These were Robb J's last safe and secure moments of blessed innocence, but in his ignorance he considered it hardship to be forced to remain near his father's house with his brothers and his sister. This early in the spring, the sun rode low enough to send warm licks under the eaves of the thatched roof , and he sprawled on the rough stone stoop outside the front door, enjoying the cosiness. A woman was picking her way over the broken surface of Carpenter's Street. The street needed repair, as did mosy of the small frame working-men's houses thrown up carelessly by skilled artisans who earned their living erecting solid homes for those richer and more fortunate.
He was shelling a basket of early peas and trying to keep his eyes on the younger children, his responsibility when Mam was away. William Stewart, six, and Anne Mary, four, were grubbing in the dirt at the side of the house and playing secret giggly games. Jonathan Carter, eighteen months old, lay on a lambskin, papped, burped and gurgling with content. Samuel Edward, who was seven, had given Rob J. The slip. Somehow crafty Samuel always managed to melt away instead of sharing work, and Rob was keeping an eye out for him, feeling wrathful. He split the green pods one after another and scraped the peas from the waxy seedcase with his thumb the way Mum did, not pausing as he noted the woman coming directly to him.
Stays in her stained bodice raised her bosom so that sometimes when she moved there was a glimpse of rouged nipple and her fleshy face was garish with cosmetics. Rob J. Was only nine years old, but a child of London knew a trollop.
'Here now. This Nathanael Cole's house?
He studied her resentfully, for it wasn't the first time tarts had come to their door seeking for his father. 'Who wants to learn?' he said roughly, glad his Da was out seeking work and she had missed him, glad his Mam was out delivering embroidery and was spared embarrassment-
'His wife needs him.She sent me.'
'What do you mean, needs him?' The competent young hands stopped shelling peas.
The whore regarded him coolly, having caught his opinion of her in his tone and manner. 'Shade your mother?'
He nodded.
'She's taken labour bad. She's in Egglestan's stables close by Puddle Dock. You'd best find your father and tell him,' the woman said, and then went away.
The boy looked around desperately- 'Samuel' he shouted, but bloody Samuel was oof who-knows-where, as usual, and Rob fetched William and Anne Mary from their play. 'Take care of the small ones, Willum,' he said. Then he left the house and started to run.
From the book “The physician” by Noah Gordon.
Friday, December 30, 2011
Friday, November 4, 2011
That very evening Alexander attended a banquet
That very evening Alexander attended a banquet which his friends had prepared in Ptlomey's house. The room had been prepared spectacularly and painstakingly: the benches and tables were made of inlaid wood decorated with gilded bronze, the lamp holders were beautiful Corinthian sculptures of bronze in the shape of young girls. From the ceilings hung other lamps in the form of vases with lattice-work that projected a curious play of light and shadow onto the walls. The platters were all of the solid silvers, finely worked around the edges. The food had been prepared by cooks from Smyma and Samos, Greek in terms of taste, but also refined conoisseurs of Asian cuisine.
The wines came from Cyprus, Rhodes, Corinth and even far off Sicily, where the colonial farmers were now surpassing their counterparts in the motherland in terms of the quality and excellence of their produce. They were served from a gigantic Attic crater, almost a a hundred years old, decorated with a dance of satyrs chasing semi-naked maenads. Bach table was equipped with a bowl decorated by the same artist with rather suggestive symposium scenes: nude females flute players in the arms of young men drinking and wearing crowns of ivy, almost a sort of foretaste of what the evening had in store.
On making his entrance Alexander was welcomed with an ovation and the host went towards him bearing a beautiful cup with two handles, brimming with Cypriot wine.'Well, Alexander! After three years of fresh water at Mieza you must have todpoles swimming around in your belly. At least we got out of there before you did! Drink some of this and it'll sort you out.'
From the book: Alexander: Child of A Dream. By Valerio Massino Manfredi. Translated by Iain Halliday
The wines came from Cyprus, Rhodes, Corinth and even far off Sicily, where the colonial farmers were now surpassing their counterparts in the motherland in terms of the quality and excellence of their produce. They were served from a gigantic Attic crater, almost a a hundred years old, decorated with a dance of satyrs chasing semi-naked maenads. Bach table was equipped with a bowl decorated by the same artist with rather suggestive symposium scenes: nude females flute players in the arms of young men drinking and wearing crowns of ivy, almost a sort of foretaste of what the evening had in store.
On making his entrance Alexander was welcomed with an ovation and the host went towards him bearing a beautiful cup with two handles, brimming with Cypriot wine.'Well, Alexander! After three years of fresh water at Mieza you must have todpoles swimming around in your belly. At least we got out of there before you did! Drink some of this and it'll sort you out.'
From the book: Alexander: Child of A Dream. By Valerio Massino Manfredi. Translated by Iain Halliday
Sunday, October 23, 2011
There lie the world of the Men of Winter hidden in mist and cloud.
There lie the world of the Men of Winter hidden in mist and cloud Never the flaming eye of Helios light on those men at morning, when he climbs the sky of stars, nor in descending earthward out of heaven, ruinous night being rove over these wretches.
Then suddenly the silence was broken by a dark rhythmic noise, almost like the first of a giant Cyclops beating monstrously on the tormented slopes of the mountain. Alexander spurred his horse by digging in his heels, he wanted; he wanted to see what was making the tremendous noise which now seemed so strong as to make the ground shake.
They came over a rocky crest, and Alexander saw ahead of him the point where all the pathways came to an end. There was a gigantic machine, a sort of tower of large wooden beams and uprights and it supported a pulley at its highest point. A hemp rope held a colossal drop hammer, made of iron, while at the other end the rope was wrapped around a winch operated by hundreds of poor souls. They pushed the winch to make the rope turn around the drum, thus raising the hummer inside the wooden tower.
When the hammer reached the top, one of the overseers unhooked the brake, freeing the drum of the winch which the spun in the opposite direction because of the weight of the hammer. The hammer fell freely to earth smashing the rocks that were tipped inside continuously from the baskets carried bodily across the mountain.
The men gathered the smashed mineral material, filled other baskets with it and then took it away along other paths to an open area . Here it was crushed more finely Iin mortars and then washed in the waters of a torrent, chanelled through a series of weirs and ramps, separating the gold granules and dust from the smashed rock.
From the book: Alexander: Child of A Dream. By Valerio Massino Manfredi. Translated by Iain Halliday
Then suddenly the silence was broken by a dark rhythmic noise, almost like the first of a giant Cyclops beating monstrously on the tormented slopes of the mountain. Alexander spurred his horse by digging in his heels, he wanted; he wanted to see what was making the tremendous noise which now seemed so strong as to make the ground shake.
They came over a rocky crest, and Alexander saw ahead of him the point where all the pathways came to an end. There was a gigantic machine, a sort of tower of large wooden beams and uprights and it supported a pulley at its highest point. A hemp rope held a colossal drop hammer, made of iron, while at the other end the rope was wrapped around a winch operated by hundreds of poor souls. They pushed the winch to make the rope turn around the drum, thus raising the hummer inside the wooden tower.
