Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in simmeringhatred's LiveJournal:

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Friday, December 8th, 2006
11:15 am	look at me! I wrote a poem! something I havnt done in a long time... About ten or eleven years, in fact. I was never much of a one for poetry, but I had a series of word-images jump into my head the other day on the bus through South Island, and thought I would write them down. So. G.I. Encased in Kevlar carapace, Crab-backed, He squats. The scent of foreign poverty encircles and assaults His nostrils, falls back, re-groups, and counter-attacks. Sweat, incessant salty stream, Floods downward into boots worn thin. A Yankee moisture, The tang of green Ohio to soak the sand Of this land between two rivers. No grass here, Save the precious-watered strip outside Tops' hooch; No gentle hills Or rushing, rattling rows of maize; Only the angry, eye-sick gaze, The blaze of sun, and Dust, and dirt, and death- That shining redness Of hearts-blood spilt And smoldering, rent flesh, Slowly being covered With more dust, and dirt, And the shiny-black liberation Of feasting flies. (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Thursday, November 30th, 2006
12:52 pm	falling So, anyone who remembers my first ever LJ post can nod their head in smug glee, as I am going to disobey one of the rules I set myself and post something about feelings. Deep, huh? Its just something Ive been trying to work out inside my head for a while, and I started jotting something down today, and thought I would share. So here it is. Its about the most important subject in the world to me, which anyone reading this who knows me is aware, is my love life. It started off trying to be some kind of list, but got a bit out of hand. Sam- the first, maybe the worst. I had no understanding, no coping strategy at all. He was utterly desirable, and utterly out of reach. He was my friend, my super hot, breathtakingly beautiful friend. I suppose, silly as this sounds now, that I believed all the romantic lies that society and culture peddle to us- that if you like someone enough, treat them well enough, simply want them enough, then it will work out in the end. I was only fifteen. One night at Anthonys we went into a quiet room and I told him how upsetting it all was (I had previously admitted in an anguished and embarrassing phonecall that I was crazy about him, the first big leap into the unknown) and that I was sorry if my behavior around him seemed erratic. I asked, and he let me hold his hand. I remember it being cool and smooth and soft, but also slightly rough as I rubbed my thumb across its back. This was the first time I had ever touched someone I had strong feelings for. Then he left, and I wept uncontrollably for ten minutes with Peter H. powerless to comfort me. I drank too much, I cried a lot, I obsessed and questioned. The bleak, black thoughts spirralled round my head until they were unbearable. One day, after watching Sam and some other friends play football on Woodhouse Moor at lunchtime, I turned round and walked alone back to school. That night, I took an overdose. Timely intervention prevented my untimely demise. I got some help. It never got any easier, but it became easier to understand, and easier to spot the symptoms of things going badly wrong inside my head. Dominic, Dom, again my friend, again utterly desirable. Soft, gingery-blod hair falling across his forehead; blue-grey eyes sparkling when he laughed, which was often. Reciprocation, my first time, fifteen days of unmitigated pleasure and contentment. He stayed at mine one weekend, then I at his the next. We kissed passionately until the early morning, ground ourselves together in frantic teenage lust. I pursuaded him to let me get more intimate; he came, maybe three times. I never did. The last weekend he told me that a friend of his ex-girlfriend had asked her to ask him out, rather easy and conventional I thought, the boy who had taken the plunge and risked our friendship to ask peraonally. "Go out with them, be friendly, I dont mind." "But Im going out with you!" "Thats why I dont mind. Seriously! You might make some new friends." So he did. They hit it off; they made out. The next morning I was dumped, another first. "Im sorry." "Yeah. So am I." Back to the psychiatrist, back on the pills. I drove him away in the end, we couldnt be friends anymore with my craziness getting in the way. We were both seventeen. He married Alys, the girl he dumped me for, this year. I guess I owe the gay community a toaster oven. Chris. 'Little' Chris, to distinguish him from the other Chris' in the house, 'Big' or 'Chris' Chris, and 'Ferdinand' Chris. I had gone away to uni full of high hopes, thinking things would be different, that now I was out of my shitty school, things would look up, work out, go well. Chris proved me wrong. Or, I proved myself wrong, whichever. But I had learned something; I never told him how I felt, knowing it was pointless. I was mean to his girlfriend, even though I quite liked her, but thankfully for my conscience, not so mean that she noticed. Back to the doctor, back on the pills I hated. My sisters housemate took me when she saw the look in my eyes- I left the group of my housemates without a word, and walked two miles to Danis to ask for help. I was turning away when Jules stopped me. I moved out of the house and into the halls proper, only across the road, but far enough. I was nineteen. I told myself it wouldnt happen again. In a way, I suppose, it hasnt. Chris was the last boy who broke my heart. Little did I know. I was about to get to know women. .....Ill type the rest out later. (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Wednesday, July 26th, 2006
