dreamdancer

mmmm..... http://www.commondreams.org/view/2009/09/26-0 stay away from moving propellers - they bite blue skies from thai sky adventures good solid response-provoking keyboarding

yes. stay away from moving propellers - they bite blue skies from thai sky adventures good solid response-provoking keyboarding

a long way... http://www.newscientist.com/article/mg20327274.200-how-far-could-you-travel-in-a-spaceship.html stay away from moving propellers - they bite blue skies from thai sky adventures good solid response-provoking keyboarding

With not enough time for a decent dinner, and hungry, Cedric crossed the street from the carpark to pick up sandwiches from a brightly decorated bakers that he had spotted, a bright yellow Co-op logo taped unevenly to its window. When he stepped onto the far pavement a lean suited individual with super snug sunglasses, and weighed down with a bulky utility belt, stepped into line beside him. ‘Cedric Tucker?’ the stranger inquired politely. The two of them came to a stop outside the bakers shop. Cedric detected a slight american accent. ‘Yes, and you are?’ Inconveniently, he had left his own sunglasses in the carriage. Away from the airconditioning he was uncomfortably sweaty, and squinting badly in the bright light, having trouble focusing on the stranger properly. He spotted the Watch ID pinned to his jacket and immediately regretted not going straight to the bank’s rented office. ‘My name is Jason Bell. I’m with the Watch,’ the stranger now gratuitously offered. ‘I’m part of a specialist science team commissioned to investigate the origins and purpose of the Announcer.’ He put out his hand. Cedric, with a sweaty palm, gave it a perfunctory shake. ‘And….?’ he replied. ‘We’re interested in the personal edict that you received this morning. The Announcer has asked you to meet a Mr Andrew Suarez?’ The Watch agent was very smooth, Cedric found himself nodding agreement before thinking through. He began to feel flustered, how had the Watch got that information? His apartment was supposed to be totally secure, directly attached to the Announcer node. Furthermore he had deleted it immediately. Did they have a camera in his apartment, zoomed in as he read it? He took a deep breath. ‘Yes,’ he confirmed, ‘though I have no more details yet.’ He realised that the agent’s sunglasses were in fact sophisticated games visors, the utility belt containing the processing unit that fed them. The Watch agent was watching him through a simulated holographic interface. Cedric had long nurtured a childhood, engine driver dream of joining the elite breed of professional gamesplayers who immersed themselves for months and more into nonstop gamesplay, small entourages tending to their every need, enabling the barest, minimum interruption into the critical, and lucrative, realtime flow of the massively popular networked games that flowed back and forth through the intense density of the urban populations. It had seemed to him, until this moment, that agents of the Watch preferred an old fashioned resistance style to counter the digital oppression of the Announcer; convoluted handshakes and handwritten orders being more their to their taste, allied of course to their stifling bureaucracy of official form and counter-form that strangled any real competition in the national economy. He wondered what the agent might be viewing. He wanted to reach out, take the glasses, see what was there, partake of the secret knowledge; perhaps perversely he would only discover a few pictures of the agent’s family, lovingly selected and framed for immediate recall when danger threatened; more likely he had a few thugs online, just round the corner, ready for immediate call if Cedric chose to spring a surprise move. ‘What else has the Announcer asked you to do?’ ‘Nothing,’ he replied. He stepped into the shop, relieved that the agent didn’t follow him, remaining on the pavement instead, muttering into unseen microphones, fiddling with his uncomfortable looking belt. He waited for the slight, bewigged lady in front of him to push her loaf into a wheeled trolley, listening to the background radio as he did so. He exchanged a few worktime minutes for the last droopy, mixed seafood baguette still on late lunchtime display, his hands shaking a little as he counted the coins out. When he left the shop he became acutely aware of the abundance of Watch flags and banners strung across windows and fastened to doors; their motto, ‘Defence through Preparedness’, a repetitive theme. He realised that by travelling from London, a relatively trouble free area, to Bristol, he had patently entered a Watch stronghold. While he stood in the open doorway the Announcer dedicated a song to him, fading the resident local dj out, replacing her with its own flawless impersonation. The baker’s assistant and his few customers didn’t even notice the transition, and the takeover of their background radio. The Announcer dedicated the next song, ‘Love is all you need’, to ‘Cedric Arthur Tucker’. Jason Bell smiled at him. ‘Don’t worry Mr Tucker, I’m sure all of this is just routine, we check out many hundreds of edicts every day, that’s what we’re paid to do. I’m sure yours is nothing out of the ordinary.’ He handed Cedric an old fashioned business card with a city centre restaurant address printed in a plain bold font. ‘Go ahead with the meeting, but we’d appreciate it if you could pop into our office afterwards and tell us how it went. Choose anything you want to eat. The Watch will pay.’ Cedric grudgingly accepted the proffered card. ‘Enjoy your visit Mr Tucker.’ The agent strode away on lanky legs round the corner. Cedric crossed the street. People were smiling in the sunshine. His song disappeared as the baker’s radio was left behind. A young, worktime delivery skater with onboard stereo blaring flashed a few more lines at him as she swooped past. He remembered the quickness of the Tarqa pigs as they scurried across their trapping place, the odd shadows of the twisted trees, the smell of the dank, sweet jasket flowers. He felt his heart quickening. Then the moment the Tarqa gored him. Too slow! The tusk a cold ache in his thigh. He limped across the road, then was into the sombre confines of the bank and to work. stay away from moving propellers - they bite blue skies from thai sky adventures good solid response-provoking keyboarding

