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View Results: I have been to the county of Fuckshire, it was ...
Nice? 29 13.74%
Nasty? 27 12.80%
Nasty but nice? 155 73.46%
Voters: 211. You may not vote on this poll

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Old 06-19-2010, 10:53 AM   #691
tenderfoot
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Quote:
Originally Posted by planktonnn
I am the famed British institution!?!

I have conducted extensive tests & yes, it is possible to live in the woods and shed your skin. As for all the rest of it, you really wouldn't believe me if I told you
In some bizarre way it's good to have you back.
Go on, say something funny.
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Old 06-19-2010, 06:49 PM   #692
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Originally Posted by tenderfoot
Go on, say something funny.
Er... ooh, hmmmm. Nope. That's a tough one. Funny is as funny does, and I'm finding funny isn't doing funny on demand right now, so instead, a portion of a letter to a friend who lives in the centre of a fortress city somewhere in southwest France:

My dearest Lord Charm,

That'll be the fourth film script, or is it the sixth, or the 60th? Can it ever be anything but based on real life one way or another? I am me, but me is also a bowl of dust, grasshopper :-D I did ask for a lobotomy but they wouldn't give me one, bloody bastards

I did quite enjoy living in the woods, you know how it is. There was a certain glorious unencumberedness, owning no more than could be carried on my motorbike, having nowhere to be at any particular time and nothing to do beyond the simple practicalities of fire and water; and perhaps most essentially no-one to be. I often saw no other human for days on end, quite lovely really. The odd plane now & again, but what with coinciding with 'ye olde terror of the ash/engine interface' period there were few if any. I imagine it must have been something toward 40 days out there, not quite the 49 of 'our buddies' buddha but BLISS is indeed the word.

I didn't eat more than once or thrice between the 12th April & the last week or so as I didn't feel the need for external manna, but also fasting's a commendable policy when it comes to not having to shit. Useful in both asylums & the woods I'm sure you'll agree - plenty of fluids though, someone had mentioned I should take plenty of fluids :-D

In choosing my free palace I selected the local dogging woods because they're not actually the local dogging woods, but they do have a reputation as such, and so all the doggers keep away because nothing goes on, but all the norms stay away too because they think it does. The perfect recipe for a bit of solitude as you might imagine. The 'far enough away to not be on the improvised doorstep'* locals were initially curious of course, but I sideways persuaded one passing dog walking old trout that a friend of a local friend (no names, discretion you know) perchance may have suggested I might stop by on my travails & discourage the 'dirty business' that was said to go on there with my presence, my big black chunk of a scrappy motorbike and various hefty chains. 'Oh Marvelous!!!' she intoned and bought me a flask of sweet black tea the next morning.

I was given a Bill Bryson book to read as though I might gain something from it, I didn't particularly get engaged by the first couple of pages, and so when I got soaked in the rain that night it came in very handy indeed, I opened it in a fanned fashion and set it alight to form the core of my nascent fire - drying my ass off is probably the best use his works ever been put to, I shall endeavour to email him to mention it. I did have long periods of no thinking just as you say. Now, for one as ignorant as I, not thinking is both easy and hard, but the sense of having no-one to be, mixed with utter powerlessness, eased from me the need to try to think of ways forward, or solutions to what was behind, and so an empty headed jerkin' gherkin such as I was, at times, able to become truly empty headed. All without the aid of a religious structure or the payment of even the slightest membership fees. I should now charge others subcription fees to reach the same void. All I need is a wood & sackfuls of willing cashed-up supplicunts.

Out in't woods I only had an ipod touch & solar charger & spoken word versions of books I could identify from a single vectabook touchscreen graphic you once sent me. Even we hedgehogs have to make an effort toward enlightenment you know :-D By a circuitous route, powerlessness does indeed lead to dealing with loss with aplomb, because if you can't do anything about something, you can't deal with anything, ergo the end result of clear headedness you described, even if reached through stupidity rather than wisdom :-D

Ah, the quietness :-)

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Old 06-19-2010, 08:31 PM   #693
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Funnypeculiar as opposed to FunnyHaHa will do fine.

