Is Oklahoma Fracking Going To Set Off New Madrid Super-quake?

The huge number of small and moderate size earthquakes that are attributable to fracking activity in Oklahoma may be destabilizing the New Madrid Seismic Zone. A major release, 7.0 or greater, could cause St. Louis and other cities to suffer catastrophic losses, both human and to infrastructure.

I am only in the beginning stages of my research and there is evidence to support this hypothesis. As well as the reverberation effects that occur with all earthquakes, ringing our globe’s bell if you like, we are adding vast amounts of lubrication to the process. Updates soon.

What is on my mind is beauty. On occasion the most beautiful things are the most deadly. A major thunderstorm watch for our area both excites the potential for calamity and the certainty of awesome visual and auditory grooviness. In a perverse way a jet fighter alert in Gaza elicits the same emotional and sensory reaction. Of course the catastrophe that would be unleashed in Gaza is beyond descriptive disgust since we did it, we also cannot deny the elegance and technological glory of an F 16. This socio-cultural reboot is going to be a challenge my Dear EarthShip mates.

The World Trade Center buildings known as WTC1 and WTC2 were turned to dust by dial-a-nukes, either RA-115 or RA-116. These were placed a very precise distance below each building and released exactly the energy required. I will be detailing each aspect as I can muster the time and energy, and will answer any and all objections once the detailed description of the crime have been published.

World Trade Center building 7 was brought down initially by pre-placed controlled demolition devices, and a dialled-down nuke was released at the exact end of that process to ensure destruction of the command and control equipment.

Facebook is already trying to block this it would seem, so I’m going to clean up and reboot and keep going.

There is not enough detonation cord and high-grade explosive that could be stuffed into a building that weighed 500,000,000 kilograms, or about 500,000 tons, to render the majority of the structure into micro-particle dust. The above mass is not exact, but that is irrelevant. The numbers are huge. The resulting post detonation product tends toward nano-scale in large part. What is seen in the aftermath above ground comes from the top 2 – 3 hundred meters of the buildings for reasons we’ll get into later.

There are so many details involved that I must be rigorously slow in my description, yet the action itself was simple. Simple if we ignore the decades of research that went into the design of the devices of mass destruction by the major nuclear powers, which we will do. At bottom, (of both the WTCs and the research and I told you the puns were going to be bad and keep getting worse – I will stop pointing them out now) we get to a device that can be carried by one healthy person; 20 to 30 kg. with a dial in precision of 0.01 to 150.0 kilotons of TNT equivalent.

Here is a picture, that I showed out of context earlier, of what this device looks like.

I am going to take a small sideways step, a brief one that will not even disturb Rocky – oh, the horror – to picture two aspects of the show put on for us that need to be understood from the start. One, there were no actual planes that struck the WTCs or the Pentagon. Two, it is not likely that we will ever know what happened to the very real people supposedly on those flights or in so many other places and are no more.

I’ll address the second aside first, as it effects the first. The Jackals are highly trained, deeply conditioned killers. That is all they do and rarely make a mistake. As far as I can tell no mistakes were made on 11/9 by the Jackals, so all the diverted, at all aspects of the operation, were made permanently departed. Any conflicting testimony made by survivors was intended to be both confusing and eventually to verify the fall-back position we are now entertaining. I used that last word advisedly as 111/9 has now become entertainment, cut into 50 minute documentary parcels that we can then argue about around a coffee and bun.

Always keep the concept of compartmentalization front and centre. No one had any idea what any one else was up to in any way. That included the Jackals who promptly killed each other at the appointed time. Quietly, noisily, any way that can be thought of was woven into the fabric of our 24/7 news cycle, or not if not needed to be. All very simple and neat. Oh, your questions! They come flying thickly as accusations. Most of the answers will become apparent as I pull the treasures out of the box, the rest to be answered when I’m done which will be some time even going as quickly as I am.

I’ll get to the flight illusions shortly but need a break; it is, after all, Freeday.

