Wollongong Beach at dawn; near The Table of Knowledge.
Excess on occasion is exhilarating. It prevents moderation from acquiring the deadening effect of a habit.
W. Somerset Maugham
"It is certainly in al-Qaeda's interest to keep American troops pinned down in Iraq, where their presence and their behaviour serve to radicalise people throughout the Arabic and the broader Islamic world: American soldiers have long been al-Qaeda's best recruiters."
The Mess They Made, Gwynne Dyer.
There was the murky slides, the almost impossibly good-looking young men, the thump of disco music, the smell of sweat. I couldn't stand the self-exposure, he said. There's a new blog every eight seconds, I replied, no one pays the slightest attention. It's therapeutic; I've got that sort of head; a million tales, some perfectly well plotted, swirling around. Better to get it out. Better to tell the story. Exactly as: there's no use carrying a resentment if someone else can carry it for you. We were compromised, totally. The cruelty of it all, that is what he sought to expose. There were criminals lurking in the shadows. They used to score speed down the Kings Road in Chelsea. Richard used to help us. Handsome Richard we were all in love with. Conquest far off, everything paled. We really could dance. Bitter Lemons. The Alexandria Quartet. This life on the other side of the planet, far from where we were born.
It was the dancing, more than anything, that brought them close. His soul could have been repaired, but instead he coated it with alcohol. Comrades in arms, dancing till dawn. The buildings dark, too drunk to have even planned an escape route. The speed kept coursing through our veins; either torrents of thought or just one long thought. We were in love with each other, with London's dark streets, with the mysterious alcoves; with life itself. Never had we felt so exultant, so adventurous, so determinedly happy. The drinks flowed in fashionable bars. Richard was always getting a job as a barman in some fashionable place. When it came to mixing drinks he knew exactly what he was doing; he could run a bar like no other. We all loved him. We all got dressed up and went to filch free drinks. We all wanted to go there, but friendship would suffice.
Oh pretty boy, why hast thou forsaken me? That was the cruelty, the dog tired cruelty, as the gritty bad speed ground out our teeth and we stayed awake for days; too afraid to go to sleep. We might dream. We might come face to face with ourselves. We might realise that our disaster prone lives were but just a flicker, our expat lives barely breaking the surface of an indifferent, ancient city. But at least we could stand at the back of the crowd at the packed bar, one of many through the "it" nightclub of the moment, we could catch Richard's eye and our drinks would be swirled into our hands while the mere plebs grew more and more exasperated.
That was the era of the giant dancefloor; cavernous clubs; massive mirror balls; "Don't you want me baby?" and the elgant twists as we danced and danced, our bodies lost. Boy George gave a concert and was always in the news. We followed all the eighties bands, a cynical twist, a drop wrist. It never occurred to us that there could be someone who didn't want to sleep with us. We were fabulous, as fabulous as you can get when you're from Australia; and we danced and we danced. I just wanted everything to merge together; the music, the cavernous club, the clothes, the cuties, most of all the music. There was nowhere else to be, nowhere else one could want to be. We smoked and we drank and danced till we dropped; and kept on dancing. It wasn't just the speed; it was the age, the moment, the place, the times. I wanted to be subtle, a fine interlink, but through all these nights the one thing I sought was oblivion, so that the black bourbon and cokes and my spooked, alcohol charged consciouness became at one with the club.
Later on there were the awkward grapplings. Everyone worth having was had. There was no doubt, just adventure. The lack of confidence, even libido, which crept across his old age had not appeared. That's what I ordered while I was waiitng for you, he said. This is history, our history, the best of times. The windy smell of rotting oranges. The clammy ecstasy which made us different to the masses. Nothing was legal. All was hidden, dark. I wanted it to last forever; but everyting fades, the lock clicks, we're done. He shrugged off the importance of the moment, the spooky buildings creaking in the early hours, Richard always up and welcoming, the only person I knew you could visit easily at two, three in the mornig and be guaranteed a welcome.
The news of his death was the saddest day. It was London I thought of, those giant clubs, his glistening dark brown eyes, the wild, appreciative laugh. I didn't want him to die, to follow addiction to its logical conclusion. He had gone back to Adelaide and lived with his mother in the final months, rarely coming out of his darkened room, always stoned. He didn't want to grow old with the rest of us, he couldn't think of anything worse. So there's nothing but fragmentary memories; a handsome face in a crowded bar, white shirt and black bow tie showing off his perfect features. He kissed me affectionately each time we met. I miss him. That's life now, missing people who didn't stay the course; hanging out with another generation entirely. I wish you could have come with me, I wish you were still here.
THE BIGGER STORY:
http://www.bloomberg.com/apps/news?pid=20601080&sid=acd5VTd9qeD8&refer=asia
Turkey Says 127 Dead in Iraq Battles; U.S. Urges Calm (Update1)
By Ken Fireman and Mark Bentley
Feb. 24 (Bloomberg) -- Turkey said the death toll in three days of battles with Kurdish fighters in northern Iraq reached 127, as the U.S. urged an end to the incursion.
The Turkish armed forces have killed 112 militants of the Kurdistan Workers' Party, or PKK, including 33 today, the military said on its Web site. Fifteen Turkish soldiers have also died in the conflict, it said.
``We will continue the operation with the same determination and heroism until planned targets are reached,'' the military said, adding that jets, artillery and helicopters had hit 63 suspected PKK targets in mountainous northern Iraq since troops went over the border on Feb. 21.
The U.S., the United Nations and Germany have called on Turkey to show restraint in dealing with the threat of the PKK from northern Iraq. The Kurdish-controlled region has remained relatively peaceful since the U.S.-led invasion five years ago, and the U.S. military is relying on Iraqi Kurdish Peshmerga soldiers to help battle insurgents in and around Baghdad.
U.S. Defense Secretary Robert Gates said the Turkish army should wrap up the campaign, adding Turkey won't be able to solve the problem of cross-border Kurdish raids through purely military means.
http://www.smh.com.au/news/travel/city-bows-to-dancing-queens/2008/02/24/1203788147682.html
GIANT ships waltzed on the water, footballers tapdanced through a grand final, and on stage Billy Elliot learned the finer points of ballet. And as a month of Sundays were jammed into one, Sydneysiders were led on the merriest dance of all if they wanted to do the lot.
Fancy footwork was required, keeping time and dodging collisions in a traffic jam of hot, harried but eager pedestrians. The McLaughlin family, from Avoca Beach, set themselves the challenge, and barely missed a beat as they skipped from harbour to theatre to football stadium under a perfect sky. Others favoured a rhythm less frenetic, a simple jig in the one spot.
For many, that meant a quickstep alongside a dazzling harbour, where the foreshores were packed with spectators drawn by the historic rendezvous of the cruise liners Queen Elizabeth 2 and Queen Victoria, the one visiting for the 29th and last time, the other for the first time.
http://www.iraqbodycount.org/
Recent events
Saturday 23 February: 20 dead
Baghdad: roadside bomb kills 1, Beirut Square; 3 bodies.
Anbar
Al-Shiha: suicide bombers kill tribal chief and 2 policemen.
Saqlawiya: gunmen attack police stations, kill 6 policemen.
Ninewa
Mosul: roadside bomb kills lorry driver; gunmen kill man in drive-by shooting; a child is killed during shoot-out between US forces and gunmen.
Salahuddin
Baiji: roadside bomb kills wife and son of Baiji Council member.
Samarra: roadside bomb kills 2 policemen.
25 unidentified bodies are buried in Baquba.
My mother in the 1940s.
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