Challenge Dice is a family of games played with a standard set of five poker dice. The simplest variation is Forfeit Dice, where losers pay a simple forfeit and roll again (this is basically a drinking game), but rules 7 and 8 suggest variations:
--
1. The first player rolls all five dice: this is the out-roll. Rolls are ranked as in poker, except that there are no straights or flushes, and that five-of-a-kind is possible too, of course, ie: five aces is the best possible roll; if you're passed this, just re-roll one of them and hope! (see rule 3, below)
2. Britishers will (correctly) rank five 6s on standard (pitted) dice as the highest hand; Americans may be tempted to rank five 1s, but this is only correct of true poker dice (9TJQKA), not pitted dice. Agree this before you play.
3. On every roll, the roller must meet a challenge: on the outroll, the challenge is to roll a pair or better. Subsequently (a re-roll), the challenge is to BEAT or REPEAT the previous roll. Re-rollers need not roll all five dice, but they must roll at least one of them.
4. If the outroller fails to roll even a pair, the roll is a 'bust': the outroller pays the forfeit and rolls-out again. If a re-roller fails to (at least) equal the previous roll, they pay the forfeit and also become the next outroller.
(Aside: Outrolls bust about 10% of the time. So there's a 1% chance the first player in a two-counter 'short' game (see below) will go bankrupt without even having had the choice of passing the dice to the player to their left. Too bad..)
5. After a successful roll, players may either challenge themselves, or challenge the player to their left. To challenge themselves, players simply re-roll one or more of the dice and hope not to worsen their previous roll. To challenge the next player they announce that they are 'passing' the dice as shown.
6. As a point of etiquette, players should announce and show what they are re-rolling before they pick up those dice.
7. Typical forfeits include being forced to drink a measure of alcohol, or to pay a fine to the kitty (until the meal is paid for, say), or directly to the player on their right (NB: always opposite to the direction the dice are passed). Forfeiters always become the outroller unless they have no more money, in which case the player to their left becomes the next outroller. In this case, the other players may 'bank' (pocket, withdraw) one counter if they now have more than they started with.
(Aside: Traditionally, the new outroller asks if there are any 'bankers?', and the bankers say 'yeah..' sheepishly as they pocket the coin. The 'b' of bankers is often given a Japanese inflection, too.)
8. If the game is played for money, usually two or three equal coins are staked by each player. These are known as the 'short game' and 'long game' respectively, not without reason. Alternatively, lots may be drawn to see who outrolls a short game, and the next (leftward) player given the option to play long (three coins, them only) or short (two, like the others) before the first outroll.
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If you skimmed all that, the interesting rule is #5, where most of the skill enters the picture. It doesn't take much wit to see that if you're passed, say, AAAA9, you'd keep the aces and re-roll the 9. It takes slightly more savvy to draw the implication from the obvious point that, if you rolled a 9 again, you'd keep rolling it until you didn't, because you can't possibly go bust. (You might even risk re-rolling a Ten, too, depending on the number of players..)
Just like poker, the two-player version isn't really worth bothering with except as practice, or unless there's a hell of a lot of money at stake.
Saturday 4 April 2009
Saturday 28 March 2009
A nutritious 250kcal snack
Ingredients:
25g soya mince (aka TVP) (80kcal)
1 low-fat instant soup sachet (65kcal)
Spices (to taste) (10kcal, say)
Boiling water (0kcal)
3 slices dark-rye Ryvita (95kcal)
(Ryvita is a dense, high-fibre crispbread)
-- optional --
1 mineralised multivitamin tablet (?kcal)
This simple snack is best prepared in an old Pot Noodle container or similar. Sprinkle the soup and spices over the soya and rehydrate with about a mugful of boiling water. Stir well and cover for five minutes. Break up the Ryvita and immerse in the mixture. Add a little more boiling water and stir, aiming for a thick consistency when the Ryvita has disintegrated. Cover for another five minutes and stir once more. Eat slowly (it's still hot!), then swallow the multivitamin tablet.