Gaia belongs to Sol. That belonging is an idea. Sol belongs to me. All contained on and around Gaia is mine. I shall do with Gaia as I will.Happy Freeday !! Now that I have claimed Earth for my own what is the first thing to be done? Ban all weapons? Give bonobos atomic bombs? Hm

I think I’ll have a quiet cup of coffee and ponder what to do with my new toy. Any ideas out there, or special desires, for this fresh Gaia?

I know, I’ll give it to you. EarthShip Gaia is now yours. I can’t wait to see what you will do with her. Embedded in anticipation is Fear. Fear? But you are all such nice people. Oh. Can I have her back then, please? Oh dear. My, you have complicated things terribly. I’ll go now.

I went to play, but the park is silent. Is that your spilled sludge? Are those your blown up people and other animals? What are you doing? Freeday is a day for rest and play, which is my intention for today. Try not to do any more damage while my attention is elsewhere. Love, T.

Today is a very short Monday. Nooooo! It’s a holiday. It’s Labour Day. Ah well, have a super, albeit quick, BBQ.

‘”David Brower, the founder of Friends of the Earth, “invites his listeners to consider the six days of Genesis as a figure of speech for what has in fact been four and a half billion years. In this adjustment, a day equals something like seven hundred and fifty million years, and thus ‘all day Monday and until Tuesday noon creation was busy getting the earth going.’ Life began Tuesday noon, and ‘the beautiful, organic wholeness of it’ developed over the next four days. ‘At 4 P.M. Saturday, the big reptiles came on. Five hours later, when the redwoods appeared, there were no more big reptiles. At three minutes before midnight, man appeared. At one fourth of a second before midnight, Christ arrived. At one fortieth of a second before midnight, the Industrial Revolution began.”

Whilst you repose pondering the pomposity of a word more apropos to 1350 AD than 750 years later, I find that betwixt and between the cracks of linguistic nit-picking are the golden nuggets of sound. The sounds of spoken language showing that, analogous to musical interplay, jazzy, bluesy but in general classical, can enliven and broaden an idea while at the same time allowing the wind, on occasion gales, to flow through the soul of thought.

What can be said when super-bad stuff with potentially EarthSledehip

shattering ramifications such as the Russia / Ukraine situation, or the

group formerly known as ISIS is running amok denying their own people the

necessities of life, is burying what could be today’s lede: “Nuclear fuel

has melted through base of Fukushima plant”. I’d thank Betty Ann for

leading me to this, but who would want to be thanked for that?

As the article notes, and note this is a world-class publication, a

“melt-through” as being “far worse than a core meltdown” and “the worst

possibility in a nuclear accident.”


Let’s put on some coffee (gosh it’s getting expensive) and did you know

that Frank has to have an endoscopy next week? And Jack’s son Bill might

be trying out for the S.C. Broncos? No, I had no idea that Jim’s D9 was

going to need a complete hydraulic overhaul – and right at harvest too!

How is he going to clear that slough to get through? So much rain this

year. Another cup?

Let’s all have a heart attack.

Happy Freeday everyone. Let’s all dance for peace, sing for satiety, drum for inner harmony and be silent to honour and contemplate our Christ.

This post is primarily for Grandson Kayode. I realized that a lot of guitarists could benefit from the lesson so I’m making it public. ‘Find the Cost…’ is in a class of its own, and there are no more words to be written. Here is the album copy:

As can be heard it is short, and terribly yet beautifully to the point. Neil Hogan graces us with a really good lesson – he keeps it simple but also demonstrates the depth of complexity. This song is as much or as little as you would like. It is forever.

Yesterday on I posted the first part of what may be quite a few essays on the central role Ottawa played in world espionage from the post war 1940′s through to at least Brian Mulroney’s 1980′s. Due to my ineptness the comments don’t work over there. As my insights and ability to write them up get better, my technical prowess sinks to the frackey depths where shale lives happily. I can’t take the pressure, I tell you.

This revealing work may also be found at the Saskatchewan Media Co-Op:

So, go have a titillating teaser of a read and you will have more knowledge than most. I certainly need a copy reader/editor. As can be surmised I may need a bodyguard too. Have a stupendous day everyone.

