Afleveringen
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Zijn er afleveringen die ontbreken?
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Found sound, mash ups 1950s advertising and conspiracies: MK ultra!
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Then there arose in the land of the free a new idea, well an old idea resuscitated. An idea that should have been drowned like a misformed kitten. Yet was not.
And out of the soft, out of the complacent, in memory no more, as clock clowns tinker with just how close we are to annihilation, two to twelve, one and a half? Existential accountants seeking annual publicity.
And as we no longer suck in a breath when yet another school shooting pops up on the news feed, so The memory of Nagasaki, Hiroshima, Nevada, Bikini and even mu aroa slides off a cliff as those who lived them take the blast wave, the flash, the radiation and above all, the fallout with them to hades.
Hades and the burning, Dresden, Tokyo, does anyone remember? Does anyone care? Flesh rendered asunder, the screams, the quiet, the blind eye turned. “They started it.”, Poland and Pearl harbour. Of course, the grandmother roasted alive with her pet cat clinging to her, never ordered anyone to bomb anywhere but has paid for those orders, no tip required.
And in the forgetting comes the concept,
comes the conscious self delusion. Maybe, with the right set of circumstances we could, like, maybe, you know, start, win and survive a nuclear war, no! Call it a conflict, a nuclear conflict! Almost cuddly.
A shudder runs through grandmothers and their cats everywhere.
So stand proud people of the world, from Munich all those Olympiads ago to the gassings of Syria, all these will pale before the all conquering atom.
Will the surviving mineshaft dwellers watch “Dr. Stranglove” with a sense of irony? Will they watch it with the knowledge of its prophetic powers? 2001 a misprint of 2100. All hail the mighty Kubrick!
And still there are people, strategic planners, arguing for a first strike on North Korea. “Why, Hell Mr President, while we're at it, why don't we fix those damned Iranians?”
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Pi
I was listening to a doco by an autistic savant the other day. He described how he had recited the number pi to 25,400 places. Interesting enough in it’s own right but a comment he made struck something deep. “Pi contains your phone number, it contains your date of birth, it even contains your date of death.”
A powerful number this one.
Imagine any number you want, your tax file number, the Prime Minister’s Tax File Number,and it is there within the irrational ramblings of Pi. Decode this number and imagine the power.
The PM’s TFN, imagine that. The problem, of course, is Pi itself. We don’t know where in Pi this number lies, we just know it’s there.
Assuming numerical launch codes for the world’s nuclear arsenals, they too are contained within Pi. Financial secrets, death dealing numbers and the date of birth of your one true love, all are within its gift.
How then do we access this irrational number’s secrets? How? How? How?
We foolishly sent our limited understanding of this number on the voyager spacecraft. We told the watching minds of more greatly developed species just how backward we are. Maybe they have unravelled the secrets, maybe they can see from our narrow understanding, an understanding that simply links the radius of a circle to its circumference, from this they can see we know the number but not its deeper meaning.
Zorg and Zog discuss the arrival of this spacecraft in their sector of the universe. They calculate its origin and then they speculate.
Zorg: They know nothing, we can take their puny planet whenever we want.
Zog: Are they double bluffing? You know, pretending to be stupid.
Zorg: Ahhh. Like the Crestasteans at the Battle of the Stolen Quarks?
Zog: Exactly.
They send Voyager on, they have no need to be a part of any disturbance at this time. And Pi sits blindly engraved on its golden disc hurtling across the universe with nothing but the Ode to Joy humming in its mind. The sounds of earth, the thoughts of Ann Druyan embedded in a golden record. You know the kind of thing they used to give you if your record album sold a million copies.
I can see Zorg and Zog scratching their heads of that.
Zorg: Vinyl technology? Really? I would have expected an mp3 at the very least and in stereo.
Zog: You see what I meant with the double bluff.
Zorg: We were right to send it on.
And on it drifts.
We who remain bound to this planet, we who remain to use a rough approximation of Pi, 22 over 7, in our arithmetic, we have, maybe in the mind of just one of us, sensed Pi’s deeper meaning.