Nutritionally, this snack is extremely rich in protein (equivalent to 11-12g of egg yolk protein), high in fibre, low in calories, low in fat, and provides a very good base for digesting multivitamins.
Even if you're dieting VERY heavily (say 1250kcal/day for a woman; 1500kcal/day for a man) a balanced diet built around this snack will easily provide all the protein you need daily. You should also treat the multivitamin tablet as mandatory and ensure you eat lots of green vegetables (peas, spinach, broccoli..) and acidic fruit (apples, oranges, grapefruit..), a soluble-fibre cereal (eg oat bran with a calcium-enriched fresh* soya milk, perhaps sweetened with jam?) and SOME fat too (typically from condiments: avoid meat). I also recommend bulking your intake with mushrooms, which are highly nutritious and very low in calories. You should also do your own research into human nutrition: I've cut several corners giving this oversimplified advice; nevertheless, no well-nourished dieter will suffer much by following it for at least a month unless you literally starve yourself. Clue: if you catch cold, eat more.
In the longer term, aim for a varied, balanced, weight-sustaining diet, ideally without any red meat, or even white meat. Though I personally don't eat any meat or fish (except carrion) for ethical reasons, certain fish are (admittedly) highly nutritious. Remember though: the higher up the food chain you go, the denser foods are in all nutrients (especially calories!) so the less your body needs, and the more you need to eat to feel 'full'.
*UHT soya milk is no more pleasant than UHT dairy milk. Try the fresh stuff.
25g soya mince (aka TVP) (80kcal)
1 low-fat instant soup sachet (65kcal)
Spices (to taste) (10kcal, say)
Boiling water (0kcal)
3 slices dark-rye Ryvita (95kcal)
(Ryvita is a dense, high-fibre crispbread)
-- optional --
1 mineralised multivitamin tablet (?kcal)
This simple snack is best prepared in an old Pot Noodle container or similar. Sprinkle the soup and spices over the soya and rehydrate with about a mugful of boiling water. Stir well and cover for five minutes. Break up the Ryvita and immerse in the mixture. Add a little more boiling water and stir, aiming for a thick consistency when the Ryvita has disintegrated. Cover for another five minutes and stir once more. Eat slowly (it's still hot!), then swallow the multivitamin tablet.
Nutritionally, this snack is extremely rich in protein (equivalent to 11-12g of egg yolk protein), high in fibre, low in calories, low in fat, and provides a very good base for digesting multivitamins.
Even if you're dieting VERY heavily (say 1250kcal/day for a woman; 1500kcal/day for a man) a balanced diet built around this snack will easily provide all the protein you need daily. You should also treat the multivitamin tablet as mandatory and ensure you eat lots of green vegetables (peas, spinach, broccoli..) and acidic fruit (apples, oranges, grapefruit..), a soluble-fibre cereal (eg oat bran with a calcium-enriched fresh* soya milk, perhaps sweetened with jam?) and SOME fat too (typically from condiments: avoid meat). I also recommend bulking your intake with mushrooms, which are highly nutritious and very low in calories. You should also do your own research into human nutrition: I've cut several corners giving this oversimplified advice; nevertheless, no well-nourished dieter will suffer much by following it for at least a month unless you literally starve yourself. Clue: if you catch cold, eat more.
In the longer term, aim for a varied, balanced, weight-sustaining diet, ideally without any red meat, or even white meat. Though I personally don't eat any meat or fish (except carrion) for ethical reasons, certain fish are (admittedly) highly nutritious. Remember though: the higher up the food chain you go, the denser foods are in all nutrients (especially calories!) so the less your body needs, and the more you need to eat to feel 'full'.
*UHT soya milk is no more pleasant than UHT dairy milk. Try the fresh stuff.
Saturday 21 March 2009
squash rackets: ten essential rules
These rules are intended for novice, amateur and generally friendly play.
1. First serve is decided by a spin of the racket, all of which are dissimilarly marked (often with 'your serve' and 'my serve' printed on opposite sides).
