Letter to The Age

I'd say it's a 50/50 thing vis a vis getting published.. We'll see!

With the election coming up, I took the time to review the policies of the two candidates as I felt that this election would have a huge impact on Australia's involvement in the war on terror, our culture, our trade, healthcare, employment opportunities and a host of other issues.

You can only imagine my disappointment when I was told I was not eligible to vote. It seems you can only vote in the US Presidential election if you are an American citizen! I fail to understand why we are not allowed to have a say in our future. I would ask Australia's leader Tom Schieffer to change this unjust situation in time for the November decision.

Everywhere I go...

For reasons I cannot explain, I have found myself listening to Royksopp's "Remind Me" over and over ever since I got the new Ministry of Sound- Chillout 5 double CD. I liked the faster, dancier mix on last years Dance Annual, but there's something about the simplistic Chillout version:

It's only been a week
The rush of being home and rapid fading
Failing to recall
What I was missing all that time in England

I think it's the mark of a great lyricist when you can get the listener involved and get them to feel something even if they have not missed anything in England ever...

Has sent me aimlessly
On foot or by the help of transportation
To knock on windows where
A friend no longer live, I had forgotten

Despite my prediliction for ruthless research, I have chosen not to do the research on Royksopp- but I'm pretty sure they are Scandanavians of some description. Given that English is not their first language, I find these lyrics to be beautifully wrong

..and everywhere I go
There's always something to remind me
Of another place and time
Where love that travelled far had found me

I think this chorus (?!?) really seals the deal. It's just a beautifully evocative sentiment. I find myself humming and singing these lines often lately. I must have some longing that I cannot quite put my finger on.

We stayed outside till two
Waiting for the light to come back
we didn't talk I knew
Until you asked what I was thinking
Until you asked what I was thinking

Brave men tell the truth
The wise man's tools are analogies and puzzles
A woman holds her tongue
Knowing silence will speak for her

Not sure about the last pair of lines. Is it a reference to domestic violence? IS it sexist in some way? Is it the Truth?

...and everywhere I go
There's always something to remind me
Of another place and time
Where love that travelled far had found me

*sigh* Just great.

... and you thought your life sucked

I have this nightmare where I am caught out in a lie, total naked-like. total disaster horror show. Nowhere to hide and .... oh it's awful... life ends as I know it.

Adam Clark is living this nightmare
Congrats to Fleur Leyden on her efforts in The Age. She has rightly kept on this, kept it in the public eye and I believe this has forced Media World Communication's hand.

They (Media world Comms) are now truly, utterly, completely FUCKED:

Media World Communications has appointed an administrator to manage its affairs, amid accusations from technology specialist The Tolly Group that it was deceived by Adam Clark about the effectiveness of his video streamlining technology.

...On Monday, Mr Clark was sacked as a consultant and asked to resign from the Media World Communications board, along with his father Graeme Clark.

Yesterday it emerged that the Clarks had refused to resign from the board and were still saying that the technology worked.

Adam reminds me of Hitler in his finals days (not in a Nazi sense, but rather in an inability-to-acknowledge-defeat sense). As the Russians were entering Berlin on one side, the Brist and Yanks the other, he was still insisting that the war was winnable.

Adam, son, white flag time. You. Have. Lost.

Media World calls corporate doctor

You'll get yours!!!

I may not have brought down a government, but I'd like to think I helped bring this guy down...
Media World pulls plug on inventor...

Adam Clark, inventor of the controversial Adams Platform Technology (APT), was yesterday sacked as a consultant and asked to resign from the Media World Communications board.

A report into the effectiveness of the video compression technology, considered at an MWC board meeting yesterday, concluded that APT failed to meet its claims under testing.

"Adam Clark is not able to demonstrate that APT is capable of producing compression of high-quality video down telephone lines," said MWC chairman Michael Ramsden.

