Hello, I don’t know if it’s kinda obvious, but English isn’t my native language. That’s the reason why I have a battle inside my head whenever I write or whatever. I speak French, Spanish, and English, but for some unknown reason, I’m fond of English–especially when it comes to writing.

I’ve read books about English grammar, read a lot, and lots of other things to get familiarized with it. That doesn’t mean I won’t make mistakes as I continue to write. So, if there’s someone out there reading my posts, I’d really love to be corrected whenever I make a mistake.

Video link: https://www.dropbox.com/s/ykv5w4m12v2rqpd/Cut%20version%20of%20exorcism.wmv

To read more see: http://www.cph.org/p-22685-i-am-not-afraid-demon-possession-and-spiritual-warfare.aspx?SearchTerm=lutheran%20spirituality

The parade of children wearing bunads and waving Norwegian flags during Syttende Mai.

Happy Syttende Mai to my fellow Norsks!

(Say what?)

Syttende Mai is Norwegian for May Seventeenth, which is the Norwegian Constitution Day.

Remember, if you get any krumkake on your bunad, don’t use the lefse as a napkin.

Uff-da!

This image was selected as a picture of the week on the Malay Wikipedia for the 6th week, 2010. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

READING Victor Hugo’s Les Misérables or any of Charles Dickens’ novels, any intelligent reader cannot help noticing the overwhelming difference between the Paris and the London pictured in them and the Paris and London of today. It is impressive to think of how vastly these cities have improved since these books were published in the 1800s.

Page after page, chapter after chapter, the reader is greeted with scenes he will not normally associate with any ultramodern European metropolis. Paris with its Gothic cathedrals, flower-lined rues, chic museums, bohemian cafés and the iconic Tour Eiffel is a far cry from la cité de Paris that Jean Valjean, Fantine and Cosette called home: bondée, sale, et dangereuse. While London with its impressive theaters, landscaped parks, and the world-famous subway vis-à-vis the urban jungle that Oliver Twist and David Copperfield lived in was altogether an alien place: bordellos were everywhere, beggars commonplace, the Thames stank like the river Styx, and the notorious killer, Jack the Ripper, was on the prowl.

Open the Noli Me Tángere and the El Filibusterismo and say hello to La Vieja Manila, the city Rizal once knew (most likely we will never know again) and loved. In his pen Manila was la perla del mar de Oriente, the envy of all Eastern capitals not excluding imperial Beijing and Victorian Bombay. He described Manila as faithfully and as lovingly as the great Frenchman and the great Englishman described their cities.

Look at Manila now. Go out in the streets. Take an hour’s walk and you will see how enormously everything has changed and—alas!—how much have been lost. What the Second World War failed to annihilate in the way of bombing was accomplished in a few years by overcrowding, unwise policy-making, and sheer neglect.

Nowhere is this change more strongly felt than in Quiapo (if Manila is the capital of the Philippines, then this district is the unofficial capital of the capital), particularly along F. R. Hidalgo Street. A sorry sight today, Hidalgo (facetiously called Piracy Street for apparent reasons, but formerly referred to as Calle San Sebastián after the Recollect church) was once the most fashionable street in all the islands (it rivaled Calle La Escolta in Santa Cruz) nesting some of the finest specimens of Hispano-Filipino architecture. It used to be where the moneyed élite chose to reside. The Paternos, De Guzmans. Limtuacos, Palancas, and Zóbels were but some of the who’s who of the neighborhood. Having one’s address here is the equivalent of having it in Forbes Park and Dasmariñas Village today. But sadly, very little of that past glamour remains, and as I see it, will remain for long if the Mayor’s Office—and us—will persist in not doing anything. Garbage ousted glitz. Pollution dethroned prestige. Wherever you turn, your senses are unjustly barraged by all sorts of pollutants that you ask yourself whether Hidalgo is in Hell or Hell is in Hidalgo.

More than a century after the “Noli” and the “Fili”, the Philippines has undergone tremendous changes but it seems that few or none of these are for the better. We are no better now that we are a free people than under Spain when we were but virtual slaves in our own land. The oppressors are still here. Only they are in different guises and bear different names. But what keen reader cannot fail to recognize the abusive guardia civil in some of our cops? The meddlesome friars in some of our priests? The incompetent gobernadorcillo in most of our politicians? And the corrupt capitán-general in our chief executive? It is interesting to know if these people even had the interest to read Rizal’s books.