When the hammer reached the top, one of the overseers unhooked the brake, freeing the drum of the winch which the spun in the opposite direction because of the weight of the hammer. The hammer fell freely to earth smashing the rocks that were tipped inside continuously from the baskets carried bodily across the mountain.
The men gathered the smashed mineral material, filled other baskets with it and then took it away along other paths to an open area . Here it was crushed more finely Iin mortars and then washed in the waters of a torrent, chanelled through a series of weirs and ramps, separating the gold granules and dust from the smashed rock.
From the book: Alexander: Child of A Dream. By Valerio Massino Manfredi. Translated by Iain Halliday
Thursday, September 29, 2011
These are the mines of Mount Pangaeos
These are the mines of Mount Pangaeos,' Philip explained. 'With this gold I have armed and equipped our army, I have built our palaces, I have developed Macedon's strentgh.'
'Why have you brought me here?' asked Alexander, his profound distress apparent in his voice. While he was asking the question one of the laboureres collapsed to the ground and almost ended up beneath his horse's hooves. An overseer made sure the man was dead, then nodded to another two poor wretches who put their baskets to one side, took the body by the feet and dragged it away.
'Why have you brought me here?' Alexander asked again. And Philip saw the leaden sky reflected in the dark expression on his son's face.
'You have not yet seen the worst of it,' he replied.'Do you feel up to going underground?'
'I am not afraid of anything.'stated the boy.
'Follow me then.'
The king dismounted and moved towards the entrance of one of the caves. The overseer who challenged him, holding up his whip, suddenly stopped in shock, recognizing the golden star of the Argeads on Philip's chest.
Philip simply nodded and the overseer stood back, ligt a lantern and prepared to guide them underground.
Alexander followed his father, but as soon as he entered the cave he felt himself suffocating in the unbearable stench of human urine, sweat and excrement. They had ti crouch. Sometimes with thei backs almost bent double, in a narrow passageway full of the din of continuous hammering, of a general breathlessness, of coughing, of the gutural rattles of death.
The overseer stopped occasionally where a group of men were working with their picks to extract the mineral-bearing rock. Here and there they stopped at the edge of a pit and down at the bottom the feeble glow of a lantern iluminated a bony back, joined to skeletal arms.
Once or twice the miners, down in these pits, on hearing the approach of footsteps or voices, lifted their heads and so Alexander witnessed the masks of men disfigured by fatigue, by illness and by the horror of living such a life.
Further on, at the botton of one pit, they saw a corpse.
'Many of them commit suicide,' the overseer explained. 'They throw themselves on their picks or stab themselves with their chisels.'
Philip turned to look at Alexander. The prince was silent and apparently numbed by this experience, and the darkness of death had fallen over his eyes.
They exited on the other side of the mountain through a narrow passage, and there were the horses and their escort waiting for them.
Alexander stared at his father,'What have these people done to deserve this?' he asked, his face waxen pale.
'Nothing,' replied the King.'Apart from being born.'
From the book: Alexander: Child of A Dream. By Valerio Massino Manfredi. Translated by Iain Halliday
'Why have you brought me here?' asked Alexander, his profound distress apparent in his voice. While he was asking the question one of the laboureres collapsed to the ground and almost ended up beneath his horse's hooves. An overseer made sure the man was dead, then nodded to another two poor wretches who put their baskets to one side, took the body by the feet and dragged it away.
'Why have you brought me here?' Alexander asked again. And Philip saw the leaden sky reflected in the dark expression on his son's face.
'You have not yet seen the worst of it,' he replied.'Do you feel up to going underground?'
'I am not afraid of anything.'stated the boy.
'Follow me then.'
The king dismounted and moved towards the entrance of one of the caves. The overseer who challenged him, holding up his whip, suddenly stopped in shock, recognizing the golden star of the Argeads on Philip's chest.
Philip simply nodded and the overseer stood back, ligt a lantern and prepared to guide them underground.
Alexander followed his father, but as soon as he entered the cave he felt himself suffocating in the unbearable stench of human urine, sweat and excrement. They had ti crouch. Sometimes with thei backs almost bent double, in a narrow passageway full of the din of continuous hammering, of a general breathlessness, of coughing, of the gutural rattles of death.
The overseer stopped occasionally where a group of men were working with their picks to extract the mineral-bearing rock. Here and there they stopped at the edge of a pit and down at the bottom the feeble glow of a lantern iluminated a bony back, joined to skeletal arms.
Once or twice the miners, down in these pits, on hearing the approach of footsteps or voices, lifted their heads and so Alexander witnessed the masks of men disfigured by fatigue, by illness and by the horror of living such a life.
Further on, at the botton of one pit, they saw a corpse.
'Many of them commit suicide,' the overseer explained. 'They throw themselves on their picks or stab themselves with their chisels.'
Philip turned to look at Alexander. The prince was silent and apparently numbed by this experience, and the darkness of death had fallen over his eyes.
They exited on the other side of the mountain through a narrow passage, and there were the horses and their escort waiting for them.
Alexander stared at his father,'What have these people done to deserve this?' he asked, his face waxen pale.
'Nothing,' replied the King.'Apart from being born.'
From the book: Alexander: Child of A Dream. By Valerio Massino Manfredi. Translated by Iain Halliday
Monday, August 8, 2011
The trumpets sounded before dawn
The trumpets sounded before dawn as Alexander had ordered, but the cooks had alrady been on their feet for some time and had prepared breakfast – steming pots of maza, semi-liquid oatmeal enriched with cheese. The officers instead had a type of flat bread, sheep's cheese and cow's milk.
At the second fanfare the King mounted his horse and took his place at the head of the army, near the eastern gate of the camp, accompanied by his personal guard and by Perdiccas, Craterus and Lysimachus. Behind him came the phalanx of the pezhetairoi, preceded by two units of light cavalry and followed by the Greek heavy infantry and the Thracian, Triballian and Agrianian auxiliaries, all flanked by two lines of heavy cavalry.
The sky was turning red in the east and the air was filling with the chirping of sparrows and the whistles of blackbirds. Flocks of wild doves rose from the nearby woods as the rhythmic noise of the march and the clanking of the weapons woke them from their slumber.
Phyrgia lay there before Alexander, with his rollling landscapes covered with fir trees, small valleys
crossed by clear flowing streams along which greu rows of silver poplars and shimmering willows. The flocks and the herds came out to pasture, guided by their sheperds and watched over by the dogs; life seemed to be proceeding peacefully along its daily path as if the threatening sound of Alexander's army on the move might just blend in perfectly with the bleating of the sheep and the lowing of the cattle.
To the right and the left, in the valleys parallel to the army's forward movement, groups of scouts, without insignia, camouflaged, also mover forward. Their job was to keep persian spies as far away as possible. But this was in fact a pointless precaution because any one of the sheperds or peasants might have been an enemy spy.
