Thursday, June 23, 2005

Does Philip K. Dick dream of Electric Sheep?

Reality has become twisted in a bizarre mobius loop.

Philip K. Dick, world renowned science fiction author is dead, dead as a doornail, this we know.

Dick died in 1982 at the age of 53 after a life of drug abuse, paranoia and a prolific career that spans 44 novels and 121 short stories. These stories often dealt with mans relation to the universe, and what exactly makes us human in a world increasingly dominated by simulcra and artifice.

He was not a novelist but a man who used the novelists tool box to expound on truth and philosphy in an attempt to explain the mysteries and contradictions of life to himself.

One of the devices that Dick repeatadly used was one whereby Robots or Androids had been developed to such a stage that it was impossible to physically distinguish them from humans, and even the robots were programmed to believe they were human. This device was used to examine what makes us human. The most famous of these "Robot" novels being "Do androids dream of Electric Sheep" which was turned into the film "Blade Runner" by Ridley Scott in 1982, the year of Dicks Death.

In November 2004 David Hanson of Hanson Robotics began bleeding a stream of irony and confusion into the river of reality. He has teamed up with the FedEx institute of technology and the University of Texas' Automation and research institute to manufacture a Robotic Simulcra (pictured above) of Philip K. Dick himself. The Dick Robot itself apparenty incorporates what Hanson refers to as "a convergence of the worlds best expressive robotic hardware, natural language and machine vision that will appear in a wide range of applications such as advertising, entertainment and education."

I am not sure that if Dick were alive today he would approve of his image, and voice being used in advertising and entertainment, as many of his concerns in his novels expressed rage and helplessness at the individual being exploited by a heavily controlled and monitored mechanised technological society.

I leave you with a quote from the man himself.

"So I ask, in my writing, What is real? Because unceasingly we are bombarded with pseudorealities manufactured by very sophisticated people using very sophisticated electronic mechanisms. I do not distrust their motives; I distrust their power. They have a lot of it. And it is an astonishing power: that of creating whole universes, universes of the mind."

It seems to me to be the ultimate corruption, that the man who raged so fiercely and furiously at the erosion and co-option of our individual identities by labyrinthine machievellian structures like corporations and governments be used in such a way.

Who knows what they will make it tell us?

Peace and Hope


Tuesday, June 21, 2005

Old Capitalist White Billionaire Scum, are finally starting to get whats coming to them.

"But I'm 80, i'll die in prison!" - yes you will, yes you will indeed........MWA-HA-HA-HA!!!!

Finally some good news emanating from the bowel that is America's court system.

John J. Rigas (pictured in the photo above) head of the worlds sixth largest cable company Adelphi Communications Corporation has just been sentenced to 15 years in prison for looting billions of dollars from his company's coffers.

Previously this kind of prison sentence was only meted out to teenagers who sold a ten dollar bag of marijuana to their friends.

Rigas who still maintains to this day that he did nothing wrong, was reminded that this might not in fact be the case when Judge Leonard B. Sand of Federal District Court in Manhattan said "Even to this moment, you say you did nothing wrong; that's what is unacceptable." apparently it's about fifteen years worth of unacceptable.

Won't the poor man be lonely in Prison? no, not at all. Due to a rare bout of humanitarian thinking on the courts behalf, Timothy J. Rigas, Mr. Rigas's 49-year-old son and former CFO (chief finaincial officer) of the company was sentenced to twenty years at the same trial. His other son, Michael, was acquitted of conspiracy and wire fraud charges. Though before he starts any celebration of freedom he still has to face down the barrel of another trial in October for securities and bank fraud counts. So there may well be a large Rigas family reunion in prison yet.

Riga's gaggle of defense lawers, who were obviously of the opinion that this case was going to be treated like most white collar crime that strangles millions of working people a year, petitioned for a maximum sentence of six months for Mr. Rigas and his son.