MWC technical staff also identified several "anomalies", including the fact that the video file still played even after the APT computer program had been removed from the computer. The company, which is considering its legal options, has handed the report over to the Australian Securities and Investments Commission. It is believed the fraud squad has also been asked to investigate the matter.

Someone get a rope, gonna have ourselves an ol' fashioned lynching.

Tell you what people, I would like to put this little shit in the stocks so we could all go and "have a word".

He is not a young man who will do well in prison... boo fucking hoo

Read the official release- it's riveting

Champs says it's a goer!!

here's an email I just received:

Dear Tom,
It looks good!
I'll have to acquaint myself with the original.
Tried hard all my life to avoid Chisel.
Thanks for your song,
regards,
greg champion

I am so excited... can't say!!
So tune into ABC 774 tomorrow from 11am to hear it.

OR on the net:
Here in real audio

coodabeensarelegends

After years of talking about it, I've finally written some lyrics for Greg Champion, singer on the radio show "The Coodabeen Champions". Just in case they don't get on here's a version:

When the Season's Over

to the tune of When the War is Over by Cold Chisel

Ain't nobody gonna steal this contract away,
Ain't nobody gonna tell me to go away, oooh

When the season is over, Got to get away
Pack my bags to Surfers, Broome or the USA
You and I went mad on the monday
Yet started training the following wednedsay
How can my skinfold go up and not get traded away?

Ain't nobody gonna trade this boy away,
Ain't nobody gonna delist me anytime today,

When the season's over got to rest again
Try to get back to how I was "way back when"
All around these trades and delisting
Can't help feeling the coach is also missing
Gonna speak to my manager just as soon as I can

Ain't nobody gonna retire me early, eh?
Ain't nobody gonna trade this jumper away

You and I we're goin' round the tan in October
and I thought the season was just over
How can I go rest and not get traded away

Ain't nobody gonna trade this boy away
Ain't nobody gonna run me early today
Ain't nobody gonna do nuthing till Epiphany
Ooohhh..

Coodabeens Website

... a reaction?

See a few articles below, no not the Speed Triple one, but rather the one about Adam Clark, snake oil salesman. Well this came out on Tuesday:

Every reporter wants a scoop, an exclusive story about a significant event. And, on the face of it, I had one. It was October 1997, I was assistant editor of The Australian Financial Review, overseeing the coverage of technology. The story was about a young genius who had invented a piece of technology so revolutionary, it could change the world of entertainment and make him a billionaire.

The young man was Adam Clark. He was 21 at the time. According to a solicitor named Roger Velik, Clark had invented a compression algorithm so efficient, it could deliver real-time broadcast-quality 768 x 576 video and CD-quality audio streams down a standard telephone line, using a 28.8 Kbps modem.

...As the writer Ernest Hemingway said, every good journalist needs a good crap detector. After I met Clark and Velik, mine was oscillating furiously. Clark didn't impress me as the sort of young man capable of the sophisticated mathematical skills that could produce such an algorithm.

So why didn't you finish the job? Why didn't you hammer this out until the little shit fessed up or the story gained momentum?

With so much public money at stake, some fundamental questions have to be asked. Did these so-called technology experts who tested Adam's Platform ever heed The Age's warning? Do crap detectors exist in the investment world? I still can't say whether Adam's Platform works, but until I see it installed on my own equipment, I wouldn't be putting my money into it.

...and thats how it ends. "I wouldn't be putting my money into it". Spare me Charles. I am saying that simply bleating "vapourware" isn't enough. This has revealed a gaping hole in the IT journalist football team. Sure there are a few columnists and reporters etc, but where is a real investigative reporter in Australia, capable of researching and completing a long term investigative report?

The Age- Charles Wright

New '05 Speed Triple

While there will never be a sexier bike that the '02 Nuke Red S3, the new black '05 S3 does look dead sexy. Twin pipes now, shorter seat and guards, mean black frame; it definately looks the goods. The new dash is to die for. So hott!

