Galapagos school puts giant tortoises online… From BBC News. Full story

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In front of a small, makeshift boxing ring was a sign held up by string that read in big bold letters “100 silver pieces to the man who can defeat the Panther! Only 5 silver!” and in smaller letters underneath those bigger ones “No refunds”. Behind the sign and beside the ring stood two men, one smaller than the other by a great deal. The smaller was a young man who went by the name of Oren, with wiry arms and gaunt features. His hair was a raven black and pulled back into a knot. He wore a loose body-length tunic with a piece of rope tied around his waist. He had a scowl on his face as he glared at the larger man.

The large man, who called himself Baek, stood nearly two heads taller than the petulant Oren, with copper brown hair and a thick moustache that blended seamlessly with his sideburns. His eyes were crinkled with crow’s feet, a sign of a life not taken too seriously, and he wore what looked like a blacksmith’s apron. It was thick, heavy and made of cured leather. His arms, quite on the contrary to Oren’s weedy-looking limbs were wide and muscled, covered in coarse hair. He wore a look opposite to his companion’s; a small but genuine smile that wrinkled his wrinkles and drew attention to his eyes.

“I don’t see why it had to be ‘The Panther’” Oren asked, arms crossed in juvenile annoyance.

“Why not?” Baek replied, still smiling.

“Because I look nothing like a damn panther, that’s why!” Oren shouted, drawing glances from the passing crowd. Baek laughed and raised his arms, trying to placate him.

“Now now Oren, don’t scare the customers away. Leave that for when they’re in the ring.”

Oren grunted and turned away, coming face to chest with another man. He reeled back and looked up, squinting his eyes as the sun struck them. “Can I help you?”

“I want to fight the Panther.” The man growled, gazing down at both Oren and even Baek, who nearly reached the newcomer’s nose with his forehead. Baek glanced at Oren, who nodded and waved his hand. “Fine, fine. Where’s your silver?”

The giant deposited five silver coins onto Oren’s outstretched palm, who passed them on to Baek before entering the ring. The giant followed, and the ring threatened to break under the weight. It creaked, even leaned, but thankfully the shoddy foundations held.

“All right gentlemen, no eyes, no balls and no teeth, and no death.” He eyed Oren, who pretended he wasn’t paying attention. “When one competitor taps out or touches the ring boundary, or when I see anyone in grave danger, the fight’s over. Understood?” The giant nodded, and so did Oren – barely.  

Then Baek rang the bell, and the fight was on. The giant lunged with a vicious right hook but Oren ducked and spun, sending an elbow behind him and into the man’s exposed chest. The giant exhaled sharply and Oren bent the man’s arm over his shoulder, using what was left of his momentum to tip him over and send him sprawling head over heels out of the ring and onto the dirt. The giant groaned and lifted himself to his feet, but it was too late. The battle was over, and Oren had won.

by Student/Farmworker Alliance

In just a few days, many of us will gather with our families around a table brimming with turkey and all the trimmings to reflect upon all that we are thankful for—from another year of health and happiness to the football game we’ll watch over our second slice of pumpkin pie.

Unfortunately, during this holiday that traditionally celebrated a bountiful harvest, many of us will remain unaware that conditions for this nation’s farmworkers have changed little since, nearly 50 years ago, renowned journalist Edward R. Murrow’s “Harvest of Shame” reported on the dismal conditions faced by migrant workers.

Several months ago we wrote about the exploitation faced each day by Florida’s farmworkers. Tomato pickers in the state haven’t received a raise since 1978, receive no overtime pay, sick days, or benefits of any kind, and have no right to organize in order to change these conditions. In the most extreme conditions, workers are forced to work against their will in situations of modern-day slavery.

At the same time, we also wrote about a beacon of hope in the fields: the Coalition of Immokalee Workers (CIW), a membership-led farmworker organization that has been working since 1993 to improve wages and working conditions for Florida farmworkers. At that time, in response to the CIW’s Campaign for Fair Food, five food industry leaders (McDonald’s, Burger King, Subway, Taco Bell’s parent company Yum Brands and Whole Foods) had entered into agreements with the CIW in which they agreed to the three principles of the Campaign for Fair Food: to pay one more penny per pound for its tomatoes directly to the workers that picked them; to establish a code of conduct in their supply chain to ensure that workers were being treated with dignity; and to enter into a dialogue together with workers and growers to guarantee a voice and a place at the table for farmworkers.

In the time since—as a direct result of the Student/Farmworker Alliance’s Dine with Dignity campaign—food service providers Bon Appétit and Compass Group have also come to the table and committed to work with the CIW.

These agreements are proof that the days of the harvest of shame are numbered, but more work must be done to ensure that we continue along the path towards justice and dignity and create real systemic change in Florida’s agricultural industry. It is now time for supermarkets Publix, Stop & Shop, Giant, Ralph’s, Kroger and other Kroger-owned grocery chains, as well as food service providers Aramark and Sodexo to address the sub-poverty wages and human rights abuses faced by farmworkers picking their tomatoes.

So this thanksgiving, as you shop for your turkey and cranberry sauce and relish the opportunity to partake in a home-cooked meal, please also take the time to make your voice heard in the Campaign for Fair Food. Here’s how:

National Supermarket Week of Action!
November 18th-26th

Drop off a letter to the manager of your local grocery store and ask him or her to share your concerns with the company’s corporate office.

Click here for more information, including downloadable letters to all major national supermarket chains and details about how you can join or organize an action in your area!

National Aramark Call-In Days!
November 23rd and 24th

Local Aramark representatives on several campuses around the country refuse to even hold meetings with concerned students to talk about the issue of human rights and fair wages for farmworkers in Aramark’s supply chain. In response, the Student/Farmworker Alliance has called for two national call-in days of action to demand accountability from Aramark.

For messaging, call info and a sample script, visit the SFA website.

Holy crap, this’ AWESOME! Would be awesome to see a coordinated group effort to play an actual song on that thing.  I hope our servers can look forward to this type of content with the winter festivities (surely we’ll get the fireworks).  Then again…  You’ll probably want to mute your volume anytime you pass by during peak hours.  Dissonant chords FTL!  Thanks Amaterasu for the heads up!

Sri Lankan-based Dilmah Tea, the world’s only global single-origin tea brand and the number one tea in 10 countries, is bringing a healthier and higher-grade product to tea drinkers in America for the first time. Sold in over 90 countries, Dilmah Tea is recognized as the global authority on tea trends and gourmet tastes and boasts twice the antioxidant content in their
Ceylon Green Tea as that of a well-known competitor.

The freshness of Dilmah’s tea with foil-sealed packaging and hand selected tea leaves from the distinctive Ceylon tea bush is a critical difference.  Many tea brands purchase their tea from multiple countries and import in bulk for packing long after the tea is harvested. Yet tea producers such as Dilmah own and manage their own fields and quickly package their products at origin. The result is a significantly healthier and more flavorful product when it gets to retail shelves.

I had the pleasure to taste a delectable assortment of Dilmah’s teas and let me tell you, I was incredibly impressed.  As a fan of green tea, I opted to try their Ceylon Green Variety Pack, which is pure Ceylon tea and I was blown away by the incredible flavors.  My favorite is the Green with Lemongrass Leaves, which was a perfect accompaniment to my morning breakfast.  Furthermore, I couldn’t wait to display the beautiful designer gourmet teas on my kitchen counter as each box is beautifully decorated and each delicate teabag is sealed within the container—very impressive as this is the perfect way to keep your tea fresh.  The Dilmah t-Series Ceylon Young Hyson Green Pure Ceylon Luxury Leaf Bags were incredible and the bags are beautifully crafted, perfect for when I have company at my new apartment!

According to a controlled comparative analysis of the antioxidant levels comparing best-selling specialty teas from Bigelow and Twinings, Dilmah’s teas had significantly higher levels than its competitors in both green and black teas. Dilmah’s Ceylon Green Tea contains twice the antioxidant content as compared with Bigelow Green Tea. The same study showed that Dilmah’s Earl Grey contained 50 percent more antioxidants as compared with Twinings Earl Grey. The independent study, conducted by Brunswick Labs, LLC, confirmed what earlier studies have shown ­ that single origin teas fresh-packed at source in foil-wrapped tea bags and quickly shipped soon after being picked in the fields provide consumers with an end product that contains the highest level of antioxidants.

