The floods have lifted up their voice; the floods lift their waves. Psalm 93:3

Trouble comes our way, according Psalm 93, in relentless waves that surge and pound against our souls and break upon them with furious force. “The floods have lifted up, O Lord, the floods have lifted up their voice,” and they are deafening (verse 3).

Yet above the temptest we hear the psalmist’s refrain: “The Lord on high is mightier than the noise of many waters, than the mighty waves of the sea” (verse 4).

Indeed, “the Lord reigns”! He is clothes with majesty and strength. He sits as King, exalted higher than the waves that rise above us, deeper than their immeasurable depths, greater than their strongest surge. The storm is in His all-powerful hands: “The world is established, so that it cannot be moved,” for His rule over it was established long ago (verse 1). He rules the raging of the sea; the “wind and the sea obey Him” (Mark 4:37-41). He speaks and they are still.

The storm will not last forever. Yet, while it rages, you can cling to the Lord’s promises of love and faithfulness, for His “testimonies are very sure” (Psalm 93:5). Waves of trouble and grief may sweep over you, but you will not be swept away. He “is able to keep you from stumbling” (Jude 24). Our Father in heaven is holding your hand. —david roper

When overwhelmed with problems, when weak or tired or ill, when storms are fierce and raging just hear His “Peace, be still.” —jarvis

When adversity is ready to strike us, then God is most ready to strengthen us.

Summary:

Nothing original, and nothing we haven’t seen before in the “Fast and the Furious” series.

Review:

The film brings back the two main stars of the first film, Paul Walker (marginal actor) and Vin Diesel (bald marginal actor).  The two actors then run around flip-flopping between good and bad, racing cars, getting in fights, and yelling cliche one-liners.  In all actuality, there is nothing original about this movie.  It’s as if writers were told you could only use bits and pieces from the previous three films.  Teams of drivers using modded street racing cars who normally hijack goods on the highway (“The Fast & the Furious”), must prove their driving skills to a drug dealer for the right to help transport illegal goods (“2 Fast 2 Furious”), which culminates in a final showdown of driving wits (“The Fast and the Furious: Tokyo Drift”).

Quick question: how come criminals in this series continue to rely on extremely rare, bright, flashy, easy to spot cars for pulling off crimes?  This is Similar to why no one seemed to catch on that Tom Selleck drove around in a Ferrari on Magnum PI.  Cool?  Yes.  Practical?  Not at all.

Anyways, there were two slight moments of originality in the movie though.  The first came during a scene where they were attempting to cross the US-Mexican border, coordinated against the security of satellites, camera sweeps and border patrols.  However, once they entered the secret tunnel this scene was killed by extremely cheesy CGI.  It immediately reminded me of those lame 3D ride you see at malls, where all it does is tilt you back and forth, and the video is crappy computer graphics as you travel through a giant cave on a mine cart.  Later in the movie they reuse this scene, so in fact not only does the director steal from all the previous movies, he also steals scenes directly from the same movie.  The second slightly original sequence is towards the end, when they attempt to break Toretto (Vin Diesel) out of the prison bus.  This too is cut short as they immediately cut to the credits as soon as they catch up to the bus.

It would appear there isn’t much juice left in the Fast/Furious franchise.  However, the films continue to make money, this film being the most successful overall at the box office so far.  I honestly enjoyed the first movie, and would like to see the series survive.  To do this however, they’re going to have to bring in some new writer/director who has never seen the series before.

If you’re looking for an adrenaline fueld car racing flick, go check out Ronin or Bullitt instead.

Rating:        2/5

See Also:

Ronin (1998)
Bullitt (1968)

Links:

IMDB.com
Box Office Mojo
Wikipedia
Rotten Tomatoes

Heather Ellis racially motivated over-prosecution in Dixie

http://www.theheatherelliscase.com/

Another year in America, and another slew of racially motivated, manipulated and biased application of the laws.Why am I not surprised that a small southern town in the South could over prosecute a crime that generally only garners a slap on the wrist, and a stern talking to.

Our ugly American tradition of prosecuting black people at a level that is akin to def-con 4, for minor offenses that statistically only net a very minor and negligible fine, has got to either stop, or be exposed to the world as a crime against humanity.

If it is proven to be the case in any prosecution, especially this one, then we as people should demand that it is stopped now.

If not now…when.

This latest case of unfair prosecution would be laughable if it were not actually happening.

The AP is reporting that nearly three years after Heather Ellis switched checkout lines at a southeast Missouri store and touched off what she calls a racially charged dispute with white customers and authorities, the young black schoolteacher faces a trial that could send her to prison for 15 years.

15 years for cutting in line is as ridiculous as it is over-reaching.This is what happens to black women and men in the south as a tradition.If you go there, all the southern states, state flags are just a slightly altered versions of the racist Confederate flag, because they still admire and aspire to be just like their Civil war ancestors.

The KKK has joined forces with the local police department in the small southern country town,Kennett,Missouri-which is about a two-hour drive from Memphis,Tennessee, by inserting racism  in to the story when Ellis was handed KKK cards from a Kennett police officer warning her about her actions.

 The cards from the kkkowardly kkkops stated, “You’ve just been paid a social visit by the Ku Klux Klan; the next visit will not be social.” The officer claims that he only showed the family the cards to make them aware of the situation.

Since that time, and after a dramatic plea for support, people have come to help Heather.

My question is…what is the situation that they are alluding too?…and what are the police doing promoting the Ku Klux Klan? This is a rhetorical question, as I know the answer, which is that southern cops, like a lot of police officers here in America, prefer to kill, destroy and abuse black people, since they no longer have the right to do so, ever since President Lincoln beat their weak Confederation of rebel states, and freed the slaves.

In the 60’s the government stepped in and ended the institutionalized segregation, that was much harsher than Apartheid, but similar, known as the Jim Crow laws, which was in fact, a de facto system of slavery and segregation that caused a lot of our black American citizens to be viciously murdered by mobs of white Klan members and their supporters down south, without the fear of legal retaliation, or prosecution of any kind.

The Jim Crow laws were enforced by the police departments, and the local fathers, in these small country towns, up until the time of John F. Kennedywrote the Civil Rights Bills, and signed by President Lyndon B. Johnson, who grew up in a small southern town in Texas, and was well versed on the murderous contempt that the local police always hold for black perpetrators who were always falsely accused of a crime they did not commit.

