December 21st, 2005

Chris Keeley

FYI:

FYI:

Make Your Freedom of Information Act Request
 

Click here to read the full FOIA request (PDF document).

George Bush is using the National Security Agency to conduct surveillance on American citizens without the consent of any court. After initially refusing to confirm the story, the President has admitted to personally overseeing this domestic spying program for years.
These actions are explicitly against the law. But the administration says that other laws somehow allow for this unprecedented use of a foreign intelligence agency to spy on Americans right here in the United States. According to reports, political appointees in the Justice Department's Office of Legal Counsel wrote still-classified legal opinions laying out the supposed justification for this program.
Governor Howard Dean is filing a formal demand that they release these documents. You can add your name to a Freedom of Information Act request by providing the information below ..

Chris Keeley

Crass sexuality seems to be a particularly Russian obsession

http://gattacainc.typepad.com/my_weblog/2005/12/kodak_assvertis.html

Kodak assvertises on Ukrainian models' butts

Snip from thespunker.com: "Assvertising was so great you knew it would be copied. (...) Apparently, Kodak used the derriere media placement during a photo convention in Kiev, Ukraine. At least two hot women were hired to wear ridiculously short mini skirts with Kodak logoed panties underneath and then drops things on the convention floor and pick them up."
Link

posted by Xeni Jardin

Chris Keeley

(no subject)

Winter

Andy Goldsworthy, “Torn crack in leaves / Laid on a sheet of ice wedged between two trunks of a Hawthorn that had once been a single tree until struck by lightning.” Tatton Park, Cheshire, Nov. 23, 2005.

Chris Keeley

I violently cast up my eyes, which were filled with the radiant rainbows of joyous tears. . . .

THE WORD
by VLADIMIR NABOKOV
Issue of 2005-12-26 and 2006-01-02
Posted 2005-12-19

Swept out of the valley night by an inspired oneiric wind, I stood at the edge of a road, under a clear pure-gold sky, in an extraordinary mountainous land. Without looking, I sensed the lustre, the angles, and the facets of immense mosaic cliffs, dazzling precipices, and the mirrorlike glint of multitudinous lakes lying somewhere below, behind me. My soul was seized by a sense of heavenly iridescence, freedom, and loftiness: I knew that I was in Paradise. Yet, within this earthly soul, a single earthly thought rose like a piercing flame—and how jealously, how grimly I guarded it from the aura of gigantic beauty that surrounded me. This thought, this naked flame of suffering, was the thought of my earthly homeland. Barefoot and penniless, at the edge of a mountain road, I awaited the kind, luminous denizens of Heaven, while a wind, like the foretaste of a miracle, played in my hair, filled the gorges with a crystal hum, and ruffled the fabled silks of the trees that blossomed amid the cliffs lining the road. Tall grasses lapped at the tree trunks like tongues of fire; large flowers broke smoothly from the glittering branches and, like airborne goblets brimming with sunlight, glided through the air, puffing out their translucent convex petals. Their sweet, damp aroma reminded me of all the finest things I had experienced in my life.

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