Sunday, December 31, 2006

The prisoner of love .
By Kirsten Nour Namskau

Some times it’s difficult to be a viewer without being able to do anything to help.
I remember 28 years ago . . . the daughter of a friend of mine had got her first boy-friend. They were so in love although she was only 16 years . . . he was 20.
He had been in love with her for long time, but knew she was too young to go steady with any-one. So he had been “waiting” for her, looked at her on distance and followed her progress at school.
When he approached her the first time, she didn’t really want a boy-friend, but as time went and they were in the same circle of friends, she found him more and more interesting.
He always treated her with respect and care.
When she was 17 years old, he wanted to marry her. But her parents meant she was too young.
They engaged in secret . . . in secret, she was wearing his ring, in secret they had made the decision to marry when she was 18.
In secret, she started to buy things to their home to be, in secret he started to look for an apartment.
Few days before her 18th birthday, she didn’t feel well.
She went to a doctor who confirmed her pregnancy. She got terrified and kept it as a secret for a few days.
But early morning on her birthday, she couldn’t hold the secret any more . . .
She called her boy-friend at work . . . when he came to the phone, she started to cry and couldn’t say more than: “please come, something has happened and I’m so afraid . . . can you come . . . can you come now ??”
He panicked hearing her in this state. Something had happened to his girl, his love, the one he soon should marry. Today, they should celebrate her 18th birthday. Whatever it was, he had to come to her so fast as possible.
He told her to go to Tavern where they used to meet and wait for him there.
He left work and rushed to his motor-bike, jumped on and took the high-way in maximum speed.
She went to the Tavern and ordered a coke. She waited for many hours . . . until she understood that he would not come at all. She believed that he had gone “chicken” and run away.
She went home and cried in silent.
The next day she could read in the newspaper why he had not come . . .
In his eager to come as fast as possible to his girl . . . he drove too fast and had come in an accident. He died instantly.
She got frozen of fear and sorrow.

. . . She was not wanted at the funeral. She was standing on distance, watching her beloved be put in the soil . . . and cried in secret and silent. It felt as if her breath drifted away with her beloved.
The whole time of the pregnancy she carried the fear of becoming a mother . . . alone with a child.
When the child (a girl) got born, she saw that the girl looked much alike her father. She felt sorry that the girl never should learn to know her father. . . But a thought came to her mind.
He had been the only child . . . maybe his parents, who now were the girls grand-parents would like to know that hey had a grandchild. They had lost their son, but he had left something behind . . . a jewel of a grand-daughter.
They could tell her about her father . . . memories from his childhood and youth-hood.

She went to his parents with the girl . . . to tell them, that they had a grand-daughter.
But they shouted at her and told her that she was an opportunist who tried to take advantage of them.
She went home . . . ashamed and in silence she cried for her child.
But, she also felt she had been insulted in an unfair way. She had not had in her mind to take advantage of anyone.
She went to a doctor and took a blood-analysis of the child, then She went home and wrote a letter;
“You called me an opportunist and said I only wanted to take advantage of your sorrow after the loss of you son.
That was not what I wanted . . . nothing for myself, but something for my child. Her right to know her grand-parents and I thought you would be so happy to know. You have lost your son, the only child you had. But before he died, he left you a gift behind . . . his only child, your grand-child.
I have got a blood-analysis of my girl today and I send it to you in this letter. If it is in your interest to care for what your son left behind . . . compare the sample with one taken from your son.
I shall never bother you again, but if you ever want to see the mirror-picture of your son, the jewel he left behind, your grand-daughter . . . you have to contact me.”
She sent it in the mail to the parents of her late fiancé.

They did compare the blood-samples and they did found that their late son was the father of the child . . .
They did contact her and asked her to come with the child for a visit.
They finally did accept the child as their grand-child . . .
They were not anymore alone . . . their son was not all gone . . . he should always be remembered with joy and pleasure . . . through his only child they should learn to treasure.

Saturday, December 30, 2006

Imprisoned by work . . .

The priest was criticized because he was playing cards and was told it was the devil’s temptations. But he told them this ……

The Ess : reminds me of GOD ~ it is only one god

The King : reminds me of the 3 kings who came to the birth of Jesus, Jesus ~ the king over kings.

The Dame : reminds me of “Holy Maria” the mother of Jesus

The Knite : reminds me of the devil

The 10th : reminds me of the 10 commands

The 9th : reminds me of the 10 people with leper Jesus healed . . . only one thanked

The 8th : reminds me of the family of Noah who counted eight persons

The 7th : reminds me to rest on the seventh day

The 6th : reminds me of God who created the world during six days

The 5th : reminds me of when Jesus fed 5000 people with five fishes and two bread

The 4th : reminds me the Bible’s New Testament which contains four books . . . Marcus, Mathews,
Lucas and Johannes

The 3rd : reminds me of The Father , the child and the holy spirit

The 2nd : reminds me of The Old and The New Testament

The sum of all the cards + joker counts 365 . . . the same number as it is days in a year

It is 52 cards in a deck of cards . . . which is the same number as weeks in a year

It is 12 picture-cards in a deck of cards . . . which is the number of months in a year

It is 4 colours in a deck of cards . . . which is the number of weeks in a month

It is 13 cards in each series . . . which reminds me of Jesus last meal, Judas Iscariot (the betrayer) was no. thirteen at the table

Friday, December 29, 2006

Break the Ice . . .

