The ethnic cleansing of Serbians

http://www.neobyzantine.org/movement/problems/index.php

Dream : Pacific Panic

PACIFIC PANIC 22 Dec 2011



It’s around noon local time when we begin our descent into Honolulu. I, Dave Johnson, and John Duffney are on our way to Australia for vacation. The flight is from Vancouver to Sydney with a stop at Honolulu. We are enjoying a few drinks and generally having a great time. The engines begin to make odd noises. The plane lurches from one side to the next. Passengers start to scream and panic. The pilot comes on the intercom to announce turbulence. The plane begins to sway in all directions. We start to curse because our drinks are spilling. The plane drifts upwards and then starts to spin and fall. I wonder aloud if this is the routine for landing in Honolulu. I can see the plane spin and plummet to the earth. I decide that this is not routine. I see the plane, now dropping vertically from the sky, getting closer and closer to land. It looks like we will hit on a beach. I wonder how much pain I will feel when we land. I’m still wondering when all goes black.

The first sensation I regain is hearing; the sound of waves on a beach. Then I feel the water around me. I just lay there for a while waiting for the pain to start. Eventually I begin to feel the pain; but it is just a light hurting feeling all over. I decide to open my eyes. I see nothing but cloudless blue sky. I begin to think that it is some sort of miracle that the plane split open on impact and threw me gently into the ocean. I lay there for a while, almost afraid to move. I eventually move my head around a bit then push myself up on one elbow. The first thing I notice is the broken hulk of the jet plane. There is no fire so I think that the plane must have landed in the water and then washes up on the beach. I then wonder if I’m the only survivor.

I gently get to my knees and then feet. I notice two other passengers nearby. I go to them and discover it is Dave and John. They are alive and just coming to. I look for more and don’t see anyone. There is no one around at all; I think that there would have been rescue crews or just civilians on the scene by now. I get back to Dave and John and we begin to try to figure it out. We decide that our seat was somehow ejected from the plane and that the three of us somehow survived. But where are the others? How could we have survived with apparently only minor injuries? We conclude that this is only a small Hawaiian island and the rest of the bodies must be in the ocean. We decide to walk down the beach to see if there is any civilization at all here.

We walk for three days before getting a small village. We scavenged what food we could along the way and slept under the stars at night. The villagers seemed amazed at us, but unfortunately no one could speak English. Through sign language and drawings in the sand they sent us on our way to a bigger village, this one with a big boat. We set out and on the second day get to the village. We find someone that speaks a little English and learn we are on one of the smaller islands of Hawaii. From here we can get a boat to a bigger island, from there a boat to Honolulu. We are fed by the villagers and then set sail on a boat of about 20 feet. In 4 hours we reach the next island. We have to wait until the next day to get the boat to Honolulu. We sleep fitfully in a hostel type shanty.

The next morning we head for the boat, which had just docked about an hour earlier. To our surprise it is a big boat, kind of like a small cruise ship even. We learn that lots of tourists like to visit this island. We buy tickets and board the ship. The cruise is an overnight thing. We find a place to eat and sit down for lunch. During lunch I go over the last days since we started the descent into Honolulu. Plane crash, somehow survive, survive days walking on the beach, buy a ticket, buy lunch. I’m kind of surprised that we still had money after our crashing and all. Along about then I notice a security guard giving us the one over. He calls on his radio and another one shows up. I know I shouldn’t be concerned, so I point out the guards to Dave and John. They get concerned also, and we make a plan to get up and then split up and meet later. So we get up and split up. Afterwards I realize that I have all our tickets with me, and more importantly all our passports. As I’m walking along I look up and see my mother walking towards me. I start to grin and move to give her a hug. She gives me a panicked look and pushes me away. I say to her that I’m Chris and what is wrong? She gives me a look of fear and hatred combined and runs away. I notice my aunt is there too and before she can run after my mother I grab her by the arm. I demand to know what’s going on. She says that she lost her son two years ago in a plane crash and then now me, whoever I am, comes up to her and claims I’m her long lost son! Can’t you see it’s me! I ask her. She just glares at me and says that she has never seen me before. I walk away totally confused.

As I wander aimlessly around the decks, I see John being led by two security guards. I decide to follow. They take him to a room. I look inside and I see Dave also. I’m wondering if I should just go. Dave sees me and I give him a shrug of my shoulders as if to ask - what now? He doesn’t do anything, so I bring out the tickets and passports, thinking that with these we could clear up whatever these guys want with us. He gives me a slow nod. I enter and demand to know what is going on. I’m grabbed by a large man and thrown into a chair. The door is slammed shut. I look around and see lots of high tech “stuff” in the room. Now I’m totally confused. Dave does nothing, but I can see he is handcuffed to a bracket on the wall besides his chair. I’m in a large dentist like chair, but this one has straps and they quickly trap me inside it.

A man I haven’t noticed walks towards me. The guards are all native Hawaiians, but this guy is white. He starts to ask me a lot of questions about the plane crash. I just answer what I know. This seems to make him mad. He gives the guards orders in some sort of language. One guard steadies my head while another one swings out an arm from the wall, again looking like the type of thing you would see in a dentist’s office. Another grabs another evil looking device that is wired to a big box on the table beside me. The arm has a long needle like thing coming out the end. I begin to realize what is going to happen and struggle against the straps and the guard who has my head. I manage to twist my head around enough to see John behind me in the same type chair with that arms needle stuck into the corner of his left eye. He is bleeding from the eye and from several spots around his face. He is very still. My head is whipped around and the white dude has the needle and says now you seen what happens when you struggle. I decide I’m done for and relax and wait for whatever to happen. The needle stings a little going in, then nothing but black.

I begin to see the room like I’m floating around in it. The three of us, the guards, the white guy, and all the high tech stuff. Something is nagging my brain and I try to piece it all together. The crash, us surviving, gets on the boat, seeing my mother….. Two years! How could two years have passed? We just seen the plane’s battered hulk about a week ago! Hmmm, it was not on fire, but I remember it distinctly landing on the beach. Then it hits me, I had seen the crash like I was outside and over the plane, like I wasn’t on the plane. Could that be true, that I wasn’t on the plane, and neither were John and Dave? Could it be an Alien abduction perhaps? Now I concentrate on the room. I see now that the guards seem strange looking, as well as the white guy. Then I see the guard with the evil device is bringing it close to my head. I switch back to just blackness. Then a violent burst of light as the guard starts his work on me. I feel a dull pain as my teeth begin to dissolve. Then a feeling of being sliced around the head comes to me. I imagine they want to get at my brain. Who are these guys: The Aliens? - FBI? - CIA? : Maybe another race of aliens?

I conclude that they will probably get my brain, sew me up, put me in a sealed steel coffin and send me home to mother. At least she will get some closure. But then I feel the device on my toes. Then my fingers get attention. Then the guard starts to slice up my legs and arms. I begin to feel more and more pain. I realize that they are going to slice me up and feed my to the sharks and I’ll never be seen or heard from again. I wonder briefly why I should feel pain when I’m surely dead by now. As the pain gets closer to my core, I suddenly awake in a burst of light in my bed here in PEI. I’m drenched with sweat, and head shakily to the shower down stairs.

The Lies Of The Racak Massacre In Kosovo

Remember why NATO spent 78-days bombing Yugoslavia in the spring of 1999?

There was the ethnic cleansing. The atrocities. The refugees chased out of Kosovo by the Serb army. The mass graves. The heaps of bodies tossed into vats of sulphuric acid at the Trepca mines.

NATO spokesman Jamie Shea said there were 100,000 Kosovo Albanian Muslims unaccounted for.

Problem is, none of it happened.

NATO’s original estimate of 100,000 ethnic Albanians slaughtered, later revised downward to 10,000, turns out to be considerably exaggerated.

Dr. Peter Markesteyn, a Winnipeg forensic pathologist, was among the first war crimes investigators to arrive in Kosovo after NATO ended its bombing campaign.

“We were told there were 100,000 bodies everywhere,” said Dr. Markesteyn. “We performed 1,800 autopsies — that’s it.”

Fewer than 2,000 corpses. None found in the Trepca mines. No remains in the vats of sulphuric acid. Most found in isolated graves — not in the mass graves NATO warned about. And no clue as to whether the bodies were those of KLA terrorists, civilians, even whether they were Serbs or ethnic Albanians.

No wonder then that of all the incidents on which Slobodan Milosevic has been indicted for war crimes, the total body count is not 100,000, not 10,000, not even 1,800 — but 391!

It was Walker, at the time head of the Kosovo Verification Mission (KVM) who, on the morning of January 16, 1999, led the press to the Kosovo village of Racak, a KLA stronghold. There some 20 bodies were found in a shallow trench, and 20 more were found scattered throughout the village. The KLA terrorists, and Walker, alleged that masked Serb policemen had entered the village the previous day, and killed men, women and children at close range, after torturing and mutilating them. Chillingly, the Serb police were said to have whistled merrily as they went about their work of slaughtering the villagers.

Clinton’s Secretary of State Madeleine Albright, as eager to scratch her ever itchy trigger finger as her boss was to scratch his illimitable sexual itches, demanded that Yugoslavia be bombed immediately. Albright, like a kid agonizingly counting down the hours to Christmas, would have to wait until after Milosevic’s rejection of NATO’s ultimata at Rambouillet to get her wish.

But not everyone was so sure that Walker’s story was to be believed. The French newspaper La Monde had some trouble swallowing the story. It reported on Jan. 21, 1999, a few days after the incident, that an Associated Press TV crew had filmed a gun battle at Racak between Serb police and KLA terrorists. Indeed, the crew was present because the Serbs had tipped them off that they were going to enter the village to arrest a man accused of shooting a police officer. Also present were two teams of KVM monitors.

It seems unlikely that if you’re about to carry out a massacre that you would invite the press — and international observers — to watch.

The film showed that as soon as the Serbs entered Racak they came under heavy fire from KLA terrorists positioned in the surrounding hills. The idea that the police could dig a trench and then kill villagers at close range while under attack troubled La Monde. So too did the fact that, entering the village after the fire fight to assess the damage and interview the villagers, the KVM observers saw no sign of a massacre. What’s more, the villagers said nothing about a massacre either.

Yet, when Walker returned the next day with the press — at the KLA’s invitation — there was the trench with the bodies.

Could the police have returned later on and carried out the massacre under cover of darkness?

That seems unlikely. Racak is a KLA stronghold. Serb police had already discovered that if they were going to enter the village they would have to deal with the guerillas. How could they torture, mutilate and cold-bloodedly kill villagers at close range while harassed by KLA gunfire?

And why, wondered La Monde, were there few signs of spent cartridges and blood at the trench?

And now there’s a report that the Finnish forensic pathologists who investigated the incident on behalf of the European Union, say there was no evidence of a massacre. In an article to be published in Forensic Science International at the end of February, the Finnish team writes that none of the bodies were mutilated, there was no evidence of torture, and only one was shot at close range.

