Thursday, October 31, 2002
Click the image for the full picture
I'm off down the pub to avoid the trick or treaters and today's Seeds is still in handwriting, so you'll have to wait until tomorrow.
Sorry.
Labels: photo
posted by Ian at 7:39 PM
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Wednesday, October 30, 2002
I'm clearing out the blog I started as a scrapbook for Seeds research, then hardly ever used. For your delectation- the sum total of links-
Some of the stuff I found on Monday-
Unfinished or aborted German warplane projects from WW2
A wartime chronology with key players and a secret weapons page.
Edwards Air Force Base- check out the flying wing bombers
The Vultee XP-54. I like this plane, and I'm already working on designs based upon it.
The reminiscences of an American test pilot circa WW2.
I once read a short story in Interzone magazine, called Habbakuk, about a giant carrier built from ice and wood pulp insulation, and wanted to introduce something similar to the Seeds story. I didn't realise it was based upon genuine WW2 experiments.
Another site on the subject.
Someone actually mixed up and did experiments with Pykrete, the stuff Habbakuk was to be made of.
Interesting images and slightly garbled English from a 1930's article on speculative flying boat designs.
The truth about flying saucers? Another wonderful, and very, very wierd, plane.
You can even make (unreliable link) models of it.
posted by Ian at 8:40 PM
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Some of the stuff I found on Monday-
Unfinished or aborted German warplane projects from WW2
A wartime chronology with key players and a secret weapons page.
Edwards Air Force Base- check out the flying wing bombers
The Vultee XP-54. I like this plane, and I'm already working on designs based upon it.
The reminiscences of an American test pilot circa WW2.
I once read a short story in Interzone magazine, called Habbakuk, about a giant carrier built from ice and wood pulp insulation, and wanted to introduce something similar to the Seeds story. I didn't realise it was based upon genuine WW2 experiments.
Another site on the subject.
Someone actually mixed up and did experiments with Pykrete, the stuff Habbakuk was to be made of.
Interesting images and slightly garbled English from a 1930's article on speculative flying boat designs.
The truth about flying saucers? Another wonderful, and very, very wierd, plane.
You can even make (unreliable link) models of it.
Labels: Pykrete
posted by Ian at 8:40 PM
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Seeds-
Janssen was in a rage. �You sent those troops out there to sop sabotage, not to be massacred!�
�Yes sir.� Boran wondered at what point the troop train had become his idea. He had been in his office going through the list of the dead and drafting letters to families when Janssen had called for him.
�This after what happened to the wings and in the goods yard!�
�Yes sir.�
�I want you to action this immediately. I want these scum to see what happens when they try to hurt us!�
�Sir?� Boran studied the sheet Janssen was stabbing at. It was a death order, for ten times as many as had been lost in the train ambush. �I cannot do that sir. I will not be party to murder.�
�Will not? You do not have the stomach for it then? No. No, I know what it is. I have read your political file! Get out! I shall order the purge myself!�
That had probably been Janssen�s intention all along- Boran now noticed that there were multiple copies of the order on his desk. He turned and stared out of the window, trying not to look smug at his manoeuvring. Boran picked up one of the sheets and pretended to read it.
�Are you still here? Leave, I told you.� I shall deal with you later.� Boran left, the papers still in his hand.
There were no guards awaiting him in the outer office. The corridors were no more nor less busy than usual. Janssen hadn�t yet issued his internal purge yet. He must still be lining up people to take blame. Boran�s own office was the same as ever- the Army issue male typists of the pool and his own assistant outside his door.
Aylo was a native of the cities. Working as a clerk for the occupying forces, there was every chance he was pure collaborator. But if he weren�t�..
Janssen had already fabricated enough evidence to put Boran in the poisoner�s chair. If he was going to die for treason then he might as well do something treasonous. He unfolded the paper and approached Boran�s desk.
