The True Nature Of Oppression
*
"She checked her desk drawers, a habit she developed on her first job. They were still locked. Detectives were some of the biggest thieves out. Any loose change, pens or paper vanished if an officer left their desk unattended for even a minute. She switched on her computer and waited while it booted up. Her swollen foot throbbed faintly... Nothing she could see suggested dodgy dealings or falling share prices, and a check of the annual report showed the company had a good credit rating and its business loans were with responsible local banks."
Kathyrn Fox Skin and Bone.
Fragile, as if nothing mattered any more, as if his ancient bones were dying inside him, as if all that effort had been for nothing; with ancient corridors, an infinity of touch, the astonishing detail the closer he came. He couldn't throw off the images, the endless metallic silver corridors, the criminal awaiting, the disorder in his soul. He had been low before, but this was a different depth. He coughed sadly, his sick frame wracked. He had lost all motivation, surrounded by sneers and contempt. It was a cruel diagnosis. He should just take the day off. It wasn't going to get any better. He was confounded by the conflict between an ingrained work ethic and the desire to protect himself.
Much had changed. He was worried by the disorder which surrounded him. Everything needed co come to grip. There were times when even he could see through the prancing charade. Whatever it was, he needed to make way for a younger generation. Those corridors had been so long, so spiked with meaning. He had curled and curled in a strange waiting; her grey eyes looked at him with concern. After all they had been through. There were so many other success stories. Television had changed everything. He looked at the populace, jammed into crowded public buses, and wondered how their bosses could live with themselves. It was a pointless debate. They had taken control.
He had, effectively, been used as a tool to save the people, a living virus which, once planted, would have an almost immediate affect. The machine intelligences which ran their lives in those complex edifices had disappeared, almost instantaneously. No room, on this level, for the slow paced drama of burning buildings. He was sick and that was all there was to it. A cruelty would help them, a great indifference. But that was not what was happening. The Mandelbrot set, with all its astonishing complexity and ever opening worlds, was a simple analogy for what he had seen. Those long long corridors, those thousands of rooms, it was a world he was barely familiar with any more.
Once he had roamed these places, there had been a purpose to his suffering. He was fascinated by their success stories. Things went awry, often, but he hadn't been a part of that. The depth of contempt directed towards him by the bosses would take a long time to wash away. His hyper sensitivity did not serve him well. Other stories would come and go. The baby would arrive. It was too easy to forget what happened here, the injustices they had allowed to fester, the elaborate constructs that had been allowed to be built. Feeding off them, fed by them. They themselves had created these monsters, had allowed them to grow, take over. If anyone was to blame it was they themselves. Once upon a brutal time.
Dictators throughout history had pulled similar stunts. This time they had allowed it to happen right under their noses. They had built the machines. They had put in the implants. They had lined up like cattle and allowed themselves to be operated on. Their own culpability in this most recent human nightmare, a tale, like so many before, of oppression and dishonesty and a compliant populace. They lined up like sheep and allowed all their hopes and dreams, all their individuality, to be surrendered to a higher power. The intelligence that had thrived at their behest might be new in history, but the similarities to other historical events was remarkable.
Stalin oppressed millions, but they never rose up. Hitler killed millions; and the country's ordinary citizens went about their daily lives; or joined in out of fear. Was that what had happened here? An evil oppression they had foisted on themselves? He was sick, tired and bewildered; and fearful that more would be asked of him. Surely not. Surely now he could find peace, in that mythical mountain village, or in the routines of his daily life, his daily work. He tried to speak, as the party around him dissolved and people went back to their ordinary duties. The words choked in his throat. No warning was sufficient. A new government, a new oppression, would take them now. Perhaps history would prove his deeds were noble. More likely history would cement over the recent eruptions, conceal his role and conceal the true nature of the disease and the self-oppression that had overtaken them all.
THE BIGGER STORY:
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/05/22/us/politics/21cnd-campaign.html
Senator Barack Obama took a big step toward becoming the Democratic presidential nominee on Tuesday, amassing enough additional delegates to claim an all but insurmountable advantage in his race against Senator Hillary Rodham Clinton.