2. Points are scored only by the server, whenever the non-server doesn't make a good return; if the server doesn't make a good return, non-server wins the right to serve. Games are scored first-to-nine points, unless eight-all is reached, in which case the then non-serving player may announce "set ten" to force a ten point game. British games never go beyond ten points, except in doubles play (forget it).
3. The server decides which side of the court to serve from first; this is the 'even' side for that game. (Whenever the sum of the scores is even, a player must serve from that side, and vice versa).
4. The out-of-court line is highest, and stretches right around the court, sometimes horizonally, sometimes diagonally. The highest horizontal marks the front of the court. If a ball hits a wall anywhere above this line, or hits the ceiling, it's out.
5. Every shot must hit the front wall before it bounces on the floor. A serve must hit it directly, and always above the front 6ft 'cut line'. A return may strike it indirectly, and need only hit above the front 19in 'tin' line, so called because a metal plate is often fixed below it; this makes an obvious noise when a ball strikes it.
6. To begin a rally, the server throws the ball into the air. A thrown ball must not bounce before it is hit by the server, so a ball thrown by the server but not hit concedes the serve. So does not having at least one foot inside the marked square on that side of the court.
7. A served ball must also, if it is not volleyed (ie hit before it bounces) by the non-server, bounce behind the 'short-line' that forms the front of each service square, and also in the non-server's half of the court.
8. A ball cannot be returned if has bounced twice on the floor after striking the front wall.
9. A ball was not properly returned if it was struck twice, or if it bounced on the floor before hitting the front wall (directly or otherwise).
10. Players must actively allow their opponents to reach the ball and so play a legal shot. A point is granted (or serve awarded) is a player fails to do this. A let (replay) occurs when a player makes a good return but cannot also 'vacate' the court. (Hence, lets are relatively frequent in amateur play).
1. First serve is decided by a spin of the racket, all of which are dissimilarly marked (often with 'your serve' and 'my serve' printed on opposite sides).
2. Points are scored only by the server, whenever the non-server doesn't make a good return; if the server doesn't make a good return, non-server wins the right to serve. Games are scored first-to-nine points, unless eight-all is reached, in which case the then non-serving player may announce "set ten" to force a ten point game. British games never go beyond ten points, except in doubles play (forget it).
3. The server decides which side of the court to serve from first; this is the 'even' side for that game. (Whenever the sum of the scores is even, a player must serve from that side, and vice versa).
4. The out-of-court line is highest, and stretches right around the court, sometimes horizonally, sometimes diagonally. The highest horizontal marks the front of the court. If a ball hits a wall anywhere above this line, or hits the ceiling, it's out.
5. Every shot must hit the front wall before it bounces on the floor. A serve must hit it directly, and always above the front 6ft 'cut line'. A return may strike it indirectly, and need only hit above the front 19in 'tin' line, so called because a metal plate is often fixed below it; this makes an obvious noise when a ball strikes it.
6. To begin a rally, the server throws the ball into the air. A thrown ball must not bounce before it is hit by the server, so a ball thrown by the server but not hit concedes the serve. So does not having at least one foot inside the marked square on that side of the court.
7. A served ball must also, if it is not volleyed (ie hit before it bounces) by the non-server, bounce behind the 'short-line' that forms the front of each service square, and also in the non-server's half of the court.
8. A ball cannot be returned if has bounced twice on the floor after striking the front wall.
9. A ball was not properly returned if it was struck twice, or if it bounced on the floor before hitting the front wall (directly or otherwise).
10. Players must actively allow their opponents to reach the ball and so play a legal shot. A point is granted (or serve awarded) is a player fails to do this. A let (replay) occurs when a player makes a good return but cannot also 'vacate' the court. (Hence, lets are relatively frequent in amateur play).