We all must remember that only a mere 35 years ago, a black man could be legally hanged from a tree until he/she was dead, for simply looking a white man or woman in the eyes. The law was called malicious eyeballing, and was the main reason why the white politicians from the southern states wanted to maintain states rights.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jim_Crow_laws

Simply put, they did not want the federal government preventing them from killing and unfairly incarcerating our people with unreasonable jail sentences for minor offenses like what they are attempting to do in this case with Heather.

The Academy Award winning movie ”Sounder” was about such a case of over prosecution.

It follows the lives of an impoverished southern black family that made a living by sharecropping, which was just an extension of slavery,but was patterned after indentured servitude in the Jim Crow south.

The premise of the story shows what happens to a black family down south in Louisiana,when the father is imprisoned for stealing pig meat and chicken out of hunger and desperation, the boy still hungers for an education which was illegal to get if you happened to be black.

Any black man who let it be found out that he/she could read and write, were summarily executed by a white mob of killers.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sounder

It is still their main goal, but they are willing to infiltrate the police departments and the judicial system down south, as they have done there for centuries.

The facts in the case are in dispute.Prosecutors say Heather cut in line, and then when called out for it, she caused a major disturbance at the store.The police say that words were exchanged between Heather and the customer she allegedly cut in front of, and that groceries were pushed to the side.

No fighting occurred as reported, and Heather paid and proceeded to leave. In Los Angeles a similar exchange that did have a physical element to it led to the death of Latasha Harlins, before the officers arrived, so Ellis was wise to leave the store at this point.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Latasha_Harlins

When the police showed up, they took only the words of the white patron and store employee, and started to question and detain Heather.

She was upset at this time, and answered the cops with a retort that they did not like, but they have not reported that she verbalized a terrorist threat at all. What I do know of cops, is that they like to put black people back in our places, as we all witnessed via the Rodney King beating video.

Basically, they did not like what she said or did, and given that their grandfathers would have just strung her up to a tree, they could not let it go with a simple disturbing the peace ticket.

Nathaniel Ellis, Heather’s father, says that’s not true, and that his daughter was the one called racial slurs by a store clerk and officers, which seems more believable than a black women down south, and from the south, would do, rather than risk getting murdered by a racist cop.

It is a good story, since most people down south that are not black, are predisposed to believe the most racist and vile stereotypes of our people that they have created without any basis in the truth.

“They just indict her and launch an all-out attack to destroy her character and assassinate her future” says Ellis. “This is her choice, not to admit fault in an area where she hasn’t done anything and so we’re standing by her.

Ellis maintains she was merely joining her cousin, whose checkout line was moving more quickly. She claimed in a written complaint to the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People that she was then pushed by a white customer, hassled by store employees, called racial slurs and physically mistreated by Kennett police officers.

Police say in court documents that Ellis refused requests to calm down and leave the property, allegedly kicking one’s shin and splitting another’s lip. Her trial on charges of assaulting police officers, resisting arrest and disturbing the peace began today, Wednesday in Dunklin County Circuit Court.

Hundreds of protestors showed up and held a rally at the courthouse that was answered by a Klan rally.

“There’s nothing that I could imagine that could’ve happened in the walls of that Wal-Mart that justifies this young woman, this Pastor’s daughter with no criminal record and on her way to medical school, going to prison for 15 minutes, let alone 15 years” says Dr. Boyce Watkins, a Professor at Syracuse University in the North.

Ellis’ family says they have been threatened by the Ku Klux Klan since speaking publicly about Heather’s case. They’ve asked the U.S. Department of Justice to get involved.

Again, I am not surprised that a black woman down south is being subjected to this malicious prosecution, but is a good example of the level of hatred that many of our white citizens and leaders have for African-Americans.

In this case, the KKK along with the judicial system in that small Missouri town are once again using the criminal justice system as a way to rid themselves of what they perceive to be the continuing problem brought on by the freeing of the black slave system that they financially benefitted from for so many years.

Do not let them get away with it, and step up to free Heather and protect our beautiful African-American queens, or we should be ashamed to call ourselves men. To help her out,click the link… http://www.theheatherelliscase.com/

To read more on this case , click on the links below…

http://www.myeyewitnessnews.com/mostpopular/story/Memphians-Rally-for-Woman-Facing-Prison-Time-for-C/1E01qxzIJEK6NMaTMvqM1A.cspx

http://abcnews.go.com/WN/woman-cut-line-walmart-prison/story?id=9107365

I am tired.  I have been tired since the damn time change…it affects me every year, and I don’t remember the spring one doing that.  I can’t blame my fatigue on DST completely, though.  It’s likely that another major factor in my feeling constantly worn-out is my overactive brain. 

Life is complicated.  It took me a while to figure that out, because even as a young adult, I didn’t have a lot of the responsibilities and problems that others my age did.  As I finally stepped over the threshold of adulthood, however, I quickly found out that even for a single, unmarried person with little personal property and only himself to worry about, existence on this plane is intricate indeed.  When I moved into a place of my own, this was brought home to me even more.  Every grocery item bought, every roll of toilet paper replaced, every end table dusted…every bill paid…it was all on me to do it, or it didn’t get done.

Add to all that minutia my own personal obsessive compulsiveness, my constant preoccupation with making sure, every moment, that my life is up-to-date in ALL departments and that not one solitary moment of my time is wasted–read “unscheduled”–and you have a recipe for serious mental exhaustion.

Add to all this my passion for art projects and creative writing, and my constant desire to make something of myself through them…as well as my burning, uncompromising perfectionism regarding every aspect of these works…and you have a nervous breakdown waiting to happen.

Thinking too much can be non-productive at best.  At worst, it can land a person in the rubber room.  When, as a human being, knowing little of where I came from and nothing at all of where I’m going, except through speculation, I try to balance my faith and spirituality issues with the headaches and miseries of living day-to-day, I am sometimes taken aback by how close to the edge I am. 

One of my gifts this Christmas, I’ve already been told, will be a membership to a yoga class.  I’ve read and heard of how helpful yoga can be for centering the mind and relaxing the body, relieving both mental and physical stress. Maybe that’s a step in the right direction. 

You know, I don’t think anyone sets out to be a worrier.  I am genetically predisposed to it, but I don’t want to live the way I’m living.  Yet, financial struggles, emotional disturbances, fears grounded in what I hear and read on the news every day…they keep adding up and I can’t ignore them the way some people can.  The best I can do is focus on my creative work, because that gives me fulfillment and peace the way nothing else does.

This is yet another reason why relationships are so desirable, I suppose.  When you’ve got someone to lean on during life’s hardships, that can make a tremendous difference.  I don’t have that someone, so I have to lean on myself…for as long as I can.