5:53 pm	Last night I got drunk and punched some guy in the cock. Not too hard, but enough so he noticed. His crime? Constant and sickening public displays of affection. Go me. (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Friday, April 28th, 2006
11:20 pm	the philosophical zombie "There is another kind of zombie, however: the philosophical zombie. A philosophical zombie (p-zombie, for short) would be a human body without consciousness which would nevertheless behave like a human body with consciousness. To some philosophers (e.g., Daniel Dennett) this is a contradictory notion and thus an impossible conception. If it behaves like a person and is indistinguishable from a person, then it is a person. Other philosophers (e.g. Todd Moody and David Chalmers) argue that a p-zombie would be distinguishable from a person even though indistinguishable from a conscious person. It is distinguishable, say these philosophers, because it is stipulated that it is not conscious even though it is indistinguishable from a conscious being. In case you are wondering why philosophers would debate whether it is possible to conceive of a p-zombie, it is because some philosophers do not believe or do not want to believe that consciousness can be reduced to a set of materialistic functions. Important metaphysical and ethical issues seem to hinge on whether there can be p-zombies. Can machines be conscious? If we created a machine which was indistinguishable from a human person, would our artificial creation be a "person" with all the rights and duties of natural persons? To the p-zombie advocates, consciousness is more than brain processes and neurological functions. No adequate account of consciousness will ever be produced that is "reductionist," i.e., completely materialistic. I think it is possible to conceive of a machine which "perceives" without being aware of perceiving. In fact, they already exist: motion detectors, touch screens, tape recorders, smoke alarms, certain robots. An android which could process visual, auditory, tactile, olfactory and gustatory input but which would lack self-consciousness, i.e., would not be aware of perceiving anything, is conceivable. We can even conceive of such machines resembling humans in the flesh. How would we distinguish such automata from persons? The same way we do now: by the imperfect and fallible methods of conversation and observation. But that is not what would make the two distinct; self-consciousness or the lack of it would distinguish the automata from persons. "Visual perception" by a motion detector is unlike visual perception by a person just because of the difference in awareness of perception, i.e., self-consciousness. A smoke detector might "smell" certain chemicals, but it does not process odors the way a person does. In my view, the only conceivable p-zombie would be a machine which perceives but has no awareness of perceiving, i.e., no self-consciousness. Such machines are essentially distinct from conscious persons." Would it be possible to write an entertaining philosophical zombie movie? (Comment on this)
Saturday, April 22nd, 2006
1:38 pm	my beer Beeramundi: Saving the Reef one beer at a time Townsville’s beer lovers will soon be able to help save the Reef while they’re at the bar, by diving into a new brew called Beeramundi. The new beer was named as part of a competition held in partnership between Reef Check Australia and the Townsville Brewing Company. Reef Check Australia is part of the United Nations official community-based coral reef monitoring organisation. Reef Check Australia’s Marketing and Communications Manager, Roger Beeden, said that the competition was designed to raise community awareness of the threats to our coral reefs. “We asked people to come up with a name, and a slogan for the beer, and an educational concept that would help make Reef conservation into a conversation topic,” Mr Beeden said. “We were very pleased to get more than 100 entries, and some really great ideas,” he said. The name ‘Beeramundi’ was the brainchild of Eion Howe. The judges were particularly impressed with ‘Beeramundi’ as it relates to both the highly prized estuarine Barramundi and the protected Barramundi Cod found on the Reef. The artwork for the beer shows a Barramundi Cod peering out of the label. A team effort by Dean Miller, Alana Grech and James Moloney was responsible for the slogan “Saving the Reef one beer at a time”. Johnston Davidson was the winner of the educational concept part of the competition, with his idea to feature a Reef quiz on beer coasters, with questions on one side, and the answers on the other. Beeramundi will be available on draught from Friday the 21st of April at the Brewery, Flinders Mall Townsville. The prizes will be presented at a public launch at the Brewery at 8pm on April 21st. Beer and Reef enthusiasts can support Reef Check simply by enjoying a Beeramundi from Townsville’s own microbrewery. Financial support will come in the form of a percentage profit donation from each Beeramundi that is sold. (2 Comments |Comment on this)