At the rear of the column, escorted by half a dozen Thessalian horses, came Callistenes, together with Philotas and a mule with two panniers full of papyrus scrolls.
Every now and then, when they stopped, the historian pulled out a stool, took a wooden board and a scroll from the panniers, and sat down to write under the curious gaze of the soldiers.
News had soon got round that the official chronicler of the expedition was to be this bony young man with the knowing air, and everyone hoped to be immortalized in his words at some stage. On the other hand no one was bothered about the very ordinary stories of daily life recorded by Eumenes and the other officers who had the job of keeping a tallt of the various stage of the expedition.
They stopped to eat around midday and then later, very close to the Granicus by that time, they stopped once more on direct orders from Alexander below a range of low hills, to wait for darkness to fall.
From the book: The sands of Ammon. By Valerio Massino Manfredi. Translated by Iain Halliday
At the second fanfare the King mounted his horse and took his place at the head of the army, near the eastern gate of the camp, accompanied by his personal guard and by Perdiccas, Craterus and Lysimachus. Behind him came the phalanx of the pezhetairoi, preceded by two units of light cavalry and followed by the Greek heavy infantry and the Thracian, Triballian and Agrianian auxiliaries, all flanked by two lines of heavy cavalry.
The sky was turning red in the east and the air was filling with the chirping of sparrows and the whistles of blackbirds. Flocks of wild doves rose from the nearby woods as the rhythmic noise of the march and the clanking of the weapons woke them from their slumber.
Phyrgia lay there before Alexander, with his rollling landscapes covered with fir trees, small valleys
crossed by clear flowing streams along which greu rows of silver poplars and shimmering willows. The flocks and the herds came out to pasture, guided by their sheperds and watched over by the dogs; life seemed to be proceeding peacefully along its daily path as if the threatening sound of Alexander's army on the move might just blend in perfectly with the bleating of the sheep and the lowing of the cattle.
To the right and the left, in the valleys parallel to the army's forward movement, groups of scouts, without insignia, camouflaged, also mover forward. Their job was to keep persian spies as far away as possible. But this was in fact a pointless precaution because any one of the sheperds or peasants might have been an enemy spy.
At the rear of the column, escorted by half a dozen Thessalian horses, came Callistenes, together with Philotas and a mule with two panniers full of papyrus scrolls.
Every now and then, when they stopped, the historian pulled out a stool, took a wooden board and a scroll from the panniers, and sat down to write under the curious gaze of the soldiers.
News had soon got round that the official chronicler of the expedition was to be this bony young man with the knowing air, and everyone hoped to be immortalized in his words at some stage. On the other hand no one was bothered about the very ordinary stories of daily life recorded by Eumenes and the other officers who had the job of keeping a tallt of the various stage of the expedition.
They stopped to eat around midday and then later, very close to the Granicus by that time, they stopped once more on direct orders from Alexander below a range of low hills, to wait for darkness to fall.
From the book: The sands of Ammon. By Valerio Massino Manfredi. Translated by Iain Halliday
Thursday, July 28, 2011
'Wine!' ordered Ptolemy.'Pour wine for everyone,
'Wine!' ordered Ptolemy.'Pour wine for everyone,' and then he clapped his hands and while the guests took up reclining positions on their dining beds, servants poured the wine from the crater and others began serving the food: partridge on skewer, thrush, mountain hens, duck and then a fine rarity – pheasant.
At his right hand Alexander asked for his dearest friend Hephaestion, to his left, Ptolemy, his host.
After the game came a quarter of veal – roasted and cut into pieces and served individually by the carver while the servants brought in baskets of fragant, freshly baked bread together with shelled walnuts and boiled ducks' eggs.
The flautists entered with their instruments and began to play. They were all beautiful and exotic women – Mysian, Carian, Thracian, Bythnian – and they all wore their hair tied up with coloured ribbons or bonnets fringed with silver and gold. They were dressed in imitation of the Amazon, with short tunics and bows and quivers over their shoulders, props used in the theatre.
After the first song some of them put down their bows and then, after the second song, their quivers and then took off their leggings and their tunics so that they were completely naked, their young bodies shining with perfumed oils under the light of the lamps. They began to dance to the sound of the flutes and the drums, floating in front of the tables and among the diner's beds.
The friends had all stopped eating, but they continued drinking and were now in a state of total excitement. Some of them stood up, took off their clothes and joined in the dance with the accelerating rhythm of the drums and the tambourines carrying them inexorably towards a climax.
Suddenly Ptolomy grabbed a girl by the hand, stopping her gyrations and manoeuvring her so that Alexander could get a good look.
She's the most beautiful of the lot,' he said. 'I've grabbed her for you.'
'And for me? Asked Hepshastion
'Do you like this one?' Alexander asked as he stopped another striking girl, this one with red hair.
Ptolemy had given orders to the servants to fill the lamps in such a way that some of them would have run out of oil before others, leaving the room in a sort of half shadow.
The youngsters fondled one another as they lay on the dining beds, and on the rugs and the skins that covered part of the paved floor. Meanwhile the music of the flautist continued to ring against the frescoed walls, almost giving rhythm to their excited panting and the surging of ther gleaming bodies in the glow of the few lamps that were still burning in the corners of the great room.
From the book: Alexander: Child of A Dream. By Valerio Massino Manfredi. Translated by Iain Halliday
At his right hand Alexander asked for his dearest friend Hephaestion, to his left, Ptolemy, his host.
After the game came a quarter of veal – roasted and cut into pieces and served individually by the carver while the servants brought in baskets of fragant, freshly baked bread together with shelled walnuts and boiled ducks' eggs.
The flautists entered with their instruments and began to play. They were all beautiful and exotic women – Mysian, Carian, Thracian, Bythnian – and they all wore their hair tied up with coloured ribbons or bonnets fringed with silver and gold. They were dressed in imitation of the Amazon, with short tunics and bows and quivers over their shoulders, props used in the theatre.
After the first song some of them put down their bows and then, after the second song, their quivers and then took off their leggings and their tunics so that they were completely naked, their young bodies shining with perfumed oils under the light of the lamps. They began to dance to the sound of the flutes and the drums, floating in front of the tables and among the diner's beds.
The friends had all stopped eating, but they continued drinking and were now in a state of total excitement. Some of them stood up, took off their clothes and joined in the dance with the accelerating rhythm of the drums and the tambourines carrying them inexorably towards a climax.
Suddenly Ptolomy grabbed a girl by the hand, stopping her gyrations and manoeuvring her so that Alexander could get a good look.
She's the most beautiful of the lot,' he said. 'I've grabbed her for you.'
'And for me? Asked Hepshastion
'Do you like this one?' Alexander asked as he stopped another striking girl, this one with red hair.
Ptolemy had given orders to the servants to fill the lamps in such a way that some of them would have run out of oil before others, leaving the room in a sort of half shadow.
The youngsters fondled one another as they lay on the dining beds, and on the rugs and the skins that covered part of the paved floor. Meanwhile the music of the flautist continued to ring against the frescoed walls, almost giving rhythm to their excited panting and the surging of ther gleaming bodies in the glow of the few lamps that were still burning in the corners of the great room.
