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  • Silvertree

    Mod post: No wishlist posts in blogs

    By Silvertree

    Please be aware that we do not permit swap-related content on profiles or in blogs. Please post this content only in the For Sale, Swaps, and Wanted forums, or in the Wishlists topic. ~from Swapping 101  Thanks!
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D2

Right now I'm listening to a Duran Duran remix album and the song Wild Boys is playing. I happened to see that video over the weekend and it's even weirder than I remember. It's also weird that I remember all these little factoids about the video (like how Simon LeBon almost drown on the windmill thing when it got stuck under the water and he couldn't get out of his harness, stuff like that) It reminded me of this Duran Duran fact book that my sister had which I would read over and over and marvel at things like how many walkmen Simon had lost during the year and that Nick Rhodes' dyed purple bangs turned pink in the hot sun when they were shooting videos in Sri Lanka. I suppose what's even stupider is the fact that I remember this stuff and that it's occupying space in my brain that could surely be used for something else. I still love their music though.

miss apple

miss apple

 

Birdy-Birdy and Karma

There's a still-smallish pine tree in my back yard (probably 6 or 7 feet high) that has a cardinal nest in it. The nest is tucked in a bit, but is right at eye level. Mrs. Cardinal was faithfully sitting on the eggs, and would hold still if you approached quietly to look at her. Yesterday the eggs began hatching, and now there are four baby cardinals, making their tiny tweepy noises, little heads thrown back and beaks open wide. They are so cute. Both Mr. and Mrs. Cardinal are feeding and guarding.   About 5 or 6 years ago, a fledgling cardinal, really a pretty tiny little thing, was flapping around in the back yard. The parents were frantically accompanying it, trying to get it to fly again. It was almost 100 degrees, and the poor little thing was exhausted and stressed. All the wild bird experts say to leave the bird alone if this is going on, so I just watched it. But then I noticed a neighbor's cat rambling around and that was it -- I went out and picked up the little bird. I brought it inside, put it in an old finch cage and fed it watered-down canned dog food all evening. I got up in the morning and fed it. I came home at noon and fed it, and by this time, it was just opening its beak and crying for me to feed it when it would lay eyes on me. It would fall asleep in my hand after it ate. Too precious for words.   At that time, I had an Airedale Terrier named Karma. Karma was most interested in Birdy-Birdy (as I called him), and I let her sit in the room when I was feeding the little guy. She wasn't being mean, just curious -- she was used to my pet cockatiel and didn't consider birds to be food. When I came home at noon, Karma was sitting outside the closed door of the room where Birdy-Birdy was staying. It was a much nicer day, and the wildlife rescue folks had told me to put the little guy out and see if he'd fly again. So I did, and as it turns out, his parents had been hanging around waiting for him. I put him out and they were there right away. He fluttered away and I hoped like crazy that he made it to saftey.   But here's the strange thing -- later that summer, a male cardinal would frequently come sit on the fence and Karma would sit and look up at it as it gave her a sweet, chirpy tweep. She wasn't watching it aggressively, it was like she was just listening to it. She never acted that way with other wild birds -- she just ignored them. But this bird and Karma were talking to each other. I always wondered just what that was all about. I like to believe that it was Birdy-Birdy, back for a visit.

valentina

valentina

 

*drools*

My new favorite BPAL came in the mail today: Peacock Queen!! I got a 5ml (really, on a whim... which ROCKS) and a frimp of Lampades from zenvodunista I'm so in love with this scent, I can't even tell you... best ever!!

eviltemptressdq

eviltemptressdq

 