Timofei lived in Russia. He was a happy boy . . . all until his parents suddenly died in a horrible accident.
He moved to live with his uncle in Moscow. His uncle was single and never got to marry neither.
He took care of the boy the best he could and the boy never actually suffered from anything.
He always had good clothes, went to good schools and got a decent education.
But at the age of 15, someone told him that his parents actually had left behind a quite big inheritance to him, and wondered where the inheritance had taken the way.
Timofei went to his uncle and asked if it was true about the inheritance. His uncle confessed that it was so, but that the money now was gone . . . used throughout the years by keeping Timofei in good shape, good clothes and good education. That was after his opinion, the best way to use the inheritance of the boy.
But Timofei did not agree. He got angry, knowing that the inheritance was gone.
He got so angry so he tried to kill his uncle. He fired a shot at him with a gun. But his uncle had a fast reaction, covered his face with his hand and the bullet went through his hand, something which ever after had made the hand useless with a star-mark right through the center of the hand.
Timofei was sentenced to 25 years in a Siberian jail.
In jail, his uncle came 2 times a year to visit him and to show that he didn’t have bad feelings for Timofei . . . not even after what he had done. But Timofei didn’t want to meet him. The anger in his mind and heart was unchangeable.
Timofei had although a very good behavior in the jail, so after 15 years he got released.
But he didn’t want to go back to Moscow, so he found a job and accommodation in a small village in Siberia.
He was hard-working so he soon enjoyed high respect among the citizen. After some time he even got to know a girl, who introduced him to the church.
They got married and Timofei started to go regular to the church with his wife.
But still, he didn’t want to meet his uncle when he came to visit. It was his wife who updated his uncle about their life.
Every evening, Timofei prayed to Good, asking if He could come in person to visit.
His wife told him that such thing could not happen, but Timofei was sure of that if he only prayed strong enough, The Lord himself would come.
When Christmas came, he told his wife to set the table for one person extra, since he expected God to come.
But God did not come . . .
Every year after this, he continued to tell his wife to set the table for one person extra, and every year he got more and more sure that this year He would come.
25 years went this way and the people in the village for long time had started to believe that he was a “strange minded” man.
But still, he wouldn’t meet his uncle and when it came letters, he only tore them without even open them.
His wife had several times during the years, tried to bring him to make peace with his uncle . . . without success.
Now, his uncle started to get old, and he had got a lethal illness. He knew he would die soon.
He wrote a letter to Timofei to tell him about his situation and asked Timofei for forgiveness for having used his inheritance.
But also this time, Timofei only tore the letter without open it and throw it in the trash-can.
Christmas came, and as usually in Siberia, there came a lot of snow and snow-storms howled around the walls of the house.
Also this year, Timofei ordered his wife to set the table for one person extra at the end of the table.
In Moscow, his uncle now knew that he would not live through the winter and it became important for him to get Timofei’s forgiveness before he died. Since Timofei didn’t answer his letters, he now decided to make a last visit.
He took the train to the village, but had to walk a long distance to the remote area where Timofei lived.
As he walked, it turned up a furious storm. The snow fast covered the track leading to Timofei’s house. After a while, he was not sure if he had gone lost and off the track. The snow reached him to the knees and made it difficult to continue.
He felt that he wouldn’t reach Timofei in time. He fell over and couldn’t come up on his feet again.
At the house of Timofei, the dinner was finish and his wife urged him to the table so they could start to eat. But Timofei said they should wait for a moment. This Christmas, he was sure The Lord would come in person.
The sow-storm howled around the corner of the house and earlier that day the windows almost broke in the wind, so he had gone out to put the shutters for the windows.

Suddenly, through the noise of the storm, they could hear knocking at the door.
Timofei shouted happily to his wife; “ It’s God coming, I told you that He would come . . . I told you.”
He went to open the door and almost could not hold the door for the strong wind and snow whirling into the room.
Outside, he saw a person in a big cloak with a huge hood covering the face and a strange light like a candle, was shining over his head.
Timofei took hold on the person and welcomed Him into their humble home. He led Him to the fire-place so He could warm himself a bit, then told Him to come to the table and eat with them . . . He was led to the end of the table, “the master’s seat”.
Timofei helped Him to take off the big cloak and they sat down to eat.
As the stranger took the knife in his hand, Timofei noticed the weakness in the stranger’s hand and suddenly he saw the mark of a star in His hand. Timofei was now sure this was The Lord, having the mark of the nails in his hands.
Humbly Timofei noticed it loud . . .
The stranger looked at him and said: “No, my son . . . I’m not Christ. I’m your uncle you do not recognize. The mark in my hand is from the shot you gave me.”
He continued: “You have always been like a son to me and I don’t have anybody else as family. Now I’m dieing of cancer but I wanted to visit you before I die, to ask for forgiveness. “
He also told Timofei how he almost died on his way. How he had lost the track to the house and fell in the snow. How the snow fast had covered him, when he suddenly could see a light on distance. He didn’t know from where he got the strength, but as he believed that the light came from the house of Timofei, he rose and followed the light. Every time he believed that he was at the light, the light had moved a bit more forward . . . . all until he was standing at the door, not knowing it was the door at Timofei’s house.
Timofei didn’t know how to react; he was taken by surprise and was off guard. He looked at his wife.
She looked at him and silent opened the Bible and started to read . . . . As she read, Timofei understood . . . . It had come to a time of forgiveness.

(They ate in silence and his uncle lived with them until he died 4 months later.)


Thursday, December 28, 2006

Make the door high and the gate wide . . .

By Kirsten Nour Namskau

I was 9 years, going in 3rd grade at school and we had just got TV. It was a big adventure every evening when the television had 4 hours program.
At the end of the year 1958 it was a big TV-show called “All star festival.” It was the first world-wide Aid-program, collecting money to the poor people in the world.
Everyone could donate money by give inn a call, during the program, to the local Aid-office sat up for the evening.
The program was entertained by “stars” from all over the world.
It was my first year at school with English-lessons so I enjoyed trying to understand what was said.

One of the artists was a woman from USA called “Buffy Saint Mari.” She was half “Red Indian” half “American”. Already at that time I wondered if her parent had given her that name, because they wanted her to be strong as a buffalo and patient as St. Maria . . . knowing that her life would not be an easy journey.
Usually she was a singer, but in this program, she did not sing . . . she told a story.
Even as little I understood of the words of the story . . . I understood the context of the story since she used such rich body-language.
All the words I did not understand, I hid in my heart to remember.
As I learned more and more English I also understood more and more of the words in the story, until it became complete.
The story is as following below : . . . . . (The balloon-man)

The balloon-man . . .