From the book: Alexander: Child of A Dream. By Valerio Massino Manfredi. Translated by Iain Halliday
Sunday, July 24, 2011
“Giving lots of money to the public schools makes you money!”
“Giving lots of money to the public schools makes you money!”
When our pathetic schools send a generation of idiots and illiterates out into work-a-day world, how in God's name do you expect to make any money? Right now, your office is full of people who cannot spell, who cannot do long division, who do not know how to ship a box to Bolivia because they haven't a friggin' clue what a Bolivia is.
Wonderin why your wallet is gone and the punk in front of you is ready to shoot you? Try these statistics on for size: 40 percent of the U.S. Prison population is functionally illiterate. Gee, how'd they get that way ? From 1980 to 2000,states expenditures on education went up 32 percent. In that same period of time, states' spending on prison went up to 189 percent. Now that's smart thinking! And while the're in prison, are they making you money? No! The state is actually taking license plate work away from your coffers- You want those workers free so they can come to work in your prison!
Seventy-five percent of welfare recipients are illiterate. Don't you think things might be a little different if they could read and write? I don't mean different for them, I mean different for YOU- That's a lot of welfare mothers who could be slaving away for you and making you money if they weren't stuck in the prison of their illiteracy. Educate them well and you will reap the rewards.
It totally buggles my mind that conservatives haven't demanded , purely out of self-interest, that our schools prepare young people to contribute and even excel in the workplace. Workers are supposed to bring you great ideas and make you filthy rich- Instead they're sitting out there in their cubicles trying to figure out how to download the latest Weezer album. That's the result of all these years of chanting “leave no child behind” and demanding that your state keep testing kids with mandated exams. Teachers have stopped teaching anything useful and now teach for the test. Here's what it got you. A lot of kids who know how to beat a test but not much else. I've got a kid in my office right now who thought the U.K. Was Russia, had never heard the name “George McGovern,” and figured a legal pad was where you store legal court documents. And he's the smartest one in here! HELP!!!
From the book 'Dude,Where's My Country' by Michael Moore
When our pathetic schools send a generation of idiots and illiterates out into work-a-day world, how in God's name do you expect to make any money? Right now, your office is full of people who cannot spell, who cannot do long division, who do not know how to ship a box to Bolivia because they haven't a friggin' clue what a Bolivia is.
Wonderin why your wallet is gone and the punk in front of you is ready to shoot you? Try these statistics on for size: 40 percent of the U.S. Prison population is functionally illiterate. Gee, how'd they get that way ? From 1980 to 2000,states expenditures on education went up 32 percent. In that same period of time, states' spending on prison went up to 189 percent. Now that's smart thinking! And while the're in prison, are they making you money? No! The state is actually taking license plate work away from your coffers- You want those workers free so they can come to work in your prison!
Seventy-five percent of welfare recipients are illiterate. Don't you think things might be a little different if they could read and write? I don't mean different for them, I mean different for YOU- That's a lot of welfare mothers who could be slaving away for you and making you money if they weren't stuck in the prison of their illiteracy. Educate them well and you will reap the rewards.
It totally buggles my mind that conservatives haven't demanded , purely out of self-interest, that our schools prepare young people to contribute and even excel in the workplace. Workers are supposed to bring you great ideas and make you filthy rich- Instead they're sitting out there in their cubicles trying to figure out how to download the latest Weezer album. That's the result of all these years of chanting “leave no child behind” and demanding that your state keep testing kids with mandated exams. Teachers have stopped teaching anything useful and now teach for the test. Here's what it got you. A lot of kids who know how to beat a test but not much else. I've got a kid in my office right now who thought the U.K. Was Russia, had never heard the name “George McGovern,” and figured a legal pad was where you store legal court documents. And he's the smartest one in here! HELP!!!
From the book 'Dude,Where's My Country' by Michael Moore
Thursday, July 14, 2011
You are never going to be rich
Listen friends, you have to face the truth: . The chance of that happening is about one in a million- Not only are you never going to be rich, but you are going to have to live the rest of your life busting your butt to pay cable bill and the music and art classes for your kid at the public school where they used to be free.
And it is only going to get worse. Whatever benefits you may have known are going to get whittled down to nothing- Forget about a pension, forget about Social Security, forget about your kids taking care of you when you get old because they are barely going to have the money to take care of themselves. And don't even think about taking a vacation, because odds are your job won't be there when you get back. You are expendable, you have no rights, and by the way, “whats a union?”
I know, many of you don't think it's that bleak. Sure. Times may be tough, but you think you'll survive. You'll be that one person who somehow escapes the madness- You are not going to give up the dream of some day having your slice of the pis. In fact some of you believe the whole pie might some day be yours.
I have some news for you: You are not even going to get to lick the plate. The system is rigged in favor of the few, and your name is not among them, not now and not ever. It's rigged so well that it dupes many otherwise decent, sensible, hard-working people into believing that it works for them, too- It holds the carrot so close to their faces that they can smell it. And by promising that one day they will be able to eat the carrot, the system drafts an army of consumers and taxpayers who gladly, passionately, fight for the rights of the rich, whether it means giving them billions in tax breaks while send their own children into dilapidated schools, or whether it means sending those children off to die in wars to protect the rich man's oil. Yes, that's right: The workers/consumers will even sacrifice the lives of their own flesh and blood if it means keeping the rich fat and happy because the rich have promised they can join them at the table.
But that day never comes, and by the time the working stiff has this figured out, he's in an old age home spewing a lot of bitter mumbo jumbo about authority and taking it out on the aide who is trying to empty his sorry bedpan.
From the book 'Dude,Where's My Country' by Michael Moore
And it is only going to get worse. Whatever benefits you may have known are going to get whittled down to nothing- Forget about a pension, forget about Social Security, forget about your kids taking care of you when you get old because they are barely going to have the money to take care of themselves. And don't even think about taking a vacation, because odds are your job won't be there when you get back. You are expendable, you have no rights, and by the way, “whats a union?”
I know, many of you don't think it's that bleak. Sure. Times may be tough, but you think you'll survive. You'll be that one person who somehow escapes the madness- You are not going to give up the dream of some day having your slice of the pis. In fact some of you believe the whole pie might some day be yours.
I have some news for you: You are not even going to get to lick the plate. The system is rigged in favor of the few, and your name is not among them, not now and not ever. It's rigged so well that it dupes many otherwise decent, sensible, hard-working people into believing that it works for them, too- It holds the carrot so close to their faces that they can smell it. And by promising that one day they will be able to eat the carrot, the system drafts an army of consumers and taxpayers who gladly, passionately, fight for the rights of the rich, whether it means giving them billions in tax breaks while send their own children into dilapidated schools, or whether it means sending those children off to die in wars to protect the rich man's oil. Yes, that's right: The workers/consumers will even sacrifice the lives of their own flesh and blood if it means keeping the rich fat and happy because the rich have promised they can join them at the table.