I also tasted the Ceylon Silver Tips White Tea, which was another luxurious experience, in itself.  Now, I am a true tea connoisseur as my family, friends and past roommates can tell you…I’m known to have over 40 boxes of tea in my cabinets and usually consume close to 6 cups a day…I know what your thinking…how do I drink that much? Well, it’s easy when you are sipping on handpicked, sophisticated flavors as with each Dilmah tea.

The story and history of Dilmah teas is incredible and I recommend you to visit their website at Dilmah.com for an astounding story on the foundation of their 100% Pure Ceylon Teas, packaged in a sophisticated, fresh display…perfect for your morning cup, an evening sip and to offer to house guests during the holidays.  These tea bags are  beautiful to the eye; almost too beautiful to drink.  But the beauty of the unique packaging will not deceive your taste buds as the flavors are incredible; you will surely enjoy every sip and savor every moment of your Dilmah tea experience.

While most green teas throughout the world originate in China (or from the China variant of the tea bush), the bushes used to grow Dilmah’s green teas are a different type, which many tea experts believe have a higher level of antioxidants and produces a fuller bodied, better tasting green tea. At the same time, what many consumers don’t know is that from the day tea is harvested; its quality and antioxidant levels begin to decline. Because Dilmah Tea is from a single origin, Sri Lanka (formerly Ceylon, hence CeylonTea), which is considered the best source, they uniquely pack their tea within a few weeks after harvesting.

Grown in the best tea fields in Sri Lanka, this tea field-to-tea cup dedication results in tea that is not only a much higher quality, but also contains more antioxidants than other teas on the market.

You can purchase Dilmah’s selection of single origin pure Ceylon green teas, premium single origin pure Ceylon black teas and watte single estate teas at select Giant, Hy-Vee, Big Y, King Kullen, QFC, Earthfare and Harmons supermarkets as well as other supermarkets and retail outlets.

You can also order online at Dilmah.com, Amazon.com, Alice.com and Teadog.com. The green and black teas have a suggested retail price of $3.69 per box and the single estate watte tins have a suggested retail price of $7.99 per tin.

Have you had the luxurious experience of sipping on Dilmah Tea? If so, what is your favorite flavor?

#002

Nor do we have causeways for giants in Canada.

Remember the tale I mentioned in #001 about Finn MacCool who built that pathway for Benandonner?

The Giant’s Causeway is that pathway.

The Causeway contains approximately 40,000 basalt columns.  It is a natural phenonmenon, formed by the shifting of the earth’s tectonic plates in the Irish Sea.  Fissures in the coastline allowed lava to escape, and cracks formed in the lava as it cooled.  These cracks created the hexagonal and octagonal shaped columns that make up the Causeway.

#001

We don’t have giants in Canada.

For starters, let’s recall the story of immoral story of Jack and Beanstalk:

On his way to the market, a young boy trades the last of his mother’s possessions, a cow, for a few magical beans.  Jack’s mother, furious of his lousy trade tosses the beans out of the window, which grow into an enormous beanstalk overnight.  Jack climbs the stalk and finds a giant’s home.  Jack becomes a tiny kleptomaniac, stealing gold coins from the giant during his first visit, and a hen that lays golden eggs during the visit that follows.  During both these visits, the giant senses Jack’s presence and calls out “fee-fi-fo-fum / I smell the blood of an Englishman / be he ‘live or be he dead / I’ll grind his bones to make my bread”, but luckily, Mrs. Giant saves him on both occasions.  On his third visit, Jack attempts to steal a harp that plays music on its own, but the harp alerts the giant.  Jack runs with the harp, and scurries down the beanstalk with the giant on his tail.  When Jack finds solid ground, he picks up an axe and chops down the beanstalk, which causes the giant to fall to his death.

Let’s try one more story, perhaps one about the photo above?

The Giant’s boot, so the story goes, belonged to a Scottish giant, Benandonner.  Benandonner had gotten himself into a confrontation with the well-known giant of Ireland, Finn MacCool (also known as Finn Mac Cumaill).  Finn built a walkway for Benandonner to cross between Ireland and Staffa Island so the giants could meet, but had second thoughts after hearing about the Scot’s size and power.  Finn asked his wife, Oonagh, to hide him for his safety; instead, she dressed him as a baby and sat Finn where he would be visible from the walkway.  Benandonner saw the oversized infant, imagined the size of the baby’s father, and fled back toward Scotland, ripping up the bridge and leaving his boot behind in his hasty return.

Football fans in the northern city of Hai Phong on Saturday rushed to sign on a huge ball created this July for a nationwide campaign organized to collect one million signatures to support U-23 Vietnam in December’s 25th Southeast Asian Games in Laos.

The composite ball, 6 meters in diameter and 1.2 tons in weight, received about 100,000 signatures from Hai Phong, according to the campaign organizers – paint manufacturer 4 Oranges and media company Country Eye Creative.

Hai Phong fans sign on the ball on Nov. 21 in the northern city (Photo: Quynh Hoa)

Boss Paints is the manufacturer’s brand associated with the support campaign.

The ball started its nationwide tour in the Mekong province of An Giang in July, going through Gia Lai, Danang and Dong Nai, Ho Chi Minh City, Hanoi and then Hai Phong. The final stop before the ball is brought to Laos is Vinh City in the central region late this month.

Besides the ball, the program organizers collect fans’ signatures through a website at www.traitimbongda.com or www.traitimbongda.vn.

More than 800,000 signatures have been collected so far.

In Vientiane, the capital of Laos, the composite ball will be put in stadiums where the Vietnamese team will play in the SEA Games. Vietnam will take on defending champions Thailand on the Dec. 2 opener, East Timor two days later, then Malaysia on Dec. 6, and Cambodia on Dec. 8.

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For the last month or so, there has been much uncertainty in the youth ministry world as to what would happen to the youth ministry giant Youth Specialties after 7-year president Mark Oestreicher was released from the company. Marko was released and all the info that was given to the youth ministry world was found at this link: Statement by Moe Girkins, President and CEO of Zondervan.

This is my third convention and because of the uncertainty of what was going on with Youth Specialties, I had mixed feelings about coming to the National Youth Workers Convention this year. I didn’t know how it would be without Marko and Tic Long and I honestly wasn’t sure if I wanted to find out. But I came (obviously) and I was very glad that I did. After Andy Stanley’s message to us about uncertainty, the announcer for the convention (who I think was Mark Matlock) called a youth worker named Paul Bertelson up onto the stage for what appeared to be one of their normal interviews where they ask long time youth workers questions and give them a huge round of applause and a thank you! But this was different. After we found out that Paul was a 38-year youth ministry veteran who started his own company (YouthWorks) to help youth workers get the resources they needed. After we found out a little info about who he was, the announcer then called out another special guest, Moe Girkins, the President and CEO of Zondervan.

The announcer then proceeded to ask Moe some questions. He started off by saying that there are a lot of youth workers out there who have written nasty blogs and said some harsh things about her and her company after they released Marko. After that, his main question was: “Does it suck to be Moe Girkins right now?” She answered that yes it does suck to be her right now, but not always. She then said a few nice things about Tic and Marko and thanked them for how much they meant to the company and the youth workers all over the world. She announced the opportunity to write Marko and Tic a note to say thank you. Now (the day after), there are boxes set up for both of those guys and they are filling up pretty quickly. After that, Moe began to announce the shift that is going to take place where youth specialties will be sold to YouthWorks. The link to this acquisition can be found here: – - – -> YS gets sold to YouthWorks

When I first heard this, I was a bit skeptical. And now that I’ve had a few days to think about it, I realize that it was for selfish reasons. I love YS the way it is and the way it has been since I have started coming to their conventions. I did not want to see change, and I honestly (along with other youth workers) thought that it was going to be a change for the worse. But after doing some searching around on the internet and reading some of my youth ministry friends’ blogs, I found a very encouraging note about the deal between YS and YouthWorks. It comes from YS’s Online Marketing and eCommerce guy, Adam McLane. Adam said this:

“So the news is out. I am very happy the news is out. When I saw the presidents of Z and YW together yesterday I really hoped that the news would come out. It was a very exciting/somber (and a bunch more adjectives/adverbs) moment to be a part of. For me, the bottom line was that the news was getting out and that is good.