All the Chias I know are out to rile me up today or something.

Twin White supremacist from Illinois mailed a bomb to an Arizona official responsible for recruiting and hiring minorities in the town of Scottsdale,Arizona, according to federal prosecutor.

In indictment unsealed in July, Dennis and Daniel Mahon were charged with conspiring to blow up buildings and property in an attempt to ”promote racial discord” on behalf of the White Aryan Resistance known as WAR.

WAR is a white supremacist organization founded by Tom Metzger more than a quarter century ago. I guess I can not join…

Metzger is well-known in Southern California as having been a leading member of the KKK, along with his son. He used to reside in Fallbrook,California,where he and his kind were welcomed into the community with open arms.

This quote is from Wikipedia…. During the 1970s he joined the Knights of the Ku Klux Klan, which was led by David Duke, eventually becoming the Grand Dragon for the State of California. In summer 1979, he organized a patrol to capture illegal Mexican immigrants south of Fallbrook, California. Metzger’s Klan organization also had a security force which was involved in confrontations with anti-Klan protesters….

Metzger hosts a weekly radio talk show called Insurgent Radio, on the Internet-based Turner Radio Network (not affiliated with the Turner Broadcasting System).

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tom_Metzger

During the investigation  federal agents also raided the Indiana home of the longtime white separatist Tom Metzger, removing computers and other items, but not arresting him.

On Feb.26,2004, the package exploded in the hands of Don Logan at the Human Resources Complex in Scottsdale.In addition to injuring Logan’s hand and arm,a secretary was wounded.

When police arrived at the home of the suspects ,they found assault weapons, hundreds of rounds of ammunition and White supremacist material, authorities said.

MSNBC reports that…the indictment says the brothers conspired to build and deliver the bomb to the diversity office, taught others how to build a package containing a pipe bomb, and sent training materials on the production and use of explosives, techniques to avoid detection by law enforcement, and methods to commit domestic terrorism.

The indictment also says Dennis Mahon participated in the construction of the bomb, disguising it in a cardboard box that was delivered to the diversity office and exploded in Logan’s hands.

Here is a link to the full indictment received on July 16,2009…

http://www.splcenter.org/blog/wp-content/uploads/2009/06/indictment.pdf

This is  the mission statement from the Scottsdale,Arizona office of diversity….Diversity and Dialogue develops and sponsors trainings, services, programs, and events that create work and community environments where differences are valued, respected, and embraced.  This is achieved through a diversity initiative that addresses education, employee relationships, recruitment, hiring, procurement, community outreach, and deliberative dialogue.

The Office of Diversity & Dialogue serves as a central point of contact for citizens and employees to address diversity matters. The objective is to ensure that there is objectivity in reviewing and evaluating these concerns.

http://www.scottsdaleaz.gov/HR/diversity.asp

The KKK, skinheads,neo Nazis and Neocon Republicans are disgusted by diversity and freedom for all the races,and they are not interested in intellectual dialogue about it.The opposite is true for them.

Their goal is to create hatred between the races,and they prey on the weak-minded fools that follow them and carry out the actions that their leaders only speak about. Their ignorance is blind,and their actions are even more shortsighted.

That is how they abuse their freedom of speech, but are immune to any form of prosecution unless law enforcement can directly connect them to providing some sort of aid or assistance in their terrorist acts.

Their White Power movement is our number one threat domestically here in the United States.

During the Persian Gulf War in 1991,Dennis  Mahon organized a small rally in Tulsa in support of our enemy Saddam Hussein.

“Terrorism works,” he added.

 “We did a lot of terrorism in Tulsa in the 1980s. We put heads in the road, and people paid attention. You have to give it to the Iraqis, they’re putting us to shame right now. I mean, I hate those cock-sucking towel heads, but they’re showing us how it’s done.”

Dennis Mahon also talked about destroying the nation’s capital. “You nuke D.C., you’re going to wipe out most of the politicians, plus a couple million crack head niggers,” he said.

The quotes above are just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to these two social miscreants. They hate just to hate.

They obviously hate themselves.

For more details of the bigot boys, click on the source here…

http://www.splcenter.org/blog/2009/06/26/feds-indict-white-supremacists-in-arizona-bombing/#more-3221

Please report all suspicions you may have if you suspect someone of plotting domestic terrorism.Call your local authorities, and get them off of the street.This past weeks tragedy at Fort Hood and the rampage in Florida illustrates to our citizens that some of the worst among us, will turn their weapons on US, in an attempt to destroy our union here in the states, and we should not tolerate such actions, or plans for such actions, for not even a moment.

Beware of anyone, especially those on fake news channels or talk radio programs that step over the boundaries of free speech, into sedition followed by a treasonist acts. 

 These people and announcers are all involved in a conspiracy to topple the great United States of America, and their goal is to destroy us from within. If it discovered that the immigrant Rupert Murdoch is at the head of the sponsorship of any form of domestic terrorism, then I call for his assets to be frozen, and for him to be deported, if not detained in Guantanamo Bay as an active terrorist.

If they close that facility, then just deport him, after he gives up the list of names of the rest of his cohorts involved in the conspiracy against American freedom.

These twin terrorist are just at the tip of the iceberg.

Rush Limbaugh and Glen Beck know who their audience is, and two of their followers,the Mahon twins, have been caught in this sweep by the protectors of our freedom. I suggest that all involved in the conspiracy need to be incarcerated along with the twin terrorist.

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/31555311

My dears, remember the TMS motto? Apparently that was partly why Tyler decided to ‘intervene’. And I thank God that he did. Suddenly there is this dawning that everything is just a façade, just like Coraline. Speaking of which, Coraline in 3D was pretty awesome, but it’s a really dark cartoon and there were parts I actually got scared. The little girl beside me refused to look at the screen and kept telling her dad “I don’t want to see.” Especially when the Other Mother revealed her true self and stuck her hideous face into my terrified 3D-bespectacled eyes. I think I recoiled in my seat. I remember reading in the papers that Coraline is a visual feast. It is; and then there are the parts where it feels like the entire horror of the show is coming out to grab you by the neck. And this is only animation leh. Imagine The Ring in 3D; the part where the spook crawls out of the TV, I sure heart failure one.

Anyway, back to the point. There is only one beautiful reality and it’s flying back soon. Now after TMH’s initial tear down of the smoke and mirrors, plus Tyler’s intervention, the fat lady has sung, and now the house lights are on, the stage is clear, and I wonder, as people always do after revelations; what the hell was I thinking?

