Poem from the Marxist-Leninist-Revolutionaries (MLR) of IRAQ

Mainland generate Brikhbat :

There Methods Many Murdered
For example, That Contest Mother One Knifed
Or Deprived One From Bread
Or Result Refugees To Town
Or District One In House Sabotaged
Or Prosecute One During Work So Death
Or Forced One The Suicides Or
Called Bullets The One During Escape
Only Few From This Roads Banned In This Country
*************************************************
The brightest of the names of the killers Subh Down
No peace on the ground that the executioners Gfrna

fall equinox

The simple approach



The unusual approach



The sexy approach

The Scientific approach

Sitting naked on a beach and the pursuit of hedonism

Excerpts from Memoirs of a Drugged-Up, Sex-Crazed Yippie Tales from the 1970s counter-culture: Drugs, sex, politics and rock and roll
By Steve Otto

“Surely you’ve had a few women since you left Janet?” Tony asked me shortly after I walked into his apartment one Thursday evening. “At least one?”
“No,” I answered.
“You’re kidding!”
“No. I just haven’t found any women who want to sleep with me yet.”
“It’s been almost eight months.”
“I know.”
“We got to do something about this. Let’s go to the 7th Spirit. I’ll drive.”
So away we went, downtown to a club that I was just getting to know and hang out in a little bit. When we got there, Tony parked on the side of the street and we went in. We both went to the bar and got a beer. It wasn’t long before we were standing in one of the darker back rooms of the club when Tony introduced me to Connie.
“This is a friend of mine,” Tony said to her.
“Glad to meet you,” Connie said as she shook hands. “Any friend of Tony’s is a friend of mine.”
Connie was a short, blond girl with short, bobbed hair. She was very tan, wearing a white knit top and blue jean pants over her voluptuous body.
“What do you do for a living?” I asked.
“I’m a stripper at a club south of Topeka. I dance both topless and nude. I like it real well. I’m an exhibitionist. I like getting naked in front of people.”
“I’m a student and I work part time at the Kansas Union.”
She was the complete opposite of most women I knew in Wichita, who would tell me they would never go skinny dipping or have anything to do with nudity.
“I’m not an exhibitionist,” they said often.
They said it with the assertion that they looked down on anyone who was. Some women at the skinny dipping ponds would scoff at the idea they were exhibitionists and say that nudity was simply a natural state. But this woman was clearly proud to be an exhibitionist. This was the first time I ever met a woman who was this open about it. We talked for a while at the bar
“You want to come to my place?” Connie asked.
“Sure.”
She had an apartment in the middle of town. She had a few roommates, but her room was in a loft. So we went in through the tiny kitchen with yellow walls and white appliances. She turned on the light.
“You want a beer?” she asked. “All we have is Coors.”
“Sure. That will do.”
We sat and drank the beers then headed up the brown wooden staircase to her loft. It was somewhat barren except for her dressers and the mattress on her floor. We got to the bed and we both undressed.
("We snipped the following part out because we know what’s best for you"- Marty Feldman, from one of his old TV skits.)
This ended my sexual dry spell. The year 1977 marked the beginning of a lot of changes. I was still living in Lawrence and continued to do so for the next few years. But a lot had changed in the last few months. Not only was I changing, but the world around me was also changing.
In the fall of 1976 there were many changes in the political climate. There were new cultural trends as well. The freak culture I had embraced in high school was beginning to fade away. That’s not to say the drug culture was coming to an end, but the music, the look, the dress and hairstyles were beginning to change.

("Here we skipped ahead so hornny people wouldn’t have to read about punk rock and new communism"- OK Marty didn't say it, but I ran out of famouse people to quote.)


My encounter with Connie came in the spring of 1977. I came back to her house, a week later, for a visit. She wore a pair of shorts cut so tight to the crouch that the lips of her virgina literally hung out over the thin strip of her pants that ran between her legs. Her auburn pubic hairs were always sticking out of her pants. She had a white blouse on.
“Do you want to go skinny dipping with me and some of my friends?” she asked.
“Sure.”
“We’re going to this new place called Bromalset.”
I sat there on the beach with her and her friends. By then I wasn’t thinking much about being a freak. That era had passed. I was becoming a modern day Cyrenaic. I was dedicated to a life of hedonistic pursuit. I no longer sought out enlightenment from drugs, only enjoyment.
I continued to study various Marxist writings, constantly trying to develop my own political philosophy. I had read Mao’s book, Analysis of the Classes in Chinese Society. I liked the way that he expanded on the divisions of different classes in society beyond Marx’s two classes; the bourgeoisie and the proletariat. I especially liked the way Mao saw the lumpen proletariat as a potential revolutionary class, since I considered myself a member of that class at that time.
Mao insisted these people had to be cured of their dangerous habits if they joined the revolution. Other Marxists writers believed this class was useless, dangerous and could not be trusted. I had a job that paid poverty wages and I tried to supplement it with petty drug deals. Naturally I appreciated a leader and philosopher who thought people like me had revolutionary potential.
This was how it was in 1977.

