AgenciaCN/status/819330301814046721)
...de que esta movida se este llevando a cabo y ya por tercera vez.
Biblioteca Can Peixauet, Santa Coloma de Gramenet.
es.youtube.com/watch?v=S-Cazygeuf0
Interprete:Carlos Gardel
Tu vieja ventana
Música: Guillermo Barbieri
Letra: Ambrosio Río
(vals)
He traído del campo estas flores que ayer
arrancaron mis manos con gran frenesí.
Porque quiero tenerte contenta, mujer,
y mostrarte que yo moriría por ti.
Si una intérprete fueras entonces,
sentirías igual que yo siento
un amor tan extraño y tan dulce
que al no realizarse sería un infierno.
Asomá tu carita y no me hagas sufrir,
te lo pido por lo que más quieras, mi amor,
que al no verte sería capaz de morir,
de cariño, quizá, o de extraño dolor.
Los culpables han sido tus ojos
y tus labios tus cómplices fueron,
que me tienen igual que a un esclavo
y soy, si se quiere, tu fiel prisionero.
YOU BETTER RUN LIKE HELL www.goear.com/listen/a06ec53/Run-like-hell-pink-floyd---t...
YOU BETTER MAKE YOUR FACE UP IN
YOUR FAVORITE DISGUISE.
WITH YOUR BUTTON DOWN LIPS AND YOUR
ROLLER BLIND EYES.
WITH YOUR EMPTY SMILE
AND YOUR HUNGRY HEART.
FEEL THE BILE RISING FROM YOUR GUILTY PAST.
WITH YOUR NERVES IN TATTERS
WHEN THE COCKLESHELL
SHATTERS
AND THE HAMMERS BATTER
DOWN THE DOOR.
Letras4U.com » letras traducidas al español
YOUD BETTER RUN.
YOU BETTER RUN LIKE HELL
YOU BETTER RUN ALL DAY
AND RUN ALL NIGHT.
KEEP YOUR DIRTY FEELINGS
DEEP INSIDE.
AND IF YOURE TAKING YOUR GIRLFRIEND
OUT TONIGHT
YOUD BETTER PARK THE CAR
WELL OUT OF SIGHT.
CAUSE IF THEY CATCH YOU IN THE BACK SEAT
TRYING TO PICK HER LOCKS,
THEYRE GONNA SEND YOU BACK TO MOTHER
IN A CARDBOARD BOX.
YOU BETTER RUN.
SERÁ MEJOR QUE CORRAS COMO EL DEMONIO
SERÁ MEJOR QUE TE MAQUILLES LA CARA
CON TU MÁSCARA FAVORITA
CON TUS LABIOS ABOTONADOS
Y TUS OJOS COMO PERSIANAS
CON TU SONRRISA VACÍA
Y TU HAMBRIENTO CORAZÓN
SIENTE LA BILIS ASCENDER
DESDE TU CULPABLE PASADO
CON TUS NERVIOS HECHOS POLVO
CUANDO LA CONCHA DEL BERBERECHO
SE ROMPE EN PEDAZOS
Y LOS MARTILLOS
Letras4U.com » letras traducidas al español
ECHAN LA PUERTA ABAJO
MEJOR SERÁ QUE CORRAS COMO EL DEMONIO
MEJOR SERÁ QUE CORRAS TODO EL DÍA
QUE CORRAS TODA LA NOCHE
Y GUARDES TUS SUCIOS SENTIMIENTOS
BIEN DENTRO DE TÍ.
Y SI SALES CON TU NOVIA
ESTA NOCHE
SERÁ MEJOR QUE APARQUES EL COCHE
BIEN FUERA DE LA VISTA DE NADIE
PORQUE SI TE ATRAPAN EN EL ASIENTO DE ATRÁS
TRATANDO DE TIRARLE DEL CABELLO
VAN A ENVIARTE A TU MADRE
EN UNA CAJA DE CARTÓN
MEJOR SERÁ QUE CORRAS.
Respirando tu aire, soñando tus sueños, hoy quiero que sepas que tu estas en ellos, que eres la culpable de todo mis desvelos quiero que comprendas que tu eres mi anhelo, me pasos los días y las noches enteras
pensando en el amor que recorre por mis venas, pensando que buscaba en alguien que me quisiera y al afínal en contre a alguien que vale la pena.
Y quiero confesarte que mi vida eres tú el ángel de mi guarda el que me entrega su luz, el que ilumina el callejón sin salida, el que le a dado la esperanza a mi vida. Estoy aquí a la luz de la vela escribiendo una canción a la mujer más bella por que quiero que sepa que me enamore de ella y la quiero llevar conmigo asta las estrellas. Esa cesación que recorre mi cuerpo cada vez que me mira si se detiene el tiempo cada vez que me besas me robas el aliento tu eres la princesa que me devolvió el cuento.
Respirando tu aire, soñando tus sueños y hoy quiero que sepas que tu estas en ellos, que eres la culpable de todo mis desvelos quiero que comprendas que tu eres mi anhelo
♪♫♥
Understanding Guilt
Scriptures: John 8:1-11
Guilt over doing something that violates the conscience is a normal emotion. However, living under a cloud of remorse for no discernible reason is not. The Lord designed feelings of culpability and regret to serve as a reminder that a person has done wrong and needs to repent. But Satan twists those emotions to imprison men and women: those living in shame are uncertain of God's love and often lack self-confidence. Good guilt--the Lord's effective tool for prompting repentance--is a gift that helps us find the right path. However, the Devil encourages false guilt, which involves taking responsibility for things outside our control and then suffering self-condemnation for not changing the outcome. This unhealthy type of guilt is also a widespread problem for those in legalistic churches or lifestyles--certain behaviors or thoughts are labeled as wrong, and then people feel ashamed for doing or thinking those things. Self-condemnation stunts a relationship with Jesus. Instead of enjoying the peace of God, people who are trapped by shame fear His rejection and feel driven to prove their worth. Trust is nearly impossible because they are waiting for God's judgment to rain down. Their guilt even colors how they see themselves: rather than saying, "My action is wrong," they say, "I am bad." Jesus did not come to accuse or condemn us. Christ restored our souls and made us righteous before God so that our guilt is removed. If our Savior forgave the woman caught in an adulterous relationship, just imagine how ready He is to take your shame away too (John 8:11).
_____
Dr. Charles Stanley
No es tracta de ser o no culpable. Un arbre no provoca una tempesta, però qualsevol idiota sap on caurà el llamp.
HMS Invincible was a 168 ft. 6 in. (51.36 m) long, 46 ft. 11 in (14.30 m) beam, 1,631 tons, 74-gun, Ramilles Class third-rate ship, 36 years old in the spring of 1801 and battle wearied. Built by Wells of Deptford, south-east London she was launched on 9th. March 1765.
Invincible had served in the American War of Independence. Her battle honours included Cape St. Vincent 1780, Chesapeake 1781, St. Kitts 1782 and the Glorious First of June in 1794, where she was badly damaged and lost fourteen men. In 1797 she took part in the invasion of Trinidad which captured that island from the Spanish. By 1801, Invincible was back in British waters.
By March of that year, and with the war against France in a protracted state, the fear was that the French would seize the powerful Danish navy and use it against Britain. Therefore, the British Baltic fleet, led by Admiral Sir Hyde Parker and with Admiral Nelson as his second-in-command, were directed to sail to Copenhagen and make sure the Danish fleet could not fall into French hands. Invincible was to be part of this fleet so she was ordered to sail from Chatham, Kent with its crew of around 600 men and meet up with Hyde Parker's fleet which was already preparing for the planned attack on the Danish fleet, to be known later as the Battle of Copenhagen. Invincible sailed on its journey under the flag of Rear-Admiral Thomas Totty.
During its way north, Invincible under the command of 34 year old Captain John Rennie, put into Great Yarmouth to collect final orders and stock up with ordnance, stores and ammunition. Invincible left Yarmouth Roads on 16th. March with a Ship's Master and Harbour Pilot aboard and set a course towards the notorious area of shifting sandbanks off Happisburgh on the north-east coast of Norfolk.