Peter Fleming, the lead defense lawyer on the Riga's trial said "It's a very stiff sentence. We're living in hard times." Perhaps he was wondering who was going to pay his fee, cause if you look at most white collar criminals, here and in the States you'll find that they aren't going through any hard times at all, compared to the working class and colored people (4,919 black male prison and jail inmates per 100,000 black males in the United States, 1,717 Hispanic male inmates per 100,000 Hispanic males and 717 white male inmates per 100,000 white males, mostly poor white males).

The tide is starting to turn, perhaps, where the most dangerous criminals are concerned, those that cause untold misery to an untold number of people the world over. These people are not the violent criminals or drug dealers that the media so frequently uses to scare us into staying home. They are the white collar criminals, those of them who destroy the ecology of the planet, lose whole demographics their jobs, exploit children and third world countries, some even going so far as to co-operate with death squads to sort out management-worker relations.

The people in power in the US, to save their own scrawney necks from the enraged hoi-polloi are beginning to look at you, your books, and your crimes. It doesn't matter how powerfull your lobbies are, when the politicians are faced with a choice between them and you - you will be sacrificed if it keeps the torch bearing mob from their doors.

This case will hopefully set a precedent of stiffer sentences, I for one would dearly like to attend the disembowelment and quartering of CEO's that for their own personal gain cause the suffering of others.

It is a step on the way to deconstructing the Corporation in its entirety.

Peace and Hope.


Monday, June 20, 2005

Tall Ships Hit Dublin

" yea, they have slain the servants with the edge of the sword; and I only am escaped alone to tell thee." Job 1:16

Hidden was I, in the aft storage locker of the ship, cloaked with shadows, a stowaway from port taxes.

I had nay but dry buscuits and was ridden with scurvy when the Death Freighter attacked and the black hearted pirates boarded us.

Our Captain was the first to be killed, and then the rest of the crew.

The bosun was nailed, crucifixion style, to the mast. They took his eyes, the dark bloody sockets still stare at me in dreams.

The rest of the men were beheaded, their decapitated heads nailed to the prow of the ship in place of the beauty of Lillith, the figurehead.

Some crew were keel hauled with wire. Some crew were drowned.

All the heads were taken and spiked, for the pleasure of the Pirates Captain Crazyfuck.

Crazyfuck cackled as he waved a bottle in one hand and held his engorged penis in the other. Drunk and raving, his "jolly roger" tatooed bell end darted in and out of the mouths of the skewered heads.

I existed for three days in fear and trembling, eating the strange moss that grew damp and glowed on the roof of my storage locker and hearing Crazyfuck's heavy step bend the boards above my head.

His constant wheezing laughter only ceased when he slept.

Then came the day we docked and the Captain was poised to let his bilge rats loose on the City of Dublin.

However as it turned out, they were not prepared for the actions of a brave traffic warden and a fat off duty employee of Securicor.

You people don't know how close you came.


Peace and Hope


Friday, June 17, 2005

Das Frauleinbot....Sex doll invented by Nazis

Just in from the historical archives of "Words of Fire, Ink of Blood".... apparently the Nazis invented the world’s first blow up sex doll.

Her name, or at least her project name was "Borghild" (in Norse mythology the wife of Sigmund and Mother of Sigurd the Dragon Slayer) and was, in true Nazi fashion euphemistically referred to as a "field hygienic project", Final Solution anyone?.

Apparently this was a project that was ordered direct from the office of Heinrich Himmler who had become concerned about the "Unnecessary losses" that the German army was suffering in occupied France at the time due to the charms of the French prostitutes.

Borghild was born, built, created, Dresden in 1941 with what was referred to as "skin friendly polymers" and, ehm, a "realistic organ". Of course being built by the Nazis meant that she was manufactured to their Aryan ideal of beauty, pale skin, blue eyes, and of course blonde hair - Nazis are nothing if not predictable.

Borghilds "father"
IG Farben said of his creation that its face was an "artificial face of lust.....exactly like the common wanton's face."

Apparently it never got widespread distribution across the Fronts, because as the fortunes of the war changed, and the Nazis were forced into retreat, the project was shelved.

Unfortunatly no photographic of Borghild exists. Still you have to run the idea up the flagpole and give it a manly and erect salute.