But that day never comes, and by the time the working stiff has this figured out, he's in an old age home spewing a lot of bitter mumbo jumbo about authority and taking it out on the aide who is trying to empty his sorry bedpan.
From the book 'Dude,Where's My Country' by Michael Moore
Friday, July 8, 2011
Osama by his rightful title multi-millionaire
I've always thought it was interesting that the mass murder of September 11 was allegedly committed by a multi-millionaire. We always say it was committed by a “terrorist” or by an “Islamic fundamentalist” or an “Arab”, but we never define Osama by his rightful title: multi-millionaire? Why have we never read a headline saying, “3,000 Killed by Multi-Millionaire”? It would be a correct headline , would it not ? No part of it is untrue _ Osama bin Laden has assets totaling at least $ 30 millions; he is a multimillionaire. So why didn't that become the reason for profiling potentials terrorists? Instead of rounding suspicious Arabs, why don't we say, “Oh my God, a multimillionaire killed 3,000 people! Round up the multimillionaires! Throw them all in jail! No charges! No trials! Deport the millionaires!!”
We need protection from our own multi-millionaires, corporate terrorists, the ones who rip off our old-age pensions, destroy the environment, deplete irreplaceable fossil fuels in the name of profit, deny us our right to universal health care, take people's jobs away whenever the mood hits them. What do you call a 19 percent increase in the homeless and the hungry from 2001 to 2002? Are these not acts of terrorism? Do they not cost lives? It is not all part of a calculated plan to inflict pain on the poor and the working poor, just so that a few rich men can get even richer?
We have our “terrorists” to deal with, and we need out entire focus returned to them so that we can one day live in a country where the people once again pick the president, a country where the wealthy learn that they have to pay for their actions. A free country, a safe country, a peaceful country that genuinely shares its riches with the less fortunate around the world, a country that believes in everyone getting a fair shake, and where fear is seen as the only thing we truly need to fear.
From the book 'Dude,Where's My Country' by Michael Moore
We need protection from our own multi-millionaires, corporate terrorists, the ones who rip off our old-age pensions, destroy the environment, deplete irreplaceable fossil fuels in the name of profit, deny us our right to universal health care, take people's jobs away whenever the mood hits them. What do you call a 19 percent increase in the homeless and the hungry from 2001 to 2002? Are these not acts of terrorism? Do they not cost lives? It is not all part of a calculated plan to inflict pain on the poor and the working poor, just so that a few rich men can get even richer?
We have our “terrorists” to deal with, and we need out entire focus returned to them so that we can one day live in a country where the people once again pick the president, a country where the wealthy learn that they have to pay for their actions. A free country, a safe country, a peaceful country that genuinely shares its riches with the less fortunate around the world, a country that believes in everyone getting a fair shake, and where fear is seen as the only thing we truly need to fear.
From the book 'Dude,Where's My Country' by Michael Moore
Friday, June 24, 2011
Torture
“The first jolt was so bad I just wanted to die”
Gloria Esperanza Reyes, speaking of her torture in Honduras, where electric wires were attached to her breasts and vagina
“They always asked to be killed. Torture is worse than death.”
José Barrera, Hoduran torturer
Turkey, July 14, 1999, the police break into the home of a Kurdish family and announce they want to take the two daughters -Medine 14, and her younger sister Devran – i for questioning. “I headed for the bedroom to get dressed,” said Devran later, “but Medine...went straight to the window and jumped.”
Medine's mother explained : “My daughter, you see, preferred death to being tortured once again.”
“Torture might last a short time, but the person will never be the same”
Amnesty International report
“No exceptional circumstances whatsoever, whether a state of war or a threat of war, internal political instability or any other public emergency, may be invoked as a justification for torture.”
The convention Against Torture and Other Cruel, Inhuman o Degrading Treatment or Punishement, Article 2, S
From the book “Rogue State” by William Blum
Gloria Esperanza Reyes, speaking of her torture in Honduras, where electric wires were attached to her breasts and vagina
“They always asked to be killed. Torture is worse than death.”
José Barrera, Hoduran torturer
Turkey, July 14, 1999, the police break into the home of a Kurdish family and announce they want to take the two daughters -Medine 14, and her younger sister Devran – i for questioning. “I headed for the bedroom to get dressed,” said Devran later, “but Medine...went straight to the window and jumped.”
Medine's mother explained : “My daughter, you see, preferred death to being tortured once again.”
“Torture might last a short time, but the person will never be the same”
Amnesty International report
“No exceptional circumstances whatsoever, whether a state of war or a threat of war, internal political instability or any other public emergency, may be invoked as a justification for torture.”
The convention Against Torture and Other Cruel, Inhuman o Degrading Treatment or Punishement, Article 2, S
From the book “Rogue State” by William Blum
Saturday, June 18, 2011
Under a system codenamed ECHELON
Under a system codenamed ECHELON – launched in the 1970s to spy on Soviet satellite communicating – the NSA and its (very) junior partners in Britain, New Zealand, and Canada operate a network of massive, highly automated interception stations, covering the globe amongst them. In multiple ways, each of the countries involved is breaking its own laws, those of other countries, and international law - the absence of court – issued warrants permitting surveillance of named individuals is but one example. But who is to stop them?
In 1999, the House Intelligence Committee of the US Congress sought internal NSA documents about its compliance with the law that prohibits it from deliberately eavesdropping on Americans, either in the United States or overseas, unless the Agency can establish probable cause to believe that they are agents of a foreign government committing espionage or other crimes: NSA stonewalled the committee.
Apart from specifically targeted individuals and institutions, the ECHELON system works by indiscriminately intercepting very large quantities of communications and using computers to identify and extract messages of interest from the mass of unwanted ones. Every intercepted message – all the embassy cables, the business deals, the sex talks, the birthday greetings – is searched for keywords, which could be anything the searchers think might be of interest. Computers can “listen” to telephone calls and recognize when keywords are spoken. Those calls are extracted and recorded separately, to be listened to in full by humans. The list of specific targets at any given time is undoubtedly wide – ranging, at one point including the likes of Amnesty International and Christian Aid.
From the book 'Rogue State' by William Blum
In 1999, the House Intelligence Committee of the US Congress sought internal NSA documents about its compliance with the law that prohibits it from deliberately eavesdropping on Americans, either in the United States or overseas, unless the Agency can establish probable cause to believe that they are agents of a foreign government committing espionage or other crimes: NSA stonewalled the committee.
Apart from specifically targeted individuals and institutions, the ECHELON system works by indiscriminately intercepting very large quantities of communications and using computers to identify and extract messages of interest from the mass of unwanted ones. Every intercepted message – all the embassy cables, the business deals, the sex talks, the birthday greetings – is searched for keywords, which could be anything the searchers think might be of interest. Computers can “listen” to telephone calls and recognize when keywords are spoken. Those calls are extracted and recorded separately, to be listened to in full by humans. The list of specific targets at any given time is undoubtedly wide – ranging, at one point including the likes of Amnesty International and Christian Aid.