The small boy lived in the mountains of Bolivia. He was 10 years old and used to help his parents with the work in the field and to look after his smaller sister.
The family struggled to keep a somehow decent life, but although they lacked of money, they loved each-other and the little boy enjoyed to help in the field and he loved his little sister.
One day, he could hear some noise coming up from the city at the foot of the mountain.
He run to the edge of the mountain and looked down at the city.
Music and laughter and joyful sounds came with the wind rising along the mountain wall.
Circus had come to town.
The little boy ran down the small track leading to the town.
All the artists in the circus were parading in the street to announce their arrival.
Clowns, elephants, ballerina, a small gnome with a funny hat was rolling like a ball and jumping around, jongleur with 5 balls in the air at the same time, a flower-girl throwing roses to the people at the sidewalk . . .
He had never been in a circus, but he always felt as if he had been. Always when the circus came to town, he used to go to the place where they set up the circus-tent.
There . . . behind the tent, the artists used to train on their performances.
He climbed the fence circling the circus area, and sat on top of it watching the artists training their programs. The clowns, the ballerina dancing on the back of a horse, the acrobats, they trained the elephant to sit on a chair, beautiful decorated horses . . . .
Also this time he run directly to the place where he knew the circus-tent would be. He climbed up to sit on the fence, looking at the artists training their program.
It was already a long queue of people at the entrance, waiting to enter the circus.
Close to the entrance was a balloon-man dressed up as a clown. He was holding a big bouquet of balloons . . . red balloons, pink, yellow, blue, green balloons . . . balloons of all colors.
Every now and then somebody came and bought a balloon.
Suddenly something happened in the row of people.
A woman started to shout at her boy; “You naughty boy, why can’t you behave?”
The boy run out of the row and on distance made faces to his mom. His mom came running after him in anger, shouting: “Come her boy. I give you a slap when I get hold on you.”
The boy run and hid behind the balloon-man . . . he peeped out at his mom and made faces.
His mom, a big, strong woman, came running and with a fast move tried to catch the boy behind the balloon-man.
But as she did so, she puffed the balloon-man so strongly so he for a moment dropped the balloons to keep his balance.
It took only that moment for the balloons to start to rise towards the sky. Although the balloon-man tried to jump to catch them, they were already too high up in the sky.
There . . . all the balloons were floating slowly upwards, to meet the clouds.
On the fence, the little boy first got shocked by the boys behavior, so the clown loosing all the balloons and now he saw all the balloons rising up towards the sky . . . The red ones, the yellow ones, the blue and green and pink ones . . .
Suddenly, he was not sure why, but suddenly it came tears to his eyes as he was watching the balloons disappear between the clouds.
He jumped down from the fence and run to the clown and nipped in his trousers and said: “Balloon-man, balloon-man . . . can I ask you something?”
The balloon-man was staring up towards the sky . . . at all his balloons.
The little boy pulled in the big trousers of the clown and repeated: “Balloon-man, please . . .can I ask you something?”
The balloon-man looked down at the little dirty boy with torn clothes and said: “What boy?”
The little boy said with tears in his eyes and cry in his voice: “Balloon-man, please, can you tell me . . . if one of your balloons had been black . . . would that balloon also . . . .”
He pointed towards the sky with his finger going in upwards movements.
“Would it, balloon-man? Would it . . . “
The balloon-man looked up towards the sky, where all the balloons now were almost gone behind the clouds. Then he looked at the little dark boy with tears in his black eyes, and he understood what the boy was thinking about.
He let his fingers glide softly through the dark curly hair of the boy as he said with soft voice: “Sure, boy . . . sure. . . .”
He continued, more as if he was talking to himself as he again turned his face towards the sky:
“And who knows . . . maybe the black one is the one that would have gone highest.”

Wednesday, December 27, 2006

The mirror of life . . .

By Kirsten Nour Namskau

So many ways of experience life
While one is called whore is another called wife.

So many ways of experience pleasure
What for me is torture, is for you a treasure.

Insulting is felt in so many ways
What for you is a title of honor is for me a word of disgrace.

Where is the limit and what is a lie
When the limit is reached is that when you die?

Where does the word “abuse” come in
Is that when you feel the ice you are walking, start to get thin?

Where will you go then, with your complain
When everyone you contact tell you, it’s all in vane

Both lawyer and doctor and friends give advice
They remind you, your choice and this is the price.

They will tell . . . you deserved it since you didn’t obey
And be happy it’s only the kidney they took away

The next time you were told you should feel honored
When they took half of your liver and called you a donor

When also half of your lung is gone
It is then you are told to try to be strong.

When your Master or Devil or Manager say:
“Remember I love you, that’s why we do it my way”

When your vagina is burned, so you are no more a woman
Don’t believe it’s finish, that was only an omen

When they take your back-skin to make you a pillow
Enjoy the softness as if you are in a meadow

Open your hands and with grace receive
The life as a zombie, in which you believe

You are all given “something”, only to “relax”
So you don’t “wake up” and take a prolapse

When your husband or master or devil has friends
With the lawyers, the doctors and members of the governments

Then he is given only two option of winning,
The price which is given in “Lotte-ringen”

Be sure, he always choose you to be the winner
The price of an illness, mutilation or being a billet

So many times I remember . . . the Bible will tell
“They will talk so beautiful . . . about the life in Hell”

What you call Paradise, I call Hell
What I call Paradise, is for you not at all well

So if we tomorrow shall make a new world and norm
Will it be your way or my way . . . or will we both be forlorn?

Because whoever be the ruler in the new world from now on
One will be in Paradise . . . the other in Armageddon

Tuesday, December 26, 2006

Just an old fart . . .

1975: Long hair
2006: Longing for hair

1975: KEG
2006: EKG

1975: Acid rock
2006: Acid reflux

1975: Moving to California because it's cool
2006: Moving to Arizona because it's warm

1975: Trying to look like Marlon Brando or Liz Taylor
2006: Trying NOT to look like Marlon Brando or Liz Taylor

1975: Seeds and stems
2006: Roughage

1975: Going to a new, hip joint
2006: Receiving a new hip joint

1975: Rolling Stones
2006: Kidney Stones

1975: Being called into the principal's office
2006: Calling the principal's office

1975: Screw the system
2006: Upgrade the system

1975: Disco
2006: Costco

1975: Parents begging you to get your hair cut
2006: Children begging you to get their heads shaved

1975: Passing the drivers' test
2006: Passing the vision test

1975: Whatever
2006: Depends

Monday, December 25, 2006

The value of the small things. . .

A well-known speaker started off his seminar by holding up a $20.00 bill. In the room of 200, he asked, "Who would like this $20 bill?"
Hands started going up. He said, "I am going to give this $20 to one of you but first, let me do this.
He proceeded to crumple up the $20 dollar bill.
He then asked, "Who still wants it?" Still the hands were up in the air.
Well, he replied, "What if I do this?" And he dropped it on the ground and started to grind it into the floor with his shoe.
He picked it up, now crumpled and dirty. "Now, who still wants it?"
Still the hands went into the air.

My friends, we have all learned a very valuable lesson.
No matter what I did to the money, you still wanted it because it did not decrease in value. It was still worth $20.

Many times in our lives, we are dropped, crumpled, and ground into the dirt by the decisions we make and the circumstances that come our way. We feel as though we are worthless.

But no matter what has happened or what will happen, you will never lose your value. Dirty or clean, crumpled or finely creased, you are still priceless to those who DO LOVE you.

The worth of our lives comes not in what we do or who we know,
You are special - Don't EVER forget that."

And remember : Amateurs built the ark . . . Professionals built the Titanic.

If The Life brings you to it - It will bring you through it.

Sunday, December 24, 2006

Lonely or together . . .
I wish . . .

Merry Christmas
to all my friends in blog-land

Saturday, December 23, 2006

The values of life . . .

