The Distant Shore

*

Stranger Strange

Some go high and very low, none too different or the same you know, I know cos I've seen them come and go.
When summer comes the valley hums with medicine trucks on
the sidewalks, laid out those hands could be holy...

Stranger, stranger, hard earned familiar,
I've got no jokes,
And you hit me up for more than just my shrapnel and smokes.

Some go high and very low, no two different or the same you know,
I know cos I've seen them come and go...

Stranger, stranger, strange you should be listening like a river to
the end of my curdled song,
Nobody knows what madness could come along.
Now if you see a being borne into a trap you free it,
They know kindness when they see it,
Stranger Strange would it come if you could call it?

Some go high and very low, none too different or the same you know, I know cos I?ve seen them come and go.

It's quiet now, the streets are silent,
When music out of the arms of community flies...

Stranger Strange I knew I knew you,
Now the bug lights in the bank imbue you
With eyes like decals and a voice like an iron file.
Stranger strange, though the earth be an anvil,
I'm not waiting for the hammer to fall,
I'm not waiting for anything at all.

Augie March.

Oh well, in those distant shores, across different fates, across a sea of everything that might have been but never was; there lay a different realm. If not of peace, something else; tranquility, a different self, sober, respected, climbing high. They spoke movingly of the impossibility of getting there; to that infinite, ever receding shore, to a place where they were humans like any other and where left wing teachers, spruiking their disgust at conservatives after a lifetime of being on the public tit, talking about their stock holdings and their rentals at the same time as abhorring everyhone who disagreed with them, cluttered the balcony of the Mini-Cost Guesthouse in Chiang Mai. They were rarely rattled, but many things had changed. There were dark forces afoot; and he had reverted to envying the lives of others; just as he had sat so often outside the offices of News Limited in Surry Hills, Sydney, watching young men flash by in their smart cars; watching normal people, unbedeviled by addiction sweat and the terrible power of despair, living out their normal lives with a girlfriend at their side. The bar girl broke into a frenzy of dancing. He watched, briefly in love. Anything was possible.

Later in the night a flinty eyed hoh sat next to him and he ignored her; hello, she said, and he barely acknowledged her; and finally she went away. Yesterday he went to Burma on the visa run, crossing at Mae Sae. Instantly, as if entering Cambodia, everything was different, the touts more determined and more numerous, the beggars completely in your face. While Thailand was wealthy, industrious, well organised, advanced in its development, it was surrounded by chaos. Fragile elements in a distant shore, things to aim for, elements and hypocrisy, Gary arriving from Bangkok, tuk tuk drivers quickly accepting 50 baht, the katoys working in the darker alleys, the westerners out for a romp. The meetings were full of expat Americans and wreaking hypocrisy. They say God cures all. They were in a Buddhist country. If anyone was to say anything to upset their fragile denouement, their established patterns of belief, their complexly layered bullshit, all hell would come down. Hans lamented that another girl had asked him for money; what did he think? They slept with her for fun. I need your help, he demanded of some long suffering bastard, who simply recommended he stick to the lady boys; they were less mercenary, less trouble. This was a crazy place; where blokes processed nothing and repeated the same mistakes forever, where the mentally ill held rein.

The caffeine had built up to such ridiculous levels, following Pepsi after Pepsi at Hotshots, skanky enough for their ordinary looks and amorous intents; I get too excited, I have to chase the best looking girl in the room, I have to find someone to go home with, said Aussie John as they moved on to Spicy at 2am, the ritual passing from one club to the next. He crossed the border and saw the famous sign: The Golden Triangle City. And the other famous sign: Help Us All Live Without Drugs. The threat of the death penalty was no doubt something of a motivator. It had simply moved behind closed doors and higher up the food chain. Millions still changed hands. It just wasn't on the streets anymore. Everything had changed in Thailand; where the population drank whisky but barely touched a cigarette, where peace reigned in the open skies and the soft fall, that impossible fall, called out ever more strongly. He was on the roam, his own worst enemy. It was a precarious place to be; sober today, he snapped at some smartass, prosletysing yank. They couldn't help but boast. They couldn't help but spread their own brain washing to others. I've never had an original thought, they proudly declared.

If, as first indicated, life had gone entirely awry and he had awoken rip van winkle like at the end of everything; then equally there were other paths, where birds alighted in the morning trees and despair slunk into silver shadows, where the harvest moon hung heavy in the Chiang Mai night sky and the hard faced maid was everywhere, watching, waiting. I see people in your room, Gary's crazy laundress said, the one who didn't even remember what he had done to her that night; and so he did not mention she had begged him to come over; because there would disappear another few thousand baht. She wanted 500 baht for a taxi and another 500 return, Hans said; maybe the equivalent of $30. She is a working girl. She is a hoh, he spat. What, he thought they slept with him for love? How can they be so mad? A hotbed of mental health, Peter quipped; and he despaired of any solution; and knew why so many left. And the night sky fell into day; and everywhere silence rang around the rooftops, the doves gathered against the pink sky, he crossed the river into Burma and presented his passport to border control; and here in the north, once, only a few years before, such a mysterious north; he checked through the markets and laid claim to all that was human; for nothing but discontent would follow him all these days.

Nobody, nobody but you, went the song; along with: You Want Me, You Know You Want Me. These disco songs of the day were played in every club. The Thais danced in crowded packs. There was no way into the muffled beat, into the centre of the crowd, so he sat outside Spicy and yacked to an Englishman who had just spent several years bumming around Asia, yet another Englishmen with no apparent source of income; no doubt government benefits. It was astonishing how they managed it. Drunken farangs sprawled out next to the canal. Girls argued with the tuk tuk driver or drifted down to the next restaurant. The beat was ever merciful, but also hid the greatest flight, from reality, from pain, from every day life. There wasn't any way to get sorted. The drifting shifts of pain and discontent simply matched the streets to his interior; and so he walked more than was good for him and danced in random amongst the drunken Thais. He listened to the Australians and their pompous crap. They all had to tell you how much money they had, before they barely opened their mouth. And he watched the bulldust settle into another layer of discontent; listened to the expats tell their stories as if anyone could care, and heard the inching of the night pass into day and the sky into the ground; listened to the snarl of the traffic wind up through the ancient streets; and said simply enough: there is no mercy, there will be no relief, embrace the fractured crystal that has crept into the fabric of everything; for that is your destiny; documenting dysfunction, watching the dawn, escaping the thumping beat of late night discos, hearing, as if for the first time: You Want Me, You Know You Want Me.

THE BIGGER STORY:

http://www.economist.com/world/asia/displaystory.cfm?story_id=15819472

THE glare of public debate was a departure from Thailand’s usual brand of political dealmaking. And it hardly made prime-time entertainment. But the three-hour televised peace talks on the evening of March 27th between Thailand’s prime minister, Abhisit Vejjajiva, and his red-shirted opponents did at least suggest that a tense political stand-off on the streets of Bangkok might yet be resolved peacefully. Neither side, however, was ready to budge much; a second meeting on March 28th likewise failed to yield a compromise; and it is unclear if there will be more talks to break the impasse.

The red shirts, who have been camped out in the Thai capital for three weeks in a huge show of strength, want Mr Abhisit to call new elections at once. They were not impressed by his offer of a nine-month timetable to wind down parliament, in which Mr Abhisit’s Democrat Party heads a six-party ruling coalition. The two sides might yet close the gap on a timetable.

Mr Abhisit had pooh-poohed the popularity and legitimacy of the red shirts, so sitting down with their leaders was a concession. It came amid friction between the army, squarely behind Mr Abhisit, and the protesters, who accuse the top brass of dictating government policy. A spate of unsolved bombings of government and military facilities has added to the tensions. The talks on March 27th followed sabre-rattling by both sides, including a threat by demonstrators to storm an army base where Mr Abhisit has been holed up.

Bangkok’s royalist elite has been chastened by the red shirts’ pulling power. Far from being a rural army-for-hire, as critics claim, it clearly has plenty of urban supporters. Not all red shirts are fans of Thaksin Shinawatra, the fugitive former prime minister, who backs the movement. But they are ready to join forces to evict a government that, in their eyes, lacks a democratic mandate. To imagine, as some do, that the red shirts will all go home to tend their fields is wishful thinking, argues Chris Baker, a historian and biographer of Mr Thaksin. The movement has staying power and Bangkok’s snooty elites “have been kidding themselves,” he says.