How many layers are there to this number? This irrational number. Irrational, standing in obvious counterpoint to the now out of favour term Economic Rationalism. The bizarre effect of this notion was more closely related to the irrational than it at first seemed.
Indeed much of what we as a species consider rational is not. Could it be that the rational is simply that which we have concocted to satisfy our own minds? A fraction which reduces to one decimal place has a purity to it. Even one that creates a recurring decimal is a little frightening. It goes on forever, continuously repeating itself as in two thirds becoming 0.666 recurring and that’s before we start working the 666 of the Apocalypse into our thinking. It just goes on and on constantly repeating its nonsensical rambling.
An irrational number never, ever repeats any of the sections of its numbers, ever. There is no pattern, there is no rationality, there is only madness in these decimals. And yet they are everywhere. The square root of minus one is even more bizarre that Pi. It is not even physically possible in the real world, whatever that is.
No, we must stick to the real world. The square root of minus one is a number for another tale. And in this real world are irrational numbers. So much so that Homo economus, the rational human being at the base assumptions of all economic theory does not exist. We are designed to be irrational, to make leaps of faith, we proceed without full knowledge of our circumstances, we fall in love for god’s sake. I was once told by a man half a generation older than me that if I ever found myself falling in love, I should immediately buy that person a house and go out and get blind drunk saving myself all the heartache.
So it is not surprising we find ourselves both repulsed and attracted by irrational numbers. We are but, perhaps, the physical manifestation of these numbers. With Pi containing our dates of birth and death does it not deliver a more complete understanding of us and our place in the world?
Maybe it is a misspelling. Apple pie should in fact be expressed as Apple Pi, Apple 22 over 7? After all it was the Apple itself who taught we humans about gravity and attraction. Was it not according to the views of ancient goatherds an irrational eating of an Apple which led us to sex and attraction? Have we not already established the irrationality of attraction between two humans? Have we not seen in coffee shops floating on tables below hipster beards the unworldly glow of the Apple from the back of a laptop?
Is there not irony in the fact that these words will be heard because that same Apple Inc decided to support a form of net based broadcasting back in 2004? A year whose existence is confirmed by its occurrence within the number Pi. The continual re-looping of our world back to the irrational number describing the relationship between the circumference of a circle and that circle’s radius is in itself enough to induce psychological if not full blown psychiatric reactions.
What if the ramblings of the saints, the mystics, the insane are nothing but a key to unlock the deeper stories held within the never ending number sequence that is Pi? What if? How stupid are we all going to feel?
Or what if Pi is just what it is? A ratio between radius and circumference and the number sequences held within Pi, nothing more than the imagined healing elements in a glass of homeopathic water. They have no more meaning than that which we choose to impart upon them. Water is water but placebos still heal. If we can find these numbers, we ascribe to them whatever meaning we desire. In the doing so we reveal our humanity. A humanity based upon the finding of patterns, patterns to which we ascribe meaning. A phone number in Pi is nothing more nor less than the assumed patterns of change in the Dow Jones. Pi if anything has at least some use in the real world. And it is only the real world, the non insane, yet not fully sane reality that can create a number like Pi.
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Well Hello!!!
And welcome to “Everyone can Podcast!”
Not only can you, you probably should!
Everyone has at least one story in them and now you can let that story run free.
Once upon a time, way back in 2004 when podcasting began we would have needed a studio, soundproof walling, boom mics, mixers and a whole lot of other gear. Since those early days, technology has changed, changed by leaps and bounds.
While we always try to produce the best possible sound in our recordings, the tools now available allow podcasters to produce good quality audio with much less intrusive physical gear.
This means we can find our voice without having to learn all the dark arts of the audio engineer. We can say, with some certainty, the world of audio has been and will continue to be disrupted by new algorithms in the same way print media has been irrevocably changed by the blog and video production by Youtube.
Just think for a moment, not everyone can write powerful prose, not everyone is photogenic, not everyone can sing but everyone can, thanks to podcasting, have a voice!