A wealthy man and his son loved to collect rare works of art. They had everything in their collection, from Picasso to Raphael. They would often sit together and admire the great works of art.
When the Vietnam conflict broke out, the son went to war. He was very courageous and died in battle while rescuing another soldier. The father was notified and grieved deeply for his only son.
About a month later, just before Christmas, there was a knock at the door. A young man stood at the door with a large package in his hands.
He said, "Sir, you don't know me, but I am the soldier for whom your son gave his life. He saved many lives that day, and he was carrying me to safety when a bullet struck him in the heart and he died instantly. He often talked about you, and your love for art." The young man held out this package. "I know this isn't much. I'm not really a great artist, but I think your son would have wanted you to have this."
The father opened the package. It was a portrait of his son, painted by the young man. He stared in awe at the way the soldier had captured the personality of his son in the painting. The father was so drawn to the eyes that his own eyes welled up with tears. He thanked the young man and offered to pay him for the picture. "Oh, no sir, I could never repay what your
son did for me. It's a gift."
The father hung the portrait over his mantle. Every time visitors came to his home he took them to see the portrait of his son before he showed them any of the other great works he had collected.
The man died a few months later. There was to be a great auction of his paintings. Many influential people gathered, excited over seeing the great paintings and having an opportunity to purchase one for their collection.
On the platform sat the painting of the son. The auctioneer pounded his gavel. "We will start the bidding with this picture of the son. Who will bid for this picture?"
There was silence.
Then a voice in the back of the room shouted, "We want to see the famous paintings. Skip this one."
But the auctioneer persisted. "Will somebody bid for this painting. Who will start the bidding? $100, $200?"
Another voice angrily. "We didn't come to see this painting. We came to see the Van Gogh’s, the Rembrandts. Get on with the real bids!"
But still the auctioneer continued. "The son! The son! Who'll take the son?"
Finally, a voice came from the very back of the room. It was the long time gardener of the man and his son. "I'll give $10 for the painting." Being a poor man, it was all he could afford.
"We have $10, who will bid $20?"
"Give it to him for $10. Let's see the masters."
"$10 is the bid, won't someone bid $20?"
The crowd was becoming angry. They didn't want the picture of the son.
They wanted the more worthy investments for their collections.
The auctioneer pounded the gavel. "Going once, twice, SOLD for $10!"
A man sitting on the second row shouted, "Now let's get on with the collection!"
The auctioneer laid down his gavel. "I'm sorry, the auction is over."
"What about the paintings?"
"I am sorry. When I was called to conduct this auction, I was told of a secret stipulation in the will. I was not allowed to reveal that stipulation until this time. Only the painting of the son would be auctioned. Whoever bought that painting would inherit the entire estate, including the paintings.
The man who took the son gets everything!"

Friday, December 22, 2006

The Golden Box . . .

Some time ago a mother punished her 5 year old daughter for wasting a roll of expensive gold wrapping paper.

Money was tight and she became even more upset when the child used the gold-paper to decorate a box to put under the Christmas tree.

Nevertheless, the little girl brought the gift box to her mother the next morning and said, "This is for you, Momma."
The mother was embarrassed by her earlier over reaction, but her anger flared again when she opened the box and found it was empty.
She spoke to her daughter in a harsh manner. "Don't you know, young lady, when you give someone a present there's supposed to be something inside the package?"
She had tears in her eyes and said, "Oh, Momma, it's not empty! I blew kisses into it until it was full."
The mother was crushed. She fell on her knees and put her arms around her little girl, and she begged her forgiveness for her thoughtless anger.
An accident took the life of the child only a short time later. . . .
The mother kept that golden box by her bed for all the years of her life.

Whenever she was discouraged or faced difficult problems she would open the box and take out an imaginary kiss and remember the love of the child who had put it there.

Thursday, December 21, 2006

Is it a virus that cause it . . .

From time to time, mail disappears, even while I am reading it. Mail I send does not arrive to the recipient. Lately when i have made comment on blogs, ensured that they have been accepted and seen it displayed before i leave the site. . . Next time i go to the site, my comment have disappeared. The case is that I don't believe that it has been removed by the owner of the blog, because it doesn't give that sign in the comment-box.
(Latest at the blog of Maricopa Mark and BBC)
I have also had blogs other places where I all the time had the experience that whatever I wrote about, one or another reader of my blog hit the "abuse-button" so I got a mail from the host of the service that I had to remove the post.

I don't think my blog is of the worse. Neither when it comes to use of language, porno, criticism of politic or religion, or anything else that should cause such strict supervising of my blog.
If the reader of my blog don't like it, then they don't have to read it or come back to my blog.

When I go to others blog and see people give comments only to start a quarrel and they come back again and again to continue the arguing, I wonder. . . What kind of people are they? Why do they come back to that blog they don't like? Why do they read it? You don't have to agree with the owner of the blog, but why start a quarrel?
This is my blog and my opinion about this and that. You have your opinion and I would like to hear it, but as grownups I expect people to be civilized.

From time to time I also get these virus-alerts . . . And afterwards I get this well meant information’s; that one can only get viruses by opening files or attachments.

But I have been in the situation where my computer constantly got messed up by viruses, worms, backdoor-Trojan etc. etc,
I had a PC. engineer here every day for months to help me to get rid of the mess.
I tell you . . . I got it by opening ordinary e-mails.
By attachments, through files, through hackers, through pop-ups and more so . . . .
I got it through messenger-chat . . . by code-word.
After installing all kinds of alerts, anti-virus, spy-ware etc . . . discovered that every time one of those I were chatting with on messenger used a certain word, the alert started to blink. . . I had got a virus.
It ended with that I stopped chatting on messenger, changed e-mail address, and didn’t use the computer for long time . . . I had to clean it out . . . hard-disk, files, floppies, everything . . . over and over again.
Now, I have made the habit to clean my Pc. with Anti-virus and Spy-ware and erase the history every evening before I go to bed.
I was told that if you have hackers who open you computer from another place to spy on what you have done during the day . . . they can transfer Viruses from their PC to yours.
I don’t know if this is correct, but after I have started to be major careful I have had no problems.
But . . . Is there any computer-engineer out there who can give professional, correct information? Or . . . is it so that the information also is only half, because it’s business to send out Viruses, so they can sell their work and software to the “infected client?”
In whatever way you like it. . .

Wednesday, December 20, 2006

Cat cake recipe

I got this in my mail-box . . . thought I would share it with you . . .
Now, in the beginning of the New Year, remember also your pet’s wishes . .

Be sure to look at the picture!


On a recent visit to our veterinarian to get shots for our cat I found this recipe on the waiting room bulletin board. After recovering from hysterical laughter, I obtained a copy from the office staff so that my wife could make it, which she refused to do. I took it to work and gave the recipe to a lady at work who loves cats.
The pictures below show the results of her work, but it's actually quite tasty, so I decided to pass it along.