A commitment to hold elections soon should end the protest. But Mr Abhisit’s coalition partners, mostly cast-offs from Mr Thaksin’s former party, want to stay in power—and build up campaign funds—for as long as possible. The generals have their eyes fixed mainly on their annual promotions in October, when the army chief must retire. Mr Abhisit told the red-shirt leaders that an election should be held after constitutional amendments were completed and a budget was passed in the autumn. That sounds like flim-flam. And an excuse might yet be found for further delay, beyond the end of parliament’s term in December 2011.

http://www.google.com/hostednews/afp/article/ALeqM5hHg2BN1Q01pGk-9sLIdE5aJlgKUg
"I think the country needs a cooling down period," that would allow dialogue between groups, "whether they are the Red Shirts or other groups," he said.

Supporters of ousted prime minister Thaksin Shinawatra, the Red Shirts say Abhisit's government is elitist and undemocratic because it came to power through a parliamentary vote after a court ruling removed Thaksin's allies from power.

The group, mainly comprised of the rural poor, first gathered more than two weeks ago in Bangkok's government quarter -- the latest in a string of rival street campaigns in the politically riven kingdom.

Before leaving for Manama, Abhisit hit out at Thaksin, who was ousted in a 2006 coup and now lives abroad to avoid a jail sentence for corruption at home.

The former policeman turned politician supports his movement with near-daily speeches by videolink but Abhisit urged the Reds not to be "pawns of Thaksin".

Thaksin has been in Sweden in recent days, after the United Arab Emirates asked him to leave his main base of Dubai, according to Thai vice foreign minister Panich Vikitsreth.

The cabinet on Tuesday extended for a week a harsh security law that allows the military to take control of a 50,000-strong force deployed across Bangkok and surrounding provinces to monitor the rallies.

While the demonstrations have been peaceful, a series of small explosions have hit politically significant sites and army buildings, injuring more than a dozen people in the last four days.

Police said a hand grenade was thrown Tuesday night in Bangkok at a charity set up by the king's top aide, General Prem Tinsulanonda, whom the Reds believe masterminded the 2006 coup, but nobody was hurt.

Referring to the possibility of fresh demonstrations, Abhisit told the Manama news conference that as far as his government was concerned, "we will ensure the demonstrations do not lead to violence."

About 80,000 Red Shirts rallied on Saturday and forced troops to retreat from security posts in the heart of Bangkok. But police said only 16,000 protesters remained at their rally ground on Monday.

The Reds have staged a series of dramatic stunts in their bid to force Abhisit out, including throwing their own blood at his office gates.

Abhisit had ruled out talks while the protesters remained on the streets, but changed his mind on Sunday, a move analysts said might hint at a weakening of his support by the establishment.

http://images.google.com.au/imgres?imgurl=http://blog.kierankelly.net/wp-content/uploads/skewer.jpg&imgrefurl=http://www.sci-fi-o-rama.com/category/artist/wayne-barlowe/&usg=__D2ch1cRDeLaeqQZZ1mmSsX8O-Mk=&h=541&w=600&sz=172&hl=en&start=27&itbs=1&tbnid=EsstbIIrVW_p4M:&tbnh=122&tbnw=135&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dsci%2Bfi%2Bart%26start%3D20%26hl%3Den%26sa%3DN%26gbv%3D2%26ndsp%3D20%26tbs%3Disch:1

Skewer. Wayne Barlow.

Foreign Nights

*

The full orange moon hung low and heavy over the Chiang Mai houses, in those moments before night turned to day. If the hounds of God were hunting, so were many other elements in the vortex. Never Say Die danced jerkily at Spicy at 5.30am, just as drunk in the pre-dawn as he had been at midnight in another part of the city. Thai Lady, Thai Lady? cooed the girls he walked past and he waved or mumbled, just walking. Cruised and cruising, already this city was alive with that peculiar mix of people going home from the clubs and workers stirring early, the wreak of the garbage truck mixing with the sound of the tuk tuks and the restaurant workers beginning preparations for the day. Near the Chiang Mai gate men collected the white trumpet flowers as they fell from the night tree, having bloomed briefly and now about to perform an entirely new service, financial, sacrificial. Just like the girls, and sometimes the boys, in the late night bars, as one gorgeous stick insect pole danced for the hell of it, drunk, they were always drunk, and others parried their own lives away.

"We're conducting a scientific survey of Chiang Mai nightlife," he declared to Peter and another Australian who's name he hadn't bothered to take in; John probably. Parents with dazzling imaginations. But he couldn't be bothered to make any more tired jokes. Already the birds were rising and the roosters crowing as the denizens of Spicy spilled out into the street, just as patterned, just as instinctive in their behaviour as the birds now lighting up the trees with sound. If there was any transgression, it was not going to be tonight. And yet he watched and waited; and there was always someone who knew instinctively what he wanted. So it didn't matter, connections or the lack thereof, and while the moon sank slowly, visibly in the night sky, another day began and there was no peace but a blind uncertainty; and yet beyond that, beyond the cheap caffeine sugar highs and the lingering remorse did lie a kind of peace; because he was no longer depressed and the crushing concrete which had flattened him like a bug on the sidewalk, which had meant so much of his life was lived on the bottom of a lead aquarium; had entirely gone.

The pole dancing girl turned around and faced him full frontal. The swishy, over-weight waiter looked at him directly; as if to say, if you want something, you only have to indicate. A fat, badly dressed old Westerner danced drunkenly, pushing himself onto the pretty bar girl in front of him, waving a drink in her face as part of the dance. Oh God could anyone look that bad? Other, younger men, mixed easily with the girls as the music pumped; while outside the late night crowd spilled out into the restaurants feeding down from the club. Where you from? he heard a girl ask the man on the back of her motorcycle. Thai lady? cooed someone else. Where you go? If it was a scientific survey it had multiple purposes and multiple motives; andon the fringe of consciousness in the fighting of the years he crawled beneath the floor and settled in the highlights, shifted vaguely in sync to the heavy thump of the Thai disco or the Western whatever it was called; and yet another girl cruised in front of him, wriggling her butt, checking for any rise of interest before wriggling away; and a long haired boy sat next to him with a micro-flick of a glance as if to say: is this what you really want?

Well these sick pleasures and sick desires couldn't even be seen as unwholesome anymore: not here where any thing went and any want was disposable, easily serviced. Where the gigantic orange moon which had hung so prominently in the sky throughout the night; no wonder they all went so triumphantly mad, here at the foothills of the Himalayas, inched ever closer to the horizon of dark houses. And pretty people decades younger than him spilled out into the street, leaving the bar almost deserted in contrast to its former pumping glory, and before he, too, finally decided to join the exodus. From this bar, from a thousand bars; from cool elegant nightclubs with fashionable young Thais and excellent music and not a westerner in sight, discerning, warmed over, warmed up, Beer Orgy Slosh loomed the sign; and he didn't even know anymore what the hunt was for, or why he couldn't stay home like any normal person, watching TV, listening to their own lives inch away; it just wasn't possible, there was too much to do.

So here in the north Chiang Mai is a city of 150,000 people; yet there are original live bands seven nights a week and more than one club that goes to dawn. In the equivalent in Australia the silence inched through the despairing streets the minute the sun went down; a lone scangey dog curling itself on the deserted street. A flicker of a TV through aging, dated curtains. A couple turning on each other in complete boredom; used to each other, the familiarity of their lumpen forms, their lumpen intelligences. Nothing danced in these places. Red taxis, song kows, didn't stop to pick up tourists and Thais from the side of the street. Market stores didn't spring up in busy corners of the town. Over-regulated, over-governed, over-controlled, over-policed, over-taxed, said the AFP officer of his own country; and it was so deeply true. Much of the activity he embraced here would be illegal back "home". The high level of social order in Thailand, partly a result of the pervading influence of Buddhism, the tolerance for others, humility in daily life; was something to behold. And lacking in Australia; where what passed for social order was a suburban silence, uniformity, conformity; lives lived entirely behind closed doors, neighbours who never met; so that the brooding silence of these suburbs had long ago become in itself something terrifying; something to be escaped at all cost.

THE BIGGER STORY:

http://www.time.com/time/world/article/0,8599,1969920,00.html

Two decades ago, a Thai gardener climbed into the palace of a Saudi prince through a second-story window, busted open a safe with a screwdriver and stole some 200 pounds of jewelry. The former Saudi chargé d'affaires in Bangkok told the Washington Post that the gardener stuffed "rubies the size of chicken eggs" in his vacuum-cleaner bag, along with a huge, nearly flawless blue diamond, which at 50 carats would be one of the largest blue diamonds in the world.

Or at least that's how the story goes, according to the local Thai press and the old chargé d'affaires. Thailand's Department of Special Investigation (DSI), which is similar to the FBI, says it has no evidence to confirm the facts of the case — and doesn't even know whether the blue stone that's said to be larger than the Hope Diamond exists. What is certain is that the alleged theft eventually cost Thailand billions of dollars, left people dead in its wake and put an Elvis-impersonating Thai official on death row. More than 20 years later, the ripped-off Saudis still want their jewels back, and relations between the two governments remains strained. (See the world's top 10 heists.)

