|—||the downvote king|
astana presentation 2013
i laughed a lot, everything is so strange.
Alaskan thunderfuck (Bushwick litter) (at St. Nicholas Av)
Mikhail Kalashnikov Hospitalized.
Mikhail Timofeyovich Kalashnikov, the man credited by the Soviet Union with designing the AK-47 and many of its descendant arms (including the AKM, PK, AK-74 lines) is in intensive care, complaining of general weakness. Mr. Kalashnikov has proven over the decades to be almost as durable as the weapons that bear his name. Trotted out for years as an attraction and reliable source of nostalgia by Vladimir V. Putin’s arms-export agency, he has been scarcely seen in public this year. This is not surprising, considering that he is 93 years old, and had kept a busy schedule since the Great Patriotic War.
Mr. Kalashnikov’s fatigue will lead to no small amount of reflection about his roles and his legacy, as it should. We will revisit some of the related themes soon. But first we have more to file from Syria, where his namesakes are, as ever in the wars of our time, in uncountable abundance. And his influences have resurfaced of late in other ways, as the AR-15, a weapon created and mass-produced as the United States’ answer to the AK line, has spurred a fresh discussion about military firearms, and our lives, following the school massacre in Newtown.
ABOUT THE PHOTOGRAPH
Mr. Kalashnikov, at a Kremlin appearance in 2005, just before sitting for another interview for THE GUN. By Nikolai Khalip. On this day he appeared with his diamond-and-gold Avtomat Kalashnikova tie clip, an incongruous little memento that he often wore when not in his ceremonial uniform, which was bedecked with medals from the Soviet and Russian states.
In the carpeted halls of the five-star hotel in Bangjain, the Chinese security directorate honey-trapped him into a second room with the zittiest concubine possible, leaving his own door jammed slightly so two techs could waddle in and rifle the hard drive.
They found porn, some random text files about pancreatic Isles of Langerhans, the Simpsons ipad videogame and a solid hashish spheroid that smelled vaguely of balls.
That it was hashish was neither suspected nor ascertained, having found it in the toetread of a running shoe, where ballsy-smelling spheroids could ostensibly be found.
They thought maybe hay and mud and left it for the electronics. They placed two software bugs.
The bug in the phone was knocked out by the e-burst app he had actually downloaded from the internet, much to the surprise of his back office handlers.
At HQ for readin, the tech kind of apologized, and then started talking really fast about his new 90-inch screen plasma tv at home. How it was good for porn, flight simulation, bouncing screensavers, if you liked that kind of stuff.
The computer bug took a normal scan, and plus then he just never turned it on again, wiped it back to factory settings and handed it to the single mom who was in Dutch exile too, with the two daughters whose names he comically mangled at every pronounceable chance.
Prepping them for the inevitable, he always told the mom. Getting them ready to live in America again.
The spy academy. It had a daycare. And the daycare recycled.The revolution would have had no less.
The Chinese translator hired to assist near Shanghai had been a college student in the Italian department, learned by reading books. She had never once before spoken to actual Italians, only people from China or other parts of the world who had been in Italy. Her instructor was English. She learned to pronounce her Italian that way. Like somebody from London.
On the final bus ride out to the airport she sat in the front row and smiled to herself. At times she sighed, then came up blushing, hand to face, not letting the obvious enthusiasm and vitality she felt after a 10-day interpreting session spill out of her normally reserved decorum.
He turned to her, completely passively, and said, you’ll get used to it after a while. A job well done. And you’ll put your head down and start recovering for the next trip. He said that out loud. He knew her English was better in fact than her Italian. He had heard her pass on a hypothetical future threat in the passive voice, correctly. To an Italian who wouldn’t have understood that his life depends on having the right combination of training and acumen to know these things.
She said “He said he should have not had to put the bikes on the truck earlier than when they were put on yesterday”.
Perfectly. He stood back and winked at her for that one. Got the negation wrong, but in a sentence like that, not was the least of her worries. Plus it would have added a had.
On his bike he crossed the outer dusk crepuscular nebula of an Amsterdam Wednesday in early December, and came home along the cusp of a snowfront at 3pm.
Cowbells could not have been ringing louder in his ears when finally he peeled off the wet layers of frozen glove to untuck the windwhipped fold of eyelids under eyebrows over a warm kettle of tea.
It was now 16:46, the night had semi-sort of begun.
Her voice was to him unremembered, at 18 their only frission a dim night of frottage on a Los Angeles couch. Prematurely in his pants, if by 90 minutes of chapped thumb humping and grunting zonal crotch grabs you mean prematurely. She had never let someone go so far. He had never been let.