1 box spice or German chocolate cake mix
1 box of white cake mix
1 package white sandwich cookies
1 large package vanilla instant pudding mix A few drops green food colouring
12 small Tootsie-Rolls or equivalent


1 NEW cat-litter box
1 NEW cat-litter box liner
1 NEW pooper scooper

Prepare and bake cake mixes, according to directions, in any size pan.
Prepare pudding and chill.
Crumble cookies in small batches in blender or food processor.
Add a few drops of green food colouring to 1 cup of cookie crumbs.
Mix with a fork or shake in a jar.
Set aside.

When cakes are at room temperature, crumble them into a large bowl. Toss with half of the remaining cookie crumbs and enough pudding to make the mixture moist but not soggy. Place liner in litter box and pour in mixture. Unwrap 3 Tootsie Rolls and heat in a microwave until soft and pliable. Shape the blunt ends into slightly curved points. Repeat with three more rolls. Bury the rolls decoratively in the cake mixture.. Sprinkle remaining white cookie crumbs over the mixture, then scatter green crumbs lightly over top.
Heat 5 more Tootsie Rolls until almost melted. Scrape them on top of the cake and sprinkle with crumbs from the litter box.
Heat the remaining Tootsie Roll until pliable and hang it over the edge of the box.
Place box on a sheet of newspaper and serve with scooper. Enjoy together with your pet!

Picture below . . .


Tuesday, December 19, 2006

All the pearls in the world . . .

Long time ago there lived a woman at the shore of the River Nile.
She had just given birth to a boy, but the king of the country had given order to kill all new-born boys.
She made a basket of reeds and put the little boy into the basket and prayed that God would save him from the cruel death as she pushed the basket into the soft waves of the river Nile.
As she pushed the basket in the river Nile, a tear fell from her eye . . . It run slowly down her cheek and dripped into the water.
At the bottom of the river was a cockle.
It saw the tear-drop fell into the water and started to sink down towards the bottom of the river.
Just when the tear-drop reached the bottom, the cockle caught it and hid it under its heart.
There, under the cockle’s heart . . . . the tear-drop slowly turned into a pearl.

It is said . . . That when the world comes to an end . . . All the pearls in the world will be collected . . . . and shown to God . . . So He can se how many tears the human have been crying.


Monday, December 18, 2006


Once upon a time there lived a man named Opherus. As he grew up he always wanted to serve the strongest and most powerful man in the world.
So, after serving the army he applied for work at the king.
He got the job . . . but after some time he noticed that the King always was praying, both morning and evening and before he should eat.
Opherus asked why he did that?
The King answered: “ You must ask for protection against the devil. He can disturb your night with nightmares, and cast spells on you or poisoned you food, so you get sick.”
Opherus understood then that the Devil was stronger and more powerful than the King.
He quit the work by the King and went searching for the Devil. After some time, he found the Devil and asked if he could work for him.
The Devil welcomed him with a big party, and every night they went around the world to trick and trap people.
But one time, in the hid of the dark, they met a priest. The Devil stopped and run to hide behind a tree.
Opherus asked why he did that.
The Devil answered: “Didn’t you see the cross on his chest?”
Opherus said: “Yes, what about that? Is the cross a danger for you?”
“No” The Devil said: “But the priest is serving Christ and I don’t want to be exposed by the light of Christ . . . it can kill me.”
“Really” Opherus said, highly surprised “Is Christ stronger and more powerful than you?”
The Devil had to admit so . . .
Opherus then left the Devil, and started to search for Christ in person.
He traveled all over the world, he searched in all countries. He served inside many religions, but never found Christ in person.
At the end, as an old man, he built a house at a river. He earned money for his needs, by carry people over the river in a little boat he had, from the one side to the other.
He had by now found peace in that he would never find Christ to serve him in person.
One night as he was fast asleep, he suddenly woke up by someone calling his name . . .
“Opherus ! ! Opherus ! !”
He sat up in his bed and listened . . . but everything was silent.
He thought it had only been a dream, so he went back to sleep again.
Then he suddenly heard the voice again, calling as if the person was in danger. . . . but this time he heard the voice of a child.
He rush out of the bed. He looked around, but couldn’t see anybody.
He called: “Is anybody there?”
No one answered . . . He went back to bed again, but had difficult to fell asleep. He was afraid his mind was making a trick on him.
Then he heard the call from a child again, filled with sorrow as if the child was crying.
“Opherus. Opherus. Come and help me!”
Opherus rush out of the bed and to the river-side and called: “Who’s there? Who’s calling me?”
There . . . on the other side of the river was a child, about 5 years old.
“Opherus. Please help me over the river.” The child cried
The water in the river was low, so Opherus didn’t take the time to bring the boat. He only run out in the river to the other side to bring the child over. He thought the child maybe was lost, so his only thought was to bring the child in safety until morning came.
He took the child on his shoulders and started to cross the river. But as he walked the child become heavier and heavier for every step he took.
When he came to the middle of the river, the child was so heavy so he almost could not carry him and he fell down on his knees.
He crawled on hands and feet but still the child got heavier and heavier. At the end the weight of the child pushed him all under the water . . .
Then . . . at the same time Opherus was covered with water, the child suddenly become light as a feather.
Opherus stood up and brought the child to the other side.
There he asked the child: “How come you became so heavy, my child?”
The child answered: “I am Christ . . . and as you carried me from the one side to the other, I was thinking about all the sufferings people undergo in the world, which lay as a burden on my shoulders. The heaviness you felt was the weight of the suffering and sorrow in the world. At the moment you fell under water, the weight disappeared. That was a sign of that I’m doing the same for the human as you did to me. . . when you though I was lost, you came rushing out from your bed and your sleep and cross the river on your bare feet. You didn’t even take the time to bring the boat.
Like that . . . I am also there for the human, when they believe they are lost. . . if they only call my name, I will run to rescue them without hesitation and nothing shall stop me in that act.”
The child continued: “ You have served me tonight. Because of that . . as a sign of who you have served, your name is not Opherus any more. Your name is Christopher . . .

Always remember . . . The way you treat one of the smallest and most vulnerable . . . that is the way you treat me . . . CHRIST.”

Sunday, December 17, 2006

WOW. . . I'm a Goddess . . . I didn't know. . .

You are a Goddess!

You are a goddess, pure and simple. You are the epitome of grace, beauty and strength. All women secretly want to be you and all men yearn after you.
8204 other people got this result! This quiz has been taken 71587 times. 11% of people had this

OMG ~ OMG ~ wish I could feel that way too.

Check it out....see what you are
If you are a man, transforn the title to the male version.

Saturday, December 16, 2006

See, this is how easy they find you.