If so, that would be a novel thing.

T-Kid started in the 70′s and is a world wide legend in the world of graffiti. He started his legend in the 70′s, rolling with some of the toughest gangs and sneaking into the train yards. His style is from a vast history of the style masters, and remains current. There are many an artist that try to maintain the status that he has and often fail. T-Kid does this effortlessly, and here are some current picts to prove it.

T-Kid is currently the president of TNB (The Nasty Boyz) and ex-president of TVS (The Vamp Squad), one of the most notorious New York graffiti crews. T-KID is still active and his work can be seen in the Bronx as well as around the world. He is also a member of renown MAC crew from Paris. T-Kid was originally asked to be the narrator for the Hip-Hop documentary Style Wars but he declined.

Related articles

• Style Wars / Henry Chalfant bringing back that ol’ New York Rap (streetsaresayingthings.com)
• Street art: Top ten spots to see street art and graffiti in NYC / TimeOut New York (streetsaresayingthings.com)
• Toy Graffiti getting worse in Bronx NYC (streetsaresayingthings.com)
• Martha Cooper in Prague / The Files (streetsaresayingthings.com)

It turns out that the AP is being investigated to discover the source of how the AP found out that the US had “in their control” the bomb made in Yemen?

The answer is, a double agent. That we know. What I did not know until tonight is that the double agent was British.

I find that interesting, because of the previous blog entries I made about the famous WWII double agents, “Garbo” and “ZigZag”

Richard Engle of NBC News is all over the AP case. It is obvious that leaking that information about the Yemen bomb obviously endangered the life of the double agent.

What we do know is that a drone strike killed the maker of the bomb just days after the bomb fell into British hands, and was transferred to a CIA bomb facility in Virginia.

Obviously, getting a double agent into Al-Queda is REALLY tricky business, and being found out would be not instant death, but a slow and lingering death.

I do not know the fate of the British double agent. The NY Times says the double agent was a Saudi spy and he and his family are safe in Saudi Arabia, but the bad news is that even if he escaped he is no longer “operable.”

Pity!

Many WWII British double agents were not unmasked for more than 50 years after they were safe, much as the “Ghost Army” was protected for equally that long after the war was over.

The war against terror may never be over in anyone’s lifetime now alive, so we may not know what actually went on.

We do not have a need to know EVERYTHING.

Not a good week for the administration in the Washington Post.

The president got four Pinocchios in the WaPo Fact Checker for his continuing claim that he called the Benghazi attack an act of terrorism in his first White House announcement; Sen. Barbara Boxer got three Pinocchios for her claim that the Benghazi attack was the result of a penurious Congress; and Attorney General Eric Holder gets two  Pinocchios for his claim that a U.S Attorney made his own decision in an investigate of Holder in a criminal contempt of Congress.

This last item is somewhat complicated, and legal, so if you want to read further: http://www.washingtonpost.com/blogs/fact-checker/post/holders-incorrect-claim-on-the-fast-and-furious-criminal-citation-decision/2013/05/16/d15f26cc-be7a-11e2-97d4-a479289a31f9_blog.html

]]> http://byronjdkerr.wordpress.com/2013/05/18/food-stalls-street-luoyang/ Sat, 18 May 2013 02:18:42 +0000 byronjdkerr http://byronjdkerr.wordpress.com/2013/05/18/food-stalls-street-luoyang/ During my recent trip to Luoyang not only did I get to try Donkey Soup and meet the delightful Soup Communist and his mouth-watering meatballs, right about 6PM one night, the cleverly named North Street shut itself to cars as it sprouted a proliferation of food stalls offering up pretty much everything imaginable. Rather than try to describe all the stalls I spotted, enjoy the pictures. Alas, this is one post that would benefit from having an olfactory option.

Pedestrians shop with their stomachs.

Making my wrap. Scrumptious.

So many skewers.

Barbeque.

For frying. (No clue what the black stuff is).

Seafood skewered and banded.

Seafood grill.

Fresh fruit juice.

Vibrant vegetables.

Snacks of some sort.

Lemonade!

Dessert!

Bon appétit!

There are just too much to blog, and too little time.

Children at XianCao Main School also put on a show for their mom’s.

There’s some wrong with my internet connection, and I cannot upload the YouTube videos.