I have alot more to write about to SX now. How quick things change around here.

Title; Taken from Britney Spears song, 3. Note, freaking love that song.

I am currently trying hard to keep myself from crying. I am pretty sure that I am going to cry myself to sleep tonight. Not that it’s unusual for me, I’m a crybaby. But tonight, so many things are bugging me and I seriously feel like crying. Apart from that, my PMS is also worsening my case and I am now just feeling a whole lot crappier than before.

I tried taking my mind off the issues I’m having by studying, listening to super loud music, swimming, eating, none of it worked. Swimming did. But only for a few minutes and after that, my mind wandered back to everything, every single thing that is bugging me.

• My family problems, as someone kindly referred to it as shitty. Thank you someone.
• My finals. I haven’t been studying enough and that’s the truth.
• My pessimistic friends. Some of them. Not going to mention their names here.
• My heartless brother.
• Being left alone at home later.
• The someone that is supposed to be there for me all the time, vanished. Not being there for me all the time, after all.
• Not having anyone to listen. Listen to my stupid complaints.

All I need is someone to listen. Is that too much to be asked for? I know that no one would like to listen to other people’s SHITTY problems, but sometimes, someone needs to talk and the other needs to listen no matter how shitty or crappy or depressing the problem may be.

I KNOW everyone else has problems too. Big big problems. My problems are nothing compared to theirs. But it doesn’t mean it’s not important. It doesn’t mean that my problems can just be washed away, just like that. No.

All this time, I always try to be there for you. I am still trying. And I think I will keep trying in the future. But when the time comes, and when I need you, you are not there. You say my problems are shitty. You say they are small. You say that I am nagging about non-important stuffs. You say that I am not thinking about others. You say I am self-centered.

But, I am just another vulnerable human being. I can break down. I can cry. I can be hurt. And all this while, I waited for you to listen for just once, for just ONE FREAKING TIME, and you have never done that, you know? NEVER. No no. You did. Yes. I won’t forget. But you have never told me that everything is going to be fine, that I need to stay strong, think straight and that everything will be okay. Instead, you tell me that things are going to get worse. You say things that I know, myself, are not going to happen. Just to make me feel a whole lot worse.

When. And what would it take for you to just listen and tell me that everything’s going to be alright?

When? What do I have to do?

Listen even if it’s not important.

Listen even if you are not bothered by it.

Listen even if you don’t care.

Listen even if it’s not fixable.

Listen even if it’s shitty.

Listen because you, doing that, will be highly appreciated by the one who is talking to you.

Just listen and say it’s going to be alright. Otherwise, just shut your fucking mouth up. No one needs someone to tell them that things are going to be worse.

I hate you right now. I hate you for leaving me alone. I hate you for not making the effort to comfort me. I hate you. I hate you. And I hate the way you’re not there for me.

xoxo (yea right), Fanah.

I’m not going to password protect this post. So, if the person who started all this reads it, so be it. In other words, Amen.

Screw you. (Actually I would’ve preferred the more famous French term, but you know, you’re holy and I might outrage your saintly sensitivities.)

I refuse to live a double life, and be a hypocrite. Please don’t go all holy-moly and act religious, and make me out to be some deviant just because (gasp!) I gave the fingers on video, and didn’t bother to make it private because I sure didn’t know I had such constipated people on my list.

For those completely lost and clueless, I just got called into Pastor’s office because apparently a video of me unleashing two of my most offensive digits up on FB is causing quite abit of outrage as people (members of course) are asking other people to see it, and the feedback coming in ranges from “This is very inappropriate.” to “She should be sacked, she represents the church, how can like that?”

Omg, I am poster girl for the church? How come I didn’t know? Where are my royalties?

So Pastor was told to confront me. And he did. I threw a fit in his office. Okay I didn’t. I was calm first, and all I said was, “虚伪. 叫他们不要 act 一个样 leh. They so perfect meh? All of them also damn messed up one.” And then we talked abit more about it whereby Pastor says even though it’s personal I shouldn’t allow myself to be judged by putting something up like that etc etc. I was like half-agreeing half-rebutting, because yes, maybe it’s offensive, but no, I don’t see why I can’t put it up, especially when I did so… My mind was as far away from church as it possibly can get. Which is sibeh far. AND THEN, I threw the fit.

So, to the numbskull who spread the video around and baotoh-ed me:

1. Don’t act like your own life is sinless lor. If you’re not messed up, at least one of your kids are. Ah ah ah, don’t pretend now. I confirm hear more things than you do.
2. We’re all works in progress. I have never claimed to be nice, sweet and innocent (okay, who am I kidding, I’ve said that at least a thousand times but if you don’t understand sarcasm when you see it, take a few lessons, or take a hike!) and if I don’t live up to your holy-moly expectations, then too bad la. I’m not your daughter what, you scared what?
3. Thanks for circulating the video, that was a really Christ-like move. Instead of coming to tell me privately to take it down, you tell at least one other person, who tells at least one other person. Say isn’t that how Susan Boyle got famous? Dyamn, why Facebook? I should’ve had it up on Youtube instead.
4. Just because you can keep your filthy personal deeds under wraps, doesn’t mean I have to. Why should I live a double life? I am who I am, and if you can’t accept that… You are the very kind of Hallelujah-church-goer who claims they will never discriminate but lets go just that second quicker when they shake the ex-convict’s hand, looks upon inked skin with repulse, and thinks that two middle fingers warrants a sacking. It’s people like you who make me wonder where’s the Grace they preach about at Sunday Service. It’s the people like you who make me not want to identify myself as Christian. And it’s people like you who make me wanna do worse things in defiance, but I stop only because, contrary to popular belief, I actually do love God. Not in your holy moly way, of course, in my deviant, crazy, illogical way. Much more similar to the people in the Bible than you lor.

Leave me alone. Wtf. Only people on my friends list could see the video. And do you think ANY of them cares that I work in a church but make obscene signs? Sheesh! No, only you, with your image conscious insecurity.

Whoever you are, please keep your identity a secret, because if I find out you are someone I look up to, it would be tragic that I would have to become just that bit more jaded than I already am.

Now fuck off.

Oops. I said it.

DING-DONG, THE SUMMER’S DEAD!!!

I FEEL THOSE BLUES RUNNIN’ OUTTA MY HEAD!!!

DING-DONG, THE FUCKING SUMMER’S DEAD!!!!

