The Balloon Debacle. (P.3 of 3)

An hour before dawn, 15 of us (managers, journalists, and advertising) piled into a bus and headed down the mountain to the balloon-launch-sight. The sun was barely making its appearance once we arrived at three air balloons being inflated for our sky excursion. Once exiting the bus, a gust of wind blew against me from the west, signaling a message that flight might prove precarious. 'Was this a sign?' I thought.

When you really confront a hot air balloon, what strikes you at once is there sheer size. For example, check-out the image above, Now compare the actual balloon's size with the wicker basket below and its occupants. This is no exaggeration in the least. The sight of these balloons, in reality, is truly magnificent.

More than likely unconsciously, I was following the managing director around the launch area, or he was following me. But we ended up in the same balloon along with the editor. We were told that only 4 passengers per ride, including the pilot. So I was stuck with my bosses, that at the time didn't really matter one way or the other. Riding in this 18th-century contraption, as human beings, we were all equal. Like a pandemic, the balloon paid no favorites or followed man-made social constructs – we were all equal under the balloon.

The pilot, a thirty-something, blond, good looking Aussie bloke, looked up at the sky, shaking his head.

“If this wind keeps-up, mate, we'll have to call the whole thing off. The wind needs to be below a certain amount of knots before we can safely launch. We'll go ahead and fill the balloons to the maximum and see how we go from there.”

As if on some higher power universal cue, the wind dropped down to almost nothing right at the same time, the balloons were filled to capacity. Looking at the three of us, “Okay, lady and gents, climb aboard.”

The carrier basket had the same texture and capacity as your common lawn chair. It squeaked loudly as we climbed in. Above us was the firing-blower mechanism, which keeps the balloon full and determines how high or low the balloon's sky is maneuvered. The pilot will pull on the lever, creating a flame directed below the balloon, causing the craft to rise, and so on. If you have ever heard a flamethrower in a film, it sounds exactly the same.

Once we were all positioned inside the carrier, he pulled the lever, shooting flame and gas in the balloon, while the men below untied the anchors and we're truly away.

Our ascension into the sky was rapid, the space between us and the ground dividing so quickly that my stomach reached my throat. In a few minutes, my colleagues on the ground became tiny dots, and we were one with the clouds.

The MD looked over at Martin, and his face was deathly pale, and his hand gripped tightly to the ropes. Indeed, the man was “white-knuckling” the experience and refused to look down. On the surface, the newspaper's editor, Jenny, was barely hanging on, peering down at the ground, a huge smile on her face. In a rush to be a “team member,” I'd forgotten my fear of heights. The basket felt to be so flimsy, I thought, that a strong gust of wind would turn it sideways, pouring us, its occupants, into free fall. It was then and there, I decided to stop looking down and focus my attention on our handsome pilot, pulling the lever, with a worried expression.

Yes, the pilot was frowning and seemed on the verge of some kind of panic. He yelled out,

“The wind has picked up too much speed, and sorry, but I need to cut this trip short!”

“How are you going to do that?” I shouted.

“As slow and as easy as possible, mate.”

Without noticing it, we had descended hundreds of meters, and the ground appeared much too close for comfort. The pilot yelled out:

”See those telephone wires ahead? We have to fly above them, or we'll be in trouble, mate!”

Looking ahead, suddenly the wires were upon us, and he pulled the lever, forcing flame and gas into the balloon, causing us to rise, and barely missing our inevitable electrocution.

All at once, we are on the ground, dragging along at break-neck speed, dirt lashing against my face. After a few moments, we came to an abrupt stop. I crawled out of the wicker basket and standing up, I saw my colleagues do the same. Jenny had a slight laceration on her left cheek. Martin had that same fearful expression but looked to be uninjured. Our pilot crawled out too, appearing more pissed off than physically hurt.

Turning around, I saw a modern house, and through the front came a woman and her child, staring at us in disbelief. The four of us stared back at her when finally Martin said,

“I'm sorry to bother you, but we had a slight accident.”

I thought, Geez Martin, the understatement of the bloody century!

She didn't respond but continued to stare at us and our monstrous the deflating balloon that had just landed, like some alien craft, in her front yard.