Senator Hillary Rodham Clinton and Bill Clinton at Lynn’s Paradise Diner in Louisville, Ky., on Tuesday. More Photos »
With 88 percent of the vote counted in the Democratic primary in Oregon on Tuesday, Mr. Obama had 58 percent of the vote to Mrs. Clinton’s 42 percent. In Kentucky, with all votes counted, Mrs. Clinton had 72 percent to Mr. Obama’s 27 percent.
Both candidates moved on to Florida on Wednesday for more campaigning.
While Mrs. Clinton’s campaign continued to make a case that she could prevail, Mr. Obama seized on the results in Kentucky and Oregon to move into a new phase of the campaign in which he will face different challenges. Those include bringing disaffected Clinton supporters into his camp; winning over elements of the Democratic coalition like working-class whites, Hispanics and Jews; and fending off attacks from Senator John McCain, the presumptive Republican nominee, especially on national security.
http://www.news.com.au/story/0,23599,23739359-29277,00.html
LEADERSHIP tensions in the Liberal Party have returned with Malcolm Turnbull refusing to rule out challenging Brendan Nelson for the opposition's top job.
Mr Turnbull reignited debate over the Liberal leadership yesterday when he refused to rule out challenging Dr Nelson before the next election.
"I don't comment on the leadership other than to say we have a leader, his name is Brendan Nelson and he has all of our support," Mr Turnbull said in abn address at the National Press Club yesterday.
http://www.news.com.au/story/0,23599,23735056-2,00.html
JUST when you thought party-boy Corey Worthington's antics were over, he's trashed a Gold Coast hotel apartment and left his agent to pick up the bill.
Just days after being issued a $225 fine for using a fake ID to get into a Surfers Paradise nightclub, Worthington is in trouble with the police again.
This time, the run in occurred at the Mantra Sun City Resort on the Gold Coast after police responded to complaints a room was being trashed inside the building.
His agent Max Markson told NEWS.com.au that despite the fact two chairs were broken and a hole was made in the wall, it was a "minor incident."
Markson confirmed he paid the bill for the damage and when asked how much he was up for he responded, "it was negligible, the price of a good meal".
"She checked her desk drawers, a habit she developed on her first job. They were still locked. Detectives were some of the biggest thieves out. Any loose change, pens or paper vanished if an officer left their desk unattended for even a minute. She switched on her computer and waited while it booted up. Her swollen foot throbbed faintly... Nothing she could see suggested dodgy dealings or falling share prices, and a check of the annual report showed the company had a good credit rating and its business loans were with responsible local banks."
Kathyrn Fox Skin and Bone.
Fragile, as if nothing mattered any more, as if his ancient bones were dying inside him, as if all that effort had been for nothing; with ancient corridors, an infinity of touch, the astonishing detail the closer he came. He couldn't throw off the images, the endless metallic silver corridors, the criminal awaiting, the disorder in his soul. He had been low before, but this was a different depth. He coughed sadly, his sick frame wracked. He had lost all motivation, surrounded by sneers and contempt. It was a cruel diagnosis. He should just take the day off. It wasn't going to get any better. He was confounded by the conflict between an ingrained work ethic and the desire to protect himself.
Much had changed. He was worried by the disorder which surrounded him. Everything needed co come to grip. There were times when even he could see through the prancing charade. Whatever it was, he needed to make way for a younger generation. Those corridors had been so long, so spiked with meaning. He had curled and curled in a strange waiting; her grey eyes looked at him with concern. After all they had been through. There were so many other success stories. Television had changed everything. He looked at the populace, jammed into crowded public buses, and wondered how their bosses could live with themselves. It was a pointless debate. They had taken control.
He had, effectively, been used as a tool to save the people, a living virus which, once planted, would have an almost immediate affect. The machine intelligences which ran their lives in those complex edifices had disappeared, almost instantaneously. No room, on this level, for the slow paced drama of burning buildings. He was sick and that was all there was to it. A cruelty would help them, a great indifference. But that was not what was happening. The Mandelbrot set, with all its astonishing complexity and ever opening worlds, was a simple analogy for what he had seen. Those long long corridors, those thousands of rooms, it was a world he was barely familiar with any more.