I will try to upload them later.

However, I have some photos to show you.

Me Posing with kids in custume

grade 1 and 2

The balloon club (kids) made this

Beautifully decorated stage

A Performance Shot

Children’s Art Work

One of the things that I love about this blog is that it’s a blog about humans. Weird humans. Weird humans of New York. He couples the photograph with a caption; a quote from that person, a rehash of something they said, something to aid the photograph.

Now, with these sorts of blogs, where, often, very “strange” people are being placed under a public spotlight (he has over 700,000 followers now), you’d expect to find people (trolls) stirring the pot. You know, poking fun at the “weirdos” of NY, spinning their unenlightened verbal webs, ripping their personal demons out of their own navels and spearing them in the direction of innocent passers by.

Not at HONY though.

Trolls aren’t bad people, just bored people who get a kick out of getting under people’s skin. Ignore them, and let them turn that boredom inward.

HONY is free from this sort of nefarious banter. The majority of commenters sparkle with praise and positivity. I personally have never even seen scathing responses to any of his photos. Granted, I’m sure that there are a few people managing and monitoring the blog, but, as we all know, online comment threads can become mosh pits of slander and malevolence within the drop of a unicorn heel. Meaning, there’s no way anyone (or three) could monitor a popular blog so thoroughly. So what’s their secret?

About a week ago, Brandon made a comment on HONY to all his followers.

“…By negating the insult, you’re only giving it power. If you feel a burning need for vengeance, send a private message with the person’s name, and let us take care of it. Here’s a little secret: HONY has a good culture because MEAN PEOPLE GET BORED. Don’t give the assholes any stimulation by swapping energy with them….”

Isn’t that just a perfect idea to encourage? The truest of truisms.

It’s all too easy to bite into someone’s (a troll’s) game. If a certain someone is figuratively pissing and shitting all over a narrow slice of cyber space, heroes, looking to save the day by pointing out the wrongdoers wrongdoing, are all too common. We’re all (a lot of us are) disgusted or repulsed whenever we see ignorance and blind hate being spread. If someone’s randomly spitting vile words for no “good” reason at another, it’s likely that someone else will mount their high horse, draw a loaded weapon and charge at the “hater” with all their might.

“Ahh, ye heathen. Ye shall be reprimanded for thy unwarranted smite. Be gone, ye stupid one; nay, stay, and I shall school you in the language of intelligence.”

On some level, we know that by doing this, by biting into the hook that trolls cast, we only encourage them. We know that by combating hate with more hate is only bound to produce a compounded, and condensed sort of hate. A miasmic veil of ass-hat-ness leading nowhere. We know that there’s no end-game, we know that our All-Mighty righteousness is about as useful as a laptop to a goat, and yet, when we’ve latched onto the troll’s long troll stick, we’re stuck. Held at the troll’s mercy, trapped in a dome of stale, hate filled air.

And yet, we (many of us and often) still can’t help ourselves. We feed these trolls exactly what they’re looking for, and alas, only aid their cause.

We take the bait, and swim around like fish caught on a hook in an ocean filled with troll-water, flapping and yapping pointlessly.

The best way to deal with Internet (and real life) trolls, is quite simply, to ignore them. To drown their thirst for conflict and bickering in a pool of nothing. To starve them of the food they require to fuel their trolling antics. That which we water shall later grow. Fuck ‘em. Save your water.  Give ‘em nothing. It’s the best way to deal with people merely and purely looking to get a rise out of others with troll-like behaviour: Deal with them by not dealing with them. Which brings me to my next point.

The internal troll.

We’ve all got an internal monologue that incessantly chimes through our brainwaves. It’s the voice of our past. Our own voice; an all-consuming, omnipotent interlocutor. Buddhists roughly call this voice the ego. There are all sorts of names for it.

This is my own troll. I call him nakie. He wants me to live the life of a homeless hippie. Sometimes he makes me real sad.

I call it my own, personal troll.

My personal delusion; my work of fiction. An entity that’s not actually “mine,” per se, but rather, a part of me. A reflection of a certain element of my cognition, the sediment sunken to the bottom of my mind, all the way through to my heart, that is largely useless. Gratuitous. Fortuitous. And usually harmful.

This is the primary troll that we should all remain vigilant for. He or she is the hardest troll to identify, because he or she lives in the deepest furrows of our mind’s filtering lens. He or she has no real purpose, aside from making the task of living our lives that little bit more difficult.