Wednesday 11 February 2009
Already stirring
On the Metaphysics of Sexual Love (1819?)
by Arthur Schopenhauer (ed: Maher Coen, after Jill Berman)
One cannot doubt either the reality or importance of [sexual] love. Instead, therefore, of wondering why a philosopher for once in a way writes on this subject, which has been constantly the theme of poets, rather should one be surprised that love, which always plays such an important rôle in a man’s life, has scarcely ever been considered at all by philosophers, and that it still stands as material for them to make use of.
It is not my intention to be either influenced [by] or to contradict what has been written by my predecessors; the subject has forced itself upon me objectively, and has of itself become inseparable from my consideration of the world. Moreover, I shall expect least approval from those people who are for the moment enchained by this passion, and in consequence try to express their exuberant feelings in the most sublime and ethereal images. My view will seem to them too physical, too material, however metaphysical, nay, transcendent it is fundamentally. First of all let them take into consideration that the creature whom they are idealising to-day in madrigals and sonnets would have been ignored almost entirely by them if she had been born eighteen years previously.
Every kind of love, however ethereal it may seem to be, springs entirely from the instinct of sex; indeed, it is absolutely this instinct, only in a more definite, specialised, and perhaps, strictly speaking, more individualised form.
If, bearing this in mind, one considers the important rôle which love plays in all its phases and degrees, not only in dramas and novels, but also in the real world, where next to one’s love of life it shows itself as the strongest and most active of all motives; if one considers that it constantly occupies half the capacities and thoughts of the younger part of humanity, and is the final goal of almost every human effort; that it influences adversely the most important affairs; that it hourly disturbs the most earnest occupations; that it sometimes deranges even the greatest intellects for a time; that it is not afraid of interrupting the transactions of statesmen or the investigations of men of learning; that it knows how to leave its love-letters and locks of hair in ministerial portfolios and philosophical manuscripts; that it knows equally well how to plan the most complicated and wicked affairs, to dissolve the most important relations, to break the strongest ties; that life, health, riches, rank, and happiness are sometimes sacrificed for its sake; that it makes the otherwise honest, perfidious, and a man who has been hitherto faithful a betrayer, and, altogether, appears as a hostile demon whose object is to overthrow, confuse, and upset everything it comes across: if all this is taken into consideration one will have reason to ask—“Why is there all this noise? Why all this crowding, blustering, anguish, and want? Why should such a trifle play so important a part and create disturbance and confusion in the well-regulated life of mankind?” But to the earnest investigator the spirit of truth gradually unfolds the answer: it is not a trifle one is dealing with; the importance of love is absolutely in keeping with the seriousness and zeal with which it is prosecuted. The ultimate aim of all love-affairs, whether they be of a tragic or comic nature, is really more important than all other aims in human life, and therefore is perfectly deserving of that profound seriousness with which it is pursued.
As a matter of fact, love determines nothing less than the establishment of the next generation. The existence and nature of the dramatis personae who come on to the scene when we have made our exit have been determined by some frivolous love-affair. As the being, the existentia of these future people is conditioned by our instinct of sex in general, so is the nature, the essentia, of these same people conditioned by the selection that the individual makes for his satisfaction, that is to say, by love, and is thereby in every respect irrevocably established. This is the key [to] the problem.
What manifests itself in the individual consciousness as instinct of sex in general, without being concentrated on any particular individual, is very plainly in itself, in its generalised form, the will to live. On the other hand, that which appears as instinct of sex directed to a certain individual, is in itself the will to live as a definitely determined individual. In this case the instinct of sex very cleverly wears the mask of objective admiration, although in itself it is a subjective necessity, and is, thereby, deceptive. Nature needs these stratagems in order to accomplish her ends. The purpose of every man in love, however objective and sublime his admiration may appear to be, is to beget a being of a definite nature, and that this is so, is verified by the fact that it is not mutual love but possession that is the essential. Without possession it is no consolation to a man to know that his love is requited. In fact, many a man has shot himself on finding himself in such a position. On the other hand, take a man who is very much in love; if he cannot have his love returned he is content simply with possession. Compulsory marriages and cases of seduction corroborate this, for a man whose love is not returned frequently finds consolation in giving handsome presents to a woman, in spite of her dislike, or making other sacrifices, so that he may buy her favour.
