[dissociation] the only way to kill

I tried to dissociate from that last post but couldn't.

Take away the Colombian girl and substitute Vinnie Jones, take away Colombia and substitute the East End of London - in the end it still comes down to dissociation - the ability to psychologically come to terms or shut out what you're doing.

The Colombian "freedom fighter" Marilyn:

Watching her take the pistol from her belt, unbutton her jeans and slip into bed I somehow couldn't quite equate the woman in my arms with the bodies I had seen in the local morgue, their heads shattered by gunshots at close range, murders she confessed to having committed.

One morning, Marylin told me that the previous night she had persuaded a friend to help her decapitate and dismember a woman she had been contracted to kill. This was no informer, but, rather, a friend of hers who paid her to kill her boyfriend's other girlfriend.

"You have to lose the fear. Now I am still killing and nothing happens. I feel normal. Before, I had an obligation to kill, I was sent to kill. But once I left the organisation, I was not obligated. I now only do the job for money."

How could she do this?



I quoted a woman some time back on "porn stars":

We know how women in the sex industry -- not all, but many -- routinely dissociate to cope with what they do. We know that in one study of 130 street prostitutes, 68 percent met the diagnostic criteria for post-traumatic stress disorder. I realize that this task is difficult.

This alienation and dissociation is what the C.I.A. experiments were about. It's what killing in war is all about. In a small way, it was about how I played rugby.

My playing weight was 80kg, way too small for minor division flanker and yet that's what I played, it's no lie. Too slow for half-back, not enough straight line speed for a back, not big enough for a forward, they put me open side flanker because I was quick over three metres, which meant everything depended on me getting to that victim before he got away or to the breakdown, otherwise they'd drop me from the side.

And there was another factor - you had to hit the man hard, shoulder to thigh to get him off balance, nothing lacking. You had to then maul him and savage him and break the play down, ready to take off with the ball yourself if you saw a chance and look for your support.

You give only 90%, you get hurt. You give 110%, you have sore shoulders at the end of the game and respect. And one more thing - it puts a little reticence in their minds about you, which in turn gives you a margin of safety.

So I understand why people do it but I also understand how much closer to the bestial we become. With one arm over my second rower, eyes firmly on the victim and him knowing this little toe-rag was gunning for him, it also gave a feeling of power, which is an adrenaline rush.

Rugby's one thing - cold-blooded murder is another but how far apart are they?

Didn't think twice about killing those children - all in a good cause, of course - the cause trumps everything.

[pondering] angel or female assassin?

For Nunyaa - to feel good on a Friday

Coincidence. Yesterday a few things happened. The first was a visit to this site by an Indonesian, Santi W, who speaks English but blogs in Bahasa.

It's a most unusual blog and beautifully laid out. I urge you to visit her and look around the site. Naturally, I visited and vice versa and she wrote:

I watch the sea in the night. It feels like you're alone and it scares you to death, but then you realized that you're addicted to it.

I imagine that scene in Indonesia and say to her:

Hari ini hari terbaik pernah!

She continued her comment:

I noticed that you wrote a great novel. And that one of the character is the Indonesian lady you met on the flight? Did she tells you interesting things about Indonesia?

Well .. er .. yes .. she did. That was a most interesting flight but the character, Frederika, using her real name and who was studying in London, went in to the book as a female assassin. Here's a little fragment where the man she tried to kill momentarily turns the tables on her in 1997 [before security procedures came in] and forces her onto the Greenwich to London ferry where he tries to disarm her:

‘My business. Now give me your handbag.’

‘Do gentlemen do that?’ She gazed at him and passed the bag across. He rummaged around inside; just the usual women’s stuff. ‘Definitely not a gentleman.’

Then he spotted it, not in her handbag at all but under her loose T shirt, poked into her jeans. ‘Take it out of your jeans, put it into the handbag and don’t insult my intelligence.’

She complied and he noticed the slightest softness to her tummy. Perhaps she wasn’t all that hard after all. Perhaps she liked her pastries a little too much.

‘Now give me the bag.’

She complied again. Too easy, too easy, Hugh thought. She’d given up her gun just like that. Next thing he’d flung the handbag out of the open window, just as the boat was coming into dock at Tower Bridge. ‘Oh wonderful, Hugh, thank you so much. All my cards, all my money and my mother’s photo were in there.’

‘There was no photo and no purse.’

She’d now tired of the game. She sighed. ‘Hugh, you put a ridiculous replica into my waist, pretending it was loaded. I went along for the ride but now I have to tell you, darling, what you must already realize - you’re not long for this world. I really liked you – I really did.’

