The Empire is striking back.

Desiree Anita Ali-Fairooz, the person on the left, is standing up for those who have been killed in the name of oil, she is a woman of courage, intellect and well mannered restraint.

The female on the right seems to be under the influence of drugs, accused of being involved in the premeditated murder of thousands of Iraqui people, and the attempted theft of billions of barrels of crude oil, and without shame or conscience, of having lied to obtain taxpayer money to facilitate such endeavour.

She stares ahead, without emotion, knowing that as of yet, there are still obedient police officers who will remove, what must be for her, at this moment in time, no more than a temporary embarrasment.

Within her stare, is there any fear of being arrested? Is there any sign of guilt or remorse for the millions of Iraquis who are now refugees, wandering homeless and hungry through a nightmare of disease and lies.

Or indeed, does the light of humanity even flicker within her frame, or is she truly an empty soul, a ghoul, the embodiement of walking death that feeds on the pain and misery of innocent life.

Next.

Rosie got to New York, again. Back in 1983, the iconic adventuress took a small boat of plywood construction, and sailed from Britain to New York.

A 17` boat, (just over 5 metres), which is most certainly, a very small boat.

Alone she sailed, all the way to Ellis Island. That was more than 20 years ago.On this occasion, she has run, across Europe and Russia, over the Bering sea to Alaska, through Canada, to Chicago, (where she competed in the marathon.) and then across mainland USA, all the way to the East coast.

Rosie runs around 25 miles a day, every day, and has thus far run more than 22,000 miles in just over 4 years, and expects to be home in Wales next June, when whithout doubt there will be some serious celebration.

As she ran through the city of New york, so impressed were the local police officers, that they escorted our Rosie towards a camping site, to sleep within sight of the statue of liberty,:

Which she lovingly describes in her diary:

"They then escorted me royally across a busy intersection after the bridge, then gave me directions to Liberty Park Campsite - close to the Statue of Liberty itself, where I could camp. I curled up in my sleeping bag, leaving the back flap of Charlie's little Tent open - and gazed and gazed and gazed at the Statue of Liberty - till I eventually dozed off. Thinking of the past, and thinking most of all about the countless thousand courageous people who left their homes - and lined up at Ellis Island - for a new life, for the sake of Freedom. "

Another excerpt from her journal reads:

"..But it was a quiet world run I thought that I would do.- Self supporting, no PR, no film crew.. No jeep following me or making arrangements - I slept in the forests with the bears and the foxes.. I sometimes felt I was like the wildlife - in a kind of private, hidden, secret world. I met people along the way, especially in Siberia - who were afraid of others .afraid of life..
Or frightening.. I met murderers, missionaries ... Nuns... Children by the ten thousand... Once or twice I had the blade of a knife pointed at me or a gun. Not often enough to count compared to all the thousands of sweet people I met. GRADUALLY THE SOLITUDE WAS ITSELF THE PATH TO MORE PRECIOUS HUMAN CONTACT THAN I could ever have dreamed Because I just happened to be there.

However, Rosie tells her story, better than I, and her latest news and views, can be seen by clicking on the link at the bottom of the post, or in the list of "links".

An inspiration to us all.

May her life be blessed with contentment.

http://www.rosiearoundtheworld.co.uk/

We got hands.

Cheered myself up, when I saw this one, again the story behind the picture can be read after clicking the title.

Any students of body language?

Check the position of the hands and eyes of all the protagonists.

Somehow, I think that the Russians are sending a blunt message to the pentagon, the question is, will there be sufficient intelligence within the government of america to understand this "hint".

Mother and son.

Just an ordinary woman? Her full story, and that of her son can be read by clicking on the title.

Mahassen and Ahmed.

They were shot, and burned, almost beyond recognition, by blackwater thugs.

Their story made me cry, though my tears are nothing in comparison to the anguish suffered by Haythem, the husband and father of these two innocents.

I actively reject all goods made in the united states. I actively advise others to do the same.

America must be brought to submission, to be cast down into nothingness. America must crumble into fragments, be disarmed of all military power, and the perpetrators of this war must be brought to account.

(Edited to add.)

I trust that those who read the above will realise that I call for the end of corporate America, not the ordinary folk, the truck drivers and teachers, the tradespeople and shop workers, not the students and children, not the "subjects", but the "rulers".

The "experts" and "policy writers", the "establishment", the ones that direct the military and orchestrate the bombings and the building of more bombs. Fuck `em.

Ar Hyd y Nos

A little bit of Welsh here. An old song, still sung in these times.
The Welsh are Celts, having come to Britain before the Romans, originally from central Europe, loosely defined "tribes", that wandered from Switzerland to Russia , from Turkey to Afghanistan. Traders, farmers, pagans; never too inclined towards conquering the world, but preferring to sing, dance and hunt when hunger calls.
The song is for someone I have never met, a lady known as Louise.
Louise recently "lost" her mam.
But you know, in Celtic mythology, like the Christians, Jews and Moslems, there is an afterlife, "The Void", the celestial dimension where all spirits commune, where the souls of all those departed amass to become the angels and choirs of the Gods.

The language is old, the sentiment universal.

Sung by Meinir Gwilym with Anwen Jones, two women who obviously love the old language.


Holl amrantau’r sêr ddywedant
Ar hyd y nos.
Dyma’r ffordd i fro gogoniant
Ar hyd y nos.
Golau arall yw tywyllwch,
I arddangos gwir brydferthwch,
Teulu’r nefoedd mewn tawelwch
Ar hyd y nos.

O mor siriol gwena seren
Ar hyd y nos,
I oleuo’i chwaer ddaearen
Ar hyd y nos,
Nos yw henaint pan ddaw cystudd,
Ond i harddu dyn a’i hwyrddydd
Rhown ein golau gwan i’n gilydd
Ar hyd y nos.

In English:
All the star’s eyelids say,
All through the night,
“This is the way to the valley of glory,”
All through the night.
Darkness is another kind of light
To show true beauty,
The Heavenly family in peace,
All through the night.

O how cheerful smiles the star,
All through the night,
To light its earthly sister,
All through the night.
Old age is night when affliction comes,
But to beautify man in his late days,
We’ll put our weak light together,
All through the night.

Peace.