The real aim of the whole of love’s romance, although the persons concerned are unconscious of the fact, is that a particular being may come into the world; and the way and manner in which it is accomplished is a secondary consideration. However much those of lofty sentiments, and especially of those in love, may refute the gross realism of my argument, they are nevertheless in the wrong. For is not the aim of definitely determining the individualities of the next generation a much higher and nobler aim than that other, with its exuberant sensations and transcendental soap-bubbles? Among all earthly aims is there one that is either more important or greater? It alone is in keeping with that deep-rooted feeling inseparable from passionate love, with that earnestness with which it appears, and the importance which it attaches to the trifles that come within its sphere. It is only in so far as we regard this end as the real one that the difficulties encountered, the endless troubles and vexations endured, in order to attain the object we love, appear to be in keeping with the matter. For it is the future generation in its entire individual determination which forces itself into existence through the medium of all this strife and trouble. Indeed, the future generation itself is already stirring in the careful, definite, and apparently capricious selection for the satisfaction of the instinct of sex which we call love. That growing affection of two lovers for each other is in reality the will to live of the new being, of which they shall become the parents; indeed, in the meeting of their yearning glances the life of a new being is kindled, and manifests itself as a well-organised individuality of the future. The lovers have a longing to be really united and made one being, and to live as such for the rest of their lives; and this longing is fulfilled in the children born to them, in whom the qualities inherited from both, but combined and united in one being, are perpetuated.
Unabridged text: http://ebooks.adelaide.edu.au/s/schopenhauer/arthur/essays/chapter12.html
by Arthur Schopenhauer (ed: Maher Coen, after Jill Berman)
"..and then she experienced the sensation that within her womb some new cells awakened, new fingers, new mouths, that they responded to his entrance and joined in the rhythmic motion.."
- Anaïs Nin, "Elena" (published 1978)
One cannot doubt either the reality or importance of [sexual] love. Instead, therefore, of wondering why a philosopher for once in a way writes on this subject, which has been constantly the theme of poets, rather should one be surprised that love, which always plays such an important rôle in a man’s life, has scarcely ever been considered at all by philosophers, and that it still stands as material for them to make use of.
It is not my intention to be either influenced [by] or to contradict what has been written by my predecessors; the subject has forced itself upon me objectively, and has of itself become inseparable from my consideration of the world. Moreover, I shall expect least approval from those people who are for the moment enchained by this passion, and in consequence try to express their exuberant feelings in the most sublime and ethereal images. My view will seem to them too physical, too material, however metaphysical, nay, transcendent it is fundamentally. First of all let them take into consideration that the creature whom they are idealising to-day in madrigals and sonnets would have been ignored almost entirely by them if she had been born eighteen years previously.
Every kind of love, however ethereal it may seem to be, springs entirely from the instinct of sex; indeed, it is absolutely this instinct, only in a more definite, specialised, and perhaps, strictly speaking, more individualised form.
If, bearing this in mind, one considers the important rôle which love plays in all its phases and degrees, not only in dramas and novels, but also in the real world, where next to one’s love of life it shows itself as the strongest and most active of all motives; if one considers that it constantly occupies half the capacities and thoughts of the younger part of humanity, and is the final goal of almost every human effort; that it influences adversely the most important affairs; that it hourly disturbs the most earnest occupations; that it sometimes deranges even the greatest intellects for a time; that it is not afraid of interrupting the transactions of statesmen or the investigations of men of learning; that it knows how to leave its love-letters and locks of hair in ministerial portfolios and philosophical manuscripts; that it knows equally well how to plan the most complicated and wicked affairs, to dissolve the most important relations, to break the strongest ties; that life, health, riches, rank, and happiness are sometimes sacrificed for its sake; that it makes the otherwise honest, perfidious, and a man who has been hitherto faithful a betrayer, and, altogether, appears as a hostile demon whose object is to overthrow, confuse, and upset everything it comes across: if all this is taken into consideration one will have reason to ask—“Why is there all this noise? Why all this crowding, blustering, anguish, and want? Why should such a trifle play so important a part and create disturbance and confusion in the well-regulated life of mankind?” But to the earnest investigator the spirit of truth gradually unfolds the answer: it is not a trifle one is dealing with; the importance of love is absolutely in keeping with the seriousness and zeal with which it is prosecuted. The ultimate aim of all love-affairs, whether they be of a tragic or comic nature, is really more important than all other aims in human life, and therefore is perfectly deserving of that profound seriousness with which it is pursued.
