I was watching a video of a Noam Chomsky lecture. One of the questions that was asked by one of the students who was attending, was where he would suggest to go to find accurate reporting.

His response was something interesting and, as a street addict myself, something I've noticed myself.

He said that the most accurate reporting to be found, and the papers that he reads first in the morning, are the business press publications.

Its not so surprising.

As an investor or trader or speculator you can't afford to have tunnel vision to the world. You literally can't 'afford' to be deluded to a great extent. If you are, you'll get washed out.

To an extent, your money rides on your ability to be objective, and to a greater extent, it rides on the facts that you hold.

Thus the business press, the wall street journal, business week, the financial times, my own internet favorite stocksatbottom, all have to be quite accurate in their reporting. You need to understand what's really going on in the world.

Of course, as Chomsky admits, the editorials are another story. They are generally very conservative, very pro-investment, often apologists for the economic elite and unwilling to admit any failure of capitalism. Of course they are, why wouldn't they be? Those are the institutions that pay the bills. It is the 'business press' after all. However the news reporting itself, what is going on in the world that will effect your investments - that isn't sugarcoated. It can't be. Your money depends on it. And so you get a reasonably accurate picture of what's going on in the world. Moreso then you do from the more conventional sources.


- posted by Sigurd7/31/2004 10:23:00 AM

 
'Maybe Hemingway had the right idea.'
'How do you mean?'
'He killed himself at 61.'
'Where's mother?'
'I think it was 62'
'If you set a date in advance, and stuck by it, then you would live your life very differently.'
'Maybe you wouldn't?'
'Well, you wouldn't be concerned as much about your security. You wouldn't be worried about being provided for in your old age.'
'They sold the car.'
'Why? Do you worry about it now?'
'I feel like I should worry about it.'
'I don't know if I want to live that long.'
'As long as him?'
'You know, he was a great man.'
'Where is she?'
'A great man?'
'He worked two jobs, one at night and one during the day to provide for my mother.'
'I don't have a car anymore.'
'He did the work of his boss, who was a drunk, because he didn't think it was right to squeal.'
'He fought in the war. Got shrapnel in his leg.'
'Where's the car?'
'He raised 5 kids.'
'He did everything he could to raise his family proper. He was tough and he was fair.'
'He was a great man.'
'He was a great man.'
'Where's the mother?'
'I don't know if I want to get old. I think maybe Hemingway had the right idea.'
- posted by Sigurd7/29/2004 01:01:00 PM

 
and this is what I was told tonight:

'...if it comes from a mind of expectation, where you are seeking gratitude or encouragement, then I think you will be let down and this will do you no good.'

'instead it must come from a mind that knows this to be the right thing, the proper thing, and with such foundation that it does not depend and cannot be disturbed by any force in the universe. this will then do you well.'

- posted by Sigurd7/29/2004 12:12:00 AM

 
Americans are much more political then us Canadians. I can't get over the blogging that's done about the democratic convention. The main reason Canadians watch the liberal convention is to come up with good material for their stand-up. NDP conventions could be held in a condo.

Here in Canada you are considered politically informed if you watch the air farce, or this hour has 22 minutes. And we learn about foreign affairs from the simpsons.

Of course, there's a reason for this. For one, we're insignificant and nobody really gives a damn what we think. For two, you just can't take our leaders very seriously. I think this clip of our former prime minister sums up rather well what I mean.

- posted by Sigurd7/28/2004 08:13:00 AM

 
I went camping this weekend. My favorite part of camping is coming home. This has led me to believe that I shouldn't go camping at all, but instead I should just drive around the block a couple times with a tent and a therma-rest in the backseat and then come home and have a shower. More bang for my buck
- posted by Sigurd7/27/2004 08:29:00 PM

 
when fingers lift from fate

'and you get those butterflies in your stomach, you know, that feeling of anticipation, because you know what's going to come, you're almost shaking with anticipation but you don't cuz you know you wouldn't be able to hold the spoon still.'

she shifted uncomfortably.

'you tap and find a vein and you tap it. and you're maybe a little queasy and not so sure but you do it cuz man its like nothing. suddenly you got no need for nothing. nothing at all. you're content in this skin. you don't know or care if you have skin. it doesn't matter. nothing matters at all because you got everything you'll ever want right here, right in that moment, and you know that's all that there is.'

he looked past him, pretending not to care.

'see, you can realise it then. you can know it then. you can't know it until then. you can think it and rationalise it and believe it, but you can't know it until then. every person creates a world for themselves. its created. its not there. its here. its just touch and smell and taste and light and sound and color all mixed together by this thing, this mind. but its not real.'

he laughed. they all laughed. uncomfortably.

