marc garrett
Since the beginning
Works in London United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland

ARTBASE (1)
PORTFOLIO (3)
BIO
Marc Garrett is co-director and co-founder, with artist Ruth Catlow of the Internet arts collectives and communities – Furtherfield.org, Furthernoise.org, Netbehaviour.org, also co-founder and co-curator/director of the gallery space formerly known as 'HTTP Gallery' now called the Furtherfield Gallery in London (Finsbury Park), UK. Co-curating various contemporary Media Arts exhibitions, projects nationally and internationally. Co-editor of 'Artists Re:Thinking Games' with Ruth Catlow and Corrado Morgana 2010. Hosted Furtherfield's critically acclaimed weekly broadcast on UK's Resonance FM Radio, a series of hour long live interviews with people working at the edge of contemporary practices in art, technology & social change. Currently doing an Art history Phd at the University of London, Birkbeck College.

Net artist, media artist, curator, writer, street artist, activist, educationalist and musician. Emerging in the late 80′s from the streets exploring creativity via agit-art tactics. Using unofficial, experimental platforms such as the streets, pirate radio such as the locally popular ‘Savage Yet Tender’ alternative broadcasting 1980′s group, net broadcasts, BBS systems, performance, intervention, events, pamphlets, warehouses and gallery spaces. In the early nineties, was co-sysop (systems operator) with Heath Bunting on Cybercafe BBS with Irational.org.

Our mission is to co-create extraordinary art that connects with contemporary audiences providing innovative, engaging and inclusive digital and physical spaces for appreciating and participating in practices in art, technology and social change. As well as finding alternative ways around already dominating hegemonies, thus claiming for ourselves and our peer networks a culturally aware and critical dialogue beyond traditional hierarchical behaviours. Influenced by situationist theory, fluxus, free and open source culture, and processes of self-education and peer learning, in an art, activist and community context.
Discussions (1712) Opportunities (15) Events (175) Jobs (2)
DISCUSSION

Re: Remember Crimes


Hi Andrej,

Just for the record, publicly - A poignant piece, it paints a thousand, no!
a million woes...

marc

> Dear Keeler,
> I see you got much documents about Roma. But that "Yugoslavia" about which
> you are talking does not exist any more, many of its parts have seceded in
> last ten years. And other fault - there were Roma refugees in the Kosovo
and
> Macedonian war, but they were not a result of "Yugoslavian" politics at
all,
> but a result of Albanian Kosovo Liberation Army and Macedonian Albanian
> National Army activities, that were fully SUPPORTED, ARMED, FINANCED,
> LOGISTICALLY SUPPORTED by the U. S. A. Yes my dear, you heard well, if you
> didn't know. And the result of the same politics are 300.000 Serb refugees
> from Kosovo too.
>
> ----- Original Message -----
> From: "Wally Keeler" <poetburo@sympatico.ca>
> To: "Andrej Tisma" <aart@eunet.yu>; <list@rhizome.org>
> Sent: Tuesday, December 10, 2002 4:29 AM
> Subject: Re: RHIZOME_RAW: Remember Crimes
>
>
> > ----- Original Message -----
> > From: "Andrej Tisma" <aart@eunet.yu>
> > To: "Wally Keeler" <poetburo@sympatico.ca>
> > > Dear Wally Keeler,
> > > I'll be glad to produce such work if you could hand me some
> documentation
> > > regarding your statement. Since I live here I can't see those
things...
> >
> > The Roma Refugees of Kosovo
> >
> > Text by Owen Durkin
> > Photographs by Asmet Elezovski
> >
> > A flood of refugees has been entering Macedonia since late March 1999;
> > many are ethnic Albanians from Kosovo, but some are Roma from Kosovo,
yet
> > other Roma are from Serbia. Kumanovo, Macedonia is near the Serbian
border
> > and has received many people from Serbia who have fled the NATO bombing,
> or
> > the conflict on the ground. There are also Roma fleeing ethnic hostility
> > directed at them in Albania. Those identified as coming from Kosovo are
> > accepted as "refugees" by the Macedonian government and the UNHCR; the
> > others are "guests" or "tourists". The distinction is critical: a
refugee
> > has the right to remain in the country, receive medical treatment and
> > humanitarian aid, and also the right to emigrate to another country.
> Shabani
> > is a Rom from Kosovo who has been registered in Kumanovo as a refugee,
but
> > he was told by Stenkovec authorities that one has to be Albanian or very
> > rich to emigrate to another country; appeals to the UNHCR have been
> > fruitless. Some Roma refugees head into the refugee camps; others seek
> > billet accommodation with Roma families living in the area.
> > The members of the Roma Community Centre "DROM" Kumanovo have been
> > labouring to assist Roma refugees in the camps and in private homes,
> > providing food, medical assistance, accommodation and other aid. The
> > Macedonian Roma families who are hosting Roma refugees are not wealthy;
> they
> > need assistance to provide food, medicine, clothing and bedding. In some
> > cases Roma have experienced discrimination or rejection by aid
> organisation
> > staff workers perceiving Roma as allied with the Serbians. DROM has
drawn
> > heavily on its own funds to assist Roma and has worked with other local
> Roma
> > organisations to distribute aid consignments from the Soros Roma
> > Participation Project and Karitas Essen. This work has necessitated
paying
> > transport costs for the consignments, hiring a truck to distribute the
> aid,
> > and having volunteers work from early morning to midnight. The stress on
> > volunteers includes risk of ethnic disputes, particularly when
objections
> > have been raised by Albanian refugees to Roma receiving aid. Some
> volunteers
> > resigned following such an incident. There are large crowds of Roma
> outside
> > the DROM centre every day.
> >
> > While this is going on, DROM volunteer workers have to cope with
visits
> > from representatives of non-government organisations and enquiries from
> > foreign media. Situation reports are translated into four languages, and
> > daily news releases are provided to RomNews <http://www.romnews.com>.
> There
> > are also conferences and meetings with other organisations for planning
> and
> > coordination. Submissions have to be prepared for improved social
welfare
> > from the government.
> >
> > DROM has invested particular energy in fostering and preserving good
> > ethnic relations. Normal tensions are inflamed by the stress of war, and
> > small incidents can easily trigger nasty mob reactions. For this reason
> Roma
> > seek help from Roma families and from DROM and other Romani
organisations.
> >
> > DROM has received several donations from individuals in England and
the
> > USA, and help from a Romani organization in Australia. These funds are
> > greatly appreciated but will soon be exhausted helping needy families.
The
> > annual budget DROM receives from the Soros Roma Participation Project is
> > almost depleted. They may soon run out of the resources needed to
continue
> > helping Roma refugees if more donations are not received soon. Donations
> can
> > be sent to the DROM bank account:
> >
> >
> > Stopanska Banka a.d.-Skopje
> > SWIFT:STOB MK 2X
> > Bank account: 40100-623-79
> > ZPP-Kumanovo- 40900-678-6121
> > Mailing Address:
> > Roma Community Centre "DROM" Kumanovo
> > Lokalitet serava prizemje 7a, 91300 Kumanovo
> > MACEDONIA
> >
> > Tel/Fax: +(389) 90127558
> > Asmet Elezovski, e-mail: drom@romanationalcongress.org
> >
> >
>
>
>
> + ti esrever dna ti pilf nwod gniht ym tup
> -> post: list@rhizome.org
> -> questions: info@rhizome.org
> -> subscribe/unsubscribe: http://rhizome.org/preferences/subscribe.rhiz
> -> give: http://rhizome.org/support
> +
> Subscribers to Rhizome are subject to the terms set out in the
> Membership Agreement available online at http://rhizome.org/info/29.php
>