1:00 pm	one of the reasons... ....why its good to know a bit of history. Ben & Jerry's sorry for Irish "Black & Tan" upset Fri Apr 21, 2:39 PM ET DUBLIN (Reuters) - Ice cream makers Ben & Jerry's have apologized for causing offence by calling a new flavor "Black & Tan" -- the nickname of a notoriously violent British militia that operated during Ireland's war of independence. The ice cream, available only in the United States, is based on an ale and stout drink of the same name. "Any reference on our part to the British Army unit was absolutely unintentional and no ill-will was ever intended," said a Ben & Jerry's spokesman. "Ben & Jerry's was built on the philosophies of peace and love," he added. The Black and Tans, so-called because of their two-tone uniforms, were recruited in the early 1920s to bolster the ranks of the police force in Ireland as anti-British sentiment grew. They quickly gained a reputation for brutality and mention of the militia still arouses strong feelings in Ireland. "I can't believe that Ben & Jerry's would be so insensitive to call an ice cream such a name and to launch it as a celebration of Irishness ... it's an insult!" wrote one blogger on www.junkfoodblog.com. "I hope they don't try to launch it here in Ireland or I imagine they'll lose a lot of their fans." Ben & Jerry's, a unit of Anglo-Dutch consumer goods giant Unilever Plc, prides itself on its commitment to friendly business. Its mission statement includes a pledge to show "a deep respect for human beings inside and outside our company and for the communities in which they live." (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Tuesday, April 18th, 2006
3:23 pm	thats pretty cool Aparently I have won a competition I entered just after I was sick in hospital to name a new beer the Townsville Brewery is making to help raise money for reef conservation. My name, which I thought was hilariously crap, was Beeramundi. Australians, or at least North Queenslanders, seem to like bad puns and fish that tastes like mud. Not only will they be seeling said beer with my name on it, but there will be promotional merchandise (I am getting some free tshirts) which we shall of course purchase for everyone. I will probably get in the local paper and everything. And I also get some kind of reef snorkelling trip or some such. Nice. I think that is the first competition I have ever actually won. I hope there are some free beers involved. I will of course be posting pictures of said beer and its merchandise after the unveiling on friday. (Comment on this)
Wednesday, April 12th, 2006
6:17 pm	More films: Mysterious Skin: What is this, sad, thought-provoking movie week? Jesus. But seriously, this was as good as I expected it to be. If you want a crash course in what it looks like when you edit a film really well, this is a good place to start. I read somewhere that the director did it all on his Mac. Bastard. I cant think of much else to add that you cant read somewhere else. But it has my recommendation. The Transporter 2: First off, lets get this out of the way. This film was MORE preposterous than the last one. That said, it was still fun to watch, and the attempted rehabilitation of the French in American eyes was admirable and amusing. And Jason Statham, what can I say? He is a beautiful man. I cant think of any other balding British guy with a smashed nose who is as hot as he. He moves like someone you want on your side, and he talks and acts with an admirable lack of effort. Its like he isnt even trying, which is a good thing, because he wouldnt be fooling anyone if he did. He is one of those people who doesnt have to shout to get your attention, and these films recognise and use that. Also, when he takes his shirt off, I am totally torn between finding him very, very hot, and wishing I looked like that. Damn. (Comment on this)
Monday, April 10th, 2006
11:35 pm	movies, sadly, are my life Cross-posted from myspace: I decided to roughly review all the movies I will watch this week. Way of the Gun: I saw this one before, a long time ago. Probably about five years ago, in fact. I remember thinking it was interesting at the time, but not really liking it that much. This time, I liked it a lot more. Its not often you see a film that is as unstinting in its criticism of humanity. Its a little like Sam Peckinpah in that respect- if you are looking for good guys/bad guys, you really wonder who the hell you are supposed to be rooting for, as everyone featured in the movie is both interesting, and yet utterly flawed to the point of arousing contempt. Not contempt in every sense- you have to appreciate the talents of those people whose chosen profession is violence- but contempt for their complete and total ammorality. There is one shot after the gun battle outside the gynacology clinic in which you can clearly see that