Once he had roamed these places, there had been a purpose to his suffering. He was fascinated by their success stories. Things went awry, often, but he hadn't been a part of that. The depth of contempt directed towards him by the bosses would take a long time to wash away. His hyper sensitivity did not serve him well. Other stories would come and go. The baby would arrive. It was too easy to forget what happened here, the injustices they had allowed to fester, the elaborate constructs that had been allowed to be built. Feeding off them, fed by them. They themselves had created these monsters, had allowed them to grow, take over. If anyone was to blame it was they themselves. Once upon a brutal time.
Dictators throughout history had pulled similar stunts. This time they had allowed it to happen right under their noses. They had built the machines. They had put in the implants. They had lined up like cattle and allowed themselves to be operated on. Their own culpability in this most recent human nightmare, a tale, like so many before, of oppression and dishonesty and a compliant populace. They lined up like sheep and allowed all their hopes and dreams, all their individuality, to be surrendered to a higher power. The intelligence that had thrived at their behest might be new in history, but the similarities to other historical events was remarkable.
Stalin oppressed millions, but they never rose up. Hitler killed millions; and the country's ordinary citizens went about their daily lives; or joined in out of fear. Was that what had happened here? An evil oppression they had foisted on themselves? He was sick, tired and bewildered; and fearful that more would be asked of him. Surely not. Surely now he could find peace, in that mythical mountain village, or in the routines of his daily life, his daily work. He tried to speak, as the party around him dissolved and people went back to their ordinary duties. The words choked in his throat. No warning was sufficient. A new government, a new oppression, would take them now. Perhaps history would prove his deeds were noble. More likely history would cement over the recent eruptions, conceal his role and conceal the true nature of the disease and the self-oppression that had overtaken them all.
THE BIGGER STORY:
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/05/22/us/politics/21cnd-campaign.html
Senator Barack Obama took a big step toward becoming the Democratic presidential nominee on Tuesday, amassing enough additional delegates to claim an all but insurmountable advantage in his race against Senator Hillary Rodham Clinton.
Senator Hillary Rodham Clinton and Bill Clinton at Lynn’s Paradise Diner in Louisville, Ky., on Tuesday. More Photos »
With 88 percent of the vote counted in the Democratic primary in Oregon on Tuesday, Mr. Obama had 58 percent of the vote to Mrs. Clinton’s 42 percent. In Kentucky, with all votes counted, Mrs. Clinton had 72 percent to Mr. Obama’s 27 percent.
Both candidates moved on to Florida on Wednesday for more campaigning.
While Mrs. Clinton’s campaign continued to make a case that she could prevail, Mr. Obama seized on the results in Kentucky and Oregon to move into a new phase of the campaign in which he will face different challenges. Those include bringing disaffected Clinton supporters into his camp; winning over elements of the Democratic coalition like working-class whites, Hispanics and Jews; and fending off attacks from Senator John McCain, the presumptive Republican nominee, especially on national security.
http://www.news.com.au/story/0,23599,23739359-29277,00.html
LEADERSHIP tensions in the Liberal Party have returned with Malcolm Turnbull refusing to rule out challenging Brendan Nelson for the opposition's top job.
Mr Turnbull reignited debate over the Liberal leadership yesterday when he refused to rule out challenging Dr Nelson before the next election.
"I don't comment on the leadership other than to say we have a leader, his name is Brendan Nelson and he has all of our support," Mr Turnbull said in abn address at the National Press Club yesterday.
http://www.news.com.au/story/0,23599,23735056-2,00.html
JUST when you thought party-boy Corey Worthington's antics were over, he's trashed a Gold Coast hotel apartment and left his agent to pick up the bill.
Just days after being issued a $225 fine for using a fake ID to get into a Surfers Paradise nightclub, Worthington is in trouble with the police again.
This time, the run in occurred at the Mantra Sun City Resort on the Gold Coast after police responded to complaints a room was being trashed inside the building.
His agent Max Markson told NEWS.com.au that despite the fact two chairs were broken and a hole was made in the wall, it was a "minor incident."
Markson confirmed he paid the bill for the damage and when asked how much he was up for he responded, "it was negligible, the price of a good meal".
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