The Master and Pilot clearly thought that they could navigate Invincible through the shoals safely, but a rising wind and the strong tide forced the ship off course. At 2.30 pm she struck the sandbank of Hammond’s Knoll where the effect of wind and waves tore down the masts and began to break up the ship. The crew did all they could to save the ship, jettisoning provisions, etc. When the mizzen mast went, they cut it away, hoping that the ship would float off the sands at high water. Whilst all this was going on, Invincible repeatedly fired a distress signal with its guns. For a while, it looked as if the crew’s efforts of jettisoning every they could would work for Invincible moved slightly into deeper water. But, as she did so an even heavier swell and stronger wind caused the ship to lose its rudder. Unmanageable, she was driven back on to the sandbank. There she remained whilst the only thing left for the crew to usefully do was to man the pumps and try to keep as much of the ship as possible above water.
The wreck was only a few miles offshore and its distress signal was eventually answered by the collier Hunter, on her way into Yarmouth, but she, for one reason or another, ignored the Invincibles' plight. Only the Yarmouth fishing smack The Nancy, fishing for cod under its skipper, Daniel Grigson, came to Invincibles’ aid. He offered whatever assistance he could. However, by midnight, it was clear to all on the Royal Navy's ship that nothing could be done to save it and the order was for two of her boats to be lowered with Totty, the purser, four midshipmen and some seamen in one and seamen in the other. They made it safely to The Nancy and then made a second run only for one of the boats to capsize as it approached The Nancy for the second time. Those men who had been thrown into the water were, fortunately, picked up by a collier which had also answered the distress signal from Invincible.
Both The Nancy and the collier remained on rescue watch throughout that Monday night to pick up survivors, although neither were able to offer any assistance to Invincible herself. After dawn had broken, Invincible shifted off the sandbank and drifted into deeper water before she slowly sank. As she lowered herself below the waves, those on her forecastle made a last desperate attempt to survive by leaping into the sea, trying to get on board the last of the ship’s launches. Some made it but others were beaten back with oars by those on board who feared the launch would capsize if it were to become overloaded.
When Invincible finally disappeared into the depths, it took with her about 400 crew. Out of a full complement of 600 men and, bizarrely, 50 passengers, aboard despite the fact that the ship was scheduled to go to war, 190 persons were saved. Not included in this number of survivors was Captain Rennie who, duty bound, was the last man to leave his post, when he did so he was not only wet and extremely cold but suffering from exhaustion. He tried to swim to a launch but gave up. At that final moment before he drowned, he seemingly had accepted his fate when he lifted his hands and place them over his face before sinking calmly beneath the water.
Rear-Admiral Thomas Totty in his Report for the court martial which was to follow described the last moments of the HMS Invincible:
“At daylight on Tuesday morning, I observed that the Invincible had not a single boat, either alongside or astern of her, and the tide ran so strong that it was impossible to get the fishing smack to her, but the moment the tide slacked … she stretched under the Invincibles’ stern, endeavouring by all possible means to work up and get alongside of her, but before that could be accomplished the ship went down in thirteen fathoms of water, and out of 600 persons that belonged to the Invincible there have not been above 190 saved and now living, several who were picked up by the launch died very soon afterwards. I am extremely grieved to inform you that Captain Rennie was among the number of those drowned, by his death the service has lost a truly zealous and intelligent Officer … The horror of the scene at the moment the ship went down far exceeds all power of description.”
Amongst those who had reached The Nancy and were later landed at Great Yarmouth, were those who were still to die as a result of the experience. In total, more than 400 were lost, compared to the 256 who were to die at the Battle of Copenhagen. On his way home from his triumph, Nelson still made time to visit 'his men' from the Invincible lying injured in Great Yarmouth's Naval Hospital.
For days after the wreck, bodies were washed up all along the coast. Most were brought on carts to St. Mary's church at Happisburgh, where they were buried in a huge, unmarked communal mound grave on unconsecrated ground to the north of the church. Of all those lost only six received a proper burial in the Holy Trinity & All Saints churchyard at Winterton on the 20th. March 1801. Their names are unknown.
But the story of the Invincible did not end there because an attempt was made by a Mary Cator in 1913 to erect a memorial as a reminder to the lives lost. She raised money by subscription but when it was found that there was no official record that proved that bodies from the Invincible were buried in the mound, she returned the money raised. Then in 1924, Mary Cator’s persistence to ensure that an appropriate memorial existed at St. Mary’s church paid off. This was the year when the church bells were re-hung, and Mary gave a treble bell on which was inscribed ‘In memory of Nelson’s men wrecked off Haisboro in 1801‘.
The unconsecrated land where the dead were buried was later incorporated into Happisburgh churchyard. In 1988, the remains of many of the Invincibles’ crew were located by chance in their original mass grave during the digging of a new drainage channel. There was found a disordered mass of bones less than three feet below the surface. These remains were reburied with proper rites. Then, ten years later, in 1998, a memorial stone was erected to their memory by the Ship’s Company of the Royal Navy’s aircraft carrier HMS Invincible (R05), together with members of the Nelson Society, the Happisburgh parochial church council and a descendant of Captain John Rennie. This was a final recognition of all those who had died on HMS Invincible in 1801.
On 16 March 1801, HMS INVINCIBLE
was wrecked of Happisburgh when
on her way to join the fleet with
Admiral Nelson at Copenhagen.
The day following, the Ship sank with
the loss of some four hundred lives.
One hundred and nineteen members
of the Ship’s Company lie buried here.
“And the sea gave up the dead
that were in it…..”
Revelation 26:13
This memorial stone was given jointly
by the Parochial Church Council and
The Officers and Ship’s Company of
HMS Invincible, 1998
Footnote:
The compulsory court martial that followed Invincible’s sinking was held on the HMS Ruby at Sheerness, Kent. It absolved the Admiral and the Captain (posthumously) of culpability in the disaster, but posthumously blamed the Harbour Pilot and the Ship’s Master, both of whom had been engaged to steer the ship through the reefs and shoals of the dangerous region, stating "they should have known the location of Hammond Knoll, especially since it was daytime and in sight of land".
The only amusing side to this story concerns the many casks that were seen floating on the sea after the HMS Invincible went down. Some 150 were brought ashore by the customs officers and were found to contain brandy. Other casks escaped and were to be picked up by delighted villagers, many of whom drank themselves into oblivion, one even died from his excesses.
A carón do encoro, preto da túa esquiva presenza. A memoria esquecida dos destinos que non se han atopar.
E son eu o único culpable, e son eu quen por unha vez non chegou a tempo.
Non acabo de saber se é desexo ou condena cada vez que te lembro.
A very poor loser
Come November
He will be
Of course
A very poor loser
A very bad sport
A big baby
Claiming foul
Voter fraud
And theft
Throwing tantrum
After tantrum
Whining
“They cheated!”
Whinging
“It’s rigged!”
And tossing his small hands in the air
He will look for sympathy
Play the victim
And make excuses
“It isn’t fair!”
He will protest
Filing lawsuits
Calling out the Marines
The Navy
The Air Force
And the Coast Guard
To save him from drowning
He will drag his heels
Cling to the Oval Office
Crying out hysterically
“They stole the election!”
Asking for recounts
A second chance
And a reprieve
Flailing about
Impotently
Alone in the big White House
With Melania long gone
Until finally
Wednesday
January 20th
2021
Comes
And he goes
Out the door
Fired
Exiled
Shamed
And culpable
© Jamie McKenzie, all rights reserved
You will find more of my poems and songs here
and in The Storm in Its Passing and Flights of Fancy.
My songs are at
Freeing God’s Slaves: The Emperor Wears No Clothes ~
“Is anything god’s work? God doesn’t do any work – he just gets his peasants to do it for him.”