And everyone’s voice is worth hearing. As I said, we all have a message for the world, we all have that one story. After all we are the storytelling species on this planet.
Whether you know your story, your passion, your message and you’re ready to start telling the world or you feel it lurking just below the surface, mrjonmoore Audio Services is the place to start sharing it with the world!
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to start your journey into the fulfilling, life changing world of podcasting!
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A test and the results of a few too many edits.
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And the steps of humans
One by one
Herded to and herded from
A mixing of worlds
As I live but one
Coffee and cruise ships and
Mono and Stereo
And the pointless
The pointed
The blunted
Week after week
Rock at the hilltop
No! Another week
Years follows year
Deaths follows death
The cardinal points, each season
Uncoupled from the patterns
Struggling to read
New patterns but
A hope and then Drought
Storms, thunder, fires
No rain
Shopping, not stopping
Buying, not thinking
Rolling, not stepping
I sit in the Sun
On a warm April Day
Of reunion
Of Coffee and
And the steps of humans
One by one
Herded to and herded from
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Yep you have a blinder and I have a good idea to have an idea that I can be the only person who has a wonderful idea for the individuals that are in this arvo and the other one that makes the article more sense than what a blinder is.
I have to go to the gym and so I have to go to the gym to get a new car park and then I have to go to the gym and then I have to go to the gym.
The gym has gone on and my birthday has to have an amazing time and aggravation of course my best idea for me some time I had an amazing day today.
I love the fact that you there are an idea of the idea of an app that is a great app to be a good app for sure to have the app on your app or not just to read the book you can do to read the book.
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The Further Adventures of Captain Sputo Hall.
One of the Captain's first lives affected western civilisation deeply. Born a twin, he learned a pattern of self sacrifice which was to plague him for many incarnations. He and his brother were prophesied to rule a great city. The boys' uncle had them given to servants at birth to be exposed. Their mother, a temple virgin claimed to have been impregnated by Mars in the form of a sacred flame. So, a good start to his first visit to planet Earth.
The boys were placed in a basket and set adrift upon the local waterway. During a time of flood, the basket was drawn away, found by a shepherd and rescued. The shepherd had been forced to drive off a she wolf to save the boys. What was the shepherd doing wandering a flooded river during rain? He was mourning. His wife had just, half an hour earlier, delivered a stillborn son. The gods had taken and the gods had given, twice over.
Being raised by a shepherd has its advantages. The boys learned to lead the flock rather than drive it. How to pick the best from a seemingly amorphous lump of similar individuals and for the Captain, when to sacrifice what was necessary for the good of the whole flock. An idyllic childhood in many ways, the boys learned the flow of the seasons, the time for mating, the time for weaning and the time for culling. Now these ancient sheep were not as productive as modern sheep but they produced enough from what was available to sustain their foster parents and the twins.
Their foster mother was in awe of them. They were a double gift from the gods who chosen to first bring her pain. Of the two she favoured Sputo, even though she never knew him as such. He was the brighter of the two, the stronger and the deeper. His brother though was cunning and good with people. These characters combined in one individual would have been formidable. In two brothers it led to the inevitable conflicts.
At the age of eighteen their foster mother died. Their foster father decided it was time to tell the boys of their origin. He had been making discreet enquiries during their lives as to where they may have originated. Stories from travellers, at markets and two days before he was widowered, in a dream, convinced the shepherd of their noble, semi-divine natures.
The shepherd spoke with his sons. Not only were they the abandoned sons of a temple virgin, their maternal grandfather had been the rightful line of kingship in the up river city of their birth. An uncle had usurped the throne and the rightful heir was living in relative poverty under the power of this usurper. Their mother still served as a temple virgin.
Availed of this information the twins decided to travel up river to right the wrongs of the past. Sputo was concerned for the shepherd, now alone with his flock. The shepherd though had withheld some of his dream from the boys and sent them on their way. Tears trickled from the old man's eyes as the boys strode forth to rebalance the wrongs of the world with righteousness as only the young can think they are doing.