a passer-by has been gunned down alongside two of the bodyguards. Since all the violence was off-screen, we do not know who happened to shoot this poor fucker. And really, it doesnt matter in the slightest. Its enough that they were in the middle of some assholes' half assed ploy for fast cash. At least, again like a Sam Peckinpah movie, nobody demeans the nihilistic point of it all by asking for your sympathy or approval. Hotel Rwanda: This film couldnt be more different. It does also shy away from overt violence, probably because no-one would want to see, or even really believe, a depiction of what went on during the Tutsi purge. Like Schindlers List being made in black and white, only far less slick and ultimately less needy in its moral. I made me realise how rare it is to see a mainstream movie with no white leads, which fits with the films point quite well. Quite bizarre how left wing people can ignore the blindingly obvious conclusion to be drawn from what happened in Rwanda- that the answer to many of the worlds woes (in the short term at least) is more military interventions by the West, not less; if only we had an international governing body that was less concerned with next years dues, and more concerned with actually enforcing a basic standard of morality. I suppose thats as good an example of cognative dissonance as you will ever see. The Rules of Attraction: I remember exactly the previous (and only) time I have seen this, because I saw it in the cinema in Toledo when it came out. Remember, Jessica? Im not sure if it was a good or a bad way to bookmark my first days in Ohio. Now, like then, I utterly despise this film and find it difficult to watch. Then I had no choice, as I could hardly walk out of the cinema (something I do rarely anyway) and walk back to BG. Now, I have to keep stopping it to shake my head and press my temples and remember that it is only a movie. Problem is, its not the movie aspect that I find so repellent. Its not like watching some pisspoor misongynist horrorfilm crap, that can be easily switched off and forgotton about, that is so blatant in its juvenile rape fantasy horseshit that I dont even feel the urge to waste my time. What repels me here is not the film itself, but humanity. Its not a bad film. Its even quite a good film. But it makes me want to scream watching these peoples lives. I suppose you can let it off because that is kind of the point, but it does have to come under the sub-heading of "films Im glad I saw, but dont ever want to see again as long as I live." Like 'Kids'. Randomly, I recall the professor I TA'd for in BG mentioned that someone had suggested this movie as a good thing to watch for ACS 200. I said FUCK NO. Without the FUCK. Im glad I did. Sitting through this with my students and then having to lead discussion on it afterward would have been more than I could stand. (Comment on this)
Tuesday, April 4th, 2006
1:49 am	From “Desperate Siege: The Battle of Hong Kong” “Rising early Friday morning, hotel clerk Harold Bateson pulled back the curtain covering the bedroom window of his second-story flat and scanned the street below. The noise of gunfire and troop movements in his district had kept him awake most of the night. He noticed that the shops and office buildings lining the street had not been looted and, a block to the west, he noticed something else- two Japanese soldiers sitting on the sidewalk, their backs against a wall. Still wearing his striped pyjamas, Bateson went into the living room. His houseboy, Wu Li-Jen, was at the window, staring out apprehensively. Bateson looked down and saw another thoroughfare that, strangely enough, had also escaped looting. A platoon of Japanese soldiers stood smartly in column formation in front of a greystone insurance building, ready to march at a moments call. Four officers huddled together fifty yards up the street, studying a map spread on the hood of a car disabled by fifth columnists. Bateson retrieved the lengthy letter he had written to his parents in Australia and handed it to Li-Jen. “You keep this until the fighting is over. Give it to the British. No matter how many years, you keep it.” The houseboy nodded and pocketed the letter. Bateson then walked into the bathroom, shaved, and changed into the white shirt and natty double-breasted suit Li-Jen had pressed and hung on the door. As he explained in the letter, he was turning himself over to the Japanese. It was a calm, rational act. Standing behind the reception desk at the Peninsula Hotel, he had spent many nights pondering what he should do in the event of a Japanese invasion. Like his father, a Melbourne realtor who had led anti-war demonstrations in 1914, Bateson was a staunch pacifist. He had joined the volunteers because his friends had and because he did not really believe war would come. Two years of working in Japan had given him a great respect for the moralistic, highly principled Japanese. … When he had finished dressing, he returned to the living room and placed his leather bound shaving kit in the suitcase he had packed Thursday night. “You go to your family,” he told Li-Jen, giving him a handful of pound notes. “This money wont be any good now, but maybe it will be after