Peace and Hope


Wednesday, June 15, 2005

My Venus Flytrap

Ok people, since I have been gone for a while, and as a result of a lack of posting the hits on this site have dropped to an almost embarrasing level. But now with the new flood of posts (starting this week) I am going to follow my friend "scrubjockeys" plan for getting his hits back up to a point where he felt that he was actually being read by someone.

Well if it worked for him, it should work for let's get that flytrap working on the unsuspecting denzines of the web......

words of fire ink of blood lindsay lohan jessica alba sigourney weaver boobies words of fire ink of blood gail porter suicide pics Michael Jackson trial XXX lolita xxx jesus xxx words of fire ink of blood pamela anderson kylie minogue naked lolita xxx tom cruise gay anus gay jesus gay words of fire ink of blood plastic surgery my mother the choad cunt Nine Inch Nails driven through Trent Reznors empty depressed cock cranium janet jackson nipplegate tits words of fire ink of blood jesus fucks the olsen twins in the ass with bigger penis now viagra porn Allah mohammed words of fire ink of blood young nubile teens Fred Durst tiny little hairy man ass words of fire ink of blood prolapsed fake vaginas of christian singles words of fire ink of blood ashlee simpson protracted anus words of fire ink of blood fag blowjob pussy.

So with that stream of obscenity I should at least let the net giger counter light up a bit, and get one or two more hits than I would have normally, trapping the "prolapsed fake vaginas" web searchers into some kind of literary situation (pictures and videos all the time are bad for your health you know) where I can convince them that ceaseless masturbation is a bad thing if it's not placed in it's proper context.

"Wecome back FatherCrow"

"Thanks it's good to be back".

Peace and Hope


Show me your Spine.....

Moaning and lurching through the warm wet darkness of a June night I come, hunched and muttering.

The blog is back with a tale of a back, my back to be precise.

Years past, when I was a kid I started the abuse, falling off trees and ramping over my friends on a bicycle. Each incident jarred my spine and shifted the vertebrae into ever more creative positions, as it coped with my absolute disregard for its existence.

Later, years later, as the fights, parachute jumps and a multitude of motorcycle accidents rolled by I gradually became aware of its existence as it occasionally shot the white light of protest pain up through the column and into my brain, letting me know about the possibility of death, and the ridiculousness of my youthful illusion of immortality.

It was in the states that I first went to a chiropractor. It was many years ago now, 1995 or perhaps 1994 I had just had a collision with an unwelcoming slab of concrete, courtesy of a ramp, a pair of rollerblades and of course, my old nemesis, gravity.

The Chiropractor in question was a professional, he took me in to his office and asked me myriad questions about my accidental history and I regaled him with a litany of crimes against my spinal cord, most accidental, and some, I have to admit, not. Then he x-rayed me, and told me of a chipped vertebra in my lower neck/upper spine.

Then I was on the table.

It was like being in one of those wrestling matches you see in American Movies before the kid gets sent to 'Nam to get his legs blown off to learn the futility of war. Elbows and fists pummeled me; arms twisted and reefed my shoulders and legs into positions they had never been in before. I could hear the cracks of my bones ricocheting around my cranial cavity, not so much feeling them as hearing them. I expected to be knotted as a Muppet by the end of the ordeal and paralyzed to boot.

Not so.

When the man had finished his medieval martial arts, I stood and the pain was gone. He asked me to come back the next week and he could continue with the "treatment" but the pain was gone and I saw no need.

Over the next few years, whenever I realigned my back into a position that caused me to screech like a banshee being tazered and walk like the hunchback of Notre Dame I would return to one of the cabal of chiropractors that stretched over the face of the globe like some kind of Secret masonic lodge. Over the years I noticed the disquieting fact that many of these Chiropractors were in fact scientologists who would try to convert you to their ridiculous Hubbard alien waffle whilst you were on the couch. There's nothing like hearing your spine snap as the man who is assaulting you "suggests" that you go and get "cleared" by those glassy eyed sheep and listen (for a huge cash donation) to their comical cosmology. But for the benefit of my spine, I continued to throw cash hand over fist at the Chiropracter conspiracy. It seemed like a worthwhile exchange, the removal of my pain for a few minutes restraining laughter so the true believer who was fucking with my vertebrae would not put me in a wheelchair for the rest of my life for giggling at his naiveté and laughing at his yacht owning messiah....