In January, five Thai police officers were arrested and charged for a murder that is allegedly connected to the case, raising hopes that some of the questions surrounding what has come to be known in Thailand as the Blue Diamond Affair would finally be answered. For Thailand, it could mean improved diplomatic relations with Saudi Arabia, potentially returning hundreds of thousands of jobs in the oil-rich nation to Thai migrant workers. But since Thailand's statute of limitations lapsed in February for murders allegedly linked to the heist, the Thais are running out of options. It will now be up to the Saudi government to decide if Thailand's last-ditch efforts are enough to normalize relations.

After the 1989 jewel heist, the gardener, Kriangkrai Techamong, airmailed the loot to his home in northern Thailand and hightailed it back, according to reports in the local press. After the Saudi government gave Thailand the tip about Kriangkrai, it didn't take long for Thai police to arrest him, but not before he allegedly sold some of the priceless jewels for a mere $30 an item. Soon after, three Saudi diplomats in Bangkok were shot execution-style in two different attacks on the same night. Two days after that, a Saudi businessman was kidnapped and never seen again. (See the top 10 crime stories of 2009.)

Though the DSI insists there's no proof that the murders and kidnapping are connected to the theft, the former Saudi chargé d'affaires, Mohammed Khoja, was adamant, telling the Bangkok Post in 1995 that the murder case and heist were linked. Despite the deaths, the Thai police tried to return the gems that weren't yet sold by Kriangkrai in an official visit to Saudi Arabia, hoping it would end the scandal. It didn't take long, however, for Saudi Arabia to claim that most of the returned goods were imitation baubles. To add insult to injury, the local press reported rumors of photos of the wives of bureaucrats wearing new diamond necklaces at a charity gala, ones that were awfully similar to the ones taken from the Saudi royalty. Needless to say, Saudi Arabia was not amused. In June 1990, the country would stop renewing the visas of more than a quarter-million Thai workers in Saudi Arabia and would give out no further ones, cutting Thailand off from billions of dollars in remittances. Saudi Arabia also barred its citizens from traveling to Thailand as tourists. Nabil Ashri, the current Saudi chargé d'affaires, said the decision to downgrade relations was "obviously for safety reasons and due to repeated failures of the Thai authorities to adequately solve or explain any of the cases to Saudi authorities."

Under pressure from Saudi Arabia, Thailand continued to investigate the case, though maybe not in the way Saudi Arabia had hoped. In 1994, a Thai jeweler, whom Khoja believed was behind the imitation jewels, was kidnapped, and then his wife and 14-year-old son were killed. At the time, the Thai police said the two died in a car crash, but Khoja was not convinced. The Washington Post quoted him as saying, "The forensic commander thinks we're stupid. This was not an accident." (See the top 10 news stories of 2009.)

Only a few months afterward, Chalor Kerdthes, the police officer who had headed the initial investigation and handed over the fake gems to Saudi Arabia, was arrested by Thai police and charged with ordering the murders of the jeweler's wife and son. The high-ranking police officer fought the charges until the Thai Supreme Court upheld his death sentence in October 2009. Chalor remains in prison, where he has put together a band and recorded a Thai cover of Elvis Presley's "Jailhouse Rock." Chalor has maintained his innocence, telling the Times of London, "Not all people in jail are guilty." It's no wonder that after all the deaths, Khoja said there was a hex on the blue diamond and that anyone who illegally handled the mysterious stone would be cursed — something many Thais still believe.

Further complicating the mystery, the U.S.-based Foundation for Democracy in Iran claimed in a 1996 report that the 1990 murders of the Saudi diplomats were the result of Iranian hit squads. The DSI, which took over the case from the Thai police in 2004, said any Iranian connection to the murders is only a rumor. But a 2009 arrest warrant for an "Abu Ali" for the murder of one of the Saudi diplomats has fueled speculation on message boards and in the blogosphere of Middle Eastern involvement. Despite having little concrete evidence about Abu Ali, a DSI team headed to Interpol headquarters in France at the end of January to ask the international police organization for help with apprehending the suspect.

Charging five current or former police officers for the murder of the Saudi businessman who disappeared in 1990 — along with the subsequent trial, slated for the end of March — represents the best chance in years to put an end to the long-standing row. All five officers, however, deny the charges and have vowed to fight them in court. The highest ranking of the bunch, Somkid Boonthanom, has blamed politics for the arrest, telling Bangkok's the Nation that he witnessed "outside factors intimidating and pressuring" the prosecutors.

So far the two-decade-old whodunit reads like a paperback thriller, but it remains to be seen if the story will be neatly wrapped up in its final chapters. Ashri said that if the case were solved, Saudi Arabia would "have to seriously consider restoring relations" and that he was pleased by the recent "serious efforts from the Thai government." Still, with the statute of limitations expiring, pressure falls on the upcoming trial to reveal the secrets behind the Blue Diamond Affair. Saudi Arabia will have to decide soon if Thailand's last-minute show of effort is enough, or if the curse of the blue diamond will haunt Thai foreign relations for years to come.

Read more: http://www.time.com/time/world/article/0,8599,1969920,00.html#ixzz0jhfictX5

http://sites.google.com/site/hklczcpyln/z4uut1k0vd

Infinite Wisdom

*

Well, there wasn't anything to be done. Bar Restaurant Beer Orgy Slosh read the sign; and if everything was lost and he destroyed every opportunity; here on the darkened ways; in the streets in the early hours; in fabulous life, then equally he feared any easy way out. He listened to every other story. They came laughing. He was in despair. I don't smoke weed, he said, making a smashing gesture with his fist curved into his other arm, the reflection of an hysterical story of events decades old. As if anything mattered. The work load was insurmountable. The Death Of Stapo. Hence the courage, hence the change. The death of everything that had gone before. Let go of the past, let go of the future. Let go of all ordinary sins; ailments; anger, sadness, fear. The monk splashed holy water upon them both.

It was too cruel and he didn't have any answers; so they hung in the space between desire and action; killing time in restaurants, farangs on holiday, lounging away the idle afternoons. There are plenty of other businesses, said the former Australian Federal Police officer who owned the guesthouse; talking to an old pal on the phone behind him. The place was full of farangs, foreigners, scheming, scamming, taking the cheap money, spreading lives of love and offer, twitching in circumstances he could not understand; how do you do? Everyone planned a future. He only planned a past. He was the only Westerner in the entire disco. They danced. They got drunk. As always, he envied the lives of others.

For so many years he had sat outside the News Limited building, smoking cigarettes, loser cigarettes now, and watched as all the flash cars went zapping past, and people, young men in their own bodies, went riding past in their technical comfort; and he envied them so fully. A handsome Thai man stood up and embraced him for no apparent reason; drunk. A girl danced beside him, dancing, shouting to the music, flirting; and all disappeared in random encounters. There would never be a way out. All was lost. And yet the depression had disappeared and he didn't know who he was anymore. Birds flittered through the garden trees. Wind moved softly through the Chiang Mai air. A tuk tuk chuttered past. If anything was going to be fulfilled, it wasn't here.

They road out in the real estate agents car to look at a house; and they made jokes later about how it represented the perfect nightmare; a place to die; a place to experience that incomprehensible desolation; dissolution; the true unhappiness only they could bring upon themselves. Once set up, the officer said, explaining how everything worked. Everybody was working something here. The son of a former relationship. It wasn't easy. Nothing was easy. Everyone else had a life and all he could do was look on; infinite, these things that never ended, dragging the cheerful Americans along to a vegetarian restaurant. It was the first time Brent had ever been to one. They were very funny. American John had seen Janis Joplin live; and was a link to living history; to an icon he and his friends, and John Bygate in particular, had put on a pedestal, oh Lord, everything we had ever wanted to be, balanced on a bar stool, knocking it back.

Man it reminds me of a dream I had in Nigeria once. They were visiting from Japan, where they were both English teachers. Gary is coming up on Thursday. There isn't any tomorrow. There is only today. Yesterday's history, tomorrow's a mystery. All these cliches kept churning around, ever since they had been splashed by holy water and joked, feebly, that they were now spiritually evolved; they had left this plane, everything had been resolved. It was a simplistic explanation of what had already happened to them; the wind moving through the trees; the swirl of a late summer storm, the chatter of the guest house owner, the infinite space between the fabric of things; as if they could understand; as if the bars would bring relief, as if those bottles of whisky on the Thai tables weren't tempting; and as if every time, the rare times, someone flirted with him; that he didn't want to right himself off then and there; into oblivion max ten, so that he too could embrace, or was it penetrate; everything that was love and low cost and the fabric of things; the future the past the body beneath; the mini-death of short pleasures; the pure infinity of human yearning. Of simple lust.