Only 24 hour after previous post, I was found. . . copy of message follow:

bingomy: i like your blog so i search about u like u said in (Tags . . . How innocent are they??) and i find ur e-mail as u see so i hope we become frinds

This person can be everything from a kind and lonely guy to a murderer, thief, sadist, suiside-bomber, from the authority, police, or a single father looking for a mother to his kids.

With all my heart, I love. . .

By Kirsten Nour Namskau

What do we actually mean, when we say we love someone?
In the past they were thought that if you loved your child, you should punish him/her. With the result that parents punished their children either they had done something wrong or not. They got punished for what they had done and what they were “going to do” in the future.

Parents abuse their children sexually and say it is because they love them.
Husbands ill-treat and are abusive towards their wives with the words that it is because they love them. They say that their jealousy is a result of their love.

The love shows up in a way so I feel for saying: “ Please don’t love me, it hurts too much.”
I have thought my children that love is. . . .

To care for a person in a way so you want to protect the person from any harm.
To show tolerance ~ acceptance ~ patient ~ and support . . .

This will develop in the other person . . .

Gratefulness . . . helpfulness . . . support . . . . and . . .
Willingness to listen, obey, try . . . and . . .
To show you tolerance ~ acceptance ~ patient ~ and support

Which again will develop in you . . . . gratefulness, helpfulness, support and will . . . . .

Sexuality itself is not love . . . . It is the result of love

You love you spouse in a different way than you love your children

You love children in a different way than you love animals.

You love animals in a different way than you love the nature

You love the nature in a different way than you love God

If you don’t know the different ways of love . . . .Then love can be very dangerous.
If a man doesn’t know the differently love he should show between his wife and his child, then his love can kill the child.

If you believe that sex is the only way you can show your love, then I feel sorry for you.

But tell me . . . what is you definition of love?

Friday, December 15, 2006

Tags . . . How innocent are they??

I was tagged and accepted to put up my pic. for the only reason that it is already on the cover of my book, both front-page and back. You do best in being incognito when you have a blogg.
We are not talking about people who believe WE are crazy...We are talking about readers that are crazy. Believe me, it is people out there who are psychopaths. Especially if you are a women or have children, you should be very careful announcing too much of habits, and so on.

I remember it was a TV-program in Scandinavia once long time ago, where it was told that some these tags / tag-ideas are originally made by criminals and hackers, just for the purpose to get the information about, per example; your daily life to know when your home is empty and for how long time, in order for them to know when to do burglary in your home, or how many children you have and what age, in order for pedophilia to know where to find them . . . rapists, murderer, sadists . . . It’s enough of them.
The way they did it was to make short version of tags with only a few question in each, which separate seams innocent, but in the hand of a criminal…They collect the tags and put them together . . . and BINGO . . . Suddenly they know all details about you, your family, children, where you live, work and work-rutine, your fears, habits, where and when you go on holiday, your favorites of all kind . . . Yes, at the end they even can figure out your address.

These people are not bloggers and they never make comments. . . They only read and search for blogs at the area they are interested in.

Believe me, I have worked as a private investigator, I know how easy it is to find a person if I want. And you shall never under-estimate a criminal. . . Especially if you have small children.

I shout out this as a warning, to all you people out there who believe tags is innocent.

Is it paranoia??? In the moment you are a victim of a crime and you wonder how they possible could know so much about you . . . . Then remember . . . It is better to be up-front caution, than afterwards wise.

Wednesday, December 13, 2006

He can't read .... I'm tagged again... By Maricopa Mark...

He wants a recent photo of me . . .
Well . . . This is about two years old . . .
It has to be good enough . . .
The lethal mercy. . .

It is amazing to “see” how fast people forget and how they all the time turn everything so it becomes something else than what is was from the beginning,
It is then I understand how all the religious scripts of all religions get changed as it suits the reader and the interpreter of the script.

Under the Shah of Iran, the country was a free country. More free than the western world. They could dress as they liked, use bikini at the beach, and practice their religion in the way of their individual sect’s preference. (I assume it was this which was the biggest pain in the ass of the western world.)
The Shah was a good ruler, honest and respectable and held correct justice.
I have asked many refugees from Iran, who went to Norway and Denmark: “What did actually happen? Why was the Shah over-ruled?”
Without exception and all independent of each-other, they told me; That foreign propaganda-groups came to Iran and started to tell the people that Iran was floating in oil. That Teheran was built on an oil-well but the Shah didn’t want to tell the people and he didn’t want the people to become more rich than necessary. The Shah’s opinion was the people were rich enough.
After years of this kind of propaganda the people started to believe it.
When the Shah tried to tell the people that it was not true what the propaganda said, they didn’t believe him.
Ayatollah Khomeini was not the person the people wanted as a ruler…He was the person the western world wanted as a ruler.
Ayatollah Khomeini and his alike do not represent Islam as whole. They represent a specific sect of Islam.
It was in that moment, when the people saw who came to power, they also understood that they had gone into a trap of the western world’s propaganda. But then it was too late, and it also showed up that they didn’t start to dig for more oil and the people didn’t become more rich….rather the opposite.
But this was how the western world wanted it, so they could come back at a later time again and again claim to help the people out of bondage….right??
Another thing is that when some of these people who escaped under and after the revolution, both from Iran and Iraq and also refugees from Somalia, came to Norway and Denmark, they took their second shock… Discovering the truth of democracy. Some even became insane when they discovered that the whole family not even could leave the country for holiday together. They had to split, because their new country withheld a part of the family as security, to ensure that they came back. In other words, they were not allowed to leave the country again.
Some of the immigrants in Norway try to send their children back to their original country to live with family there, but the government of Norway then run after them and bring them back by force, explaining the lie of that the children was tried to be married away and all kinds of other lies.

I have by myself experienced that immigrant friends in Scandinavia have asked me for help to escape. And I did help them in different ways.

Also here in Egypt we have had several western propaganda-groups who have tried to bring President Mubarak look like a cruel dictator.
These groups made 15 years ago, some sorts of propaganda-films from Egypt. I had a friend who was asked to come with in one of these films. He didn’t know what kind of film they should make, but he got
($ 57.50) LE100,- pr. Day to come with. It was the last day of filming they told the people who had showed up, that it was a kind of propaganda-film of Egypt.
I asked him what they were doing or saying. He told me that they had been told that they would film bit&pieces, so it was not a sequence order of actions. Neither was they told the name of the film it should appear in nor did they get a contract or receipt which told the salary. In other words, nothing that could tell who was behind.
I have been an actress, so I know how things suppose to be, if it is done correct.
When he told me what they should do and say and how they were arranged, it become quite clear to me, that this was made to destroy the country Egypt and give a negative picture of president Mubarak.