Maybe you can quote some more of your woods-dwelling friend's letters. I hope he has enough OldSchool content to prevent punting to the nether regions.
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Old 06-20-2010, 04:37 PM   #694
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23:35 hours...sometime in June

So......*

* Can't think of anything pertinent to say**
** Except that the old's cool section's positive-vibes work miracles***
***
I love asterisks

I'd decided never again to post anything on ADVrider****, but I've been mixing anti-psychotic meds and whisky and, for some reason, I'm feeling a bit perky tonight...thought I'd have a quick look on the site, just to see if there was anything, you know, interesting being posted, and what do I find? A brand new post by planktonnn. Hello planktonnn. In your absence, I'd managed to monetise the thread, and I made a million dollars. Yeah! I did save some for you....but then I spent it all, so sorry about that, ok? It's only money, after all, and you know what they say about money, don't you? It's the root of all evil. Not just some evil, but all evil, so I did you a favour in fact, sparing you the hassle of having to deal with it. No, don't thank me, that's what friends are for, especially the sort of friends who look after your thread so that it goes beyond 25000 views, which is almost as good as money in the bank, except there isn't any left, 'cos I spent it.

****That's a lie. I am going to start a new thread soon, and I want to go for the big one. Yeah, 50000 views. I'm just holding off starting it, because I haven't the faintest idea what it's going to be about. Airheads probably, but with a twist. Anyway, glad you're able to post, and you're out of the woods. See what I did there? I combined a metaphor with a literal statement. You don't get a lot of that, normally, on a biker's forum but I thought I'd push the envelope, word-wise. To be honest, I think we're wasted on this site.....see, I did it again!! Anyway, whisky's run out and I'm off to bed, I'll text you soonish and pop over for a visit at some point but, as you know, I only turn my phone on Wednesdays, so it won't be tomorrow or even the next day, but maybe the day after that, ok?

Here's a pic of a Heinrich tank. Lovely, isn't it?

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Old 06-20-2010, 04:47 PM   #695
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So......* = ?
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Old 06-20-2010, 04:50 PM   #696
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Ch. 1 - An improvised route-map towards Solvation

I couldnít take a picture of it, so youíll never see what I saw. Instead youíll just have to synthesize your own apparition of it, but then isnít that always the best way? Iíll give you a starting point, itís me lounging on a kerb. There before me is the big ugly beautiful living thing that is my beloved but aged motorbike. A ham-fisted conglomeration of valueless old metal Iíd built from out of cardboard boxes using all the wrong spanners, to form a steel substitute for my stolen dignity. It suits my self image Ė cosmetically knackered/mechanically sound, and it was about the only thing I had come out of 15 years of marriage with. It spirited me away from the loony bin earlier that eve, carrying all I own in the world in a cheap tank-bag and rucksack. I hadnít left that Palace of the Broken & the Lame with a destination in what was left of my mind, but in such depleted circumstances thereís one place we all have to go, wherever weíre actually headed, and thatís to a gas station.

So thereís the next element you need to pictorialise, a gas station/convenience store outside Thame in the middle of the blandly beauteous English countryside. You can do it, and you can do it for your own damned selves, you donít need me to lay it out for you. Go Ahead, if itís your picture youíll be far more successfully convinced by it, in the same way that the inevitably disappointing cinematic rendering never quite fulfils your custom inner consciousness of the best-est book you ever loved.

Iíll shortcut the rest Ė a tuna sandwich & chocolate bar, my first food after a month in the asylum that I had locked me into, but perhaps more importantly locked the detestable world out. Add a bottle of water and a fistful of red & yellow & blue sunset and youíre just about there right alongside me. You can leave me out if you prefer. Make it yourself if you can comprehend & encompass letting go of everything you spent far too many years building just to lose in a single morning. In fact, donít picture me at all. Iím behind the camera of your eyes, and Iím not sure I could bare to be what all you sick puppies might imagine me up as anyway. So get the framing and perspective right and youíll have your very own, never to disappoint picture of where I was at. Hang on, youíll need to add a local paper, because where I was at was looking for somewhere to be. I still am, and in the meantime Iím living in the woods. But weíll come to that delight in due time, just as I did.

Of course none of this life was going to plan, by this point I was supposed to have been living on the dark side of the moon with all the other ex world presidents, but the outline sketch of unrealised futures had been based on self-delusion, and everything I thought I (weíd) planned was subsequently unplanned with spectacular swiftness and Iíve been swimming adrift ever since. Thatís how I came to be at the gas station youíve pictured, and what a good job youíve done, probably. I had no inkling of a convincing campaign strategy, which I didnít mind, but I knew Iíd need petrol whatever happened and wherever that whatever happened, we all need something to fuel for our fire donít we? A little combustion to feed our compunction?