THE BIGGER STORY:

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/europe/russia/7533884/Moscow-metro-blasts-female-suicide-bombers-kill-35.html

Two female suicide bombers known as “black widows” blew themselves up in Moscow’s busy metro during morning rush hour killing at least 35 people, according to the Russian authorities.

A further 40 people were reported badly wounded.

Though no group has so far claimed responsibility for the atrocity, security sources said early indications suggested that the suicide bombers were from the volatile North Caucasus region that includes Chechnya.

If that is right, it would be the first time since 2004 that Islamist extremists have struck the Moscow metro, raising the terrifying spectre of a new bombing campaign aimed at Russia’s biggest cities.

Prosecutors opened a criminal case immediately, saying they would be working on the basis that the explosions were the work of terrorists.

The bombers struck two separate metro stations in central Moscow – Lubyanka and Park Kultyry - in a carefully coordinated attack.

At least 22 people were reported dead at the Lubyanka metro station, which is situated close to the headquarters of the FSB security service, the successor agency to the KGB.

Witnesses said an explosion tore through one of the carriages as the train was coming into the station killing commuters onboard as well as people standing on the platform. Dozens were reported wounded.

One witness, a policeman, said the bomb went off as the train’s doors opened and people poured out. Officials said the suicide bombers were wearing belts around their bodies packed with explosives. There were unconfirmed reports that they had set off the bombs using their mobile phones.

A second explosion at the busy Park Kultyry metro station located close to Moscow’s famous Gorky Park followed about forty minutes later.

It is not clear how many people that blast killed and wounded though some reports said up to fifteen people had lost their lives. Officials said the attacks had been conducted in identical fashion and that the overall death toll was likely to rise.

There were unconfirmed reports of a third blast at a third metro station, Prospekt Mira, but officials said they could not confirm whether that was true or not.

Traffic on the metro system, one of the world’s busiest, was disrupted as emergency service vehicles surrounded the stations affected. Police said sniffer dogs were checking for explosives before removing victims’ bodies. Mobile phone networks crashed as people scrambled to find out about their loved ones, long traffic jams formed, and emergency hotlines were set up.

http://www.abc.net.au/news/stories/2010/03/29/2859482.htm?section=justin

The Federal Opposition says the arrival of two more boats carrying asylum seekers and the escape of three detainees from a detention centre shows the Government is losing control of Australia's borders.

One hundred asylum seeker boats have arrived in Australian waters since the Government was elected in 2007. The two most recent arrivals were detected in the past 24 hours.

Meanwhile, it has emerged that four detainees have escaped from Sydney's Villawood Detention Centre in the past month.

Opposition Leader Tony Abbott says the Federal Government's border protection policies are not working.

"This is a 100-fold indictment of the Rudd Government's policies," he said.

"When Julia Gillard was the shadow minister for immigration she would regularly put out press releases saying 'another boat, another policy failure'. This is a policy failure compounded 100 times."

The Immigration Department is threatening to fine the operator of the Villawood Detention Centre over a spate of recent escapes.

Three Chinese nationals climbed over a fence at Villawood early this morning and are still on the run. New South Wales police are searching for the trio.

Two of the men had been detained for over-staying temporary visas while the third is said to be an unauthorised air arrival.

http://www.imaginefx.com/02287754332467706460/main.png?a=0&maxh=400

The Gangster's Lair

*

Well, what was to be done? This was a landscape of Hockney paintings and gentle slides, of whispy looks across manicured lawns, of wasted afternoons watching the gardener go about his duty, of old friends splashing in the pool and little thought but for ultimate indulgence: what perversion can we think of next? You've never had a blow job till you've had one from a katoy, a ladyboy, the gangster declared; and they all grimaced, oh no, I couldn't, we couldn't. It's just not the blokey thing to do. They're nice people, the gangster declared, they're good to hang out with in the bars. Oh those bars, they were everywhere. So they went out to celebrate Peter B's 26th birthday in Chiang Mai, and the woman running the bar, the Sugar Bar, the Heh Heh Bar, the Whatever Bar, asked about him: Pappa? Heh! he said. As in watch it! But it was true. What was this old f... doing hanging out with these young dudes; and how things had changed. Once he had always been the youngest person hanging out in any situation. Now time had reversed.

How could you possibly walk past a place called Barfly? There they were, the old men sitting in their dreams of alcohol. Sometimes a girl hanging off them. Sometimes a girl in the dark. Don't you Thai men ever get upset at all the farangs, the foreigners, taking the Thai women? the first Peter had asked. And the reply came: there are two types of Thai women, sweet and sour. And the foreigners like the sour. As in you can have them. You can follow the path of many. You can catch whatever disease is going around. Pattya tongue. Where the men's tongues swell up and they have to stay in their hotel
rooms for days; and everyone laughs at them because everyone knows how they caught it; there in the biggest brothel in the world bar none; there where light flipped into shade and every animal instinct went crazy. And the locals went crazy to support it.

So they sat round the Bangkok pool through the long afternoon; the luxury house behind them, the hum of the traffic on Sukhumvit clogging the otherwise muggy air, the pigeons cooing from the alcove of the house next door. That house is worth several million baht and the owner lets those flying rats live there like that, the gangster said in disgust, just itching to kill something; anything. After all the bashings. After all the runs. After all the quiet scandal. The Lure Of The Illicit. The trials of all time. The savage darkness that had swept through each day; and had now entirely dissipated. Oh why, why, couldn't he reach out and touch that gentle frame, make love. What can you do at my age; he asked rhetorically, for he alreadfy knew the answer. Pay for it? Once he had thought, ludicrously, if only I was older, and people would love me for myself.

There were so many destinies, stories untold. So many people who had passed from the mortal coil and he had failed in his duty to document them all, watching, gargoyle like, from those rooftops overlooking Sydney Harbour, watching the sunrise and the agony pass. Scattered to the four winds. You don't know the half of it. And sailing, sailing away into moments of infinite beauty when all was lost and there was only one tiny thread of recognition, justification; a tiny thread of personality not splintered into the icy crystals of the splintering sky, the leaping colours of the changing dawn, the muffled pleasures of the rising traffic, the frequent curiosity as he peered from his high pinnacle into the windows of other people's lives; ordinary, working people's lives; the observer, the documenter, the sad f... on a high window ledge, always on the outside looking in.

And so the boys laughed and partied good naturedly, their whole lives in front of them, completely unaware how truly lucky they are, even though they were repeatedly told. Life seems infinite in your twenties and then you wake up old and half of it, most of it, has gone and you think: what the f... happened there? It wasn't going to be easy, nothing was easy. But the cruellest thing about all these fate lines was that it simply didn't matter much what you did with your life; you all ended in the same place. Chiang Mai was full of retired Americans with their loud voices, eking out their military pensions in a place where their money went further and the girls were beautiful; at a price. They're not so superficial, they don't care what you look like, Peter B said; and he thought, don't be naive. They like their wallets. They sit their with those blank, patient expressions on their faces for one reason only: survival is difficult, these men have money.

He had seen them swapping pictures of good looking men on their mobiles; giggling. Handsome, handsome. He knew they knew he didn't trust them one little bit. And so day folded on day; and life was glorious. At least he was still here, replete with survival guilt. Hey Johnnie, you want something?

THE BIGGER STORY:

http://www1.voanews.com/english/news/asia/Thailands-Tourism-Industry-Takes-a-Beating-From-Protesters-89325417.html

Thailand's economy is taking a battering, especially the vital tourism industry as the latest protests in Bangkok have frightened off visitors to the country. Tensions have escalated as protesters moved to force military units to stand down amid minor grenade explosions in the capital.

Thailand's tourism industry has taken a hit as thousands of anti-government protesters have taken to the streets over the past few weeks to try to force fresh elections.

The so-called Red Shirts, supporters of former prime minister Thaksin Shinawatra, have mounted a series of targeted demonstrations, ranging from ritualistic blood curses to head-shaving to noisy parades through the streets of the capital.

Although their rally has been somwhat peaceful so far, many remember the Red Shirts' protests last year that turned violent.

The Association of Thai Travel Agents said international visitor arrivals fell between 20 and 30 percent in March, when the protests began. Tourists coming from such key markets as Japan, China, Hong Kong, Taiwan and South Korea cancelled their plans.

Andrew Cornelio, director of sales and marketing at the Dusit Thani Hotel, said the travel advisories from more than 30 countries also contributed to the dip in tourism.