As a matter of fact, love determines nothing less than the establishment of the next generation. The existence and nature of the dramatis personae who come on to the scene when we have made our exit have been determined by some frivolous love-affair. As the being, the existentia of these future people is conditioned by our instinct of sex in general, so is the nature, the essentia, of these same people conditioned by the selection that the individual makes for his satisfaction, that is to say, by love, and is thereby in every respect irrevocably established. This is the key [to] the problem.
What manifests itself in the individual consciousness as instinct of sex in general, without being concentrated on any particular individual, is very plainly in itself, in its generalised form, the will to live. On the other hand, that which appears as instinct of sex directed to a certain individual, is in itself the will to live as a definitely determined individual. In this case the instinct of sex very cleverly wears the mask of objective admiration, although in itself it is a subjective necessity, and is, thereby, deceptive. Nature needs these stratagems in order to accomplish her ends. The purpose of every man in love, however objective and sublime his admiration may appear to be, is to beget a being of a definite nature, and that this is so, is verified by the fact that it is not mutual love but possession that is the essential. Without possession it is no consolation to a man to know that his love is requited. In fact, many a man has shot himself on finding himself in such a position. On the other hand, take a man who is very much in love; if he cannot have his love returned he is content simply with possession. Compulsory marriages and cases of seduction corroborate this, for a man whose love is not returned frequently finds consolation in giving handsome presents to a woman, in spite of her dislike, or making other sacrifices, so that he may buy her favour.
The real aim of the whole of love’s romance, although the persons concerned are unconscious of the fact, is that a particular being may come into the world; and the way and manner in which it is accomplished is a secondary consideration. However much those of lofty sentiments, and especially of those in love, may refute the gross realism of my argument, they are nevertheless in the wrong. For is not the aim of definitely determining the individualities of the next generation a much higher and nobler aim than that other, with its exuberant sensations and transcendental soap-bubbles? Among all earthly aims is there one that is either more important or greater? It alone is in keeping with that deep-rooted feeling inseparable from passionate love, with that earnestness with which it appears, and the importance which it attaches to the trifles that come within its sphere. It is only in so far as we regard this end as the real one that the difficulties encountered, the endless troubles and vexations endured, in order to attain the object we love, appear to be in keeping with the matter. For it is the future generation in its entire individual determination which forces itself into existence through the medium of all this strife and trouble. Indeed, the future generation itself is already stirring in the careful, definite, and apparently capricious selection for the satisfaction of the instinct of sex which we call love. That growing affection of two lovers for each other is in reality the will to live of the new being, of which they shall become the parents; indeed, in the meeting of their yearning glances the life of a new being is kindled, and manifests itself as a well-organised individuality of the future. The lovers have a longing to be really united and made one being, and to live as such for the rest of their lives; and this longing is fulfilled in the children born to them, in whom the qualities inherited from both, but combined and united in one being, are perpetuated.
Unabridged text: http://ebooks.adelaide.edu.au/s/schopenhauer/arthur/essays/chapter12.html
Saturday 7 February 2009
Osama bin Goldstein
O'Breney stood up with a satisfied air. Over to his left Bushton saw the man in the white coat break an ampoule and draw back the plunger of a syringe. O'Breney turned to Bushton with a smile. In almost the old manner he resettled his spectacles on his nose.