Entering the city, the boys paid homage to Mars at the temple where their mother laid eyes upon them for the first time in eighteen years. Warned by her inner knowing not to proclaim them as sons yet, she blessed them, received their sacrifice of a young ram lamb and sent them onwards to the palace. In a scene to be repeated throughout human history, blood was spilled. The rightful king installed, their mother revealed herself for whom she was.
Having completed what they set out to do, the boys were now at a loss as to what to do. Having been made joint heirs to the childless king now sitting on the throne, they did not want to fill in their days with admin now they had tasted a little adventure. Together they decided to found their own city downstream.
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The founding of a city may seem a major undertaking these days but it was a relatively simple task in the times the boys lived. The wandered forth, found a vacant area and chose a spot containing seven hills with a river flowing through. Around these seven hills they dug a boundary ditch, sacrificed to the gods and their city was founded. Yes, yes, the mundane business of finding citizens, erecting buildings and so forth were yet to be completed but these things were simply processes.
The twins worked diligently digging their boundary ditch. The question of what to call their city arose. The Captain’s brother suggested they ask for a sign. Who ever received the most auspicious sign would have the city name after them. Given the boys were demigods, this seemed a good idea. As the days went by they looked for signs. One morning the Captain spotted six geese flying towards him. This he declared as the sign from the gods. His brother also spotted the geese and their reflection in the river. By this means he claimed to be twice blessed as compared to the Captain.
Despite what has come to us from history, the Captain agreed and the city was then called Rome after the Captain’s brother Romulus. Once the boundary was established and the city named, it became obvious the Captain or as history knows him in this incarnation, Remus could see only trouble brewing. Having two brothers,one city and one city name, Remus could foresee civil wars between their descendants. It was about this time I wandered into town having heard about this new city and the possibilities this offered.
The boundary being marked out was not sufficient for a new city. It needed walls. I set to work building these with Remus who told me of his worries of future civil strife. The Captain came his first decision to sacrifice himself for the greater good. I was in on the scheme because I am his rememberer. The idea was to give Romulus a chance to set a powerful precedent for the future of the city. Whilst the Captain and I were busy building walls, Romulus was working on gaining citizens. A few of us had already moved in but many more were needed. Despite the enormous tasks ahead of Romulus he would visit the walls each day to see how we were going.
A city’s wall is a sacred thing. To breach it or treat with disrespect by say, jumping over it, would be an act of blasphemy. Playing on this the Captain’s plan was awe inspiring in it’s audacity.
One afternoon Romulus arrived to inspect the wall building. When he was fifty paces off, Remus, the Captain, ran off a little way and charged the walls,leaping into the air as he approached the section I was working on. As he leaped into the air to cross the sacred walls, I swung my spade to stop him. Stop him I did. He was dead before he hit the ground. Romulus ran up, tears flowing for he knew what his brother had done. He stood there, holding my eye, standing over his deceased brother and spoke the following words: “Such is the fate of all who test the walls of Rome!”.
The rest is, quite literally, history.
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Record Edit Delete
Document Revise Annul
Report Discard Omit
Archive Redact Expunge
Record Edit Delete
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The Further Adventures of Captain Sputo Hall
The Captain had developed this understanding of the world when I re-met him. We danced around each other for several months. I felt a growing sense of recognition around him and he felt a growing need to test me. I could be his rememberer or equally I could have been an agent of Elvis sent to kill him. The Captain played his cards close to his chest. This was easy enough for him as they sat upon his able belly and behind his extensive beard.
After about six months, the Captain asked me to find some bandanas for him. He needed to start wearing them to protect his balding head. This was his story. He actually needed them to complete his space pirate image. It was also a test for me. If I was an agent of Elvis I would know he needed to be in space pirate mode to finish his mission and find excuses for not finding them. I procured the bandanas and passed a test I didn't even know I was sitting.