he'll catch up later... stay away from moving propellers - they bite blue skies from thai sky adventures good solid response-provoking keyboarding

http://www.alternet.org/world/142865/to_democrats_who_voted_to_%22defund_acorn%22%3A_where%27s_the_defund_blackwater_act_/ And your point is?? I love this hallucinogenic site your refer to often It fits with your ID are you still trying to get my telephone number... stay away from moving propellers - they bite blue skies from thai sky adventures good solid response-provoking keyboarding

http://www.alternet.org/world/142865/to_democrats_who_voted_to_%22defund_acorn%22%3A_where%27s_the_defund_blackwater_act_/ stay away from moving propellers - they bite blue skies from thai sky adventures good solid response-provoking keyboarding

Yep sure do - especially if you're poor and/or from a minority... (can't have them voting you say) stay away from moving propellers - they bite blue skies from thai sky adventures good solid response-provoking keyboarding

http://www.commondreams.org/view/2009/09/25-1 Good! All of it should be stopped and those involved sent to jail. But this stupid point made here is only meant to distract the pure shit that this ACORN org generaly is. your opening post talks about 'billions' - when this article talks about 50 million over 15 years... Judgement by degree then? acorn do a very good job (they got obama elected and will help do so again) so my judgement is that you are needlessly worrying over millions when you could be worrying over billions... stay away from moving propellers - they bite blue skies from thai sky adventures good solid response-provoking keyboarding

http://www.commondreams.org/view/2009/09/25-1 Good! All of it should be stopped and those involved sent to jail. But this stupid point made here is only meant to distract the pure shit that this ACORN org generaly is. your opening post talks about 'billions' - when this article talks about 50 million over 15 years... stay away from moving propellers - they bite blue skies from thai sky adventures good solid response-provoking keyboarding

http://www.commondreams.org/view/2009/09/25-1 stay away from moving propellers - they bite blue skies from thai sky adventures good solid response-provoking keyboarding

interesting... http://www.newscientist.com/article/mg20327271.400-the-population-delusion.html stay away from moving propellers - they bite blue skies from thai sky adventures good solid response-provoking keyboarding