Iíd had to go to the till three times, I just couldnít hold all the things I needed to pick up with my meagre funds in my broken brain at one time, Iíd complete X transaction and only then would some other required item find space in my one slot facsimile of a thought box. This was really no surprise though, as Iíd already confused my me to fuck by sitting in a small wood-lette. I hadnít stayed long, as it was right next to the road and far too noisy to provide the societal separation I intuitively knew I deeply required. But I could at least sit there for a pausing while, and smoke all I had, and call it my home dear home for but the passing moment it was, which is probably as much as you can ask from a little roadside coppice. Perhaps more than you can ask, depending on who owns it?

Of course if you had your own wood you could do whatever you liked there, put up any form of shelter for any unformulated purpose you could semi-devise. But then of course you couldnít, you wouldnít be allowed, not even if you owned it, and all because someone somewhere came up with the idea, the totally stupid idea of the Town & Country Planning Act. The artificially hyper-inflated cost of housing, which I personally consider to be a basic human right rather than a privilege (for which any old John Smith is locked into bondaged slavery for life), ensures we (they, not I) clock in every Monday morning of our (their) mortgaged lives. And still we (they) canít even see the chains. Iíd have had more land rights in the 15th bloody century!?! But forgive me, I (by design) digress toward one of the countless reasons why their Ďsocietyí considers me madÖ

So, at the gas station Iíd gone and gotten to know the sales clerk much more than Iíd meant to, though she didnít seem to mind. Of course, I had entirely honourable intentions towards her, though Iím not sure such chivalry was reciprocated, and I doubt her father would have approved. I had already proved myself to be very poor son-in-law material to be sure. But then it was no more than a moments diversion & imagined dalliance for either of us. I doubt she remembers me, and Iím pretty sure she only wanted me for my money anyway.

Having consumed protein of a sort I was engaged in a meaningless but agreeable tÍte-ŗ-tÍte by a pausing van man, wherein he (true to form) listed his own two-wheeled mechanical pigs of past possession & pleasure, and he, as they more often than not are, was enchanted by my tattered but tight transportation. It looks like a crumb of scrap at first sight, but for those who know it rewards further examination with unanticipated delights of depraved engineering abuse away from the yardstick BMW Airhead. My forename initial is D, and so Iíve defiantly ground out the B on the casings to read DMW, for it is mine and thereís no other like it - itís my MeMW.

In the same ruptured vein as the residue of my misshapen self, itís de-manufacturing is premeditated to evince the simple but satisfying rejoinder of ĎWhat the fuck have you done there then boy?í. Iím 45, but the moniker Ďboyí is the vernacular hereabouts for anyone devoid of a vagina. It was an agreeable enough trafficking of untitled tattle chatter twixt he & me, and he waved as he went on his pre-defined wayward route. I had yet to determine which way my way would be. But do you know?, that self-authenticated reality was a glee inducing mishap of fortune, and had set in motion within me a mounting consciousness of an entirely enchanting sovereignty over my own essence, such as that soul was, is, and will ever, or could ever be made to be.

As a precious & exquisite companion and one time thought-consort had formerly declared toward my slow crow black brain, to salve is not to solve, and I was not in need of salvation - I most definitely & undeniably required solvationÖ

******
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Old 06-21-2010, 09:30 AM   #697
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You don't say?

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Old 06-21-2010, 11:48 AM   #698
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You don't say?

I don't always say, no. What happens is I think things three times, and if it still seems like a good idea to say it then I say it. This methodology has saved me a good amount of bother since I adopted it. The tongue could be considered to be the strongest muscle in the body, therefore needing the most control and this is certainly true in my case because I am a mouthy twat, and that can cause others to think I'm being mouthy directly at them when in fact I'm just being generally mouthy. There are a specific group who are subject to this kind of misunderstanding, and these are the people pjcr12 often refers to as 'pointy headed cnuts'. I prefer to refer to them as 'the blue community'. For example, if I were to be muttering loudy a random phrase such as 'You pointy headed blue cnuts', then they misunderstand and think I'm speaking directly to them, whereas I am in fact hallucinating a group of unpleasant Smurfs who happen to be behind them. So you can see it's very easy for confusions to arise, therefore in answer to your question, I dont say, no. It's simpler you know?
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Old 06-21-2010, 02:41 PM   #699
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Oh.

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Old 06-21-2010, 06:53 PM   #700
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Oh.

