Atom Heart Bother

<Conrad's Eyes Narrowed Dangerously>

No!  I don't have indigestion.  That's me giving you lot out there a warning look, lest you be unaware.  Don't forget, Remote Nuclear Detonator.  Laugh or die.  Your choice.

     ANYWAY Your Humble Scribe has been playing Pink Floyd's "Atom Heart Mother" several times recently, for no other reason than that it was thrown up at random on my i-pod playlist, and I re-played it a couple of times to see what I thought of it.  Art!

     For those of you who have been living in a submarine environment capsule for the past 53 years, the album cover had, after the band's reluctance to be associated with the 'space rock' genre, to be completely ordinary.  So not only do you get cows in a field, there is no band name or album title, which must have confused people who thought they were getting a recording from The Wurzels or Henry Cow.  And the album title itself?  Taken from a London newspaper, and an article they had writtenabout a young woman with a plutonium-powered pacemaker, which is not a phrase you ever expected to hear today.

          Again, if you are unfamiliar with the title track, it's 23 minutes long and the band had already completed their stuff before turning it over to Ron Geesin, who had worked with Roger Waters, the bassist and songwriter.  He then added lots of brass, cellos and a choir, making it sound verrrry different from their usual fare.  Art!

Ron

     My considered opinion is that you could remove all the choral effects and not miss anything; some of the brass and string work is effective, if you remove about 50% of their totality.  Conrad, when he takes over the world, will have all the clutter removed by expert electronic fiddly-device button-twiddlers and then we'll see what's what.  Yes, it will be quite a chore, hence today's title.

     Motley, make me a milkshake!

Vanya's VPN Victory

If you have been reading BOOJUM! for any length of time, then you know we occasionally put up a photo or screenshot of audience statistics around the world, with the South Canadians usually up in the forefront of People With Good Taste.  Last month there were a surprising number of Ruffians reading the blog; all of 40 of them, the darlings.  It's possible a few of them were FSB members trying to find out what's really going on and cracking a smirk whilst they read, as we're still here.  Your Humble Scribe has never hidden his rampant distaste for Tsar Poutine, so it's unlikely any of his supporters reading BOOJUM! would ever come back.  Then the traffic fell to only 6, probably because the FSB members were fired and the citizens left had to turn their PCs off whilst the Loyalty Squads went prowling down apartment corridors.  Then, today - Art!

16

     Granted, it's not as impressive as 40.  Hope springs eternal to the human breast, and mine, too.  I shall have to put up an item about Ruffians that doesn't do them down, poor dears.  Watch for it.

     

On The Scene With Green

Yes, another anonymous Sony World Photography picture.  This one is wild in terms of colour and contrast.  Art!

     I've put it up first as Small, because that way there are fewer visual cues to help you understand what you're seeing.  An oil-slick in a giant vat of washing-up liquid?  Bin-bags being recycled?  Part of the production process to create Sprong™?

     None of the above.  Let's use this sharpened knitting needle to wake Art and motivate him.

     What you see are three Bengali elephants being given their twice-weekly bath and scrub, which doesn't really explain why the water is such a shade of emerald.  Being done on Saint Patrick's Day?

Meanwhile, Nearly Eighty Years Ago

Yes, we are back to "The War Illustrated" and you'll just have to wait until tomorrow before we get more of the thrilling Titan II missile story.  Just imagine and remember, there are only twenty years separating these scenes of combat in Tunisia during the Second World 'Special' Military Operation from those of a Titan II missile silo going live*.  Art!

     For your information, that's a Valentine tank (nobody has come up with a convincing explanation why it was named thus) of the Eighth Army entering Ben Gardane.  I can't see any divisional signs on the tank, and if they'd been there the censor would probably have removed them.  Notice that this edition has a publication date of April 2nd, yet the picture dates from February 15th; once again, publication is delayed to avoid passing on any information to the Axis.  Art!