Phalloi

Another day of amazing discoveries that leads me to wonder what it was about this particular area that bred such perverse visual language. Today I shot the tiny church of Givrezac, near Champagnolles (where I was yesterday). Givrezac is a pretty little village, almost identical to Champagnolles, but where Givrezac is clean and bustling with life and had a rather mid-to upper class feel about it, Champagnolles was a dirty, dying slum where people stood around and stared at the crazy redhead on a bicycle come to take pictures of their delapidated church. Like Champagnolles, Givrezac's sculptural program was also fraught with profanity and male genitalia. For example, there was this...I don't know...it looks like a viking, but it's probably a demon: Then there's this guy, who is smiling for obvious reasons: And yet another megaphallic glutton, as at Champagnolles. But I could shoot from farther back in Givrezac, so I got a good view of what he's eating. If my eyes aren't playing tricks on me, his snack has a cross on it, which means he's chowing down on the host while his bits dangle beneath.   Again, a serious lack of female figures here, and Valentina commented previously about the Champagnolles glutton that that sculpture incorporated a couple things near and dear to men's brains (food and sex). I think she's absolutely correct, particularly when one considers the 12th century-- it was truly a man's world, so of course the majority of these sculptures are directed at the male brain or set of morals.   And rather fittingly (and infuriatingly), as I was walking back to my hotel after dinner this evening, a young man approached me and asked me something. I explained that I neither speak nor understand French very well, so sorry, and continued on my way. A couple minutes later, he pulled up next to me and asked (in English) if I was English. I never admit to being American over here, so I said yes. He then tried to pick me up, so I let loose with every nasty epithet I could come up with and if he didn't figure out I was American after that, then he's doubly stupid. Yeah, not all men, but seriously, fuckin' men...

Heretic

Heretic

 

Red

I was working in an antique building in Korea town, so old that I was in an office with a mottled glass panel set in the door and a transom on top. I always wanted to paint my name on the door in gold copperplate, with "graphic artist" underneath looking like it should say "private investigator." It was that kind of building. It wasn't the best neighborhood, about a block up from the Wiltern theatre, which I could see clearly from my window. I suppose it wasn't the worst either though. There was a Korean version of a greasy spoon downstairs that served up an amazingly tasty fried kimchee rice dish and all the noodle soup a girl could want for under $5.   There was a noise. Loud. Probably louder after being bounced off the sides of the buildings. Not nearly as quiet as a clap of thunder hitting the tree right next to you. No backfire from a car's exhaust pipe could be that loud.   I looked out the window, to the street corner, where I saw a group of Asian (given the neighborhood, probably Korean) teenagers standing. A few other kids—torn up jackets, blue jeans—running away caddy-corner across the construction site for the new Metro station. They looked Mexican-American, although they were not facing me, so I couldn't be certain.   The teenagers who remained had shocked expressions on their faces. Not scared exactly — this was numb shock. One boy had his hands to his stomach, and he stood there, for a long second, with hardly any expression on his face at all.   Then the blood seeped out from under his fingers, from where he had been shot.   I'd seen a lot of shootings in movies and TV shows. I have repeatedly been told that we are desensitized to it as a society. But I tell you that no blood I have ever seen in any movie looked as red, as horribly, terrifyingly crimson, as the red that spread out over his white t-shirt. I called 911 — I'm told over a hundred people in the surrounding offices called 911 — even as several of my coworkers raced out to try to help.   It had happened in broad daylight, on a busy street, and it had taken just a moment. I never found out what happened to the teenager — if he survived. The ambulance arrived quickly, so I'd like to think he did, but truthfully, I don't know. It didn't even make the papers, which I guess means he probably lived. I don't know why he was shot. I'm quite sure it's in an LAPD file somewhere listed as a "gangland shooting." It's Korea town, right? That sort of thing happens in Korea town. And in Inglewood and in Compton and anyplace else in Los Angeles, it seems.   Yesterday, it was Venice.   I found out while waiting for the bus this morning, when a man sat down next to me and started chatting in a friendly fashion. (It is, honestly, one of the things I love about living in Inglewood — that men and women will sit down next to you and start chatting as if you grew up together.) He had a copy of the LA Times with him, and he started telling me about a boy in Venice who was killed trying to keep gang members from stealing his brother's silver cross. The fight spilled out into the parking lot of the school, and one of the gang members had pulled out a gun and shot the young man once, in the chest, killing him. The victim had not been a member of any gangs; he was only trying to protect his little brother.   "Why would they do that?" The man said, clearly mystified. "Why would anyone kill someone else over a cross? Don't they realize what the cross means?" He was trying to make sense of it, and failing.   And I had no words with which to comfort him. Can there be explanations for something like this? Can one make sense of it? The papers are already saying it was racially motivated. The attackers were African-American and the victim was Mexican-American, after all. The local police are making preparations for the expected counter-attacks by rival Latino gangs, which will, in all probability end in more shootings and the deaths of more innocent people.   And all I can think is everyone's blood is the same color red.