From the book 'Rogue State' by William Blum
Sunday, May 8, 2011
We now have the precedent of secret detention that might make banana republics envious
That's not all. We now have the precedent of secret detention that might make banana republics envious. Some 5.000 young men, mostly students, have been “interviewed” by the FBI for no other reason than they may not be citizens or they are of Middle Eastern origin. Another 1.200 people were detained, and held indefinitely and secretly, most for no reason other than minor immigration violations that would have been ignored in the past. Of the immigration violations that would have been ignored in the past. Of the immigration and Naturalization Service detainees , 11 percent were imprisioned more than six months before being released or deported. About half were imprisoned for more than three months.
In a highly critical report, the Justice Department's own inspector general found that while imprisioned at the federal detention in Brooklyn, detainees feced “a pattern of physical and verbal abuse” as well as “unduly harsh” detention policies, including 23-hours-per-day lockdown, 24-hours-per-day cell lighting, a communications blackout, and excessive handcuffing, leg irons and heavy chains. The report also criticized the FBI for making “little attempt to distinguish” between immigrants who had possible ties to terrorism and the vast majority who did not, including many swept up by chance.
It is un-American to incarcerate a large group of people when there is no credible reason to think they are dangerous.
Even worse, some detainees, have been subjected to secret deportation proceedings. Soon after the September 11 attacks, immigration courts from coast to coast began conducting scores of hearing in secret, with cout officials, forbidden even to confirm that the cases existed.
From the book 'Dude,Where's My Country' by Michael Moore
In a highly critical report, the Justice Department's own inspector general found that while imprisioned at the federal detention in Brooklyn, detainees feced “a pattern of physical and verbal abuse” as well as “unduly harsh” detention policies, including 23-hours-per-day lockdown, 24-hours-per-day cell lighting, a communications blackout, and excessive handcuffing, leg irons and heavy chains. The report also criticized the FBI for making “little attempt to distinguish” between immigrants who had possible ties to terrorism and the vast majority who did not, including many swept up by chance.
It is un-American to incarcerate a large group of people when there is no credible reason to think they are dangerous.
Even worse, some detainees, have been subjected to secret deportation proceedings. Soon after the September 11 attacks, immigration courts from coast to coast began conducting scores of hearing in secret, with cout officials, forbidden even to confirm that the cases existed.
From the book 'Dude,Where's My Country' by Michael Moore
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
The Bin Laden family has also gotten on the Carlyle gravy train in 1994.
Until 1994, you headed a company called CaterAir, which was owned by the Carlyle Group- The same year you left the soon-to-be-bankrupt CaterAir, you become governor and quickly oversaw the University of Texas – a state institution – make an investment of $10 million in the Carlyle Group. The Bin Laden family has also gotten on the Carlyle gravy train in 1994.
The Carlyle Group is one of the nation's largest defense contractors, among their many other lines of work. They don't actually build weapons themselves. Rather, they buy failing defense companies, turn them around by making them profitable, and then sell them for huge sums of money.
The people who run the Carlyle Group are a Who's Who of past movers and shakers, everyone from Ronald Reagan's defense secretary, Frank Carlucci, to your dad's secretary of state, James Baker, to former British Prime Minister John Major. Carlucci, the head of Carlyle, also happens to sit on the board of directors of the Middle East Policy Council along with a representative of the bin Laden family business.
After September 11, The Washington Post and The Wall Street Journal both ran stories pointing out this strange coincidence.
Your first response, Mr Bush, was to ignore it, hoping , I guess that the story would just go away. Your father and his buddies at Carlyle did not renounce the bin Laden investment. Your army of pundits went into spin control. They said , we can't paint these bin Ladens with the same brush we use for Osama! They have nothing to do with him! They hate and despise what he had done! These are the good bin Ladens.
And then the video footage came out. It showed a number of those “good” bin Ladens – including osama's mother, a sister and two brothers – with Osama at his son's wedding party just six and a half months before September 11. It has been reported in The New Yorker that not only has the family not cut ties to Osama, but they have continued to fund him as they have been doing for years. It was not secret to the CIA that Osama bin Laden had access to his family fortune (his share is estimated to be at least $30 million), and the bin Ladens, as well as other Saudis, kept Osama and his group. Al Qaeda, well funded.
Mr. Bush, weeks went by after the attacks on New York and the pentagon, yet your father and his friends at the Carlyle Group refused to buckle in their suport for the bin Laden empire.
Finally, near two months after the attacks, with more and more people questioning the propierty of the Bush family being in bed with the bin Ladens, your father and the Carlyle Group were pressured into giving the bin Ladens their millions back and asked them to leave the company as investors.
Why did it take so long?
Tomake matters worse, it turned out that one of bin Laden's brothers – Shafiq – was actually at a Carlyle Group businee conference in Washington, D.C., the morning of September 11. The day before, at the same conference, your father and Shafiq had been chatting it up with all the other ex-goverment Carlyle bigwigs.
Mr Bush, what is going on here?
You've gotten a free ride from the media, though they know everything I have just written to be the truth ( and, in Fact, I have taken it from the very same mainstream new sources they work for). They seem unwilling, or afraid to ask you a simple question: WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?
In case you don't understand just how bizarre the media's silence is regarding the Bush-bin laden connections, let me draw an analogy to how the press or Congress may have handled something like this if the same shoe had been on the Clinton foot.
From the book 'Dude,Where's My Country' by Michael Moore
The Carlyle Group is one of the nation's largest defense contractors, among their many other lines of work. They don't actually build weapons themselves. Rather, they buy failing defense companies, turn them around by making them profitable, and then sell them for huge sums of money.
The people who run the Carlyle Group are a Who's Who of past movers and shakers, everyone from Ronald Reagan's defense secretary, Frank Carlucci, to your dad's secretary of state, James Baker, to former British Prime Minister John Major. Carlucci, the head of Carlyle, also happens to sit on the board of directors of the Middle East Policy Council along with a representative of the bin Laden family business.
After September 11, The Washington Post and The Wall Street Journal both ran stories pointing out this strange coincidence.
Your first response, Mr Bush, was to ignore it, hoping , I guess that the story would just go away. Your father and his buddies at Carlyle did not renounce the bin Laden investment. Your army of pundits went into spin control. They said , we can't paint these bin Ladens with the same brush we use for Osama! They have nothing to do with him! They hate and despise what he had done! These are the good bin Ladens.
And then the video footage came out. It showed a number of those “good” bin Ladens – including osama's mother, a sister and two brothers – with Osama at his son's wedding party just six and a half months before September 11. It has been reported in The New Yorker that not only has the family not cut ties to Osama, but they have continued to fund him as they have been doing for years. It was not secret to the CIA that Osama bin Laden had access to his family fortune (his share is estimated to be at least $30 million), and the bin Ladens, as well as other Saudis, kept Osama and his group. Al Qaeda, well funded.