the war.” Three minutes later Bateson was on the street, approaching the Japanese Officers, his suitcase in one hand, the [propaganda] leaflet [promising fair treatment] in the other. Startled by his sudden appearance, one of the officers drew his sword. In halting Japanese, Bateson explained that he was surrendering. The officer nodded, accepted the leaflet, and told him to stand on the sidewalk, a few feet away. For ten minutes Bateson waited; the officers argued over the map; the column of soldiers eyed him curiously; Li-Jen watched from the flat. Finally agreeing on where they were going, the officers folded the map and, ignoring Bateson, strode to the front of the column. The soldiers turned and, trailed by the officers, marched in the opposite direction. Two soldiers had been ordered to stay behind and deal with the prisoner. Bateson lifted his suitcase and walked to meet them. He was ten feet away when they raised their rifles and fired, killing him instantly. The soldiers then rummaged the suitcase before leaving; the only item they bothered taking was the shaving kit.” (Comment on this)
Saturday, March 25th, 2006
12:12 am	Jackson's Snake Film Creates Huge Buzz Samuel L. Jackson's new mile-high thriller Snakes On A Plane has created such a buzz among internet film fans, movie bosses have called for re-shoots - to give the film a tougher rating. The film, which stars Jackson as an FBI agent trying to keep a federal witness alive onboard a plane full of snakes, wrapped last September - but went back before the cameras earlier this month for five days of additional shooting. Film bosses at distributor New Line Cinema opted to add new scenes to the film to take the movie from PG-13 into R-rated territory, according to industry magazine The Hollywood Reporter. They claim the second round of filming became necessary after intense and growing fan interest in the film, which is scheduled to be released this summer. Among the reported additions to the film is a foul-mouthed rant from Jackson in which his agent character bellows, "I want these motherf**king snakes off the motherf**king plane!" The line is expected to take on cult status. The film-makers have reportedly added more gore, more deaths, more nudity and more snakes to the finished product. www.imdb.com Question: Has Samuel Jackson become his own genre? (Comment on this)
Sunday, March 19th, 2006
5:19 pm	cyclone warning: Larry is coming! "TOP PRIORITY TROPICAL CYCLONE ADVICE NUMBER 11 Issued by the Bureau of Meteorology, Brisbane Issued at 4:51pm on Sunday the 19th of March 2006 A Tropical Cyclone WARNING is now current for coastal and island communities from Cape Tribulation to Mackay, and extending to inland areas about Croydon, Greenvale and Charters Towers. A Tropical Cyclone Watch extends inland to near the Normanton area. At 4 pm AEST Sunday, Severe Tropical Cyclone Larry, category 4 with central pressure 935 hectopascals, was centred in the Coral Sea near latitude 17.6 south and longitude 149.7 east, about 390 km east of Innisfail. The cyclone is expected to intensify further, and move in a general westerly direction at about 25 km/h over the next 24 hours. The centre of Severe Tropical Cyclone Larry is likely to be near the Queensland coast early Monday morning. Damaging winds with gusts to 120 km/h are expected to develop about the Whitsunday Islands late this afternoon, and extend to the coast between Cape Tribulation and Mackay tonight. Very destructive winds may develop on the coast between Cairns and Bowen on Monday morning, with maximum wind gusts reaching 280 km/h near the centre of the cyclone. Coastal residents between Cairns and Townsville are specifically warned of the dangerous storm tide as the cyclone crosses the coast. The sea is likely to steadily rise up to a level which will be significantly above the normal tide, with damaging waves, strong currents and flooding of low-lying areas extending some way inland. People living in areas should be prepared to evacuate if advised by authorities. A preliminary flood warning has been issued for coastal rivers and streams between Innisfail and Mackay. Details of Severe Tropical Cyclone Larry, Category 4, for 4 pm AEST Sunday Central Pressure : 935 Hectopascals Location of Centre : within 20 kilometres of latitude 17.6 degrees south longitude 149.7 degrees east about 390 kilometres east of Innisfail Recent Movement : West at 25 kilometres per hour Destructive winds : out to 120 kilometres from the centre Maximum wind gusts : 240 kilometres per hour, intensifying People between Cape Tribulation and Mackay and the adjacent inland should complete preparations before nightfall, especially the protection of boats and other property. People over inland areas around Normanton and Croydon should consider what action they will need to take if the cyclone threat increases. " www.bom.gov.au Its just like preparing for a zombie plague, only you need less firearms/blunt objects. (Comment on this)
Saturday, March 11th, 2006