"For the Dusit Thani we have seen many cancellations, he said. "In terms of numbers we've lost quite a lot. Right now we have about I would say 15 to 20 percent down from what we expected to be. It's cost our first quarter figures to be below what we have budgeted for."

The tourism industry had been forecasting tourist arrivals of over 15 million for 2010. But analysts say the target is now not expected to be met. Tourism accounts for about six percent of Thailand's economy.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/asia-pacific/8590446.stm

Tens of thousands of Thailand's red-shirted protesters have gathered in front of army positions in Bangkok to demand fresh elections.

The anti-government protesters have massed at eight points in the centre of the city.

Troops have reportedly abandoned some of their positions after threats to tear down barbed-wire barricades.

The government has extended special security legislation and brought in extra troops to man check-points.

"We will meet with the military and police in a spirit of friendship, and talk with them to convince them to return to their barracks, and invite them to join us in calling for democracy," said protest leader Veera Musikapong ahead of the rally, according to the AFP news agency.

But Reuters news agency reports that the rhetoric became more confrontational, prompting the army withdrawal.

"This is the breaking point," another leader, Nattawut Saikua, shouted to the crowd.

A protester has her head shaved in Bangkok on 25 March 2010
Some protesters have offered both blood and hair to their cause

"If we lose, we will probably go to jail, if we win, then we get a democracy back," he said.

Anti-government protesters have mounted a series of targeted demonstrations in the past two weeks, ranging from ritualistic blood curses to head-shaving to noisy parades through the streets of the capital.

There has also been a series of unexplained explosions at buildings associated with the administration - the red shirts deny any responsibility.

The protesters, known as the red-shirts because of their distinctive clothing, are calling for the prime minister to resign.

The BBC's Rachel Harvey in Bangkok says the protesters are no nearer their stated goal of forcing fresh elections, but there is no sign of them giving up either.

The red-shirts are a loose coalition of pro-democracy activists, supporters of ousted Prime Minister Thaksin Shinawatra and former communists.

http://fc09.deviantart.net/fs18/f/2007/177/f/2/Speedpaint___Future_City_by_ANTIFAN_REAL.jpg

The Ringing Of The Bells

*

Entirely by accident, he rounded a backstreet corner and there was the hotel he used to stay in; way back in the 1970s when Chiang Mai was a picturesque town in the northern provinces of Thailand, nestled at the foot of the mountains. Now the ringing of the rickshaw bells, the most ubiquitous sound the town had to offer, had been replaced by the sound of traffic, the tooting of horns, the roar of cheap tuk tuk engines; and most of all, here in the imperilled past, the troubled present, the swamp of dislocation, the sound of regret at wasted lives and wasted days. If only it was possible to grow younger by the day. Here they kept their peace. The THC bar had no THC. The place was full of ghosts.

Well no it wasn't, it was full of 20-something backpackers doing exactly what their predecessors had done 10/20/30 years ago, sitting around, checking each other out, flirting subliminally; here in the dark, here in the nightfall, here in the mystery that passeth all understanding. Except in those days the place was wreathed in marijuana smoke and cool dudes rolled up joints which were masterworks in their own right; and the staff plied varying grades of excellent dope; kiddy puff long vanished. Hey, hey, you want something. You want something meant shit these days. It meant do you want a bar girl. Oh, for Christ sake; the girls spilled out of the bars and their dark eyes watched your every move; and the cheaper ones hung in the darker corners of the street, all the better for you not to see the ravages of time and men, where you go? she asked in her sing song voice; as if she cared for anything but where goes your money.

It was all about sanity. So he showed up and listened to their crap; and Hans said he had only ten real friends in the whole 200 or so he knew in the fellowship in Chiang Mai; and nodded in full acknowledgement when he said: Americans are natural born bullshitters. While the most out of it person in the room waved in full acknowledgement. I see you. He saw Avatar four times: twice in 3D, twice in IMAX, and they said the same thing: I see you. So fantasy mixed with fact but there wasn't enough fantasy in the world to turn those bar girls into objects of desire: not for him, not without alcohol under his belt, not without a drastic lust realignment. So the music thumped to deafening levels, Radio Birdman, the punk band that had left him deaf for days way back then, way back when, would almost have been proud; while here in the north, far from Bangkok, far from the bristling sophistication and astonishing beauties, things moved fast; but time warped. It was easy to see you were in the provinces.

While the boys pumped out You Drive Me Crazy and "apple bottom jeans, no no no no"; and everybody saw, on the dance floor, the girls dancing with each other; the farangs, pissed, amiable, happy, happy, drowning in the crowd, saw out and through, made grim faced gestures, while middle aged men, already the desperation of alcohol and addiction settled in their heart, clung to their girlfriends as if they were sinking, or desperate to prove to themselves they were having a good time, and while they danced their grim pale faces hung in the disco dark like malformed balloons, and he could see into the heart and soul of every walking skeleton he passed; could imagine those terrible nights, bones humping flesh. And so it was that he rounded the corner; a completely random corner in what had seemed like the backstreets of bum f... nowhere; and there was that hotel he had never thought he would see again, the tiny web of streets. It had been renamed, The People's Place, oh yeh sure, but otherwise remained almost entirely unchanged; a little pocket with its pink orange walls and faded lobby, the balconies now overlooking a developing city, not the picturesque backwater it had once been.

It was there that he had known both the greatest euphoria and the most intense isolation; away from everybody he knew, nothing to stop him, certainly not money, where the bellboy had come for a shower and virtually propositioned him; he made no move; where the spiraling city and spiraling thoughts had seemed like this destiny was made of grander stuff, as if it all meant something, as if there was a higher duty; and there never was. He just grew old. And now, retirement village, the place was full of old westerners eking out their pensions; living in luxury amongst the musical sounds; spreading their western dosh; boring each other with their stories of a life that once was. It wasn't very authentic. Western coffee. Western accommodation. But the world had changed and merged; and nothing was authentic anymore, not in a world of the internet and instantly spreading fashions, not in a place of sound bites and calculated cool. He hadn't meant it to be this way. And so, even here in the drowning traffic and the pollution which hid the nearby mountains from sight, he could hear the ringing of the rickshaw bells, that high, hallucinatory sound, clinging to the walls of the old city, echoing in the medieval streets, swamping the sounds of modernity; blocking out the present with all the charm and pathos and lost purpose of a bygone era.

THE BIGGER STORY:

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/middle_east/8590362.stm

Israeli tanks are reported to have advanced into the Gaza Strip following clashes with Palestinians in which two Israeli soldiers died.

Witnesses in Gaza said tanks and bulldozers were moving towards the southern town of Khan Younis.

They also said there had been firing from the Israeli navy along the Gaza coastline.

It is the first time Israeli soldiers have died in Gaza since Israel's 22-day offensive there more than a year ago.

Reports say at least two Palestinians have also been killed.

Israel says the fighting started when its troops crossed into Gaza after spotting militants planting explosives along the border.

Reports from inside Gaza say the militants then tried to capture an Israeli soldier.

The BBC's Jon Donnison, in the West Bank city of Ramallah, says many inside Gaza will now expect retaliation from Israel to be stepped up following the deaths of the soldiers.

The army said an officer and a conscript died when gunmen fired on a military patrol inside the Gaza Stip. Two soldiers were injured and two Palestinian fighters killed in the clash, it said.

The two soldiers killed were named by Israel's Haaretz newspaper as Eliraz Peretz, 31, and 21-year-old Ilan Sebiatkovsky.

Army spokeswoman Avital Leibovich described their deaths as "tragic" and "painful".

http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/news/world/iraq/article7078055.ece

Ayad Allawi, the former Iraqi prime minister, won most seats in Iraq’s parliamentary elections to securea narrow victory last night over Nouri al-Maliki, the country’s current leader, who immediately contested the results.

Nearly three weeks after Iraqis went to the polls for their second election since the US-led invasion, Mr Allawi’s secularist Iraqiya group had 91 seats, with Mr al-Maliki’s State of Law Bloc a close second with 89.

Both main parties will now have to woo Kurdish and Shia Muslim groups to form a working coalition government in the 325-seat assembly. Mr Allawi said that he would “work with all sides to form the next government,” not ruling out any coalition, even with Mr al-Maliki. In pouring rain in Baghdad, his supporters took to the streets, firing guns in the air in celebration.

Mr al-Maliki responded angrily to the result, which was widely seen as a damaging blow to his credibility and leadership. “Of course we don’t accept this result because it is preliminary,” he said,

Although the ballot was strongly endorsed last night by the United Nations, Mr al-Maliki alleged fraud and insisted that Iraq’s Independent High Electoral Commission (IHEC) should listen to demands for a manual recount of votes.

