Hallowed by our own action. I just sat back to watch a video. A video of a video, in fact. Or to be precise, a video of the recording of a video. It's getting confused now, I know. Let me clarify, perhaps.
Today, a kurd girl was stripped naked (Well rather, had her pants ripped off her and then repeatedly used to cover her indecent nakedness while she was lying, writhing in pain in the dust on the ground, panties on to contrast her dirt-stained red training-jacket and black hair.) and then kicked, stomped and stoned to death by a group of what seemed to be men. So far, nothing out of the ordinary. This happens nearly every week, in one sense or the other. A mob reaching out to destroy what they cannot control.
What appalled me wasn't the act in itself. It was the actions of the crowd, pushing, shoving, hitting eachother to get a chance to be at the front, near the clearing around the girl, always careful to have nearly two meters of space to watch her writhe in, where you can see the people breaking out to kick her in the belly, stomp on her chest or blood-coated face as she was lying helplessly there. And why did they try to reach the front? Oh, to hold up their camera and record her suffering.
Yes, they were pulling eachother back, not because they wanted to stop the others from ending the girls life with a stone, but because they were in the way for their recording of the event.
Society today, I wish it had ceased to amaze me. Unfortunately, this seems to be the norm. When you have the power to stop someone from killing a helpless victim, you don't. You stand there, cheering, howling, and tape it with your cellphone, safe in the knowledge that you hold the camera, so you're doing your part. Watching the recording of the people behaving like this, short pans of the girl, and then up to the crowd, them pushing others away, directing their camera to the girl. The man who covered her with her skirt or pants, only to then kick her in the belly until she moved and they slipped off?
Or the man in the fine shoes who sullied them by stomping on her face, once he was done recording her suffering, of course.
The more I watch, the more I learn
If you light yourself on fire
The world will pay to watch you burn.
-- Course of Empire - Automatic Writing #17
Okay, the "originals" here aren't very "Original" anymore, since they were fairly heavily gimped by me. Fruity is hard to photograph, mostly so because she threatened to punch me in the face if I tried again, and kept shying away/turning off cam in order to stay off pictures.
Really wish I had gotten at least one sharp pic here, but what goes. And since she okayed it, here she is, Fruitcake, in her own blurry geekiness.
Seems that the upgraded Wordpress is annoying me a lot more than the previous one did.
Annoyingly enough, Wordpress has a bad tendency not to want to save my bloody posts. Argh. On the other hand, upgraded to latest (and greatest? Hah. I'm not impressed as of yet with this software) version to avoid the XSS attacks. Getting repeated "evaluated to false" errors when trying to save a draft here. And uploading text in general. And the themed input-box means it loses the changes that were in the text area. Very frustrating.
Also, the pictures taken from the Dublin trip have moved to a more permanent address now.
CAN I BE ALLOWED TO UPLOAD THIS THING NOW? *hitting "save and continue editing" with every line, 2 out of 3 fails.
Generally of Ireland, Inz and Ahni -> http://spider.alternating.net/layerD/Ireland/
Random people Portraits -> http://spider.alternating.net/layerD/Random_Portraits/
Thank you , bloody piece of junk.
Well as I'm back again, we were "Very Sociable" and generally had a good time, won't comment too much about it, since we really didn't have any plans when we started, ended up having quite good Asian food, lots of drink, and generally a nice time. Met a couple of old friends from IRC as well, hit pubs and walked around watching a rather droll local urban scenery. Oh, and cursed my luck with the camera. Whenever I had aligned a nice shot there was someone walking into my way, a bus driving up, a door opening and hitting me, or just something in general to annoy me.
Anyhow, pictures were promised, and even if alternating.net is stubbornly refusing me, I have temporary storage space!
Generally of Ireland, Inz and Ahni
Random people Portraits from when I was bored and just photographed stuff I saw.
Today was a long day. More because of what was in my head, than anything else. Packing, I had the list, it was prepared, things mostly on a table, and I misplaced the list.
clumsy, stressful. Uncertainitiy spread in my head and... nothing I could do about it.
Got some help from Ahni, his list helped clear some of the confusion, but still. For once I'm notbringing a book on a trip, dunno really, this will be the first time since I was... erm.. 9? that I don't bring something to read for a journey. Heh.
Anyhow, goal is to wind down some, hit some drinks and get out a bit, and give Inz a couple of hugs. Dublin next.
mela, mela, mela, mela, melancholia
melancholia, mon cher
mela, mela, mela, mela, melancholia
schwebt über der neuen stadt
und über dem land
I found myself listening to Einstürzende Neubauten while reading this article about the rise of Depression as a Cultural Epidemic over at The Guardian. It has a few interesting points, not sure however on some of them, but its mostly researched musings as presented, an OpEd, not fact, not a journal. In part I agree with the authors view that the "self-image" and the isolation from the crowd it gives fosters an isolationary and/or depressive state. But, I remain unconvinced that such a shift actually -happened- during the timeperiod.