The people at YouthWorks are good people. (That’s been clear in the blogs/twitter/Facebook) The people at Zondervan are good people. (That hasn’t been clear, but trust me when I say that they are good people, too.)

Now… this weekend isn’t about Youth Specialties, YouthWorks, Zondervan, or even me. It’s about serving and encouraging youth workers!”

To see someone on the inside of Youth Specialties say such encouraging words is a great thing. It certainly changed my outlook on the whole deal and now I am hopeful for the future of the company and conventions that I learn from, grow during/from, and love so much!

It backed up Andy Stanley’s message that uncertainty is always going to be a part of ministry. My post about that message can be found here.I don’t know what the future will hold for these two companies, for the conventions, and for the thousands upon thousands of youth workers who attend the conventions each year. But I do know that it is a necessity for us to pray for them. So regardless of our negative thoughts/opinions on the whole ordeal, let’s leave it up to God and start/continue to pray for it and all the people that are involved!

-          paulg

If you missed fellow “Adaumbelle’s Quest” participant Katie Thompson singing the bejeezes out “No Reason At All,” written by the amazingly talented Jonathan Reid Gealt, at the Cutting Edge Composers II concert, well here is the video (if you look very, very closely at the beginning of the video when Katie flicks her hair, you can quickly see her sporting my button on the right side of her shirt).

Well, it’s Friday and I can say TGIF baby!  I got up this morning and was happy and well rested.   I came out and joined the family for breakfast and we had a nice breakfast together.  There wasn’t much for breakfast, but that’s okay the company makes up for the lack of food.  We had a nice breakfast together and talked about our day and our plans for the day and the evening.  Of course my wife would throw a monkey wrench into the works later on.  But she left just after breakfast and I took a shower while the kids finished getting ready.  We then watched “The Early Show” on CBS just because we are simply creatures of habit.  Then I was off to work, while they were off to school.

I got to work and set things up for my classes today.  My sixth graders were watching “American Idol” for the first time, my seventh graders were answering the question, “What is a podcast?” and my eighth graders are reviewing previous years’ music video projects.  It was a decent instructional day.  The kids were fairly well behaved and did a lot of the things I asked of them.  I have pegged my one problem class for the quarter and I have a feeling that the class dynamic isn’t even in full swing because two of those students are currently suspended.  Should be interesting once they get back into class.  I made my way through the work day and was pretty happy with what I was able to accomplish.

I got done with work and came home.  I talked with the kids for a little bit until Heather got home and we were going to have a nice night in.  But Heather decided she needed some things for dinner so I headed to Weis/Giant.  I got the things we needed for dinner and came home.  We made dinner and ate together.  After dinner we decided to watch “Merry Madagascar” and then I played some “Call of Duty 4″ on the PS3 online until “The Clone Wars” came on T.V. and then we watched that as a family.  We got done with all of that and I decided to process some of the videos from my music class last quarter and went to bed fairly late working on the videos till late at night.

Okay, so let’s talk about Part 1 of Chapter 18 of “Star Wars – Medstar I:  Battle Surgeons, A Clone Wars Novel” by Michael Reaves and Steve Perry…..Chapter 18 (Part 1):  Jos usually used the basic technology of a sonic shower to shake off the dirt and grime from Drongar on his body.  Today, however, he stood under a cold shower, but it wasn’t cold enough to take his mind off of the issue with Tolk.  No, she had made her thoughts well known this very morning.  Jos went to go into the changing room to get out of his own surgical suit because of a massive bleeder he had and figured he was safe since the “In Use” sign was not lit.  Instead, he walked into a half-naked Tolk who was changing out of her own surgical suit.  Normally this would not be an issue, but for Jos, who just discovered his attraction to her, it was.  He stared for a minute and then became red with embarassment and turned around and said he was sorry.  Tolk smiled and said she must have forgotten to activate the sign.  He wasn’t as in love with the shadowy shape of Tolk as he was with the smile.  He began to wonder if she really did forget to turn the diode or not.  He spent half the night in the shower and realized he should get out……

Get ready for this Monday, November 23 to ROCK YOUR WORLD! Fellow “Adaumbelle’s Quest” participants Erik Sisco and very special guest Katie Thompson are performing live at The Duplex in NYC in Erik’s show “Sing What I Wanna Sing.” Showtime is 9:30pm. If you have never heard these two powerhouse voices, come down to The Duplex in NYC’s historic West Village and spend what is going to be a very enjoyable and mesmerizing night!

!!!

Foram utilizados 5,44 quilos de pó de chocolate, 7,5 litros de creme de leite e 450 gramas de chocolate raspado fino. A xícara utilizada tinha 35,56 centímetros de largura e 28 centímetros de altura.

Ah mulek… eu me acabava. Só queria saber o que é a parada amarela que ele joga em cima da bebida.

Fonte: G1.

Periode : 20 s.d 22 Nopember 2009

Periode : 20-22 Nov'09

I’d say at least three times a week I browse through nearly everything offered instantly from Netflix.  Typically there’s a heavy glass of red wine sitting next to me on my floor – that needs to be vacuumed with something of industrial strength – that I’ll get to once I put my X-Box controller down.  My intention is to see what is new on “instant watch” and then start buffering up a movie that hopefully doesn’t suck.  A good lot of the time I browse for too long then flash through my queue and can’t decide on any one thing.  Why?  Too many options.  I’ll even work together with my roommate Jordan to widdle down the choices, but usually I give up and head to my room for a comic or two before bed.

Sometimes too much is just too much.

I was born in ‘84 and I’ve seen the Super Nintendo (de)evolve into the Dreamcast then grow wings and become the 360.  Without having to read and recite a book about science, I’m saying that I’ve witnessed technology grow exponentially.  Today I have the option to watch hundreds of movies with the flick of joystick and a little pressure applied to a brightly colored button.  Oh, Band McMusic just re-released their live EP from the secret show they played in Hungary – circa ‘98 – during that accidental aerial bombardment from NATO Y-Wing.  ”Type type type” then “click click click” and I have that album sitting on my desktop.  It’s obvious that we’re spoiled when it comes to the entertainment that’s a hyperlink away and I’m not sure how I feel about it.

X-Box Live just added Last FM as an application for it’s fancy Gold Members – who pay 40 some dollars a year – and are given many more reasons to never bask in natural light.  Not that this invention is anything new to the interwebs, but I can pick an artist, make a station via that artist, and listen to music within the same vein of said artist.  I know, this sounds like the radio if you were able to put it under the microscope and manipulate what you wanted from it.  It is, but sometimes it’s just too much.

When I was a kid I had the radio, a small book of CDs, and the local Video Barn for entertainment.  I was content too.  As the years have passed and I now put onions on nearly every sandwich I make, it’s obvious my likes and dislikes have expanded.  My Mom would slice onions in our kitchen back home and just the scent was enough to keep me away from our downstairs for hours.  What used to sate or deter me as a child isn’t the case anymore.  Now I need three new movies in the mail twice a week to keep me from clawing at the walls.  There has to be a refresher from some new band I’ve never heard – or given any time to – at least a couple times a month, otherwise I start biting my nails down to the cuticle.  I’m American, I drink beer out of the can, and I need to be fucking entertained 24 hours out of the God damn day.  Yeah, it’s true.

I think I kinda lost my train of thought at some point in this rant, so I’ll get to some kind of point.

We used to worship idols made of stone and wood then men who said they were actual gods filled in that spot.  After that we started to hear these stories from wise elders about these powerful beings that have always been and will always be, so it was the smart choice to praise them.  Now we have the internet.  The internet knows all, tells all, and does all.  What else do we need?  If this laptop I’m typing on had a vagina built into it, could pour alcohol out one of it’s many ports, and ejected the makings for a sandwich from the CD drive… yup, wouldn’t leave the house.

I could go on with this, but I’d probably end up running my words and thoughts into solid wall of nonsense, which would most likely drive me to making dick and fart jokes.  Let me save you from that and tell you about some music you should be listening to.