The pathologists say Walker was quick to come to the conclusion that there was a massacre, even though the evidence was weak.

And they point out that there is no evidence that the deceased were from Racak.

The KLA terrorists, the Serbs charge, faked the massacre by laying out their fallen comrades in the trench they, themselves, prepared, and the United States used the staged massacre as a pretext for the bombing.

Srebrenica: The urban legend

The alleged Srebrenica massacre of Bosnian Muslims in July 1995 is referred to regularly by the mainstream media as a moral touchstone, an example of “genocide” that can take place when the U.S. is not the moral arbiter or when the U.S. hesitates to intervene on behalf of an endangered part of humanity somewhere in the world. And many Americans, conditioned by sixteen years of media saturation, responded reflexively and have come to agree that a genocide occurred in Srebrenica even though there is still no proof sixteen years later.

(Photo: Bosnian Nazi soldiers reading Nazi propaganda. “Before WWI, Serbs accounted for 75% of the population of the municipality of Srebrenica. Before WWII, they accounted for 50% of the population. Before the outbreak of the Bosnian War, they accounted for only 30% of the population. This tremendous population decline was not caused by a drop in the birth rate or migration. It was a direct result of genocide carried out by Muslim and Croat neighbors. “Srebrenica Before It Happened,”)

The credulity of ordinary Americans did not last long. The attacks on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon on 9/11, triggered the invasion of Afghanistan. Later, Americans found out that the casus belli, “that we’re fighting them over there so that we don’t have to fight them here” was fraught with lies, as well. UNOCAL, a U.S. oil company, was interested in bringing Central Asian oil to market via a proposed Afghan oil pipeline. Then the American public learned that Condoleeza Rice, Secretary of State, and Hamid Karzai, the President of Afghanistan, were former members of UNOCAL’s board of directors. It turned out to be simply another war for profit. After the invasion of Iraq, Americans began to further doubt the veracity of U.S. government public statements. It appeared, after all, that Sadam Hussein did not possess weapons of destruction. “No matter,” replied the Bush II Administration, “invading Iraq was still the right thing to do because we took control of Iraq’s oil fields.” Few Americans know that U.S. intervention in the Wars of Succession on the territory of the Former Yugoslavia were also based on lies, even though the U.S. Government still refers to these interventions with pride as necessary and successful international efforts. Yet reality is sobering. It turns out, in hindsight, that the Saudis wanted a Muslim state in Bosnia in exchange for staying out of Gulf War I, so U.S. President Clinton was delighted to show his good faith and granted, like a genie from the Arabian Nights, the Saudis their wish. One cannot help but wonder why “a Muslim state” (i.e., a theocratic state based on sharia law) was created in Europe, when all the other European states are secular. Later, it was revealed that there were untapped oil reserves in Tuzla in Bosnia, coincidentally the location of U.S. Eagle military base. Then the war in Kosovo, also considered a model of interventionist probity, turned out to have an oil pipeline hidden beneath the humanitarian rhetoric. AMBO, the Albanian-Macedonian-Bulgarian Oil Company, began construction in 2010 of an oil pipeline from Burgas on the Black Sea coast of Bulgaria to Durres in Albania. Coincidentally, U.S. Camp Bondsteel is conveniently located in Kosovo to protect this pipeline and its putative future profits.

Thus, the Bosnian War generally, and the alleged Srebrenica massacre of July 1995 specifically, were testing grounds for not only new weapons, but also new media techniques to win broad support from the U.S. population for future wars of imperialist aggression, such as the current war being waged against Libya, which employs many of the same media techniques and military approaches that were developed during the Bosnian War: the leader is declared to be “insane”; NATO introduces “no-fly zones” during the opening phase of the conflict; then an invasion is planned to “protect” citizens from an “insane” dictator. These propaganda techniques were then, as now, enormously successful, and are based on selective reporting and selective omission of critical facts in order to create a perception of U.S. virtue and enemy villainy.

The Srebrenica massacre stands as a nearly perfect propaganda campaign, which is nurtured to this very day. For example, given Don McLean’s lyrics “Drove my Chevy to the levee…” almost any American can reflexively complete the verse with “but the levee was dry”; likewise, any American, upon hearing “Srebrenica”, can add a phrase standing in apposition, “where the Serbs killed 8,000 men and boys” without any prompting. But the Srebrenica levee is, as we shall see, also dry.

Man accused of killing 3 daughters told police his kids were liars, jury hears

Is this the sort of immigrant we want Canada? They are not as funny as the gang on "Little Mosque on the Prairie"! They bring a backwards religious belief into Canada. I believe that most religious beliefs are backwards, but what makes muslims different is that they somehow embraces this shitred in a political way. Let's face it, they have money to pay for quick immigration/citezenship. I hope Harper puts a serious curb on these fucking animals getting in to Canada. I hope he does more. I hope he forces them on boats to Alabama. They are criminals that have bought their way into our great country and have no desire to conform to our laws and principles.

..KINGSTON, Ont. - A man accused of killing his three daughters and one of his two wives told a police interrogator that he dearly loved his dead children, but they were liars, court heard Wednesday.

Mohammad Shafia, 58, is on trial — along with his wife Tooba Mohammad Yahya, 41, and son Hamed, 20 — charged with four counts each of first-degree murder. They have each pleaded not guilty to killing three teenage Shafia sisters and Shafia's other wife in a polygamous marriage.

The jury in Kingston, Ont., watched video Wednesday of the police interrogation of Shafia — conducted in Farsi and translated into English — the day after he, his wife and his son were arrested in July 2009.

He tells the interrogator his life has been ruined by the deaths of his children and Rona Amir Mohammad, whom he calls his cousin, and that his kids were "pure and sinless."

"Swear to God I loved them with my heart," Shafia says. "I wish God would have taken my life and spared their lives."

But, he says, they were liars.

"They told a lot of lies...They had said something like that, 'My dad is beating me,'" Shafia says. "If, for example they were going somewhere, they didn't say the truth. They are lying."

The only child who doesn't lie is Hamed, Shafia says.

Hamed and his parents are accused of killing his three sisters Zainab, 19, Sahar, 17, and Geeti, 13, along with Shafia's other wife, Rona Amir Mohammad, 50, who were found dead inside a submerged car on June 30, 2009, in the Rideau Canal. The family was heading home to Montreal from a trip to Niagara Falls, Ont., when they stopped in Kingston for the night and staged the deaths to look like an accident, court has heard.

The Crown alleges they were killed over family honour, a point that the interrogator hammers home at the end of the heated interview with Shafia.

"You don't have even a little honour...The honour of your family is in the hands of your women," RCMP Insp. Shahin Mehdizadeh says before walking out of the room.

"No, this is not a right word to say," Shafia pleads.

Court heard Tuesday that weeks before the deaths, Shafia called his brother-in-law to ask for help in killing Zainab. Shafia called his eldest daughter a prostitute for visiting a library, going on the Internet, spending time with friends and dating, Fazil Jawid testified. He could only be identified under a publication ban Tuesday as a relative, but can be named now that he is done testifying.

Zainab's Pakistani boyfriend was a source of tension in the family, and though they eventually let her marry him, they had it annulled the same day, court has heard.

During the two-hour interrogation the day after the family was arrested, Shafia maintains his innocence and says he would have had no problem with his children marrying whoever they wanted, as long as they were happy. However, at one point Shafia suggests to Mehdizadeh that Zainab's boyfriend wanted to kill her.

No matter what the girls might have done, Shafia says, they did not deserve to die like that.

"(Whoever is responsible) is the worst dishonour, the worst disrespectful, the worst ill-mannered person in the world," Shafia says.

The interrogation is of a very different tone than Yahya's, which was also conducted by Mehdizadeh. Yahya weeps over photos of her children, is quiet and reluctant to answer questions, though she eventually tells Mehdizadeh that the three were present when the car went in the water. She pins the blame on her husband, though court heard Wednesday that the morning after her interrogation she recanted all of what she had said.

Shafia is talkative and even defiant during his interrogation, interrupting Mehdizadeh, raising his voice and almost lecturing him, saying, "I have something to say to you. Pay attention to my words."

Shafia is shown the same photos his wife was, of his daughters after their bodies had been pulled from the water, and Mehdizadeh asks Shafia why the photos don't appear to bother him.

"I am upset," he says. "Crying is not in my control."

...

The Jasenovac Extermination Camp

The Jasenovac Extermination Camp
"Terror in Croatia"









Ante Pavelic Head of the Independent State of Croatia

The Axis powers invaded Yugoslavia on 6 April 1941. Vladko Maček, the leader of the Croatian Peasant Party (HSS) which was the most influential party in Croatia at the time, rejected offers by the Nazi Germany to lead the new government. On 10 April the most senior home-based Ustaša, Slavko Kvaternik, took control of the police in Zagreb and in a radio broadcast that day proclaimed the formation of the Independent State of Croatia (Nezavisna Država Hrvatska, NDH).

The new Independent State of Croatia" was established as a pro-Nazi government. It was dedicated to a clerical-fascist ideology influenced both by Nazism and extreme Roman Catholic fanaticism. On coming to power, the Ustaša Party dictatorship in Croatia quickly commenced on a systematic policy of racial extermination of all Serbs, Jews and Gypsies living within its borders.


The NDH was ruled by Ante Pavelic under the title Poglavnik, or "Headman". Pavelic served as leader of the Independent State of Croatia, a puppet state of the Axis Powers, throughout the four years of its existence, but since the Ustaše did not have a capable army or administration necessary to control the territory, the Germans and the Italians split the NDH into two zones of influence, one in the southwest controlled by the Italians (with Pavelić as Headman), and the other in the northeast controlled by the Germans.



Hitler greets Pavelic at their first meeting


Pavelić first met with Adolf Hitler on June 6, 1941. Mile Budak, then a minister in Pavelić's government, publicly proclaimed the violent racial policy of the state on 22 July 1941. The Ustaša's organization was a typically fascist organization and its military strength was an instrument for the implementation of the Ustaša's Nazi ideology.



The first "Legal order for the defense of the people and the state" dated April 17, 1941 ordered the death penalty for "infringement of the honor and vital interests of the Croatian people and the survival of the Independent State of Croatia". It was soon followed by the "Legal order of races" and the "Legal order of the protection of Aryan blood and the honor of the Croatian people" dated April 30, 1941, as well as the "Order of the creation and definition of the racial-political committee" dated June 4, 1941.



The enforcement of these legal acts was done not only through normal courts but also new out-of-order courts as well as mobile court-martials with extended jurisdictions.



