For some reason, strenuous exercise on a real scorcher of a day is very addictive. Each summer I feel it. The mercury climbs above 35 degrees (in the shade), the humidity weighs like a hot blanket, and the sun beats down. I have an uncontrollable desire to get out: sprint up the steep hill nearby a few times; run for an hour; push weights for an hour more. At the end I am a rag, soaked and pouring with sweat. My head feels like it is about to burst from the heat. But I love it. Afterwards I feel cool in the heat, my mind is sharp, and I feel serene with the world.
20 January, 2015
3 December, 2014
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Most people would probably not know that the Communist Party of the USSR (Bolshevik) also had a policy on amputation. Stalin elaborates on the policy in 1925:
We are against amputation. We are against the policy of amputation. That does not mean that leaders will be permitted with impunity to give themselves airs and ride roughshod over the Party. No, excuse us from that. There will be no obeisances to leaders. (Voices: “Quite right!” Applause.) We stand for unity, we are against amputation. The policy of amputation is abhorrent to us. (Works, volume 7, p. 401)
25 November, 2014
This image (sent by SD) at Amazing Lookalike! reminded me of a childhood fantasy.
The figure on the right is the Mekon, the arch-enemy of sci-fi hero Dan Dare. Are they related? Asks Amazing Lookalike!
Probably not, but what about that childhood fantasy? At times I imagined that I was a massive social experiment by superior alien beings. They were trying to create a completely different environment to breed a new kid of species – less intelligent and capable than they were. So everything around me was a construct, a fabrication by these aliens. My parents, my siblings, the trees and animals, the towns and cities, language, and so on. I even tried to see glimpses of the alien presence, when they let their guard down and showed the reality beneath the fabrication.
Just a little narcissistic, of course, since I was the sole focus of this immense experiment. But I have been told that in some form or another it is not an uncommon childhood fantasy.
12 November, 2014
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Travelling from the tiny seaside town of Oarai to Tokyo, I boarded an ancient rattler of a rail motor:
It was perhaps the weirdest rail journey I have ever taken. The theme plastered all over the station and the train was ‘Girls und Panzer':
Cartoon images of girls in school uniforms mingled with German panzer tanks. The connection is obvious … at least in the world of manga.
Japan is, of course, not a kinky country at all, with no repression.
3 November, 2014
This country would have to be one of the most repressed I have ever visited, with an extraordinary return of the repressed at all sorts of levels. On the one hand, everyone is impossibly polite, nice, tidy and meticulously rule-abiding. Everyone bows at the slightest meeting. Even on a train, the person wheeling the trolley with food will bow at the end of the carriage before making her way along, offering drinks and snacks. Police officers assist you with the most trivial detail, all the while wearing a huge smile. Everyone drives about 10 km below the speed limit, for fear of breaking the law. And forget about crossing an empty intersection if the pedestrian light is red. Even more, excessive noise is a no-no. You can speak on a mobile phone in a train only in vestibule of each carriage. Hotel regulations make a big thing about quietness. Every word is spoken softly.
At the same time, Japan has one of the largest prostitution industries in the world. Worth an estimated 10,000 billion yen a year, it is in your face – so to speak – everywhere you turn. In grocery shops, leaflets advertising local services can be found. If you live in the country, your letterbox will be full of such leaflets. But call it prostitution. Ah no, is it ‘health delivery’, or ‘soapland’, or you can engage in a ‘romantic’ getaway in a ‘leisure hotel (the latter are a cheap way to travel in Japan). Keep in mind that prostitution is technically illegal in Japan.
However, you don’t have to go that far to see such repression and its release at work. Take the toilets in a standard hotel. They all come with a curious panel of buttons on the side:
Initially, I ignored such devices, but then I became intrigued. How do they work? I tried pressing the buttons, but to no avail.
However, after sitting upon such a toilet a few times, I noticed that the green light went on (square button) after some water noises. I then pressed the ‘bidet’ button. At this moment, a phallic like tube emerged from the back of the toilet:
And before you know it, a stream shoots right up your anus:
Now let me be clear, such a photograph is not possible until after sitting down, pressing the appropriate buttons and waiting for that tingling feeling down below:
In fact, it requires significant dexterity to leap up from the seat while one’s underside is being doused, aim the camera and take a shot before the stream stops. After numerous attempts, I became somewhat damp, but now I wanted to try the ‘shower’ button. What would that do?
Yes, this one was for the ceiling, since it shot almost straight up with significant force:
As I said, Freud would have wet himself with excitement over all this. Return of the repressed – and how. But as I dried off, I also realised that Japanese cleanliness goes a long way, since it seems to me that anyone who uses such a device cannot help but having one’s whole internal system washed clean.
13 September, 2014
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I have just met one of the descendants of Confucius. Kong Zi’s great-great-great … grandson is Kong Xianglin, and he spoke today on the old man himself at the World Confucius Forum, held here in Adelaide. I held forth on Confucius and Mao Zedong, but I also managed to get a photo Kong Xiangling and myself. It is for the next post, but here is Kong himself.
Add a beard and long whiskers and he could be a spitting image:
23 August, 2014
Given the interest in an earlier picture of me on a tropical throne, I thought I would add a few to fill out the scene. It is not so often that one takes a camera to the toilet, but then this is no ordinary affair.
My only regret is not having the camera with me on the occasion when I was joined by some others. First, a horse meandered over, became curious, walked towards me and then looked directly at me from about a metre away. We began a conversation about many things (I will not elaborate here). As we were conversing, a chicken came around the corner, stopped and cocked its head while looking at me. Close behind the chicken came another horse, and it too stopped close by and joined the audience.