"Do you remember writing in your diary," he said, "that it did not matter whether I was a friend or an enemy, since I was at least a person who understood you and could be talked to? You were right. I enjoy talking to you. Your mind appeals to me. It resembles my own mind except that you happen to be stupid. Before we bring the session to an end, you can ask me a few questions, if you choose."
"Any question I like?"
"Anything." He saw that Bushton's eyes were upon the dial.
"It is switched off. What is your first question?"
"What have you done with Laura?" said Bushton.
O'Breney smiled again. "She betrayed you, Bushton. Immediately - unreservedly. I have seldom seen anyone come over to us so promptly. You would hardly recognize her if you saw her. All her obsequiousness, her conceit, her folly, her clean-mindedness - everything has been burned out of her. It was a perfect conversion, a textbook case."
"You waterboarded her?"
O'Breney left this unanswered. "Next question," he said.
"Does Bin Laden exist?"
"Of course he exists. Al-Qaeda exists. Bin Laden is the embodiment of al-Qaeda."
"Does he exist in the same way as I exist?"
"You do not exist," said O'Breney.
Once again the sense of helplessness assailed him. He knew, or he could imagine, the arguments which proved his own non-existence; but they were nonsense, they were only a play on words. Did not the statement, "You do not exist", contain a logical absurdity? But what use was it to say so? His mind shriveled as he thought of the unanswerable, mad arguments with which O'Breney would demolish him.
"I think I exist," Bushton said wearily. "I am conspicuous of my own identityness. I was born again and shall not die. I have arms. And legs. I occupy a perpendicular point in space. No other solidified object can occupy the same point sanctimoniously. In that sense, does Bin Laden exist?"
"It is of no importance. He exists."
"Will Bin Laden ever die?"
"Of course not. How could he die? Next question."
"Does the 'greater good' exist?"
"That, Bushton, you will never know. If we choose to set you free when we have finished with you, and if you live to be ninety years old, still you will never learn whether the answer to that question is Yes or No. As long as you live it will be an unsolved riddle in your mind."
Bushton lay silent. His breast rose and fell a little faster. He still had not asked the question that had come into his mind the first. He had got to ask it, and yet it was as though his tongue would not utter it. There was trace of amusement in O'Breney's face. Even his spectacles seemed to wear an ironical gleam. He knows, thought Bushton suddenly, he knows what I am going to ask! At the thought the words burst out of him:
"What is in Area 51?"
The expression on O'Breney's face did not change. He raised a finger to the man in the white coat: evidently the session was at an end. A needle jerked into Bushton's arm. He sank almost instantly into deep sleep.
[with apologies to the Blair worth reading (fuck that warmongering other one), and thanks to 7th for the initial inspiration. -MC]
"Do you remember writing in your diary," he said, "that it did not matter whether I was a friend or an enemy, since I was at least a person who understood you and could be talked to? You were right. I enjoy talking to you. Your mind appeals to me. It resembles my own mind except that you happen to be stupid. Before we bring the session to an end, you can ask me a few questions, if you choose."
"Any question I like?"
"Anything." He saw that Bushton's eyes were upon the dial.
"It is switched off. What is your first question?"
"What have you done with Laura?" said Bushton.
O'Breney smiled again. "She betrayed you, Bushton. Immediately - unreservedly. I have seldom seen anyone come over to us so promptly. You would hardly recognize her if you saw her. All her obsequiousness, her conceit, her folly, her clean-mindedness - everything has been burned out of her. It was a perfect conversion, a textbook case."
"You waterboarded her?"
O'Breney left this unanswered. "Next question," he said.
"Does Bin Laden exist?"
"Of course he exists. Al-Qaeda exists. Bin Laden is the embodiment of al-Qaeda."
"Does he exist in the same way as I exist?"
"You do not exist," said O'Breney.
Once again the sense of helplessness assailed him. He knew, or he could imagine, the arguments which proved his own non-existence; but they were nonsense, they were only a play on words. Did not the statement, "You do not exist", contain a logical absurdity? But what use was it to say so? His mind shriveled as he thought of the unanswerable, mad arguments with which O'Breney would demolish him.