�Commander Janssen has requested some items from the commercial district. I would like you to collect them.� Boran had trouble controlling his voice. He wanted to be curt, the very model of an arrogant southerner. But the army typists knew how polite he normally was to his clerk, and would get suspicious. He slid the sheet across the desk, tapping a finger on the official stamp.
Aylo studied the list, doing well to control his emotions. �Some of these, erm. Some of these will be hard to procure.�
�Black market?�
�Possibly.�
�Just so long as you are not caught. I would not like to to explain that to him.�
�How soon does he need them?�
�A couple of days, maybe a little longer. But it would be best if you start right away.�
�Yes sir.� Aylo grabbed his rain shawl. He paused and dipped his hand into the inside pocket. �There is some paperwork for you sir.� He gathered it together. Whatever was in his hand was slipped into the top most folder.
Boran closed his office door. He ran his hands over the folders. His window overlooked the main gates. He watched as Aylo hurried through, hunched against the rain. Now that his fate was truly sealed, he opened the top folder.
Nestling inside the folder was a piece of jewellery. Hanging off a fine chain was a little silver tower, two digits long and half a digit in diameter, finely decorated with tiny runes. Boran kissed the little icon and clasped the chain around his neck.
posted by Ian at 8:31 PM
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Janssen was in a rage. �You sent those troops out there to sop sabotage, not to be massacred!�
�Yes sir.� Boran wondered at what point the troop train had become his idea. He had been in his office going through the list of the dead and drafting letters to families when Janssen had called for him.
�This after what happened to the wings and in the goods yard!�
�Yes sir.�
�I want you to action this immediately. I want these scum to see what happens when they try to hurt us!�
�Sir?� Boran studied the sheet Janssen was stabbing at. It was a death order, for ten times as many as had been lost in the train ambush. �I cannot do that sir. I will not be party to murder.�
�Will not? You do not have the stomach for it then? No. No, I know what it is. I have read your political file! Get out! I shall order the purge myself!�
That had probably been Janssen�s intention all along- Boran now noticed that there were multiple copies of the order on his desk. He turned and stared out of the window, trying not to look smug at his manoeuvring. Boran picked up one of the sheets and pretended to read it.
�Are you still here? Leave, I told you.� I shall deal with you later.� Boran left, the papers still in his hand.
There were no guards awaiting him in the outer office. The corridors were no more nor less busy than usual. Janssen hadn�t yet issued his internal purge yet. He must still be lining up people to take blame. Boran�s own office was the same as ever- the Army issue male typists of the pool and his own assistant outside his door.
Aylo was a native of the cities. Working as a clerk for the occupying forces, there was every chance he was pure collaborator. But if he weren�t�..
Janssen had already fabricated enough evidence to put Boran in the poisoner�s chair. If he was going to die for treason then he might as well do something treasonous. He unfolded the paper and approached Boran�s desk.
�Commander Janssen has requested some items from the commercial district. I would like you to collect them.� Boran had trouble controlling his voice. He wanted to be curt, the very model of an arrogant southerner. But the army typists knew how polite he normally was to his clerk, and would get suspicious. He slid the sheet across the desk, tapping a finger on the official stamp.
Aylo studied the list, doing well to control his emotions. �Some of these, erm. Some of these will be hard to procure.�
�Black market?�
�Possibly.�
�Just so long as you are not caught. I would not like to to explain that to him.�
�How soon does he need them?�
�A couple of days, maybe a little longer. But it would be best if you start right away.�
�Yes sir.� Aylo grabbed his rain shawl. He paused and dipped his hand into the inside pocket. �There is some paperwork for you sir.� He gathered it together. Whatever was in his hand was slipped into the top most folder.
Boran closed his office door. He ran his hands over the folders. His window overlooked the main gates. He watched as Aylo hurried through, hunched against the rain. Now that his fate was truly sealed, he opened the top folder.
Nestling inside the folder was a piece of jewellery. Hanging off a fine chain was a little silver tower, two digits long and half a digit in diameter, finely decorated with tiny runes. Boran kissed the little icon and clasped the chain around his neck.