Mr Allawi’s victory gives him the first opportunity to form a government, although the kingmaker may yet be the Iraqi National Alliance, a Shia group with close ties to Iran. It was in third place with 70 seats. The INA, which includes the anti-

American Shia cleric Moqtada al-Sadr, is negotiating a merger with Mr al-Maliki’s State of Law, which would create the biggest parliamentary bloc.

Any attempt to sideline Mr Allawi could lead to resentment among Sunnis, shunted to the political wilderness when the majority Shias rose to power after the US-led invasion of 2003.

http://fc05.deviantart.net/fs40/f/2009/011/9/6/Matte_Painting___Sci_Fi_KL_2_by_Cok3ster.jpg

Exultant Crimes

*

It was awful. And yet at the same time it was truly exultant; as he came slowly back into his own body. There were wild ways. He stood on the rooftop bar. He saw the city spread beneath him. It took him back, back, to the 1970s and Penang, when he was the only Westerner in the penthouse bar, or whatever it was called, the bar that took up the entire floor of one of the only high rise buildings in Penang at the time. He often went there. There was that dark, slightly musty, over-airconditioned feel; and the whiskey splashed down his thirsty throat, and groups of gangsters, or were they businessmen, drank in their dark corners at their dark tables. He was splashed into infinity while below the city and its lights swirled into musty enthusiasm; and everything was glorious. On the way home, drunk, the tuk tuk drivers would shout, in that universal chant he loved so much: Hey Johnnie, you want something?

Well of course he wanted something. Didn't he always. And now, almost 40 years later, he stood in another rooftop bar in another part of Asia, this time in Chiang Mai in the north of Thailand, drinking more coke than could possibly be good for him; watching the way, the wayward, the filtering lights heading down the main highway into the darkest night; listening to the karaoke, or whatever it was, drifting up from from the car park way below, looking at everything, so swishy, as if he could possibly afford this; and thinking; waves of pleasure, waves of disgrace; come take me skyward and let the brain drift across everything, consume the old city walls and the moat beneath; this place of ancient history and modern bars, let's go back to the streets again, let's get dirty.

Then another bar and another bar, always the rooftops, avoiding the girly bars on the streets, the black moths and their hard black eyes, mister, mister, kahb, kahb, up here there was almost no one, up here they kept their distance and went about their own lives. In this quiet city in the north where everything seemed so much more provincial, yet again so charming. Kah koon kahb. The harsh rise of the inflection. The charming bow. No wonder so many westerners liked it here; the meetings full of retired, loud mouthed yanks. He felt hungover without even having a drink. Life had seemed so full of possibility; back there in Penang, where he had been a frequent visitor. So what the maid roused on him for not keeping his room tidy? So what the streets were full of chaos as he ate his steamed chicken and rice. He loved them.

He loved the old men smoking heroin in their tampered, dampened cigarettes. He loved the filthy bars and the tiny alleys stretching down from Julia Street. He loved the addicts pestering him; Johnnie, Johnnie, you want something. And sometimes, when he came back after an absence, they would tell him how they had been in jail and things were getting bad, not like they used to be, the crackdown. But there was always furtive movement. There was always another shadow. Hey Johnnie, the drag queen exclaimed in astonished delight when she saw him at Berlin airport, remember me, Penang. Why you not been there some time? It emerged she was struggling not to be tossed out of the country. Some man was always willing to pay; had paid for her flight to Europe; but in a life of infinite tragedy a visa was just another complication. She didn't want to go back to the streets of Penang, that was one thing for sure.

So now he stood in yet another rooftop bar, this time on the 21st floor; and looked out across another sea of sparkling lights where the dark of the night stretched out and up; and felt, oh yes, exultant, alone, crumbling, annoyed to be older, to have wasted so much of life; and later still, in the long night, he watched the Thais sing in the Hot Shot disco at the base of the Porn Ping Hotel in Chiang Mai, and wished for company, for someone to talk to, for someone to share the experience with; as he danced, surrounded by dancing Thai girls and a few drunken farangs, and knew that in the infinity of disgrace this indeed was a slippery place; and smoking inappropriate cigarettes outside, the first line of defence, wasn't going to keep him sober forever. Oh how nice it would be; to boost the ecstasy, to merge into the swarm, to sink deeper and deeper into the beat of the music and the psyche of the place; and hear loud clouds of thunder and tropical outbursts; and know that if tragedy loomed, so too did ecstasy. Walk one way or the other. Take a path. One experience is much like the next. No one would remember. The most out of it person in the room waved cheerfully at him in acknowledgment of a kindred soul: why here, why even now?

THE BIGGER STORY:


AN expert on the federal seat of Lindsay believes the mood in the electorate is leaning away from Kevin Rudd after only one term in office.

Tom Dusevic, The Australian’s national chief reporter, has covered Lindsay since 1996, charting Jackie Kelly’s four terms under John Howard and David Bradbury’s Kevin 07 success.

During his latest visit, Dusevic talked politics with local identities and people in the street.

In a visit to the Penrith Press, Dusevic described Lindsay as a “bellwether seat” - one that political analysts watch as a guide to the mood of the country, particularly among swinging voters.

As he wrote in his article: “Since its inception in 1984, Lindsay has always been a seat held by the government of the day. When voters change direction, they tend to charge ahead in large numbers.”

The Liberals haven’t even selected a candidate to challenge Mr Bradbury, who holds the seat by a margin of 6.3 per cent.

Dusevic wrote:

If the current mood in the striving heartland can be discerned from a couple of days on the ground in Lindsay this week, Labor could be in trouble at this year’s poll: Rudd is on the nose and Opposition Leader Tony Abbott appears to be, in the language of politicos, “cutting through”.

Abbott’s robust critique of the federal government’s economic stimulus, stalled emissions trading scheme, home insulation debacle and Rudd’s persona is being taken to heart by some who voted for Labor in 2007.

As well, the Coalition’s populist and costly turn on paid parental leave is winning applause among younger women - but has not been embraced by those parents who, some years ago, had one child for mum, one for dad and one for the country.

Dusevic met two 25-year-olds from Glenmore Park, Louise Bushby and Luke Daly, who voted Liberal and Labor respectively in 2007. Ms Bushby is on maternity leave from her bank job with eight-month-old son, Logan, and Dusevic wrote that she was thrilled by the prospect of the Coalition’s paid parental leave scheme.

Bushby and her partner Brenton, a mechanic, are organising their wedding for later in the year and would like to have more children. “Tony Abbott’s plan would give me more income and more peace of mind so that I would be able to stay at home with my baby,” Bushby says.

Her take on Abbott’s scheme pales in comparison with the enthusiasm displayed by her childless friend Daly.

For the child-care worker, the second-eldest of five children, paid parental leave is a vote changer. He’s contemplating starting a family with his partner.

http://www.google.com/hostednews/ap/article/ALeqM5hwK_CSpBxsNuVUEaDuOwmSSCiqGwD9ELT55G1

BAGHDAD — Iraqi election results Friday will likely show a virtual tie between the two top vote-getting blocs led by the prime minister and his chief rival, a political equation that could add up to bitter political wrangling and risk re-igniting violence.

Prime Minister Nouri al-Maliki, a Shiite who enjoys wide support with the Shiite majority, is neck and neck with former Prime Minister Ayad Allawi, who's popular with Iraq's Sunni minority.

If neither camp emerges with a clear mandate, many fear a drawn-out political debate to form a government could spill over into violence and complicate American efforts to speed up troop withdrawals in the coming months.

Interior Minister Jawad al-Bolani, himself a candidate, called on Iraq's electoral commission to hold off releasing the tally Friday because he fears the political rivalries could erupt into violence. That concern has been echoed by many members of al-Maliki's State of Law coalition, who say they fear the Shiite majority could react in outrage if they feel the results aren't what they expect.

Such pronouncements likely reflect political posturing. Election officials have dismissed calls for a further delay or a recount of the returns from the March 7 vote.

Many Iraqis fear a return to violence between the Sunni and Shiite factions amid the horse-trading that will ramp up in earnest once all results are made public.

Al-Maliki's coalition has drawn much of its support from the Shiite majority and his attempts to appeal to Sunnis were undercut by his support for a ban on many Sunni candidates for alleged ties to Saddam Hussein's regime.

The Sunnis largely threw their support behind Allawi's Iraqiya bloc, which while headed by a Shiite has billed itself as secular.

Iraq's Kurdish faction sees itself as a key electoral kingmaker, though followers of radical anti-U.S. Shiite cleric Muqtada al-Sadr could also play a pivotal role after garnering a significant number of seats.