1:47 am	"He stared at Dickies blue eyes that were still frowning, the sun-bleached eyebrows white and the eyes themselves shining and empty, nothing but little pieces of blue jelly with a black dot in them, meaningless, without relation to him. You were supposed to see the soul through the eyes, to see love through the eyes, the one place you could look at another human being and see what really went on inside, and in Dickies eyes Tom saw nothing more now than he would have seen if he had looked at the hard, bloodless surface of a mirror. Tom felt a painful a painful wrench in his breast, and he covered his face with his hands. It was as if Dickie had been suddenly snatched away from him. They were not friends. They didnt know each other. It struck Tom like a horrible truth, true for all time, true for the people he had known in the past and for those he would know in the future: each had stood and would stand before him, and he would know time and time againthat he would never know them, and the worst was that there would always be the illusion, for a time, that he did know them, and that he and they were completely in harmony and alike. For an instant the wordless shock of his realization seemed more than he could bear. He felt in the grip of a fit, as if he would fall to the ground. It was too much: The foreigness around him, the different language, his failure, and the fact that Dickie hated him. He felt surrounded by strangeness, by hostility." 'The Talented Mr Ripley', Patrica Highsmith (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Friday, March 10th, 2006
1:07 am	Rough article about tracting for a Leeds feminist zine. Sound OK? ADVENTURES IN TRACTING I was always fascinated by the morbidly religious; those people who are called by their god to go forth and preach the gospel, no matter how ridiculous it makes them look to the uninitiated. I blame my parents, which I suppose is the fashionable thing to do anyway. They both left Northern Ireland, the British Bible Belt, to avoid the kind of hassles that can only come from the "mixed marriage" of Papist to Prod. Despite their early experience of christian love and forgiveness, Belfast style, I was brought up very carefully, so as not to predjudice my young and impressionable mind against any kind of god. Well, some kind of Christian god, anyway. It didnt work. Somewhere along the line their careful lack of indoctrination failed to take; I cannot remember ever having been other than a confirmed atheist. Nevertheless, the subject of this invisible man living in the sky, and the lengths his adherants would go to please him, exerted a powerful pull. A quick glance through my grandmothers bookshelf as a teenager helped; books with titles like "Satan is alive and well on planet earth!" (Hal Lindsey, a classic of the genre) really made me want to know more. Where were these people hiding, besides Northern Ireland? It was the common enough, but utterly bizarre, practice of Tracting that really spurred me on. Im sure everyone, even those who know only the meekly private approach to religion that characterises the UK, has seen or been handed a tract at some point in their lives. Tracting as a religious duty has its roots in the same social development that created the tabloid newspaper, and the salacious crime or horror novel. Cheap paper and cheaper printing techniques enabled multiple sheets of information to be reproduced. The Victorian "penny dreadfuls" are the popular example; the Victorian religious tract could perhaps be described as their moral counterpoint. Victorian tracts were the ultimate expressions of message over style. The message of gods love was thought to be so vital, and so undeniable, that its proponants never stopped to think about its presentation, something which dogs some tracters to this day. Victorian tracts were generally in the tiniest print, so tightly packed onto the page that they were next to unreadable. Adding the more generalised fact of high illiteracy rates amongst the poor (those generally thought to be most in need of the message) meant that instead of being a marvellous idea for the propagation of gods word, they were little more than wasted paper (assuming they didnt find their way into someones outdoor privvy). The same desire to cram as much holy writ onto a sheet, regardless of how unreadable that makes it, can still be observed. Perhaps the most numerous tracts in the world are those printed by the Fellowship Tract League, out of Lebanon, Ohio. These are the small rectangular ones you may have seen around British towns. They are handed out mainly by British Baptist (or other fundamentalist protestant) groups, and comprise a cover, followed by two and a half pages of text and a space to write in your churches contact details. The Leagues website (www.fellowshiptractleague.org) claims (no doubt truthfully) that over 2.8 billion have been distributed in two hundred countries since 1978, and they currently print in 70 languages. Chicks worldview is bizarre in the extreme- amongst other gems, he is of the opinion that dinosaurs lived alongside mankind in the 6000 years since biblical creation; that the Vatican is a satanic conspiracy to deceive would be christians, and was responsible for every atrocity ever commited in the name of Jesus; and that Englands empire crumbled because of a failure to honour agreements made with gods chosen, the Jews. Nothing too special if you are at all familiar with real