Well indeed, I myself on many occasions, have come to just the same conclusion. In fact I've come to it just right now - I thought of two or three things, I thought of them two or three times, I can't say two it seems, and the other one is 'Oh'. How does that compare with your methodology of comment selection? I mean, you seem so natural, a straight from the hip, say it as you see & damn the consequences kinda ADV'er, and then I see the occupation and it all makes sense :-)
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Old 06-21-2010, 08:36 PM   #701
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Well indeed, I myself on many occasions, have come to just the same conclusion. In fact I've come to it just right now - I thought of two or three things, I thought of them two or three times, I can't say two it seems, and the other one is 'Oh'. How does that compare with your methodology of comment selection? I mean, you seem so natural, a straight from the hip, say it as you see & damn the consequences kinda ADV'er, and then I see the occupation and it all makes sense :-)
I read nearly half of post #696 out loud to my wife and we both chortled and snorted with delight. You've got a gift, my friend.

In a perfect world you'd hook up with Vermin, go for a trundle and colaborate on the most excellent ride report ADV would ever know.

imho.
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Old 06-22-2010, 09:11 AM   #702
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I read nearly half of post #696 out loud to my wife and we both chortled and snorted with delight. You've got a gift, my friend.

In a perfect world you'd hook up with Vermin, go for a trundle and colaborate on the most excellent ride report ADV would ever know.

imho.
Thankyou, I'm scribbling a whole book of this shit :-D
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Old 06-23-2010, 10:18 AM   #703
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Eh? You didn't ask for it but ...


For the next couple of hours I just rode to nowhere at all, listening to an ipod touch full of loud Fela Anikulapo Kuti and wreck-lessly pitching my brutal & battered 1000cc ratty old packhorse headlong & bucking into an unending series of winding on-camber turns & rapidly looming twists & rises as though I was being held stationary while a whole world full of previously un-travelled roads unrolled themselves beneath me, like levitating and having the entire globe rotate itself below, landing me somewhere else entirely. I was thinking about the interminable inescapable truth of solvation, and, if you get what I mean by this, I just ‘was’. For 16 years I’d worked for the local Cunty Cuncil, and therein struggled & strived to do my own small part in what I’d stupidly thought was a co-ordinated & achievable attempt to ‘modify’ society for the betterment of us all. But I’d finally been forced to accept that such change is totally & eternally impossible: for possible means not what we may picture in our imagination, but what can actually be made to exist and last. The overall solutions are themselves a simplicity, but the will toward change is entirely absent, and I was left feeling that even if you produced a utopia of sorts from out of thin air, then it’d be perverted & corrupt within five years, if not five days, five hours, or in five seconds, three, two, one - gone. To control and be controlled is endemic within human nature, has always been, and will always be.


I’d therefore concluded that the only possible option is to limit ‘their’ societies influence over ‘you and yours’. To remove oneself and the ones you love from the malevolent authority of ‘The Masters’. Now of course the vast mass of the population tries to do this by gathering enough ‘imaginary money’ to buy their way out, but I’d not managed this, and had never believed it possible to purchase ones freedom anyway. This, my dear indulgent reader, is why I’d vainly searched for an abandoned wooden palace in former Southern Russian states, or wished beyond rational reason that I could spirit away my beloved family to live in an abandoned holiday centre we’d once helicoptered over on the northeast coast of Barbados, or any of the other countless futile & ludicrous attempts at imagineering a true independence from ‘The Man’. But, predictably given my non-millionaire status (DAMN!) & general buffoonery, none of these ‘plans’ had proved to be even remotely possible. This cuntish circumstance culminated in my collapse into an overwhelming depressive illness, born out of ‘faulty brain chemistry’ and the frustration at my total failure to fulfil the caveman provider imperative that’s inescapably programmed into all us poor penis owning saps. The drawn out snaking road continued to inscribe itself beneath my high rolling wheels & heated rubber, and a hot engine burpled & beat beneath me like an expectant bull, smelling richly of high revs & oil and pinging at t junctions & traffic lights, as if enjoying having the opportunity to at last stretch its legs like a long constrained steed, relishing the aimless dash & rush to wherever I ended up, though unfortunately wherever it was it wouldn’t be the east shore of Barbados.