Macha

Macha

 

It's mine!

Last month I sent in my final car payment. I can't believe I've had my car for that long but there you go. I paid a bit extra every month so I was able to pay it off five months early and save some on interest. Since I usually receive my bill at the end of the month I thought maybe the title would be showing up any day now. Just to be sure I called the car loan people and found out that it hadn't been sent yet. Hmm. I'd heard that you sometimes had to call and ask them to send it and I even had visions of them telling me I needed to pay some sort of fee to get it. But no, the nice man on the phone said they'd send it out right away and to my suprise I came home last night and found that they had fedexed it overnight. Whoot! I now have the title in my hot little hands and my car is allll mine.   That's definitely a feeling of accomplishment.

miss apple

miss apple

 

I am *not* as badass as I pretend.

So Rusty had to go back in to work today. He left at 6, and I was expecting him at home around 8-ish.   Just before 8, I heard an indistinct scratching rattle noise outside. I thought it was Rusty digging through his pockets for his keys. To be nice, I opened the front door. Immediately, something furry ran in, and I squealed and ran out.   Anyway, I hung out in the breezeway, nearly hyperventilating, for about 10-15 minutes until he got home, and met him out in the parking lot, then explained quite panickedly about the situation and why I couldn't go back inside until he took care of the unidentified creature.   Please note we have the worlds two most useless cats. Carmen is old and very blase about such things, she would not wake up from her beauty sleep for some random woodland creature. Pushkin just gets bewildered.   Anyway, Pushkin was some use, he was able to lead Rusty to where the creature was cowering. Rusty ended up putting a box over it, and sliding another piece of cardboard underneath. We took the box out to the nearest stand of trees (our apartment complex is kind-of built around existing clumps of trees. It looks beautiful, but sometimes I feel like we're a little *too* close to nature)   It turns out the unexpected houseguest was a very cute, but completely terrified squirrel. Poor guy. I wonder what convinced him to scratch on my door to get in.

antimony

antimony

 

Really random, very mutant

Well, I haven't been very chatty on my blog lately. I've focused a lot of my chatting towards commenting on everyone else's blogs! You give me things to talk about without coming up with something of my own!   Hey, it's 06/06/06 and the President landed in my state a few hours ago. Hmmm... what does this say? It's ostensibly because he is going to deliver a speech on immigration tomorrow, but as a blue person in a red state, I find it significant. As in: "Oh my god, Satan has arrived!" So I exaggerate. The W. isn't clever enough to be the Old Nick. Now Dick (hmmm...Dick/Nick, Dick/Nick...)Cheney or Rumsfeld, maybe, but not W.   OK, now to drive this into the gutter, because I always go there, has anyone seen photos of Dick Cheney's package? Not that I would want to look, but the Wonkette political blog runs a few photos of it every now and then. Now we know why he isn't called Richard. However, I think he has an ostomy bag or something like that packed in front, especially in the first picture. I can't get a link to the photos, because Wonkette always redirects you to the front page of the blog. But if you want to see what I mean, google "Dick Cheney very big Wonkette." You will get hits on links to two photos of the Dickster that ran on Wonkette. You be the judge of what THAT is all about!!!

valentina

valentina

 

My garden, 8 days later

Strawberries: These are going nowhere. Not dying, but not thriving either.   Roses: I'm so sick of these fussy bitches. I am seriously tired of the fact that the relatively benign incecticidal soap I'm using only keeps the aphids at bay for about 3 days at a time.   Habanero: It's putting out glossy green leaves all over, and there's almost a dozen buds on top.   Hanging Tomato: If you scroll down, a week ago, the plant came half way up to the hook, now they're way up there, I'm curious how huge this thing will get! It's got 2 sets of open flowers, and 2 sets of brand new buds. I will hopefully have a ton of tomatoes.   Experimental Tomato: It's clearly not thriving, but it's not dead yet either. It's also got a cluster of flowers.   Morning Glories and Moonflowers: Both have started growing vines. I'm curious just how fast they're really going to take off.