     This is the situation map as of mid-March.  As you can see, the Axis position has little strategic depth and a thrust by the Allies on Sfax would have cut the enemy position in two, which is probably what they were expecting, so Field Marshal Alexander avoided doing just that.  What swines Perfidious Albion can be!  Instead pressure was placed from the southeast and northwest, from the Eighth and First armies respectively.

Bring On The Torment

Don't worry, we are nearing the end of "Tormentor", so if you roll your eyes and scroll downwards at this point, Be Strong!  Mind you, I have tens of thousands words-worth of long-form fiction that I can inflict, so don't celebrate prematurely.

The window next to him suddenly displayed a tracery of frost on the inside, as condensation turned to ice.  Warned by this tell-tale sign, he bared the bracelet on his wrist, only to relax somewhat as Yvonne appeared on the seat ahead of him, turning to look back.

               ‘Only me.  Really, it is.  I had to search for ages to find you.  Have you started going out?’

               ‘Yes,’ replied Louis, calming down.  ‘Chingley Hall.’  He checked again; yes, he was the only person still on the top deck.

               Tinkling ethereal laughter went bouncing round the top deck of the bus.  Mocking didn’t begin to describe it.

               ‘Yes, thank you so much.  My self-confidence has now dried up and died.’

               Yvonne instantly changed to contrite.

               ‘Ooh, ignore me being nasty.  Was it because of those articles in the paper?  Silly boy.  If you want spirits, go to the hospital.’

               As a suggestion it made sense, from what he now knew about the non-material world. 

               ‘Hey, it was an idea to get me out and about.  Get off the home-work-supermarket treadmill.’

               ‘I salute you. See you indoors.’

               She vanished as he got off the bus, and he didn’t see her again until walking into the lounge, when she popped out of the kitchen and danced over to a copy of the Bible.

               ‘Proof,’ she chirped, placing her palm flat on the book and not suffering any effects.

               ‘What a good idea!  Can you do that every time you manifest?  That way I’ll automatically know whether you really are you.’

               Yvonne rolled her eyes in mock-despair at the paranoia.  Louis pointedly put the lights on, turned on the television and drew the curtains, taking care to pull the crucifix out of his shirt and allow it unfettered dangling passage.  Throwing himself down on the settee, he turned the television on and gestured at Yvonne to sit alongside.

     What happened at Chingley Hall?  Dog Buns, I hate lazy aut - er - ah, yes, carry on, nothing to see here.

Ooops

I already posted about the elephant washing yesteryon.  Well, we'll see if anyone out there is paying attention, won't we?

Finally -

You couldn't make it up, and if you did people would accuse you of having a sick sense of humour.  I refer, of course - obviously! - to the latest Ruffian self-immolating excursion in Ukraine.  You will recall that they captured the defunct reactor site at Chernobyl early in the w - 'Special' Military Operation?  Art!

     Chernobyl.  You know, where the WORST NUCLEAR ACCIDENT IN HISTORY took place.  A place that is STILL DANGEROUSLY CONTAMINATED.  And yet the Ruffians don't seem to have understood either of these facts.  O no.  Their tanks and other vehicles went churning up the topsoil in the Red Forest Zone, THE WORST AFFECTED REGION OF ALL.  Guess who was breathing in said dust and having it settle on them?  Yes, the hapless Ruffian stubble-hoppers.  One wonders what their NCOs and officers have between their ears, because not satisfied with already getting dangerously contaminated, the stubble-hoppers were instructed to dig trenches, further exposing them to radioactive contamination.  Several hundred of them are now undergoing treatment in Belarus, prognosis unknown.

     That's the Red Forest, and you can see why.

     Undoubtedly plant officials and staff, and any locals still resident, knew all about the Red Forest, and are probably laughing themselves sick with malicious glee.  'Point And Laugh', one surmises.  What else can you expect from a plan concocted by Corporal Jones after two bottles of gin and a funny cigatette?

*  Perhaps 'operational' is a better word.  'Going live' implies that the ICBMs are in flight and we've got minutes left.