The worst thing is they have upped the engine to a 1050cc (thats only bad coz I don't have it!) and she's also gone up to 123 Horses. I think Triumph are sitting on an absolute killer with this one. The styling is spot on, the brakes were great before- now they must be (radial brake) awesome, the engine can keep with the Jap bikes and hey, it's NOT Japanese...!

The NEW S3 '05 from Mcnews.com.au

Again and again and again

Every few years this little shit turns up, and everytime it's with a fresh excuse. Read up and learn.

Open letter to [deleted]"The Age" journos.

Hello all,
I'm sending this email in response to the article :
http://www.theage.com.au/articles/2004/09/07/1094530611857.html
titled: Media World admits technology fears...

I'm sure you'll take the time to read or re read said article, however here's a bit:

Media World Communications, the company billed by believers as potentially bigger than Microsoft, said yesterday the technology on which it had based a stockmarket relisting might not work.
Media World, which used to trade as miner Werrie Gold, last week deferred its relisting a day before it was expected to hit the boards.
Yesterday it told the market that the Adams Platform Technology, invented six years ago by Melbourne businessman Adam Clark, might not work.

Well that is not suprise to those who got in early on this story. Way back in the late 90's when Adam surfaced, Nathan Cochrane rightly felt that it may have been a hoax. Andrew Cosgriff and I interviewed Adam on our community radio program. We brought along an expert from Monash uni's ANSPAG web streaming group and we grilled him. At that time, I felt confident, felt like it could be real- but hell people that was 6 Goddamn years ago!!

When Adam surface with his radical claims (a whole DVD quality movie on a floppy etc..) were just the noisy ramblings of a young man with a neat card trick. Fast forward 6 years:

"Mr Clark, along with his associates, has gained $16 million from the sale and licensing fees of the technology.
Media World Communications has raised a total of $28 million in the past three years and patient shareholders have been waiting for the promised relisting."

Like, dude HOLY SHIT! This isn't snake oil, its a fucking live 900 foot anaconda squeezing money out of fools, suckers and folk who forgot that the IT bubble BURST back in 2000.

So whats this got to do with you guys?

We let him go. We had the chance to nail his pale little arse to the wall and stop this happening, but no one bothered to do an Andrew Rule type investigation and absolutely expose the Emperor's new clothes. Hell I did a bit when I was working part time, and it was easy. Adam's old lawyer Roger Velik turned up (and I spoke to him), so too did a LOT of disgruntled "partners"- this was in 2002, before the money train started in earnest. If iot hit the fan back then, the spray would have been a lot smaller than the coming crap shower.

I'm not blaming anyone, but I do suspect that if this was the US of A, Adam would now be staked to a roadside somewhere in Nevada with birds pecking his bones clean. And rightly so.

We let him go folks- and now he's rich. Not rich in a "I just won on Deal or No Deal" sense, but "I sold my options in sausage before the crash" REALLY damn rich sense. Rich on a lie, a damned lie that should have been exposed when the devil gave birth to him.

More from the article:

"It's always been a company where it is either worth lots of money . . . or it's not worth anything," Mr Ramsden said. "It was never going to be worth something in the middle."

So make it worthless. If I'm any judge you should all be able to corner Adam and put your foot on his throat and get a confession. Peel back the layers around him- bypass the lawyer, his dad, the other publicists and liars and get to the source. I always felt that one on one with a decent journo, the little shit would fold up like a dodgy card table. Hell, he'll probably cry and ask you to organise him a fake passport and disguise.

Get to work, there's Walkley in them thar hills..

thomasr

Reunion THIS

Correspondence from The Sports Desk..

Oh look, I'm not going to apologise to HST anymore than I have to, so there, that will do.

School ReUnion
Fifteen fucking years into the mission, and there's another school reunion this friday. I have to go, there is NO CHOICE Bubba. I've tried to get others involved, but they all got The Fear. Here's the correspondence....:

MR E.

Yes I am Mr Funny, but are you coming along? please tell me you are.