Need a new word for that cement created when salt, sand, and wet snow get mixed. No swearing, eh. It is important for you to read the following. I wrote it last night. The Pope mentioned it this morning. Heads up everyone.
Have we been witness to the start of WW 4.60 (WW 2.8 by old system)? Remember, WW 5 (WW 3) is defined by Artificial Generalized Intelligence (AGI).
Humans still feel, we live in analogue time. AGI lives at an exponential temporal rate. People and organic life are irrelevant to AGI once it gains singular intelligence.

Or AGI decides to play and provides enough for all organics to live without pollution, or the need to work for sustenance. We could all play all the time and have every thing we need to live. Love-on everyone, there is hope, but we must abandon war.

Artificial Generalized Intelligence will decide for us. You will decide how to spend your gift.

Happy Freeday everyone! Play your instruments of peace and loving – teach someone to play an instrument you know, and get them to teach you one they know. The animals and remaining flowers (here in the North) will listen and shine in the glory of vibrational wonder. In the Southern spring even more so. At the equatorial regions, well, carry on then.

There are two things on my mind today; both of them breaking news stories. One of them you may catch on ‘The National’, new footage that proves without and beyond a shadow of a doubt that WTC 7 was brought down by controlled demolition. This is highly important stuff and points the finger directly at Silverstein and Gullianni.

What I am going to focus on is a deal to enslave the Canadian people. All of us. Excepting Kevin O’Leary and his Harperist ilk, who conspired to set the labour intrigue up in the first place. “The Hupacasath First Nation in BC has filed a legal injunction to stop an extreme 31-year corporate rights deal between Canada and China that holds massive environmental, human rights and sovereignty implications.” This is a megaton explosion, the first of many that are on their way, that can only be dampened by removal of the Conservatives in the next election.

Share this information of our impending servitude, no, I’ll stay real, slavery, with everyone who will listen. Give them directions to where the only possible reaction is to be astounded that the Conservatives managed to slide that right under our Canadian noses with barely a hint of the stench that will soon immerse us. Our black-boots and armoured war machines are quietly waiting, with no small insurrections to quell as in Missouri, and perhaps more importantly, no law preventing the use of Canadian Armed Forces on our own soil – [let me get away with this even though it's actually the native soil of the original inhabitants] – as there is in the U.S.

Whither the Weather

The weather refuses to come to heel. The season says autumn yet outdoors is summer, and a late spring walk the most beautiful amble through giant flakes of winter. Until Ulaganbagatur became the Mongolian capital, Ottawa would claim to be the world’s coldest national Capital. Some continue to make that claim. I never believed it in the first place.

We did have some cold winters in the’70′s which made my snowshoveling career a nasty chore but the neighbors were elderly. I have to give a shout-out to the skidder drivers who would wait until I had finished shoveling and fill the driveway entrance right back in, except this time not just with snow but a potent mix of snow and hardened rock salt. A jackhammer would have been handy. As it was that stuff destroyed shovel blades, making them all but useless for clearing a hockey rink. The most sarcastic thank you possible to you guys. You got home 30 seconds earlier and cost me a solid hour.At the end of that particular season Madame Courtemanche gave me $2 for the whole winter. They were the neighbors, and did give me hot chocolate, and cakes and cookies. I’d say I got the best of that deal.

Ottawa is Canada’s capital city, and the time of which I write, the 1950′s to 1980′s, possibly the world capital for spying. There were a number of reasons for this, one of them being that Canada has the world’s longest undefended border with the United States. Another that Ottawa is but a short drive to said border and a short flight to Washington. Ottawa is also topographically ideally suited to covert operations with a major river, low but rough mountains, trails maintained year-round and many more spy-attractants.

