Nukes and spooks

Church InteriorOh, those wacky Eastern Europeans! Check out this website, which is a photofantasm of kaliedoscopic perversion and apocalyptic horror.

Okay, it’s an album of church shots. I’ve been reading more HP Lovecraft, okay? No wonder he sent all his nutty villains to stay with The Baron in the mountains of Hungary: in that context, even Charles Dexter Ward would seem wholesome. Hmmm, wonder if he has a blog? Guy Fawkes does, and Ward seems the type. In any case, I’m ashamed to say the 3-D images on Page Two of the photosite defeat me; I must need the special glasses or something.

I’ve been engaged in a lively discussion of UK nuclear policy over on BoJo’s Blog and the point I keep coming back to is the durability and toxicity of the waste. I’d be in favour of nukes, aggressively so, if only we could figure out how to design nuclear reactors which produced only stable, harmless waste or zero waste, as is now the standard in, ferinstance, many pulp mills. So I am in favour of nuclear research, very much so, since without it we’ll be stuck rebuilding an old 60’s designed something that will eventually produce enough waste to poison the entire planet; unfortunately, the waste products will last longer than any language or civilization. Indeed, they will last longer than written language has been in existence. So, how to deal with it, and how to warn people away from it?

You don’t recognize any of these startling cultural icons from the distant past; you don’t know who made them, or what they symbolize. Hell, you don’t even know that they’re cultural icons, but the whole scene briefly scares the bejesus out of you. Then, like Howard Carter stumbling on the tomb of Tutankhamen, you experience a serious rush of exhilaration, aggravated by a serious case of the heebie-jeebies, as you realize that you’ve just chanced on a history-making breakthrough, a discovery of earthshaking significance. So, which do you do? 1) Immediately pack up the entire expedition and evacuate the area never to return? 2) Waste no time in commencing a major archaeological dig and cementing your place in history?

Amazingly enough, the folks over at the U.S. Department of Energy are banking on curious humans (or whomever) from future millennia to go for Door No. 1. 

Entry to church crypt 

Right. Just a little nervous-making. Not to mention the rising oceans may eventually reach the buried waste and suddenly turn the seas into aquatic X-Men jamborees. Not to mention that the Russians and the Chinese are responsible for a significant proportion of the world’s nuclear waste disposal, and we all know how very methodical and efficient the Russians and the Chinese are, how impeccable the quality of their work and attention to detail, and of course how stable their own civilizations at the current time. We can all sleep a little easier…if we have enough whisky.

The Czech Republic. It’s a blog about the Czech Republic. And recycling. And nuclear waste. And HP Lovecraft because, at bottom, isn’t everything about HP Lovecraft? He’s the Socrates of the 20th Century, with August Derleth as his Plato, which only goes to show you how very far we’ve come.

Sometimes, I think the most merciful thing in the world is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents. We live on a placid isle of ignorance amidst black seas of chaos, and it is not meant that we voyage far. HP Lovecraft, The Call of Cthulhu

The Czechs had something. They had, back in 1280, a jar full of dirt from the Holy Land. And they spread it around the graveyard of a particular church, wanting to extra-holify their already-technically-holy ground. And holy cadavers, Batman, it was a huge hit! Bodies came from all over Europe to be buried there, which musta made quite a fragrant convoy back in the days before aircon; or did the kids just ask Grandma one day, “So, how’re you feeling, Gran?” and if she said anything other than, “Strong enough to wrestle a bear in my underwear” they packed her off to Sedlec whether she felt like a short Czech sortie or not. Put her on the wagon train with “Please bury at Sedlec when dead” around her neck in Latin or something? Nice. That’s planning for the future.

Well, all these dead people were great for PR, but kinda rough on the graveyard. After all, even stacking them six deep (which is hard when they’re only buried six feet down) you have only so much room in a graveyard, and they obviously couldn’t expand it without going all the way back to the Holy Land for more Extra-Holy Dirt, so they said screwit and became creative with the waste.

Thusly:

By 1318, more than 30,000 bodies were buried there and by 1511, it had become necessary to remove the older bones to make place for the new ones. These later became the material for the macabre creations. In 1870 a local woodcarver was hired by the Duke of Shwartzenberg to decorate the inside of the church with the human remains (approximately 40,000 sets of bones).

Now, forgive me, but it’s been quite some time since I was a Monstranceregular at church, and I am no longer familiar with the terminolgy. Which reminds me to do that blog entry comparing M.R. James to Gene Roddenberry; all I remember is the line, “Ah, the narthex. That’s where they keep the dilithium crystals.” Anyway, I do not know, exactly, what a monstrance is, but I do know if I had to make one up it would look something like this one, which is actually labelled “Monstrance,” and indeed, what person, no matter how categorically narrow-minded, could argue that it is, indeed, a monstrance? Is it perhaps from the same root as “remonstrance” and does it perhaps mean the Dark Age Croatian equivalent of “Kids, don’t try this at home”? Perhaps they should ship it to Utah?

In any case, unless we find a way to make glow-in-the-dark art out of depleted Uranium and other by-products of nuclear fission, or we find a practical use for tumours once and for all (staffing the White House doesn’t count), we had better bring this level of creativity to the disposal of the waste. Despite the levels of fossil fuel-based pollutants in the air, I’m not holding my breath.

Kids, don’t try this at home.