This troll is a fantastical illusion. Although he or she feels real, and most definitely is real for the person harbouring it, its existence is predicated on a false reality – it is bound and created by our own unique perception. And so in this sense, and from this perspective, it’s unreal. Trickery. Hullabaloo. Tomfoolery. But still, it’s fucking nuisance.

If we can starve our own trolls, then maybe we’d better at starving the trolls of others. Maybe, the real and only troll we need to “care about” is the one living within? Just. Maybe.

Humans-are-bored-creatures. This boredom can lead to trolling behaviour. (How the fuck do people even get bored in such a rich world?)

For real.

The idea is that at around 10 a.m. parents take their kids to—as you might expect from the name of this holiday—their local park. And then they leave them there.

Not if the kids are babies, of course. Not even if they’re toddlers. But if they’re at least seven or eight years old, why NOT leave them there with the other kids gathering? It could be their first chance to finally do that thing we did as kids without thinking twice: Play.

And by “play” I mean: Stand around, get bored, wonder what to do, wish there was an Xbox around, feel hungry, feel a little too hot or cold, feel mad at mom for not organizing something “really” fun, like a trip to Chuck E. Cheese, feel bad all around, realize the other kids are feeling bad too, and then—in desperation—do something.

via Leave your kids at the park day: Why letting kids play on their own is a good idea..

Intense advertising in Akihabara!

After exploring the main streets and entering a few more figure and games shops, we decided to dig a bit deeper and search for a store that I’ve wanted to visit since I was a child: The Tales of Store, a homage to my favorite videogame series.  It was on the 2nd floor of a shop called Kotobukiya and there I dropped over $200 on specialized merchandise.  I picked up a towel, hair tie, and alarm clock of my favorite character Leon Magnus from Tales of Destiny, and also a T-shirt and necklaces from the latest title, Tales of Xillia.  I also picked up a NERV T-shirt from Evangelion, a Spookies mug from SMT: Soul Hackers, a Saber Lily keychain from Fate/Stay Night, and a Haro and Zaku model for a friend.  It’s safe to say that I spent my worth in Akihabara!!  And this is only our first time here!

My wallet took a critical hit! But it was well worth it!

The thing I like about shopping in Tokyo and Japan in general is that everything is conveniently located nearby at a walkable distance. I enjoy shopping at tiny specialized shops instead of huge general malls like in America.  Our shopping experience tonight was truly unforgettable, I loved being able to see so many things that are relevant to my interests.  My friends and I got some amazing deals on figures and will definitely come back here to hit up some more shops!

As I’ve written before, intrinsic human value has to be taught. A society’s view of the human person and its value will affect what that society views as being moral: We are just animals. Imperfect animals aren’t worth the trouble. Therefore, there’s a case to be made for killing them rather than caring for them. That conclusion reasonably follows from the non-Christian premise. As Christianity fades in influence and a different view of the human person gains acceptance, don’t expect that our society will continue to recognize that conclusion to be immoral. At that point, people will still consider themselves to be perfectly moral…but only because they’re judging themselves by a different standard of morality.

It’s difficult for us to recognize the depth our depravity when “everyone else is doing it.” Ask Gosnell’s nurses.

Amy Hall in “Will Right And Wrong Always Be Obvious“? via Wintery Knight. He elaborates with an example of the life of a newly-conceived child, the result of a fling, hangs in the balance:

This new person is weaker than either of her two parents. And her life imposes certain obligations on them. She needs food, and safety, and care. Like a baby bird who has fallen out of her tree. But when there is no God, there is no purpose to putting your needs second, and someone else’s first.

…For the strong to refrain from killing the weak when the weak impose obligations on them, there has to be a design for human nature that makes moral obligations and selflessness rational, instead of merely pleasurable. Because we all know that being saddled with a newborn baby is not fun. There has to be something more going on than the pursuit of pleasure if the baby is going to live.

There’s a fair chance the couple in question doesn’t want to marry anyhow, much less raise a child together, for reasons Knight notes in his post.

When God is removed, the concept of morality is loose in the wind, and is subject to the new highest power: Self. Considering we are corrupted, evilly-natured creatures, a world in which Self is the highest power will be horrifyingly callous and ugly.

Distressingly, it seems we are most of the way there already.

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