When I told my friend and put the bits&pieces together like a puzzle, he also very easy could see what he had participating in. He got traumatized, nothing less.

I have informed the Egyptian government about this case and the possible use of this film.
I have experienced by myself how "foreign propaganda-people" come and try to spread lies and negative propaganda.
Everything is not perfect, but Europe and USA is worse, only in a different way.

When the revolution in Romania started, which itself has nothing to do with the western world, I had earlier heard rumors by the Norwegian Mafia, of how and what they would do when the revolution started. (They obviously knew many years before…..)

Therefore in 1992, short after I myself had escaped Norway, I went to the Romanian embassy and told them the rumors I had heard.
I told them: “Hurry. Check the medical care you get from Scandinavia. Some of the injections they have sent does not protect from illnesses, they contain illnesses, like AIDS and Polio. The same with the blood you get. It is not clean, it contains AIDS.
And . . . Do not accept adoption of children to foreigner without checking the background of the parents first, and stay in contact with the children for at least 5 years after the adoption. Because the major part of those who “want to adopt” are from the mafia, and they are going to give the children growing-hormones, so that a 3-4 years old child will look like 29 after 4-5 months in order to use them in snuff-films. “

But I was too late. . . . They checked the medical care products and found that what I had told them was correct and unfortunately AIDS had already become a child-illness.
They check up on those who had adopted children and also now they discovered that many of the children had already “disappeared.”
They immediately made the rules stricter.

When I went to Romania in 1996 I could with my own eyes see how the so called help-organizations from Scandinavia worked.
Immediately after the revolution, they provoked poverty and collected youth. Some got mutilated to become “better beggars,” they opened bars and porno-clubs where many of the girls were forced into prostitution. The clothes and toys people around had given free of charge to be given to the poor, got sold in second-hands shops run by the charity-organizations. They kept “their people” under strict observation all day. They could not keep the money they got by their “work” as beggars and prostitutes. The organizations came with the beggars in the morning and collected them at night. They were held in places where they got a bed and a bowl of soup and bread. In other words, the organizations were their pimps, nothing less. (Many of the so called religious organizations.)
They organized “street-children” and put them in under-grown tunnels, took photos of them and made stories that they gave to the world as news. But it was themselves who was behind.
I do not say that all the organizations was like this or work like this, but this was the big picture of the facts and I do not see this as any help. This is in my eyes a crime.

Romania had many traumas under Ceausescu, but when they made the revolution, they wanted peace, not another trauma.

Tuesday, December 12, 2006

Politic or religion. . .

In the western world you have many religions. Inside all these religions you have sects.


~ The Latter day’s Saints
~ The Mormons
~ Jehovah’s Witness
~ The Salvation Army

And more . . .

In Islam you have the same. . .

You have:

~ The Sunni Muslim
~ The Shija Muslim
~ The Sufi Muslim

And more . . .

Wherever you are on earth, you have something good and something bad, good people and bad people, honest people and dishonest people, respectable people and disrespectable people, educated people and uneducated people, rich people and poor people. Even in democratic countries.

In the western world, you do not criticize the government for the religious rules of the different sects.
The government does not interfere in the way the Mormons dress or that Jehovah’s Witness knock at your door or that people “talk in tongues” or have sex-orgies or enforce you to pay tithe, they do not even interfere when satanic organizations have human offerings.

Why is it that the western world blame the government of Islamic countries for what is going on in Islamic sects?
Female circumcision, arranged marriages, murder of honor, etc. etc. is not rules from the government. It is religious rules of some sects of Islam, not by Islam itself.

The government tries to explain for the people, the problems coming with the custom of these sects. But even the doctors try to encourage the people to continue, because they need the money they get to destroy (circumcise) the girls.
Arranged marriage is not always a bad idea. I know young women who want their parents to choose a husband for them. Even myself as youth in Norway, I asked my parents for help me to find a suitable husband. They were not allowed to do that, by law. Not even when I wanted help. . . Is the one more correct than the other??
Although, also in Europe you have the antroposophic sect who are 100% into arranged (read forced) marriages. If you don’t accept the partner the sects authority wish you to marry, because you already are married or have a fiancé, they make problems between you and your present partner until it dissolves itself and then you get brainwashed to marry the one they have chosen.
In Scandinavia, almost all people baptize their children, but they never go to church or pray or even believe in God . . . But, they baptize their children because it is a custom.
It is not long ago you could not get a passport without showing your paper of baptizing, or even get marry unless you were baptized. Right after the last W.W. you even had to show you paper of baptizing when you should start school.
It was not even custom, it was by law ! ! !

When people in Islamic countries tell stories from their awful life and what they have gone through or are in danger of going through, it is usually stories from rural villages, secular sects of Islam and the custom of that particular sect . . . It is seldom a governmental law of the country as a whole.
As we also have read about sects in USA where a whole city (Johns-town per example) was forced to commit suicide because of a sect-leader who maybe got tired of being a leader. No-one ever blamed the president of USA for the mass-murder of those people.

Why do you blame the leaders of Islamic countries for what is out of their hand to control?
Although things has changed in the western world when it comes to rules and regulation . . . Don’t you think things are changing in Islamic countries too as they get more medical information, as the country itself get modernized, as TV and international information channels comes through to the people more easy than before???

Here in Egypt, you can dress as you like. With or without hijab, but I have been in the situation that when I asked for job at a place, I was told: “This is a democratic company, so here the employees are not allowed to use hijab.”
That is the glory of democracy ! ! !

One more thing . . . All the time, I meet people from western countries who always claim to know Islam and the Holy Quran better than the Muslim themselves.
I know that everything is not perfect. . . . But it is not perfect any other place neither.

In California they have human zoo, human Museums, where humans who are kidnapped are hold in cages. They have cinemas where they show snuff-films. Meaning that they show sadistic films where the girl/woman get mutilated tortured and killed in front of the viewers eyes, and it is not film-trick . . . it is real. ( One have to be member of a special club or organisation to be allowed to enter these places.)

How can the president accept that these things happen without doing anything?? Why is he not taken in responsibility for these films?

The rule is: “So long as you make it as entertainment, everything is legal.”

No one gets punished, no one have the responsibility, no one care. . .
On the other hand, they can put children all down to 8 years in jail because he accidental stepped on new-lain asphalt and made a foot-print, and even at an age of 4 one can get reported to the police for unaesthetic behavior, because the child gave the teacher a hug.

This would never have happened in a Muslim country.

Every now and then we read about innocent people who have been judge by death-sentence in USA, but since one already have got the punishment, the real criminal goes free. Who take the responsibility for those people who died in vane by lethal injection??? No-one, because it was done in the name of democracy . . .