I love the fall.  I love everything about it.  I love the change in the color of the leaves, like everyone else, but I also love the dead plants, the barren trees, the gray skies…the kids getting on the bus each morning to school…ha, ha, ha, you little bastards…thought you had it made last June, didn’t ya?  Well, guess what?  Now you’re just one year closer to becoming an adult…at which time your life will begin to SUCK AS MUCH AS MINE!!!!

I love the beaches closing…the amusement parks shutting down…the crisp, cool temperatures which drive people into sensible clothing that they look better in anyway…except for hot young men.  They’re about the only things I miss about summer…seeing them in their shorts and tank tops, or, better yet, shirtless.

Everyone seems to get so depressed at the coming of the winter season, but not me, baby.  Come mid-September, a gleam starts to show in my eyes and I rub my hands together joyfully at the thought of yet another summer…the season of the Beautiful People…in ashes.  Now we’re all on the same level.  Now all those gorgeous, hot, fun preppy types are as miserable as I am…and I’m HAPPY about it!!!!  HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Fall kicks my creativity into gear.  It improves my mood.  (We’ve already covered that.)  As soon as I feel that nip in the air and the sun begins to recede behind the gray clouds, the air conditioning is turned off, the furnace is turned on and the teakettle boils.  Time to hibernate.  Time to barricade myself inside for my long winter’s nap.  No more late nights.  No more socializing, with very few exceptions.  No more silly cookouts, where I have to sit roasting in the heat and waving off the damn flies and mosquitoes.  I hardly ever even do any acting in the cold season.  Nope.  If you want to venture out in the freezing winds and snow and sleet to rehearse in a chilly theatre for some show no one’s going to show up to watch anyway, more power to ya.  I’ll be thinking of you as I curl up in my recliner under a quilt, with a mug of hot tea in one hand and the TV remote in the other, one dog on my lap and the other at my feet.

Fall and winter are really the seasons when I get the most accomplished as far as my writing and hobbies are concerned, because I don’t have anyone nagging at me to come out and play.  I often think I could live out the rest of my life happily, staying at home, working on my books and projects, never really going anywhere of note.  As I grow older, I find myself losing my appetite for travel, for hustle and bustle, for interaction of any kind.  I’m getting to be an old recluse, a wolf in his cave, and that’s the way I want it.  No other approach to life really works for me, and fall is the perfect time to implement it.

A couple of entries back, I wrote about how shitty summer makes me feel.  So you can imagine how good I feel by comparison when that miserable, sluggish, boring, depressing season ends and gives way to the comforting euphoria of fall, of the winter holidays (not that I’m all that big on Christmas)…of pumpkins…corn shocks…witches and black cats…pilgrims.  I would love to simply drop summer out of the year completely and jump from a quick spring to a long, long autumn.

It’s always been this way for me, too, as I remember.  Ever since I was a little kid, fall was my time of year.  Maybe it’s because I was born in September.  Maybe it’s because I’m a morbid S.O.B. who hates lightheartedness and sunshine.  I don’t know.  What I do know is that I greet the coming of the Season of Death as I would greet the arrival of an old, beloved friend.  I understand and appreciate it as not many seem to, and vice-versa.  In the fall, I tend to have better luck in my endeavors–all of them–than during the warmer months. 

And, I suppose, this explains why the advent of the autumn season ignites in me a desire to live a little longer…even if it’s just to see one more.

Ever since I was seventeen I have seen a man’s face in my head. Sometimes his body type changes, sometimes he is pale, sometimes he is dark, but his face has always been the same. He became a common partner in my fantasies. I felt so strongly connected to this man that I wondered who he was.

Is he someone I’ll meet? Will he be a friend, a teacher, a brother, a partner? Do I have to find him, or will he find me? Where is he? Why do I keep seeing him, am I obsessed with this facial structure, what if I judge other men’s beauty by him, a figment of dubious origin and purpose? Where is he and why can’t I find him?

Until one day, in the middle of a lecture on permaculture of all things, I realized that maybe he was me.

And in its way, it made so much sense. Past the initial confusion of ancient lunch-ladies calling me ‘young man’ the first time I cut my hair short, I’ve always enjoyed being mistaken for a man, even flattered. I always put it down to the general feeling that the global superpower’s gender roles were extremely silly. And it would explain how compelling I found characters who regularly alternated between the binary sexes and genders when I was an adolescent. Hell, I wrote stories about it. More recently I felt intensely fascinated watching a movie with my mentor about sex-gender switching people (but I also just wanted to have sex with them).

It is bizarre for me how new things keep popping up when I set out to explore my dominant, sadistic sexuality. It’s kind of like, “Again? Really? How could something else possibly be coming up?” Look at paragraphs twelve through fourteen of this post. That is obliviousness.

This blog began with that I’m dominant. I could finally admit that. And then that I’m a sadist. It was okay to say that too. Okay, then it became apparent I’m not straight. Oh, and by the way there is a man lurking in my head and he is me. What is this, fucking dominoes? Tip over one and eventually the rest will all fall down? I cannot even comprehend the artistry and subtlety of my self-repression to have so blithely hidden this all from myself for two decades. And I am in awe (terrified awe) of the social system that could have made it seem like a good idea to do so.

I’m don’t feel trans, -sexual or -gendered, I don’t feel queer, I don’t feel androgynous, I don’t feel Two Spirit. Those are not mine to take. I am a woman, and a man, and I feel like I have no right to say any of this. I’ve never had to live with transphobia or gender dysphoria. I don’t feel like I’m in the wrong body, I don’t feel like I’m not a woman. But I am feeling somehow fake. I have lived in straight, cisgendered privilege my entire life, and up pops another gender, demanding his life back.

I cannot even entirely think of this man as myself. He is like a separate person living in my body, with his own personality, experiences, memories. Or lack thereof, because he didn’t get to live like the girl and woman did. I think that can be a blessing. I had to grow up as a girl and a woman in this culture, and that has left its mark. The man never had to grow up in this culture as a boy and a man, which in a way, leaves him freer. On the other hand he took the brunt of much of my self-loathing. But he has so few memories. His mind is blank, and he does not yet know who he is. <– See use of third person. That is almost the only way I can relate to him right now and not feel odd.

I don’t know how to explore this. I don’t know how to manifest this, and I don’t know how to present as a man. As I wrote before, I have a hard time understanding adornment conveying information. I don’t find skirts feminine. I don’t find short hair masculine. I wear many more skirt-like pieces of cloth now than I do pants-like pieces of cloth, and my hair is considered short. I have no desire to subject myself to the discomfort of pants to fit common perceptions of masculinity. I really loathe pants.