The NDH Ustaša terror was also aimed at the Serbian Orthodox Church. Three Orthodox bishops and most of the Orthodox priests were murdered by the end of 1941 in the cruelest of manners. During the war, 450 Orthodox churches were demolished. Mass conversions were forced upon Serb villagers but the exact number of Serbs forcibly converted to Catholicism has never been established.





Ustaša decree issued by Ante Pavelic

One Orthodox Serb from Okučani reported:

"The new government told me that I’d have to convert to Roman Catholicism if I wanted to keep my job. I refused and was fired in July 1941. I moved my family to the nearby town of Okučani where I managed to find work. But in Okučani I was arrested, once by the Germans and once by the Croatian fascists. Both of those times I was released. Now I’ve been arrested yet again by the Croatian fascists. My crime—being a Serb."


The Ustaša army (Ustaška vojnica) was organized by Slavko Kvaternik, and it was made up of Ustaša units (filled out with volunteers) under the direction of the Central Ustaša Headquarters, of special police units (redarstvo) and the Home Guard (domobrani), and in August of 1941 the Ustaša Secret Service was formed by Ustaša Security Service Kommando Eugen Dido Kvaternik who also oversaw the concentration camp system throughout the sphere of Ustaša control.



In the early stages of the Ustaša rule there were no legal regulations about sending people to concentration camps or the length of sentences. Such things were decided by Pavelić's emissaries, district prefects, deputy prefects, camp supervisors and other Ustaša commanders. Such practices remained even later, and when the regulations were finally passed, no one actually obeyed them.

The first camps in the NDH were founded on the island of Pag at the place called Slano, on Mount Velebit near Gospić at a place called Jadovno, and in Bosnia at Kruščica near Travnik. Besides Jasenovac, the larger camps were:

Danica



Drawing of the Jasenovac camp

Pag

Jadovno near Gospić

Kruščica near Vitez and Travnik in Bosnia

Đakovo

Loborgrad in Zagorje

Tenja near Osijek

The establishment of the Jasenovac Camp System



Jasenovac was established in August, 1941 and was dismantled in April, 1945. The creation and management of the camp complex were given to Department III of the Croatian Security Police (Ustashka Nadzorna Sluzba; UNS) which was headed by Vjekoslav Maks Luburic, who commanded the Jasenovac camp.



The camp spread out over 210 square kilometers, along the Sava River from Stara Gradiska in the east to the village Krap1je in the west, and from Strug in the north to the line between Draksenic to Bistrica in the south.





Prisoners forced to labor at the brick factory

The choice of the wider region of Jasenovac for such a monstrous camp was made for several reasons. One of them was certainly the suitable geographic position. The Zagreb-Belgrade railway was in the vicinity and was important for the transport of the prisoners. The terrain was surrounded by the rivers Sava, Una and Velika Struga, in the middle of the swampy Lonjsko poije area, so that escape from the camp was almost impossible.



On the other side of the Sava, the Gradina region was hardly accessible and often flooded by the river, uninhabited and far from all witnesses. It was the ideal place for hiding mass murders.



Jasenovac became the largest and most important concentration camp (sabirni logor) and extermination camp complex in the Nezavisna Hrvatska Drzava (NDH), Independent State of Croatia, during World War II. The Jasenovac concentration camp complex would be crucial in the systematic and planned genocide of the Orthodox Serbs of the Srpska Vojna Krajina and of Bosnia-Hercegovina by the Croats and Bosnian Muslims.



Other concentration camps were established in Sisak, Stara Gradiska, Djakovo, Lepoglava, Loborgrad. In all, there would be 22 concentration camps in the NDH, almost half of which were commanded by Roman Catholic Croatian priests.





Ustasha order for a Jew Samuel Hirschenhauser to report to Jasenovac

The first transports brought Serbs and Jews to the nearby village of Krapje, which was 7 miles west of Jasenovac. At this site, the prisoners were forced to build the camp that was called Jasenovac Camp No. 1. A second camp was built after the increase in the number of prisoners called Camp No.2.


Camp No.3 was built near the Ciglara brick factory, Ozren Bacic & Company, at the mouth of the Lonja and downstream from Jasenovac. Camp No.4 was built in Jasenovac itself near the former leather factory. The camp at the nearby town of Stara Gradiska is referred to as Camp No.5.



The maximum capacity of all the camps was 7,000 prisoners but usually only 4,000 prisoners were there at any one time.



Jasenovac was in fact a system or complex of concentration and extermination camps occupying a surface of 130 square miles, set up under decree-law, No. 1528-2101-Z-1941, on September 25,1941, legally authorizing the creation of 'assembly or work camps for undesirable and dangerous persons.





Gypsies marched to Jasenovac escorted by Ustaša guards

The Ustaše interned mostly Serbs in Jasenovac. Other victims included Jews, Bosniaks,Gypsies, and opponents of the Ustaša regime. Most of the Jews were murdered there until August 1942, when they started being deported to the Auschwitz concentration camp. Jews were sent to Jasenovac from all parts of Croatia after being gathered in Zagreb, and from Bosnia and Herzegovina after being gathered in Sarajevo.



Some came directly from other cities and smaller towns. On their arrival most were killed at execution sites near the camp: Granik, Gradina, and other places. Those kept alive were mostly skilled at needed professions and trades (doctors, pharmacists, electricians, shoemakers, goldsmiths, and so on) and were employed in services and workshops at Jasenovac.



The living conditions in the camp were extremely severe: a meager diet, deplorable accommodations, a particularly cruel regime, and cruel behavior by the Ustaše guards. The conditions improved only for short periods during visits by delegations, such as the press delegation that visited in February 1942 and a Red Cross delegation in June 1944.





Guard tower at Jasenovac

Following the Wannsee Conference of January 20, 1942, where the 'Final Solution to the Jewish Problem' was formulated, the Germans proposed through SS Sturmbannfuehrer Hans Helm that the Croats transfer Jewish prisoners to German camps in the east.



Kvaternik, agreed that the NDH would arrest the Jews, take them to railheads, and pay the Germans 30 Reich marks per person for the cost of transport to the extermination camps in the east. The Germans agreed that the property of the Jews would go to the Croat government.



SS Hauptsturmfuehrer Franz Abromeit was sent to supervise the deportations to Auschwitz. From August 13-20,1942, 5,500 Jews from the NDH were transpoted to Aushwitz on five trains from the Croat concentration camps at Tenje and Loborgrad and from Zagreb and Sarajevo.



Reichsfuehrer-SS Heinrich Himmler was on a state visit to Zagreb in May,1943 when two trains on May 5 and 10 trasported 1,150 Jews to Auschwitz.




Jasenovac prisoner being beheaded with a saw

Wholesale murder of the prisoners was also carried out in the forest near the Krapje Camp, near the „Versaj“ Camp and „Uštica“ Camp on the whole left bank of the Sava, downriver from Jasenovac to Jablanac and Mlaka. Furthermore, within the complex of Camp III there was also a crematorium which was actually an oven for baking bricks, that the Ustaša converted for the use burning the bodies of their victims.




The crematorium became known as "Picili's Funaceo" after the designer of the oven conversion plan, Hinko Picili.



In addition to the horrendous conditions in the Jasenovac camps, the guards also cruelly tortured, terrorized, and murdered prisoners at will. Here the most varied forms of torture were used: finger and toe nails were pulled out with metal instruments, eyes were dug out with specially constructed hooks, people were blinded by having needles stuck in their eyes, flesh was cut and then salted.



People were also flayed, had their noses, ears and tongues cut off with wire cutters, and had awls stuck in their hearts. Daughters were raped in front of their mothers, sons were tortured in front of their fathers.



The prisoners and all those who ended up in Jasenovac had their throats cut by the Ustaša with specially designed knives, or they were killed with axes, mallets and hammers; they were also shot, or they were hung from trees or light poles. Some were burned alive in hot furnaces, boiled in cauldrons, or drowned in the River Sava.





Witness drawing of the sboskek wrist knife used to quickly dispatch prisoners at Jasenovac

The acts of violence and depravity commited in Jasenovac were so brutal that General von Horstenau, Hitler's representative in Zagreb, wrote:



"The Ustaša camps in the NDH are the "Epitome of horror"!



Stara Gradiska


Stara Gradiska was the most notorious camp in the Jasenovac complex besides the main camp (Ciglana), mainly due to the crimes which were committed against women and children.



Camp staff, Antun Vrban, Nada Luburic, Maja Buzdon, Jozo Stojcic, and especially the commandant and former-friar Miroslav Filipovic-Majstorovic, were notorious both in Jasenovac and Stara Gradiska, for killing scores of inmates with his bare hands, women and children included.





Mutilated body of a man tortured and killed at Jasenovac

In in cellar 3 at Stara Gradiska, (known as the "Gagro Hotel"), starved inmates were first tortured and then slowly strangled to death by wire.



In the Dinko Sakic trial, witness Ivo Senjanovic recalled how people were locked there without food or water:

"The people were gradually dying. It was horrible to hear them cry for help."


The treatment of inmates was so horrific that on the night of August 29, 1942, bets were made among the prison guards as to who could liquidate the largest number of inmates. One of the guards, Petar Brzica reportedly cut the throats of 1,360 prisoners with a butcher knife. A gold watch, a silver service, a roasted suckling pig, and wine were among his rewards.



The type of knife used for cutting prisoners' throats became known as srbosjek translated as the "Serb-cutter". Because of his expertise with the sbosjek, Petar Brzica was dubbed "King of the Cut-throats".




The gate at Stara Gradiska

It is estimated that close to 600,000 (depending on who's statistics you agree with), mostly Serbs, Jews, Gypsies, were murdered at Jasenovac.



The number of Jewish victims was between twenty and twenty-five thousand, most of whom were murdered there up to August 1942, when deportation of the Croatian Jews to Auschwitz for extermination began.



Statistics for Romani victims are difficult to assess, as there are no firm estimates of their number in prewar Croatia and Bosnia-Herzegovina. The best estimates calculate the number of Romani victims at about 26,000, of whom between 8,000 and 15,000 perished in Jasenovac.

There are only loose estimates for the number of Croats murdered by the Ustaša. This group included political and religious opponents of the regime, both Catholic and Muslim. Between 5,000 and 12,000 Croats are believed to have died in Jasenovac.





An emaciated child at Stara Gradiska

In early April 1945, the partisans were fighting nearby Jasenovac and its subcamps, so the Ustase began eliminating traces of the camp, killing some of the inmates and transporting others to Lepoglava and from there to Jasenovac I.



The ultimate liquidation of the Camp was begun on April 20, when the last large group of women and children was executed. On April 22, 1945, under the leadership of Ante Vukotic, about 600 people armed with bricks, poles, hammers and other things, broke down the doors, shattered windows and ran out of the building. About 470 people were sick and unable to fight barehanded with the armed Ustaša, so they did not take part in the rebellion.