Poem without words

ព្រះពុទ្ធ 老 #@; សំផន 江

孟子 អង្គរវត្ត 泽东 *

孫子兵法ព្រះរាជាណាចក្រ *;>

កម្ពុជា???????????????????????????????

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

lloE`sÆlÀmandềr ($)

M∞‡◊∏∑5∑ỷ

ΔHMOKPITOΣ ‘Eπίκovpoς

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

?????????????????????????????

*67&69#$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

∏◊•+-}®©ª§¥¢¡

????????????????????????????

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

God Dog ΔoΓ ΓoΔ

If you want to hear some music to go with these lyrics I suggest Sex Machine by Arnold Schoenberg.

This is similar to such things as "A Song Without Words" or "A song without music." Or it could be like Beethoven's ninth symphony which has singing, when symphonies are not supposed to have singing.

It's a kind of Theater of the absurd, much like a church. Religion is full of puzzles and mysteries that can't really be answered, such as how a supreme being that is all perfect can make imperfect beings. Or what did God do with all that time before he/she/it created the Universe.

Chile's own 9-11

In Memory of Salvador Allende and all the Other Victims of the Fascist, U.S. Sponsored Coup, September 11, 1973


Links

Allende's Leftist Regime -- Federation of American Scientists (FAS)

Chile: 1964-1973 -- excerpted from the book Killing Hope by William Blum

"Chile: How We Destroy the Oldest Democracy in South America and Turn a Peace-Loving Nation into a Slaughterhouse" - by Eric Lormand, University of Michigan

Chile: Virtual Truth Commission

Chile Vive : Una pagina abierta a las utopias -- includes downloadable Allende speeches.

Declassified Documents Relating to the Military Coup in Chile - by Peter Kornbluh, National Security Archives

DerechosChile

East German Poster Art and Chile -- from Stanford University Libraries

Fundación Salvador Allende

Homenaje a Salvador Allende

"How the CIA Took Aim at Allende" - by Tim Weiner, New York Times, September 12, 1998

Movimiento de Izquierda Revolucionaria de Chile (MIR)

Museo de la Solidaridad Salvador Allende

Pinochet & Allende: Role of USA & CIA

The Real September 11th

Remember-Chile: General Pinochet and Human Rights Abuses

The Retrospective History of Chile -- World History Archives

Revista Punto Final

Salvador Allende: Ultima alocución al pueblo transmitida por Radio Magallanes

Salvador Allende's Grave and Last Words

"Secrets, Lies and Democracy" - an interview with Noam Chomsky by David Barsamian

"Serving the Few" - by Michael Parenti

The Truth About Pinochet: Chile's legacy of torture, murder, international terrorism and "the disappeared"

"U.S. Responsibility for the Coup in Chile" - by Daniel Brandt, NameBase, November 28, 1998

From: http://www.neravt.com/left/allende.htm

Good by Steve Irwin

Steve Irwin played with crocodiles, poisonous snakes and dozens of other interesting and sometimes dangerous reptiles. He once followed Komodo Dragons, the largest lizards in the world.
His recent death from a stingray seems like a strange fluke. He was always careful and stingrays rarely kill people. This one just happened to spike him in the heart, killing him almost instantly.




Probably the best thing he did was to make more people aware that we can and should try to live with these animals and not just wipe them out. There is no reason to kill a poisonous snake in the woods. Few people are harmed by them and the woods are their homes. Just because they are well protected is no reason to try and wipe them out.

So good by Steve Irwin! You will be missed.