I’ve been doing small things among the people I live with specifically reserved for male men, which has caused minor confusion. Also debates with eight-year-olds. Yesterday I brought up gender as a dinner topic, and once the discussion finally got revved up and the silence abandoned, it was a great conversation. But somehow today I just feel weird and confused, and less centered about my experience than I had been.

Hell, I still haven’t figured out how to present as a dominant woman, much less anything else.

What a muddy, mucky, confusing, beautifully diverse world.

Pag nag bA-byahe talaga ako, mas marami akong naiisip. Marahil, dahil marami akong nakikita. Na hindi ko lang pinapansin. Ang dami kong napupuna.

Katulad na lang ng “BAKIT KAILANGAN LAGYAN NG BILOG NA PADER SA PALIGID NG MGA PUNO SA GILID NG DAAN SA MAY Q.C., ALONG LUNG CENTER, Q.C. HALL, HEART CENTER, EAST AVE, BANKO SENTRAL NG PILIPINAS, SSS AT CENSUS? BAKIT? BAKIT? ANO NAMAN ANG MABUTING MAIDUDULOT NITO SA MGA MOTORISTA? BUKOD SA KAAYA AYA ITO SA MATA? MASA-SAVE BA NITO ANG MGA PUNO SA MALAKAS NA HANGIN PAG MAY BAGYO? HINDI NA BA ITO MATUTUMBA PAG NA HIT AND RUN NG SASAKYAN? GINAGAWAN DIN NG DRAINAGE ANG GILID NG DAAN. PARA HINDI MAPANSIN ANG PAGLALAGAY NG MGA PADER SA PUNO. (KUNG KAILAN BUMAHA SAKA NAGPAGAWA NG DRAINAGE?) WHICH IS SO OBVIOUS THAT THERE IS SOMETHING FISHY WITH THE PROJECT. MALAPIT NA KASI ANG ELEKSYON. KAILANGAN KUMOTA PARA SA CAMPAIGN?

HINDI BA NILA ALAM NA MARAMING NASALANTA ANG BAGYONG ONDOY? AT KAILANGAN NG MGA TAONG NASALANTA ANG MGA PONDO NA PINAPAGAWA NILA NG PADER PARA SA MGA PUNO. BUKOD SA DAGDAG TRAPIKO PA ITO. Buti pa ang mga puno may pader. Pero ang mga tao walang sariling bahay. Wala na nga silang bahay, naalat pa ang tulong na para sa kanila. Nakita mo ba yung nangyari sa may Nagtahan bridge? Nasalanta ito, maraming mga tao ang nawalan ng bahay. At maraming tao rin ang pinaalis sa lugar na iyon at nilagyan ng bakod ang buong lugar. San na kaya titira ang mga taong yun? Hindi kasi sila botante ng Q.C. kaya ganun sila itrato?

*************

Bakit kailangan ng underpass sa may Q.C. Circle kung may footbridge naman na nakatayo na dito? Sa may tapat ng Landbank, yung sa may Dept. of Agriculture yata yun? Yung paglabas mo ng PHILCOA. Basta ang gastos nila grabe. Hindi man lang nila iniisip ang mga ginagawa nila. Masyado nilang ginagawang tanga ang mga tao. Pagawa sila ng pagawa ng hindi man lang iniisip kung makakabuti ba ito sa mga tao?

************

Meron din sa may NOVA Q.C. May isang konsehala nagpatayo ng isang foot bridge sa may stop light. Sa may Quirino Hwy. Yung papuntang Nova Mall. At yung diretso papuntang Caloocan City at papuntang Malinta Exit. Kung taga Bayan ka, alam mo na siguro yung tinutukoy ko. Mapapansin mo kagad na sobrang may ka engotan din ang nagpagawa nun. Biruin mo? Ang lapit lapit na lang naman ng tatawirin ng mga tao sus ko po. Bakit pa kailangan magpatayo ng napakataas na foot bridge? Hindi naman ginagamit ng mga tao. Dahil mas hihingalin ka pa pag tumawid ka dun. Pwamiz, pag nakita mo yun. Di mo malaman kung matatawa ka o maiinis ka sa nagpagawa nun. Parang Ayala lang yung tatawirin mo. O mas maliit pa sa kalsada ng Ayala ang tatawirin mo pwamiz. Naiinis ako habang tinatype ko ito. Naku po. Tamaan na lang sana sila ng kidlat sa panlolokong ginagawa nila sa mga tao. Imbes na makatulong, sila pa ang nanamantala sa mga constituent nila. Si God na nga bahala sa kanila…

ANG TANONG KO LANG, PARA SAAN BA TALAGA ANG MGA PINAPAGAWA NIYO? PARA SA MGA TAO? PARA MAKATULONG SA KANILA? O PAHIRAPAN PA LALO ANG MGA TAO? O PARA SA PANSARILING KAPAKANAN LAMANG? MALAPIT NA ANG ELEKSYON. ASAHAN NA NATIN NA MARAMI NA NAMANG IPAPAGAWA ANG MGA PULITIKO PARA MAGKAROON NG PONDO. HAY.. SANA PINAHIRAM NIYO NA LANG ANG MGA PERANG YAN SA MGA HINDI MAKAPAG-ARAL. SA MGA WALANG TRABAHO KASI WALANG PANG-APPLY. SA MGA WALANG MAKAIN KASI WALANG TRABAHO. SA MGA WALANG BAHAY. KUNG YUNG BAWAT HOLLOWBLOCKS SA MGA PUNO NA YUN, PINAHIRAM NYO SA MGA TAO NA NAWALAN NG BAHAY. MAS OKAY PA SIGURO. HAY BUHAY…

Note: Pasensiya na, kahit pa gaano ko kagustong lagyan ng picture ang mga pinagsasabi ko dito, ayoko naman magmukhang Probe team.

Eine Hand

Eine Hand ist wie ein Handschuh.
Nur mit Knochen gefüllt und mit Nägeln.
Aber – man kann ihn nicht ausziehen.

One, after Fernando Poe, Jr. died on Dec. 14, 2004, they did an inventory of his things. In one bodega, they found cartons of relief goods that were meant to be delivered to Infanta, Quezon. Infanta had been buried in mudslides a couple of weeks before his death and, along with many others, FPJ had bestirred himself to help.