This is no exaggeration, and we agreed upon this observation once back at the hotel: the mother had to be one of the most beautiful women we had ever seen. She was dressed in a male's tee-shirt, long flowing red hair and the face of a 19th-century pre-Raphaelite painting. For certain, at the time, the experience was surreal but etched in my memory to this day.

Suddenly a jeep appeared and picked us up, taking us back to the launch site. As it turned out, none of the other balloons had taken off due to the wind. Our pilot, in retrospect, was too keen, resulting in our near death experience.

That night at the hotel, decided to join the boy's in the bar and tell my side of the story with drunken enthusiasm. Later that night, I ended up stumbling back to the room, feeling like I had escaped death.

That year, I finished my Arts degree to enroll in a postgraduate course in education. I left the newspaper to focus on my next career move, teaching.

To present-day, I've never wished to fly in a hot air balloon, ever again.

The Balloon Debacle. (P.2)

Mt Bulla is one of Victoria's most well known ski resorts. As I drove into the resort parking lot that Friday evening, peering upward toward the mountain slopes, it appeared odd without snow, but not surprising considering we were moving into summer. Giving my name to the young resort receptionist, she checked her computer, and handed me a pass key to room 306. Entering my room, I was greeted by one of the graphics staff, Anthony, who I'd met before on the main floor of the office. Just in the last week, we had a great discussion about an American author and his latest novel. He waited for me to change, before we went down for the company dinner.

The restaurant had rearranged the tables creating a single one stretching, length-wise, several metres. We sat dawn to realise half the staff were half wasted, speaking and laughing loudly, until the managing director arrived, which magically civilised their behaviour. The dinner turned out to be fair, roast chicken, and rather than go to the bar with the boys, decided to hit the bed early, and prepare the next day's itinerary. As it turned out, this was a wise decision, because the next day was strenuous not only physically, but intellectually as well.

After breakfast the next day, the Director gave a speech about the publishing company and his goals for the newspaper. Looking around, I observed several advertising staff, all men, bleary-eyed and pale, in a word, hung over from the previous evenings activities. This did not go unnoticed by the the ranking members of the company. After speeches from the heads of each department head, it was time for lunch, and an afternoon of horseback riding.

Luckily, while growing up, my father would take my sister and I horseback riding every second weekend. During this time, I learned to make friend's with the horse and successfully ride both saddled and bare back. When I arrived at the resort's stables, the woman in-charge, dressed in jeans and a black cowboy hat, approached me and asked if I had ever rode before. I told her my experience, where she replied, “I'll put you on Jezebel. She likes to run, and needs a strong rider to keep her in line.” For an instant I wondered if I over-stated my skill as a rider. But once meeting the young horse, her beautiful hide of a deep tan, I whispered in her ear, You're a lovely horse Jezebel. My name's Craig, and I think we're going to have a great day. She snorted loudly and bounced her head up and down, as if acknowledging my words.

The riding trail winded up the mountain ending on a level plateau. This well-trodden path only allowed a single file line. It opened up into an acre field, where the trail down the mountain began. For Jezebel this was familiar territory, and I knew she knew, we were half way home. We were told to dismount our horses, tie them up to a branch or tree, and take five minutes. I tied Jezebel to a tree branch, feeling she was getting anxious to get back to the stables. I told her not to runaway, and stay put. As I was saying this, one of the real-estate rep's horses got free, and ran across the field, disappearing on the downward trail. She ended-up having to ride on the back of the stable-girls horse for the rest of the journey. We mounted up and I bent down and whispered in Jezebel's ear, Let's see what you can do.

In a sudden spurt of literally, unbridled power, we were in a full gallop across the field. Once we hit the downward trail, she wouldn't let up, negotiating every hair-pin turn. It was all I could do to remain on the saddle, and putting my head down decided then and there, to hold on and simply enjoy the ride home.

We galloped into the stables, and of course, we were the first to arrive. I dismounted and brushed my hand against Jezebel's sweaty neck, thinking it is against the rules in riding stables across the planet, to bring a sweaty horse home. Rein in hand, I led her to the fence by the water trough, where she only lapped a few swallows of water.