President Asner didn’t trust General George. He never had trusted him and he never would. In fact he didn’t trust anyone. The general was his current focus of total untrustedness though, with bits of his untrustworthiness regularly breaking free from the mass and assaulting him. He had just learned, for instance, that the general had been secretly meeting with Apel and senior members of the Families for several months now – Sam Allen had been right about that, he conceded. On the other hand the general wasn’t as important as he thought he was; though he didn’t know it yet, he had made a strategic mistake conspiring against the president. He felt much more relaxed now that the counter offensive was underway. He looked down out of one of the few, two meter thick, blastglass windows the NCA complex possessed. This was his brooding room, sited high up in the mountains and looking down over an isolated parkland. It was a spartan enclosure, hewn out of the dark rock in clumsy strokes, but warm and large. In the event of an attack he had only to step into a curved seat recessed into the wall, which would embrace and cushion him as he was dragged by gravity and magnetic bungee back down to the depths of the Isolation Base – an exciting rollercoaster ride he had no wish to undertake. He spotted an eagle floating on the upcurrents. Ryan had repeatedly warned him that the Announcer was making increasingly sophisticated attempts at building direct interfaces into the world. Perhaps the eagle was its latest creation, assembled on a nanobot production line, a versatile and perfectly camouflaged watching post? The thought bit into his mind. He retrieved a bulky set of binoculars from a desk and focused on the bird. Silently they watched each other – or appeared to watch each other, Sam Allen had assured him that the blastglass was impervious to penetration by the Announcer, explaining that a layer of quantum fuzziness had been extended around the whole complex, penetrating rock, toughened glass, anything it encountered, to form an area of chaotic uncertainty, a true randomness that not even the Announcer’s quantum, multiverse dipping algorithms could get a grip on. Sam had further explained to him that within the NCA facilites, as far as the Announcer was concerned he, the President, was so securely shielded that the thing could not know for certain whether he was alive or dead. He didn’t know whether to be impressed, or not. Still carefully examining the eagle he consoled himself with the thought that, once the Alpha Bomb hit, the Announcer would know for sure that the fifty-first president of the United States of America was alive and well, and kicking. stay away from moving propellers - they bite blue skies from thai sky adventures good solid response-provoking keyboarding