antimony

antimony

 

Music to write by

So besides occassionally painting my character, I AM purely geeky enough to also come up with soundtracks for the novels. Wooboy, that's some good geek.   Ahem. Not even sure why I'm sharing this, except to give folks something to giggle at.   So let's see: For the fantasy novel, a typical soundtrack looks like this —   1 — Boulevard of Broken Dreams — Greenday 2 — Candy Everybody Wants — 10,000 Maniacs 3 — Everybody Knows — Concrete Blonde 4 — Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This) — Eurythmics 5 — Behind Blue Eyes — The Who 6 — The Stranger — Billy Joel 7 — The House of the Rising Sun — The Animals 8 — Control — Poe 9 — Shadowman — Brother 10 — The Game — Disturbed 11 — Walking on Broken Glass — Annie Lennox 12 — Revenge — K.M.F.D.M 13 — I'm Alive — Disturbed 14 — Twelve — Seven Nations   So it's a happy kind of book. For the science-fiction novel, it doesn't get much cheerier:   1 — Hello (turn your radio on) — Shakespear's Sister 2 — Theme to a Fake Revolution — Powerman 5000 3 — Celebrity Skin — Hole 4 — Tom Sawyer — Deadsy 5 — Wild — Poe 6 — Knock a little harder — Yoko Kanno 7 — Last Things — K.M.F.D.M. 8 — Tear it up — Andrew W.K. 9 — Flaming Telepaths — Blue Oyster Cult 10 — Ask DNA — Yoko Kanno 11 — Out of Control — Hoobastank 12 — Epiphany — Bad Religion 13 — Veteran of the Psychic Wars — Blue Oyster Cult 14 — DOA — Foo Fighters

Macha

Macha

 

TV Nation

I took the bus to work this morning, because my sweetheart is out of town for a while, and I can't drive (for a variety of reasons....it's a long story.) I used to take the bus every day to work, and it was fine, although occassionally a bit scary. And this morning was about textbook, save that the bus was a little less crowded than it can be, and there were no strange encounters of any kind.   But they had a TV on the bus. A nice big flatscreen tucked into the corner, playing a highly condensced version of Reuter's headlines.   Now I've seen this before — but generally in nicer neighborhoods (I live in the 'hood) and while I must admit that I could see the appeal, it was a bit chilling. That was, as I recall, also my reaction to first seeing telelvision monitors in the check-out lines of supermarkets. Not a sense of "hey, that's cool!" but more of a sense of unease.   I can still remember, when, as a teenager, I first realized that society was embracing the cautionary tales of cyberpunk science-fiction with open arms, that there were people who, far from being outraged or repulsed by William Gibson's societies of corporate control and vast inequity, thought that the idea of the continual survellianced society was cool. I've never met one of these people, but they must exist, because I keep seeing their handiwork, like flatscreens on grocery story check-out lines and in cars and on buses. This Max Headroom-esque idea that we should live in a society where it is impossible to escape a television screen — when did that become the rule of the day?

Macha

Macha

 

Glutton with a big...stick

Oh my. I am really beat after riding in the heat today and getting lost on top of everything else. However, I found a little church in the village of Champagnolles that was just a goldmine of smut. The entire sculptural program was peppered with the most profane things, and ot a single religious image anywhere. How bizarre. The piece that really grabbed my attention was this glutton, who obviously has other things on his mind besides food.     Unbelievable. There were couples having sex, men showing their anuses, misers with money bags that looked like huge scrotums. Very graphic for church sculpture. I left and got lost, and finally made it back to the other church I was going to photograph today in the village of St.-Quantin de Ranconnes. That church had a very detailed anus-shower (that's show-er as in "one who shows"), but I have no idea why. He's over the door, so perhaps it was to usher people into the church quickly?   The strangest thing I'm noticing, though, is the lack of obscene women sculptures. There are plenty of women on the level with monsters and demons (the misogyny of some of these programs is mind-blowing), but not in lewd or sexual context. Yet one more avenue for me to explore...