Mr. Bush, weeks went by after the attacks on New York and the pentagon, yet your father and his friends at the Carlyle Group refused to buckle in their suport for the bin Laden empire.
Finally, near two months after the attacks, with more and more people questioning the propierty of the Bush family being in bed with the bin Ladens, your father and the Carlyle Group were pressured into giving the bin Ladens their millions back and asked them to leave the company as investors.
Why did it take so long?
Tomake matters worse, it turned out that one of bin Laden's brothers – Shafiq – was actually at a Carlyle Group businee conference in Washington, D.C., the morning of September 11. The day before, at the same conference, your father and Shafiq had been chatting it up with all the other ex-goverment Carlyle bigwigs.
Mr Bush, what is going on here?
You've gotten a free ride from the media, though they know everything I have just written to be the truth ( and, in Fact, I have taken it from the very same mainstream new sources they work for). They seem unwilling, or afraid to ask you a simple question: WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?
In case you don't understand just how bizarre the media's silence is regarding the Bush-bin laden connections, let me draw an analogy to how the press or Congress may have handled something like this if the same shoe had been on the Clinton foot.
From the book 'Dude,Where's My Country' by Michael Moore
Monday, March 28, 2011
Do you enjoy being ruled by the Republican-Democratic Party?
Do you enjoy being ruled by the Republican-Democratic Party? Are you proud to live a life of fear, insecurity and panic? Are you happy to see the place your family has owned for generations taken away for a bank? Do you want a regime that is turning the United States into a police state and giving Christianity a bad name? Are you proud to live under a government that harbours hundreds of terrorists in Miami? Are you proud to live in a nation ruled by extreme capitalism and religious conservatives? The capitalists have robbed your country of your equality and justice. They have destroyed your national parks and rivers and corrupted the media, your elections and your personal relations. They rule by threat of unemployment, hunger and homelessness based on the advice of a god called the market. They insist that their form of organizing a society and remaking the world is the one only form, the true form, the divine form. They see themselves as morality experts, even though they are ignorant. They bomb, they invade, assassinate, torture, overthrow, commit injustice, keep you and the world in poverty and claim it is in the name of God.
From the book 'Rogue State' by William Blum
From the book 'Rogue State' by William Blum
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Elections and this thing called democracy 2
Thus a nation with hordes of hungry, homeless, untended sick, barely literate, unemployed and/ or tortured people, whose loved ones are being dissapeared and/ or murdered with state connivance, can be said to living in democracy” its literal Greek meaning of “rule of the people” implying that this is the kind of life the people actually want – provided that every two years or four years they have the right to go to a designated place and put an X next to the name of one or another individual who promises to relieve their miserable condition, but who will typically, do virtually nothing of the kind; and provided further that in this society there is at least a certain minimum of freedom – how much being in large measure a function of one's wealth – for no one's to express one' views about the power that be and the workings of the society, without undue fear of punishment, regardless of whether expressing these views has any influence whatsoever over the way things are.
It is not by chance that the United States has defined democracy in this narrow manner. Throughout the Cold War, the absence of “free and fair” multi party elections and adequate civil liberties was what marked the Soviet foe and its satellites- These nations, however provided their citizens with a relatively decent standard of living in terms of unemployment, food, health care, education, etc., without omnipresent Brazilian torture or Guatemalan death squads. At the same time, many of America's Third World allies in the Cold War – members of what Washington liked to refer to as “The Free World” - were human rights disaster areas, who could boast of little other than the 60 second democracy of the polling booth and tolerance for dissenting opinion so long as it didn't cut too close to the bone or threaten to turn into a movement.
Naturally. The only way to win Cold War propaganda points with team lineups like these was to extol your team's brand of virtue and damn the enmy's lack of it, designating the former “democracy” and the latter “totalitarianism”.
From the book 'Rogue State' by William Blum
It is not by chance that the United States has defined democracy in this narrow manner. Throughout the Cold War, the absence of “free and fair” multi party elections and adequate civil liberties was what marked the Soviet foe and its satellites- These nations, however provided their citizens with a relatively decent standard of living in terms of unemployment, food, health care, education, etc., without omnipresent Brazilian torture or Guatemalan death squads. At the same time, many of America's Third World allies in the Cold War – members of what Washington liked to refer to as “The Free World” - were human rights disaster areas, who could boast of little other than the 60 second democracy of the polling booth and tolerance for dissenting opinion so long as it didn't cut too close to the bone or threaten to turn into a movement.
Naturally. The only way to win Cold War propaganda points with team lineups like these was to extol your team's brand of virtue and damn the enmy's lack of it, designating the former “democracy” and the latter “totalitarianism”.
From the book 'Rogue State' by William Blum
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Elections and this thing called democracy 1
During the Clinton administration, the sentiment has been proclaimed on so many occasions by the president and other political leaders , and dutifully reiterated by the media, that the thesis “Cuba is the only non-democracy in the Western Hemisfere” in now nothing short of received wisdom in the United States.
Les us examine this thesis carefully for it has a highly interesting implication.
Throughout the period of the Cuban revolution, 1959 to the present, Latin America has witnessed a terrible parade of human rights violations – systematic, routine torture; legions of “disappeared” people, government supported death squads picking off selected individuals; massacres en masse of peasants, students and others groups, shot down in cold blood. The worst perpetrators of these acts during all or part of this period have been the military and associated paramilitary squads of El Salvador, Guatemala, Brazil, Argentina, Chile, Colombia, Peru, Mexico, Uruguay, Haiti and Honduras.
Not even Cuba's worst enemies have charged the Castro government with any of these violations and if one further considers education and health care – each guaranteed by the United Nations “Universal Declaration of Human Rights” and the “European Convention for the Protection of Humans Rights and Fundamental Freedoms” - “both of which, “said President Clinton, “work better (in Cuba) than most other countries”, then it would appear that during the more than 40 years of its revolution, Cuba has enjoyed one of the very best humans rights records in all of Latin America.
If, despite this record, the United States can insist that Cuba is the only “non-democracy” in the Western Hemisphere, we are left with the inescapable conclusion that this thing called “democracy” as seen from the White House, may have little or nothing to do with many of our cherished human rights. Indeed , numerous pronouncements emanating from Washington officialdom over the years make plain that “democracy”, at best , or at most, is equated solely with elections and civil liberties. Not even jobs, food and shelter are part of the equation.
From the book 'Rogue State' by William Blum
Les us examine this thesis carefully for it has a highly interesting implication.
Throughout the period of the Cuban revolution, 1959 to the present, Latin America has witnessed a terrible parade of human rights violations – systematic, routine torture; legions of “disappeared” people, government supported death squads picking off selected individuals; massacres en masse of peasants, students and others groups, shot down in cold blood. The worst perpetrators of these acts during all or part of this period have been the military and associated paramilitary squads of El Salvador, Guatemala, Brazil, Argentina, Chile, Colombia, Peru, Mexico, Uruguay, Haiti and Honduras.