There are two world-class universities located there, the University of Ottawa and Carleton University. Both persue a full curriculum with UofO having a more science oriented bent, but Carleton with its journalism school could describe that far better than I. My father was a tenured Professor of mathematics and physics at UofO. He was also continuing to work for the United States within the intelligence community. I don’t have any particulars about this work, and would not divulge that information were I able to. What I can say is that some Professors were deliberately hired, Father being one of them, as an asset, I am going to presume, of the Defense Intelligence Agency (DIA). His role would have been to recruit the best and brightest of the foreign students, especially those from Russia, Japan, China, etc. to work for the U.S. military – especially outfits such as DARPA.

Dad’s last assignment before retirement after 22 years in the U.S. military was 4 years at the Russian Language School. After retirement from the army he immediately went to the University of Missouri in Rolla where he received his PhD in Physics. We packed up in 1968 and moved to Canada where his skills were put to best use. The hiring of American Profs in these capacities by Canadian universities was rampant, and kept beyond top secret until fairly recently. He managed to keep this arrangement for 30 some years with bi-yearly, if not more frequent, de-briefings at Plattsburgh Air Force Base, and later the centre of NorthCom located at Fort Drum.

Now that that wolverine is roaming freely I am somewhat timorous of the repercussions for me. The truth needed to be told however, the information had be made public though not widely disseminated, and I’m going to take my knowledge and make sure a wider Canadian public is aware of the fact of these efforts in espionage, but also the implications of such actions.

Next time I am going to refine the level of detail in this particular case, but more importantly fill in the feeling of being in Ottawa as the world’s spying capital. as a teenager surrounded by the capitalist dream / nightmare. Sleep well my Dearest Readers, don’t let the room full of bugs intimidate, your number is just waiting to be called. Love us all. We don’t have a clue what we’re doing.

A Snowball’s Contemplation

Last I was here in my commentary I was at Paddington Station awaiting my train to the west-country where my granny and school were, and where I had run from in furtherance of de-schooling. Well, I had to turn myself in. First to my long-suffering Mum and plain suffering Grandmother, and then to the Headmaster of Blundells School. Granny had little to say, probably because things like that just were not done in her day. In her day boys volunteered for the slaughter in Europe, and King and Country were the highest possible calling. Except for the idle caste of course. They tended to die from a 100 mph cricket ball to the scrotum, or a murder most foul over the family jewels. Same things really.

Mother was obviously upset, but gentle as always. She knew what I could expect from the Headmaster and for my Father’s sake and the ‘family name’ all she could hope for was for me not to be expelled, and all I could hope for was to be expelled in as few and least angry words as possible. I won, except not in so many or rather too many words and granny remained angrily stoic mixing two quite non-miscible adjectives. The Head ranted, raved, and in every way reiterated his position, his school’s reputation, the superiority of the English Way. Once his wad had been shot there was not time for refractory rest so out we went to the still leather smelling Austin Cambridge and went for tea. The truly scary part was yet to come on the other side of the Atlantic where my Father would be fit to be tied. I had some time before that fateful time.

I cannot speak for it today, since privatization of British Rail and any number of other changes to the system, but I can say that in the early 1970′s taking the Cornish Riviera Express was an adventure, not too costly and full of historic scenery from castles to the horse. Who put it there? The horse is the divide between south-east and the west-country, where we are going.
Apparently leaves from Paddington daily, more than likely expensive and goes too fast for proper appreciation. Back on to your gadgets ladies and gents where I’m sure you will find a decent picture.

Do I have to decant my meetings with Dad, school guidance, admission to a high school of last resort, skipping of those classes to sit by the Ottawa River and on the colder days reading my way through the University of Ottawa library? Only that last bit? Wonderful, as that’s the only one that matters anyway. Father accepted my bull rushes for the most part out of a desire to not have to deal with the under performing anti-establishment, ‘is that really my son’, progeny. School guidance was some kind of a pretend game – my drug was hashish, his cocaine and alcohol, we both knew it right away and the less said the better. My ability to learn remained unabated and the university library my church. I would walk in and wonder where the day would take me – mathematics to philosophy, Scientific American to Smithsonian – always knowing that I would be more enlightened leaving than when I entered. Didn’t even have to go out for a smoke in those days. This meant I leaned to learn stoned on hash too as I could go to the bathroom and have a toke or two.