I'm going to need someone who is handy in a verbal joust. I'm not sure these crazies will let in this time around if I go solo. Of course I will go no matter what. I have no choice. Curiosity compels me.... like a moth etc.

But Mr E, I can't go solo. The last time I got so insanely drunk I was a danger. No one knew who I really was. They thought I'd just stumbled across their little soiree and had set out to be weird. It wasn't a deliberate act on my part, but rather an attempt to cope. To avoid commenting I stuck a glass at my lips and inevitably the glass emptied. That made the night seem weirder, (if James Bennetts, or was it Bowditch yelling in your ear isn't weird, then fuck me what is?) and to cope with that I drank more. Nexty morning I caught the tram home from Fitzroy st a broken mess. It's not like meeting strangers, yet these people are strangers to us. Lets not kid ourselves- some have improved like red wine, others soured like white vinegar. It's drafting these sheep that can be interesting.

I feel we could also have a ball if we lie till we bust. I'm working on a number of personas for the evening, and accents to go with them. One involves wearing a turban, 2 involve smoking a pipe and one will require me to take a prayer mat. I think I best stay away from the more extravagant ideas, it can be beastly difficult to get pretty Russian identical twins at short notice.

I think you should be a doctor. A Phd natch darling, there will be a few MDs and, frankly they can get fucked. You should work on the nature of said PhD, but I do suggest something to do with the link between loving football and closeted homosexuality. Hell YOU might want to take a pipe- that way you can point people out with the stem. Maybe WE should take a hookah and pack cones all night and tell people to "trust us, he's a doctor" and see what comes of it.

These are important times my lad, and history will prove me right.

thomasr

So he says:

Dear Thomasr,

This will not be like loading up at a Vegas bar before the Mint 400. That would be easy.

No.

Remember that you do not write for Rolling Stone (when it was Wrong), although you probably should be, but that's not important right now. Where was I? Yes. No, and I am certainly not your attorney, Samoan or otherwise.

I'm not sure this crowd deserves the dignity of abuse, though they may be thieves and rapists in their hearts - and maybe not just their hearts - and I'm also not sure that I can face reciting my Life Story up to This Point 30 times in a row. You see, they will remember me, and they will be wanting Answers. I can't keep up a song and dance act for 3 hours.

You're right, it's not like meeting strangers. It's more like being confronted with aspects of yourself that you have long suppressed, only to find them reemerging from the psychic swamp in forms vaguely familiar, until you suddenly realize - the horror, the horror - that they are us, that you am I, that the beast is within... and there is no escape.

If you insist on putting yourself through this, good luck - you have a high sense of adventure. It may help you to remember that Jean-Paul Sartre once thought he was being pursued through Paris by giant lobsters. If you hold fast to this notion, there will always be the thought of something worse just outside the window to keep your mind focused.

You're a better man than I am, Gunga Din.

See you on the other side,

Mr E.

So I says

Mr E.

Right you are then, and damn you for a coward. "I'm across Jack, drawbridge UP!". This is our valley of death and you have reined in early my lad. I'm going to stick a cheroot in the corner of my mouth and spur the horse into these bastards, sabring to and fro like a ninja at the ballet.

Diginity of abuse? Nonsense- stand still laddie! I'm simply going there to spin a few yarns and see if I can create some influence- you know, something simple, something like:

"Oh so you run a sports marketing agency? Tell me are ALL sportsmen, like you know..." (makes patting motion)

Him: "Like what?"

Me: "y'know KIDDY FIDDLING CAT RAPISTS!?!?!?!"

Maybe I can take old Billy Hick's ideas about marketing and encourage a few suicides before the nights over. Perhaps teach some guy to swallow his tongue and choke to death. I'll tell people to "leave him alone, he's just dancing like he always wanted to" when they try to assist the poor convulsing fool on the floor. Maybe I'll dance with him and tell everyone we're gay lovers "I love my dead gay son!" Selah!

