My Game of Thrones review

This is both about the novel and TV-series.

We experience old men and women, young girls and boys, and everything in-between in a brutal world where everyone can be a victim. There is sex, nudity, open homosexuality, boys sucking mother’s nipples, girls killing, girls being beaten and crying until they’re red in the face, decapitations, really scary walking dead, dragon babies suckling at a woman’s breasts and so on. This is a great far cry from «family friendly» stories.

This is daring and truly mature storytelling.

There is a sense of menace right from the start, a mature mood usually not present in many rather childish fantasy novels. We know something bad will happen and that it will rock our world and challenge our perceptions. Characters perceived as main characters may not remain so very long and not be long for the world. Bad people may survive and thrive, and good people may not.

I wasn’t initially very excited about the story, since I’m not very interested in what’s going on at royal courts and such, but the story is so well crafted and so engaging that I tend to forget my original misgivings.

It’s also well translated from novel to film. The few changes are mostly due to insufficient production funds. Large battle scenes, for instance are mostly left out. We only see the result, not what happened. A clear disadvantage to be sure, but not enough to put me off watching the series.

It has a very realistic or at least believable feel to it and I am hooked.

The ending, the revelation of the Dragon is clearly one of the greatest ever.

«Buy the new spring jacket from…»

If you see a friend who has bought a new jacket setting you back a thousand bucks and want one as well, you’re in trouble. Then the alarm bells should ring in your head. You may not know this, may not be aware of it, but you are duped. The advertising directed at youths today isn't necessarily like the traditional where a given product is shown on a screen or on a newspaper page or before a film. It’s far more insidious. The current method of catching youths in the ugly net of consumerism is called «buzz». A given company desperate for your cash doesn't shout, but whisper.

Those at my age are, generally speaking easy prey for commercial predators «earning» fortunes on our gullibility. Individuals among us, among them myself that don’t buy brand names or that buy last year’s fashion are usually described as sloppy. Those easily fooled are called well-dressed. The rest of us buying jackets, pants or bags with the same quality for some one tenth of the price are scolded by the trendsetters and those wanting to be counted among the trendsetters.

This is how it works:

A bunch of employees with a given advertising agency, usually called «communicators» are paid to cruise the hip sites on the Internet. The aim is to catch those perceived as leading in a given group of youths, those the others are emulating. This is the first step. If they buy and even somewhat like the product much is already accomplished. The rest is like a walk in the park for the communicators. They fool you and fool you into fooling your friends. Like with all advertising the product is really incidental. They don’t really sell the jacket, the shoes or the soda, but emotions, the sense of being successful. If you buy the product you’re successful. If you don’t you’re a failure.

This way, among others do people bragging about their independence, their originality become yet another easy victim of greasy, commercial machinery. It has little to do with intelligence or stupidity. You’re quite simply fooled into disconnecting whatever might remain of your reason. When a friend walks around with the latest jacket from xxxxx it isn't really him or her that is talking but the advertising. The fact that there are more pieces of the chain removed from the original source doesn't change that. It just makes it even more effective and dodgy.

I will recommend everyone to study this subject. Those aware of the mechanisms at work should tell everyone in their circle of friends. Parents should also tell their children about it, in a neutral, non-condescending manner. We should all unite to make this very uncool everywhere.

It most certainly is. To not have a single original thought in the head is definitely uncool. To not have an original thought in the head and brag about it even worse.

Memories of a horny night in June

My sister Tove and I were in our middle teens. We writhed in bed and couldn’t sleep. It was hot and humid outside and inside. We were camping, the two of us alone. That wasn’t unusual. We had done that since we were ten. The cabin was far into the woods and the mountains. We had cell phones and mommy called every ten minute or so during daytime.

Aside from that we had a great time, and it was about to turn even better.

Tove stood up from her bed and stumbled through the twilight towards the john. I watched her body in the moonlight and felt strange all over the body. It wasn’t like I didn’t know what this was. I had had it for a while, now, now and then. But it still felt strange, eerie.

When I turned in bed and stared at the wall it took a turn for the worse. I squeezed my thighs hard against each other and it turned very much worse. The gasp slipped from me no matter how much I did to prevent it. The sound from the toilet when sis took a leak sounded like thunder in my ears and I begged all non-existent gods that it would be loud enough for her not to hear me.