Heretic

Heretic

 

Itchiness and art

My back itches. I feel like I'm mentioning this too much in the How Are You Feeling thread so I'll expand at length here. For those of you who don't know, I got a tattoo on Friday. It was only the outline but it's pretty big so there's a lot of it and a lot left to go.   When I first made the effort to go out and start looking for an artist, finalizing ideas for a design I had no plans to get what has turned out to be a back piece (or at least two-thirds of one). My original goal was to find something to go around the larger of my two older tattoos which have faded and blurred and don't really have the same appeal to me as they once did. I went and spoke to the artist and when I came back to see her design I was instantly sold. It was wider and higher than I imagined but it was as though she just pulled the jumble of images out of my head and combined it with her own ideas to create the perfect design for me. She let me take the outline home and I looked at it every day. Instead of having reservations I found that grew more excited at the prospect of having this beautiful artwork on my back.   As the day for my appointment drew nearer I began to get anxious - what if I had a panic attack and freaked out? A small part of me wanted to wuss out but I knew I'd be hugely disappointed in myself if I did that. Luckily I had a good friend to go with me and once I got to the studio things moved so fast that I didn't really have time to stop and worry. I forgot to bring a button down shirt to wear over my front (didn't even think about it) so I ended up using a jacket I'd brought just in case I got cold. Good thing otherwise I'd have been sitting there topless. Once my back was shaved and the outline was put on I had to sit backwards on a chair and lean over the top which I shortly realized was rather uncomfortable. The moment the tattoo artist started I thought I was going to cry. It hurt so much more than I remembered! I could not imagine sitting there long enough to get the whole outline done much less adding color later on. My second thought was that there was no way my hsuband could ever sit through this. He wants to get something at some point but I honestly don't know if he could stand the it. My friend held my hand and talked to me so that I wouldn't focus on the pain so much. I thought there was little chance of that and I also didn't believe the tattooist when she said it took about ten minutes to get used to it - how could you get used to such a thing? But not too long after this thought I did start to forget and I was distracted. Some parts still really hurt; my ribs, my spine, oh my god those were the worst. At first I thought I'd want to take breaks but I started to realize that it only felt worse even after a minute and that it was better to just gut it out. Two hours later and the outline was done. I was at my limit and didn't want to push it. My back was cleaned and then the bandage was applied and I was sent home with aftercare instructions, A&D ointment, and Smarties (actually, she gave me Smarties at the beginning too). I was exhausted but pretty much unable to sleep that night. My back felt like I'd had a sunburn with road rash. I had a couple of pillows from the couch I was using to prop myself up so that I could sleep without moving too much. Apparently I kept pushing them away in the middle of the night and they'd knock stuff off the shelf over our bed and onto my husband's head during the night I did that twice   I've pretty much moved from the ouch stage to the itchy stage. I'm not sure which is worse. Pain I can deal with but itching is annoying. Hopefully that will go away in a few days.   The funny thing is that when I got my second tattoo I thought it was huge. Couldn't believe I'd done it and thought maybe it was too big. I thought surely I'd do that with this since it's three times as big but no! I was looking at my back thinking, hmmm now I need something on my shoulders.

miss apple

miss apple

 

Scoreboard!

This weekend we went to DH's old workplace one last time. We moved to Dallas 5 years ago because the music retail company he worked for in Ohio was begging him to take over a store -- he was offered places in Vegas, Denver and Southern California before he accepted here. He was excited because he would be involved from the ground up, as the outdoor, urban retail complex wasn't even finished yet, and he would be involved in construction and inventory and fixtures and hiring and everything.   Unfortunately for him, 2 weeks after he opened was 9/11. Retail across the country tanked, and his brand-spanking new store was no exception. Add in management changes, and suddenly the golden boy was a problem child. Without going into detail, things ended on a bad note, but it was a company-wide problem. They've since closed a bunch of prominent retail stores, and they're closing the one DH worked so hard to open.   So we go there on Sunday, a couple of weeks before their closing, and it's like a mausoleum. Empty, cavernous and depressing. But DH wasn't depressed, because he actually got a better job afterwards with lots more security. And he can Scoreboard!   The sports radio station we like here has a term: "Scoreboard!" Like if someone is bitching about how much greater a coach is over Phil Jackson, you just say "Scoreboard" and realize Phil Jackson has won 9 NBA championships. Not that I like Phil Jackson, he's a pompous ass , but he has scoreboard over Larry Brown or Pat Riley or whoever.   I'm babbling, but my point is to appreciate when you can Scoreboard over something -- not in a mean, malicious way, but more self-affirming.

dawndie

dawndie

 

Finally, an exam update...