So then lives interrupted, and years intervened. Themes cropped up like pages from a scrapbook of sales and marketing tips put together by the guy who had the job two guys ago.
And a baby gets in, hers, and colleges, his. Careers dip in and out of crescent, waxing to wane, following diurnal rhythms and hormonal thrushes as women woke up into their 40s with just the Facebook profile of Him in their lives, and a green glowing dot on the chat bar.
Led Zeppelin bounced into a Sunday morning hangover blast of eggs and coffee and that great bread with the pistachios and the honey nougat. Delicious.
Levee breaks, thump, thump, whack and the left hemisphere of their brains cleft aside for the right ones to pass.
Her job spread out, it flew, his froze in winter and unlovingly filled the refrigerator door with unneedfully collected magnets from uncharmingly decorated domestic European airports. Best being probably all the lavender-stained from Marseille-Provence, with a cafe upstairs and decent food.
As a member of the documentary branch, I would hope that your reporters can get it right. The Academy DID NOT SEND OUT A LETTER RECOMMENDING SPECIAL ATTENTION TO ANY SPECIFIC TITLES. That would be unethical. It did send a letter to branch members asking them, if their time did not permit viewing all films, to consider 11 specific titles. All the entries were evenly divided among the members so that all 132, later amended to 126 titles, would be seen by groups of viewers. Your informant, did not read the letter carefully and was obviously in the group that was randomly asked to view “The Central Park Five.” - comment taken from a 4 Dec article on how the film industry awards ceremony voters were asked to consider 11 documentaries that had generally won awards all year, if their schedules didn’t permit upwards of 150 separate viewings.
Because you have the money now to make things grow, you could take what you have and put it all into a house in Spain, some place south of Valencia. A village. With internet and a pool and a garage that locks.
And you buy the house and you get a year’s residency permit no questions. They won’t even ask you to pay taxes on your income.
He thought long enough to squint at the end of the sentence forming in his brain. He winced at the thought of cheating, of lying. He winced at the thought that one saga of his life would be forever played forward on every trip he took through Schipol.
He thought, I do that I burn bridges here.
Two years of residency down the tubes, always gotta spend the rest of my future life looking over my back, see if some Dutch guy is coming after me with a filed down toothbrush made of ballistic nylon and it’s aimed for my kidneys. Three, four puncture wounds and he walks away. I go to surgery with at least one hole pumping blood.
You are not here to create risk, he reminded himself, you are here to take risk away.
You had too much of that in the task force, the military, the loss of branch and service after two years of missions. Who was Army, who was Navy? Who even knew anybody’s real name? The rotations, the teams in and the teams out, the days and weeks and heat and equipment issue and vacations that turned in to residencies that turned in to property in Pattaya and a chance to own partway in a shipping company that would bring helicopter parts to carrier groups on deployment, something a Fresno kid never gets to do.
Steve didn’t care, he had his bionic man squint on and a kind of retro red sweatsuit with yellow shoulder and arm piping, sort of like Adidas, maybe still kind of “dad’s childless bachelor friend with the motorcycle and the vague martial arts background” thing going on.
Steve was cool about it. He could afford to be. He had a whole series of apps on his smartphone that made him trackably cool, and his job was to hack the trackers.
The lights went down in the Tuschinski, a very stoned girl one row up from him began to laugh at the preview music.
“You need fighters; people who know how to use the technology,
and even take decisions that go against the system’s recommendations.
My Iron Dome operators are all fighters, and sure, many of them probably
played PlayStation and computer games in their teens before they got
to my unit. But now…
YAAKOV LAPPIN, MICHAEL OMER-MA
November 17, 2012
The Iron Dome intercepted two Iranian-made Fajr-5 missiles aimed at Tel Aviv on Saturday. The missiles marked the third attack on the heavily populated central city in as many days, after Palestinian terrorists from Gaza fired two missiles toward the financial capital Friday, prompting red alert air raid sirens to sound in the city.
While police said that one of the missiles landed in an open area, a military source told The Jerusalem Post that the Iron Dome intercepted both missiles.
The Defense Ministry deployed an upgraded Iron Dome battery in the Gush Dan area in the center of Israel on Saturday morning, after rushing its production in light of escalation. The battery is the fifth Iron Dome system operational in Israel.
The attack followed volley after volley of rockets aimed at southern towns on Saturday, as red alert sirens wailed repeatedly, warning residents to flee for cover. Two rockets also landed outside the capital Jerusalem on Friday, causing no injury or damage.