1. Bang Maiden, they’re from San Francisco (make some unjustified generalizations from that fact alone because that’s what I’d do).  On Halloween last month they played their first show at The Parkside in the Misson and they definitely fit the bill if you wanna drink, dance, and bang your head.  They just uploaded a three song demo EP for download and I’m a fan.  Hardcore  - and whatever sub-genre within the same realm you babble about – is one of those sounds that’s in a bit of a slump as of late.  Don’t get me wrong, there are many greats acts currently putting out original and good tunes, but the majority is nothing more than the same old riffs that started in the ’80s, got reworked in the ’90s, and has continued the same cycle into the 2000’s.  What do these guys have that sets them apart from the fodder?  They don’t have drums, they got beats.  Patrick is the programming wizard in the three-piece that mixes the backbone of sound , which gives the group an artificial rhythm that is danceable… like boner-jams danceable.  It’s not too often you can listen to something that cuts a rug all Samurai Shodown 2 (I suck at that game), yet urges your veins to replace some of that red with drunk and maybe punch some random, all in good fun of course.  It’s dirty and fun, so give it a listen, go get tested afterwards, and pay me the ten bucks you owe.

2. Now these guys just got dredged out of the dungeon – I call it my iPod – and put a real dumb smile on my face.  Since the mammoth performance I witnessed a while back at the West Seattle Legion Hall, Giant became Brave Young, but the sound hasn’t changed a bit.  I’ve been allowing my music to grow a little more grand these days (drugs are bad), so the music I’m seeking needs to consume me and wall me up inside of it.  Brave Young is an undertaking that weighs on your ear drums with its heavy guitars and bass.  The sound becomes one looming entity that is lumbering with each bang of the drums and it’s one voice roars just far enough from the instruments before it melds back into the mass of noise.  This is one of those bands that I may never see live again, but from that one show – whatever summer it was ago – I feel lucky.

3. Oh yeah, I’m doing it.  Oingo Boingo has been the musical “first ice cold beer of the day” for me lately.  It’s fun, it’s upbeat, it can get a little spooky, and it’s one of those aspects of the ’80s that I don’t hate.  I’m not saying the 80’s were horrible, I mean come on, Earth Girls Are Easy?  You don’t have to say anything, just try not to get lost in Jeff Goldblum’s eyes, even though he does have mind powers.  There really isn’t any reason for me to explain any further.  Fire this shit up and let Danny Elfman do the rest.  Watch this too:

KEDAULATAN DAN GLOBALISASI

Lupakan kedaulatan Sultan Perak. Lupakan kedaulatan Raja-Raja. Semua ini adalah ciput. Semua kedaulatan ini tidak akan diambil kira dalam agenda globalisasi yang sedang berjalan hari ini. Semua Tan Seri, Tan Tun, Mak Datin , Pak Haji, Ayatollah, Padri, Sami, Rabbai atau apa sahaja bentuk manusia semuanya menjadi ciput dalam agenda baru yang sedang berjalan hari ini.

Tuhan baru telah muncul. Tuhan yang dibawa oleh sistem kapitalis. Tidak percaya? Sila renung dan periksa diri sendiri. Sistem ekonomi kapitalis telah menjadikan manusia berebut-rebut untuk mengumpul harta. Sistem ekonomi kapitalis telah melahirkan satu budaya dimana umat manusia dalam dunia ini terlupa dan terlalai bahawa kita hanyalah bertransit di atas muka bumi ini.

Mesti borong! mesti borong! Mesti kena sapu semua nih.

Budaya kapitalis ini telah mencakupi semua aspek kehidupan manusia. Manusia moden kurun ke 21 telah dilalaikan untuk menjadi binatang konsumer yang mengguna dan mengumpulkan pelbagai ‘biji-biji saga’ dan barangan kodi untuk mainan. Manusia moden telah menjadi seperti Toyol yang asyik bermain dengan biji-biji saga hingga terlupa bahawa tujuan hidup ini adalah untuk mengenal diri sendiri dan melakukan kebaikan.

Sistem kapitalis telah membawa satu budaya dimana ianya mengasak, meraba dan merangsang sifat jahat dalam diri manusia. Hukum induk ekonomi kapitalis – keuntungan maksima – telah melupuskan nilai baik yang sedia wujud dalam diri manusia.

Justeru apakah kita hairan apabila kita terbaca dalam akhbar bagaimana pembekal susu tepong di Tanah Besar China telah membubuh malamin dalam tepong untuk dijual sebagai susu. Mereka menjual susu ini bukan kepada orang Sweden tetapi kepada bayi-bayi China sanak saudara mereka sendiri.

Justeru apakah kita hairan apabila kita membaca berita di Sepanyol dan Portugal ada pembekal minyak zaiton telah membubuh minyak hitam yang sudah terpakai untuk dijual sebagai campuran minyak zaiton.

Justeru apakah kita hairan apabila membaca bagaimana kontrektor Bumiputera yang bersunat dan selalu naik umrah telah membuat bangunan sekolah, bilik makmal dan hospital dengan menggunakan barangan tidak berkualiti dan akhirnya bangunan-bangunan ini runtuh rantah.

Semua ini dilakukan kerana mereka hidup mengikut hukum dan budaya kapitalisma. Keuntungan maksima adalah tuhan baru yang sedang disembah. Selama 30 tahun kebelakangan ini tuhan baru ini telah muncul dimerata pelusuk dunia. Tuhan ini akan berada dimana sahaja wujudnya sistem ekonomi kapitalis termasuk di Malaysia.

Tiga puluh tahun dahulu – air, api, jalan raya, hospital, bank, sekolah, universiti, talipon, radio, tv – semua ini adalah milik kita bersama. Semua ini adalah hak milik negara bermakna hak milik orang ramai. Tiba-tiba harta orang ramai ini diswastakan.

Siapa sebenarnya yang menelorkan dan mencadangkan dasar penswastaan ini. Dasar ini dimunculkan oleh pemikir kabal-kabal Illuminati. Para pemikir dari pelbagai ‘think tank’ ini yang telah mengajukan agenda penswastaan kepada Bank Dunia dan IMF sebagai satu usaha untuk apa yang mereka panggil – cara untuk memperbaiki dan mengembangkan ekonomi di negara-negara sedang membangun.

IMF dan Bank Dunia menjadikan penswastaan ini sebagai dasar untuk diterima pakai. Negara Dunia Ketiga yang miskin jika ingin meminjam dana dari bank-bank antarabangsa diwajibkan menjalankan dasar penswastaan. Penswataan bermakna menjualkan harta hak milik orang ramai kepada kaum kapitalis antrabangsa.

Di belakang dasar penswastaan ini ialah para banker dari kabal Illuminati. Para banker yang telah mengumpulkan berbilion kertas dolar memerlukan pasarana pelaboran baru. Hukum ekonomi kapitalis mewajibkan kaum pemodal terus mencari pasaran baru. Di Eropah Barat pasaran telah tepu. Maka kabal Illuminati telah mengarahkan Bank Dunia dan IMF memaksa dibuka seluas mungkin pasaran di negara Dunia Ketiga. Hasilnya kita melihat harta negara kita –air, talipon, tv, jalan raya, hospital, bangunan, bank – semuanya bertukar tangan.

Apabila Perang Dingin tamat lihat apa yang telah terjadi kepada Russia dan Eropah Timur. Negara-negara ini sedang mengamalkan sistem ekonomi sosialis telah diasak dan di serang. Russia telah dipecah-pecahkan. Perang telah dicetuskan di Bosnia, di Kosovo, di Montenegro dan di Chechen – semua ini adalah perancangan licik untuk memaksa harta rakyat di Eropah Timur di jual kepada kaum pemodal antarabangsa.

Sesudah dasar penswastaan di terima pakai – kita mula terdengar apa yang dikatakan – Dunia Tanpa Sempadan. Dunia tanpa sempadan ini ialah agenda Illiminati untuk melupuskan kedaulatan negara. Dunia tanpa sempadan bukan bererti orang Afrika boleh senang-senang masuk ke Eropah. Dunia tanpa sempadan bukan bererti buruh rakyat Pakistan boleh masuk ke Jepun untuk mencari kerja.