I pushed my right hand in between my thighs and my entire body turned rigid. My teeth gritted so hard in the attempt at keeping the sound in my throat from escaping that I feared I would ruin them. I began rubbing myself, back and forth, back and forth and everything just… faded away. Nothing existed but my hand and the beast down there.

A hand touched my shoulder. I shook and twisted around, and looked at Tove with an incredulous, dazed expression in my face.

- It’s so hot, isn’t it? She said, very cryptic.

She grabbed the blanket and pulled it aside, making room for herself, pushing herself at me.

- It itches, she whispered, - itches like hell.

She kissed me on my lips wet and hungry.

- Scratch me, she whispered. - Please!

My hand slowly sought down between her thighs, into the hot and wet bush. She released a slow moan, twisted her body and kissed me time and time again, and I finally returned her affection, twisted around until we lay chest against chest.

- What are we doing? I asked and shook at the high-pitched sound of my own voice.

- What difference does it make? She shrugged. – It isn’t like we are making babies or anything.

She grabbed my hair and pulled my head close to hers. This time the kiss was hard, demanding. I first felt the other hand on one of my breasts and then that it slipped down my belly, until it roamed my bush, my wet, warm bush. I moaned in need. She released a short, hard laughter.

- I knew it, she giggled darkly, - knew what a horny and eager bitch you are. I’ve listened how you’ve played with yourself at night, until you fall asleep.

- And what about you? I retorted angrily.

- I did it out in the hall the first time, right outside your room, she admitted. – I couldn’t even get back to bed in time and was terrified that mommy or daddy would come.

I caressed her cheek and she kissed my hand. I imagined her standing on her knees in the hall at our house and rubbing herself, until she fell hard on the floor and crouched there, breathing, breathing, breathing.

We started rubbing against each other. She kissed me on the neck and kept seeking downwards until she found a breast and started sucking on the nipple. It hardened in her mouth.

I threw the blanket out on the floor and we were able to watch each other, study each other for the first time without shame. Both of us were working out and were muscular and tight without being skinny. I imagined how an invisible observer stood on the floor, just a few steps away and was drooling at the sight of us and I turned even wetter. Sis felt it instantly and rubbed herself in added ardor against me.

- It’s happening, she murmured. – We’re doing it, actually doing it.

I squeezed her breasts, squeezed hard. She moaned aloud. I chuckled wickedly.

- You enjoy this, don’t ya?

She nodded with big and wet eyes. I kissed her hard and greedy, and started biting her shoulder and her neck and every possible place, really. She howled in joy.

We looked at each other with hazy eyes. Talk faded. Consciousness and thought waned to virtually zero as movements turned ever more aggressive.

What had started out hesitant and reserved grew slowly but surely in intensity and creativity. We knew what to do, had heard more than enough about it, and the rest instinct took care of. The stench of sweat and hot water and joyful howls filled the old cabin. I knew, knew beyond doubt, as we writhed in each other’s arms that this would continue, continue for a long time, and that no one, not family or friends could make us stop.

The dam keeping most of the hot water at bay broke, and we were overwhelmed by an intense sense of happiness, and everything became just indescribably joyful and huge.

Beyond greedy corporations

Apparently, the latest Harry Potter DVD was manufactured under a low transfer quality so people would decide to upgrade to bluray. I haven't received my pre-ordered DVD in the mail yet so I can't say for certain, but the folks at the DH pt2 board who do have the DVD have all said the same thing. They purposely made it sub-standard quality so people would go out and purchase bluray players and the blurays themselves if they want to experience the full quality.

I of course posted a lengthy post regarding how bullcrap this is, how some people can't afford to buy blurays, the players, or even HDTV's (I still have a 27" CRT). WB is cheating the good DVD buying consumers out of quality product in order to get people to upgrade and I am outraged.

Wild and dangerous

They’ve always said I was wild. For as long as I can remember they’ve said that and chuckled and shaken their heads, and I’ve smiled and nodded eagerly.

Only a few said it and meant it in a perceived negative context, as in uncontrollable. Teachers and other people like them certainly did. As I grew up I began seeing their condemnation in a positive light, basically ignoring and rejecting their interpretation of it. I am wild and crazy. It’s a great fact.