- Wonder Boy, Aged 8
Humans (domesticated primates) have long been trained to worship externalised gods – a dangerous addiction humankind has carried forth from its primat-ive childhood; a merely imagined need that usually serves to only impede progressive change and unfolding evolution. Protective and instructive deities are nothing more nor less than the parent figures all children crave. All wise kids eventually learn that obeying the often arbitrary dictates of others who are actually just overblown, overgrown, adulterated children is a dumb idea.
Respect must be earned. Most elders in modern societies have far less of value to impart to subsequent generations than did their more ‘primitive’ tribal counterparts. Many older people are the same simpletons and ignoramuses they were when they were young. Those who claim to be today’s authority figures are almost all control freaks at best, and clinical psychopaths at worst. Almost all conspire to fatten themselves on poisonous excesses at the expense of the ecosystem that truly nourishes their children; mindlessly slaving away at tasks which destroy the planet and alienate them from their loved ones, with the idiot excuse that they’re ‘supporting their families’.
In the modern world ‘bosses’ are actually parasites, sucking life from the host of workers who labour under their dictates. CEOs are nothing more than common enemy overlords. The further up the ‘ladder of success’ one progresses, the more excesses and crimes of omission are committed. And everyone who toils on that ladder is equally culpable, supporting and maintaining a loathsome system with their precious time and effort.
Many ‘bosses’ earn fantastically higher wages than those who toil at much harder jobs – as intrinsically unfair, untrue and unjust as any racist dictate of classic caste or class systems. Those who crave power are those who deserve it the least. Anyone who sucks and arse-kisses their way up the totem pole is best pitied and avoided – not praised. Independent contractors and others who are their own bosses are the freest workers in the modern feudal wage slave era.
Those who remain inside institutions beyond their maturity are insecure timeservers who are happiest locked inside a comfortably familiar prison. Anyone with a PhD is automatically suspect as an institutionalised ignoramus. Most are overeducated buffoons who never realised that throwing away all the best years of their lives to conform and confirm the lies and misapprehensions of other fossilised brainwashed academics is a stupid idea. Most are just insecure kiddies afraid of stepping out into the great wide world – afraid of nature and their own unexamined nature; afraid of their own shadow.
Most people are carefully convinced by society to show more respect – and give more money – to a domesticated primate with the word ‘doctor’ (or some other aggrandising title) in front of their name than to anyone else. We’re trained to think that the work done by someone who has spent many years ‘studying’ is somehow more worthwhile – and worth more – than work that’s considered more ‘common’, such as planting and nurturing trees, growing organic food, building homes or educating young children. We’re entrained to believe that one person’s time can be worth more than another’s.
A cogent way to remove this classic conditioning can be to avoid calling anyone ‘sir’, ‘doctor’ or (heaven forfend) reverend. Such aggrandising titles are far too damaging for any egocentric wannabe leader to hear and only serve to establish subservience. If you always refer to so-called doctors as ‘docturds’, and discourage anyone from trusting the words of such moneygrubbing, authoritarian, self-inflating egotists, you can train yourself to stop supporting an intrinsically unethical system. Avoid using made-up titles entirely; why not simply call a person by their name?
Almost all docturds are only in it for the money – shamelessly rorting medical insurance systems to squeeze every drop from society. The rest is hopeful confabulation on the part of their desperate victims. In most cases, people actually heal themselves (there are exceptions – see below).
They target the most helpless and vulnerable groups of humankind above others, foisting their theoretical practices on women and children in particular. Female humans are thoroughly entrained to entrust their bodies (and minds) to paternalistic authority figures. From a very young age they’re taught to visit docturds regularly, and to trust them with every intimate detail of their lives. Women (in particular) are trained to have ‘regular tests’ for ‘abnormalities’ – tests which actually cause the very ‘abnormalities’ they purportedly search for – and to enrich the coffers of white coated professionals with ‘preventative’ and ‘elective’ surgery and toxic chemical intervention. Pap smears, mammography and the treatment of ‘abnormal’ cells produce more false positives (fake results) than accurate ones and the docturds and their pathological host of pathologists apologise all the way to the bank after each mistimed misstep and misanthropic mistake.
‘You know them by their fruits’ – and most of the fruits of ‘medical professionals’ are rotten and poisonous. More people die from medical (t)errors than from any other cause. Pill-pushing salesmen for chemical industries deserve the OPPOSITE to respect, as do ‘scientists’ who lend their time to the industrious military establishment, or to corporations of ignorant savages who randomly interfere with healthy biological processes to make money from poisoning the food chain and planetary ecosystem with pesticides or genetically modified ‘products’.
Surely we all know better than to show any respect to banksters by now. The most lame offenders of all are probably so-called ‘economists’ who peddle a pseudoscience that every taxpayer is brainwashed into believing, even though their ‘forecasts’ are even less accurate than those of the average 20th Century weatherman. So-called news reports overflow with their senseless, tedious effluvia, drowning out any meaningful news or information beneath their hazy bullshit and babble.
The biggest (and potentially most dangerous) liars of all are ‘religious’ people – conmen and women who peddle superstitious pernicious sexism, racism and utter bald faced balderdash to the most ignorant and insecure people on the planet, offering filthy lies to those suffering from the greatest terror on Earth – the fear of death; just like docturds.
Those who profit from other people’s misery deserve no respect whatsoever.
photo Motive is everything
This writer now observes the world from a remote forest, but once lived directly opposite the medical school of a major metropolitan university, with the opportunity to meet many up and coming young docturds. Whenever the chance arrived to converse with a medical student in private I asked each of them the same innocuous question; ‘Why did you decide to become a medical professional?’
Over the course of several years literally scores of these young professionals had the same opportunity to present their case. Not a single one replied; ‘Because I wanted to help the sick’ or ‘to be a healer.’ Not one claimed to have a particular interest in anatomy or biology. None even bothered to feign any real interest in medicine. Without exception their replies were almost identical; “Well, I was going to be a lawyer but my mother/father thought there’d be more money in medicine.’
When I asked if they’d taken the Hippocratic Oath (which simply requires medical practitioners to ‘do no harm’ and to help the sick and suffering regardless of payment), they all simply stared at me with an expression that seemed to say, ‘Are you really that naïve?” I never allow a docturd to come anywhere near me. I’ve set my own bones, healed internal bleeding and cancerous conditions without subjecting myself to their ignorant meddling (and am still alive and healthy as a result).
Surgeons who capably repair damaged individuals and those who genuinely care for and look after the sick and injured – like nurses – naturally deserve respect. But most docturds are self aggrandising arseholes at best, and outright dangerous nincompoops at worst. Few include things like diet and lifestyle in their diagnoses and routinely prescribe inappropriate but profitable poisons to desperate people.
Those who profit from people’s misery are nothing short of despicable.
Like many or most purveyors of ‘professionalism’ a large number cheated their way through school. They don’t deserve your trust or respect. Don’t take my word for it. Just ask virtually any nurse you happen to meet; they know what’s going on!
Those who can, do
‘Those who can, do. Those who can’t, teach.’ This old truism needs to be revived and spread far and wide. Very few ‘teachers’ are anything but institutionalized time servers who’ve been trained to brainwash others with gormless mind control served up as ‘education’. They have no life experience and know nothing but what they’ve been told to believe. All their textbooks were hopelessly outdated even when they were newly published.
The great technological and social advances of humankind have all been brought about by people without doctorates – in many cases without any formal ‘education’ at all. Tesla, Einstein, Edison and most celebrated creative thinkers achieved the improbable despite the ‘education’ institutions they were subjected to (and escaped while still young), not because of them.
Creative thinking suffers from regimentation. Authority poisons it. Once a child can read, write and understand basic mathematics they are capable of choosing their own path to knowledge and remain individual enough to have unique creative insights. As all teaching institutions are automatically outdated and operated by superannuated time servers, all a person can really expect to learn in ‘higher education’ institutions is conformity – and how to babble to other cocooned minds in obscurantist jargonese.