Tanpa sempadan hanyalah untuk duit modal masuk ke mana sahaja untuk mencari untung. Modal antarabangsa ini tidak boleh diganggu gugat ketika modal ini sedang mencari keuntungan maksima dimana sahaja dalam dunia ini. Dunia tanpa sempadan ialah untuk para pelaboran antarbangsa bermain ‘tikam dan berjudi’ di pasaran saham negara-negara Dunia Ketiga. Lihat apa yang berlaku di Asia Tenggara pada tahun 1997 dahulu. Lihat bagaimana kaum kapitalis antarabangsa telah menerbus masuk dan menekan negara-negara Asia Tenggara dan akhirnya banyak hospital kita terjual, talipon kita terjual, sistem pendidikan kita terjual.

Lihat Tesco, Carrefour, Giant, Court Mamoth, AIA, ING, Ikea, Burger King, MacDogal, Shell, Esso – semua ini adalah milik pemodal antarabangsa. Semua ini dipaksakan ke atas pasaran kita melalui perjanjian World Trade Organisation (WTO). WTO memaksa negara Dunia Ketiga membuka pasaran untuk pemodal antarabangsa masuk mencari untung.

Perjanjian WTO ini adalah perjanjian terbuka yang berat sebelah – sama seperti perjanjian-perjanjian East India Company yang telah dibuat oleh Sultan Johor dengan Raffles pada tahun 1819 dahulu. Sama seperti perjanjian Sultan Kedah dengan Francis Light pada tahun 1786. Sama seperti Perjanjian Pangkor 1874 yang akhirnya Tanah Melayu jatuh ke tangan British.

Dari zaman penjajah dahulu cita-cita kaum pemodal kapitalis ini untuk memiliki dunia ini tidak pernah padam-padam. Cita-cita kaum pemodal antarabangsa ini untuk menjadikan umat manusia sebagai hamba adalah manifesto New World Order. Kabal-kabal Illuminati saban hari merancang. Hari ini semua strateji telah di rancang. Semua telah di susun. Para banker di belakang Iluminati sedang dalam persediaan akhir untuk melahirkan apa yang mereka katakan – New World Order atau Dunia Bentuk Baru.

Lihatlah nanti bagaimana kabal-kabal Illuminati ini akan memaksa Malaysia untuk menanda tangani Free Trade Agreement. Dalam perjanjian ini tidak ada yang ‘free’. FTA ini akan memaska kita terus membuka semua pasaran negara kita untuk kaum pemodal antarabanga mencari keuntungan maksima.

New World Order ini adalah dunia baru dimana kedaulatan negara tidak wujud lagi. Rancangan NWO ini sedang diatur – Canada, Amerika dan Mexico telah disatukan – kemudian seluruh Selatan Amerika akan dijerut masuk. Eropah sedang bersatu – ini akan menjerut masuk Afrika dan Timur Tengah. Asia akan dikepali oleh Jepun yang akan menjerut semua negara di Asia.

Lihat sekarang telah wujud Asean dan Apec untuk Asia , African Union untuk Afrika dan Union of South American Nations untuk Amerika Latin. Semua ini adalah perancangan Illuminati. Semua ini direstui oleh kaum pemodal antarabangsa. Rancangan akhir mereka ialah untuk memastikan semua rakyat dunia ini akan tunduk kepada kuasa mereka.

Dalam masa yang tidak lama lagi manusia akan di cap dengan microchip. Tak percaya? Bukankah idea ini telah terkeluar dari mulut seorang pegawai polis Malaysia tiga tahun dahulu dan berita ini telah dilaporkan dalam Utusan Malaysia. Microchip ini untuk bayi yang baru lahir – atas alasan untuk mengekori penjahat.

Tetapi hakikatnya microchip ini ialah untuk mengawal semua umat manusia agar tunduk kepada sistem ekonomi kapitalis. Umat manusia akan taat bekerja dari jam 9 hingga 5 – bercuti Sabtu Ahad. Jika sopan dan tekun mereka akan dapat gaji untuk membeli kondo, ipod, Kancil, kasut Prada, beg Luis Vuitton dan pelbagai jenis ‘biji-biji saga’ yang dijanjikan. Sila baca 1984 oleh George Orwell dan tonton filem Metropolis oleh Fritz Lang.

Ini bukan satu dongeng konspirasi. Ini bukan plot sebuah novel yang belum siap. Ini adalah hakikat politik dunia hari ini. Memahami politik dunia hari ini amat penting. Jika kita gagal untuk memahami garis dan strateji Illuminati maka kita tidak akan melawan. Jika tidak bangun melawan maka umat manusia dalam dunia ini akan dijadikan hamba abdi. (TT)

( Tulisan ini boleh diambil untuk kegunaan membuat kebaikan )

Poor Pedro

From the movie Giant

(The audio is poor so you may need to turn up your speakers)

Question of the week: How many people will you be sharing Thanksgiving with? Will they be at your house or are you going to have Thanksgiving at someone elses house?

Plans are afoot to create the world’s largest underwater museum in Mexico as part of a bid to protect Cancun’s coral reefs, and bring tourists back to the region…. From BBC News. Full story

This site may contain information about: north atlantic water. The blog is also related to: sea is.

Devon checked his watch for the fifteenth time in less than fifteen seconds. His tremulous nerves, which were the impetus for his impending camping trip, raged inside of his stomach. He looked around the grand hall of the train station, admiring the incredible details that liberally embellished the vast marble surfaces. Despite the impressions that the myriad features of the huge hall imposed upon him, Devon was possessed by dread. There were only eleven minutes left before their train departed, and Devon’s friends still hadn’t arrived at the meeting point. With a sigh and a rumble in his gut, Devon raised his wrist again to check his watch. As he feverishly glanced at the time, he noticed a cluster of forms lazily meandering toward him. He focused his eyes on the group, sighing loudly as he realized his friends had finally made it.

“Ten minutes left.” was all Devon said as the three young men came up to him. “Oh, Devon… relax! That’s what this is all about, my good man! Re-lax-ation” said Paul, lightly punching Devon’s shoulder. “Where do we go from here?” asked Rick, who the friends collectively referred to as ‘Cheddar’ on account of his surname, Cabott (the connection being a similarity to a particular brand of cheese that the boys stumbled across during one of their late night grocery store raids). “Duh, Cheddar… to the train.” said Max with a sneer. Though he rarely presented his friends with any outward affection, Max surreptitiously mothered the group, usually tasked with organizing and executing their plans. The four boys, their backs burdened with packs and tents, moseyed out of the grand hall and onto the train platform, which had a distinctly different ambiance. “According to this write up, the camp site should be near a lake” said Cheddar. Max asked how long the train ride would take and Paul responded, “Long enough to rob you fools blind!” referring to their impending game of poker. Paul had a habit of talking trash before games, but ironically, he won less frequently than any of the others.

Their silver backed high-speed train pulled into the station and hissed, venting steam from its underside. The doors opened and Paul, putting on a funny voice, said, “All aboooard.” The group entrained, but Devon remained on the platform, suddenly feeling reticent. He looked up, finding Max staring at him disapprovingly, and shrugged his shoulders, saying, “I just… I just need a second.” Max waved his arm, gesturing to Devon as if saying, “come.” Exhaling loudly, Devon walked onto the train, receiving a series of gentle pats on his shoulder as he passed Max. Moments later, the train pulled out of the station and the boys were en route to their mountainous camp-ground destination. Devon gave in to the jubilant air that his friends had cultivated, and relaxed his wary mind.

Finding the steady drone of the train’s motion soothing, Devon slipped into a twilight sleep. He sat opposite his friends, who were still playing a lively game of poker. Devon had already lost his modest lot. His head rested gently against a sweater that he had rolled up and stuffed between himself and the train’s wall. As he slept, the train sped through the night, propelling the group farther and farther away from their homes. An imperceptible amount of time passed and Devon awoke feeling stiff. He sat up and cleared his throat, asking, “Where are we?” Max, his eyes affixed to the changing scene outside his window, replied, “No idea…” Devon rubbed his forehead and asked where Cheddar was. Paul and Max explained that Cheddar had found a smoking car in the rear of the train, and had been there for the past hour after he lost all his money in an endgame showdown.