The rest of the horse team arrived soon later, and all retired to their rooms for a rest before drinks the next hour.

I finished my beer, and wandered out to the stables. Interestingly, the stable girl was brushing down Jezebel. She turned around to me smiling, and said, “The girl gave you quite a ride, eh?'

I laughed, “Yes, she is a wonderful horse, I just let her do all the hard work.”

Right then, no lie, Jezebel turned her head around, and looked at me.

“I think she likes you.” she said.

I walked up to her and began rubbing her magnificent head, as she turned her nose rubbing it across my face.

“Yes, I'm sure of it. She likes you heaps.” she said with a broad grin.

At dinner, the Director announced that he thought it wouldn't be a good idea to party at the bar, because we were to meet in the hotel foyer at 4:30 am.

“We will be Ballooning at dawn.”

Intuitively, in the pit of my gut, I felt a certain dread.

The Balloon Debacle (P. 1)

It was the early nineties and Grunge had reached the shores of Australia: teen spirit, flannel shirts and braided, long hair was in style for both genders. I knew this because I was attending university, finishing my Arts degree, wading in the black hole of post modern theory and 19^th century philosophy. My son had entered our lives, and full time study was simply out of the question. You are a family man now, and with that comes responsibilities. As if written by destiny, I landed a part time job at a local newspaper, selling classified ads and writing advertorials.

The supervisor, a stern lady in her early fifties, managed to gain a little sympathy for me as a new father and full time student, thus she organised my work schedule around my lecture time, and for months, this worked out for all concerned.

After a few months, my supervisor put me on full time advertorial writing, because every client desires to see their business's described in print. The 50 to 150 word expose', placed next to their ad, in my experience, is a good marketing strategy, Advertising is all about results, and it seemed my descriptive words about their company, brought more business, and my little corner desk in the office, became a constant flurry of activity.

An average 4 hour day at the office before jumping on a train to the university, ran more or less the same every week. Entering the office,  my-basked was always piled high. I would find the client information, call them and conduct a small interview. Hanging up, I'd immediately write the piece based on my scrawled notes. After a quick proof read, would send the piece to the sub-editor, and with luck, it would never come back with editing instructions. Occasionally, it would be: Please add 20 words or minus 10 words, because for the sub editor it is all about space. I'd make the changes and shoot it back up to her, crossing my fingers, that it wouldn't shoot back again. Luck on my side, over that 4 hours, my in-basket would be empty, and off I'd go to a lecture.

In retrospect, there wasn't any time that was or could be wasted, every minute counted, including reading while travelling. In those productive days, my juggling skills were well honed, because dropping one ball could well cause the entire enterprise to fall in a heap.

Our little newspaper was owned by a well respected publishing company. In fact they published some well known Australian writers. On some days, I'd enter the elevator to be met by a famous author, and for me, that was always a bit of a thrill.

On a particular morning, I was met by the managing director, who asked me to join the company on a “team building” exercise in Mt. Bulla. This activity for companies was certainly in vogue at the time. He said the entire company would engage in social activities, intense meetings, and “trust-group-exercises, aimed and a more harmonious and productive company.

Feeling I had no choice agreed, and never expected that one of these “trust” activities, would result in almost ending my life.

Comment on Melbourne's 2nd Covid 19 Wave.

Over the last week, Melbourne has gone on a Covid testing blitz, and the number of people testing positive for the virus, continues to rise on a daily bases. As of tomorrow, 8/7/20, the entire state will once again be on stage 3 lock down. This means all public places will close including restaurants, cinemas, sporting events, hair salons, etc. People are only allowed outside for limited exercise, strict journey's to the shops for essentials, and health reasons, including registered carers. It is projected that the economic fall-out from this new lock down will be devastating for local businesses, and the business community in general. But really, no one knows for certain what the future will bring.