"Everybody's talking to everybody," said Michael Hanna, an Iraq analyst with the Century Foundation. "None of these governments make a whole lot of sense in terms of consistent ideologies ... It's all about wielding power."

A senior Sadrist official, Amir Taher al-Kinani, warned Thursday that it is important Allawi's Iraqiya coalition not be sidelined because it represents the Sunni spectrum and excluding the bloc could lead to conflict.

"We fear the violent acts and then another unstable four years," he said.

Friday's announcement will have the full results — and more importantly, the number of parliamentary seats per bloc.

http://liveforfilms.files.wordpress.com/2009/12/sci-fi-post-apocalyptic-36436.jp

The Terror Wall

*

*

If there, if sweeping up the wall, a tide of universal disgrace, colourful, always colourful, while the lone man fits alone in his room, abandoned, disgraced, isolated, the subject of a frantic search, but nothing can change the inevitable. That's what they said. It was awful. He should never have left. He feared the worst. And yet away, away, up through the seething traffic, across the polluted air, over the concrete arches of the sky train to the skyscrapers beyond, all of it was impressive, imposing; and finally provoked nothing but despair. Because he was overwhelmed. Simple as that. The cruel times weren't over; but he had never been so sane; not since, as a frightened child he had run down long forgotten suburban streets; and could feel the rustle of terror in every leaf, and knew that to return home meant yet more beatings, more fear, and worse, perhaps, than any physical violence perpetrated against him, that terrible isolation.


Nothing would be so bad again; because as life grew older less and less mattered; too many had died; and in these terrible states his eyes swept up across the cityscapes; and yes, he was simply overwhelmed. Hordes of people flickered along the sidewalks, mounted the motos and whizzed through the appalling traffic, climbed the stairwell to the train, queued outside the street stalls. There were people wherever you looked. Fragile strings of consciousness, of fate, of cruel and bypassing indifference, of a terrible place in a terrible time; all of it emoted like some intelligence behind the fabric of things; multicoloured in the beauty of the landscapes, it was simply not something that could be handled by any one human being; by any ordinary soul. And so if desolation sometimes stalked his every waking hour; equally he stared in astonishment as the ATM spit out thousands of baht; and he smiled, grimly, at the world he had entered, a world where he could aford to live, debt free.

Yet there was nothing unique about this. Asia was full of old men on pensions, retirees, people who by some strange demographic osmosis came to settle in the cheapest and most comfortable places. The Thais smiled. They led you to your seat. They clasped their hands together - sawa dee kahb. And they held out their hand in welcome. As the black moths, the night girls, yelled out as they passed, kahb, kahb. Mister mister. In the old days Hey Johnnie you want something meant something entirely different. Now the tuk tuk drivers ask if you want something; and all they mean are girls. Girls; as if a massage parlour was hard to find, for Christ's sake. As if the town wasn't full of westerners cheerfully drinking themselves to exultant oblivion in the arms of some of the world's most beautiful; and cheapest; hookers. As if the crawling Aussie Aussie Aussie of the Kangaroo Bar meant something. As if he really wanted to love them long time, cheap cheap. As if the thought didn't fill him with horror, to go where so many have gone before.


And so in an aching place; and a laughing place; he wondered how they had ever survived. How could anyone shoot so much speed and still be a functioning human being? No wonder they suffered health problems as they grew old. No wonder he looked at all the sex tourists with a kind of benign, amused contempt; for their peccadilloes and lusty avenges made up for his own lack of action. Let them dance. Let them drink. Let them lust into the long night. The three men sharing a room next door all brought girls home in the middle of the night. How does that work? Orgies on demand? Everyone doing everyone? The Thais getting louder, drunker, as they drank through the long hot afternoons. He marry me next month. Look, look, the girl shouted, showing images on yet another mobile device. 


It wasn't that he didn't care. It wasn't that he wouldn't have stayed if he thought it would make any difference. Reach out. Reach out and be consumed. So all the dancers, all the girls, all the boys lined up with numbers hanging around their necks, all the brothels reminded him of a different place, an ancient place, Chiang Mai before the tourists and the traffic, when this once charming town was filled with the ring of rickshaw drivers and flowers hung from every wall. Now there's MacDonalds and Starbucks and even in these dying days of the tourist season enough farangs to make you wonder: how does any culture survive this onslaught; here in the past nights when he sought entirely different things. When oblivion was the only solution. When a dance was just a prelude. When he couldn't care less what the ending was, because there were no happy endings. When he was the boy at the end of the fishing line, waiting for the fisherman to return.

And so he feared the worst for Alex. And there remained no word. And death stalked every other fate line; even his own. And survivor guilt trumped shame guilt regret and remorse; and tender concern over fragile, incidental friendships swam way way up across the bewildering, pastel coloured cityscapes, and he knew no deep or bewildering concern; just a shrug in the face of the onslaught. At least he had tried to do the right thing; even if it didn't matter anymore. And the hordes of Asia, and indeed even the messengers from his own past, took no notice at all as yet another life slipped away; indifferent consequence, indifferent to fate, indifferent to life.

THE BIGGER STORY:

http://www.cnn.com/2010/POLITICS/03/24/health.care.main/?hpt=T1

Washington (CNN) -- Senate Republicans on Wednesday launched an attempt to amend or kill legislation expanding the recently enacted health care reform law -- part of a GOP pledge to use every parliamentary tool available to undermine the measure.
The amendments also are designed to force Democrats to cast unpopular votes in the run-up to this November's midterm elections.
Senate Democrats easily defeated the first of the amendments, which challenged provisions in the bill involving changes to Medicare funding.
Also defeated were attempts to send the measure to committee for reconsideration -- which would effectively kill it -- and other amendments intended to strip provisions from the bill. There were at least 11 other motions or amendments to be considered.

 The Democrats' so-called fixes bill was necessary to get a reluctant House of Representatives to pass the Senate's health care reform measure Sunday night.

The House's narrow approval of the measure allowed President Obama to sign it into law Tuesday, giving the president a victory on his signature domestic issue. But in return, House Democrats are now expecting the Senate to sign off on the compromises included in the fixes bill.
The compromise package would add more than $60 billion to the overall plan's cost partly by expanding insurance subsidies for middle- and lower-income families. It would also expand Medicare's prescription drug benefit while scaling back the bill's taxes on expensive insurance plans.
While Obama is pushing to get the measure to his desk, Democrats have acknowledged they are concerned that the Republicans may succeed in changing the carefully balanced package.
Any changes would force the package back to the House for another vote.
Also Wednesday, Democratic senators complained that Republicans had shut down committee hearings for a second straight day as part of a strategy of obstruction in protest of the health care bill.
Sen. Carl Levin, D-Michigan, and Sen. Claire McCaskill, D-Missouri, told a news conference the GOP tactic was delaying work on vital issues.
"It's unconscionable," said Levin, who as chairman of the Armed Services Committee was supposed to conduct a hearing with a top U.S. military commander in Korea who had flown in for the hearing. "Out national security cannot be held hostage to disagreements over a health care policy."
McCaskill had planned an oversight hearing on problems with contracts to train local police departments in Afghanistan. She said the Senate rule that allows the minority party to block committee action was "really dumb" and should be dropped.

http://www.abc.net.au/news/stories/2010/03/25/2855974.htm?section=justin

Opposition Leader Tony Abbott has appeared on a Melbourne gay and lesbian radio station in an attempt to explain his recent comments about being "threatened" by homosexuality.

On a recent 60 Minutes appearance Mr Abbott said he felt "a bit threatened" when asked about homosexuality.
When asked to clarify his comments a few days later he said homosexuality "challenged the orthodox notions of the right order of things".
Mr Abbott took to the airwaves of community radio station Joy FM this morning and was quizzed in a wide-ranging and lengthy interview on gay adoption, gay marriage, discrimination laws and homophobia.
He conceded his comments to 60 Minutes were a "poor choice of words".
"I think blokes of my generation and upbringing do sometimes find these things a bit confronting," he said.
"But the truth is, as we get older, we mellow.
"People close to me are gay and I'd like to think it hasn't made me love them any the less or treat them differently."
Mr Abbott, who once trained in the seminary, says while he was brought up traditionally, he strives to take people as he finds them and is in favour of gay relationships being celebrated and recognised.
Neither the Coalition nor Labor support gay marriage.

Future Cities.

Skeleton Eyes

*



They were everywhere, these walking holes into a treacle like black past, skeleton eyes, black holes to another dimension. He could see them everywhere; across crowded car parks, across traffic jammed streets, staring out trapped windows; wishing, wishing only for life, for fun, for positivity. Because everything in their dismal lives had been drained away. It happened again. They haunted at the edge of sight, they told a different story to everyone else. A man showed up before the meeting. I am drinking, he announced. That much was obvious. I wanted to thank you for my 32 days sobriety. I am working my butt off for my wife and child. But I cannot stop. I just wanted to thank you. Sit down, sit down, the old timers said. But he refused. After Alex it was all too much. The doctors told him if he kept drinking he would be dead within three months. He wouldn't last three months; that much was also obvious. And so, what a crying shame, all these bloody lunatics, crashing in and out, sane one minute, gone the next.