The 150 meter long path to the east gate of the camp was covered by the crossfire of the Ustaša machine guns, and many prisoners were killed there. A large number of them was killed on the wires of the camp. A hundred prisoners managed to break through the broken gate of the camp. Only 80 prisoners survived while 520 of them died in the first assault. The remaining 470 within the camp were later killed by the Ustaša.




Bodies of victims murdered at Jasenovac floating in the Sava river

Yugoslav Army forces entered the Stara Gradiska camp on April 23, and Jasenovac on May 2, 1945. Before leaving the camp, the Ustaša killed the remaining prisoners, blasted and destroyed the buildings, guard-houses, torture rooms, the "Picili Furnace" and the other structures. Upon entering the camp, the liberators found only ruins, soot, smoke, and dead bodies.



During the following months of 1945, the grounds of Jasenovac were thoroughly destroyed by forced laborers, composed of 200 to 600 Domobran soldiers captured by the Partisans, thereby making the area a labor camp. They leveled the camp to the ground and among other things dismantled a two-kilometer long, four-meter high wall that surrounded it.

The National Committee of Croatia for the investigation of the crimes of the occupation forces and their collaborators stated in its report of November 15, 1945 that 500,000-600,000 people were killed at Jasenovac.

Nikola Gardovic

March 1, 1998 marks exactly six years since the brutal killing of Nikola
Gardovic, the fist victim of the Bosnian war. This killing marked the
start of the Bosnian war, and as such is an important historical event.
Remarkably, the international media has consistently failed to report on
it.
...
March 1, 1992 was a Sunday. Nikola Gardovic's son was getting married at
a Serbian Orthodox Church in central Sarajevo. The wedding procession
was not dressed in Serbian national costume, they were unarmed civilians,
and they walked from one Serbian Orthodox Church to another, which is the
custom on such an occasion. Suddenly, a car without license plates
overtook the procession, and waited for it in front of the Orthodox
church at Bascarsija, the center of Sarajevo. When the procession
arrived, Ramiz Delalic Celo and his two accomplices got out of the car,
and immediately started firing. Delalic shot Nikola Gardovic at point-blank
range. Why? Because Gardovic was carrying a Serbian flag. This, apparently,
was considered an unforgivable sin in Alija Izetbegovic's bastion of
multiethnicity, multiculturalism, and tolerance -- Sarajevo.

Nikola Gardovic died, while his son-in-law, Radenko Mirovic - an
Orthodox priest - was wounded.

The day after these events, Izetbegovic trampled on the memory of Nikola
Gardovic by alleging that the entire event was a provocation to make the
Muslim people (Ramiz Delalic is a Muslim) look bad. Nevertheless, Delalic
would be arrested and tried for the murder, Izetbegovic promised.

Delalic was not arrested, nor was he tried. He was promoted! He became
the deputy commander of the Ninth Motorized Brigade of the Muslim Army of
Bosnia and Herzegovina. His brigade carried out many massacres during the
war, including a massacre of 32 Bosnian Croat civilians in the village of
Grabovica. Delalic was finally arrested on October 26, 1993 for "military
insubordination". He was tried and sentenced to 3 and a half years on
that charge, but after spending only seven and a half months in prison,
he was amnestied by Alija Izetbegovic.

Delalic was never charged or tried for the murder of Nikola Gardovic.
Today, Delalic owns a pizzeria at Bascarsija in downtown Sarajevo, not far
from the spot where he murdered Gardovic. Delalic lives in Sarajevo.
Remarkably, he has not yet been indicted by the Hague Tribunal.

It is important to note that Gordana Knezevic, an editor of the
Sarejvo daily "Oslobodjenje", also trampled on the memory of Nikola Gardovic
by writing a column for "Oslobodjenje" a few days after his murder, in
which she blamed Gardovic -- the victim -- and stating that he was a
provocateur who should not have been waving a Serbian flag in Sarajevo!
This is like saying that a raped victim provoked her own rape, and it is
not the rapist's fault since he was provoked by her skimpy clothing.

Incredibly, Knezevic has been widely praised in the Western media over
the past few years, even though she publicly mocked an elementary civil right
that exists in every democratic society -- the right to carry one's national
flag. If people in New York had the same approach to civil liberty as
Ramiz Delalic and Gordana Knezevic do, there would be massacres here
every other weekend, whenever a national parade marches down Fifth Avenue.

The murder of Nikola Gardovic indicates what life was like for Bosnian
Serbs under the rule of Alija Izetbegovic. They were harassed, tortured,
and murdered. They did not have elementary civil rights or civil liberties,
yet the international community barely took notice, and -- oh irony of
ironies -- praised Izetbegovic for his rhetoric about the virtues of
"multiethnic, multireligious, and tolerant" Sarajevo.

May the loving memory of Nikola Gardovic live forever.

Milan Pavlovic,
New York

the-silencers-in-the-doj

The globalists at the EU have come up with ways of silencing the people in their Nation States of Europe, the UN and the OIC are feverishly working with Hillary Clinton, and now the DOJ is collaborating with the Mohammedists to institute Sharia in America. In other words they’re all trying to shut us up. Silence us. Because we are finally speaking up in the interest of self-preservation because the Mohammedists have murdered 270 million non-Muslims, and countless Muslims, worldwide because Mohammed ordered them to fourteen hundred years ago in a book called the Quran.

This is what the Mohammedists have done everywhere they have gone. They start their no-go zones, exercise their influence politically, expand their territory of occupation where no infidel can tread and put up their Sharia-compliant signs, and then they go about shutting us up through coercion, litigation and violence. It’s what they’ve been doing since the advent of Mohammed and his all-encompassing political ideology of mass-plunder and kill the infidel.

Mohammed knew that if he were to become the Supremacist that he was he would need to institute a system of government to exterminate all his enemies. And when Mohammed died there was not one enemy left standing. It was the legacy he left the world. A legacy of plunder and genocide through and sanctioned by the Caliphate and enforced by Sharia. A tyranny so supremacist, so misogynistic, so brutal, so racist and so bigotted in it’s nature as to require a law that would stop everyone from criticizing it by penalty of death.

Now the dhimmis in our DOJ are collaborating with the Mohammedist Supremacists to shut us up in America, in violation of our U.S. Constitution, so that they can continue what they’ve been doing since the Seventh Century. And that is committing genocide against everyone who doesn’t submit to Mohammed’s Islam.

Patrick Henry once said “Give me liberty, or give me death.” We at the ADL will continue to follow in Patrick Henry’s footsteps and we resoundingly say “Give me liberty, or give me death” and we will never shut up.

John Bolton Admits All Of These Wars Are For Oil

Oil,,,black dirty oil..more precious than red blood.

John Bolton admits that all these wars are for oil. Iraq surely. Libya surely. Afghanistan, not quite sure.

What wasn't for oil was America's involvment with the Balkans. They aided the muslims, who almost took over the country of Bosnia and would have turned it into a radical islam state. No rights for Christians. The sending of Christian kids to the middle east to be educated in the islamic ways, brainwashed. A peace plan was broker in Paris. The muslim leader Itzegevobic flatly denied it, he knew only war would get him the power he yearned for. A member of the muslim brotherhood and who spents long times in the middle east being instructrd by the most radical islams on the face of the planet.

Luckily the Serbians stood up to this. For a while the Croatians stood up to this. But their hatred led to a partnership with the folks that catholics should naturally hate. But they were Roman Catholics, trained in the black arts by the vatican and the nazis. They took murder, torture, rape and everything they entail to such a standard, that even their nazi overlords would become unsettled by their actions.

Faced with the double barreled shotgun of radical islam and fascist roman catholic cruelty, no one can blame the Serbs for fighting for their very lives.

And at a time when the apparently civilized western powers could have done things right in Bosnia, they instead to a shit on the Serbians. They supported the muslims and the nazi-croats. Why is a mystery to me, but I know it to be true from my time in Bosnia. Reports about muslim and croat treachery went nowhere. Our higher headquarters (US) would tell us to forget things like black hercules landing in the new Visoko airfield. To not mention the many Arabs wandering around with briefcases (that we learned held amounts of cash for the islam fighters. Reported higher and it was never heard of again. bill clinton and albright had some reason to support the islamofascists, maybe we will never know why in out lifetime. Now hilary (I call her CUNTY) is doing the same thing to soverign countries throughout the middle east.

Where will it end? A small scale invasion of Canada to secure the tar sands out west? Our military could never stop the massive us army. The americans run the un so our complaints to them would go unanswered. We are the majority supplier of oil to the us, not saudi arabia or any other country in the middle east. Over half of the us's oil comes from Canada. Who long will it take them to calculate that they will save money by mounting a military action to take over the tar sands and hence get free oil?

I'm sure they will keep the Canadian crews now working up there employed. Yes, no reason to ship mexicans up to Canada is there?

Maybe the us economy is getting close to imploding. Surely there have been no real experts in charge of it for a long, long time. There is the rich and then the unwashed masses. Oh and there is a middle class, but they only make enough money to get to a higher tax bracket, and not enough to actually invest it and make more money.

I get so mad at the world today. It seems to be run by rich assholes who couldn't organize a free fuck at a whore house. I watched game 3 of the world series of baseball tonight, and there was the devil george w bush sitting in the seats with the owner of the Texas Rangers. If ever there was a reason for killing the dim-witted he would be the first to go. I should start planning and making a time machine in order to go back to just before dubya was concieved and grab his momma's uterus with a pair of vice grips and tear that satan's lair clean out of her.

I know what I should do... disconnect my computer and my tv and my electricity and live off the grid. I would be so busy that I wouldn't get caught up with all this planetary bullshit! Yes sir, I could live with out this crap. But unfortunately that wouldn't last long, as I would yearn to hear what the evil ones were doing to the meek. I would want to know how my beloved Serbian nation was doing. I would need the internet for that. And as long as I had the internet, I may as well get the TV too, nothing makes me more happy than to sit in front of my computer and rage upon those millionaire athlete shits that should have a 1000% cut in their salaries so scientists can find a cure for cancer.

I haven't vented for quite some time, and I feel good..
Long live Serbia!!!

The Killing of Gadhafi: The Thugs Of Globalist Tyranny Killing Thugs By Cherry Picking

"Today the Gods of Globalist Tyranny and NATO Enforcer-by-bombing killed thug Gadhafi. A disgusting display of mob rule by the thugs and their globalist collaborators-in-crime. Thugs killing thugs by cherry picking. Are we supposed to feel good about this garish sight? Are we?

Why not go out and kill Hashim Thaci, the Monster of Kosovo, whose Albanian Muslim-seized Pristina government thugs kidnapped young Christian Serbs off the streets of Kosovo and sent them to that “yellow house” in the Albanian Mountains to harvest their internal organs on the European Black Market?

Why not go out and kill Ahmadinejad of Iran for hanging forty-six of his own people in twenty days last Christmas alone?