Devon wobbled toward the smoking car, steadying himself as the train swayed through the countryside. In between cars, the sound of the woods rushing by was deafening. Finally, Devon reached the last car of the train and found Cheddar sitting across from an old man. The former conveyed a look of disbelief, holding his jaw in his palm as the latter spoke softly to him. Cheddar and the old man were immersed in some sort of hushed conversation, seemingly unaware of the rest of the car around them. Devon approached the table, catching Cheddar’s eye, and the conversation abruptly ended. “Hey Cheddar, how’s it goin’?” asked Devon. Cheddar nodded slowly, as if emerging from an intricate daydream. “Fine, fine… Hey, Devon – this is Jimmy Rand” he said, gesturing to the old man across from him. “Pleased to meet you” said Jimmy. Devon shook hands with Mr. Rand and asked if he could join them, bumming a cigarette from Cheddar. “Jimmy here was just telling me about Moragawn County, the town our camp-site is in.” Devon, his eyes perking up, said, “Oh, is that so? Anything interesting?” He lit his cigarette, peering over the flaming tip into Jimmy Rand’s morose countenance. The silence that followed, along with the evasive glances that Cheddar offered, were all the input Devon needed to realize that there was, in fact, something interesting to be told.

An hour passed and Paul and Max began to wonder what their friends were up to. Max left Paul with the bags and ventured to the rear of the train in search of Devon and Cheddar. When Max arrived in the last car, he was intrigued to find Devon and Cheddar wrapped in attention before a raving old man who was gesturing dramatically with his arms. Max walked up to the small smoky booth that the three men were inhabiting just as the raving stranger exclaimed, “There isn’t any other god-damn thing to do… just run.” Cheddar and Devon, their eyes wide and alarmed, looked up at Max and introduced him to Jimmy Rand. “So, uh… what’s all this running stuff about?” Max asked, unapologetically cutting to the chase as he sat beside his friends. Jimmy looked off without responding, appearing indignant. Cheddar, whispering despite the obvious futility of concealing his voice from the strange man twelve inches from his face, told Max what Jimmy had been saying.

The three friends returned to their seats an hour or so later. Paul had passed out and was drooling on Cheddar’s backpack, which incited a small riot of giggles and finger pointing amongst Devon and Max. After sitting down, the three dimly conscious members of the group snorted and laughed about crazy old Jimmy Rand and his tall tales. They surmised that the old coot probably lived for the moments when ‘wide-eyed youngsters’ came by, unsuspectingly falling for whatever creepy story Jimmy cooked up then and there. Cheddar asked Devon, “You don’t really think there’s things out there in the woods, do you?” Devon flashed Cheddar a look of understanding mixed with pity. “No, Cheddar. I don’t think there are things out there. I think that Jimmy Rand, however, is one sick puppy.” Max, who Cheddar and Devon presumed asleep, chuckled without opening his eyes and said in a bleary voice, “Beware of the woods… there’s something in the trees,” mimicking Rand’s story about the allegedly haunted forest. In less than thirty minutes, Devon, Max, and Cheddar fell asleep, their somnolent forms hurtling closer to moribund Moragawn County with every passing second.

From within a dense, black, dreamless sleep, Devon felt his vibrating alarm clock dutifully buzz in his pocket and awoke. He rubbed his eyes, slowly straightened his cramped back, and looked out of the train’s window. It was seven in the morning and the train was scheduled to arrive at the Moragawn County station by eight. Devon woke his friends up and together they uncomfortably stretched out their limbs, laughing as they recounted their evening. “So what did you guys end up doing last night after I passed out?” asked Paul. Devon and Max looked at each other, and then at Cheddar. Cheddar’s face was pale and there were dark, black circles under his eyes. “Paul… you don’t want to know,” he said. Max and Devon both broke into laugher and groggy Paul shrugged his shoulders, dismissing the issue altogether. A soothing bell chimed over the train’s P.A. system, introducing the conductor’s announcement. “Good morning – Passengers wishing to depart at Moragawn County please be advised, we are arriving half-an-hour before schedule. Our next stop is Moragawn County.” The conductor repeated the announcement once more and the bell sounded again to conclude his message.

The boys cussed and joked as they frantically packed up their belongings. Paul finished packing last, just as the train reached a full stop. The four friends, feeling giddy with morning anticipation, wrestled their way out of the passenger car. Max managed to shoulder his way out first and was taken aback by the vista of mountain ranges before him. Paul and Cheddar squeezed through the narrow train door at the same time, which produced hilarious effects for Devon, who was stuck behind them. The three friends came stumbling out onto the platform simultaneously. Engaged in a fit of self fulfilled laughter, they didn’t notice that Max had stopped snickering. Devon, his broad smile fading, began to discover what Max had already realized.

After taking in the impressively beautiful view of mountains, Devon scanned the platform, slowly comprehending the eerie scene. The train began to leave the station as Devon and Max’s eyes connected. Max frowned and shrugged his shoulders, gesticulating his confusion to Devon. The latter turned around and said, “Guys… Guys!” Cheddar and Paul, who were still horse-playing around, stopped and looked expectantly at Devon. “Notice anything odd here?” Devon asked. Max walked back toward the group, arriving behind Devon as Paul said, “Uh… not really, Devon” in a sarcastic tone. Max and Devon exchanged glances and the former, addressing Paul and Cheddar, said, “This place is deserted. No one is on the platform, no one is in the kiosks, and nobody got off the train but us.” Cheddar’s eyes broadened and transparently conveyed the inner workings of his mind – he was thinking of Jimmy Rand’s admonishments about Moragawn County.

As the group walked down the long narrow platform toward its end, they began to notice more disturbing details. Windows on the portion of the platform that had walls were either broken or boarded up. The information booth’s window was gated shut and a prolific spider had woven webs through every one of the gate’s negative spaces. “Devon,” Max began, “come check this out.” Devon walked over to Max and looked in the direction of his pointing finger. He saw the webs and said, “Wow… looks like that gate hasn’t been opened in a long time.” Cheddar and Paul fell silent behind them. “Let’s get going. There’s supposed to be a shuttle-bus for the campsite that runs every other hour, so we should be able to get the eight o’clock” said Max. They jogged down a small flight of stairs to the ground and saw a diner that appeared to be open a few hundred yards away. They walked through Moragawn’s sad excuse for a town square, collectively relieved to see signs of civilization. Cheddar said, “Look!” and pointed to a van, which had ‘Moragawn County Camp Grounds – M.C.G.” written on its side.

The four friends entered the diner and everyone seated inside immediately turned to look at them. One waitress, who was holding what looked to be a heavy tray of dishes, stopped dead in her tracks to stare at the boys. “Uh… hello,” Max started, “we’re uh… looking for a ride to Moragawn County Camp Grounds.” Somewhere in the diner the sound of breaking dishes and jangling flatware rang out, punctuating Max’s statement. “Paul tugged on Devon’s arm, asking in a whisper, “Dude, what the hell is going on here?” Before Devon could answer,  a scraggly old man stood up from one of the diner’s booths. “I’m the driver for M.C.G. You boys ready to go?” the old man asked. In the midst of the otherwise silently staring crowd, the old man’s thin voice was a gift to the boys. Max quickly responded to the old man, explaining that they were ready to go and would wait for him outside, but that he should take his time and finish his meal.

The four friends hastily shuffled out of the door, feeling relieved to have escaped the cripplingly awkward environs of the diner. “What the hell was that?” asked Paul, practically shaking. “I don’t like this at all” said Cheddar. Devon nervously looked through the diner’s plate glass window and said, “Shhh, you guys. He’s coming.” The old man hobbled outside and introduced himself to the boys as Mr. Fields. “Sorry if we spooked you back there,” he said, shaking each of the boys hands, “we don’t get many visitors these days, especially not for M.C.G.” The group of five climbed inside of the van and Max decided to sit up front with the old man, taking the undesirable position so the others wouldn’t have to. “All set?” asked Mr. Fields, while looking at the other three boys in his rear view mirror. They assented and he began driving toward the camp grounds.

