I am not a Gentile, nor am I a Jew. Why let others define who you are?
These are the words of Deputy Minister for Religious Affairs, Rabbi Eli Ben Dahan, from the settler party Habayit Hayehudi given during an interview for the Israeli daily Ma’ariv:
What will you do if the Knesset votes on a bill legalizing gay marriage?
No way. Also, a Jew cannot marry a gentile.
Is that the same thing?
We don’t recognize either of them. And anyway, a Jew always has a much higher soul than a gentile, even if he’s gay.
Just been reading about the exciting news coming out of Brazil:
Inventors Nilson Barbosa and Cleriston Leal, of "Evolutions in Energy" (Evolucoes Energia) in Imperatriz - MA, Brazil, are claiming to have a commercially available, self-powered system for electricity generation.
They call it the "Earth-electron captor" or the "free-space electron captor" electrical generator, depending on how it is configured. Apparently, it is a system with no moving parts, no noise, which can be self-looped and mobile.
On their home page, they say that they have a unit commercially available that produces 39.6 kW at 220V while consuming just 440 W from the grid. That's enough to hand the peak load of two typical US homes. The pricing is not listed on their site.
We are told the economy is recovering, we are told not to worry. "All is well, we are seeing the recovery now", I have been hearing and reading words like these for some time now. I think I'd need to be on drugs to believe this message.
How can there be a debt problem in a monetary system that relies on the creation of debt to facilitate the creation of new money? If debt is a problem and is considered generally to be a problem in the world of banking, money and political finance then it seems like a devastating error to have made it a part of the actual process of creating money in the first place. Of course debt is a problem when it is an integral part of the finance process.
Much effort is being expent trying to legislate for mandatory GMO food labelling. These efforts are failing and I think I know why.
Big corporations that own and produce GMO food are already well prepared to fight the labelling argument. And they will always win this argument because they can make the pro-labellers look like whining self-centred middle-class nuisances through use of their scientific data and the propaganda that is then attached to their scientific conclusions.
Is history a thing that repeats itself, a cell that reproduces? Can we break out?
---A local scribe wrote about the outcast, the outsider:
Just like his father, they said, when he went over the hill and down into the mine, but when he came back up, his face shining, his bare arms clean, unblistered, untouched by the heat and the pain, they shrank away from him as if he had been cursed, and shunned him in the tavern and the marketplace and the church, and his family cast him out and he took up residence in an old half-burned cabin at the edge of town.
He went back down into the mine every morning, and he was never affected. His fellows avoided him.
Why build something you will never use? This is the question that ?? had asked himself before being transported an incomprehensible distance to a hostile world, and being left essentially marooned forever. The machines built by the ancients were wondrous indeed, but one must not ponder a question if the answer is not already known.
Mug Tanner is adrift in a space craft. One he had stolen a very long time ago.
He is unable to direct where it goes, but it seems to be on a schedule. He has visited one world after another in a seemingly endless journey. Spending days on some planets and in a few as long as a lifetime.
The ship was quite a steal when Mug had first laid eyes upon her. One of the most interesting kind, one of the ancients' that looked mostly restored already. Just floating in the geo-stationary orbit of its nearby moon, where the restoration and repair crews lived. Mug had not had the time to check all the ship's systems. He was having to move fast. He would get the ship moving first and then locate the navigational console when safely away from this place.
His arms were waving, trying to grab hold of him. A tooth splits in half. The air is laden with blood, his mouth is too. Who are they? With their faces contorted by rage. They want their fun.
His want to kill, which before was to get away, has sobered. I'm going down here!
Hair tears from skin while his right leg and foot beat his groin. Someone must hear, someone will come. Or I will die.
Loud clicks followed the sudden breeze. With his head back and legs slipping, the gound cracks into his arse. And like a pack of wolfs the three men kick, in rhythm. The tingling is everywhere. The rush. The blacking out.