It has been interesting to observe that certain politicians use this second wave in Victoria for their own political gain. I believe it was a NSW's politician spitting venom at Victoria's second wave, blaming it on the state's Premier. Ironically it is NSW that recorded the highest cases and the most deaths of any state in the entire country. That said, politicians will use school yard tactics to gain recognition, and use any crises for political gain. This is the problem. This virus is unpredictable, yet everyone from world leaders to TV celebrities appear on major platforms, claiming to be experts.

In the U.S., there is outright denial that the virus actually exists, or that the stats are false, and it's all a grand ploy by governments to gain greater control on their populations. Bumbling Donald Trump is the centre of many of these unfounded conspiracies, all for his own political survival.

Personally, I would love to believe it was all a grand plan to keep people controlled. But the virus is very real. Ask any front line medical worker, and they will tell you the same thing – the virus is not a ruse, and it's killing people across the globe. Again, this is not to say, that governments are instigating surveillance software on our phones to track the sick and potential carries of the virus. If and when Covid 19 passes, these same surveillance software will still be in play, and used for nefarious reasons.

Those people who refuse to wear a mask, refuse to practice social distancing, and jump up and down screaming that their “freedoms” are being violated, need to take a close look at what's happening around the world. Those countries around the planet, who've practised strict lock-down procedures, testing protocols and basic preventative measures, like NZ, Italy, France and Australia, has seen a significant drop in Covid cases and death. But even when instigating these protocols, a second wave is evident. As in the case of Melbourne Victoria.

Despite preventative protocols against Covid 19, one slip-up, one dipstick that decides it's all a hoax, can risk the spread of the virus to hundred's if not thousands of people.

I guess what I'm trying to say, is we need to take the virus much more seriously, and despite economic hardship; $ loss maybe slightly better than losing a loved one to the virus.

U.S. War Crimes in a Pandemic

Since the beginning of the corona-virus pandemic, the U.S. has doubled-down their sanctions on countries they perceive as enemies of the state. Particularly two countries which has no immediate threat to the U.S., but are of great interest economically: Venezuela and Syria.

Indeed, Venezuela poses no threat to the American people or otherwise. The propaganda, however, proposes that the country is ruled by a ruthless dictator, N. Maduro, who punishes his people, and rules by an iron-socialist-fist, starving his people...nothing could be further from the truth. Maduro was elected by 80% of the vote, has universal healthcare, subsidised public housing, and runs food programs designed to feed the poor. Venezuela also has the richest oil reserves on the planet, rivalling even Saudi Arabia. The United States of Corporation has had their greedy eyes on Venezuela for decades.

In a interview on a cable network with psychopath John Bolton, he stated that U.S. interest in the Venezuela's oil reserves is of paramount importance. (paraphrased) essentially letting the proverbial cat out of the bag. U.S. concerns with Venezuela is not about spreading the great goodness of “democracy”, extending humanitarian aid for the people, or in the interests of national security, it is only economic, controlling the country's oil for the profits for the U.S. government's corporate masters.

The U.S. economic sanctions on Venezuela has been devastating for its people. Last year, a unbiased analysis was published, claiming that as a result of sanctions, 40,000 people died as a direct result of U.S. economic intervention. Recently, the U'S. prevented the sale of clean water for the country, that goes beyond the scope of basic humanity.

Sanctions are designed to cripple the economy of said country, and the goal of instigating a mass rebellion against the government. A passive glance at 'sanction history' shows that these draconian actions do the opposite, pushing the people to double down against fascist America.

In Syria, the actions of the United States have gone way past the economic sanction model, but are akin to actual medieval sieges. Not only has the US economically crippled the country, but through CIA and Saudi actions, have subsidised the “moderate rebels”, a rat pack of Islamic Jihadists, including al Nusra, al Quida and ISIS. This is not to mention the unrelenting allied bombing of the country over the last 7 years. Syria has been devastated, creating millions of fleeing refugees. The true fascist cherry on the cake of U.S. war crimes, is their burning of Syrian wheat fields across the country. The U.S. is literally desiring to starve a entire country. Main stream media has failed to report these war crimes, and have spun it in the direction of the Syrian government, “unable to meet their wheat requirements.”. This is war time propaganda at its evil finest.

