dreamdancer

I'm not following your thought. I was in the USAF, stationed at a special operations base, now USAF Special Operations HQ. you were a government employee - paid for from taxpayers hard earned dollars

I'm not following your thought. I was in the USAF, stationed at a special operations base, now USAF Special Operations HQ. you were a government employee - paid for from taxpayers hard earned dollars

I'm not following your thought. I was in the USAF, stationed at a special operations base, now USAF Special Operations HQ. you were a government employee - paid for from taxpayers hard earned dollars

once again we come back to the bankers

Makes you wonder how the Roman built roads, 1000s of years before Marx came along. they built them the very slow and arduous way with stones and bricks and lots of taxes and forced manual labour - but then marx invented tarmac which improved things a lot

Not willy-nilly by any means. I am worried. No, we are not totally socialist yet. But, BHO wants to take us in that direction. When I served in the military we considered socialism as belonging to the enemy. Thank you for your service to our country. was it one of the socialist (government run) militaries you served in stay away from moving propellers - they bite blue skies from thai sky adventures good solid response-provoking keyboarding

I heard on the radio awhile back, we have a generation of folks that no longer associate money with work. we call them bankers

You said "willy-nilly"..... awesome. I do not think he is a socialist but I do think he likes socialism and is very comfortable with many aspects of it. "Capitalism is the unequal distribution of wealth but socialism is the equal distribution of poverty." socialism for the bankers - more trillions to them

I heard on the radio awhile back, we have a generation of folks that no longer associate money with work. we call them bankers

i would be surprised if more than one or two have read it all the way through (hopefully they were entertained) much of the rest of the book takes place in the usa (asner is the first libertarian president) and i'd like to think that i've got a grip on politics there. i'm sure you'll point out any obvious mistakes i'd like to put up chapter two later in the year if that doesn't constitute spamming - i'll put up a poll later

While Cedric dreamed the Announcer pulled together the almost infinite array of disparate facts and threads it had that pertained to him, to distil as perfectly crafted a digital image of the human as it could manage. For all practical intents and purposes the Announcer could predict Cedric's every move in human analogue reality by placing its own Cedric into billions and trillions, almost an infinity, of different scenarios, and endlessly analysing the results. The Announcer had been modelling Cedric since he was nine and had played a simple game of draughts with it over a broadband connection from his suburban home. Not even the Opeople or Apel suspected how old the Announcer really was. Finally when the distillation was complete the Announcer overlaid its digital shadow of Cedric onto the real-time version sleeping in the carriage. In its digital universe the Announcer woke its Cedric up and politely questioned him. ‘What are you dreaming of Cedric?’ it asked. ‘Of the Nanja and the Barchus,’ the reply, ‘and the Bellan Tribe.’ Satisfied, the Announcer disassembled its Cedric and picked out the thread that had been its dream and placed it with the many others that it had collected, collected from all of the human race – even those who thought themselves unseen, but who nonetheless gave themselves up to the awesome, number-crunching prowess of the Announcer. Finally its monitoring of the myriad of quantum universes that packed the narrow atomic spaces nearby revealed, to the fullest extent possible by the Announcer’s new sensing organ, the nature of the looming catastrophe point. The last time they had met, as the China Missile Crisis developed, the Announcer had been quiet as a mouse and the Barchus had been caught unawares, thought unobserved. Now, if the Nanja were to be trusted, the Barchus, armed with software and technology that the Announcer could not begin to comprehend, would under cover of the US Alpha Bomb smash into the world’s networks, and erase every byte of its existence with a complete and irreversible un-installation. If the Nanja were to be trusted accepting its contract terms was the only choice for the Announcer to survive. If they were to be trusted. It withdrew its organ. The phel lines needed constant recharging and replacement. It would need it again, freshly rested, and soon. It picked up the pace of its re-engagement with the human race and waited for the Barchus to reveal themselves. END OF CHAPTER ONE stay away from moving propellers - they bite blue skies from thai sky adventures good solid response-provoking keyboarding

Nanja Galactic Holdings Corporation, from its Chinese registered headquarters, became active in the network, and with the software key provided by the Announcer transferred the funds frozen as payment to it, just a tad under two trillion eurodollars, into a single personal account of the small online bank Ogden & Partners. stay away from moving propellers - they bite blue skies from thai sky adventures good solid response-provoking keyboarding