Don’t put off living your life until later! There’s no time BUT the present. What do you really want to do with your precious time? Do you really want to serve the obnoxious dweebs who are destroying the planet with their ‘efficient’ industries and ‘profitable’ pastimes? Start something new, fresh and original instead – away from their pernicious influence, where you can’t feed them with your efforts.
Around two generations ago people in advanced nations were informed that by the 21st Century they’d have to learn how to make use of their coming abundance of ‘leisure time’. Automation would ensure that fewer and fewer people would be able to ‘earn a living’ by toiling their lives away and an era of plenty and freedom was dawning. The need for anyone to work full time would soon be redundant. People were told they’d have to learn how to share the shrinking pool of jobs that remain – and to learn to share everything else as a result.
Everyone needed to learn how to best use their newfound freedoms. Guess what? It’s the 21st Century! Wake up and smell the flowers.
Me? This time of year I shovel clean dry horseshit by day to provide healthy, honest, wholesome food for myself and those around me. You can’t buy clean manure – almost all animals are filled with poisons and only the ones you feed and look after can be trusted to provide clean fertiliser. By night I shovel bullshit out of the way on the worldwideweb to make way for the growth of truth. The evolution of the internet is doing away with any need for the fossilized ivory towers of ‘education’ institutions.
Every time someone uses anything fuelled by poisonous fossil fuels – every time you turn on a light, drive in vehicle, borrow money, use anything made of plastic or almost anything created by this toxic civilisation – you are as culpable and destructive as any oil company executive or bankster. Every person who works in an office tower, factory or mine is as bad as the executive who squats atop the totem pole. Every worker who props up the totem deserves to go down in the tower along with their boss. Those who serve pain and death deserve it.
Changing the system is a good idea, in the long run. Yet in today’s world you can only do anything of real worth for yourself and your family by leaving the old workaday system behind and helping it to wither on the vine with your absence. The only real way to succeed is by abandoning the dominant paradigm and creating, living and loving a new way of life – preferably with likeminded change agents.
Turn off your TV and get rid of it (if you refuse to read much watch my Youtube channel instead)! The internet is a great alternative – if you use it for something other than supporting the system with your time and energy.
If you like to learn, become one of the New Illuminati in this new Enlightenment @ nexusilluminati.blogspot.com . Learn how to plant and nurture living things; learn about something worthwhile, such as Permaculture. Ally yourself with life through your thoughts and actions, and object out loud to slaves and bosses who want you to help them saw off the limb you’re perched on. Let them know what you really think of them!
If you want to actually save the world, join any group that’s actively stopping loggers or miners or chemical factories/farmers/poisoners or other corporate slaves from destroying the planet, and get out into the real living world, to experience its actual glorious splendour while you stop the moronic workers from filthying their own nests and yours. Stand in front of a bulldozer driver with other wise souls – and stop them in their tracks.
Above all, take time out to examine your mind and motives. Your thoughts create the world! See where your thoughts/programs/memes actually come from and decide whether you want to own them. Enjoy life (without shopping or spending money). That’s why you’re here. Don’t put it off. Do it now!
Turn on. Tune in. OPT OUT!
Time appears to flow onward…
- R. Ayana
“Before enlightenment, chop wood and carry water. After enlightenment, chop wood and carry water.”
- Buddhist Saying
For more by R. Ayana see nexusilluminati.blogspot.com/search/label/r.%20ayana
Otro blend
de Belinda taan decente xD
pues me encaanta la cancion
desde que escuche el preview y eso xd
queria que fuera "plateado" despues del aanterior
doraado de McDonna
saludos :=)
aah
se me olvido hacer lo de la
ruletaa :s
la hare paraa la proxima :D
Young people's art on SIEV X memorial for the 146 children, 142 mothers and 65 fathers who perished in Indonesian waters when their 19.5 x 4 metre fishing boat carrying 421 refugees sank in a storm. The poles stretch 400 metres along the shore of Lake Burleigh Griffin in Canberra and each pole carries selected children's art and the name of one victim. A much visited site of sadness.
City Rebuffed in Trying to Bar Mass Bike Rides
By JIM DWYER
Published: February 16, 2006
For 18 months, the city has spared few efforts — on the street or in courts — to clamp down on a group bicycle ride in Manhattan called Critical Mass that the authorities say causes havoc by blocking traffic.
Yesterday, a state judge rejected the city's latest attempt and took the extra step of asking both sides in the dispute to calm down.
Calling the city's legal strategy against the ride "highly irregular" and "as unnecessary as it is inappropriate," Justice Michael D. Stallman of State Supreme Court in Manhattan refused to bar an environmental group and four people from taking part in it, from gathering at Union Square Park beforehand, or from announcing the rides on the group's Web site, as the city had requested.
The city had also asked the judge to issue an unusual civil declaration, without a trial, that the environmental group, Time's Up, and the four individuals had "criminal culpability" for violating laws and regulations that carried penalties of fines and imprisonment. The judge also rejected that request.
Justice Stallman concluded his 24-page decision by urging city officials and the ride participants to work out their differences.
"The social compact and the realities of living in a crowded place demand patience, mutual respect and self-restraint," Justice Stallman wrote. "Mutual de-escalation of rhetoric and conduct, and a conciliatory attitude, may help the parties and the Critical Mass riders resolve the litigation and arrive at a workable modus vivendi."
The rides take place on the last Friday of the month in about 400 cities, and have no acknowledged leadership or routes. For nearly a decade, the rides in New York attracted little notice and no arrests until the evening of Aug. 27, 2004, a few days before the Republican National Convention opened.
That night, 5,000 riders, many of them in the city to demonstrate at the convention, were met by a large number of police officers. The police arrested 264 riders on charges of parading without a permit and other violations.
Since then, officers in various disguises have infiltrated the monthly rides. Other officers in police cars have chased bicycle riders at high speed. Police helicopters have followed the riders. Two officers on motorcycles collided at last month's ride.
The judge's suggestion of a cease-fire drew mixed reactions. Norman Siegel, who represented Time's Up and the four people singled out by the city, said it was a chance to end an elephantine conflict.
"We need to get back to a time pre-August 2004 when Critical Mass was able to ride their bikes in a cooperative ride with the N.Y.P.D.," Mr. Siegel said. "This is the second time the city has attempted to stop the Critical Mass rides, once in federal court and now in state court, and both times their arguments were rejected. I would hope that the mayor and the police commissioner assume the needed leadership on this controversy and begin serious and substantial discussions to amicably resolve it."
The City Law Department declined to discuss the judge's decision and said it planned to appeal.
The Police Department's chief spokesman, Paul J. Browne, said the department had always been willing to work out an arrangement with the bicycle riders.
"The Police Department offered long ago to work with the organizers to ensure a safe ride in which police would stop vehicular traffic at intersections so bicyclists could proceed without stopping along the route, while, conversely, holding bicyclists at intersections to allow ambulances and other emergency vehicles to proceed or to alleviate bottlenecks," Mr. Browne said. "It was rejected, but the offer stands."
Justice Stallman said that since the rides had no identifiable leadership, it made little sense for the city to single out Time's Up and four people associated with the group, William DePaola, Brandon Neubauer, Leah Rorvig and Matthew Roth.
The city had demanded that they be barred from assembling in Union Square Park, the customary gathering point before each month's ride, unless someone obtained a permit. The judge said that made little sense because anyone could turn up in the park and no permit was required for "casual use."
As a practical matter, Justice Stallman wrote, the city did not explain how it could tell the difference between people who were gathering for the Critical Mass rides from anyone else who happened to be in the park. The city's assumption that anyone with a bicycle could be barred "is simply guilt by association," he wrote.
The city also argued that it was illegal for Time's Up to advertise an event for which a permit had been denied, but Justice Stallman noted that the city had never denied a permit since no one had ever sought one.
The judge said the city had wrongly argued that the Critical Mass rides were a form of parade or procession that required a permit because the riders "travel en masse." Following the city's reasoning, the judge wrote, "New Yorkers commuting over the Brooklyn Bridge on bicycles during a transit strike could be considered as 'bicycling en masse.' " Such a restriction, he said, raised constitutional concerns.