Or, how about killing Assad of Syria, who has, and is still, horrifically killing his own people on the streets of Syria, or who’s-in-charge-now Egypt whose “new-and-improved” government is mowing down the Egyptian Christian Copts on their streets with tanks paid for by the American taxpayer and shipped to by 5-War Obama?

And if you are going to cherry pick the thugs you are going to exterminate, how about turning your gaze on yourselves? Thugs of Globalist Tyranny and NATO Enforcer-by-bombing, with that thug George Soros-funded Responsibility To Protect Doctrine.

The Thug-in-Chief, by acquiescence in this George Soros-financed Responsibility To Protect Doctine “Kinetic Action” in Libya, is culpable along with all the global manipulators and nation destroyers in the E.U., the U.N. and NATO Enforcer-by bombing for this death by government. And any nincompoop can see where this is leading us to. And that is mob rule by the Gods of Globalist Tyranny. Thugs killing thugs. Just like the Mafia. Only now it’s a globalist Mafia of globalist manipulators who are orchestrating a global agenda of world tyranny by their killing force NATO.

A dangerous precedent. Disgusting. Contemptible. Despicable. And treacherous in it’s endgame. Everything to be despised and condemned by a civilized people everywhere.

May I suggest that we hold these Gods of Globalist tyranny accountable now because they are out of control. Way out of control. And let’s start by shutting down the U.N. and replacing it with the House of Horrors. A wax museum of the greatest killers of all time. The globalist thugs that comprise these global institutions with impunity. You know who they are."

HOW TO DEAL with the DVA before violence:

HOW TO DEAL with the DVA before violence:

Well, it is all like a big stupid game. Like combat in a way I guess. The other side has to do their thing, and our side has to do our thing.

The difference is patience. In combat, their is little time for patience. Sure patience may be a good tactic, but pretty much the actual fighting goes along at a pretty good pace.

For the VA, we have us who know what we have done and what we deserve out of the govt. On their side, we have bean headed civilians that don't understand a thing about the Army. Although by now they probably do have a good understanding, but they have their processes to go through before letting Veterans get their due worth.

So it takes a long time to get anything resolved. What seems straightforward to us, apparently baffles the VA civilians. We put in a claim for a disability pension, and I think their first IA is to doubt everything we have included as evidence.

Being mentally unsound isn't proven until you have a shrink type diagnose you with it. Being handicapped physically is nothing if you can't prove it is a result of an accident that occured during your service.

Of course a lot of us old dudes never went to the medics or sick parade for anything. I'm sure that 95 % of us have had concussions that would make Sir Sydney Crosby sit in a puddle and make a jacuzzi by repeated passing of gas.

So they don't take your word for anything. Everything must be recorded and written down. And luckily these days, the soldiers and their leadership realize this and send the troops to the medics for every little injury - because you never know when/if it may benefit them in the future.

I told a friend of mine recently to think that it is not DVA that is bothering him, but that he is bothering them. It is going to take a lot of time, sure, but most things involving money takes time (not including the lottery that is).

If you have a good case for why you should be compensated, then keep on phoning the DVA, and when you get refused a pension, keep on appealing it. The bureau of pension advocates is a great resource for us, makes me wonder why they even exist sometimes.

That being said, they don't give anything away without a good reason. Being in the Armoured Corps for x amount of years doesn't give you a pension for your knees, or back. It is sometimes too late for us, but I think the young troops are getting cared of much better than we were in the day. And that is not a slight against our leaders back then, they didn't know any better than us.

Any way that is my opinion.

Plus - The governement seems to think they are providing adequate compensation for its returning vets of the Afghan war, and vets in general. That is hogwash. The new veterans charter is an abomination, and that the govt brought that in during wartime is a fucking embarrassement and fuckery.

If you have a case and adequate docs to back up your position, keep on bothering the DVA. Don't get upset and lose control. Stay the course until the end.

Terror plot foiled in the USA

A plot to assinate the Saudi ambassador to the US has been interrupted. New terror catch word is the group Al Quds. I never heard of them, but I suspect that they will become the US's worst enemy eventually.
Terror suspect charged with attemp to use weapons of mass destruction. They apparently were brainstorming a plan to blow up the ambassador in a restaurant with a bomb. BOMB = WMD !!
When will the insanity stop? Who will take the bad man away?

Not me, officialy that is....

Killing the Truth. The Role of the Western Media

Killing the Truth. The Role of the Western Media

The Western media constitutes a major instrument of war. NATO war crimes are obfuscated. Popular resistance to the NATO led invasion is not mentioned.

A narrative of "liberation" and "opposition pro-democracy rebel forces" is instilled in the inner consciousness of millions of people. Its called the "NATO Consensus".

"The NATO Consensus" which upholds the "humanitarian mandate" of the Atlantic alliance cannot be challenged. The bombings of civilian areas as well as the role of a terrorist militia are either trivialised or not mentioned.

Killing the truth is an integral part of the military agenda.

Realities are turned upside down.

The lie becomes the truth.

Its an inquisitorial doctrine. The NATO consensus dwarfs the Spanish Inquisition by a long shot.

The criminal invasion and occupation of Libya is not mentioned. The lives of independent journalists in Tripoli who report on what is actually happening are threatened. The catch words are "Liberation" and "Revolution" with NATO's mandate limited to R2P ("Responsibility to Protect").

Liberation or Invasion? By camouflaging the nature of the military operation, not to mention NATO atrocities, the Western media has contributed to providing the Transitional Council with a semblance of legitimacy and international recognition. The latter would not have been forthcoming without the support of the Western media.

NATO special forces and intelligence operatives on the ground are in permanent liaison with military planners involved in coordinating NATO strike sorties and bombing raids on the Libyan capital.

EXACTLY WHAT WENT ON IN THE BALKANS IN THE LAST 20 YEARS ,,!!

Без звезда вечери

Пте Вацслав Третиак погледао у ноћно небо. Она га је подсетио у својој кући у Петролов. Његов отац подигао овце, а када Вацслав била довољно стара, да ће отићи из као пастир брине о стада оваца његовог оца. Ово би урадио за 3-4 дана, а онда се разрешава његов брат. Затим, у 3-4 дана он би се поново схепхердинг и заштити своје стадо.
Главна претња је вукова; мањој опасности је оваца само лута искључен. До сада од других, ловокрадице су били мало забринутост. Вацслав провео многе ноћи на степа са својим стадо оваца. Он је постепено идентификовани звезданих система, и имао ујака који је истакао велики медвед и мали медвед. Вацслав убрзо сазнао да Северна звезда може лако наћи ако се може идентификовати Велики медвед, велики медвед или Велики Медвед. Као што је после његовог стада оваца, покушао је да онда наставите на земљишту његовог оца у односу на северу звезда.
Пте Петар Рихтер је био син зидар. Он је убрзо научили како да раде са својим рукама. Али, колико је имао у старту да постане упутство радник, попут зидар, он је такође имао жељу да пишем. Његов град Хецлкингдорф су производи неколико добрих писаца у своје време. Радио је у својим раним тинејџерским као физички радник, али и даље чува интерес у високом образовању.
Нажалост, за ову причу, њихови путеви ће крст на врата пакла који је Стаљинграда. Били су тек регрутовани су и после тренинга послати на Стаљинград у отприлике исто време. Обојица су желели да уђу у борбу, а свака се сматра добрим битку да се бори за. Убрзо су добили похабале сталним гранатирањем и смрти. Немачки појачања претворио у кап, а не много руских војника је преживео прелазак Волге.
Бука од тенкова;
Бука од Томми Гун;
Се да награду пре Ианкс;
Генералштаб је жао због свог сина.

Монти је британски Копиле;
Патон је психопата;
Како да убију војнике брже;
Гурните трупе нацистима гнев.

2 арогантан сероње;
Окрените плима рата у јаребицу ритам;
Сваки дан су сируп у чиније;
Трупе отопити њихова смрзнута стопала.

Многи мисије смо урадили;
Покушајте да помере муслиманској страни;
Требали смо бацили први камен;
Али јабонес ће плакати геноцид.


Сви смо ми под звездама;
Види овде их, види их тамо;
Трепере светла у баровима;
Скоро да изгледа превише фер.

На ивицу тоталног рата;
Ми сви као да мрзе једни друге;
Ко ће бити први који ће гурнути бара;
Свака глава пуцао је мајка.

Арсехолес, Муслимана и друггиес;
Нису ту имиграције правила?;
Имиграције особље нису старе фогиес;
Они су глупи будале.

Лектор је био изабран један;
Мрзе некога, да их мртве;
Воп опера је тон;
Још један роман да се прочита.

Како је ваш живот?
Да ли сте постићи ништа?
Да ли је то испуњено било сукоба?
Да ли сте одговори на сваки прстен?

Да ли је ваш живот 9-5?
Да ли сте добили куче смањи?
Да ли знају шта је живот?
Сила се на ивици.

Америчку телевизију ријалити шоу;
Губитник ианкс без живота;
Они су сви величине краве;
Живот привилегија без сукоба.

Наши војници су урадили свој задатак;
Одговорио сваки мисије;
Нема потребе за било маска;
Њихова мисија може да буде и цемента.

Ово циввие живот је ОК;
Пиво продавница је тако близу;
Живи мој дан живот у дан;
Остало ништа за страх?



Они никада нису знали да је могао бити тако тамна. Су их користили у шуму ноћу, већ против непријатеља, ноћ је била сувише мрачна и застрашујућа. Обе стране су патролирали једни другима одбране, они отели заробљеника и следеће ноћи бисмо. Онда неки релативно мирна и тиха уследила.

Они и ми смо знали бојно поље, и разумео даље патролира је било непотребно. Они су били у својим рупама и подрумима, а ми били у нама. Оружје је знао и опсег и наше. Снајперисти слитхеред око обе стране фронта, заиста Данце мацабре. Обе стране су знали шта долази, борба до краја. Реците вашим молитвама или чок вашем пилетина, без обзира на осећао боље. Убрзо ракете ће бити отпуштен, пиштаљке ће бити разнесена. Потпуно неупотребљив отпад човечанства, само се надали да убију неколико пред својим мизерним смрт.

The Starless Nights

Pte Vacslav Tretiak looked up at the night sky. It reminded him of his home of Petrolow. His father raised sheep, and when Vacslavwas old enough, he would go out as a shepherd to look after his father's sheep herd. This he would do for 3-4 days, then get relieved by his brother. Then in 3-4 days he would be back shepherding and protecting his herd.
The main threat was wolves, a lesser threat was sheep just wandering off. So far from others, poachers were of little concern. Vacslav spent many nights on the steppes with his herd of sheep. He gradually identified star systems, and he had an uncle that pointed out the big bear and the small bear. Vacslav soon learned that the north star could be easily found if one can identify Ursa Major, the big bear or big dipper. As he followed his herd of sheep, he tried to keep then on his father's land in reference to the north star.