Labels: Fiction
posted by Ian at 8:31 PM
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www.jasonisacock.com It isn't a vicious hate campaign, it's art.
Edit No, actually it is a vicious hate campaign as well.
posted by Ian at 7:45 PM
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Edit No, actually it is a vicious hate campaign as well.
Labels: art
posted by Ian at 7:45 PM
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Tuesday, October 29, 2002
The Ten Commandments of Access I'm sure I sin some of the time, but I'm not so sinful as I used to be.
posted by Ian at 9:47 PM
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posted by Ian at 9:47 PM
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Click the image for the full picture
Manchester Earthquake Appeal
A NUMBER OF MAJOR EARTHQUAKES MEASURING FROM 3.2 ON THE RICHTER SCALE, HIT IN THE EARLY HOURS OF MONDAY 21ST OCTOBER 2002 EPICENTERED ON MANCHESTER, UK
Victims can be seen wandering aimlessly muttering "Fookin' shaking, yow," "Fook" and "Someone just twocked me 'ouse". The Earthquake decimated the area, causing approximately �10 worth of damage. Subsequent to the seismic activity, some fireworks missed their intended human targets, causing damage to nearby historic and scientifically significant litter. It is estimated that, during the confusion, over �5 million worth of robbery-time was lost, damaging the Mancunian economy.
Many were woken well before their giro arrived. Thousands are confused and bewildered, trying to come to terms with the fact that something interesting has happened in Manchester. One resident, Donna-Marie Dutton, a 17-year-old mother-of-three said, "It felt just like when that fookin' Magic bus hit t'fookin' 'ouse. Little Chantal-Leanne came running into my bedroom shouting "fook". My youngest two, Liam-Noel and Kevin slept through it. I was still shaking when I was watching Trisha the next morning."
Apparently, though, looting did carry on as normal.
The British Red Cross have so far managed to ship 4000 crates of Red Stripe to the area to help the stricken masses. Rescue workers are still searching through the rubble and have found large quantities of personal belongings including fireworks, burberry caps, benefit books and jewellery from Elizabeth Duke at Argos.
HOW YOU CAN HELP
This appeal is to raise clothing and food parcels for those unfortunate enough to be caught up in it. Clothing is most sought after. Items required include: -
Caps
Adidas Tracksuit bottoms
White Socks
Shell Suits
Boots
Food parcels may be harder to put together but necessary all the same. Required foodstuffs include: -
Pies
Chips
McDonalds
Red Stripe
Fireworks
Mancunians have insisted to avoid problems "wit' the fookin' rozzers" they don't need any more handouts but just wish to be able to "help themselves" in this difficult time, more than the just dole money they already claim (for five different people).
�10 can provide a hammer, which can be used to 'twock' grannies and back up shoplifting exploits, providing enough money to support a family of Scallys on McDonalds for the forseeable future.
�5 will provide a Mancunian with essential "E's and Scag".
22p buys a biro for filling in a spurious compensation claim.
If you can afford it, �120 buys a new pair of Nike Airs, justifying one Scally's decision to tuck their tracksuit bottoms into their socks, and helping said individual avoid being caught while nicking said trainers from JD Sports.
Please do not send money directly to Mancunians, as there is a good chance they'll come looking for you, realising in their primitive way, that where there is money to give away, there is great potential for robbery.
Please give generously.
Sammy Boyo esq
On behalf of the Manchester Earthquake Appeal Fund
This has been a public service announcement. My thanks to Jenny for bringing it to my attention.
Seeds-
There were maps showing the disposition of troops across the plains. Rey had taken these for later study. Kess had found more ammunition for his baby long and some sights that promised to be better than his current set. There had been provision lockers in the back of the passenger cars that rendered up cured meats, fruit and spices. They had used up all the stonk rounds they had brought, so they spiked the weapon and took a number of the one shot rockets they had found in with the scuttlers instead.