fundamentalist protestants, but a real eye opener for those who think of the Church of England as being christian. It had long been a desire of mine to produce my own tracts, ever since I found my first copy of "The Burning Hell!" (FTL) on a damp Leeds pavement. If these loons can write down what they think and hand it out to anyone who walks past, then so the hell could I. It was, however, like most of my ideas, just a little too much of a distraction from intoxicants and the pursuit of nookie, and remained on the backburner. However, in 2003 I found myslef back in the bosom of Bush jnrs' America, in Ohio no less, and was starting to think that now might be a good time to spread the word. Having a copy of "After Death, What?" (FTL) dropped next to my coffee whilst minding my own business was the final push. It was also my first shamelessly ripped off title. I decided that, in honour of those Ohioans who had first opened my eyes to tracting, that the only worthy name was The Atheist Tract League, and the only worthy format was a single fold, cover plus two and a half pages of screed- conveniently, something I could produce with a photocopier and some black and white paper. The ATLs first run was of three tracts: "After Death, What? Rot!" (about the glorious afterlife of becoming worm food); "The Burning Hell!" (about why only assholes would claim you deserved to be tortured for disagreeing with them); "Tract This! or 'this is Satans tract'" (about why tracting was a lame way to fulfill gods requirement of going forth and preaching the gospel); to be joined by the limited run, slightly wonkily printed "The Carrot and the Stick" (about how the christian worldview of heaven and hell was simplistic enough to be laughable). I followed the FTLs advice and left them in the post office, in local stores, tucked into magazines and dropped in the coffee shop. Helpfully, there was an underground and independent publishing conference held annually at Bowling Green State University, which enabled me to look like a complete wierdo and drop some to the kind of scruffy zine punks who frequent such gatherings. I think this is how some managed to find their way into the Denver Zine Library, which I like to imagine as a huge nuclear bomb proof bunker deep in the rockies, filled to bursting with the angry rantings of disillusioned hippies. The main point behind the tracting was twofold; I wanted to annoy fundamentalists as much as they annoyed me (difficult, when ones mind exists in a world of complete certainty) and I wanted to give people like me, who were sick of being handed tracts when they were drinking coffee, a good giggle. However, I soon realised that I had fallen into the classic tracters trap. I had allowed the message to overwealm the style. I was working on the assumption that if someone handed an atheist tract to me, I would read it and have a laugh. However, most people dont read tracts, but quickly bin them (they even have real toilet paper in 21st century America). Worse, my tracts had been designed to a great extent as parodies of those produced by the FTL; as such, they looked exactly like real religious tracts. I had wondered why a lot of the alternative types at the publishing conference had been giving me such odd looks, before it ocured to me that they had prbably assumed I was just a religious nut, and that I wasnt even giving them my own work but something I had mail ordered from an operation based in some churches basement. Oops. The next step was to produce a tract that couldnt possibly be mistaken for something christian. "Jesus Hates You!", my personal favorite (about the sordid montheistic legacy of mysogeny) and "Bow Down To Whitey!" (shamelessly theiving some Jack Chick artwork) were the answer. However, this led to a whole new set of problems. Generally speaking, people wouldnt take something from you that said "Jesus Hates You!" on the front. I discovered this during John Kerrys stump-speech visit to BG, OH. It was like some kind of wierd street festival, with two blocks closed off, Democrats lining up to see the long-faced wonder explain why he should be president, college republicans with insulting banners, anarchists protesting the war, and uncle Tom Cobbley and all milling about in the sun. Because Kerry was nominally a Catholic, and yet was nominally pro-choice, the abortion is murder squad turned out. The same group had brought a float to campus with huge full colour posters of mashed fetuses and Jews being herded into gas chambers. Not wanting to disappoint their public, they stood in the street, as close as the Secret Service would allow them to the stage (Id estimate about two hundred yards, and behind a big banner) with their aborted fetus porn shining like a beacon. I couldnt resist, and tried to slip them a few tracts. I managed to get rid of a couple of "Jesus Hates You's" by hiding them inside the far more religious looking "Tract This!", but when those ran out I was reduced to "Jesus..." on their own. One girl, holding a placard of a fetal hand clutching a twenty five cent piece, looked down at what I was holding, then stared into my face and said "Why?" I was, I have to admit, completely stumped. Back in England, I tried for a while