Please. . . Get a grip . . . Control yourself . . . Clean in front of your own door . . .

Democracy . . . The hidden hell

Monday, December 11, 2006

As the world turns up-side-down . . .

I originally come from the democratic paradise, Scandinavia.
After the democratic rules you are not allowed to:

~ Have whatever flat or house you want. You can buy a flat after the size of your family. As a single person you are allowed to have max 2 room + Kitchen, 75 square meters.
~ You can not have the fence or hedge as high as you want around your garden. Max. 80cm.

~ You can not build or plant whatever you want in your own garden. You must have the authorities and your neighbors accept to build a garage or plant a tree per example.

~ You are not allowed to wear what ever you want. You can go naked at the beach, but you can not use scarf on your head. If you use a scarf on your head, you are likely to be fired from your work.

~ You can not practice any work you want. You can only work inside the fields you have diploma for.
If you want to care for children in your home, be a house-keeper or sweep the streets, you must have dispensation from the authorities and then they settle the price you are allowed to take for the service.

~ You are not allowed to open a school or kindergarten as a business.

~ If you have a business, you can not take whatever price you want. The authorities settle the prices.

~ You are not allowed to play music loud or do handicraft work in your home after 10:00pm

~ You are not allowed to hang your laundry so it is visible for others.

~ You can not renovate your house or flat as you want. You must have dispensation from the authorities.

~ In an apartment-building, you are not allowed to take a shower after 11:00pm

~ You are not allowed to have whatever pet or animal you want. Not even if you have a farm. The authorities must give you dispensation. Some places you are only allowed to have hamster or budgie.

~ You can not go fishing or hunting as you like. You must buy dispensation-card from the authorities and then you can fish for a certain period of time or hunt for a certain number of a specified species of animal.

~ You can not to cross the street as you like. You have to cross the street only at the zebra-stripes, straight line with 2 steps pr. Second. If you cross the street outside the zebra-line or angled and a police sees you, you will get a fine.

~ You are enforced to have different kind of insurances. Like fire-insurance, burglary-insurance, health-insurance, weather/catastrophe-insurance, child-insurance, car-insurance, pet-insurance (if you have a pet)

~ You can not criticize the authorities. If you do…Then you very fast get diagnosed with any kind of mental disease and are taken to a mental hospital where they forget you, or you come “very convenient” in an accident that “unfortunately” takes you life, or you “unfortunately” get an illness which is not curable.

Still it is more to tell. . . Not to forget how difficult they make your life if you have any other religious belief than what the authorities allow. They say they have free religion, but that is only in the name of it.
(That have to be in another blogg.)

I moved to a country of dictatorship, in order to get some freedom in my private life. . .

1) Here I can buy whatever flat or house I want. Although I am single.

2) If I have a house, I can do whatever I want with both the house and the garden. Renovate as I like, plant whatever I like and if I want animals, no-one interfere. Even if I have a flat in the middle of the city, I can have hen or sheep on my balcony or on the roof of the apartment-building.

3) In my home I can wear whatever I want, but public I have to dress in a way that does not offend anyone. Decent dressing.

4) I can take the work I want either I have education in it or not. If I want to care for children in my home or clean people’s houses, it is a case between me and my employer and the salary is likewise. If I make flower-decoration or knit socks, I can sell them at the marked and the income is mine sole.

5) If I have a business, I can take the price I want on my goods and if the customer feels it is too much, they can bargain.

6) If I want, I can even open a school or a kindergarten and the school-fees are between me and the parents of the child.

7) Here we can play music, take a shower and do handicraft 24 hours where-ever you live.

8) And the laundry is on the line where it is suitable to put a laundry-line

9) If I want to go fishing or hunting, the only thing I need is a fishing-rod or a gun and if I want. . . I even can sell what I got on the marked.

10) I can cross the street as I like and even run between the cars if I like to do so.

11) It is no forced insurances. If you like and can afford to have one or two, you do that as a private security.

But. . . . I can not criticize the authorities. The government, the Army the police or the religion. Then it is official known that you are likely to go to jail. This is something everyone knows. The authorities do the best they can and they want to hear from the public. You can acknowledge them that something doesn’t work properly or that something is missing in the community or give new ideas . . . But it is not accepted that you criticize only for the sake of criticism.

So . . . In the matter of criticism of the authorities, there are no different between Democracy and dictatorship. They only deal with it in different way. In dictatorship, everything is open in the daylight and everyone knows where the border goes and the authority takes the responsibility of what they are doing.
In Democracy, it supposes to be free speech so long as you don’t talk. If you criticize or threaten the authorities, no on have the responsibility of whatever happens with you (concerning the above mentioned possibilities) and these facts never comes out to the public.

Look at Iraq. . . It was after the revolution of the so called freedom, in the name of democracy, they had to put on burka and woolen-stockings.

Look at Iran . . . It has never been slain so many people as after the revolution in the name of freedom & democracy. More so, now no-one has the responsibility, because now the slaying is in the name of democracy, so then no one needs to be hanged.

Try to read the following sentence . . . .

What is freedom for you is not necessary freedom for me.

Did you understand that sentence ? ? ? ? ?

Sunday, December 10, 2006

Coded message . . .

For 50 years now, I thought I could read . . . but suddenly I have come into a place where I don’t know the language. . . . The computer-language.
Just the other day . . . I learned that AKA was not a surname but . . . (Also Known As . . . something else)
So, here I try to do my best in reading the blogs. . . and realize someone have to teach me the language before I do too many blunders.
Well. . . let me try to write a sentence in the new language . . .

Yc I have my pc in dc or is it wc and watch a dvd in the vdv and lol it’s grate. It’s something abt glbt and omg I abp . . . rotflmao. Ytmnd comes to pwnage and here we go . . .

Does it make sense??? What have I written???? Can someone translate for me, please?

And here is some more:
YU =

I don't have a clue what they stay for . . .

Saturday, December 09, 2006

What sign are you?
This is some of the best body art I have seen. Every sign is painted on a body.
I am . . .
The one breast is the water-pot. . .

The head is painted on her hip & buttock . .

The claw is her hand. . .

She is laying on a table with the head outside. The nose of the goat is her chin & throat. .

The head of the children is her knees . . .

She is sitting on a chair, the eyes of the lion is her brests, the paws are on her knees. . .

This one is easy to see . . .

This one is also easy to see . .

This is painted on her back . .

This is also easy to see, that the tail is her armand hand . .

She is laying and the bull is painted over her shoulders sidewise. The mouth of the bull is the one of her shouldres, the top of the head is the other shoulder . .

The face is on her stomack, looking upwards toward her face, the hair goes down her leg. . .