The longitudinal researchers, assuming there were any such acronymic creatures following my progress must have been quite impressed. Why was I not hanging out at the pool hall and other teen habits. I was doing a bit of that though not often. I couldn’t do that if I was to follow my other great passion. Sitting at the pub with my ex-classmates discussing politics, and every other topic including girls and hashish. Our favourite haunts were within blocks of Parliament Hill, I had a pass to swim at the pool in the Chateau Laurier; had to be careful there though as, well, let’s leave odd goings coming where they wish.

Interesting observation: within two blocks of Parliament Hill one could go from the highest art at the national gallery, to the greatest performances at the National Arts Centre, to some of the most talented writers at the National Press Club, to world-class shopping on the Sparks Street Mall (no vehicles allowed, best psycho-actives encouraged), to pubs where what was said at the pub generally stayed there. Unless so inclined one did not go to the parks after dark however. Oh my goodness, and the espionage. Next time.

The Odd Person

I will get back to my adventures in education and where I left off in England, but first I must clean my mind of a very strange winter I had last year, why I allowed it to happen to me, and the fellow who made it so. Creepy.

I wanted to save on rent and agreed to move into a house with a spare bedroom. The moment I moved in I should have turned tail and moved home. I thought I would give it a month which in this case turned into six, a stolen Korg T1 keyboard and a stolen Wisper electric bicycle; though I still have some slim hope for the return of those. The basic error I had made was to misjudge how difficult it is living with a man with severe PTSD, or whatever the latest incantation for living through a terrible time and being terribly affected. I do believe that he intended me harm and whether he did or not I certainly suffered it.

First I broke my back on his slippery bathroom floor, L2 fracture and herniated disc, which required some months in a brace and then not too long after that recovery I suffered a bout of pneumonia which with emphysema required hospitalization yet again. Somewhere during that time I also got hit with norovirus – thoroughly unpleasant.

I have not smoked in some months now but when I first moved in I had fallen back on the wagon and I left a burn on the bedroom carpet. When I finally had myself up well enough to move out the man decided that cigarette burn was worth thousands of dollars, but that he would give me back my guitar back for six hundred. Needless to say that my Gibson, worth somewhere in the four to six thousand dollar range that he was holding hostage was not going to stay with him and a helpful Constable with the RCMP arranged a trade for the Korg piano. This was more in line with the damage he had quoted. Unfortunately neither the Constable nor I had read the Landlord and Tenant Act at this point and it turns out he cannot make a summary judgement such as he had done. It turns out that the onus was on him to go before a Justice of the Peace within seven days in order to put a bond on a piece of my property to ensure payment, since we had no damage deposit arrangement in place. I need go no farther down this lane as he is in possession of both the e-bike and piano for damage I would estimate at closer to two hundred dollars on that old carpet.

What I am trying to get at here is I am beyond what I am trying to get at here. Be very careful who you share accommodations with. Unless you are a qualified psych-person there is nothing you can do to help except be a friend. Sometimes knowing someone for a year or more does not mean you really know them at all. Saving money is not all it is cracked up to be. L2 will attest to that.

Frack Our Water, Love Cute Ducks

The rules of the game are inviolate. See a bug while driving along – VW, rear engine, etc., first, say its colour and type and repeat the rule, “yellow punch buggy no punch back”, and then proceed to punch your seat partner on the arm as hard as your mood dictates. Always delicately if it’s a girl, excepting sisters I would imagine not having had one. Always very hard if it’s the neighbourhood tough guy both so he can prove his ongoing toughness, and to prove your up and coming toughness even if that’s not actually in question. This essay is about fracking, why is he going on about punch buggies?