My inherent sickness had naturally & quite reasonably led eventually to my ejection from my family home; seemingly to my deletion from the beautiful hearts of my closest & dearest loves. One erstwhile wife & three glorious kid-lettes remained, but there was no ‘me’ there any more. I didn’t like it in the least, but I couldn’t in good faith disagree with it, and the resultant deep sadness at the collapse of my dream fuelled my visit to Madland and these subsequent destination-less travails. Whilst riding around and feeling all this flow through my mind I have to admit that I didn’t really observe the speed limits, but then I never do. They tell me it’s all part of my Oppositional Defiant Disorder and who am I to disagree? I’ll avoid the obvious joke… Having zigzagged about and zoomed around for a hundred or so miles, endlessly running these big thoughts through my little brain and searching for simple solutions, I eventually stopped off at the home of an ex-colleague (& pretend younger sister) from back in the now distant days when I used to go out into the world & do things, have a job, and be capable and stuff. I’d never been into her flat before, and she kept apologising for the mess, but frankly, having recently booked myself out of a mental hospital it all seemed really quite nice & ordered to me - at least no-one had shat on the floor. She made me a tea without milk, as requested, but with masses of sugar, just as I’d become used to drinking in the mad-house. I’d come to the habit of black tea as the milk there was delivered up in half pint/568ml bottles that my fellow muttering nutters habitually gulped deep from, and placed back in the communal fridge, or more often thoughtlessly left on the worktop of the small triangular kitchen-ette grudgingly provided for we poor patients by our semi-benevolent keepers. Believe me, you don’t want to be drinking the milky splash-back of the insane internees of that decaying theatre of the absurd & disgusting. I’ve done many things, but I couldn’t do that.

The tea I now sought to sip scalded my mouth as, during my self imposed incarceration I’d completely forgotten that people on the outside are allowed to boil their water like grown ups. On the inside we’d been protected from ourselves (& the staff protected from us) by having the water temperature in the urn limited to 74 degrees C, or 79C in the rehabilitation centre as there we were obviously slightly more un-insane, and therefore more able & allowed to manage the very slightly higher temperatures. Such is the nature of ‘getting better’ by degrees. I let the steaming drink cool a little (76.5C?) & we casually swapped chatter about nothing & everything and hints of whole departments of bastards being culled (ha ha haha, ha!). It was a pleasure to see someone I knew and talk about something other than illness and failure.

She’d first flitted into my existence when in late in 2001 I advertised for a PA at the youth music project I ran, for which I’d secured (on 11th Sept. to be precise) £143,857.43 of external funding toward expansion, and she spent the entire interview chattering away & grabbing her ankles. I might well have chosen another of the candidates, however I was quietly advised by the head of admin (who was a wonderful & wise woman) that this was by far the strongest & best of the bunch, and so she proved to be. We should always listen to the advice of those who, however grossly unfair it may be, earn less than us. Over the period of our productive & prolific work together my new PA was a truly fantastic and invaluable asset, and I was able to keep her aboard through the next £500k or so of funding that I tugged & teased out of various sources with the persuasive closing skills I’d learnt in previous work in advertising telesales, liberally mixed with a few lucky ricochets and a healthy dollop of ‘charismatic charm’, which never fails. Almost never fails. Had recently failed but usually didn’t.

When eventually I moved on from that self-created job-dom I did everything I could to ensure she was raised to Project Director, and an incredibly outstanding job she’s done of it too. I had to move on because I like initiating projects but hate the confines of policy & formalisation that encroach once you’ve got the thing running. The project was nested within a local authority and, against the majority of my ‘superior’ officers wishes, it had reached truly astounding levels of success locally, nationally & internationally as I built it from my own sweat with a shining team of workers who brilliantly delivered the organisational values & work programmes I set for them. But then, just as I was internally glowing from my self-devised/self-driven success, I had the entirely unenviable & unfortunate experience of being chosen as ‘Employee of the Year’ out of 14,000 Cunty Cuncil odd staff. Odd in the sense of ‘around 14k’, but mostly in the sense of just odd. Though in the main they may be pleasant & well intentioned individual humanzees, as a conjoined organism they are why it doesn’t work. They’re funded by you with the sole purpose of saying no to you. Over here on this septic little isle you can’t vote out council officers or senior education/justice/health/other workers, you can’t vote out the civil service mentality. It’s permanent & eternal, unshakable & self-replicating since Mesopotamian times. Diversity of racial, ethnic background, sexuality or gender may have made small inroads, but diversity of thought and method most certainly hasn’t.