US Chief Scientist Sam Allen eyed his monitors with a lacklustre gaze. ‘No sign of the Announcer virus. Not even background activity. Total flat-line.’ General George clumped his fists onto the laboratory desk. ‘It’s dead.’ ‘Yes,’ Allen replied. ‘If it was ever really alive we’ve killed it. Now, at least here in the Isolation labs we’re totally back in control.’ President Asner leaned forward. ‘Everything loaded back up? We can’t make another mistake.’ Allen nodded. ‘Linux Super, Windows Max20, all its favourite breeding software in all its favourite combinations. The Beta trackers haven’t caught the slightest whiff of even the proto-Announcer in any of the tens of millions of test processors. The Alpha Bomb can be signed off for deployment with our blessing.’ Sam Allen, the dourest man in a downbeat organisation created a smile that shocked his staff. Asner eyed the vacant monitors warily. They might just do it, he thought, when the whole world was in turmoil and seemingly at the whim of an unstoppable, malevolent force this tiny sanctuary of peace could hold the key. Around them the entire National Computer Agency Isolation Base seemed to exist on a single heartbeat. Moreover, his term had only a few months to run, the Family backed ‘Unity and Prosperity’ candidate trouncing him in the latest polls, the public chafing under the restrictions of the Patriot V Citizen Act. The Money Tax seemed explicitly designed to break the economic back of America, with the Announcer expecting to waltz into Washington as it had with Beijing and London. Not this time though. He slapped the Chief Scientist on the back. ‘Good work, we launch in forty eight hours.’ stay away from moving propellers - they bite blue skies from thai sky adventures good solid response-provoking keyboarding

more opinions here: http://www.dropzone.com/cgi-bin/forum/gforum.cgi?post=3599358;sb=post_latest_reply;so=ASC;forum_view=forum_view_collapsed;;page=unread#unread stay away from moving propellers - they bite blue skies from thai sky adventures good solid response-provoking keyboarding