Pte Peter Richter was the son of a bricklayer. He soon learned how to work with his hands. But as much as he had a head start to become a manual labourer, like a bricklayer, he also had a desire to write. His town of Heclkingdorf had produces a few good writers in its time. He worked in his early teens as a labourer, but still kept an interest in a higher education.

Unfortunately, for this story, their paths would cross at the gates of Hell that was Stalingrad. They were drafted and after training sent to Stalingrad at about the same time. They both were keen to enter the fray, and each considered it a good battle to fight for. Soon they got worn down by constant shelling and death. German reinforcements dwindled to a trickle, and not many Russian troops survived the crossing of the Volga.

The clatter of the tanks;
The clatter of the tommy gun;
Get to the prize before the Yanks;
General Staff is sorry for your son.

Monty is a British Bastard;
Patton is a psychopath;
How to kill troops faster;
Push the troops to the Nazis wrath.

2 arrogant assholes;
Turn the tide of war into a partridge beat;
Every day they have syrup in their bowls,
Troops thaw out their frozen feet.

Many missions we have done;
Try to push the Muslim side;
We should have thrown the first stone;
But the jabones will cry genocide.

We are all under the stars;
See them here, see them there;
Flashing lights in the bars;
It almost seems too fair.

To the brink of total war;
We all seem to hate each other;
Who will be the first to push the bar;
Every head shot has a mother.

Arseholes, muslims and druggies;
Aren't there immigration rules?;
Immigration staff are not old fogies;
They are stupid fools.

Lector was a chosen one;
Hate someone, make them dead;
WOP operas was the tone;
Another novel to be read.

How was your life?
Did you accomplish anything?
Was it filled with any strife?
Did you answer every ring?

Was your life 9-5?
Have you got a doggy shrink?
Do you even know what life is?
Force yourself to the brink.

American TV reality shows;
Loser yanks with no life;
They are all the size of cows;
A life of privilege with no strife.

Our soldiers have done their task;
Answered every mission statement;
No need for any mask;
Their mission may as well be cement.

This civvie lif is OK;
The beer store is so near;
Live my life day to day;
Nothing left to fear?

They never knew it could be so dark. They were used to the woods at night, but against an enemy, the night was too dark and scary. Both sides patrolled each other's defences; they snatched prisoners and the next night we would. And then some relative calm and quiet.

They and we knew the battlefield, and understood further patrolling was unnecessary. They were in their holes and basements; we were in ours. Their guns knew the range, and ours also. Snipers slithered around both sides of the front lines, truly a dance macabre. Both sides knew what was coming, a battle to the end. Say your prayers or choke your chicken, whatever felt better. Soon the flares would be fired, whistles will be blown. A totally useless waste of mankind, they only hoped to kill a few before their own miserable death.

Western support of Libya

Well another misguided western mission..... The new government already stated they don't need any foriegn troops or anybody to assist them. So all the groups and tribes that supported Ghaddafi will get quietly killed. The new law and order in Tripoli will be Sharia, and the human abuses will eclipse old Ghaddafii. Thanks for the help western pawns, no we will rule a country dedicated to sharia, and our mission will be to overtake the world and bring sharia to every corner of the globe..
This force, and Iran, and Iraq (it will get run over by radicals as soon as the US troops leave), Pakistan, Afghanistan (another country that will get overrun by radical islamic troops,, the Taliban..), every poor north african country, Syria, Egypt, Jordan, Lebenon will even pile on, will make an end run to turn the whole middle east one big sharia ruled country, with their previous countries turned into provinces for the greater good. The west's only front line will be Isreal, and we will pour funds and arms into it to stem the tide over there, before the Islamfashists can plan an attack on western Europe. Once Isreal fails, without the defence of nuclear weapons, the road is open towards Europe. The only real force in the way is the country of Serbia, which have fought to keep Islam from Europe for hundreds of years. They will get support from Russia, but will not stop the tide of Islam into Europe. They will however, never surrender and fight a guerrila war against the Islamic hordes...
Once Islamic hordes attack Europe proper, they will get a co-ordinated defence from sworn enemies France and Germany. Unfortunately by this time, there have been so many muslim members in parliment in the UK, that they vote against any action against the Islamic onrush. But the true english, and anyone that cares about freedom, create guerilla forces to fight the weak government position.
Eventualy the islamic forces take over Europe, that being France and Germany; as the Scandanavian countries have already voted in equal rights for muslim terrorists. The eastern European countries don't answer their call from NATO to fight on, and reach an agreement with the Islamic forces. Russia doesn't agree with anything, and keeps on the sidelines.
Now islam and sharia control europe, and want more.. They plot against the south american and north american countries. South America has no real muslims, and decide to fight against anyone that threatens them. Central America's drug market has dwindled so they want a return to the status quo. Mexico make two pinatas, one full of candy and small bottles of booze, and one full of falafel.
So it comes down to the USA and Canada. The first thing we do is execute all Islams in our armies - a couple of thousand in the US Army and a couple in the Canadian Army.
Fortunately we have an all arms combined kind of army, so our navy, air force, and army can co-ordinate their efforts.
The islamic hordes sail from France in a hodge podge convoy of yachts, fish boats, and other small boats. The British Navy had already slipped away to Halifax to fight another day. Of course the islams didn't take any of the countries ferries, as homosexualism is not tolerated.
This rag tag band of islamists set out for global domination got about 50 kms off the coast of Europe and was sunk by both US submarines and all other countries submarines. Stupid islams never thought to defend against everything land, air, sea, and undersea...
Losers,,,

Toronto Blue Jays game.....

I had the good fortune to win 3 tickets to a Blue Jays game, and good ones at that; a couple rowes up from the first base. I head down to Toronto with my friends Kevin Clark and Donny Walsh. We check into a hotel close to the Rogers center, and have pre game drinks by the jerrycan. We get to the park early and order our first $10 glasses of draft. Before the game there is an event where the players chip golf balls into the crowd, which sounds dangerous, but everyone seems to enjoy it. I managed to snag one of them; a Titlest with a Blue Jays logo.

Soon the game starts, and it is as boring as it is watching it on TV. But one of the opposing players fouls one over our heads, and it bounces off someone and lands in my lap... Yippee, a golf ball and a baseball!! Time for another $30 round of beer! During the 7 inning stretch, some bambinos come out with a t-shirt cannon. They fire one our way, but just to our left,, and it hits a towel head in the head and bounces into my lap. Now I have won 3 things! Another $30 round of beer is ordered. Yes, I have won about $7.00 worth of prizes and still order $30 rounds of beer. Shortly thereafter I have to go to the bathroom and so does Kevin, so we leave our seats and my treasures with Donny to guard. We get to the men's room, and I know I'm in trouble because I can hardly aim to get my pee into the urinal and not in my back pocket. Me and Kevin head back to our seats. As we go through the gate we see there is a commotion going on down below. We joke that it is probably some drunk getting thrown out. On our way to our seats we see in fact that it is Donny Walsh getting the heave ho. I ask him where my loot is, and he just says the towel head started something that he wanted to finish. Me and Kevin go to our seats in time to watch the Jays lose.

OK, that is behind us, time to hit the bars of Toronto and have a good time. Before that we ask a policeman where we can pick up Donny in the morning. We jump in a cab and ask the cabdriver to take us to the best bar in the city. We are soon dropped off at a mostly black exterior and interior bar that played only a deep bass chord, intermixed what we can only guess is a jackal screaming while getting plowed in the back end by a hyena. We leave and jump in another cab.

This cab drops us off in a bar with more or less our music and lots of girls dancing. The beer is reasonable and we soon have a couple of chicks that we are feeding bullshit too. IE, I never knew that Kevin was from Australia and was a ski instructor in Austria. Of course he didn't know that I was Scottish and owned a distillery on the shore of Lock Scnell. We were having a great time! Then Kevin noticed some big dude pushing a chick, and of course had to interfere. He walked up to the guy and asked him if he wanted to push around someone his own size? I never actually seen his right hand move, but soon Kevin was reeling from a vicious right jab from this guy. It rocked Kevin, but instead of getting upset, he actually admired the dudes fast hands. By now the pushed chick had left, so we invited the big dude to our table for beers. We got along grandly.

The next thing I know I walking around outside by myself. In the distance I see the CN Tower, so I know that is where our hotel is. I head in that direction, crossing several busy streets on the way. All of a sudden, with the tower in the background, I discover that I'm on a back street that is dark, no streetlights. I wonder how I've gotten myself into this, and attempt to back track to find a better path to the CN Tower, and this just gets me into darker streets. I walk down a street, and before I know it, get approached by a guy. He asks "What the hell you doing down here boy?" A thought flashed through my mind to answer him that I was down here plotting a new location for a KFC, but instead just replied "just trying to make my way to my hotel". He says this ain't no place for tourists, and I answer that I reckon not. He pulls out a small flashlight and lights up my face. I'm trying to put on a face of fearlessness with just a touch of aggression. Somehow he asked me if I'm a soldier. I say yes I was. He says follow me and guides me through the area to the nearest lit up area on the way to the CN Tower, Rogers Center, and my hotel. He tells me that I should probably not visit this area of Toronto again. I thank him and head towards my hotel.

I stagger into the hotel lobby and get to the elevator. I go up and down the elevator until I find my floor. I focus with one eye on the room number on the card, and still can't make out anything else but the first number which is 6 which means the sixth floor. After an hour of trying my card in every door, I finally find one that lights up green and I'm allowed in. Kevin is on the couch with a half eaten pizza on the coffee table. The mini bar has one beer left and I crack it open and have a slice of pizza. As I eat pizza and drink beer, I think that this may have been a once in a lifetie Toronto night.At least I sure hope it is ,,!!

Another twisted dream...

I have a couple saved up from the last couple of nights...

I was back in the army. We were in some training area training on tanks. Our Sqn (C) had been picked to represent the Regiment at the next Canadian Army Trophy (CAT). I have no idea what the year was. We were doing Troop training, which means that the 4 tanks in our troop were practising moving as a troop and conduction various drills and SOPs. We stopped for a break, and me and my gunner, Jay, walked through a treeline to watch another troop manouevre. I explained to him how the troop was moving and the tactics involved.

After a while we walked back through the treeline to our tanks. When we got through we found that the tanks were gone. We thought that maybe we took the wrong path trough the trees and went back into the woods to try to find a different path. We always came back to the same area, so we decided to set off and try to find the troop. So we began to wander around the training area in search of our troop. After many hours of wandering we came back to the actual base area. I knew somehow that we were on the eastern side of the base, and had to go western part to get to our unit lines.