Acid (LSD) tales

Excerpts from Memoirs of a Drugged-Up, Sex-Crazed Yippie Tales from the 1970s counter-culture: Drugs, sex, politics and rock and roll
By Steve Otto


LSD revelations- divine inspirations
“A man of knowledge had an ally” - Carlos Castaneda on the teachings of Don Juan


My best acid trip was in 1977. I opened my small white refrigerator and from the freezer, all crusted with ice, I pulled out a small piece of foil. I got it from my friend, Seth, while working on campus. He was a short guy with long brown hair, who usually wore a tie-dye T-shirt or some hippy type clothing. He got me a piece of blue Window Pane, which was a tiny, thin square that looked like a piece of blue tinted plastic.
By 1977 acid was rare. Few people liked to do it. There were only a few young people around who liked to experiment with it. The acid fad had passed and it was no longer the “in drug” on campus. One Thursday night, just for something different to do, I cut the little square in half on my brown wooden table, with a razor blade, and took it. I then headed out my door for the Harbor Lighthouse, a bar on Massachusetts Street the main drag of Lawrence. I figured I’d be the only stoned person in a bar full of drunks. I didn’t have a car at the time, but I did have a one-speed, black Schwinn bike. When I got to the Lighthouse, I chained my bike to a lamppost and went inside. By now the acid was just beginning to work.
The Lighthouse was laid out like a typical bar, with pool tables in the back, and a few beer ads on its brown wooden walls. It had a long bar on the left side of the room and brown tables and chairs on the right. At first it seemed a typical night with the bar being a little less than half full of patrons. I walked to the long bar and ordered a Bud draught. Then I notice a few strange things. A short man, with black stringy medium length hair and dark glasses, sitting at the end of the bar, ordered a bag of Lay’s Potato chips.
“Bartender! I need some chips,” he said. “All I’ve had to eat today is four reds and a pitcher of beer.”
When the bartender gave him the chips he opened the bag and stuffed them all into his mouth at once. While chewing a mouthful of chips, he picked up a pitcher that was sitting in front of him and started guzzling the beer out of it, trying to wash down the bag of chips in one gulp. I immediately realized this was not a typical night at this bar.
By now the acid was beginning to kick in strong. As I looked at the pool table, a man’s pool cues seemed to be moving back and forth when he was still setting up his aim for a shot. I felt that urge to giggle that comes from taking acid. A lady came up to me and looked into my face. She was thing, had medium length red hair, a freckled face and was wearing some overalls over a T-shirt. At first she just stared for a second or two then asked me a question.
“Do you want some acid?”
“I already have some,” I said. “I just took it.”
She looked at me even more puzzled.
“Did I already give you some?” she asked.
“No. I had some of my own tonight.”
“Oh! Well have another hit.”



She handed me a small, purple colored pill. This was really strange because I never dreamed I would run into people using acid on the same night I decided to. I had been to that bar many times and never saw anyone using acid there before. Many of the people in the bar were equally stoned.
I put the pill in my pocket for later use. The girl came back and gave me a second hit. Some of these people would show up into my future adventures. The guy eating reds was Crazy Dan, a future friend of some dealers I would get to know. The girl was a friend of Connie’s, an exhibitionist I would later sleep with. After a night of meeting strange new people I decided to go back home
I unhooked my bicycle and rode it home from the bar. I went through an alley between the buildings on Massachusetts Street and those behind them. I rode passed the trash containers and the little loading doors the businesses all had in back. There seemed to be little stars glowing and moving around all over the gray pavement of the alley as I rode my bike. I kept looking down and laughing as I rode past street light after streetlight, until I got to the road that led to my home.
When I got home, I sat out on my wooden porch. I watched the stars in the sky as they resembled white Christmas-tree lights that blinked on and off. I went inside, sat down on my couch and turned on my brown RCA color TV set. I was changing the channels when I came to a Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers movie. Normally I would have turned that off, but the acid made it look so strange that I decided to watch it. That was the fist and maybe only time I could get into one of those old time Fred Astaire musicals.
I didn’t use acid very much. I didn’t even use it much during the early 1970s. It wasn’t a very relaxing high. But I don’t regret the times I did use it. It occasionally seemed to give me some type of revelation. That night, I got the feeling that I was going to have sex soon. While I was high, it felt like a certainty, as if it was just about to happen and I could anticipate it. So could I trust the intuition of this drug experience?
The Aztec Indians, of ancient Mexico, believed they could foretell the future with the use of magic mushrooms or Peyote. The ancient Druids of the English Isles believed they could do the same with a “Rite of Inspiration,” using nightshade. Shamans from various cultures have used various drugs for thousands of years to do just that. Could LSD do the same thing as nightshade, magic mushrooms or peyote? I had to wonder about that.