The United States on the world stage has a strangle-hold on the planet, economically and militarily. Countries who attempt to aid U.S. sanctioned countries are punished. Iran, for example, sent their ships to Venezuela to provide basic aid, such as fuel, food and medical supplies. Iran warned the U.S. that if they attempted to stop this aid, Iran would retaliate by attacking U.S. military bases that surround their country. The U.S. backed off, enabling this much needed aid to reach the people.

The United States of America is committing war crimes around the planet on a daily bases without consequences. Because of their economic dominance and vast military has taken up the banner, “Might makes Right”. And for many countries around the planet, bend to their fascist will.

As a individual that grew up in the mid west of the U.S., educated there, and have children and grandchildren living their, my concerns are valid.

These war crimes must stop.

More Thought's on Julian Assange

It's Julian Assange's birthday today, and still after more than a year, languishes in solitary confinement because a foreign country, the US, that he revealed to have committed several war crimes, decides to accuse and indict him for espionage. From a general standpoint, this is unprecedented for a Australian citizen, living in the UK, to be treated by a foreign country in such a manner. In fact, according to UK legislation, a political prisoner cannot be extradited from the country. I maybe missing something legally, but this law should be followed, yet has been totally ignored.

The charges against Assange in a nut shell, revolve around allegedly “hacking” or soliciting others to hack classified information, to then publish this information. There is absolutely no evidence for this. Chelsea Manning, last year was indicted to face a grand jury, and answer questions regarding these allegations. Of course she refused, claiming that the grand jury was illegitimate. For this she was imprisoned for contempt of court, and spent a year in prison, only to be released after a judge disbanded the grand jury, and sadly, only a day after Manning made a suicide attempt.

These latest allegations from the US Justice team, argue of a conspiracy that Wikileaks recruited hackers from around the planet to access classified information. In other words, the organisation recruited known hackers like Anonymous, to infiltrate or hack into U.S. computers. From what little I know of these new allegations, it appears they come from paid FBI informants. And really, who would ever believe a paid informant from the FBI? Anyone who has been following the Assange case, and with half a brain, will realise this is all a set-up, and a dangerous attack on the First Amendment of the US Constitution.

For certain, over the last ten years, Julian Assange has been under attack, a focused character assassination, in order to poke holes in Wikileaks reputation as a publisher. The publisher has been politicised, and put under a barrage of lies, and a brutal smear campaign, depending on which political team you support. When Wikileaks published the Podesta emails, for example, revealing corruption and other unsavoury elements of the Hillary campaign, suddenly the publisher was a “Russian conduit”, ensuring Clinton's loss in the 2016 presidential election. During this time Donald Trump praised Wikileaks, but now, claims he barely knows anything about the publisher, all because to deny Wikileaks is currently politically beneficial.

Personally I was appalled to read and witness arguably top journalists from around the planet piling on to this obvious disinformation campaign. These people, I thought, were intelligent and could see through this propaganda. But no, (he) was either called a Russian agent or the more absurd, “Assange is not a journalist.” At the time this angered me, but now in retrospect, I realise these “journalists” were either stupid or simply protecting their jobs amongst the corporate news establishment. True hacks.

Julian Assange should not be in solitary confinement. At the least, he should be home with family, under lock down like the rest of us, awaiting what legal teams on both sides determine. The reason he's in prison, it is proposed, is that he is a flight risk. For goodness sake, we are experiencing a major pandemic. The man, even if he attempted to fly out of town, wouldn't have a chance in hell. That said, the reason the powers that be are treating him like a terrorist, is to send a message. You publish establishment crimes and secrets, you'll get the same treatment as Assange. We will put you in a hole and forget about you.”

Wikileaks is a publisher like all news outlets including The New York Times, The Guardian and other mainstream news organisations. Ironically, these “news organisations” published their stories direct from Wikileaks, but when push came to shove, like the true- establishment-hacks they are, abandoned him.

Take a step back from partisan politics for a second, and see that the first amendment of the US constitution is at stake, that is *press freedom*, and the public's right to know in a democracy.

All Julian Assange and Wikileaks have done, is to put the feet of power into the fire. For punching-up against the corruption and crimes of Empire, are being smeared, imprisoned and silenced.