So I took the exam about 3 weeks ago...   It took me this long to recover enough to be willing to blog about it!   Anyway, The test was 4 hours and 35 questions. All calculation/numerical questions, but multiple choice, so no opportunity for partial credit if you make arithmetic mistakes.   Although it's against the rules, a lot of people take their MC letter answers out of the test. The evening of the test (after the sittings are done in all time zones) one person will usually volunteer to run the PAK (popular answer key), and everybody sends them their answers. They then create a key based on the idea that usually wrong answers are fairly evenly distributed between the different wrong answer choices (with the exception of tricky questions that trick people into one specific wrong answer) so that the right answers are usually the plurality of answers for each question. The PAK is usually right to within a question or 2.   According to the PAK, I got 24/35. The pass mark is usually 21-22. (The pass mark is set each sitting after the tests are all scored. Although the societies say that the exams are not "curved", it's pretty clear that the pass mark is usually set to keep the passing percentage pretty steady)   I'm not going to tempt fate by claiming I passed, but the odds are pretty decent I may have pulled it off. I won't know officially until July 14.

antimony

antimony

 

Rinky-DINK

The Snarks are what you could call DINKs (Double Income, No Kids - Snarky just learned of this acronym last week because she is culturally out of it). They aren't wealthy, nor are they well paid, but they are comfortable and able to indulge in small luxuries like restaurant dining when they want and the occasional pair of new (but sensible!) shoes.   They know they are lucky to have managed their previous investments well enough to be in their current house (which they love just a little more each day even with all the blemishes that every old house has). Though she hasn't been completely willy-nilly about their post-real estate orgy, Snarky has been feeling like the other shoe must drop from their recent "fixin'/preppin' the house for total habitation" purchases.   And that shoe got dropped yesterday over the phone with The Mister. He wants to give notice at his current job. He plans to have his last day be the Friday before the Labor Day weekend. He won't start looking for another job until about a month before his last day.   Snarky knows the contributing factors to this major decision are not flippant ones, but she can't help but feel a bit of panic, a bit like the rug was pulled out from underneath her feet.   He hasn't been happy in that job almost from the beginning. He has been dealing with depression and poor health exacerbated by the high and constant stress. At one point last night he turned to her and said "And if a year from now, if we are both in jobs we really love but that don't pay as much, is it that much of a loss if we can't keep this house?"   And Snarky was torn. She wants him to find his place in the world, she does. She would even like to find out exactly what she should be when she grows up. But this house... this house is already so special to her. She'd like to have her cake and eat it too.   Snarky has been taking pictures like a madwoman, but instead of downloading and formatting, her evenings have been taken up with weeding and painting. She hopes to give you updates soon on the continuing evolution of ChezSnark. There's been hardwood floor refinishing, tub resurfacing, Asian Tigering, and even more painting of retina-searing hues.   She just hopes she won't be covering all of this up with eggshell in a year's time.

darkitysnark

darkitysnark

 