It seems that there was a Brigade sports day happening, and we looked mighty curious in our combat gear travelling across sports field towards our lines. Somewhere along the way I lost Jay and it was just me. I finally got to the unit lines and there was a big crowd of folks in PT Gear getting ready to participate in the sports. I entered our hangar and was quickly heading towards where I knew our troop would be parked, when I brushed by a fellow member of the Sqn. All of a sudden I seen a huge flash and then blackness.

I awoke in my bed in the barracks. I glanced at the clock to find out it was 0825 hours and I was obviously late for work. My head really hurt and I was in no hurry to get ready for work. As I was getting ready, a friend showed up. I told him the story of the day before, ending with the flash of light and then nothing. I mentioned that I had just brushed past that blonde haired friend of ours... some guy named Jim or something, but I couldn't remember his last name. As I held my pounding head in my hands, I looked up towards my friend and noticed his name tag was REID. It was then I discovered that he was the guy I had brushed by. I felt elation as I knew he was in the area that I last remember, and could fill in the gaps of my memory. I asked him what he seen. He said; well Chris you brushed by me and then I hit you.

It took me a moment to digest this. Here is a guy that is my friend, who just told me he hit me for some reason. I did the only thing I could think of and asked him why? He told me that the rest of the Sqn resented me because I was brought back into the army and was getting more attention than the guys that had been in for the 5 years that I'd been out of the army. They didn't like that I came back in as a Sgt, and that I had an air of superiority over them. Now this got me thinking. I still had some doubts that I was actually back in the army officially, by that I mean that I was getting paid. I thought I was offering advice to the younger guys, not being an "air of superiority".

Along about then another soldier showed up. He gave me a piece of paper from my Troop Warrant, Dan Stearns. On it was a shopping list for the upcoming troop party. Apparently the Sergeant Major had left it up to Dan to punish me, and his idea of punishment was to make me buy everything for the troop party. Fair enough I thought. I looked at the list of party supplies and found the obvious, a case of every beer the beer store sold, a box of pretzles, a gross of beef jerky, a large pickle, an original book of Tom Sawyer, and an original Wagner flight of the dutchman. So I naturally thought that this doesn't sound right. Dan would never ask for anything so couthfull.

As I considered my options, I realized I wasn't in the barracks, but in a bedroom in a PMQ(Private Married Quarters), and my better half just walked in the front door. She was a pleasant looking gal, with curves in all the right places, and I wondered where the heck she came from. My wonderment was ended by the instantaneous bitching she started in on me. Apparently I wasn't much of a boyfriend, being more in love with beer than her. As I wandered around the place, I was surprised to find an unkempt place, which is not my style.

From here the dream regresses into a booze filled, senior citizen loving kind of madness that should not be published anywhere, at any time.

Dream 19 Aug 2011

More of the same last night.

I was in the Army again in Germany. I was with Recce Sqn and we had a SUE (small unit exchange) with the Irish Army. The base we went to was on the west coast and was pretty isolated. Most of the Irish Recce coy we were visiting was in Lahr on their part of the exchange. One of the units on base were the Irish Parachute Brigade..
Of course we swooped into this area with lots of $$ and partying on our mind. Hence we flooded the few local bars and romanced many of the local chicks. The Para guys didn't like this at all, but knew we were only there for a week, so attempted to just wait it out.

The second day I was there I actually went alone to the Para mess to have some beers. The older barmaid was very friendly and the Para guys I met were also friendly. It seems that this exchange had no scheduled events, so all we did was drink to the point of excess, sleep in, and then start all over. I continued to go to the Para mess as my first place for beers (breakfast). After a few days the Para guys were a little pissed off at us, but they majority of the guys I met in the Para mess were still friendly. The barmaid was always telling me to come back in the future and visit her birthplace; an island off the west coast. Apparently there was lots of historic sites to see, but the only thing that attracted me was the fact that there were more pubs per capital then anywhere else in Ireland.

The tension between us and the Paras was ratched up after a few of them were beat up in a bar fight at one of the local pubs. Of course the next night, they dished it out to us. Soon a major confrontation was coming to be.

I still went every day to the Para mess for breakfast (about 4 pints of Guinness). The guys that had become friends were still there, but others whom I didn't know showed up. They talked to their Para buddies and I could tell that they didn't like me being in their mess. I bought a round of Jameson's Irish whiskey for everyone, toasted them all, and then made a quick escape before any thing evil happened.

That afternoon, when tensions were coming to the boiling point, I sat in my truck and plotted out a route to the barmaid's island for a visit the next week. My truck was parked inside the local mall, and I soon got asked about it from my Recce Sqn comrades. Since I had no idea why/how my truck was there, I made up a story that I had it shipped here by train, because I was taking 2 weeks of holidays after the exchange. That seemed to satify them and I soon went about washing the truck. Unfortunately I was on the second floor of the mall, and all my waste water flowed into the pharmacy and I had to escape in a hurry. Luckily the mall had a big enough elevator to handle my little truck.. That was Thursday, and beyond a few fights between us and the Paras, it was quiet.

Friday morning came. Everyone knew in the community that there was going to be a big fight between us and the Paras that night. I went to the Para mess for breakfast and recieved a map and directions from the barmaid to get to her home island. A few of my Para drinking buddies were there and we drank beer and joked. But soon some other big dudes showed up and gave my the hairy eyeball. I finished my beer and left.

Afterwards I visited the Irish Recce unit's mess, where the majority of our Sqn were drinking at. There were a few others present, and I realized that some of the big tankers from our Regiment were sent up by train to bulk up our Sqn. We drank Guinness and Kilkenny, and had a steak and kidney pie before we left the mess on our way to a downtown bar to face the Paras.

As the bulk of us left the mess, I bent down to tie my shoelace, and then the other one,, and then when I was the last I strolled over to my truck and drove it about a km outside of town and went to sleep in my truck. So I started my holidays about 2 hours early, but hey, If I would have accompanied the gang on this assault, they would probably have to stumble over my knocked out corpse just to get to a Para. I'm sure that our Sqn could have handled the Paras in a fair fight, and the fact that we had some heavy callsigns attached to us, they didn't need me amongst the fray, collecting punches and swinging my fists of cotton candy fury...

Then I back in a high school scenario.

I have the usual female teacher that loves/hates me. And I have gathered that I hate/hate her. She has been on my case for ever, and I kinda recognize that she is giving me a hard time because at 45 years old, I may know more than the 16/17 years olds in my classes. There are also some of the folks I went to school with back in the day, but they don't merit the attention I get.

So I'm in the back of her classroom and try to follow along with what she is teaching. Now remember that I've taken all the classes she is teaching 30 years ago, but I have no clue what she is going on about. She brings equations and fractions and so forth to answer a simple question. She may as well be conversing in Klingon.

The next class I get their early and have time to sharpen my pencil. I spy a sharpener up by the chalk board. I go to it, but it doesn't have an opening to put a pencil into it. I think that this sharpener has a factory fault in it and some Joulio mounted it without testing. I head back to my desk. By the time I sit down, there is a young student sharpening her pencil with the sharpener. By the time I rush to the front to see how she is doing it, she has finished and heads back to her desk. Not to look like the fool, I grab a brush and commence to clean the blackboard of some faint chalk images.

Soon Beeazlebub enters and settle's in to her desk in the front of the class. She asks one of the front row students to collect last night's assignment. As he goes from desk to desk collecting papers, I quickly write down enough numbers and letters that it will fool this guy into thinking that I really have an assignment, as I know that the teacher won't look at them until later,,, probably midnight in the garden of good and evil; mostly evil..

So she begins today's class. It is some sort of thing about the public and polititians and whatever I wasn't listening to her. But she asks confirmatory questions and I answer every one directed to me with either "in what context that may be" and/or "can you use that in a sentence".

I soon realize that I'm looking like the fool. The teenagers are sniggling and texting each other about old man Chris being an idiot, and the older students are trying their best to count how many ceiling tiles there is in the classroom. I resolve to pay attention and jot down some notes.

So I start paying attention and make some notes.. Unfortunately I'm taking notes on bristle board with very large letters. I soon have a large stack of bristle boards beside my desk with about 37 words in total on them. Along about then my desk starts sliding to the back door. I manage to stop it and bring it back to the front of the class. As soon as I start taking notes again, it begins to move to the back door. Devil Spawn soon notices this and guides her laser eyes into the desk legs and welds them to the floor right in front of her desk.

I'm somewhat relieved, as my desk is not mobile, I'm in the front so have to pay attention, and I have lots of bristle board left for notes. In a few seconds my head starts to hit the desk because I'm dreadfully tired. I try to stay awake but am unable to. In between naps, I notice that the teacher has changed into some form of alien. I try to stay awake to combat her/it, but I'm so tired.

Luckily I switch to another dream.
I'm in a big truck with my Uncle Charlie and some dude that that hijacked us. This dude has some history with me, (father maybe), and is trying to cross the Confederation Bridge. But before then we drive around Charlottetown. I realize that I'm in a movie, and try to point out the landmarks I know. Because the town is so small, the movie crew often film the same street but going backwards and so forth. Finally the police catch up to us, and the dude is starting to panic. My uncle Charlie takes this oppurtunity to grab the dude's gun and try to convince that it is all over. The dude breaks down and hugs Charlie, Charlie groans and starts to spit blood, as the dude has stabbed him. The police soon corner us, and the dude get's out and points his gun at the police, and subsequently gets shot dead. I notice that his gun is only a starter's pistol and wonder at the madness of it all.


Again in the army I have a bunch of new troops that have no discipline at all, and show no respect for anyone. I have 3 months before we deploy to Afghanistan, so I'm pretty sure that I either have to get this motley crew together, or fire them and start anew. I also wonder why I'm back in the Army and also why the powers to be would let me go back to Afghanistan. Whatever, I try my best. The new guys are mostly men, but there are also some chicks.

We end up at my grandparent's place on Jordan Crescent. Of course the are gone, but my uncle Mickey still lives there. The new guys are giving me grief over everything, and all of my bluster and threats mean nothing to them. I eventually tell them all that they are fired and won't deploy to Afghanistan with us, and that seems to satisfy them greatily. They would rather stay in Petawawa and get paid well and get pregnant and not get in harm's way.

The grandparent's place has a curling rink in it's basement and I think that a game of curling would take all our minds off of everything. Along with my troops, there are also a bunch of kids around 10-14 years old. Unfortunately the ice in the rink is melting and there is no way we can get it to freeze in a day. The rebel troops call everyone a loser and turn their attention to their smartphones and such.