"Riding a bicycle on city streets is lawful conduct, as long as one observes the applicable traffic laws and rules," he wrote.
Sketches from the courtroom of the first trial of the Baltimore police officers accused of being culpable in the death of Freddie Gray. www.washingtonpost.com/news/drawing-dc-together/
Below is an edited version of a conversation I had via email this morning with my important teach at Auburn, Robert Faust:
I am writing to him in response to his thoughts on our planned rendezvous this weekend at Auburn. A reunion of sorts, and a time for Bob and me and a few others to reflect on where we have been, our paths over the last forty-five years, and how we got to where we are now . . .
Bob,
I read your email again this morning before breakfast, from my usual sunrise brooding spot in the corner of my living room, sitting in my Eames chair. (This chair, always desired and only purchased, finally, a few years ago, has always represented for me, when I look at it, some curious memory of my early years of considering architecture as a way of considering the world.) (As I read your words and thought about them, I turned my head and made a picture, attached – above – for your consideration of my morning drift.)
I then made some notes in response to what you wrote. I will offer some of those here, though you may hear them again soon. These thoughts are somewhat random:
☛ I believe my first recognition – and it was a true epiphany – at Auburn of a direction for making, truly making in the way you frame the question, Bob, came to me somewhere during my fourth year at Auburn, in conversation with my classmate Glenn Currie (in your absence as my teacher, Bob, I probably learned more from Glenn than anyone else at Auburn). Glenn advised me that the impulse to architecture exists in what he called the second look. That is, that we move every instant through a swamp of images, absorbing what we can. Suddenly one image appears, arrests our attention (and he demonstrated in gestures) which stops us in our tracks. We turn briefly away, then suddenly turn back, to look again. It is in that turn, that second look (and here he turned his head to fix this idea in my culpable yet still impressionable twenty-year-old brain) that architecture exists.
☛ My second such epiphany (yes, there is often a long dry spell between true epiphanies) came to me twelve years later, in my first masters’ studio at Harvard (I had done my apprenticing and had my own practice for six years in Mississippi before for some mad reason I decided to go to graduate school) when my great teacher Stanley Tigerman said to me and my fellow travelers, on our first meeting day: “Life is fabulous. If only architecture could be more like it.” Stanley’s gauntlet went through me like a red heat, and has never left me since.
☛ Maybe in some semblance to the thinking of Herb Greene, Adrian Stokes has inspired me through the years. Stokes said that art (architecture – architecture being, as Auburn teacher Robert Samuelson first said to me, the mother of all art) is a form of externalization. I took this externalization as necessarily following Currie’s second look and Tigerman’s great wish as the prerequisite internalizations of living an observant life. Attentive architects observe the world as a dazzling, mystifying panoply of enchantments. Those architects worthy of the name see the enchantments of the world as what must surely be answers to infinite questions, from the quite commonplace to the primordial, and the nature of their making must then be the attempt, never ending, never satisfied, to make concrete not the answers, but the questions.
☛ My most important teacher at Harvard, not unlike Currie at Auburn, was my dear friend and classmate Douglas Darden (who died in 1996), who admonished me to never forget (and admonished me quite literally until the day he died): “Architecture can never touch bottom.”
☛ Darden’s essentialist thought echoes that of perhaps the first teacher of my adulthood, William Faulkner: “If you ever got it right, you’d have nothing left to do but slit your wrists.”
☛ I’ll close this morning’s drifting with a thought on my continuing self-doubtings, this one being, why I did not accept offers from several STARchitets to work with them, so that I too could become a STARchitect. The response to what seems to me my general refusal to accomplish such a thing comes from E.B. White: “A person who is looking for something doesn’t travel very fast.”
These are the kinds of things I think about when I sit cuddled in my mornings in Charles Eames's leather and plywood arms, and which I may talk about during our show and tell this weekend . . .
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Anyone see ghosts and ghouls in this? This is a five exposure tonemapped HDR image.
This session was very productive for me. I have published several other shots from this scene. I stumbled aross the archive from this day by chance and realized it would work well with my recent Black and White theme. Hope you like it.
Ressentiment (pronounced /rɛsɑ̃timɑ̃/) is a term used in psychology and philosophy derived from the French word 'ressentiment' (meaning 'resentment': fr. Latin intensive prefix 're', and 'sentire' "to feel").
Ressentiment is a sense of resentment and hostility directed at that which one identifies as the cause of one's frustration, an assignation of blame for one's frustration. The sense of weakness or inferiority and perhaps jealousy in the face of the "cause" generates a rejecting/justifying value system, or morality, which attacks or denies the perceived source of one's frustration. The ego creates an enemy, to insulate itself from culpability.
A term imported by many languages for its philosophical and psychological connotations, ressentiment is not to be considered interchangeable with the normal English word "resentment", or even the French "ressentiment". While the normal words both speak to a feeling of frustration directed at a perceived source, neither speaks to the special relationship between a sense of inferiority and the creation of morality. Thus, the term 'Ressentiment' as used here always maintains a distinction.
The originator of the term ressentiment is Friedrich Nietzsche, and it was greatly developed by Max Scheler.
Dedicated to that naked ass bastard. You know who you are. Will you ever return?
I was going to do lens correction on this, but somehow the leaning in of the knarled tree better communicates the title.
So fitting that I wound up watching the great film Milk tonight.
REMEMBERING A FALLEN HERO - Dave Conner today had the privilege of taking the great granddaughter and great-great granddaughter of Constable Thomas King (Inverness-shire constabulary) to visit PC King's grave at Abernethy Churchyard, near Nethybridge. Catherine (Cathy) Raiteri (nee Mann) and her daughter Leanne Mayfield had travelled from Queensland, Australia and could not make a trip to the UK without paying their respects at the grave of their ancestors, PC King and his son also Thomas junior whose ashes are also interred there. Cathy nursed Thomas junior (her great uncle) in his final years in Australia and Leanne also recalls often visiting him before he passed away in 1976.
During the visit on 5th September 2015, the Australian visitors were also shown by Dave Conner, and paid their respects at, the adjacent grave where lies PC James Fraser of the Elginshire (later Morayshire) constabulary. He died from stab wounds sustained on duty in June 1878 in Grantown-on-Spey. It is remarkable that only two officers to die from criminal attack in the whole history of policing of Policing of the Highlands & Islands should die within a matter of several miles of each other and be buried close to each other in the same lonely cemetery. It is almost 117 years since the death of PC King, the last officer in the former Northern Constabulary area (Highlands & Islands) to be murdered in the line of his duty. May there never be another such instance. God bless the Fallen officers.
THE MURDER
On 20th December 1898, Constable Thomas King - a 46-year old police officer who for the past 10 years had been the resident beat officer for the parish of Abernethy (Nethybridge) - had gone with a colleague PC John MacNiven (stationed at boat of Garten) to the rural Tulloch area to effect the area on a Sheriff Court warrant of one Allan MacCallum. The wanted man, residing with a mother and her daughter in a small but-and-ben two roomed cottage in the woodland of Tulloch, was wanted to appear before the court on a charge of poaching.
PC King, having made voice contact with MacCallum, approached the cottage. When he and his colleague entered the but-and-ben they split up. As PC King knew the layout of the house from previous visits, he went to the kitchen where MacCallum was likely to be , while MacNiven took the other room (bedroom). PC MacNiven then heard a shot ring out and stumbling through the darkened house, fell over what transpired to be the body of PC King. MacCallum had run off after firing the fatal shot. After a manhunt of several days led by the Deputy Chief of the Inverness-shire force, MacCallum was found hiding in a barn and was arrested, being held in Inverness Prison (then at Inverness Castle, another part of which building was also the force's HQ) until his trial. MacCallum was convicted of Culpable Homicide, going down for fifteen years.