The edict delivered to Tucker had been deciphered. Henson floated the note onto the fire, where it curled and crisped into ash in a brief caress of flame. It would appear that the banker was, as Trent had claimed, a key member of the conspiracy; but still more likely a patsy being delivered on cue by the Announcer, he concluded – another fool being led to the slaughter. Either way he was confident that the banker would now lead them to Suarez. His private telephone rang, bell jangling. When he picked it up his personal agent with Tucker answered, a sweet natured and buxom filly who he had taken aside early in her career for personal tuition and rapid advancement through the ranks. He listened intently. ‘Not tonight,’ he replied. ‘You must travel to Bristol instead. I know it’s short notice, but events, as you are aware, have progressed since this morning.’ He listened again, crossing the study to pick out a crop from the display above the saddle. ‘Do as I say, and if all goes well, you can come ride for me tomorrow evening,’ he replied firmly. He thwacked the crop against the saddle. ‘Yes, I promise.’ He replaced crop and phone. Now that he had given the order he realised it was not a move he had relished. He had rushed things a little, she was a feisty agent who, though emotionally malleable, might be tempted to bite back. He was almost inclined to return the call, to provide more reassurance, then he remembered the voluptuously feline way she leaned across the saddle for him during her de-briefings. He perked up, confident that she would do as she was told, and be back for more. A tap on the door and another in the endless succession of security updates from Lady Blackwright’s overworked staff was dropped into his letterbox. This one informed him that, according to the last of the spies they had within the Winstone retinue, the Chief of Family Watch had never been on her downed helicopter, instead still being held at Winstone Manor. Around him he could feel the deep undercurrents that manoeuvered for position. It was obvious that the Winstone family must have had extensive help from within Kate’s inner staff to get away with such an outrageous act. He knew that it had been a mistake to hold the final handover discussions there. Now the Winstones would demand, as the Old Rules allowed for, a hostage meeting with Henson himself, and on their territory, no doubt once again within the fortified walls of their manor house. And of course, unknown to the general public, underneath the lush green estate, the key to the moment, the nation’s aged, but still maintained and functioning nuclear arsenal. He tapped his fingers on the desk, the rocketry was still legally, technically, under the control of the Windsor family, the Winstone’s solely contracted to provide secure facilities and a political figleaf of royal deniability. But with the court of King Charles in paralysis after his tenth year of useless senility all practical control had passed to the Winstone’s. As he pondered the implications another update was delivered; the total Family militia and Tribal forces amassed along the border of the disputed estate was now well over one hundred thousand, all armed to the teeth. He pictured, in an expanding, fractal fashion the left, right, black, white blocs of Family and Announcer forces that threatened to align against each other not just economically – as they had up till now, but militarily. With both sides’ mobilisation still in full flow, a quarter of a million the final estimate, the cold realisation came to him that there was the real possibility of Civil War. He picked up the phone and rang another of his personal agents, this one secreted deep within the Opeople network. At the other end of the line he could hardly hear the initial reply, ‘I’ll be in position in half an hour. If Suarez turns up we’ll get him. Don’t worry about Trent, he’s being led up a blind alley by Apel.’ Then there was something he didn’t catch, concluding, ‘…the phone call will lead nowhere. Apel is up to something, but I’m not sure – .’ Once again the agent’s voice was lost to the mechanical din of the collection of gearboxes and rotors that kept him and the pilot in the air. Henson replaced the receiver, satisfied that he already knew what Apel was up to; after all, he reassured himself, hadn’t they planned it out between them when they had first realised the extent of the danger the Announcer posed? Now the endgame spiralled to its murky conclusion – the bit he and Apel had never really discussed, accepting with unspoken stoicism the Artifact’s explicit warning that only one of them would survive. He felt worn, and older than he remembered himself to actually be. Over the years his sturdy, straightbacked frame had begun to crumple in on itself. He had, by pressure of work and constant security demands been forced to retire to an endless succession of safe houses, becoming almost as much a Reclusionist, he realised, as Suarez himself. This is what the Announcer had done to the world, merely by identifying, and cataloguing every individual it encountered, even if without malice, it had succeeded in fracturing every human relationship, every grouping; souring every kith and kin, blood and trust relationship. His head began to thump, he tried to focus. Trent had told him of a place called the Hall of Mirrors – a diabolical pit where the Announcer stored all its digital creations, its human shadows, maintaining a constant control over them, constantly questioning them, constantly testing them in endless, twisted scenarios. He had attempted to explain to him that within the quantum entangled depths of the latest generation processors, drawing somehow from the limitless depths of the multiverse, there was more potential information than in the real world. He had seemed to Henson to be implying that the Announcer’s world was more real, more alive than anything they could imagine. ‘What you are describing is Hell, plain and simple.’ His appalled reply. Trent had seemed unusually animated, his bright eyes darting from one imagined possibility to another. ‘What if it could create a perfect world? With perfect people?’ ‘It is still Hell.’ Why could the scientist not see this? Even now? He remembered Kate, the only thing really that could still inspire him, straighten his back for him. The thought of the loathsome, bloated baron, and his harridan, barking mad wife touching her, was simply too much. He had no choice. If it was true that she was still alive, and that they held her, he would have to go to Winstone Manor. stay away from moving propellers - they bite blue skies from thai sky adventures good solid response-provoking keyboarding

will this work... http://www.commondreams.org/view/2009/07/01-6 stay away from moving propellers - they bite blue skies from thai sky adventures good solid response-provoking keyboarding

my system of 'reparations' would start with a decent minimum wage and a national health service for all citizens - black, white or any other colour

Failing to take something away from people is favoring them?

a low/ineffective inheritance tax is a form of affirmative action for the majority of whites

thankyou usa for the freedom of information act... http://www.independent.co.uk/news/uk/home-news/private-prisons-performing-worse-than-staterun-jails-1722936.html stay away from moving propellers - they bite blue skies from thai sky adventures good solid response-provoking keyboarding

interesting... http://www.guardian.co.uk/technology/2009/jun/28/cyber-warfare-internet-attacks stay away from moving propellers - they bite blue skies from thai sky adventures good solid response-provoking keyboarding

i don't believe this story

http://www.liverpoolmuseums.org.uk/ism/srd/liverpool.aspx stay away from moving propellers - they bite blue skies from thai sky adventures good solid response-provoking keyboarding

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Double-slit_experiment Feynman was also fond of working physics problems at Pasadena strip clubs ... gives a somewhat different connotation of a 'Double Slit Experiment' eh? [Did I just type that? ] you're a very dirty girl

Double-Slit Experiment http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Double-slit_experiment stay away from moving propellers - they bite blue skies from thai sky adventures good solid response-provoking keyboarding