'cuz this is real. its different, its so different, but its real, and the rest of it is fake. its more real then the life you lived before. and if you think about that, then you know he's right. we can't know nothing. not with these filters. all we can know is what these filters let us. and that's all. every perception united in consciousness is subsumed by the pure concepts of the understanding. subsumed? - perverted if you ask me. if we could get past that, there's a whole other world out there.'

he paused, and the other spoke.

'so kant's right?'

'that's what i'm saying. kant's right.'

- posted by Sigurd7/26/2004 08:50:00 PM

 

when the smoke was persuading sometimes, after it had been brought deep into his lung to linger, he would imagine that the heat was charring the scab, scalding the open sore, filling the void with its ash. and with the exhale he would imagine that the past ash was being cleansed, leaving him renewed, without condition, the forest floor after the fire. he did so until he discovered the needle.

- posted by Sigurd7/25/2004 09:38:00 PM

 
Stacey left town after Jason let the word out. Its a shame and all, but the shit travels pretty fast down here. Down at Martins and over by the sands. Billy tried to make a go of it, but I don't suspect it went very far.

As for Stacy, she headed north. Somewhere warmer, where the questions would be innocent and the beds were free.
- posted by Sigurd7/24/2004 11:30:00 AM

 
Ghawar - what is it good for?

I'm a flusterbutt today. I can't comprehend anything. Maybe it was Chomsky, maybe its those silly calls, or maybe its Boulder. i don't know. I think I have a variable IQ. And its at a trough

So tonight I will instead, for something completely different, steal from my evil twin...

I believe these to be three important quotes:

This is from an article commenting on OPEC's sudden ambivalence to keeping to their $22-$28/bbl price collar: 

"Ali Naimi, Saudi Arabian oil minister, said he believed oil prices were fair [at $35.00 per barrel] and saw no reason either to raise or lower production from current 9.1 m [million] barrels a day" - Financial Times And this is from the chief economist of the International Energy Agency, actually its an off the record remark he made after giving a speech at a conference:

"If Saudi does not increase supply by 3 million barrels a day by the end of the year we will face, how can I say this, it will be very difficult. We will have difficult times. They must invest." - Faith Birol, IEA Chief Economist
 
According to Matt Simmons of Simmons and Co., a Houston based investment bank, "No third-party inspector has examined the world's most important [energy] insurance policy for years."

Its true that no one really knows how much oil is under the sand. Its kept very secret. The Saudi's make El Paso's and Royal-Dutch Shell's disclosure policies look positively transparent.

There is a lot of uncertainty as to what oil reserves exist in Saudi Arabia, how close they are to their peak production, and what the costs of incremental production will be.  I don't know the answers to any of these, and my gut feel, from what I've read, is that nobody does.
 
I do know that the Saudi fields are aging with every year.
 
I do know that Ghawar's reserves (the largest field in Saudi Arabia) were estimated at 60B bbls by Exxon, Mobile, Texaco and Chevron back in the 70s and that it has produced 55B bbls since then. 
I have heard from some reports that Ghawar is pumping 30-50% water.
 
I do know that China keeps on growing.  'World oil consumption by 2020 is estimated to be around 115mmbbl/d.  Today it is 80mmbbls/d.' - Business Week

I do know that a 3mmbbls/d is a 30% increase over the current estimated production of 9.1mmbbls/d 

The reality is that the world, save Saudi Arabia, is producing oil at capacity.  Any incremental production has to come from Saudi Arabia.  There is no back-up plan.  If Saudi Arabia can handle the rising demand, then fine.  If they can't, then oil prices are going to go higher.

Should be fun.

- posted by Sigurd7/23/2004 08:37:00 PM

 
Every night at around 11, or maybe a little past, she calls me from her temple and I answer from my room. She talks to me as she shuts her screen and cleans the cups and turns down the lights. We talk about nonsense, what the day brought, what it didn't. I usually bring up the lack while she the there and of. And then I walk her to her car, and go back to bed.