Umat�s men had acquired medalry and pieces of uniform to go with the guns they had plundered. They lit the pyres, and the train, with spare fuel and the still red coals from the locomotive. By this time it was dark, so the smoke pillar probably wouldn�t be seen, but they left with haste anyhow.
�How long do you think they will last?� Rey asked.
�About as long as it takes for the Air Army to put some patrols up.� Move answered, �Those vehicles will give them away.�
�Best of luck to them anyway.�
�Oh, aye, but they�ll need the full blessing of the tower to live any comfortable time.�
Labels: earthquake, Fiction, Manchester, photo
posted by Ian at 8:59 PM
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Monday, October 28, 2002
As promised- Seeds-
The weapon in the boxcar had been the same two digit calibre as the anti air. It had cut the seven men to shreds. Umat was studying his casualties, Lensman went to his.
Each man had identifying bracelets on each ankle and around their neck. If their body parts were too far separated it would delay their entry to the warriors� paradise. Lensman walked back along the line of fire, picking up all the pieces he could find, including any blood soaked earth. When he was happy with this he took all the ID tags and pocketed them. Mov and Rey joined him to dig the graves.
They didn�t say any prayers, the dead would have their fill of their chosen religion on the other side. Umat joined them at the grave side. His comrades had been placed atop an impromptu pyre which had yet to be lit. �It is a great victory, even with these losses.� He announced through Rey.
�Where will you go now?� Lensman asked.
�Perhaps we will vanish. More likely we will fight. Come, see what my men have found.�
There were two small vehicles in the last boxcar. Each had six large and wide deep treaded tyres, each on its own independently sprung swing arm. There were seats for a driver and commander and a cupola turret- all armoured. The turret held two of the two digit anti-airs. �We have seen these many times. They are called scuttlers. You have no need for them? You are going back to the mountains?�
�No, we have no use for them.�
�Then we shall take them. With these we can strike fast at smaller patrols and escape.� It was a risky proposition, but the joy of his freedom was letting Umat see beyond the danger.
�My best wishes to you.� They made the traders� seal, each grasping the other�s elbow, locking forearms and leaving their ribcages open to the knife they trusted wasn�t there. �Now we should strip what we can from this thing, fire it and leave.�
posted by Ian at 10:54 PM
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The weapon in the boxcar had been the same two digit calibre as the anti air. It had cut the seven men to shreds. Umat was studying his casualties, Lensman went to his.
Each man had identifying bracelets on each ankle and around their neck. If their body parts were too far separated it would delay their entry to the warriors� paradise. Lensman walked back along the line of fire, picking up all the pieces he could find, including any blood soaked earth. When he was happy with this he took all the ID tags and pocketed them. Mov and Rey joined him to dig the graves.
They didn�t say any prayers, the dead would have their fill of their chosen religion on the other side. Umat joined them at the grave side. His comrades had been placed atop an impromptu pyre which had yet to be lit. �It is a great victory, even with these losses.� He announced through Rey.
�Where will you go now?� Lensman asked.
�Perhaps we will vanish. More likely we will fight. Come, see what my men have found.�
There were two small vehicles in the last boxcar. Each had six large and wide deep treaded tyres, each on its own independently sprung swing arm. There were seats for a driver and commander and a cupola turret- all armoured. The turret held two of the two digit anti-airs. �We have seen these many times. They are called scuttlers. You have no need for them? You are going back to the mountains?�
�No, we have no use for them.�
�Then we shall take them. With these we can strike fast at smaller patrols and escape.� It was a risky proposition, but the joy of his freedom was letting Umat see beyond the danger.
�My best wishes to you.� They made the traders� seal, each grasping the other�s elbow, locking forearms and leaving their ribcages open to the knife they trusted wasn�t there. �Now we should strip what we can from this thing, fire it and leave.�
Labels: Fiction
posted by Ian at 10:54 PM
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