Three or four inside ‘snouts’ had called me at the airport just as I jetted off on a family summer holiday to tell me I was the ‘winner’ (but then just this sort of neat networking was exactly what had supported making my work a success in the first place), so at the ‘surprise’ announcement event some months later there was little or no suspense in it for me. I just waited patiently until I was called last as overall winner of the ‘Achieving Top Performance’ programme - my work having apparently embodied the ‘nine organisational values for change’, or some such shit.

Now, I’m led to believe that the 2nd Chinese curse is ‘May those in power become aware of you’. If so, then I can certainly vouch for the truth of this fabled observation directly from my painful personal experience The following years became a hell of typically English workplace bullying & bile toward the ‘successful’, leading to a clumsy redundancy which reeked of constructive dismissal, because I just didn’t ‘fit’ - I was indeed a turtle in a tortoise farm. I’m not allowed to describe this in any great depth due to the amusing detail of being constrained by the 24 page agreement I had to sign to unlock the unfeasibly large severance/silence pay-off they grudgingly paid me to buy the right to say no wrongs had been perpetrated, oh no, everything was fine, exactly according to policy, no-one was to blame etc.

I represented myself at the tribunals and greatly enjoyed beating the holy crap out of their case by (as in the Greek myths of the Gorgons and particularly Medusa) reflecting their own policies back against them. It’s the biggest weakness they have as, to my mind, middle ranking civil service managers realise that on promotion they should gently drop their moral compass and quietly crush it beneath their new Cuban heels. They learn to keep their empty heads beneath the parapet, because if there’s no scandal or provable diversion from their undeliverable policies then they’re untouchably ensconced in their comfy cushy cashed up jobs for life, or at least until they take their final salary pensions at early retirement and then get hired back in as consultants to talk exactly the same twille-twattle as before, but now at a very much enhanced rate.

Remember – never engage your enemy on the ground of their strengths, but instead always use their weaknesses against them i.e. if they have superiority in heavy armour, decline to fight them on ground where heavy armour can be usefully or successfully deployed; if they can marshal their troops in unbeatable formations (i.e. the Roman Testudo or Triplex Acies) then fight them in the depths of the forest where they can’t form up - the disparate Germanic tribes did this against 3 Legions in the Tuetoburg Forest around 2000 years ago. Diminishing your enemies strengths is a simple methodology which has rung true from ancient times right up through recent history to the present day. For my (bitter) taste, the institutional reluctance to do anything in order to assiduously avoid doing something wrong is one of the primary reasons ‘their’ society doesn’t work. Because, for the class of societal administrators which Plato described (through his voicing of Socrates in ‘The Republic’) as Guardians, it’s far better to do absolutely nothing than to risk doing absolutely anything for which they could be held to account i.e. not following policies they don’t even understand.

There’s so much more that had brought me to this situation than the simplistic nonsense laid out above, there’s all of my life and what I’ve done, and what has been done to me, and of course the faulty DNA & upbringing that made me the broken mess that I am, was, and will be - But you’ll only see that if I’m brave enough to write it down… I should refrain from revealing further detail to illuminate this particular wholly unfortunate series of work based mismanagement & utterly stupid events as they may then ask for the money back :-D The regrettable truth was that I’d not recovered my health from this ridiculous un-required battle with ineffective & unproductive authority, and that this had led to the collapse of my entire ‘life’ (again); to being lodged in the asylums which I had just left; thence to the gas station and so on. Suffice to say that, to my mind, this whole filthy mess was a major part of what’d brought me to where I was at this point, which was once more preparing to ride around on my stubby steel steed. I thought the time had come to let her get on with her half-completed packing for tomorrows impending visit to Ibiza-land. She’s always jetting off all over the shop, having just returned from Portugal, and off again now to the Mediterranean, she’d then be toddling onward to some other lush pan-European destination for work the following week. I really don’t know how she does it, but I wish I could have. In a sense I envied her pert purposefulness, but for me the ‘now’ I had just been in was purposeless wandering toward aimless outcomes, and I’ve got to tell you after all the recent tumult & turmoil that had suited me just fine. I kitted up & rode away, but this time I had a destination…

******

Ch. 2 – To shed ones former self.

In which I stay with friends, sleeping in their shed, wander down a dark lane & discover a man who seemed to be on the run, who proceeded to wank at me (I left), and then the friends father reaches the very last stages of a terminal illness so I felt it best not to continue imposing by sleeping in their shed as my troubles seemed the least important thing going on there, and other stuff.
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Old 06-23-2010, 11:05 AM   #704
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Old 06-23-2010, 12:29 PM   #705
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