All this came to pass because I was working as a mental health support worker and the Captain was one of my clients. The irony is not lost upon me. I who am here to serve and record the Captain's life was in a position to control and direct his. Or so it appeared. This was but one more of the illusions generated by the Brunswick Street box. Still, despite this illusion causing box, I came to be the Captain's rememberer again and to be his executive officer on the space pirate's ship. Sometimes the illusions fool themselves. I'd never thought of an illusion having hubris but the Captain is such a sage, he allowed me to see for myself.
The thing with Elvis and the Captain went deep. Almost too deep to be explained in words. I once saw him take an axe to a piece of plywood someone had written the word "Elvis" on. The fury was palpable. As soon as the plywood had been splintered, the Captain returned. Sitting down he lit a smoke and was his quietly happy self again. It was as if nothing had ever happened. I had only been working with The Captain a couple of months at this stage. Still learning how different he was from all my other clients.
The Captain, two other clients and I were having coffee at a local establishment as part of their re-introduction to the ways of society when one of the other said, "I'm mad!", the second repeated the statement and then we all looked at the Captain. "I'm not!!!". At the time I thought this meant he was the only one of us with a real psychiatric condition, turns out I was wrong.
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Look Read Record
Eye Interpret Document
Attention Scan Report
Gander Decipher Archive
Look Read Record
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Part 1
Everything old is new again....
So we find ourselves being fed but corporations, by large industrial conglomerates. We can in a surprisingly small area, produce off the fresh vegetables we need for ourselves. But what about the meat?
It always comes down to the meat. We have food safety regulations, some of them quite sensible, others not so much. When I was a young fella we lived across the road from a Yugoslav chap, He kept rabbits, chooks and grew vegetables. The rabbits never seemed to overrun the place yet they continued to breed like, well, breed like rabbits. He seemed healthy enough, his wife was certainly not suffering from famine or even restricted calorie intake. They lived quite well on eggs, rabbit meat, old chooks and vegetables.
Could I? Could you?
If push came to shove, sure. I’ve butchered sheep, goats, wild rabbits and poultry from quail to geese. So yes I could. But could everyone? Probably but would they choose to? Until the level of hunger was greater than the level of the “yuck” factor vegetarianism might be a choice for most urban dwellers.
Some rough, very rough calculations on the back of an envelope suggests we could feed, at least a couple and maybe more, depending upon climate zone from 200 square meters of land. With espaliered fruit trees and soft fruits scattered around boundaries and chicken and rabbit runs moved over garden beds, the fertility of the soil would increase over time. Meat, fruit, vegetables and all done with a no dig method. Toss in a beehive or two and everything except grains and coffee would be possible. We can live without grains and coffee but would we want to?
The thing is the old Yugoslav rotated his vegetable crops and constrained his animals. He carried his accumulated manures to the garden beds. I’d be inclined to move the chooks and rabbits around the land as well as the vegetables.
Now to the question raised originally, “What about the meat?” Given that cities like London, Lagos, New York, Singapore and Sydney are not likely to provide a 200 square metre plot, that’s 1800 square feet for those who use the old money, how do we feed the teeming masses of the metroploitans?
At present we have huge and I mean mind bogglingly huge cages for animals and their accumulated poo for the production of meat. This is inhumane to animals, the people tending to them and the people eating their meat.
So, what's to be done?
There exists in most countries land unsuitable for arable production. They are suitable for grazing. These are robust landscapes capable of tree production as well as livestock grazing. Indeed many arable areas as better suited to grazing.
The steppes of Europe, the prairies of North America, the pampas of Argentina and the rangelands of Australia fit this description. Not good for trees so much as herbal pastures.
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Level On Ready
Aligned Adjacent Accessible
Equivalent Covering Ripe
Stable Held Handy
Level On Ready
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Dealing with the flows of Nature.
Seeing things from a different perspective.
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I see the Goddess revealed in an old lady's toothless smile.
birth
life
death
beginning
activity
cessation
creation
growth
grave
parturition
heart
exit
nascency
zest
silence
****
It was through many incarnations the Captain learned to understand both himself and this plane of being. True enough with each reincarnation he forgot the lessons from the last but these were always remembered as he lived through each life. In this incarnation, his final journey upon this plane, the Captain had re-formulated his theories before I re-met him.