For some reason I find myself in my uncle Charlie's car with a load of kids. He has a big old car and we are on the way to somewhere. I realize I don't have my seat belt on and click up. Charlie doesn't have his on, and since the backseat has at least 6 kids, I realize that they don't either. Oh well, we are driving slow anyway, I try to comfort myself with. Then Charlie starts driving like he is in a Nascar Race. Burning rubber at every corner and fishtailing around corners. We go down town in Charlottetown and he parks out side the big hotel. He gets a blanket from the trunk and enters the hotel, telling us to stay put. So here I am with a bunch of kids. I decide to take them into the restaurant and get them a meal of nutricious junk food. Afterwards we head out to the car. The hotel staff start giving me grief for parking in a 10 minute zone. Then eventually the police come and I give in and drive the car about a half block away. Just then my patrol of coyotes come by doing some sort of training. The first one goes down a boat ramp and parks on a barge. I walk over to the second and notice that the driver doesn't have his headsets on so can't listen to the commander give him direction. What's more the coyote is straddling a guard rail next to the boat ramp. The driver starts to drive forward and all my yelling won't stop anything.. Just before the coyote clears the guardrail, it gets pushed over and lands on its roof on top of the other coyote.

I rush down to the coyotes and at the same time the Troop Officer pulls up in his coyote. He is a good and trusted friend. The coyote that fell has rolled over and is now on its wheels next to the other coyote. We climg up that coyote and discover the commander and gunner has been turned into paste. The driver has been injured and the surv op is ok. We check the other coyote and see the surv ops head is gone, but the rest of the crew alive. The living listen to everything we tell them and do what we tell them. I am sad that the only way we could turn these young dudes into soldiers was to experience death in a training accident before we even got to Afghanistan.

The rest of the dream time involved me coming and going between several different homes and appartements. I remember one that was a nice 2 bedroom, but the only thing that divided it from a similiar 2 bedroom apartement was a 6 foot high divider.

Needless to say, when I come back to reality at the end of these night and discover I'm in my little house in Gowan Brae, I breath a sigh of relief.

Mara Velebit 18 August 18:03 "Stone but should be"

Mara Velebit 18 August 18:03

Kamena ali valja

Dok ovoga ljeta neko
crkava od vrućine
mili Bože,kakve li miline
kuća kamena i stara
davni dana ozidana

Zidovi su joj velike širine
pa kad su vrućine
na krevet se izvali
i biljac preko nogu stavi
netreba brate ,elektro naprava
u ledenoj kući lijepo se spava

predveče-što da se veli
dugi rukav na ručerde spremi
dan kad se smiri-vatru potpiri
u ror ,po starom se zna
u njega po koji kumpijer daj

tako od nakljupljene tugei
muke ,malo osladiš brke
natrpaš punu pupu kumpijera
i zaspeš ko da nemaš problema
m.v.

Stone but should be

While some of this summer
Churches of the heat
dear God, what a gracious;
and an old stone house
built of bygone days

Her walls are large width
So when the heat
the bed is removed
and put a leg over Biljača
netreba brother, electrical devices
in the ice house are sleeping well

evening-which is said to
long sleeves to save ručerde
day to calm down the fire-rely
in ror, as usual it is known
in him to give kumpijer

So the sadness nakljupljene
passion, a little mustaches osladiš
natrpaš full pupu kumpijera
and passing out to have no problem ko
m.v.

Pismo majci - Letter to my Mother

Mara Velebit 18 August 17:39

Pismo majci

Primila sam tvoje pismo mama,
ostala sam odjednom sama
možda ima ljudi oko mene
ali moja duša polako vene

Ljubila sam tvoja kriva slova
i željela da su kod Tebe moja
da ih čitaš u suzama vrelim
oa srca bi bila upućena tebi

Što mi pišeš,da si postarila mama
kako nećeš ali nijesi sama
tvoja djeca daleko su sada
budi hrabra moja mila mama

Što ti pišeš,tata krave čuva
kamo sreće da se unučićima ruga
da ih vodi po našemu polju
pa nek skrši i desnicu nogu
čini mi se lakšnje mi bi bilo
nego ovo što se snaba zbilo

Jedva čekam mamice moja
da Ti kleknem pred koljena tvoja
da ti ljubim ispaćeno lice
mila moja ljepotice
da Ti kažem koliko te volim
da me duša za tobom boli
da sm ti jadna ,moja mila mama
i da sam Ti posve sama.
m.v,

Translated by Google:

I received your letter to mom
I was left alone at a time
maybe there are people around me
but my soul is slowly veins

I loved your letters wrong
and wanted to be with you my
to read the hot tears
oa heart would be sent to you

As we write, that you mum postarila
so you will not but they are not alone
Your children are far away
Be brave my dear mama

As you write, Dad keeps cows
If only the grandchildren mocks
to guide them on our field
and let the right wing and broke the legs
I think we would be lakšnje
but what happened to gas supply

My mommy can not wait
that you kneel in front of your knees
you love the person paid reduction
mila beauty
to tell you how much I love
soul to me for the pain you
sm poor that you, my dear mama
You and I all alone.
m.v.

"Vladimir" trailer

Dream 15 Aug 2011

Well, the good news is I didn't have any more back in the Army dreams; but I did have a few others that are recurring.

The first one was the back in high school dream. I'm in PEI living at my parents. I have been out of the Army for a few years and DVA wants me to do some retraining and get back into the workforce. To satisfy them, I take some adult education classes at my old high school, Bluefield. The classes are a mixture of teenagers and folks my age, in fact I recognize some of the older crowd from 30 years ago in high school. I take history, chemistry, english, math,etc. Since I have already graduated with all these classes, this will be more or less a review for me. Anything to get the DVA off my back.

At first everything goes well and it is all pretty easy. My old best friend from high school, Robert, is in all my classes. He also graduated with all these, but I'm not sure why he is taking them again. We car pool to the high school. Once there, I follow him around to the various classrooms, as I don't have a schedule and the layout of the school is different than what I remember. A constant in these dreams is a female teacher of around my age who is highly suspicious of my being there. She has never married and has no kids. There seems to be some underlaying sexual tension between us. I'm not sure who or what she represents in my dreams; maybe every female I've ever had dealings with?

Then one day, I'm wandering the school on my own. I know I have a class soon, but have no idea where or even when it is. I remember that I may have a schedule in my locker, but of course have no idea where that locker is. In some of these dreams, I actually find the locker, but can't remember the combination of it. I finally see one of my classmates and follow them to the class. As I sit in the class, I realize I am quite lost on the subject matter. The teacher is blabbering on and on, sometimes asking confirmatory questions, but it is like I have never been to any of the classes ever!

It is near mid-term exams, and I fail every one of them. All my teachers take a dim view on this. Most of the teachers don't know my history, the female one seems to know too much of it. I concentrate as hard as I can on doing better, but more and more of my time is spent wandering around wondering where/when the next class is. My friend Robert is no longer going to school, as he has turned into a kind of an idiot, and was starting fist fights over every minor thing.

One time I'm in the female teacher's class, and try as hard as I could, I couldn't concentrate on what she was saying. Time after time I would come back to reality to see she was right in front of my desk asking me a question. Of course, I had no idea. I tried again to pay attention, but noticed that my desk was full of all sorts of pens, pencils and so forth that I was lost again.

Eventually it turned into some sort of challenge for her; trying to teach me stuff that I didn't care about. I would often make up questions and answers just to annoy her. Finally she wants me to stay after class to talk to me. Most of these one on one conversations end up the same way; me saying I will pay more attention and study hard for the final exams. This always seems to make her happy, and then I would leave the school and of course like most dreams try to find my vehicle. I search all the parking lots, and then finally find my truck just before the shop students begin to dismantle it. I take an eventful drive to Gowan Brae. I never go to the school again.

This melded into a dream about my house and property in little old Gowan Brae. In reality I have a house and garage on 13 acres with no close neighbours. In my dreams it appears that I have neighbours and my house is actually attached to another house. There is a large family living in that house. Sometimes I wake up to find several of them sitting around my kitchen table drinking tea and having a good old chat. I try to get upset over this, but they always explain that it was part of the contract I signed when I bought the house; and curiously I accept that at face value. They always clean up after them selves and it seems I have an endless supply of tea and cookies for them. I haven't been around much, what with all the times living with my parents and adventures in Gagetown, Petawawa, Lahr, etc. So I don't really know this family. They seem to be close knit, and enjoy getting together for celebrations. Sometimes when I awake and stumble to the shower nekkid I burst through one of the doors that separates my house from theirs. And of course on the other side is a bunch of folks who are either shocked or just plain erupt in laughter due to my misguided search for the bathroom.

Then this one time I'm driving up my driveway and notice when I get to my house there is a bunch of folks coming out my front door. They are taking out jars and containers of something. I've had this dream before so it is not really news. They seem to prefer to just walk right by me and out the driveway. Again I try to sound upset, and ask them what they are doing. The oldest dude says it is all part of the contract I signed when I bought the house. Again I take this at face value. I ask what they are up to, and get told they have been picking strawberries and using my kitchen to turn them into jam, etc. This gang of folks looks like something out of the deep south: men wearing overalls and females in dresses. It seems a complete family unit, with grandparents, parents, and a bunch of children. I want to tell them it is OK, but if they ever take anything from my house, there will be trouble. Instead I agree to help them pick strawberries the next day.

That night I'm in my bedroom. The floor is very slanted towards the window, which is just a pane of glass half attached to a rotting frame. I check out the other rooms and it is more of the same. I wonder why I bought this place in the first place.

The next morning I'm awoken by the sound of a door closing somewhere in the house. Soon there is a small brown little person walking into my room like she owns the place. She marches into my bedroom and sprays the window sill with something and wipes it off with a rag. Apparently included in this contract was a maid service. She has been in the house about 3.5 minutes, and is demanding a payement. I can't remember what it was but it was outrageously too much for 3.5 minutes of work. After stuffing my cash in her cleavage, she leers at me and informs me that there is another service she is willing to sell. I actully contemplate it, but I remember the Seinfeld episode where he slept with the maid and she ended up doing no cleaning at all, just taking Jerry's money. So being the gentleman that I am, I ask her if she has any bigger and younger sisters. She gives me a glare that could peel the paint off Satan's sedan, and slams every door on her way out.

So I'm left there in bed, getting ready to take a shower and planning my way to my own bathroom, not the neighbour's. After that I'm all set for a day of picking strawberries for strangers, and then letting them turn them into jam, jelly, preserves or what ever in my own kitchen. I think to myself that this is nothing like I signed up for on my return to PEI after an Army career. I've probably led that female teacher into further subsequent man hating years, gotten comfortable with walking nekkid into my neighbours house, pissed off a little person - aka midget/dwarf, and getting ready to work for free for a bunch of hillbillies.. Just then I remember that the old hillbilly mentioned something about strawberry booze. I think that no more driving around with my head stuck out an armoured vehicle during monsoon season or freezing rain, no more rations, hot water every day, no performance evaluation reports to do, and no dressing up to eat an expensive shite meal with a bunch of friends, but even more arse dips. I then remember that I have a dog and a couple of cool cats; and I think to myself,,, what a wonderful day!!

I'm sure hoping that little hobbit comes around tomorrow morning ,,!!