Let’s Roll-ins

I was saving pictures, in preparation for making this post, when I experienced a nomenclature crisis. Now, it is not every day that one experiences a crisis of nomenclatory parameters, but it was, indeed, this day. I was, as I explained, saving pictures. And one of the things you have to do when you do that is give them all different names. The problem was, they were all pictures of Henry Rollins, and the only thing that came to mind when looking at these pictures, besides a powerful urge to crawl under the desk and cover my vitals with the office chair, were the words “Rollins Angry.” Eventually I settled on “Rollins Angry,” “Rollins Threatening,” “Rollins Screaming,” and “Rollins Not Actively Menacing Anything.”

Rollins Screaming

Would you mess with this man?

Well, Sploid reports that a couple of hapless Aussies have. In the case of the first one, I don’t blame Rollins for going somewhat apeshitish, particularly as that is the Rollins default. In the case of the second, I think he was out of line for killing the messenger, although that is surely a longstanding, if snivelly and tyrannical, political tradition, and therefore possibly considered acceptable, at least in DC and LA.

Henry Angry

 

 

No, no Henry, I wasn’t saying anything. Don’t mind me. Nothing to see here…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In any case, here is the article, in its glorious entirety. I’m too scared to take it out of context. Kudos to Rollins, though, for being one of the few who can distinguish between the role of the military in Iraq and the role of the politicians. Sucky enough? I don’t wanna get beat up.

 

‘The Aussie PM can go f@ck himself’

Henry WSJOn a recent flight from New Zealand to Australia a man found himself seated next to a musclebound gentleman reading a book bearing the ominous tile “Jihad: The Rise Of Militant Islam In Central Asia.”

He did what any hopelessly paranoid slab of quivering milquetoast would do: He reported the guy to Australia’s National Security hotline.

That guy was punk rock legend Henry Rollins.

 

 

Rollins received a letter warning him of his status as a suspected terrorist from a “nice lady” in the Australian government:

The person who sat next to you on the flight from New Zealand does not agree with your politics or choice of reading and so nominated you as a possible threat. As they were too cowardly or stupid to leave their details I can’t call them to discuss their idiocy with them.

In his response to the kindly tipster the former Black Flag frontman noted the irony that the book is written by a reporter from the Wall Street Journal, one of America’s more conservative newspapers, and was published by Yale University, President Bush’s alma mater.

The D.C. native then asked the woman to send along a message to her higher-ups:

Please tell your government and everyone in your office to go f*ck themselves. Tell them twice. If your boss is looking for something to do, you can tell him I suggest he go f*ck himself. Baghdad‘s safer than my hometown and your PM is a sissy. You have a nice night.

Though firmly against the war in Iraq and no fan of President Bush, Rollins is an unassailable patriot and supporter of the Armed Services. During the Christmas season he made his sixth USO tour.

“The troops, they’re my heroes,” Rollins said. “You don’t need me out there like some Tokyo Rose. I wouldn’t go on a tear on Bush out there, because it’d be distracting.”

Rollins Extreme Closeup

Yes Sir!

Anything you say, Henry. Now can I have your number?

Who’s in play?

It’s a good question. Here, courtesy of BoingBoing is La Molle Industria, a website that claims to lay it out for you in funfunhappyhappy Engerish terms…only not. I like it very much, although I have no need for the Orgasm Simulator.

Eg:

Tamatipico

Tamatipico Is Your virtual flexworker: He works, he rests and he has fun when you want him to! Raise his productivity but pay attention to his energy and his happyness because he could get injured or strike.

Rum, Sodomy, and the Lash

Gay pirate comics with a very superhero-sounding name: Rum, Sodomy, and the Lash. Just the thing for a Saturday morning, eh? I mean Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!

Rum, Sodomy and The Lash

Square Office

I’m wondering, in what they themselves call “The CEO Presidency,” if they have those stupid motivational posters up on all the walls. You know the ones: beautifully photographed rowers, eagles, mountain climbers, etc, with some sort of corporately uplifting blahblah about “Empowerment” or “Teamwork” or some such “you are now required not only to sell your labour, but also your heart and soul” taurine scat.

Listening to: “Look at all these idiots” by Mr. Burns, from the album The Simpsons Sing the Blues

Mood: Cranky. Wanna make something of it?

Honestly, if more people went to church or temple or actual mountain-climbing, fewer people would feel the need to find the meaning of life in the business pages. It reminds one of the old saying “Be all you’re told to be.”

Yeah, definitely cranky. And I’m not even hung over.

But one wonders, one does, what kind of posters Cheney has on his wall. I’ve always wanted an office with a waiting room, just so I could mindfuck the people in it; don’t kid yourself, that is what waiting rooms are for. Just ask any receptionist.  I’d hang something plausible-looking from Despair.com on the walls, perhaps my favorite, this one:

Dreams

Scatter around a few books like Bad Postcards, Waiting for Godot, some Philip K. Dick, maybe a few tattered copies of the Journal of Irreproduceable Results, and watch their heads slowly melt under the onslaught. I’m a big meanie.

But What Would Cheney Hang? Besides Democrats?

As I’ve pointed out before, Whittington gave the Republican party $6,500 last year; this is obviously insufficient to protect you against being actually shot by the Vice President. I would suggest setting the floor for donations at about ten k, just to be safe. When faced with a man of such obvious outcome-based orientation, what can we suppose he’d favour to look upon?

Mene, mene, tekel upharsin. 

NAH.

This:

 

Power Corrupts Yay