All he could see were the shadows at the edge of sight. The dreary hospital walls. The dying Thais. His friend semi-conscious on the hospital trolley that passed for a bed in the emergency ward of a public hospital in this part of the world. It was a crying shame and yet there was nothing could be done. His own face hurt from a wanton tooth and he sneezed constantly from a head cold. All the drama, those ravishing cityscapes of Bangkok, the snarling traffic, the appalling air, it had all taken it out of him. Now he was here in charming Chiang Mai, that beautiful city in the north of Thailand which he had fled to by plane the previous day; away from the sunny crowds and the glistening high end malls of Bangkok, away from the astonishing contrasts of the high rise condos and the traditional Thai neighbourhoods, the serious conflict of health and well being, the cheerful Buddha with his stumpy hands begging at the station, the doe like eyes of the commuting Thais watching inane video advertising fed straight into the carriages of the sky train.

And from Alex and despair and all the moving shapes, the hounds of God snuffling on the outskirts of the camp, circling with evil eyes, the destroyers of Shiva as much a part of life and rebirth as his own fragile thread of consciousness. Take me apart. Dissect the body, dissect the heart. If he had thought staying would have saved Alex's life he would have stayed; but every decision he made was wrong, everything failed to work as it should. Always in the wrong place at the wrong time, nothing felt natural; feverish and indistinct may have passed into history; but now there were new uncertainties, scrambled thoughts, nothing of consequence or sequence in a scrambled, well churned head. Of if only, if only; but there was nought to be. He stopped for noodle soup in a street side kitchen. He looked out the window at floating clouds. He wished to be free.

I want to thank you all for my 32 days of sobriety, the drunken Norwegian said, ignoring all the entreaties to stay. I can't stop. I am drinking now. It reminded him of the charming English con he had met in Sihanoukville; that hideous, dreary line of bars along the Cambodian coast, complaining of the black holes opening up in front of him, of the way keys would disappear if he put them down on the table in front of him, of the way the doctor had advised him to stop drinking a bottle of Vodka everyday. And yet it was him, not the crim, who had the problem when he mentioned other ways out. Drinking Passis, flirting with the barmaids, watching the sunset, telling outrageous stories, preparing for another night out. And it had been less than a year, surely not, when he had shown up and thanked people for their help, apologised for wasting their time, and began the blackest months of his life; when the treacle evil that was the fabric of things took on an even darker note; and every valley was a black waterhole of infinite horror, every move a jerking farce, every attempt at a smile nothing but a fractured grimace; and every pretence at normality nothing but a farce.

And so would Alex raise the whiskey to his lips again. No doubt. Perhaps no doubt. Does death come to foreigners in exotic climes just so quickly; without anyone to see, without anyone to care. Because they were hosts upon another host; a surface crust on an indigenous population; no links, no family, nowhere to go. Friends were for another era; another place and time. This was a life of hotel rooms and passing bar affections. He traded comment on the passing parade; on the astonishing beauty of the girls, with a "bit of a lad" next to him on the plane; drop dead gorgeous. If you want to bond with the locals just get smashed at the local, he advised Gary, thinking of his home town. And here, high in the sky, they traded gossip on the Nana bars, on the money paid monthly to the police, on Soi Cowboy; on just how astonishing the whole thing was. Yet he could not perpetrate. He could not enter. Days followed in limpid sequence. Oh pleasure, pleasure, that was for someone else, for younger men, real men; he was just there to watch, even to document, the pleasures, the lives, the trials, turmoil and turbulence of others.

And so for Alex he had only one last thought: please come back, please don't die. Not in this place. Not now. So many of his friends had refused to grow old. Some days he understood why. But from the distance of the future, from this precarious, Rip van Winkle place, they still seemed so terribly young.



THE BIGGER STORY:

http://www.heraldsun.com.au/news/no-clear-winner-in-health-debate-says-political-editor-phillip-hudson/story-e6frf7jo-1225844385699

THERE was no knock-out election-winning blow in today's leaders debate on health at the National Press Club.

Kevin Rudd, who decided the time and place, had the advantage. He talked about the health and hospital plan he has already released. His bedside manner was calm.

Tony Abbott's great disadvantage was he had no real policy to sell and spent most of the debate attacking Rudd.

He will be happy that he was able to raise serious questions about the holes and deficiencies in Rudd's plan. He will hope he was able to plant some seed of doubt in voters minds about Rudd's plan.

The one big announcement was the Prime Minister changing his policy.

Instead of all hospitals being funded per operation or medical procedure, small country hospitals will get block funding to guarantee they can stay open.

It should go some of the way to meeting concerns expressed by the Victorian government.

The Liberal decided not to rush out their health policy for the debate.

Abbott asked voters to trust him.

Rudd asked voters to trust him.

Voters are still waiting for specific answers from both men on how many extra hospital beds they will create and how they will cut waiting times for elective surgery and in emergency departments. Both talked about these points, but neither laid down a clear, costed plan.

Both leaders scored blows. Both threw political mud.

Abbott accused Rudd of being "un-prime ministerial'' and of telling "blatant lies''.

Rudd accused Abbott of ripping $1 billion out of health when he was the minister.

Rudd played to the viewers at home - and probably the TV station worms - by putting on his suburban dentist routine as a great healer who offered to work with Abbott to fix the problems. It's not an offer he would have accepted in opposition and Abbott didn't either.

Instead, Abbott confessed he would be the great wrecker of "bad'' Labor ideas.

He said he was proud he had knocked over Rudd's emissions trading scheme - "a great big new tax'' - and vowed to knock over his health and hospitals funding plan - "a great big new bureaucracy''.

But while Rudd would like the voting viewers to think he is above the political fray, Labor is rolling out attack ads against Abbott's record as health minister.

Abbott asked in reply, how can voter trust him to run a hospital system when his government has bungled the roof insulation scheme?

Just turning up to the debate on time and not falling over means Abbott gains from being given equal billing with the PM this far out from an election.

However, Rudd was better on the day. Rudd wins round one. But there should be several more debates.

In the end, it doesn't matter what the worms or political experts say.

What counts is the view of the voters in the key marginal seats.

http://www.theregister.co.uk/2010/03/23/google_oz/

Not content with taking on China, Google were today squaring up for another fight over internet censorship, this time with the Australian government.

Google, in a submission to the Australian government, said it was worried that: "the scope of content to be filtered is too wide".

The Australian proposals went "well beyond" filters being considered in countries such as Britain, Canada, Denmark, Finland and Sweden, which are focused only on blocking material related to child sex abuse.

Worse, by damaging Australia's reputation, over-broad regulation could "confer legitimacy upon filtering by other governments". This is believed to be a reference to the activities of the Chinese government, which fell out of love with Google today.

A spokesman reinforced this, adding: "The governments of many other countries may justify, by reference to Australia, their use of filtering, their lack of disclosure about what is being filtered, and their political direction of agencies administering filtering."

This has been a bad week for the Australian government’s attempts to position itself as merely delivering a policy that the voters want and is primarily for the protection of children.

The official line is that the administration wishes to block access to sites that feature material such as rape, drug use and bestiality in addition to those that feature child sex abuse. A spokeswoman for Communications Minister Stephen Conroy has also let it be known that the Australian Communications and Media Authority (ACMA) will be blocking material that would be "refused classification" (RC) in other media. She told AFP: "The government does not support RC content being available on the Internet."

This appears to be based on the principle that the same standards of censorship should be applied evenly across different media, including films, books and DVDs - although the legal model in other countries such as the UK has tended towards setting up different censorship regimes for each medium.

Such an extension would broaden the scope of the filter even further, leading potentially to blocks on material that is seen to advocate criminal acts, or to be useful to others intending to commit such acts.

Despite criticisms of its blocking policy and claims by critics that fewer than half of the sites on the current list relate to child abuse, the ACMA has consistently refused to publish the list. This contrasts with active debate going on in other jurisdictions as to the best way to audit block lists and to provide the public with confidence that the government is not quietly expanding the scope of what is blocked.

In further bad news for the government, Yahoo! Australia added its voice in support of Google’s contention that the filter was too broad and warned that it could block content "with a strong social, political and/or educational value" on topics such as euthanasia, graffiti, terrorism, abortion and homosexuality.



Painting by Alex Ries.