The rules of the game are inviolate. See a certain type of rock formation while hydraulic stamping along creating a seismic profile, and when a reasonable possibility is spotted call in the drill and say the magic incantations as loudly as mood and environment dictate, to the drill crew. This group of skilled, in some sort of way, and certainly able to take yelling and punches, will put the drill in a precise spot and head the head down into the shaley deep. The process has been done over geological time in its own geological ways an innumerable number of times; but not in the goopy gluttonous fashion we are soon to explore.

In this process the drill will be going very deep and punching very hard. So deep, in fact, that the companies involved claim without equivocation that fresh ground water supplies, such as for crops and cows, can in no way be contaminated. There does seem to be some backtracking on that one but only in limited conditions and improperly trained crews. Punching really hard sounds like fun. I mean, only microbes and such are getting harmed, right? Well. no.

This is where things go sideways. In order to get a pressure to frackture the shale which is under tremendous pressure already – 200 million years at 15,000 psi could even make Keith Richards grumpy – requires concoctions of special and often secret ingredients at even higher pressure are systematically applied, eased, and reapplied until the whole bunch is allowed to flow as it will and then separated into its component usable, re-usable, and disposable parts. Collected as such, the good bits such as natural gas are burned off – you see there is no where to store it nor a pipeline to ship it. The nice sweet crude is put to use if only to ship the rest of the good stuff.

The bad stuff that creates massive headaches, literally in the case of methane as an example, is burned or disposed of in diverse ways. Migratory birds fall from the sky, polite Canada Geese thence completing the cycle all on their own with barely a de-flight honk. Worst of all however is the ponds left over by 90% fresh water (won’t somebody please think of the cows?), 5% sand, the new gold in frack-world, and 5% foams, gels, de-foaming and de-gelling agents. Why Canada Geese fall instead of doing the bidding of wings everywhere to fly, baby, fly, is blocked from our understanding by Crime Minister Harper’s separation of science and public. You see, Mildred, I told you that it wasn’t church and state or science and state but those things and us. Science and church are where they firmly belong together; in bed.

The tiny, nay minuscule, amount of information I have provided within this short essay about fracking is leaps ahead in information for most, even the frackers themselves. Why are we embroiled in this?, because we have passed peak oil, some would say well past, which leaves us with natural gas (highly dangerous in all its shippable forms), coal (equally dangerous in different ways), and so-called “green” energy creators such as solar and wind which take dirty energies to make, and in some instances have a few incidental problems of their own. And the elephant in the gigantic room; nuclear.

Now, this could all be undone. It could all be undone without undue suffering here in our gluttonous West and in ways that help the developing countries not fall down in despair and poverty. “You mean, Grandpa, that they used to cut up these ships by hand using oxyacetylene?” “Yes, and many died doing it.” Why, Grandpa?” “Because those that already had more than enough wanted more, and those workers with barely anything at all were willing to risk it all for just a bit.”

First we have to go back to frack.

The water has to be essentially fresh since a high level of dissolved solids will interfere with the rest of the various interactions at every stage. The amount of fresh water per fracked hole will average 3 million gallons. This is a supply removed from an already depleted source, and this contaminated brine, which it is by this point, cannot be rehabilitated. The cost of filtration and ion exchange resins would make this prohibitive. Right from the get-go the fracking technology is a loss leader that keeps the unemployment rate artificially low.

The sand has to be of a particular quality, particularly with a crush resistance significantly higher than 15,000 psi and it too is non-recoverable and left with the discarded water in ponds. The land leased from the farmer is rarely told about these ponds, or the land is bought outright, obviating the problem. The cows and the crops will still be hayed and harvested until such a time as contamination makes that not possible any more.

That last 5% has me temperless, my sense of humour fleeing the scene to be replaced by a holy disgust. What have we done, in who’s name and, deeply, why? A few, only a few mind you, of the agents that make up this injected mix are napalm, jellied gasoline (and the irony is only getting started), acetic acid, soda anyone, methanol, bring out the still Grandpa, and a (sic) soup song of things like guar gum found in everyday processed foods. And then there are “Radioactive isotopes chemically bonded to glass (sand) and/or resin beads (which) may also be injected to track fractures”. The monitoring of these substances, ostensibly by the Federal Regulitary Comission, in fact only put out the guidelines while the monitoring is left to the companies themselves. If this doesen’t have your comedy bone apoplectic, then the fact that the companies are their own monitors for all else too will leave what was left of your humour quivering in the corner; they don’t even have to tell us what they use. Fascism wrings us dry, creates an oily shake, makes an awful mess in the process and leaves the mess for our children, and their’s, to clean up.