Sketch made from a photo of the Indonesian girl

Stay with it, people - I am coming to the point. Yesterday I met someone quite special - this is back to "real" life now - and wrote a maudlin post last night around midnight - here it is condensed:

This is pretty personal and I'm going to take a leaf out of Ruthie's book and do a post. It might make things clearer to see it in print.

Met someone today who is as close to right as I'm likely to find and this has thrown your humble correspondent into a tizz. On paper, given that it might be a chance and it seemed so today, then what happens when she finds out things which my regular readers know already?

I mean, look at those tramvai posts.

She loves walking in the forest, which I love and there were many bases covered. I'm sure the thought might have flitted across her mind too this evening but it's possible she's already concluded in the negative, which is more in line with what I'd expect.

There are just so many barriers and now it's 01:00 and I have to get some sleep.

That's what I did and then this morning checked the comments and there was one from the Jailhouse Lawyer:

Don't want to put you on a downer but...

Check this out before you make your next move

Here's a fragment from John's referral:

But what happens if your new girlfriend has a much darker and more sinister secret than having slept around a bit?

Sitting naked on the edge of the bed in a cheap, sweltering hotel room in the heart of a war-torn, drug-producing region of Colombia, I lit a cigarette and listened as the girl I had just made love with told me a secret dark enough to shake anyone from their postcoital bliss.

She then hit me with a confession that would both thrill and confuse me. She explained that in the months that I had been away in Iraq her role within the AUC had changed; she had joined the urban militia and become an assassin. Her job was now to eliminate informers and traitors.

So far, she told me, she had killed at least 10 people in the area. I lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply, Marylin looked at me through the smoke as I exhaled, waiting to see how I would respond to what she had just told me.

How uncanny is that?

Er ... think I might have to change Frederika - judging by Santi W's blog, they're pretty gentle people out that way. While learning Bahasa, in the meantime, I'll just have to rely on this, which might help you too if you get over her way.

So now it's time to get over to Oestrebunny, the exotic Scot:

Too lost in it all to see what's amiss, she'd risk her whole life for that - one - sweet - kiss. But that one sweet kiss is never enough.

You're right and it applies the other way too. So, with Women's Day tomorrow and the 14 Russian girls at 17:00 today, followed by the Pyramid, I'm off to descend into the maelstrom. Snow's everywhere in the air out there.

I'll report this evening if I'm still alive.

[id cards] question of time

Scarcely any need, wouldn't you say, to add anything else?

Shadow home secretary David Davis said: "The government may have removed the highly visible element but they have still left the dangerous core of this project.

"The National Identity Register, which will contain dozens of personal details of every adult in this country in one place, will be a severe threat to our security and a real target for criminals, hackers and terrorists. "This is before you take the government's legendary inability to handle people's data securely into account."

Still, these ID cards beat a chip in the wrist or forehead.

We'd all be part of the EU Android Army then.

[airports] the issues today

Short post on airports. Ian Appleby replies in a post:

But really there's no joy in flying at all, these days. I was 15 the first time I got on a plane, and I can still remember the excitement. For many years I could tell you instantly how many times I had been on a plane.

I had bought into the fantasy of the champagne glasses and cigars of some 1930s golden age hook, line and sinker. I've done two trips already this year, and frankly just now I think you'd have to pay me to get on a plane again.

Shuffling round in long lines in your stockinged feet with one hand holding your kecks up because your belt will set off the metal detector and the other hand clutching that ridiculous plastic bag with your squeeze of toothpaste in - when there was clearly no substance to the liquid bomb plot anyway - just to perpetuate some illusion that there is some sort of war on, what a farce.

That man can write. There's one other issue in particular which needs immediate resolution before I fly again - bag-nav throughputting and the café latte:



I was at Terminal 2, being farewelled by my SIG-OTH, sipping at our final CAF-LAT when, over the tannoy, following the obligatory ringtones, a young lady's sing song voice quelled the hubbub of terminal conversation:

"Ladies and gentlemen, from check-in to baggage reclaim, tens of millions of passengers entrust their belongings to ALSTEC's baggage handling systems at Heathrow Terminals 1, 2 & 3 and Gatwick North Terminal in the UK and at many other international airports."

It was time to check in. The smartly uniformed cynosure of all eyes went through her routine, then added:

"Do you trust ALSTEC or BAGLOSS?"

"Er … ALSTEC."

"Fine. Because much of ALSTEC's success can be attributed to innovation both in system design and equipment. The latest evidence of this is ALSTEC's low maintenance linear drive carousel, which is setting the standard in terms of performance."

"It carries the bags in a line, in other words?"