With one difference: While all the other relief-givers were busy putting their names on their donations—or as in the case of many public officials, putting their names on other people’s donations—FPJ was not. His people would swear later he would not hear of it. He gave strict orders for the relief goods to be unmarked and just sent where needed. It altered my view of the man completely and made me vow to make amends to his family for some of the things I had said about him.

That is class. Which makes me furious today about the politicians who want to exploit the misfortune of others for their ends. Or indeed their continuing travail, many of them having lost everything in one of the worst disasters ever to hit this metropolis. It’s a sentiment I know is shared by many, even those who were not directly ravaged by the floods, as I’ve seen in news reports and blogs.

Heading the pack is Willie Revillame who was busy announcing that “kami nga ni Senator Villar” have been tireless in delivering relief goods to the needy. You’d think the guy would have learned a thing or two from being crucified after he vituperated about Cory’s coffin being shown on his show, consequently disrupting his and his audience’s fun. Clearly his chastisement hasn’t chastened him enough. Or he’s just fundamentally tasteless he cannot see that the last thing the victims want is to be treated like contestants, or supplicants, of “Wowowee” waiting upon his generosity.

Thankfully the tack is likely to backfire. People are in a foul mood and are not likely to remember Revillame—or his principal—with fondness come election time.

The last thing we need is to see politics mix with relief. “When you want to shoot, shoot,” as Eli Wallach said in “The Good, the Bad and the Ugly,” finishing off the guy who was threatening him with all sorts of mayhem. Same principle here: When you want to give, give, don’t advertise. All you’ll get back is mayhem in the minds of the beneficiaries.

Two, on Tuesday government’s disaster council gave a briefing. They were three days late. The time to have done that was Saturday at the height of the rains. The time to have appeared in public to calm down a metropolis in the grip of panic was last Saturday. The time to have gone to the aid of people who had every reason to panic (some of them were huddling on the roofs of their houses, along with their children and their aged, pounded by unceasing rain) was last Saturday. The time to have unleashed the full resources of government, which should have been there because government has—or should have—billions of pesos in calamity and emergency funds, was last Saturday.

In fact the monumental thing that happened last Saturday was the complete absence of government. The only government there was were the media, notably ABS-CBN and GMA-7. You can forgive both for advertising their wares, or relief efforts, under the extenuating circumstances. They were the government. They were the central authority apprising the public of the situation. They were the central authority coming to the aid of the victims. They were the central authority running the country.

The Internet is full of reports that the emergency fund is depleted, having gone to fund Arroyo and company’s not-very-emergency trips abroad. I’ll leave that for when it’s confirmed. But the breakdown of government is staggering. Arroyo should thank God, or whatever entity she worships, we have elections—the same elections she tried to monkey with earlier with Charter change. Without that she would probably not last this week, given an incensed citizenry, given an aroused citizenry, given a citizenry that will no longer brook abuse. This is as angry as I’ve seen residents of Metro Manila in a long time.

Three, indeed to this hour, what government we have is courtesy of the private sector where voluntarism has sprung like wildflowers. That is the bright spot in all this, the light amid the darkness, the blazing sun after the storm. Truly the Filipino rises to his finest self during trying times, the more trying the times, the finer the rising. Or it is in times of disaster that the Filipino ceases to be a disaster, thinking of others first before self.

It’s especially heartening to see the kids go en masse on relief mode. Many of the kids in my neighborhood have done so, teeners who normally while away the holidays playing basketball, flipping rollerblades, and drinking beer in the stores. They’ve enrolled themselves to help without thought of pay, without thought of recompense, without thought of reward. Just the thought of doing something nice for a change, just the thought of doing something to make things better.

It rekindles memories of the July-August floods of 1972, when students also went in droves to places in Greater Manila no longer traversable by land, or indeed outside the metropolis where they were greeted by a greater ravaging. But then there was activism to fuel, or goad, or flagellate the youth to idealism. Well, there was also the prospect of meeting a cool chick or a cool cat while on your best form. Today, there’s just spontaneous goodwill to do the trick. And the prospect of meeting a cool chick or a cool cat while on your best form. The kids come home happy, comparing the welts and bruises on their arms from lifting crates while drinking beer in the stores.

Makes you wonder what on earth you need government for.

Der Parkplatz an sich ist mancherorts ja ein Problem für sich. Wer hat das nicht schon erlebt? Na gut, Bewohner ländlicher Idylle ohne bisheriger Notwendigkeit jene je zu verlassen, die natürlich schon. Aber all die anderen?

Ich für meinen Teil habe eine Lösung gefunden.
Und deswegen möchte ich nun vom nicht nur mäßigen Erfolg meiner persönlichen Rebellion gegen den allmächtigen Regelgott im Parkplatzwesen berichten.

Es war vor einiger Zeit, viele Monde sind seither bereits ins Land gezogen, als mir plötzlich gewahr wurde: jeder, wirklich jeder verdammte Parkplatz in der Münchner Innenstadt (nein, nicht mehr nur Innenstadt, sogar bis beinah in die Mittelaußenstadt, mindestens jedoch bis weit ins schöne Sendling hineingreifend!) war plötzlich kostenpflichtig. Wo man noch vor Jahren die ellenlange Mühe auf sich nahm, zig Runden zu drehen, um irgendwann endlich sein Gefährt inzwischen schon ächzend in eine endlich frei gewordene und auch eroberte (ja, das war beizeiten ein Machtkampf!) Lücke zu quetschen, seinen Wagen dafür aber kostenfrei abstellen durfte, an seltenen aber vorhandenen Stellen, prangen nun Parkscheinautomaten oder aber Parklizenzbereichsausweisschilder um die traurige Wette.
Sodann rief ich mir zu(aber erst nachdem mich das tatsächlich monatelang einschüchterte und ich stattdessen die Innenstadt so gut wie möglich mied, ich Stadtrandgöre):
Nicht mit mir! Hahaaa! Arrr!

Und beschloss den Widerstand.
Protest, Rebellion, Meuterei, Revolte, Streik, Revolution, Yippiiiieh!

Besonders weil der eher unkomfortable MVG mir ebensoviel abknöpft, ich komme mir schon vor, als müsste ich als Stadtrandbewohner, der nicht mal kurz mit dem Radl in die Stadt fahren kann oder gar zu Fuß, plötzlich Eintritt zahlen. In der eigenen Stadt!