CHAPTER TWO INTERVIEW Cedric woke, a summer thunderstorm steaming around him, thick spatters of rain hammering onto the surround screen. He could see only a few of the remote controlled flotilla through the haze of water droplets bouncing up off the shiny black tarmac. The carriage had wipers but the Announcer didn’t need them, and hadn’t used them. With a loud crack of lightening and thunder the storm boiled back down along the London road, the harsh noise of the rain petered out. The Forest now thoroughly gripped the motorway, pushing up against the safety barriers, branches grasping into the air. One of the adjoining carriages swung adroitly past him, only a few inches away, with a couple of excited kids waving across to him. He waved back. He saw exit signs for Swindon and watched as the rear chunk of their flotilla, several dozens strong, veered away. Somewhere in the area, possibly just beyond the trees he hazarded a guess, the disputed Winstone estate lay. The Announcer still wasn’t interested in him. ‘Talk to you in Bristol,’ its irritating loop, while continuing to throw games at him. He drank a cup of tea from the dispenser. The Announcer was persistent in its desire for him to play, for what reason he had no idea, but he had no better alternative to offer and knew that, albeit grudgingly, he would accept the challenge. He reclined the seat back. Before slipping the games headset back on the real world made a last entrance; taking up all three lanes of the motorway opposite them, a tail to tail convoy of privately driven lorries and buses trundled into view. A hundred plus he roughly tallied. Above them a weaving pair of sleek and heavily armed Watch helicopters surveyed their progress. As the convoy rolled past he could see dark eyed, uniformed militia peering back at him, weapons barrels facing out. They looked nervous in the close confines of the Forest, trapped on a narrow tarmac strip, going to who knows what fate? He didn’t really know, Jenny was more up on the intricate machinations of the political situation. With her most recent Archivist work she had even brought back a clutch of the bulky Watch news cassettes that they posted out to subscribers; ‘The source for national news’, ‘Human compiled and edited at every stage’, ‘Guaranteed uncorrupted by the Announcer’, he had read the smudged, ribbon printed typography in amazement. He had not watched them, apart from occasional snippets over Jenny’s shoulder – didn’t even have the wherewithall to play the antique VHS video format. It appeared, she had told him, that the Watch had all but agreed a deal with the Announcer that would allow a compulsory purchase order on the bulk of the Winstone estate to go ahead. With the backing of the Watch the Winstone family would be legally evicted. For what purpose she had not said, and he had not inquired; something to do with more land for the Forest he assumed. He wished she was here with him now – bored, horny, slow moving; not a good combination. He watched a half dozen enormous flatbed trucks go past laden with heavyweight gunnery, the loads inexpertly tarpaulined over. He lay back and put the games headset on. A short, dramatic title sequence hidden in the clouds rushed at him, accompanied by a double burst of jagged lightening; ‘A Barchus Production, Welcome to the Sea World of Altameera’, for a moment the words engulfed him. Then he was once more approaching the single landmass, hard to see at first in the immense expanse of ocean that straddled the overly large planet. He headed for an isolated rock outcrop on the beach, made a tiptoe landing next to it. The sun was much lower now, a luscious red diffusing into the far low clouds, a stiff evening wind blowing the feather fine sand into the air, up over the metal laden rocks. He wondered who else was playing the game. The help overlay gave no indication. He did find a simple menu that showed that he possessed the most basic lance from a weapons list of more than two dozen, a green energy bar indicating one hundred percent health, and a badly sewn leather shoulder bag with nothing in it. Most frustratingly of all there seemed to be only the one point of view – single person. Perhaps, he anticipated, later in the game there would be more to the unfashionably bare and restrictive interface. He swapped his pretty lance, pretty useless against the Tarqa he adjudged, for a short, stabbing sword. Half of his health he traded for a sharply curved, flat bottomed shield. Suitably prepared he cautiously trudged from the rocks, across the beach, and into the trees. stay away from moving propellers - they bite blue skies from thai sky adventures good solid response-provoking keyboarding

this isn't the topic - why are you in this thread? stay away from moving propellers - they bite blue skies from thai sky adventures good solid response-provoking keyboarding

Nonsense. You want to claim that some that point out reverse discrimination are racists for pointing it out... Total BS. they can be racist and not point it out as well... stay away from moving propellers - they bite blue skies from thai sky adventures good solid response-provoking keyboarding

http://rawstory.com/blog/2009/09/could-acorn-defunding-bill-strike-military-industrial-complex/ stay away from moving propellers - they bite blue skies from thai sky adventures good solid response-provoking keyboarding

this is true. even thatcher didn't have the balls to mess around with or sell off any bits of our nhs (after all we'd fought a world war to get it) stay away from moving propellers - they bite blue skies from thai sky adventures good solid response-provoking keyboarding

no it's not... (what happens if you get sick - who's going to look after you) stay away from moving propellers - they bite blue skies from thai sky adventures good solid response-provoking keyboarding

nope - try again

It's all starting to make sence now! that a national health service is a good idea

i can assure you the uk national health service is a fine product. when i got hit by a prop in the head and arm i didn't have to worry about insurance - just whisked off to hospital for emergency treatment

and customers could not 'gove' a shit about 'thier' insurance companies, it is the companies' services they want good thing these two incredibly selfish motivations can balance against each other to create a fluid market so why is the cost to the us customer twice that of its nearest national competitor? stay away from moving propellers - they bite blue skies from thai sky adventures good solid response-provoking keyboarding

bit more... http://www.newscientist.com/article/mg20327262.500-quantum-computers-are-coming--just-dont-ask-when.html stay away from moving propellers - they bite blue skies from thai sky adventures good solid response-provoking keyboarding

it can't carry on like this... http://www.newscientist.com/article/mg20327265.100-unchecked-healthcare-costs-will-ruin-america.html stay away from moving propellers - they bite blue skies from thai sky adventures good solid response-provoking keyboarding