Not even Cuba's worst enemies have charged the Castro government with any of these violations and if one further considers education and health care – each guaranteed by the United Nations “Universal Declaration of Human Rights” and the “European Convention for the Protection of Humans Rights and Fundamental Freedoms” - “both of which, “said President Clinton, “work better (in Cuba) than most other countries”, then it would appear that during the more than 40 years of its revolution, Cuba has enjoyed one of the very best humans rights records in all of Latin America.
If, despite this record, the United States can insist that Cuba is the only “non-democracy” in the Western Hemisphere, we are left with the inescapable conclusion that this thing called “democracy” as seen from the White House, may have little or nothing to do with many of our cherished human rights. Indeed , numerous pronouncements emanating from Washington officialdom over the years make plain that “democracy”, at best , or at most, is equated solely with elections and civil liberties. Not even jobs, food and shelter are part of the equation.
From the book 'Rogue State' by William Blum
Thursday, March 3, 2011
The bin Ladens
The bin Ladens are one of the wealthiest families in Saudi Arabia. Their huge construction firm virtually built the country , from the roads and power plants, to the skyscrappers and government buildings. They built some of the airstrips America used in your dad's Gulf War, and they renovated the holy sites at Mecca and Medina, Billionaires many times over, they soon began investing in other ventures around the world, including the United States. They have extensive business dealings with Citigroup, General Electric, Merrill Lynch, Goldman Sachs, and the Fremont Group – a spin-off of energy giant Betchel. According to The New Yorker, the bin Laden family also owns a part of Microsoft and the airline and defense giant Boeing. They have donated $2 million to your alma mater, Harvard University, $300,000 more to Tufts University, and tens of thousands more to the Middle East Policy Council, a think tank headed by a former U.S. Ambassador to Saudi Arabia, Charles freeman. In addition to the propierty they own in Texas, they also have real state in Florida and Massachusetts. In short, they have their hands deep on our pants.
Unfortunately, as you know, Mr. Bush, Salem bin Laden died in a plane crash in Texas in 1988 (his father, Mohammad, also died in a plane crash in 1967) . Salem's brother's – there are around 50 of them, including Osama – continued to run the family companies and investments.
After leaving office, your father became a hihgly paid consultant for a company known as the Carlyle Group. One of the investors in the Carlyle Group was none other than the bin Laden family. The bin Ladens put a minimum of $2 million into the Carlyle Group.
From the book 'Dude,Where's My Country' by Michael Moore
Unfortunately, as you know, Mr. Bush, Salem bin Laden died in a plane crash in Texas in 1988 (his father, Mohammad, also died in a plane crash in 1967) . Salem's brother's – there are around 50 of them, including Osama – continued to run the family companies and investments.
After leaving office, your father became a hihgly paid consultant for a company known as the Carlyle Group. One of the investors in the Carlyle Group was none other than the bin Laden family. The bin Ladens put a minimum of $2 million into the Carlyle Group.
From the book 'Dude,Where's My Country' by Michael Moore
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Dr Jonasson was woken by Nurse Nicander
Dr Jonasson was woken by Nurse Nicander five minutes before the helicopter was expected to land. It was just before 1.30 in the morning.
“What ? he said confused.
“Rescue Service helicopter coming in. Two patients. An injured man and a younger woman. He woman has a gunshot wound.”
“Al right,” Jonasson said wearily.
He felt groggy although he had slept for only half an hour. He was on the night shift in A.&E. at Sahlgrenska hospital in Göteborg. It had been a strenuous evening. Since he had come on duty at 6.00 p.m., the hospital had received four victims of a head-on collision outside Lindome. One was pronounced D.=.A. He had treated a waitress whose legs had been scalded in an accident at a restaurant on Avenyn, and he had saved the life of a fur year old boy who had arrived at he hospital with respiratory failure after swallowing the wheel of a toy car. He had patched up a girl who had ridden her bike into a ditch that he road repair department had chosen to dig close to the end of a bike path; the warming barriers had been tipped into the hole. She had fourteen stitches in her face and would need two new front teeth. Jonasson had also sewn par part of a thumb back on to a enthusiastic carpenter who had managed to slice it off.
By 12.30 the steady flow of emergency cases had eased off. He had made a round to check on the state of his patients, and then gone back to the staff bedroom to try to rest for a while. He was on duty until 6.00 in the morning, and seldom got the chance to sleep even if no emergency patients came in. But this time he had fallen asleep almost as soon as he turned out the light.
Nurse Nicander handed him a cup of tea. She had not been given any details about the incoming cases.
Jonasson saw lightning out over the sea. He knew that the helicopter was coming in in the nick of time. All of a sudden a heavy downpour lashed at the window. The storm had moved in over Göteborg.
He heard the sound of the chopper and watched as it banked through the storm squalls down towards he helipad. For a second he held his breath when the pilot seemed to have difficulty controlling the aircraft. Then it vanished from his field of view and he heard the engine slowing to land. He took a hasty swallow of his tea and set down the cup.
From the book “The girl who kicked the hornets’ nest.”By Stieg Larsson. Translated from the Swedish by Reg Keeland
“What ? he said confused.
“Rescue Service helicopter coming in. Two patients. An injured man and a younger woman. He woman has a gunshot wound.”
“Al right,” Jonasson said wearily.
He felt groggy although he had slept for only half an hour. He was on the night shift in A.&E. at Sahlgrenska hospital in Göteborg. It had been a strenuous evening. Since he had come on duty at 6.00 p.m., the hospital had received four victims of a head-on collision outside Lindome. One was pronounced D.=.A. He had treated a waitress whose legs had been scalded in an accident at a restaurant on Avenyn, and he had saved the life of a fur year old boy who had arrived at he hospital with respiratory failure after swallowing the wheel of a toy car. He had patched up a girl who had ridden her bike into a ditch that he road repair department had chosen to dig close to the end of a bike path; the warming barriers had been tipped into the hole. She had fourteen stitches in her face and would need two new front teeth. Jonasson had also sewn par part of a thumb back on to a enthusiastic carpenter who had managed to slice it off.
By 12.30 the steady flow of emergency cases had eased off. He had made a round to check on the state of his patients, and then gone back to the staff bedroom to try to rest for a while. He was on duty until 6.00 in the morning, and seldom got the chance to sleep even if no emergency patients came in. But this time he had fallen asleep almost as soon as he turned out the light.
Nurse Nicander handed him a cup of tea. She had not been given any details about the incoming cases.
Jonasson saw lightning out over the sea. He knew that the helicopter was coming in in the nick of time. All of a sudden a heavy downpour lashed at the window. The storm had moved in over Göteborg.
He heard the sound of the chopper and watched as it banked through the storm squalls down towards he helipad. For a second he held his breath when the pilot seemed to have difficulty controlling the aircraft. Then it vanished from his field of view and he heard the engine slowing to land. He took a hasty swallow of his tea and set down the cup.
From the book “The girl who kicked the hornets’ nest.”By Stieg Larsson. Translated from the Swedish by Reg Keeland
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)