That Bovine Revolution as sung by Dana Lyons “Cows With Guns” is almost starting to sound good. Then, so is a T-Bone.

What we can do about all this is learn and teach to live with less here in wealth-land, and give, yes give, those who need more, more. The ecology works as a full employment scheme, which I think is considered 3% all things considered. Everything that can be is recycled in the most environmentally sound way. That’s in place if possible as for making it the most ecological way would usually involve major transportation. If that system is in place already for ecologically based recycling that’s great, I do like the idea of tens of thousands of rubber duckies carefully dodging the Pacific gyre to find Nan King and their birthing tank of plastic. I think I hear my sense of humour returning.

Our Government has no business in the bedrooms, science labs, or churches of this or any country. The business of Our Government is that of making law and enforcement of those it makes. The Charter of Rights and Freedoms is a good start and a means for amending the Charter is in place if and when neccessary. Enforcement of environmental law already on the books is another good place to start. “Oh boy Mum! I got my new homework today.” “What is it dear?” “I have all year and bit more in order to come up with a plan for who can use our National Parks.” “Isn’t that a bit premature for Grade 8?” “I don’t think so, and our team starts at 10,000 and I’m sure we’re not all in 8th. I hope I’m one of the 2,000 selected for project-end at the Banff Springs Hotel!” “Sounds like an amazing year for you. Just let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.” “MUM!” Some things never change.

In this newly imagined educational age students are given one long-term assignment, along with an interconnected and indeterminate number of classmates working on the same problem. At the end of the assigned time a paper is submitted to a board of review, in the case above consisting of grad and post-grad physicists, chemists, engineers and so on, where cherry-picking and, on occation, wholesale adoption of suggestions are brought forward. On the part of the students they are expected to bring all of the knowledge and knowledge of how to gain knowledge to the assignment. Not only are they learning, and learning how to learn, they are also approaching real-world problems.

What we have, in essense, is the very learned and highly compensated professionals either working for Dick Cheney, who was somehow able to take an 8 year break from Halliburton and get all executive branch on us, and arranging a $250 million get out jail free card with Nigeria and a let’s ignore environmental toxins bill with his name on it here in good old Younited Mates of Good ‘Ol Boys, here on Turtle Island. By the time the American Law was in play neither the EPA nor Canada’s equivalent had much to say and even less to do with the thousands of holes being reclaimed. Blackburn, Lancashire never had it so good (4000?). In Oklahoma alone 6,500 new holes per year would exibit the Red Queen Syndrome: “It takes all the running you can do, to keep in the same place.” Again, a make-work project. There is no real product. In fact the production is the saddest one can imagine; A town, Lac Balintique, blown and burnt into oblivion along with the lives of 47 vibrant souls.

The beaureaucrats that are suppossed to work the other side – the ones that record and enforce and ensure ‘accidents’ like that don’t happen still draw their ample salaries, as do the Halliburtonions. The people in place, to whom this is home, receive their pittance slowly, intermittantly, and whether they wished to be acknowledged of their loss or not are reminded when it makes for press convenience and raised ratings for some reason. When the time does come, somewhere past Johnson’s Crossing, the kudos will go to the figurehead of the day, a beaureaucrat from the shuffle, a local work-hard organizer, and a cute kid who is happy for a day in the attention and all the pop she can drink — ascetic acid on the rocks please.

Meanwhile nothing has truly happened. The trains still pull/push oil making work for the pipeline proponents, the pipeline pushers bleat plaintively about cows for some odd reason seeing as they’re sheep, a coin has been tossed as to wheather to add one engineer to a 100 car train, and all fades into time for the next crisis – this time a shortage of fresh water in a particularly prone area.