For far from being detached from the immediate human environment, the newly self-centered individual is continually preoccupied with judging the expectations of others and his or her own success in meeting them: "How am I doing?" this supposedly autonomous "self" wants to know. "What kind of an impression am I making?".
It would seem that I need to go and buy/borrow this book, :
 Dancing in the Streets: A History of Collective Joy by Barbara Ehrenreich
Stress. Anxiety. Panic. Lifting my head was a chore this morning, stressed out over a doc's appointment. Anxiety messed my head up, couldn't drink the coffee in the cup ahead of me. The toast and cheese turned yellow, couldn't eat it. Made new. Rinse. Repeat.
Third try and I actually managed to get something solid inside me, it didn't stop the shaking though, but I couldn't consume more, couldn't bring myself to swallow it.
Day went, pushing ahead. Managed to put the phonecall in to order a new appointment for my hands (They ache constantly, have been really bad the last few days. I'm worried enough that I feel I need painkillers daily. Not good. ) ended up with them saying they'd call me back at 16. I had another doc's appointment at 15.
Stress on. Managed. Argh. Met a new doctor again, told him how things have been the last few months, that I'm not doing much, that I have an eating disorder. Apathetic. Depressed. Not going out, not talking much to people. Barely managing myself. He nodded and said the right things and took some notes. We talked about my medical history, and he concluded he was able to offer me pills, but since the past, and since he couldn't guarantee a proper followup, he wouldn't. Hat off to that. He suggested a day-group focused around a dietist and so on, might work, something to do.
I want to exercise, but I can't make myself.
He said he'd write the appropiate papers and so on. Good.
They called back about my hands. Sorry, call again beginning of next week. Yargh. Getting help to procure food right now,I know I'll need to eat something, but what. What can I make myself eat? argh. Bad notion that I'd rather cut myself than make food, I really need to break this mental state.
We are just sketches of men
Caught in a wicked vortex
Where tertium non datur
Between being god
Or being damned
And thus I end it as:
Non tantum tertium sed quartum et quintum
Ahh, Papa Nancy. I picked up the book "Anansi Boys" again. Last time I tried to read it I stopped at page 18, fed up already with the all too American-feeling of "laugh at the fat guy who makes a fool of himself" that I just cannot stand. The only reason I picked it up again this last Thursday was that it was hardcover and in the right size to fit in my rather packed bag. So I did, restlessly flicking pages, skimming the deep down felt embarrassment about myself for actually reading it. Yes, it bothers me that much, I really do not enjoy the part of "comedy" where you laugh at people for their misconceptions or simply expose them to humiliating situations so you can score a cheap giggle.
It picked up though, after the first few situations, our dear Mr. Gaiman stopped putting the little Charles (No, not Fat Charlie, Little Charles. He feels so sweetly immature) into humiliating situations for giggles, and actually got along with telling a story.
The story felt cut down in a way, as if there was something missing in it along the middle, the conclusion came too soon, all the pieces just fell into place too directly, but aside from this, the book turned out to be a likable read. Flowing, smooth, well... Singing, is probably a better term. Not really explaining anything, as it doesn't need to, and that was good and well.
What I found absolutely adorable is that there never really was specified the skin colour of the characters. Of course, deducting from setting, they were all/mostly of African descent (where else would Anansi come from?) Yet, it was refreshing to see it not specified in the text.
Mmh, Been a busy few days.
Went to Stockholm and met a few old friends, and some new people. It was hectic, busy and fun. Consumed various kinds of alcohol at various kinds of places. Also spent time waiting for a store to open by watching Ghost Rider. Well, lets see. They caught the feeling of the 80's comic very well, you know, that feeling of embarassment and shame you get when you open an old, tacky 80's comic album and wonder how you once made yourself like this piece of junk.
What makes you turn around and do it all again
Your highs and lows, they are both one and the same
There is no difference in your pleasure and your pain
It's time to face the music
The night before last I spent at a café with an insane DJ in the background, chatting for a few hours with The Tallest and drinking their rather okay coffee. It was a nice evening, the DJ was as said, Insane. Klesmer breakbeat, Big Band Jazz drum with rap on top, 80's disco and industrial, Ibiza Disco and .. erm, Well, you get the point.
So, yesterday, fade in and out, spent most of the day at home, cooked and survived. Had company, and it wasn't totally pleasant. It hurts. I don't like that, but I have to live with it. On the other hand, I made a great creamed-curry chicken.
Ach well, today? Don't know.