Personal Inventory

Everything i own, and what's on order:   5ml Alone Cathode Enraged Orangutan Musk Geek Intrigue Litha Masquerade Medicine Show Montresor Pit and The Pendulum, The Red Lantern Snake Charmer Snow White Two Monsters   5ml Pending Dee Harvest Moon Chrysanthemum Moon Carnaval Diabolique Phantom Calliope Mme Moriarty Organ Grinder Doc Constantine Gennivre Midnight on the Midway Antonino Death of the Grave Digger   Imps Alecto Alone And There Was a Great Cry in Egypt Apothecary, The Arcana Bathsheba Black Phoenix Black Tower, The Blood Moon Blood Pearl Bow & Crown of Conquest, The Budding Moon Cairo Carceri D'Invenzione Carnal Carnivàle Caterpillar, The Cathode Clio Coyote Cracked Bell, The Czernobog Death Cap Dee Dracul Drink Me Elegba Enraged Orangutan Musk Envy Fenris Wolf Florence Fortunato Frumious Bandersnatch Geek Glasgow Gommorah Great Sword of War, The Greed Gypsy Queen Hades Hellion Herr Drosselmeyer Hetairae Intrigue Jolly Roger Juke Joint Kabuki Lampades Litha Lucretia Magus Masque, The Masquerade Medicine Show Melpomene Montresor Morella Nefertiti Nephilim Nocnitsa Nyarlathotep Ochosi Odin Old Scratch Orpheus Ozymandias Perversion Pit & The Pendulum, The Ravenous Red Lantern Red Queen, The Resurrection of the Flesh Saint-germain Salomé Satan and Death with Sin Intervening Scarecrow Scherezade Severin Shadow Silk Road Snake Charmer Snake Oil Snow White Spanked Sri Lanka Tezcatlipoca Torture King Two Monsters Tzadikim Nistarim Vixen Voodoo Yew Trees   Imps Pending none

this machine

this machine

 

Terror!

Not sure why, but all last Monday and every day since, I have that song "Terror!" by The Rakes in my head:   And my job in the city won't matter no more When the network is down and my flesh is all torn   Every plane is a missile Every suitcase a bomb There's no reason in my head now Only fear in my bones       So now things are getting back to normal. I am packed into a cramped office with my colleagues, with no air conditioning, bad connectivity and no privacy. Oh yes, and there is lots of B.O. too. I am becoming an involuntary mouth-breather to survive.   There are lots of promises about which agency will pay for all the stuff I lost. But really, I am not that concerned. Every morning we sit out on the lawn and have a meeting (finance took over the conference room) and talk about what is going on. It is what is revealed in these meetings that is foremost in my mind. Some of our staff were tied up and all of their computers taken out of town and set on fire in one of the provinces last night. They were warned not to associate with international organizations (these staff implement an education program). There have been more aid workers killed in the first six months of this year than probably the last three years put together and I can't help but wonder, was this riot an abberration or is something worse on the horizon?   I have been in Afghanistan for over 14 months now. I have dealt with the kidnapping of a colleague, the riots, daily stares and harrassment and yet it has not even occurred to me until now that maybe it is time to pack it up. But packing it up is not that easy. I love what I do. I really feel like I contribute, like I am helping people. I like the Afghans and the foreigners I work with (except for one, but more on that later) and my husband, for once, likes what he does as well.   A few weeks ago I was compiling the results of a survey from our widows' program. One of the beneficiaries wrote, "God bless you people. I pray for you every day". Is it worth it, to have job satisfaction if I have to deal with the potential of having all of my shit looted, my office burned and to be kidnapped? I honestly do not know.   This isn't Iraq--things get done. We are building houses for returnees, digging wells so schoolchildren have clean water, educating little girls and boys, helping widows to live in dignity and trying, generally, to get the people of Afghanistan back on their feet again after all of these conflicts. It's like it doesn't matter anymore who you are or what you do; if you are preceived to be on the wrong side you could get killed. I think that is the part I am having problems with.   Maybe this is just an expected after-effect of all of the "Terror!" I've been through lately. But the good news is that on Sunday the old man and I are off to Bangkok for a conference and then a week on Koh Samet. Hopefully my pallid ass in a bikini will not incite some terror of its own.

Confection

Confection

 

my top ten 2006

GC -=-=-=- Bewitched Blood Countess Cobra Lily Dragon's Heart Dragon's Milk Frumious Bandersnatch Kitsuni-Tsuki Lampades Queen Mab Shadow Witch Orchid     LE =-=-=-= Ace of Hearts Blood Moon Fruit Moon Harvest Moon The Living Flame Mabon Snake Charmer Storm Moon Sugar Skull Venom

KymbaKhan

KymbaKhan

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