Beschlossen hatte ich diesen Private-Aufstand ganz offiziell als ich erkannte, ich müsste über 8 Euro in den Automaten werfen, um während des Besuchs im Deutschen Museum das Autochen abstellen zu dürfen. Rechne rechne rechne…8 Euro…hm…wieviel kostet wohl der Strafzettel? 15 Euro? 20 Euro?… rechne… 80 Euro? 10 Euro? Egal! Nicht mit mir! Vielleicht werde ich ja sogar nie erwischt. Nach genauster Risikoabwägung in stochastisch ausgerechneter Manie (gut, ich lüge), stand der Entschluss fest. Und zwar nicht für den Moment, sondern sodann für immer und ewig! Der – Parkscheinautomat – fickt – mich – nie – mehr! (Seither lerne ich “Risiko” by doing.)
Durchaus erfreut stellte ich dann fest, dass die Innenstadt neuerdings sehr viele Parkplätze bietet und ich seither kaum mehr als 5 Minuten suchen musste, wenn überhaupt! So Zahlplätze sind ja auch eher nicht so begehrt, was? Zum Glück für mich! Lange wurde ich nicht belangt. Am besten parkt man übrigens in der Sonnenstraße, offenbar sogar recht ungefährlich, denn ich sah seitdem nie an irgendeiner Windschutzscheibe ein Zettelchen.

Aber gestern….gestern passierte es. Am Goetheplatz. Ich dacht ja, die Polizisten hätten bei akuter Terrorgefahr an der Wiesn was anderes zu tun, aber gut… sollen sie doch.
Ich kam, sah und steckte ihn lächelnd ein.
Was soll ich sagen, dieser Zettel bestätigt all mein Handeln. Meine Rechnung, die seit Monaten läuft, geht optimal auf.

Für 5 Euro hätte ich nicht mal diesen einen Platz mit Parkschein bekommen!

Es grüßt
die sonderbar zufriedene Mao Fatale

…mustern mich beim Wiesngang.

Heute ist der Tag nach der traurigen Bundestagswahl (Regierungswechsel zum finanzkrisenauslösendem Freimarkt-Getue, hach), der Tag ab dem das Oktoberfest anschlagsgefärdet ist.

Es ist aber auch mein letzter freier Wochentag, ich arbeite ja demnächst wieder 5 Tage die Woche (bye-bye entspannte 4-Tagewoche!). Da dacht ich mir mal “Nunja, wenn schon Anschlag, dann doch nicht am Vormittag, wenn kaum wer dort ist!” und bewegte mich munterst Richtung Festwiese, mit dabei meine alten Freunde, die Analog-Kameras – ich will Bilder machen!

Meine Bewaffnung:
- eine Yashica Mat – japanischer Nachbau der doppeläugigen Kult-Mittelformatkamera
RolleiCord
- eine Yashica FR-1 mit einem 80er-Teleobjektiv
- eine Umhängetasche (vollgepackt mit unbelichteten Filmen)
- ein roter abgenutzter Cordmantel
- ein lila Schal
- ein schwarzer Hut
- eine große Sonnenbrille

Kameras – eine linksrum, eine rechtsrum (man ist ja neutral!) quer über den Oberkörper gehängt. Ich vermute, das Teleobjektiv war brutal verdächtig. Vielleicht aber auch die seltsam gebaute Yashica Mat, hm.
Ehrlich, nach den Blicken und den verdrehten Hälsen der Polizisten (schwer bewaffnet, in dunkelgrau bis schwarz gekleidet. Welche Einheit ist das?) und der privaten Security (was das immer für üble Kerle sind! Die moderne Art der Legionäre?) zu urteilen, kann ich wahrscheinlich von Glück sprechen, wieder heil nach Hause gekommen zu sein!

Ich hatte dann beinah ein schlechtes Gewissen, jedes Mal wenn ich eine meiner Kameras zückte. Um eines zu schießen – also ein Foto halt. Nicht dass da wer was fälschlich Falsches denkt. Wenigstens konnten sie (die Obrigkeiten) mich mit einem Strafzettel wegen Falschparkens belasten.
(Und selbst der hat sich rentiert, denn ich parkte so billiger als mit Parkschein! 5 Euro kann ich grade noch verkraften.)

Glücklich unbeschadet und vor allem unexplodiert wieder daheim angekommen zu sein,
grüßt
die unerschrockene Mao Fatale

Angeregt durch die vielen Änderhaken-Aufrufe der Piraten, geht mir nun ein Gedanke nicht mehr aus dem Kopf.

Habe ich legislaturperiodenlang etwa änderungsfähige Haken auf meinen Wahlzettel gesetzt!?

Ich meine, ich hatte mich schon immer gewundert, warum die Stifte, die in meinem Wahllokal immer an lustigen Schürchen am Tisch befestigt sind, so dicke HOLZMALSTIFTE sind und keine …z.b…sagen wir mal: KUGELSCHREIBER (wäre ja nicht unnaheligend, die auszulegen, oder?).
Wo doch Kugelschreiber so gut unlöschbar, unradierbar, unausmerzbar wären!

Da frage ich mich nun, kam meine Stimme auch immer so an, wie ich sie abgab?!

Heute, in fortgeschrittenerem Alter als dem jugendlichen Froh- und Leichtsinnsalter, ärgere ich mich wirklich sehr, dass ich diese Option nie bedacht hatte.
Aber nun mal ernsthaft, das ist doch Absicht, diese Holzschreiberlinge! Nirgends, wirklich nirgends!, liegt ein solcher aus. Überall muss man seine UNTERSCHRIFT mit Kugelschreiber machen, in der Bank, im Supermarkt, selbst an irgendwelchen Hohl-Infoständen liegen sie aus. Warum zur Hölle nicht im Wahllokal!?
Mein KREUZCHEN soll ich also löschbar machen!?

WEG MIT DEN HOLZSTIFTEN IM WAHLLOKAL!!

Ich fordere die Bundesregierung auf, Kugelschreiber zur Pflicht im Wahllokal zu machen!

So, gleich mach ich mich auf den Weg. Der Kugelschreiber (den ich 7fach mitnahm an der Rezeption des letzten Hotels) ist schon in der Tasche, bereit Dinge zu ändern.

Wie, das weiß ich noch nicht ganz.

Es grüßt,
die entsetzte aber entschlossene Mao Fatale

…wäre ja Horror!
Also nur ein paar Links:

Fotocommunity und me-mao
Fotocommunity und frollein ich

Und das sind nur die Foto-Sachen, hm.
Viel Spaß beim Ansehen!

Es grüßt, die Mao.

… mao fatale.

Das bin ich – wie ich leibe und lebe.
Und somit weiß man auch, wer den ganzen Senf hier von sich gibt.