- posted by Sigurd7/21/2004 03:40:00 PM

 

I don't want to think.  I just want to write.  I don't want to think.  I think and then act and then act and act and pretend to be something that doesn't exist while nothing exists, nothing at all so why must I think, I don't want to think, I don't want to think, I just want to write.  So let me write.  Not think.  About nothing.  I banish thought.  I condemn thought.  No not condemn.  I condemn condemn. Its too close to thought. It reminds me of thought.  Its out too. All of you out!  No more!  Get out!  All of you stupid thoughts and ideas and worries and guilt. Especially guilt!  Oh god, kill guilt.  Murder it.  Slay it.  Puke it. Shit it. Leave me be.  It keeps seeping in, and sucking and sucking and sucking the life out of me and putting in its place this pallid social beast that does nothing but think and be guilty and is condemned to this bloody painted, fleshy shell.

No more guilt and no more acting.  No more acting.  No more smiling facing and concerned smiles and those goddamn pointless hello's and goodbye's and why can't we just all be honest and simply not give a fuck.  And no more fucking waving.  I don't want to position or climb or manipulate or be manipulated or be responsible.  I want none of it.  I just want to be alone.  Alone to write.  Because this is the only place where I can be me.

- posted by Sigurd7/20/2004 10:10:00 PM

 
Busted Rear Derailers
 
Stopped at a light.  A blistering hot day.  Two commuters, commuting.  
  
A younger man, who did not care.  An older man, who may know better.
 
And the older man said, 'Frankly though, it probably is the right thing to do,'
 
And the younger man said, 'I hope it is,'
 
And the light stayed red.

And the older man said, 'But frankly, i don't think he's going to find it,'
 
And the younger man said, 'I really don't know;'  
  
And the light stayed red.  
 
And the younger man thought for a moment, stared up at the sun, and realised something to say.
 
'You know, you can live your life with no expectations and be content with whatever befalls you, or you can live your life with great expectations and never be satisfied regardless the boon.   There is no fixed value, just you and your mind, and how you trick it is up to you.'

And the older man agreed.
 
And the light turned green. 


- posted by Sigurd7/19/2004 05:26:00 PM

 

Slow and too hot and just plain slow   I was about half done my energy injected, bee pollen enhanced, booster juice when it occured to me that when I was bitten by a bee last summer my hand swelled up like a baseball for about 3 days.   Later, in the waiting room of the walk-in clinic, I came to grips with the fact that I might be the first person ever to have had an allergic reaction to a slurpee.

- posted by Sigurd7/18/2004 07:35:00 PM

 
Deflation
 
Does anyone else find it a little odd that three full loaves of  flax bread cost more then the toaster that is used to toast them?
 
Someday the gas will be more then the car...
 

- posted by Sigurd7/16/2004 09:05:00 AM

 
Waiting for
 
'Did you hear that?  Did you fucking hear that?'  
'What the fuck was that?'
'It's nothing man,'
'Fuck that'
'You're paranoid'
'Holy shit, what the fuck was that?'
'Where?'
'Out there'
'Its dark man, you can't see nothing'
'I saw it, I know what I fucking saw'
'You saw fuck all'
'I saw it too'
'Fuck you both'
'This is like some kind of fuckin nightmare'
'Its nothing man'
'Its something'
'But what man, what the fuck is it,'
'Its fucking holy man, its fucking holy'
'There's nothing there'
'Fuck you man, this is like some kind of goddamn nightmare'
'Fuck your nightmare'
'I know what I saw'
'Jesus, holy mother'
'Shut up'
'God all mighty who art in heaven, hallowed be thou name...'
'You don't even know the fucking words'
'Fuck you man, its fucking God'
'fuck the word man, there's something out there'
'I don't see nothing'
'That's the fucking point man, that's the fucking point'
'Shut the fuck up both of you and keep quiet'
'Why?'
'Cuz there's something out there, and I want to know what the fuck it is, that's why...'
- posted by Sigurd7/15/2004 09:53:00 PM

 
My very own Leopard Skin Pill Box Hat

Adding to the curiousity of the sight was the affluence of the fallen man's dress. In courtier clothing, a longish robe, his hair recently curled and styled, Rene guessed that he must have been a noble of sorts. He looked more closely at the face; it was vaguely recognizable.

‘Of course!’ he thought, ‘that was the man that stood up', and he remembered the fevered pitch and make-shift pulpit of the night before, of which he had been so violently opposed. It disgusted him now to even consider it.

Rene gazed at the man, curious of the circumstance that had brought him to be lying so oddly in the mud, and in the middle of a mountain pass.

Though Rene could not deny that he was very interested in the cause of this scene, he had decided already he would not interfere. The sight seemed very out of place, which made him wary. He made his way past hoping not to be noticed, but still he was forced from curiousity to strain his ears and listen to the conversation that was occuring between the fallen man and another quite red man. The red man stood above the one who had fallen, he glared at him menacingly with his arms sternly crossed, talking in quick muttered tones. But Rene was able only to catch fragments, mostly curses and retorts. He had about given up, having mostly past by, when he heard the yell of one of the fellows. He turned about to see the fallen man, his head contorted so that it now faced Rene. He was clearly gesturing for Rene to come back.