"Sir, the screening of all hold baggage presents problems in terms of maintaining levels of throughput within the baggage handling system. ALSTEC has solved these problems, with proven 100% HBS systems where there is no significant impact on passenger throughput. Have a happy throughput".

"Er … thanks."

Tearfully, my SIG-OTH disappeared down the concourse and I went through. Four hours later, at the other end of the longhaul, the cheerful Customs and Immigration official perkily asked:

"How was your throughput, Mr. Higham?"

"Fine thanks."

"That's due to the proven HBS and BAG-NAV."

"BAG-NAV?"

"Originally developed for London Heathrow, the world’s busiest international airport, BAG-NAV is arguably the most advanced baggage handling system control and management software suite available today."

"Suite?"

"BAG-NAV brings together all parts of the baggage handling process into a single easy to interpret and manage system. Would you care to hear the listed Benefits:

* No delays at check-in
* Bag screening remote from passengers
* No bottleneck in baggage handling system

… you can stop me at any time, sir, by kissing me just … here."

I tickled the tonsils of this Snoggable-Nubile-Official [Govt.], she sighed and the clunk of stamp on passport was all that disturbed the heady atmosphere of terminal bliss.

"Have a happy perambulatory TRIP-BIZ in our country, sir. Next! Hello sir. BAG-NAV brings together all parts of the …"

Throughputting via the green channel, I reflected that I'd completely forgotten to ask her about Babcock continuing its successful strategy of acquiring and developing technically sophisticated businesses in growing infrastructure and asset management markets, plus the acquisition, on a debt free basis, of Alstec Group Limited for a net cash consideration of £44.9 million, funded from existing banking facilities.

I sighed.

Due to the down-modem software support to facilities management with a team of engineers permanently on site to operate and maintain the facility, it had all gone too swiftly and I'd been whisked away from my new IMMIG-DEPT-LOVE, perhaps terminally.

And yet I could also breathe a sigh of relief, to be honest because the 5 Level Whetstone Scanning Device [SCAN-DEV-WHET] had 100% overlooked my second heart and the keys to the TAR-DIS.

[conscience vote] some decency returns to politics

Please don't present this as "bringing religion into politics". On all major human based issues there is a parliamentary precedent for a conscience vote so why not on this? Who is to decide this is not a matter of private conscience?

I'm not a Catholic but I say well done to these three on standing up on a question of principle. If only more of us would stand up and say, about this issue or that, this is wrong.

How long is it since we saw any Labour politician do that?

Oh and Gordon - say "England". Come on - you can do it. Let me help you. "E-n-g-" Good, good, you're doing well. Now "-l-a-n-d". Oh dear, you bottled it again.

[israel] if denmark attacked britain

If Denmark were to launch daily rocket attacks on the U.K., would the U.K. sit back, do nothing and comply with do-gooder charitable organizations' requests to take a humanitarian view of the loveable rocket launchers?

What if the rockets, far from being stuffed with high explosive designed to "simply" kill instead filled the warheads with ball bearings designed to indiscriminately maim the civilian population but when Britain pointed this out, learned world experts pronounced that it "probably was not so" and was the aggressive Britain's attempt to justify its outrageous attacks on little Denmark?

What if the U.K. were to then blockade Denmark and conduct attacks on military targets where there were known mobile military units using weaponry and technology from another European power equal to the U.K. in strength and using human shields to create a humanitarian outcry every time the U.K. struck back?

What if the tiny group who'd seized control in Denmark had vowed that the U.K. was a 'festering sore' which should be wiped off the map and that G-d was directing them to destroy every man, woman and child in those fair isles which were historically theirs by right?

What if the U.K. were then to expostulate that history clearly showed that the land belonged to the Anglo-Saxons but the international community got behind Denmark's version of history instead and ordered the U.K. to desist from these "unprovoked attacks on a sovereign nation", whilst conveniently ignoring the daily rocket attacks?

What if the U.K. launched an offensive which was inconclusive because the Danish military units simply faded back behind the mischievous European power's borders where they denied this was happening?

What if the humanitarian situation in Denmark, as a result of the blockade, meant that people were sleeping rough in their own faeces, dying in the streets of malnutrition and the malcontents who had a stranglehold on Denmark were to hoodwink the people into believing how evil the the U.K. truly was and that all this human misery should be laid at the U.K.'s door?

Meanwhile they continue to rain rockets on Britain and the people in France, over their daily coffee and croissants, shake their heads at the aggressive Brits because the French media, which they all slavishly believe would never tell a lie, has assured them it is so, showing only the results of British "atrocities" on state television?

What if the U.K. was to turn, with open enquiring hands, to the world and ask, "Why does everyone hate us so?"