Reciting your life story 20 times over? Damn son, there's no call for HONESTY at this event. If you get relly stoned before hand you can say "I haven't the slightest idea what I have been doing these past 15 years"- and it will be the God honest truth. Like I suggested, we could just go with some random life events and see where it takes us. Tell different stories to the same person. Apologise for having them passed over for promotion, then refuse to discuss how and why. I don't know what else, but there is simply no reason to bring the Mr E. you know, simply bring one you feel can comfortably cope. It's not a complicated process old bean, just dust off an old coat and whack it on. Maybe some Elton John 70's glasses to show you've still FUCKING GOT IT WHEN IT COUNTS!

Hey Mr.E., it's an election year and we all have to do our bit to get rid of Evil John, and perhaps wiping out or exercising undue influence on a few vulnerable old boys could be just the ticket. Imagine getting an accountant to leave his wife and hand out how to vote cards for the greens- now we're thinking!

Also, I feel we need to face any Demons of the past. The sad thing is, we might like these crazy bastards now! Have you though of that?! I was scared as HELL of horses till just recently, but I discovered if you take CONTROL and beat them within an inch of their lives, you can get what you want and have a fine time into the bargain. That's where I see this all going.

Satre chased by giant Lobsters? Were these the same ones removed from Jayne Mansfields bum? I'd like to think they are. I'd surely crawl through a mile of her... oh never mind, but lobsters are JUST like horses, we'll get along FINE, with minimal disruption to our lives. Perhaps these old boys are like lobsters in a tank, and we just have to choose one to have thrown into the boiling water! How would that be?!?!? I'd ask for a stethoscope to hear the screams, though I'm told by Those Who Know that said screaming is the shrinking of their carpaces, but hell, I prefer the screaming scenario anyday.

What a response I've had to suggestions we attend. M_____y "definately not", P_____t "rather have my legs sawn off " (and I like the idea of P____t sawing his legs off as an entre, a sort of "hi ,I'm here, legless already" It's a cabaret act with blood- surely needed!) Thing is laddie, this isn't then, this is now, and if you have anything to get off your chest before apathy and wasting gets you, nows the FUCKING TIME! We must go free. I feel like a Berlin youth in '89/'90- the walls down and we can bust shit without the Stasi poppin' a cap in our ass.

Lastly, if all this cojoling hasn't got you fired up and frothing at the mouth; a simple threat- I will tell the most terrible lies about you:
- That you are a Jesuit priest in India and you LIKE IT
- That you are married to a Gen girl, have 2.5 kids and a Volvo (like YOUR parents eh lad!?)
- That you are somewhere in Pakistan, near the border, with a Qur'an and a beard.

Maybe you can come along and say that you have been, at various times ALL THESE THINGS!?

Now we're cooking.

But I fear, that fear will rule, and I will sit in the corner with F______y bitching about J.B.'s perfect hair.... like old times.

Oh well, there's the 20 yr reunion next huh?
Thomasr

Voting with your feet, ... errr paddle

Sending a message or just sending a madman elsewhere...?

Police have called off a search for an American canoeist bound for Indonesia, saying they are no longer concerned for his welfare.

Northern Territory police launched the air search last Tuesday after the 38-year-old man began paddling to Indonesia, 1,000 km away, in his six-metre outrigger canoe.

The man apparently told locals before he left the Northern Territory he was unhappy with Prime Minister John Howard and the presidents of Indonesia and the United States and was going to Indonesia to take action.

Take action? Holy SHIT good luck with the Indos. He'll be lucky if the don't just flay him on the beach and make him eat his own damn kidneys.

The Age article

Hey Rube!

That man, The Man, Hunter S Thompson is still going strong. He's writing for ESPN.com, and American sports site. He's back to his roots,sports, drinking and firing weapons randomly into the air.