THE FAMILY
PC King was buried in Abernethy Graveyard and the memorial stone records: “ERECTED BY THE INVERNESS-SHIRE CONSTABULARY”. At that stage there was nothing to state how he met his death.
PC King’s widow Jessie had 5 children under 15 to look after – plus two who were “adults” (aged 15 and 16). Another child had died in infancy and is believed to have been previously buried in the plot occupied by PC King. (This would appear to explain the wee lamb statuette in front of the gravestone).
The King family subsequently all emigrated to Australia, where Jessie continued to receive her police widow’s pension until her death in Brisbane, Queensland in 1948 at the age of 89.
THE SON
In 1966 Andrew McClure, then Chief Constable of Inverness-shire, and his Deputy, Superintendent James Macintyre, had a surprise visit at the Force Headquarters at Inverness Castle from an elderly Australian gentleman - by the name of King. He was somewhat less than pleased to find that there was no memorial at the Force Headquarters to record the supreme sacrifice of Constable Thomas King. This gentleman was another Thomas King, the son of the late Constable, and this visit resulted in the erection of a commemorative plaque at the Entrance Hall of the Force headquarters (then at Inverness Castle, and now at the former Northern Constabulary HQ at Old Perth road, Inverness).
As for Thomas King (junior), son of the murdered Constable and who presented the memorial plaque, he had served his apprenticeship as a carpenter with a tradesman in Nethybridge before emigrating to Australia in 1907. Though only 16 years of age when he left his native soil, he never lost his love of the ‘Old Country’. He went on to become one of the leading figures in Highland Dancing in Australia, having been first a competitor and later a judge in the competitions.
Thomas ‘Tom’ King (junior) died in a Brisbane Nursing Home in December 1976, and during the following year his ashes were interred in his father's grave, in Abernethy Churchyard, the service being attended by several police officers.
THE CENTENARY
On the centenary of PC King’s death, a ceremony was held at the graveside in Abernethy Churchyard. Retired Superintendent Alan Moir spoke on behalf of the Northern Constabulary branch of the Retired Police Officers Association Scotland, and three descendants of Constable King were also in attendance.
Constable Dave Conner, Force Historian, produced a uniform of the period, which had unfortunately shrunk (??!!) in the interim, preventing him from wearing it. Constable Malcolm Taylor, Boat of Garten, whose beat covered the area of Tulloch where Constable King fell, kindly deputised and wore the uniform with pride as the gravestone was re-dedicated, complete with added wording to the effect that the officer had been killed in the execution of his duty.
The force was represented by Deputy Chief Constable Keith Cullen, and local officers also attended. A booklet written by PC Conner, telling the story of Constable King's career, death and family, was distributed at the service. Retired Inspector Sandy Mackenzie, an accomplished piper, played a lament at the graveside, including that haunting melody 'Flowers of the Forest', which would be heard across the world the next day from memorial services for the dead of the Lockerbie Disaster.
THE MEMORY
The memory of Constable King lives on, as can be seen from this visit today. Several member of the PC King’s family have visited his grave over the years, and last year Northern Constabulary Pipe Band paid their own respects at the grave while in the area for another event. PC King went into that house well aware of MacCallum being armed - he knew the potential danger but still endeavoured to do his job . Police officers have always had to make judgements (risk assessments) like that and thankfully most work out alright. Policing is a risky business but that does not deter the boys and girls in blue. That’s what The Job is all about – to serve and protect. May God protect all Law Enforcement Officers as they carry out their duty.
"Entzun ezazue ondo esango dudana
Euskalerrietaz hitzegingo dut ta.
Azken bolada hontan egunkarietan,
Irrati telebista eta abarrekotan
badaude hitz batzuk:
Pakea, Arrazoia,
Behin eta berriro aipatzen direnak.
Gaixorik omen gaude,
larri ta etsituak,
gaitzaren izena:
Milenarismoa.
Basati eta arlote ,txit odolzaleak
elizkoi eta ankerra beti izan gara.
Eraikitzeko gauza ez gara inoiz izan
suntsitzeko bakarrik gaituzu bikainak.
Madrilen ez bilatu inongo erruduna
gure gaitzen sustraia datza gure baitan,
hala diote behintzat jakintsu guztiek:
Savater, Onaindia eta Caro Barojak.
Milenioa dator: Hala omen da.
Milenioa dator: zoritxarra!
Milenioa dator: ta gu honela!
Milenioa dator: Hau ikara!
Milenioa dator: Euskaldunok!
Milenioa dator: Guztiontzat!
Milenioa dator: Prest gaitezen!
Milenioa dator: Berehala."
(M-ak)
"Escuchad bien lo que voy ha decir,
porque voy a hablar de Euskalerria.
Últimamente, en los periódicos,
radio, television y demás
hay unas palabras:
Paz, Razón,
que se repiten eternamente.
Dicen que estamos enfermos,
apurados y rendidos,
el nombre de la enfermedad:
Milenarismo.
Salvajes y andrajosos, muy sanguinarios,
creyentes y viles siempre hemos sido.
Nunca hemos sido
capaces de construir nada,
sólo somos geniales
a la hora de destruir.
No busques en Madrid al culpable,
la raíz de nuestros males
reside en nosotros,
o eso dicen al menos
todos los sabios:
Savater, Onaindia y Caro Baroja.
Viene el milenio: Así parece ser.
Viene el milenio: Que desgracia!
Viene el milenio: Y nosotros así!
Viene el milenio: Que miedo!
Viene el milenio: Euskaldunes!
Viene el milenio: Para todos!
Viene el milenio: Preparémonos!
Viene el milenio: Enseguida."
(M-ak)
Banda sonora:
Convoy NS74 N
Talleres Neptuno
Comuna Lo Prado
Dato Freak: De Verdad, pq siempre el que esta en el ojo de la Noticia por Algun Accidente o Descarrilamiento es un NS74??
O Mas Al Hueso ¿Pq Siempre el q Descarrila es un NS74?
Horus ♥
Mi primogénito ♥
El culpable de mi locura gatuna ♥
Mi maestro gatuno ♥
Mi niño pequeño ♥
Mi explorador aventurero ♥
Mi debilidad ♥
Mi amor ♥
Mi Horus ♥
Don't buy, ADOPT ♥
No compres, ADOPTA ♥
Esta semana pasada he celebrado mi 11 aniversario como padre.
Aquí teneis al culpable, mi hijo mayor, Ander, que el sábado cumplió 11 años.
Cathy and Leanne Mayfield reflected in the plaque
Today I had the privilege of taking the great granddaughter and great-great granddaughter of Constable Thomas King (Inverness-shire Constabulary) to visit PC King's memorial plaque at Police Scotland Divisional HQ (former Northern Constabulary Headquarters) at Old Perth Road, Inverness.
THE VISIT
Catherine (Cathy) Raiteri (nee Mann) and her daughter Leanne Mayfield had travelled from Queensland, Australia. They had arranged to meet Dave during their previous trip to the UK in 2015 - when Dave took them to visit Abernethy Churchyard in Strathspey to pay their respects at the grave of their ancestors, PC King and his son also Thomas junior whose ashes are also interred there. Cathy nursed Thomas junior (her great uncle) in his final years in Australia and Leanne also recalls often visiting him before he passed away in 1976.
On returning to Scotland, they were naturally keen to see the plaque in memory of Constable King. It is a replacement plaque, in highly polished brass, rededicated at the centenary of his death. The original plaque was then removed to Aviemore Police Station.
Police HQ Inverness is not currently open to the public but through the assistance of Supt Philip MacRae, the two ladies were able to enter the building and see the plaque. Leanne and Cathy have asked me to express their sincere gratitude to Supt MacRae for his welcome and hospitality to them - which they greatly appreciated and were very moved by.
Supt MacRae was well aware of the circumstances of PC King's death - as a member (and Chairman) of Northern Constabulary Community Pipe Band, Mr MacRae has visited the grave of PC King along with other Band members to pay their respects.