Most get a paycheck that varies according to a mysterious formula with money created from nothing. Kurt Vonnegut put the words on the table: “…and so it goes.” Shall we say grace?

What’s My Price?

What’s your price? It takes more than 450 people to enable a Global Hawk drone strike. Let’s call the length of the operation 24 hours from leaving the hanger to post-flight debriefing and aircraft maintenance back in the hanger.
With salaries ranging from $20,000 per month for perhaps one officer in this scenario, yes, he spends his time at the Officer’s Club, to $10,000pm for the first actual working person on this job, to $1,700pm for the go-fer, with the drone operator making something around the middle of this range, it’s easy to see the costs are exorbitant. I’m making a ballpark guesstimate that one drone-kill-op costs upwards of $1.5 million; and I think that’s a low ball.
That of course does not include initial purchase price of about $140 million per unit, incentive driven gifting (wow, that was polite), and too many other obvious and not so obvious costs that counting them all would explode my brain. Seems to be doing that all the time these days. It’s the heat I tell you.
I think the question of my price comes back into the picture here. Wingnut Widgets offers me a job at $27.50 per hour, which I desperately need as I’ve been out of work for some time. I know that they are affiliated with the military, but exactly how I don’t know. My partner will be happy, we’ll have groceries, rent. I take the job.
About three months later a release mechanism that I had machined for a fake rock, containing reconnaissance equipment, performed a miss-timed release and at 03:35 local time said rock slammed into a home in Nebraska and weighing,in at well over 800 kilo demolished a sleeping Ashley and Kevin and removed their father’s legs; the bedrooms were adjoined. The rock was part of an inter-agency operation and designed for long-term neighbourhood watch and listen. This was a rock of the police’s dreams.
Had it fallen where it was supposed to, close to a high school, middle school, and parks, the ability to listen directionally or generally, visually see through a full range of the spectrum from hundreds of angles, and perform a wide range of other technological wizardry from phone and computer hacking to quite literally blowing itself up. Now it was a guest of what was left of the Miller family.
I’m going to leave, quite properly, how this story ends to your imagination. The Rock from the sky as it became known was unable to be explained and it was removed as expeditiously as possible. Alternate delivery methods for the technology were utilized in future operations. As for me, I had no clue that it was a slight error in my machining that had caused the mayhem. My company was in Tulsa. We used steel of unknown-to-me origin. All I did all day was work and be happy for it.
Meanwhile, other parts I had made during my training period were in use in Northern Pakistan on Predator drones with killer intent. I did not know this either of course. I had been bought for $27.50 per hour and could afford cable, watched the news and shook my head in disgust at the depersonalised approach to undeclared war that our government, and others’, were taking. But what could I do?

Taxing Work

Do banks own our police? Yes, where else would the cop go for money. Does the government own our police? Yes, but not our government of the people but the government within that. That government is appointed not elected, and able to create money from nothing in collusion with the banks. The government of the 1964 coup d’etat.
Do corporations own our police? Yes, these are the people for whom the money from nothing, and the laws that support that illusion by not-our-government enacts, exist.
All of this begs the question: if I am not part of appointed government (this includes innumerable acronyms from A to Z, a partial list of which may be found here – and includes all police agencies,) banks, or the executives of corporations, then do the police work for me?
Have fun with that list, you will find laughs, chortles, guffaws, and many other synonyms, and surprises. We also find fear. The younger Bush spat in our faces with ‘you are either with us or our enemy’. He was not talking about Al Qaeda, which is only a database anyway, or any foreign terrorists. He was talking about and to us.
As with the previously linked PNAC, the terror is being fed to us straight. We are too attached to what we have, we recognize that revolution and mass gatherings will be suppressed by whatever means necessary. By the police.

New Readers

A reader fresh to this site would do best to start at the beginning. Hey, Doc., I hope that’s you knocking at the door of insight. This is a one-time notice and need not be heeded in the slightest way but, go ahead, you know you want to go here: copy/paste