For the first few minutes of their drive everyone remained silent, but Mr. Fields finally spoke out, asking, “How did you boys find out about M.C.G.?” Max cleared his throat and responded. “Well, actually I found it… online. We were looking for something serene and scarcely populated.” Mr. Fields suddenly broke out laughing, but abruptly stopped himself and said, “Oh, excuse me. It’s just that, well… M.C.G. has been called many things, but serene – that’s a new one.” Devon and Cheddar looked at each other dubiously, and Paul noticed their exchange, elbowing Devon to ask him what it meant. Devon’s eyes were wide, but he didn’t answer Paul. In a timid voice, Cheddar chimed in, asking Mr. Fields, “Is that because of what they say about the woods?” Mr. Fields looked at Cheddar in his rear view mirror, his eyes like trembling lips reluctant to speak. After a short pause, Mr. Fields said, “Yes. What have you heard, exactly?” Max had been looking out of the window of the van, feeling uncomfortable about the subject. He was clinging to the hope that Jimmy Rand’s kooky story was made up, and didn’t like where  the conversation was headed. Cheddar, his senses heightened from the slowly rising tide of adrenaline inside of his body, said, “We met someone on the train who told us that there were things in the woods. Nobody knows what they are, but that’s because no one who’s seen them has lived to tell the tale.” Mr. Fields responded, “Was there anything else?” Interjecting, Devon said, “Just run.” “That’s right,” Mr. Fields began, “If you hear anything, or see anything out of the ordinary, just run.”

For the rest of the hour long ride, the group remained silent. Cheddar was struck with panic – Devon was contemplating his plan to convince the other three to turn around and head back – Paul was offended and angry that his friends had left him out of the loop – and Max was convinced that the small town of Moragawn was populated by hillbillies who liked scaring city-boys. Max mused over how Devon was supposed to be relaxing at the advice of his therapist, and a bunch of superstitious nonsense was eradicating his carefully knit, thoughtful plan. After Mr. Fields dropped them off at the entrance to M.C.G., the boys all began speaking at the same time, colliding with each other’s varying views. Devon managed to capture the other three’s attention and said, “Listen, I’m not saying I believe it, but it seems obvious that something is going on.” Max kicked a branch that was on the ground and said, “Damn it, Devon. Nothing is going on! I arranged this whole trip around you – and there’s nothing wrong with that, but…” Paul interrupted Max, practically yelling, “What the hell is wrong with you guys? How did you not tell me about Johnny Rand?” Cheddar raised his index finger, saying, “Jimmy… Jimmy Rand.” The other three friends were equal parts dumbstruck and heartened by Cheddar’s simplicity, and broke out laughing. Paul screamed at the top of his lungs, unleashing all of his pent up frustration into the impartial forest, and the other three boys followed suit, howling along with him.  

After their initial spat, the four friends relaxed and became aware of the stunning natural beauty of the woods surrounding them. They decided that the forest was probably safer than the town, which was full of creepy country-folk. With resigned, positive attitudes, they agreed to forget about the nonsense that preceded their arrival, and carry out their plans to have a wonderful time. Max, receiving no objections from his friends, led the way down a long twisty path to their site. As promised, a beautiful patch of land abutting a placid lake proffered itself up for the boys. A cacophony of cheers followed by a round of high fives took place to commemorate the true start of their weekend vacation.

Devon and Cheddar were the last to finish setting up their tents. Paul and Max had already started a fire and were unpacking some meat to cook for lunch by the time all four boys convened. Pacified by the myriad expressions of natural perfection around them, the four friends hastily forgot all about the tall-tales they had been told. The afternoon passed quickly and before they knew it, the sun had set. They kept a fire lit for the rest of the evening, taking turns tending to it while they sat around, trading stories and jokes in the dark cover of night. Though none of them said as much, each of the friends felt deeply unnerved by the presence of darkness. The light-heartedness of their day had been replaced by an acute sense of vulnerability. The woods resounded with a vast array of night-creature’s songs, and the boys decided to go to bed, inwardly hoping that they would wake up to find the morning’s light upon them.  

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

Devon bolted upright in his sleeping bag, devastated to hear the sound of screaming. At first he thought it was his mind playing tricks, or simply the faint echo of a dream still reverberating in his consciousness. He remained perfectly still and silent, listening intently to the sounds of the woods. It was pitch black outside the tent, but aside from that observation, Devon had no idea what time it was. Suddenly, Devon heard the desperate, distant cry again, and knew with certainty that it was real. He quickly dressed himself, trying to keep as quiet as possible. His heart was racing and he bounded out of his tent once he was dressed. Max and Cheddar were already standing outside with flashlights, looking utterly panic stricken. “Did you guys hear that? Did you…” began Devon, but Max shushed him with his index finger. Devon walked up to Cheddar and put his arm around his friend, who seemed to have reverted to an almost child-like state of fear. “It’s Paul,” said Max, gravely. “Stay here” he continued, trying to appear stoic in front of his friends. “No way… don’t go,” whispered Devon, but it was too late. Max’s backlit form disappeared from view, and Devon and Cheddar stood in the dark, holding their breaths.

A few seconds later, the sound of Max’s guttural, horrified shouts pierced the open night air, and Devon and Cheddar simultaneously let out stifled cries of terror. They saw Max’s flashlight whipping through the darkness before them, coming closer. Finally, Max reemerged from the blackened abyss with a look of desperation in his eyes. He came running up to the boys, who received him into their huddle, and stopped. Max said, “What is this, what is this?” He pointed the flashlight at his side and the three young men saw that his shirt had been torn. “Oh, god. It hurts – it hurts… I think I’ve been shot!” Max cried. Devon took the flashlight from Max and shined it directly on the latter’s ribcage. To their  collective dismay, they found a massive swollen pustule on his flesh. “Holy… Max, Max, you haven’t been shot. It looks like something stung or bit you…” Max cursed and grabbed the light from Devon’s hand, finding the swollen protrusion that Devon had described. Max’s skin was pale and covered in thick sweat. He looked up from his side and said, “Jesus Christ, man! What is… what’s happening?” Max’s voice trailed off and his body began to go limp.

Devon and Cheddar caught Max’s falling form and dragged him inside of Cheddar’s tent. Cheddar held the flashlight steady while Devon removed Max’s shirt to get a better look at his wound. Max was beginning to lose consciousness, but he managed to enliven himself for one final moment. “Devon,” Max began, grabbing at Devon’s arm, “Jimmy Rand… he was right. There are… things out there. They got Paul. Take Cheddar and go. Go, Devon.” Max’s eyes lit up as he remembered Jimmy’s exact words. “Just run,” Max said, as his life ebbed away from his body. “Max? MAX!” screamed Devon. He shot Cheddar an anguished glance and was mortified to see his friend staring at something behind him. Slowly, Devon turned around, hoping beyond every hope he ever had that nothing was there. To his sublime horror, Devon found something unlike anything he’d ever seen before. He couldn’t see the entirety of the nearly person-sized insect, but he could plainly make out it’s ant-like rear as the creature thrust its stinger into Devon’s chest. Devon’s body immediately reacted to whatever had been injected into him by the impossible insect. He fell onto his face, his muscles spasming and seizing, and felt the weight of the massive abomination as it scurried over his back to sting Cheddar.

Seconds later, the creature scurried out, leaving Devon and Cheddar on the floor to die. Through the haze created by the insects noxious cocktail of poisons, Devon recited Jimmy’s – and now Max’s – final admonition. He was surprised to find that he could stand and hopped up, quickly turning to gather Cheddar. Likewise, Cheddar jumped to his feet, but while Devon tore through Cheddar’s belongings, the latter began to feel dizzy and weak. “Devon – I’m not… I think I’m dying” he said, his eyes full of tears. Devon threw the sneakers that he found at Cheddar and said, “Put those on, now! We’re getting the hell out of here.” Cheddar began slipping his feet inside the shoes and immediately felt better. “What about Max?” asked Cheddar. Devon stared at Max’s lifeless form and he found himself unable to respond. As he stood there motionlessly, Devon’s body began to go limp and his head began to spin. Horrified by the sense of impending doom, Devon hopped up and down, begging and praying aloud for help. Cheddar finished putting on his shoes and began to cry. He held his head in his hands and felt his heart rate slow down. Cheddar suddenly lost the strength to go on, thinking that he was simply resigned to die, but Devon’s heart soared as he realized what was going on. “Cheddar – JUMP! Jump up and down now, god damn it!” Cheddar was alarmed at Devon’s tone and did as he was told.