He has chosen a difficult path this time around. It looked difficult to me and to others. Looking in from outside is never a way to fully understand another but what else do we have? When I met the Captain he was in physically less than perfect shape. The ancients considered the circle to be the pinnacle of perfection so maybe he being round was more perfect than our culture gives credit for. Short by the standards of the day, 5 foot, 3 inches in height, he was definitely short for his weight. The medical profession would have said he was heavy for his height but I remember the Captain from other lives. He was short for his weight.
Given this, his tendency to chain smoke until every available cigarette was gone meant his height to weight ratio was not as severe as it could have been. He was not fussed where his smokes came from, he was not fussed what physical acts he had to endure/enjoy to ensure a steady supply of nicotine. So long as he was supplied he was able to continue his mission during this incarnation. In much the same way we know nothing of Charlemagne's childhood yet he became Holy Roman Emperor, I know little of the Captain's. In a way this does not matter. What matters is his well developed theories of existence and how these related to his mission in this life.
His physical incapacities were the least of his worries to those of us looking in from outside. The Captain had chosen to live as more of an outsider this time. He was diagnosed by many and varied medical types as: intellectually disabled, a mental spastic, a schizophrenic and as borderline personality disordered. None of these truly fitted the Captain as I saw him. By choosing this culture at this time, he was always going to be labeled this way. Had he chosen this configuration in earlier times he would have been a shaman, a mystic, a hermit. It was in those terms I came to see him.
I understand that to many who knew him and many who read this, the medical definitions seem more accurate.
The Captain's understanding of this world and his mission in it are so inexplicably linked that to separate them would be to diminish the greatness of his vision. Metaphor hidden in simile wrapped up in enigma and tied off with question marks were the looks on people's faces when the Captain’s full understanding of this world were explained to them. I took some time to come around to the Captain's view myself. Yet as his rememberer I was in a different place from others when it came to seeing this way of looking at the world.
As succinctly as I can, I will now outline the Captain Sputo Hall understanding of this world. There is a street in Melbourne called Brunswick Street. In this street is a black box. It is disguised as an electrical supply unit. From this box the entire world we see and understand is generated. The world of existence as we perceive it is an illusion. When I asked the Captain about this, pointing out his nicotine addiction was just part of the illusion and therefore not real, he smiled. The cunning part of this illusion is even those who see through it are trapped by it. Indeed, those who see through it are more fully trapped as only they understand the enormous power of the illusion.
The illusion will be smashed and peace will break out upon Earth once the Captain fulfilled his mission. Now this is the part which confirmed the medical understanding of the Captain. It is also the part which shows the genius of his choices for this incarnation. The Captain's mission is to locate Elvis, recite the magical words which will destroy Elvis forever and in doing so the box of illusions in Brunswick Street will collapse in upon itself. The real world which lives just behind the veil of illusion will be obvious to us all. Elvis was fully aware of the Captain's mission and had chosen to fake his death to go undercover and maintain the illusion. Naturally this made the Captain's task so much more difficult. Yet as the Captain was fond of saying, great works require great trials. If finding Elvis was easy, the theory would have been clear to everyone.
***
A man walks into a grocery store with a notebook. "Do you have sausage?" "No." He makes a note. "Bread?" "No." He makes another note. "20 years ago, they would have shot you for making notes like that," says a woman waiting in line. "No bullets either," he writes.
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Bread making, why you should.
www.mrjonmoore.com
Try also www.worldorganicnews.libsyn.com
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Glebe wanderings, a 9 numerological year and Soviet funnies.
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Coal, Renewables, Poetry, Soviet Songs, Remembrance Day, Climate Change, Goodbye Astrid
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World War One, Gunnery,Tree Hugging,Renewable Energy,Soviet Humour.
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Autumn Thoughts,Tarot Reading, Sweaty Railway Station, A New Baby, King Arthur, What's Unique About Me.
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