During my adolescence the whispers and ugly stares began increasing. I heard the word dangerous be used about me for the first time. It has been repeated quite a few times since then. Dangerous, because I was seen as a bad influence on my friends and other kids. I wasn’t very good at taking orders and that spread to my circle of friends and beyond. It was great fun. We played and sang Another Brick in the Wall by Pink Floyd in the schoolyard and enjoyed it immensely. Those lyrics say everything about school, really, what it truly is.

No one, as far as I know claimed I was dangerous in terms of «violent», but they could just as well have, because their judgmental attitude and their actions according to that felt more than bad enough. Society doesn’t want strong and independent people. I’m fairly convinced of that fact. My experience from an early age stresses it.

And yeah, I’m still wild and crazy, and I am dangerous, more dangerous than ever, practically lethal in a society seeing anyone not fitting in as a threat. It feels great, feels intoxicating when I see the worry in their worry in their eyes, when I know I don’t fit in among all those puppets I’m passing on the streets every day.

Human beings are born free, but grow up in chains, a horrible state no one needs to accept. I’m certainly not accepting it. It’s so great, so thoroughly amazing to see the world interpreted by free, independent, wild and dangerous thoughts that I never would have wanted to be without them.

Who would be stupid enough to want that?

Another Brick in the Wall Part 2

We don't need no education
We don't need no thought control
No dark sarcasm in the classroom
Teachers leave them kids alone
Hey! Teachers! Leave them kids alone!
All in all it's just another brick in the wall.
All in all you're just another brick in the wall.

The «quality» of a racist’s «arguments»

I wrote an article on racism a while ago. A certain «Tom» didn’t appreciate it much. He disliked it so much that he left this «comment»:

«I’m looking so much forward to the day when Islam becomes the dominant religion in the western world. Then men will once again be the boss and can pick and choose among all the longhaired objects, whether they like it or not. I will keep at least ten female slaves and am looking forward to uphold the Koran’s command to take as many women as I desire».

This as a small excerpt. It got worse.

He attempted to use sarcasm, I guess, at least on one level, but I don’t really believe it was sarcasm. I think he means it. I think this is typical for a racist. They’re often misogynists as well. He’s secretly envious of these Muslim men he’s attacking so viciously, since they, in his eyes, know how to treat women with such a firm hand. And I don’t have a say in the matter, since I’m just a silly girl.

With major parts of the population in the western world agreeing with those claiming that Islam is a threat, one shouldn’t be surprised by anything anymore. How stupid is it possibly to become?

Men like Tom existed in the western world long before the Muslims arrived.

A novel extraordinaire

This is a review of the novel The Defenseless by Amos Keppler.

Today’s bookstores are filled with mediocrity, with the dreary and trite. Potential monetary value or narrow, very narrow cultural considerations more than resembling censorship rule what’s published or not.

Or… at least that was how it used to be. Now, when the age of POD (Print on Demand) and self-publishing has arrived in earnest, the future suddenly looks much more promising.

Three qualities were usually lacking in times past, often because of those reasons of monetary value and considerations mentioned above. The story is mostly missing in works published through traditional means, genuine penmanship and daring, controversial content as well.

If you by a miracle should find one, you won’t find the second and certainly not the third.

The Defenseless has all three.

Like others have pointed out the first chapter reminds me slightly of Metamorphosis by Kafka, but after that all resemblance to anything else vanishes completely. It becomes a blazing trail of originality, of life and realism jumping from the pages. Reactions from people reading a Keppler novel is usually one of two extremes: either you love it beyond measure or you dislike it intensively. One can understand that. It goes straight at the jugular of modern human life, exposing it for the hollow sham it is.

Ted Cousin, his brother and sister and cousins, and those who would be his friends are all strange birds in the present day human society, alienated from it and from themselves in ways wide like an abyss, desperate for some kind of connection, understanding. But the connection remains out of reach. Understanding eludes them.

As the story progresses the crack, the abyss widens to a horrible degree.

I love it when art tells me something straight up, and still leaves depth and texture, and this novel does. It is first and foremost an engaging story, but goes so much deeper than most stories, on so many levels of complexity. After a couple of chapters where the author has taken you beyond anything you’ve ever known or understood, you feel he can’t take you any further on that beyond passionate and desolate road, but he does, until the absolutely devastating, slamming in the face end. One cannot help being affected by it, pulled into its irresistible maelstrom. I read it in two hectic days and nights, and I sat there sweating afterwards, stunned, a wide range of emotions and questions raging through me.

That’s how I want to feel after having read a novel.