It's an election year and this brings out the best and worst in the man. Truth is, his worst is often his best:

Election years are always weird in America, and they always happen in football season. That is a fact of life. The President will always be elected on the first Tuesday in November, for good or ill, and not even Richard Nixon could change it. He hated anything that stood between him and a Green Bay Packers game, especially on Monday nights.

Nixon was a bad loser. He hated losing worse than death, and that is why I enjoyed him. We were both football fans, both addicts; and on some days, nothing else mattered.

But that was yesterday, and George Bush is now.

Where is Richard Nixon, now that we need him? He was crooked in every way and his hands were covered with blood -- but he was a rabid, high-rolling football fan with a sly taste for gin; and on some nights, he could be good company.

Ah, but we live in a new century now, and the president is not a football fan. The first real game of the season will be a huge event for most of us; but for young George Bush, it will mean nothing. He will feel no relief, no escape from the same sense of doom that fell on his father, only 12 years ago. The old man failed when he tried to get re-elected, and so will his son. They both peaked too soon, about six months before football season; and after that, they sank like punctured fish.

So the time has come to get busy on what we call "the summer book" in the business of gambling on presidential elections. And right now the London/Vegas numbers are about 51-49 percent for Bush, if only because he is the filthy-rich incumbent and the son of a global oil-industry magnate.

That is big in the politics business; but this year, it will not be enough to make up for all the wretched, disastrous failures of the Bush administration. Betting on George Bush to win this coming election would be like betting the Denver Broncos to win the Super Bowl.

My own whim at the moment says that John Kerry will win big in November, and that the Colts will finally win the Super Bowl. Why not? This is the year of the monkey, and George Bush will be lucky to get out of Washington without being put on trial for treason.

And that, gentle reader, is why HST is the King of the Gonzo

Hunter S Thompson archives

What does Beslan say about our common humanity?

From The Age letters:

I am extremely saddened and appalled by the actions of the Chechen terrorists in Beslan and the senseless suffering of the victims and their families. It's bad enough when such savagery is inflicted on adults; the tragedy is magnified when the victims are children and in such great numbers. The very knowledge that people can do this is forever corrupting.

But it is dangerous to simplistically separate ourselves from the terrorists. It's important to be reminded that these terrorists are of the same species as you and I and that aspects within our make-up make some, and perhaps many of us, capable of committing unspeakable acts under certain circumstances and inflicting incredible suffering on others.

Though capable of great charity, commitment, compassion, sacrifice, beauty and friendship, we humans need to understand this flaw in our make-up.

Although it is obvious that the human condition is complex, it is unbelievably under-studied. We need honestly to examine these flaws and learn more about our complexities. Then we may avert some atrocities in the future.

Dean Frenkel, Lower Plenty

Remind anyone of something?

Kurtz: I've seen the horror. Horrors that you've seen. But you have no right to call me a murderer. You have no right to call me a murderer. You have a right to kill me. You have a right to do that, but you have no right to judge me . It's impossible for words to describe what is necessary to those who do not know what horror means. Horror. Horror has a face, and you must make a friend of horror.

Horror and mortal terror are your friends. If they are not, then they are enemies t o be feared. They are truly enemies.

I remember when I was with Special Forces--it seems a thousand centuries ago--we went into a camp to inoculate it.

The children.

We left the camp after we had inoculated the children for polio, and this old man came running after us, and he was crying. He couldn't see. We went there, and they had come and hacked off every inoculated arm. There they were in a pile--a pile of little arms. And I remember... I... I... I cried, I wept like some grandmother. I wanted to tear my teeth out, I didn't know what I wanted to do. And I want to remember it, I never want to forget.

And then I realized--like I was shot...like I was shot with a diamond...a diamond bullet right through my forehead. And I thought, "My God, the genius of that, the genius, the will to do that." Perfect, genuine, complete, crystalline, pure. And then I realized they could stand that--these were not monsters, these were men, trained contras, these men who fought with their hearts, who have families, who have children, who are filled with love--that they had this strength, the strength to do that.

If I had ten divisions of those men, then our troubles here would be over very quickly.