Just as Devon expected, Cheddar exclaimed that the feelings of sluggishness and resignation went away. “Just Run!” Devon shouted. “I don’t know how, but movement keeps their poison from taking hold – can’t you feel it? That must be what happened to Paul and Max – they stopped moving!” exclaimed Devon. He knew that he had cracked and lost his mind, but in light of the circumstances, that seemed irrelevant. “C’mon! We’re doing this. We run like hell, and we don’t stop or look back,” said Devon as he jumped up and down. “I don’t think I can, Devon… I get winded,” stammered Cheddar. Devon leapt into the air as high as he could and turned his body to face the tent’s opening. Hopping in place with his back to Cheddar, Devon asked, “You ready?” Cheddar considered this and thought, ‘no,’ but Devon tore out into the night before Cheddar had a chance to reply. Startled by the sudden absence of his last living friend, Cheddar bolted out as well. He quickly caught up to Devon, his eyes adjusting to the darkened forest faster than he expected, and they stealthily ran through the thick cover of foliage.  

Nearly ten minutes had gone by and the two friends were gasping for breath. Devon had begun to question whether he was dreaming or not. Splinters of self-reflection began entering his mind and he cursed himself, thinking that he had panicked and left Max for dead. Paul’s image arose in Devon’s mind and he nearly fell down, feeling overcome by the situation. “Cheddar – what – is – going – on?” He asked in between breaths as they ran. “They’re – dead – Paul – Max – us too” was Cheddar’s winded answer. “Maybe – we – should – stop,” Devon gasped. At these words, Cheddar’s legs began to wobble and he slowed his pace. They stopped for a moment to catch their breaths, propping themselves up on their knees like outfielders in the ninth inning.

With his sore lungs clambering for air, Devon straightened his back and lifted his shirt to look at his sting. Just like with Max, Devon’s flesh had swollen up around the injection site. Cheddar fell to the ground and said, “I can’t – I can’t do it – go on – without – me.” Devon’s breath was returning to him and he faced Cheddar, intending to reply, but was floored by the sudden lack of energy in his body. His head spun and like Cheddar, he too fell to the ground. Devon – his guilt weighing him down, perhaps more than the neurotoxins – thought about simply drifting off into death. He wondered what the point of continuing was as the faces of his dead friends danced in his mind. As Devon and Cheddar laid there under the canopy of darkened trees, the toxins effortlessly spread through their circulatory systems, encountering no resistance from their inert bodies. The voice in Devon’s head, which was reasoning why all of this was his fault, became quieter and quieter. Devon would have died if it were not for the shock that he felt when he saw several large shadowed forms descend from the trees. He bolted up, grabbing Cheddar’s shoulder, and said, “The toxin. The toxin, we’ve got to keep moving!” He shook Cheddar’s shoulder vigorously, but kept his eyes affixed to the advancing shadows.  

Devon fought his way up to his feet, finally apprehending the full extent of the situation. “Get up, Cheddar. C’mon, they’re coming clo…” Devon whipped his hand away from Cheddar, reflexively recoiling in shock. Cheddar had lied still for too long, and was gone. It seemed to Devon that, with the grave exception of his friends, the entire forest was alive. Giant creatures hidden behind the cloak of night surrounded the area. Devon screamed at them as he hopped up and down, temporarily forcing the toxins in his body back into submission. “YOU BASTARDS!” He yelled into the night. “Cheddar,” he moaned, his voice disintegrating into a sob. As if aiming to torture him, his mind projected images of Paul and Max as he stared into Cheddar’s lifeless eyes. Suddenly, every thought vanished from Devon’s head and the open night air filled his whole being. At that precise second, Devon turned and disappeared into the woods like a spooked rabbit.

He ran as hard as he could, but his energy dissipated in half the time that it took before. He was delirious and petrified, asking himself with every step that he took if he should stop. Within a few minutes Devon caved, acquiescing to the voice in his head that assured him of his impending death. He found a tree to lean against and tried to catch his breath, but the poison took hold of him much faster this time. He began sliding down the tree toward the floor, but realized what was happening before he fell completely over. Devon started to weep as he forced his body to begin running once again. This time, as his sore, swollen feet pounded against the soft earth, something changed in him. He realized that the rising emotion inside of his breast, if left unchecked, would eventually inspire his forfeit. He decided right then and there that he would not think, blame, wonder, fight, try, push, give up, or give in, but rather, he would run. Just run. No more – no less. He knew in his gut that this was the key, and that if he divided his mind up, focusing on any more than one avenue of pursuit, he would die.

Nearly an hour had passed and the sun was beginning to rise. Devon’s pace had slowed to a jog, but he would not stop. His mind had crystallized around the activity of running. His body was a network of pain and soreness, but he refused to allow his thoughts to be consumed by this. He felt all of the ache in his muscles transmute into waves of energy that simply passed through his body, continuously. Having discarded his preferences for anything aside from running, Devon discovered that the limits of his abilities could  be constantly pressed. So immersed in the activity at hand was Devon, that he failed to realize he had exited M.C.G. some time ago. It wasn’t until he stumbled onto a paved road that he realized where he was. His lungs felt as though they expelled fire with every exhalation, but Devon found an inexhaustible well of energy within the admonishment that Jimmy Rand had offered them. He continually shed the commentary and defeatist ranting of his mind, returning again and again to the simple task at hand.

The church bell tolled, signifying the time with eight deeply resonant knells. Markus turned his car’s engine off and gathered up his things, feeling ready to start the day. He walked down the block to his storefront, finding Julie, one of his cashiers, already waiting for him out front. “Morning Julie.” She returned his greeting, but didn’t turn to look at him as he approached. Markus realized that Julie was looking at something off in the distance. He came up behind her, directing his attention to the subject of her gaze, and said, “What in the name of…” Several hundred yards from where they were standing, down the long stretch of road that led to M.C.G., Markus and Julie peered in disbelief at the disheveled, dusty stranger rambling toward them. As the figure approached, Markus slowly began to realize that the stranger was a young man, who looked in need of help. He bent down slowly, assessing the situation, and put his belongings on the ground. “Julie, wait here” he said.

Markus jogged up to Devon, hollering, “Hey! You okay?” as he approached. Devon had been running without respite for nearly five hours, and left his sanity back at the campsite with his cadaverous compatriots. Markus saw the expression on Devon’s face and knew that this boy had been through hell. He watched Devon fight against his own exhaustion to continue shuffling forward, and placed himself in front of Devon to intervene. Devon reached Markus, but sidestepped him to continue pressing on. “Wait a minute! Wait now. What happened to you?” Markus ran to Devon’s side and grabbed his arm. Devon turned to face him, his eyes expressing the hollowness of his heart and mind. “Can’t stop” was all he said as he shrugged Markus’s hand off of him. Markus was convinced that Devon was hurt and in need of medical attention. “Whoa, whoa… it’s okay. You can stop. Whatever’s chasing you is gone now,” he said, looking back in the direction that Devon came from. Markus grabbed Devon’s shoulders again, fully intending to stop the boy this time. He was surprised to find Devon struggle against his grip with tremendous force, and yelled, “Julie! Call an ambulance! This boy needs help!” He held Devon back with all his strength, wrestling him to the ground. “Shhhh… hold on, relax. Relax, it’s okay. We’re gonna get help.” Devon raged against the strange man’s restraining hold, but couldn’t break free. Convinced that his long night had come to an end, Devon finally gave up, allowing the stillness and support of the ground to consume him. His weary bones and aching muscles relaxed, and Devon closed his eyes, expecting death to take him.

After a few moments passed, Devon opened his left eye and realized that he had not perished. Suddenly filled with an overwhelming sense of wonder, Devon found the strength to sit up and inspected the wound on his chest. To his great surprise, he saw that the swelling around the injection site had all but vanished, leaving only a discolored bruise in its place. His eyes filled with tears as he realized that he had staved off the poison long enough to neutralize its effects. Through the sobs erupting from his throat, Markus heard Devon say, “Cheddar… Max, Paul…” Devon oscillated between tears of profound sadness and sudden bursts of laughter, occasionally chirping, “Just run!”

auch diese jahr wird die homegrown tour fortgesetzt.
termine stehen leider noch nicht fest.