There was always something odd about these people. Not only did they tend to have a leaning (forgive the pun) toward scientology, but they also had a persecution complex about the mainstream medical community, specifically osteopaths.

Most Chiropractors train for about six years. Osteopaths have to become doctors and then do additional years training to become Osteopaths, which is nearly double the training that Chiropractors get, and dear god are they aware of it. I never heard a doctor complain about them, but I did hear about their constant complaints, specifically from Chiropractors when I was under their manipulative hands. But still I went, as they seemed to do the job.

I turned to the Osteopaths this week, but what turned me?

Sit down by the fire and I'll tell you a story to send you away to bed.....

About two months ago I did my back in again, this time nothing too visually impressive or something, I bent down too suddenly to pick up a towel. The pain was pretty bad though, so I immediately made an appointment with a Chiropractor that I had not seen before.

When I turned up at his office, the midget (perhaps I am being cruel, but I am pretty tall and he was under five foot) asked me a few preliminary questions, which I answered, giving a fairly detailed history of the abuse I have put my back through over the years, taking special time to specify that I had a chip out of my neck vertebrae and I had been advised not to have it adjusted. He began to explain to me that "stopping my pain" was not what chiropractors were about, it was more the solution of "long term" problems.

He then threw me down on the couch, and proceeded to do two adjustments. Then he allowed me to sit up, and said something to the tune of "thanks very much, that will be thirty five euros, please come back tomorrow, we will have to do at least six or seven adjustments over the next two or three weeks" each visit of course at thirty five euros a pop, it was necessary he said because my back was in his clinical estimation "the wrong way around"

I came back then next day, when he did a NECK ADJUSTMENT on me. I have never had a pain in my neck, but by god I did that day, and the day after and the day after that. The second visit I made was the last visit I will ever make to a chiropractor since he ignored the most basic medical principals of healing.

The next day, by sheer synchronicity, as if to validate my decision, all over the news here in Ireland was a medical community bulletin that there had been found a link between Chiropractic neck adjustments and Stroke victims. A large number of former Chiropractic patients in Ireland had succumbed to strokes shortly after getting neck adjustments off the Chiropractic community. These were patients with no serious problems with their necks who now had serious problems blinking by themselves.

It didn't take any more than that, I made an appointment with an Osteopath. The appointment I had yesterday. The Osteopath looked at me funny when I asked him, in his clinical opinion was my spine "the wrong way around" (admittedly just to see his reaction).

Anyways, one day after the Osteopaths appointment and my back feels better than it has in years of Chiropractic appointments, and more than that, instead of a course of 20 fucking appointments at thirty five euro a pop, he asked me back for one more appointment to see if the adjustments had set in. All in all free, after the VHI has paid for a third of it and I get tax back on the rest.

The choice seems plain no?

No? well then I'll see you in a wheelchair someday soon.

Peace and Hope


Tuesday, June 14, 2005

Robot wants to say hello

"Repliee Q1 (at left in both pictures) appeared yesterday at the 2005 World Expo in Japan, where it gestured, blinked, spoke, and even appeared to breathe. Shown with co-creator Hiroshi Ishiguru of Osaka University, the android is partially covered in skinlike silicone. Q1 is powered by a nearby air compressor, and has 31 points of articulation in its upper body.

Internal sensors allow the android to react "naturally." It can block an attempted slap, for example. But it's the little, "unconscious" movements that give the robot its eerie verisimilitude: the slight flutter of the eyelids, the subtle rising and falling of the chest, the constant, nearly imperceptible shifting so familiar to humans."

Good Grief...........


Friday, June 10, 2005


You can all stop your slavering......I know its what you want....

Peace and Hope