Rene ignored the plea, instead turned back along his path. He felt suddenly quite agitated, as he did not want to be mixed up in the scene. He walked faster now, but it turned out to be in vain. His escape was interrupted as a little man in a well fit suit, wearing the strangest little pill-box hat, scampered up beside him.

‘Why do you walk away?’ the little man said, somewhat breathless from his run.

‘I don’t know why I wouldn’t’ he answered nervously.

‘I should hope you shant.’

‘Why is that?’

‘It would be a pity for you.’

‘For me?’

‘Yes. And that would be an awful shame.’

‘If I keep walking?’ Rene scratched his head.

The little man ignored his inquiry. ‘The count requests for you.’

‘The count?’

‘Yes the count,’ said the little man, gesturing to the man in the mud, still lying on the ground, attempting to nod his head in recognition of Rene. ‘and it would be a terrible shame if you denied him his pleasure.'


- posted by Sigurd7/14/2004 09:11:00 PM

 
Well, she's been gone for about a week and all I've been able to think about since then is what am I going to do with all this parsley?

I'll feed the plants. I'll pick up the mail. I'll even open and close the blinds.

But the parsley is out of control.


- posted by Sigurd7/13/2004 06:00:00 PM

 
The Tragedy of Owen Baylor - Part II

Such is the case in real life, as opposed to books and movies, that tramatic events sometimes have not the expected effect, but instead become muted by circumstance and time, until really what one might think to be a life-altering moment, becomes instead a blur, a vague recollection or even repressed.

Some combination of the three is truly the tragedy of poor Owen.

The next five years brought many new desires and experiences for Owen, and along with the developments of such vice that is common to all young men, came a shift in priorities. Amidst the whirl of cars and young girls and alcohol, Owen's commitment to his declaration became less of a priority, at times it was even completely forgotten.

So when his father approached him at his graduation ceremony in the little green pasture outside the hall, and offered Owen a brand new sports car and paid tuition to one of the best institutions, all with only the expectation that Owen would major in a suitable faculty, Owen jumped at the opportunity with only a hint of regret that he may be betraying some past vow.

After all, he thought, he had no intention to follow through with the whole affair. He convinced himself of this, and even took some pride that he was fooling his old man and receiving these luxeries with no intent of repaying them. And so Owen went to school, and partied and drank and had a merry time with his father's money. And he was always sure to keep up the facade that would allow the funds to continue, so he diligently went to class and had passable grades and made his way along to become an engineer, with no real intent to be one. At some point he would break it all off, tell his father the truth, and leave it all. But not yet. For now, he would bide his time and take what he could. He likened himself to a rebel who might bend but wouldn't break.

Such was Owen's delusion.
- posted by Sigurd7/12/2004 11:01:00 PM

 

Tonight I'm going to quote, because I don't believe there is a way to say this better: 'The core of his theory is that work is profoundly dignified and unjustly despised. He rebelled against the degradation of work to the level of a commodity and of the worker to the level of an object... To him we owe the idea that is the despair of our times - but here despair is worth more then any hope - that when work is a degradation, it is not life, even though it occupies every moment of life. Who, despite the pretensions of this society, can sleep in it in peace when they know that it derives its mediocre pleasures from the work of a million dead souls.' - Albert Camus

- posted by Sigurd7/10/2004 10:04:00 PM

 
Lull

Its definitely a down period. A lull. Life is a continually reproducing cycle, and particularly in my case, one of creativity, analytics, and lulls. Usually in that order. I don't know if it was the fresh water lakes, the tumbling hills, the desperate landscape, or perhaps the young lady with whom I spent my time. It may have been all of that, or none of that. But its not important, what is important is that it is that time in the cycle for me to rest, read nonsense, and get lost in that hopeless little screen.

- posted by Sigurd7/09/2004 10:16:00 PM

 

she cried. sitting side by side and she cried. under the brooklyn street lights and she cried. and it tore at my heart when she cried and i wanted to kiss her and tell her i love her, but i didn't, i didn't and i don't know why. but that i wasn't sure and i'm never sure and so i never say i love her or her or her, and i never, never say it and only once did i say it once and i meant it once and didn't know but now i don't know and i never know and i never say i love her. so instead i gave her an awkward hug and said it would be ok. and i guess it will be ok. i guess.