In that same graveyard also lies PC James Fraser of Elginshire Constabulary who was killed in 1878. On being summoned to a hotel in Grantown-on-Spey to assist a man suffering from the DTs, PC Fraser was stabbed by the demented man, and died days later as a result of his injuries. It is remarkable that PC Fraser and PC King - twenty years apart, of different forces and eras - are buried in the same small rural graveyard, albeit the locations of their death were only a few miles apart. They were the only police officers in the Highlands & Islands ever to die through the violent criminal act of another.
It is almost 119 years since the death of PC King, the last officer in the former Northern Constabulary area (Highlands & Islands Division ) to be murdered in the line of his duty. May there never be another such instance. God bless the Fallen officers.
THE MURDER
On 20th December 1898, Constable Thomas King - a 46-year old police officer who for the past 10 years had been the resident beat officer for the parish of Abernethy (Nethybridge) - had gone with a colleague PC John MacNiven (stationed at boat of Garten) to the rural Tulloch area to effect the area on a Sheriff Court warrant of one Allan MacCallum. The wanted man, residing with a mother and her daughter in a small but-and-ben two roomed cottage in the woodland of Tulloch, was wanted to appear before the court on a charge of poaching.
PC King, having made voice contact with MacCallum, approached the cottage. When he and his colleague entered the but-and-ben they split up. As PC King knew the layout of the house from previous visits, he went to the kitchen where MacCallum was likely to be , while MacNiven took the other room (bedroom). PC MacNiven then heard a shot ring out and stumbling through the darkened house, fell over what transpired to be the body of PC King. MacCallum had run off after firing the fatal shot. After a manhunt of several days led by the Deputy Chief of the Inverness-shire force, MacCallum was found hiding in a barn and was arrested, being held in Inverness Prison (then at Inverness Castle, another part of which building was also the force's HQ) until his trial. MacCallum was convicted of Culpable Homicide, going down for fifteen years.
THE FAMILY
PC King was buried in Abernethy Graveyard and the memorial stone records: “ERECTED BY THE INVERNESS-SHIRE CONSTABULARY”. At that stage there was nothing to state how he met his death.
PC King’s widow Jessie had 5 children under 15 to look after – plus two who were “adults” (aged 15 and 16). Another child had died in infancy and is believed to have been previously buried in the plot occupied by PC King. (This would appear to explain the wee lamb statuette in front of the gravestone).
The King family subsequently all emigrated to Australia, where Jessie continued to receive her police widow’s pension until her death in Brisbane, Queensland in 1948 at the age of 89.
THE SON
In 1966 Andrew McClure, then Chief Constable of Inverness-shire, and his Deputy, Superintendent James Macintyre, had a surprise visit at the Force Headquarters at Inverness Castle from an elderly Australian gentleman - by the name of King. He was somewhat less than pleased to find that there was no memorial at the Force Headquarters to record the supreme sacrifice of Constable Thomas King. This gentleman was another Thomas King, the son of the late Constable, and this visit resulted in the erection of a commemorative plaque at the Entrance Hall of the Force headquarters (then at Inverness Castle, and now at the former Northern Constabulary HQ at Old Perth road, Inverness).
As for Thomas King (junior), son of the murdered Constable and who presented the memorial plaque, he had served his apprenticeship as a carpenter with a tradesman in Nethybridge before emigrating to Australia in 1907. Though only 16 years of age when he left his native soil, he never lost his love of the ‘Old Country’. He went on to become one of the leading figures in Highland Dancing in Australia, having been first a competitor and later a judge in the competitions.
Thomas ‘Tom’ King (junior) died in a Brisbane Nursing Home in December 1976, and during the following year his ashes were interred in his father's grave, in Abernethy Churchyard, the service being attended by several police officers.
THE CENTENARY
On the centenary of PC King’s death, a ceremony was held at the graveside in Abernethy Churchyard. Retired Superintendent Alan Moir spoke on behalf of the Northern Constabulary branch of the Retired Police Officers Association Scotland, and three descendants of Constable King were also in attendance.
Constable Dave Conner, Force Historian, produced a uniform of the period, which had unfortunately shrunk (??!!) in the interim, preventing him from wearing it. Constable Malcolm Taylor, Boat of Garten, whose beat covered the area of Tulloch where Constable King fell, kindly deputised and wore the uniform with pride as the gravestone was re-dedicated, complete with added wording to the effect that the officer had been killed in the execution of his duty.
The force was represented by Deputy Chief Constable Keith Cullen, and local officers also attended. A booklet written by PC Conner, telling the story of Constable King's career, death and family, was distributed at the service. Retired Inspector Sandy Mackenzie, an accomplished piper, played a lament at the graveside, including that haunting melody 'Flowers of the Forest', which would be heard across the world the next day from memorial services for the dead of the Lockerbie Disaster.
THE MEMORY
The memory of Constable King lives on, as can be seen from this visit today. Several member of the PC King’s family have visited his grave over the years, and Northern Constabulary Pipe Band have paid their own respects at the grave while in the area for another event.
PC King went into that house well aware of MacCallum being armed - he knew the potential danger but still endeavoured to do his job . Police officers have always had to make judgements (risk assessments) like that and thankfully most work out alright. Policing is a risky business but that does not deter the boys and girls in blue. That’s what The Job is all about – to serve and protect. May God protect all Law Enforcement Officers as they carry out their duty.
World War II Pacific Theater Headlines of Japanese aggression as shown in newspaper extras. The parachute troops alarm proved to be false, but most of Luzon was overrun by the Japanese very quickly. By plan, the US and Philippine Armies retreated into the Bataan peninsula, but had not stored enough food and supplies to last long against a reinforced enemy. Furthermore, the "plan" called for the US Navy capital ships to come to their rescue/assistance. The ships were at the bottom of Pearl Harbor. In reality, the United States government had "written off" the Philippines as indefensible long before the war ever began; however, the government continued to send hopeful messages to the Philippines, knowing they were not going to fulfill any promises of help. While not entirely at fault, General Walter Short and Admiral Husband Kimmel were blamed for the disaster at Pearl Harbor in order to save the reputations and political careers of CNO Stark, SecNav Knox, and president Roosevelt. Just as unfairly, General Douglas MacArthur gets a lot of the blame for the disaster in the Philippines, but his military career remained intact until the Korean War. Congress and the President were much more culpable than MacArthur, and dreadfully more so than Short and Kimmel.
Dos estadounidenses se declaran culpables de sobornar a directivos de Pdvsa t.co/wQdMeEgxOv #Economía #ACN (via Twitter twitter.com/AgenciaCN/status/819165759897276417)
Fotografía: autor desconocido. / Wikimedia Commons.
Margaretha Geertruida Zelle (Leeuwarden, Países Bajos; 7 de agosto de 1876-Vincennes, cerca de París, Francia; 15 de octubre de 1917), más conocida como Mata Hari (de matahari, que en idioma malayo significa ‘Sol’, literalmente ‘ojo del día’), fue una famosa bailarina, cortesana y espía neerlandesa.
Con sus danzas brahmánicas y orientales triunfó en Europa. Durante la Primera Guerra Mundial, realizó labores de espionaje a favor de Alemania, por lo que fue detenida por las fuerzas francesas, declarada culpable de espionaje, traición y condenada a muerte.
Fue ejecutada por un pelotón de fusilamiento de 12 soldados franceses justo antes del amanecer del 15 de octubre de 1917 en la Fortaleza de Vincennes. Tenía 41 años. Según un relato del testigo presencial el periodista británico Henry Wales, Mata Hari rechazó llevar la venda en los ojos y de ser atada al poste. En un último gesto, lanzó un beso al pelotón de fusilamiento.
Wales registró su muerte, diciendo que después de que la ráfaga de disparos sonó, "lenta, inerte, se acomodó de rodillas, con la cabeza siempre en alto, y sin el menor cambio de expresión en su rostro. Por una fracción de segundo pareció tambalearse allí, de rodillas, mirando directamente a los que le habían quitado la vida. Luego cayó hacia atrás, doblando la cintura, con las piernas dobladas debajo de ella". Un suboficial se acercó a su cuerpo, sacó su revólver y le disparó en la cabeza para asegurarse de que estaba muerta.