to spread the word, but it didnt seem to take. I got in the habit of leaving a tract on my bus into work, where I could watch its progress from further back. Not once in a dozen journeys did anyone pick one up. One guy stared at it for a while, as if it were illegally occupying his seat, then plonked his arse down right on top and spent the rest of the journey staring out the window. I handed one in person to someone in a bar, and was handed it right back 45 seconds later and told "Er Dads a priest and she dont agree wi that!". Then management came over to inform me that they dont allow anyone to hand out religious material in their pub. Thats when it dawned on me; They would have said that to someone with real religious tracts aswell, and there would have been no squealing about the first amendment and how the agents of satan were thwarting gods word. Here, I was the asshole for bringing up religion. Its the British way to avoid controversy of any kind, and despite Holyier Than Thou Tony Blair's best efforts, religion is still considered a private matter. Soon, it might even be illegal for me to hand out something that criticises Jesus or any of his followers. Perhaps that might be the best time to start again, and this time come up with something really eye catching, like "Fuck You You Fucking Fuck, I Know Where You Fucking Live! Read This Or Die A Thousand Deaths!" The Atheist Tract League are on holiday. (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Wednesday, March 8th, 2006
10:38 pm	I am so sick of being hot all the time. I hate it. I want not to feel sweaty. I want the heat rash on my arms to go away. I want to be able to put on more than one layer of clothing and walk to the shops. "What are you, a fuckin' lizard? Im a mammal, I can afford coats, scarves, hats, cappucino and rosy cheeked women." -B.H. (8 Comments |Comment on this)
Sunday, March 5th, 2006
11:10 pm	"Man that is born of woman hath but a short time to live, and is full of misery. He cometh up, and is cut down, like a flower; he fleeth as it were a shadow, and never continueth in one stay. In the midst of life we are in death: of whom may we seek for succour?" (Comment on this)
Monday, February 20th, 2006
1:43 am	" Many famous authors have visited Leeds at various times. Sometimes they thought Leeds an agreeable place, at other times they could not get away quick enough! In January 1848 the American essayist and poet, Ralph Waldo Emerson, arrived. '… near Leeds and Bradford, I observed the sheep were black '& I fancied they were black sheep; no, they were begrimed by the smoke. So all the trees were begrimed. The human expectoration is black here, begrimed by the smoke…. The hopelessness of keeping clothes white leads to a rather dowdy style of dress, I was told, among the ladies; and yet they sometimes indemnify themselves; and Leeds in the ballroom, I was assured, is a very different creature from Leeds in Briggate.' " http://dnausers.d-n-a.net/leodis-leeds/novel.html (Comment on this)
Tuesday, February 14th, 2006
2:29 pm	Fuck You, Valentines Day. I hope you catch terminal ennui from a dodgy kebab and wither away like a plant with no roots, so that one day, we can all be free of your foul embrace. Till then, it is only one more day in a year. (7 Comments |Comment on this)
Sunday, February 5th, 2006
3:19 am	I have had none of my usual nights off this week, and have seen steak and salad and a filthy mop every day since monday. Now I am drunk as a fart because I went out with my cute 18 year old co-worker and friends, and drank lots of beer in a silly temperature. Some spazzed guy told me he'd killed three men, the first his stepdad when he was 8, and that because he was scottish, and me irish/british, he would look after me, show me around, introduce me to these three guys, the biggest drug dealers in townsville, and this guy has just had a fight with someone, dunno what thats abut, we'll get him later, etc etc. I ran away to the toilet, then the bar, then out of the club. I havnt been in a club for so long I got all sorts of wierd flashbacks to Stomp in Leeds, and working at Streetlife in Leicester. It made me laugh till the "scottish" guy showed me his tattoo. I got back and there was a possum on the fence, which then shimmied up a dead palm tree to escape Clyde, my sisters dog. urgh. (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Thursday, February 2nd, 2006
12:07 am	I just saw a bit of a TV program about WW1, which anyone who knows me will tell you is a bit of a sore point. It contained the astounding fact that during one month in late 1917, during the 'Michael' offensive, the German Army lost (approx) 230,000 men. Thats 57,500 a week; 8,214 a day; 342 an hour; 6 a minute. Non-stop, the whole month, after nearly four years of war, with another year to go. And they didnt even win in the end. Thats everyone you have ever known dead, in the time it takes to germinate seeds. There should be a name for this mental illness. The program also contained this gem from a German soldier at the front (paraphrase): "The only people who die purely for Kaiser and Reich are the common soldiers. The officers get proper pay, so they are dying for their money." (8 Comments |Comment on this)