Scottish Elections

Today I posted off my ballot paper for the Edinburgh Council elections and the Scottish Parliament. SNP are ahead in the polls but they will need to form a coalition with someone if they win, and volunteers for this dishonorable task are nervously keeping quiet. Although the Liberal Democrats, wishy washy as usual, look most likely to betray the Union. They have been spouting some weak nonsense on wanting to work with the SNP but yet being against independence.

I stayed true to my former party in the Council elections and voted Green.

But I wont tell you who I voted for in the Scottish Parliament - it would only make you angry. But trust me, there is some strategic calculation behind my madness.

Did you also know that EU citizens can vote in our regional elections – and Commonwealth citizens can vote in both our regional and national? I think that’s ace.

Hugo and Nebula award winner. It’s a bit like Harry Potter in space. Only written in the 70’s. And way better.

Embracing the Lord. Spitefully.

Despite my wickedly incessant condemnation of all things Christian, I have to reluctantly confess that there may be some areas where I agree with the teeming masses of rich white kids who make up God’s chosen few.

And I’m not talking about the bits we obviously agree on. Just like any child of God I naturally see that women are inferior to men – and certainly should not be allowed to actually address a church congregation – that’s best left to their 21 year old husbands. And of course it goes without saying that if you get aids, you clearly deserve aids, and if you hadn’t been bumming around you wouldn’t have got it in the first place – no amount of contraceptives would have saved you on that one – so very sorry Africa but the Pope’s got it right. God simply enjoys watching you die. Painfully. And as for science? Please! No ****** loving lefty is going to teach that Darwin filth to my children. No way, at least not while I’m still paying my NRA subscriptions.

No, no, no. I’m not talking about that at all! I’m talking about the family.

Core family values. Nuclear families. Brilliant little things. Just perfect for the incubation of peace loving and friendly little people that can go on and build a better world. I think it’s all a matter of psychology, economics and tuition. See it’s all about the parents. Two (relatively) happy parents makes for relatively happy children in my opinion. It also makes for a household with a stable income – vital for sending the brats to college. And of course – it makes it twice as likely that the children will be able to find a parent with the time to do their homework for them. So everyone’s a winner. Families rule. And by the way – this is not a gender specific thing – two guys or two girls are just as capable of doing the same job. My only hesitation with this is the small issue of what happens when the kids go to school and meet a Christian for the first time? They will soon find out that “treat thy neighbour as you would treat yourself” is of course a load of bollox when it comes to the billions of earth’s citizens on God’s ‘Axis of Evil’ hit list.

But other than that – nuclear families are ace. And an important ingredient to any stable society. So there you have it. My conservative edge laid bare for all to see.

Peace brothers, Jesus is with us. If believing in a document written a couple of thousand years ago by some (Arab) ex-convict called Paul helps you stay together with your partner, and does not include the simple suppression of domestic abuse (Don’t lie to me – I know the rubbish that goes on behind Christian doors when the wife is simply to ashamed to get divorced) – then by all means – go for it. I’m with you. Let’s get down to some worshipping.

And if you could also find it in your heart to realise that God’s green earth gets a little bit less green every time you jump into your SUV on a Sunday to go praise his holy creation – then I really think we could be mates. Just.

Walk with the prophets my friends.

I said WALK.

Moondust

I do not intend to keep you all informed about every book I read but this one needs a mention. It is ‘Moon Dust’ by Andrew Smith. And it has once again made me want to become an astronaut. Which, given the authors sceptical approach to his investigations into Apollo is perhaps surprising. The book sets the Apollo program in the context of the betrayed hope of the Sixties and this makes it far more interesting read than a straight account of technical achievements. He puts space where it should be, in the public’s eye and not tucked away in some obscure technical text. The book is like a set of mini-biographies of the Moon walkers, only nine of whom remain, strung together by the personal voyage of the author who is critically testing the realities of the Apollo program against his boyhood fantasies. The author is British but spent his childhood in America before returning and this gives him a great perspective on US culture and allows him to see the ironies that totally escape the natives of that former super power. The book includes many interesting snippets, about which I was unaware, the pick of the bunch are as follows:

The man behind Apollo was a German by the name of Wernher von Braun, a Nazi rocket engineer who employed thousands of slave labourers in underground bunkers towards the end of the war building his V2 rockets to bring death to the people of London. Operation Paperclip picked him up and hurried him back to America. And it was this Nazi that would take America to the Moon.