Margaretha Geertruida Zelle (Leeuwarden, Netherlands; August 7, 1876-Vincennes, near Paris, France; October 15, 1917), better known as Mata Hari (from matahari, which means "sun" in Malay, literally "eye of the day"), was a famous Dutch dancer, courtesan, and spy.
She triumphed in Europe with her Brahmanic and Oriental dances. During World War I, she spied for Germany and was arrested by French forces, convicted of espionage and treason, and sentenced to death.
She was executed by a firing squad of 12 French soldiers in the fortress of Vincennes just before dawn on October 15, 1917. She was 41 years old. According to an eyewitness account by British journalist Henry Wales, Mata Hari refused to be blindfolded and tied to the post. In a final gesture, she blew a kiss to the firing squad.
Wales recorded her death, saying that after the volley of shots rang out, "slowly, inertly, she sank to her knees, her head always held high, and without the slightest change of expression on her face. For a fraction of a second she seemed to stagger there, on her knees, looking directly at those who had taken her life. Then she fell backward, bent at the waist, her legs folded under her. A sergeant approached her body, drew his revolver and shot her in the head to make sure she was dead.
© Restauración y coloreado: Jaime Gea Ortigas.
Sketches from the courtroom of the first trial of the Baltimore police officers accused of being culpable in the death of Freddie Gray. www.washingtonpost.com/news/drawing-dc-together/
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The American people have spoken and told President Trump he is finished, but he shows a remarkable contempt for them and democracy, trying to cheat his way into a second, undeserved term. This was predictable, as the poem below was first published in August.
A very poor loser
Come November
He will be
Of course
A very poor loser
A very bad sport
A big baby
Claiming foul
Voter fraud
And theft
Throwing tantrum
After tantrum
Whining
“They cheated!”
Whinging
“It’s rigged!”
And tossing his small hands in the air
He will look for sympathy
Play the victim
And make excuses
“It isn’t fair!”
He will protest
Filing lawsuits
Calling out the Marines
The Navy
The Air Force
And the Coast Guard
To save him from drowning
He will drag his heels
Cling to the Oval Office
Crying out hysterically
“They stole the election!”
Asking for recounts
A second chance
And a reprieve
Flailing about
Impotently
Alone in the big White House
With Melania long gone
Until finally
Wednesday
January 20th
2021
Comes
And he goes
Out the door
Fired
Exiled
Shamed
And culpable
© Jamie McKenzie, all rights reserved
You will find more of my poems and songs here
and in The Storm in Its Passing and Flights of Fancy.
My songs are at
Hay muchas cosas que quiero alcanzar y poder tomar con mi propias manos y hacer que lo que tomo moldar y hacer lo mejor para ello.
es dificil resignarse a que aveces aceptar que no lo puedes tener, el corazón dice sigue pero la mente es mas fria y sertera y me dice lo contrario, pero el corazon me hace sentir bien y me da esa fuerza para conseguir lo que quiero <3
Ya son 20!
Hola a todos
en primer lugar
agradesco a todos los que el dia de mi cumpleaños me saludaron
en persona, por telefono, por mensaje, por flog o por lo que sea.
Estubo muy buena la sorpresa :D
ademas que es la primera fiesta sorpresa que tengo :$
La foto es de un rio que no se como se llama xD
queda cerca de cherquenco
pero lo importante es que se podia apreciar el color plomo del agua
y una capa negra en las orillas todo producto de las cenizas arrojadas por el volcan llaima :O
Hoy me pico una abeja ql :@
en mi pobre bracito :(
casi me mori pero ya estoy bien
el unico consuelo que me queda es que la culpable del atentado contra mi persona murio
jojojo (6)
ya que las abejas mueren poco después de clavar su aguijón, con forma acerada, que impide retirarlo, ya que parte del sistema digestivo está unido a él.
leru leru, leru leru :P
jajajaja
Quiero que llegue pronto febrero :)
saludos!
_________________________________________________________...
Akon ft. P. Diddy, Ludacris, Lil Jon Felli Fel - Get Buck In Here
It's tricky I'm picky baby, but I just spotted you
doin' your thing, g-string, shoe string point of view, hey
lend me ya body, you got me in a zone
bet a million in a half past, i can make you explode
you don't wanna brave the cold, you wanna Diddy Combs
i can take you on outer-limits away from home
........
in the middle of the club doin' a rodeo show
the hoes seem schemey, wet dreamy, emphasism obsessed gleemy
(incredible sex) you need me
ease me, please me baby, i maybe am little crazy but in a way that.....
[CHORUS]
don't make me get buck in here!!
shorty drop em to the ground like she ain't got manners
too much booty for one man to handle
when all i need is a one night scandal
and ima get buck in here!!
damn lil' momma you know you fit my standards
you the type to make me grip that handle
lick shots in the air, bustin' that grandam
while you make it clap clap clap clap clap
you gotta shake that thang, shake that thang
while you make it clap clap clap clap clap
just shake that thang, shake that thang
[LUDACRIS]
she can make it clap like a standin' ovation
spin like my record at the radio station
feel the sensation, i put it right there
they be like LUDA, i be like yeaaaaaaa,
you like it like that dontchya baby
the flow's insane, and the stroke is crazy
i stroke so good, like Tiger Woods
and i ROWR like a tiger would
my livelihood, is not hollywood
I'm still southside atlanta, thats a lively hood
a circus, big top, like ringling brothers
if you wanna learn something, bring your mothers
sit back and observe, invite some friends
we can mix it all up, like juice and gin
felli on the celly with a couple of twins
cuz tonight, damn right, we gonna do it again
[CHORUS]
dont make me get buck in here!!
shorty drop em to the ground like she ain't got manners
too much booty for one man to handle
when all i need is a one night scandal
and ima get buck in here!!
damn lil' momma you know you fit my standards
you the type to make me grip that handle
lick shots in the air, bustin' that grandam
while you make it clap clap clap clap clap
you gotta shake that thang, shake that thang
while you make it clap clap clap clap clap
just shake that thang, shake that thang
[P. DIDDY]
listen, women lace em g for a jet
twisted, crooked, cell phone numbers, probably
flip em change em, prissy and boogy the hood
game of taste em, prissy's I'm runnin' em good
leather or silk, i'm melt them all
love em, leave em, give em hell for sure
tell them words they minds and souls deserve
or give them things they might prefer
sandrio pan, mandarin sweet massage oil
pimp, gamein', grants, and benz' i tried em
used to style em, now just virgin island
kamasutra freaky ...
[CHORUS]
dont make me get buck in here!!
shorty drop em to the ground like she ain't got manners
too much booty for one man to handle
when all i need is a one night scandal
and ima get buck in here!!
damn lil' momma you know you fit my standards
you the type to make me grip that handle
lick shots in the air, bustin' that grandam
while you make it clap clap clap clap clap
you gotta shake that thang, shake that thang
while you make it clap clap clap clap clap
just shake that thang, shake that thang
Sketches from the courtroom of the first trial of the Baltimore police officers accused of being culpable in the death of Freddie Gray. www.washingtonpost.com/news/drawing-dc-together/
O aprendes a querer la espina o no aceptes Rosas... y no me veas asi, si hubo un culpable aqui, fuiste tu !
Sketches from the courtroom of the first trial of the Baltimore police officers accused of being culpable in the death of Freddie Gray. www.washingtonpost.com/news/drawing-dc-together/
Comments are disabled.
The mute button
Now that he is finally fired
We need a silencer
A mute button
Some way to wash him
Right out of our hair
Make him go away
Be quiet
And mind his manners
As in Monopoly
We should deal him the card he deserves
Go directly to jail
Do not pass go
Do not collect $200
© Jamie McKenzie, all rights reserved
You will find more of my poems and songs here
and in The Storm in Its Passing and Flights of Fancy.
My songs are at