- posted by Sigurd7/08/2004 12:02:00 AM

 
Its chaos. Darren phoned 911. I just finished coaxing Dave off the window ledge. A few are milling about with empty mugs, hovering despondently, hoping and pretending that if they just deny the reality that it might just go away. Others have not been so lucky and have already succumbed, are in the cubicles, heads in their hands, shaking and crying from the disasterous withdrawal. Yes, its true, the coffee machine is broken.

- posted by Sigurd7/07/2004 09:15:00 AM

 
The movie was fun and the conversation was good and the dinner tasted great and everything was going just ducky. And then I threw-up.

- posted by Sigurd7/06/2004 10:37:00 AM

 
This is not nihilism.

He looked pale. His hair was damp with the oil that comes when one has not washed in over a week. He spoke slowly, methodically, completely devoid of emotion. He shook slightly. In his left hand he held his cigarette. The smoke trailed up unimpeded, the only life in an otherwise stale air. 'Nihilism is a rejection. I reject nothing. I accept nothing and embrace it. The way things are, and that others may find them not to be as such, and even that it may bother me that they do.'

'I accept even that this whiff of understanding, which briefly lingers, which already shows hints of slipping away, will soon catch the next draft and be gone for a time or perhaps forever.'

'It doesn't matter. Nothing matters.'

'Except life. But even that is not one to be clung to. Accepted, but as I accept a lover, without expectation and without hope.'

'Its going now I think. And I will let it freely be along its way. I will not struggle and tear its cloth.'

'I can't change that which is beyond myself.'

And that is what he said.

- posted by Sigurd7/05/2004 06:12:00 AM

 
Child's Play

Kiss and kiss and kiss me again. Over every inch and every curve just kiss me. Over your hands and between your fingers and kiss gently and kiss firmly and pull my skin with your red lips and glide your tongue over mine and wet me with your softness and kiss me. Kiss me as I pulse and as I tremble until I can't take it anymore and then kiss me again. Just one more time. Send me to ecstasy.


- posted by Sigurd7/03/2004 07:15:00 PM

 
I've made a big decision today. I've decided that i will no longer put down the two ply on the seat when I use the toilet at work. This is a small step in relieving my analness.

- posted by Sigurd7/02/2004 10:42:00 AM

 
The Tragedy of Owen Baylor - Part I

Owen Baylor was thirteen when he made a pact with himself that he would not be like his father. This may have seemed to be a strange declaration for a young boy, particularly since Owen's father, Jack, was himself a very successful man.

In fact Jack Baylor was, at the time, a senior vice-president of a major oil company. He would soon move on to the chief position in a little over a year's time. Jack Baylor had worked his way up the chain of command the hard way, he had began on the rigs and climbed from there. He was a good worker. He was also a good provider and a good family man. Yes, he worked too much and often too late, but he was also sure to make time to spend with wife and his young son. He would never be considered by anyone's estimation a bad father or a bad husband.

Owen's declaration was not a personal attack on his father. It was quite the opposite. Though it may seem difficult to believe of a boy of thirteen, Owen had developed an ideological difference with his father's occupation. In not very much time at all, this difference developed into a disgust for what his father did and resulted in his vehement declaration.

What brought about this turn of events originated in a local newspaper, in a simple column that had been picked by from the list of associated press clippings, likely as an after-thought, chosen as much for its length as for its content.

Owen had just happened to be reading the paper that afternoon, bored as he was of the summer sun, and still too early to watch the evening ball game. He was astonished by what he read, and it literally turned his world upsidedown. The article expressed a point of view that Owen had never considered.

Upon reading the article, Owen went straight to his father and asked for his opinion, hoping that the matter could be quickly settled and the article rebutted. Such was not the case. Owen's father did his best to explain away the concerns, but it quickly became clear to Owen that his father was really not addressing any of the issues that the article brought to light, and that the older man was actually becoming quite uncomfortable as he was forced to discuss the in more depth. Owen left the scene in a fury.

But his anger soon turned into something rather closer to resignation, for as he made other attempts to discuss the matter with his father, it became obvious that his father was not using deceptive techniques in an attempt to purposely deceive Owen, but was using them because he was quite in denial himself.

To Owen, who had always held his father in the greatest esteem, this was a terrible realization. It also reinforced the arguments of the article, which, in the absence of his father's direction, Owen now turned to for guidance.

The first act of his new found obedience was to make his declaration.

- posted by Sigurd7/01/2004 10:30:00 PM