Cont…

Seeing what you want to see

What follows is a triumphantly overdramatic account of a simple train journey through East Anglia. It is punctuated with big fluffy words with which I am not entirely comfortable, some awful alliteration and plenty of unnecessary over analysis. I also had to write it out as a long text message owing to a lack of writing materials and the rather awkward position of being hemmed into my seat by a grotesquely obese middle aged man. Who snored.

East Anglia, my home region, is notoriously flat and as such has in the past made for good farming grounds and in the future will make it the first casualty of rising sea levels. It is a land of far horizons and lush fields, especially in spring. Littering these green and yellow plains are old, broken down relics from a time when the unknown frightened us more than it encouraged us. They have been abandoned for centuries by a people who over hundreds of years learnt the painfully lessons of organised faith.

To my left comes one of many brand new housing estates of loud red bricks and sharp grey tiles. New Renaults in blues and silver line their drive ways and small black discs bolted to their sides look knowingly up to the heavens. This small island is becoming ever more crowded. The train then pulls into a Victorian era railway station. It’s grand imperial architecture marred now by dirt and mould. Yet it still stands testimony to a time when the railways were the conduits of empire and the kings of Europe ruled the world.

Continued in comments…

EU/USA Class Wars

The recent pagan festival of spring (called Easter in Christian mythology) got me thinking. It got me thinking about America and about my time in Arkansas. It got me thinking of this simply because of the down right fascist views that were spouted from the pulpit of the church I regularly attended and the truly terrifying manner in which young and otherwise intelligent Arkansans gobbled up such tripe every Sunday morning - and evening. And Wednesday evenings. And weekends when they embarked on their misguided mini-mission trips to go convert the heathens and build new churches for poor black folk.

From here my thoughts expanded to include the University of Arkansas as a whole, and from there to comparing it to my experiences at the University of Essex. (Which is in the UK, e.g. Britain, e.g. Europe)

And you know what? I am thoroughly unhappy with both. In my room I have a slightly awkward photo of myself wearing a ridiculous cloak and mortarboard while holding a plastic scroll. I spent three years studying history and walked away with a good degree. And yet I know next to nothing about history. And what’s more, what little I do remember, was almost all learnt in Arkansas. Needless to say this truth fits rather uneasily with my easily enthusiastic anti-Arkansan rhetoric.

Why? I’ll tell you why. Because despite paradoxically having a heavier work load in Arkansas than I did in Essex the problem was that Essex was trying to hard, and Arkansas was not trying hard enough.

Continued in the comments section…

Never has such a pessimistic view of the future seemed so attractive

Mono-logue

This is a post without a purpose. Usually they all have a purpose. In fact I have developed a rule whereby I never write anything unless I find myself gripped by the moment or enraged by someone wearing a crucifix.

This is not one of those moments. This is going to be quite conventional. Almost like a diary entry, or so I’d wager.

Benjamin Nakizo has been ill for the past month or so. Glandular Fever, ‘Mono’, or the ‘Kissing disease’ depending on your preference. Although Nakizo for the life of him can’t think of whom he may have been kissing.

Regardless it was most unpleasant and came at exactly the right time to screw Nakizo over for all the deadlines he had to meet. He is now up a creek with a very unreliable looking paddle. This is far worse than being stuck without a paddle because at least then you have the perfect excuse, and you can even relax as the currents of fate move you along. But not this time. This time he has to work his way out. Which sucks. To say the least.

Benjamin has also been looking into extending his stay in Edinburgh for a further year. Nakizo has sent off important papers to a merciless bureaucracy and has everything crossed that they will accept him. Should the acceptance be forthcoming Benjamin will begin a year long experience that should really test him. It may be a test he fails. But that is the point. Benjamin wants to know. And he also wants you to know. Today Benjamin bought new trainers in anticipation.

Benjamin has also realised he has no money and that this may scupper his aforementioned plan. That comfortable savings account set up when he was a wee nipper has been run dry by his constant thirst for take away meals and books he will never read. Benjamin is considering selling his car. It is a nice car and Benjamin does not want to. But he likes the significant symbolism involved in such a sacrifice. Heaven forbid, it might even motivate him. Little else does.

Benjamin has also just read that a friend of his is having the time of her life being shot at in Palestine. He knew she voted Lib Dem but did not believe her capable of this. He believes there are other ways she could satisfy her middle class roots. But Benjamin is nonetheless very impressed.

Benjamin has lost a lot of weight during his recent illness. And anyone that knows Benjamin will tell you there is precious little of that to lose. So in the next few weeks expect to see Benjamin eating pizza and fat shakes until he pops. He has to restore that masculine exterior somehow. To compensate, Benjamin has grown a beard in recent weeks. Hence the picture.

Notice how the author was unable to actually talk about his real life so referred to himself in third person throughout. Magic.