Don't be part of the false pile-on of disinformation that the establishment desire. We are in a dire situation where true freedom of the press is under attack. Don't be part of that.

If we win against this propaganda war, Julian Assange, and brave people like Manning and Snowden will be looked on as heroes, protecting our individual rights in a true democratic society.

Fight back.

P.S.

Happy Birthday, Julian Assange.

Mockingbird Punditocracy Strikes Again

The corporate war machine is relentless, and doesn't appear to be backing down anytime soon. Simply put, an economy based on war needs perpetual war in order the exist. (see blog: https://sychronicity1.blogspot.com/2020/06/why-us-requires-enemy-to-exist.html )

In the latest corporate media show, anonymous “sources” from certain intelligence agencies has made allegations that the Russian government has hired certain members of the Taliban in Afghanistan, to kill American soldiers. In other terms a “bounty” to murder allied forces in the country. This first appeared in The New York Times followed by The Washington Post, and as usual picked up by the corporate-cable-media. Of course, no actual evidence has been put forth, yet people around the planet, who only get their news from these outlets, are taking these allegations on face value. Thus Russia gate has reared its reptilian head once again.

A trip down memory lane reveals a CIA operation code named, Project Mockingbird. This operation consisted of agency operators and bribed journalists to prevent certain news items from being published and false information planted in order to sway public opinion on a particular issue. These issues usually revolved around another country and its leader, that the State Department deemed enemies of the United States. As many whistle blowers have exposed, Mockingbird did not consist of a few lowly journalists in a news organisation, but major editors, and loved news anchors, paid excellent cash to spew disinformation for the war machine.

There are many examples of this CIA backed disinformation in news organisations, though a good example is the Vietnam war. As the Pentagon Papers showed, the American people were lied to from the very start of the war. This included the now realised False Flag, the Gulf of Tonkin incident. The more recent and blatant example, of course, is the Iraqi WMD's, instigating the murder of millions of innocents, including children. We were lied to about Assad's chemical weapon attacks on his own people. This story, by the way, was buried, and not for a few brave, independent news outlets, we would have never known that this was intended disinformation to sway public opinion for regime change in Syria.

Again,we would not have known about this disinformation if it were not of the courage of certain whistle blowers and publishers. The Empire's crimes are never to be revealed. To be sure, I expect military actions around the planet that have never been reported. My point is that this disinformation provided by the State Department by way of the CIA and to the corporate media, has been documented for decades. To be certain, Project Mockingbird is alive and well and living in our main stream news outlets to this day.

One of the most popular mouthpieces for the war machine is MSNBC's, Rachel Maddow. Indeed, this woman was the world's “talking head” of the last 4 years for Russia gate. For the woman's popularity, the propaganda she vomits for the CIA hints at the insane. And now, since the “Russian bounty” story has hit, the woman is in a “mockingbird euphoria”, like a good snort of the best cocaine. It's embarrassing.

One of the sad irony's of the “bounty” story, is the United States has been pulling the same underhanded shit since before I was born. Latin American country's, Iran, Afghanistan, Iraq, Syria and the list goes on ad nauseam.

This 'planted story' (Russian bounty) has a multi-levelled-purpose for the corporate war machine. For one, it raises further hate for Russia, (new cold war) and fuels the “Russia gate” chorus of morons on social media. And somehow presents president Trump as a “Putin Puppet”, and a “traitor” of the U.S. The $ million Mueller investigation came up with 0 evidence that the Trump campaign in 2016 colluded with Russia. ZERO. Yet these resistance warriors keep resisting. A brainwashed joke, really.

Personally, when this story hit the air waves, my first thought was, “Not again”. These war promoting ass holes continue to push the same BS and expect us to believe it, despite lack of true evidence.

The real problem is that, it seems, no one is really paying attention, or more importantly, learning from the past.

The Rachel Maddow's of the planet, paid heavily indeed, will continue to spread disinformation on behalf of the warmongers in power.

Until we see this as it truly is, a disinformation campaign for more war, a dividing tactic, it will only continue. And this is not good for our children, our children's children, and the planet.