"I think I exist," Bushton said wearily. "I am conspicuous of my own identityness. I was born again and shall not die. I have arms. And legs. I occupy a perpendicular point in space. No other solidified object can occupy the same point sanctimoniously. In that sense, does Bin Laden exist?"
"It is of no importance. He exists."
"Will Bin Laden ever die?"
"Of course not. How could he die? Next question."
"Does the 'greater good' exist?"
"That, Bushton, you will never know. If we choose to set you free when we have finished with you, and if you live to be ninety years old, still you will never learn whether the answer to that question is Yes or No. As long as you live it will be an unsolved riddle in your mind."
Bushton lay silent. His breast rose and fell a little faster. He still had not asked the question that had come into his mind the first. He had got to ask it, and yet it was as though his tongue would not utter it. There was trace of amusement in O'Breney's face. Even his spectacles seemed to wear an ironical gleam. He knows, thought Bushton suddenly, he knows what I am going to ask! At the thought the words burst out of him:
"What is in Area 51?"
The expression on O'Breney's face did not change. He raised a finger to the man in the white coat: evidently the session was at an end. A needle jerked into Bushton's arm. He sank almost instantly into deep sleep.
[with apologies to the Blair worth reading (fuck that warmongering other one), and thanks to 7th for the initial inspiration. -MC]
Friday 6 February 2009
First, pass the gatepost
Big debate over whether to go to work today. Did so, but only because (confession approaching) I stole from the local council.
Having got back at about 2:30am after yesterday's shift (I work 'lates' for Royal Mail), I slept for four hours from about 5am, during which time it snowed pretty hard. So by 2pm there was 3-4 inches of fairly packed snow on an upward-sloping driveway for me and my trusty Ford Fiesta to reach the top of. We made a lot of noise, but I got nowhere and she got a cracked wing mirror. Sorry, old girl.
Rang my agent, Dan. Explained. He explained that he lives in a village too, and would I please make sure I get to work today, cos "they're heaving in there"? I said I'd try.
Went back outside and got to work with a spade. Not good. Gave up and got the rake. Better; still not great. Then, one of those charming coincidences that has you grinning evilly all day, or at least until you get to work. A grit-spreader went past, with me watching enviously, then pulled over so the crew could smoke cigarettes and take discreet pisses up against the side. They left the engine running, obviously. Result: a usefully large pile of grit salt. So: Drop the rake, grab the spade, and find the wheelbarrow. I slept from 3pm til 7, then drove to work as usual.
I'm glad I did cos when I got there the guys were building a snowman on an access ramp, the one we don't use. Since I'm a carrot addict, I was just in time to give it a proper nose before the photo session.
Having got back at about 2:30am after yesterday's shift (I work 'lates' for Royal Mail), I slept for four hours from about 5am, during which time it snowed pretty hard. So by 2pm there was 3-4 inches of fairly packed snow on an upward-sloping driveway for me and my trusty Ford Fiesta to reach the top of. We made a lot of noise, but I got nowhere and she got a cracked wing mirror. Sorry, old girl.
Rang my agent, Dan. Explained. He explained that he lives in a village too, and would I please make sure I get to work today, cos "they're heaving in there"? I said I'd try.
Went back outside and got to work with a spade. Not good. Gave up and got the rake. Better; still not great. Then, one of those charming coincidences that has you grinning evilly all day, or at least until you get to work. A grit-spreader went past, with me watching enviously, then pulled over so the crew could smoke cigarettes and take discreet pisses up against the side. They left the engine running, obviously. Result: a usefully large pile of grit salt. So: Drop the rake, grab the spade, and find the wheelbarrow. I slept from 3pm til 7, then drove to work as usual.
I'm glad I did cos when I got there the guys were building a snowman on an access ramp, the one we don't use. Since I'm a carrot addict, I was just in time to give it a proper nose before the photo session.
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