DISCUSSION

The Progressive Net Therapist


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BlankThe Progressive Net Therapist & her adventures
with,

DISCUSSION

HISTOR-RECTUM-ME


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BlankHISTOR-RECTUM-ME

I remember looking at a horse turd when I was a slip of a lad; my family wa=
s on holiday. We, my mother, father, sister and I, spent our family break m=
ostly wandering around the countryside on enforced walking adventures. I re=
call it vividly and the cottage we were staying in did not have a televisio=
n, which caused much stress for my sister Annie and I. we were immensely di=
sturbed of the fact that we were missing all our favourite children's progr=
ams.

Dad was keen on walking and always said that it would do us the world of go=
od if we followed suit. Annie and I were not as infused by the idea but he =
still dragged us out into the painfully boring, countryside all the same. I=
never did appreciate the nature scene; there was never any people to accid=
entally bump into, no policemen for mimicking silly walks. Not enough stree=
ts and houses for us to play knock down ginger in, no shops to steal sweets=
from, just very slow tractors.

Anyway it was a scorching hot day in the year 1976, the Indian Summer. Ther=
e was a draught across the whole country and we were roasting like bacon un=
der the blazing sun. We came across this field and there it was a massive t=
urd and it smelled wonderful. Flies buzzed around our heads as we all flick=
ed them aside. The horse that had laid the shit stood proud, it was taller =
than my dad and he was six foot odd. Everyone laughed and made the usual jo=
kes about the size of the horse's dick as it hung, unselfconscious, vulnera=
ble and bare. I was more interested in its droppings, hypnotized as another=
turd escaped from the horse's ass and plopped onto the dry grass, scorched=
by the sun.
It fascinated me so much so that my father had to drag me away from the sce=
ne as I moaned loudly. He had a different agenda planned, so we had to carr=
y on with the days booked mission, the family's official expedition.

That night in our rented cottage a few hours after everyone had finally gon=
e to bed. I sneaked down the stairs out of the back door and followed the l=
ane for a while, until I came across the field where we had seen the horse =
earlier that day. My small frame climbed over the steel gate and jumped int=
o the field. There was no sign of the creature so I began collecting as muc=
h horse shit as possible and placed it all in one big pile. After spending =
about half an hour building a heap of horse shit in the middle of the field=
I decided to undress.
It was very warm and the excreta glistened under the silvery, shine of a cr=
escent moon. My naked, white body stood above the mass, pausing apprehensiv=
ely. I took a deep breath and smelled the aroma on my hands and stood still=
captured by the moment, excited and nervous at the same time. I slowly kne=
lt and dipped my hands into the half-crusty, slimy solution and then dipped=
my nose into it. Then immersed the rest of my body into the abundantly lar=
ge amount of horse-shit.

As I rolled around in it, experiencing its voluptuous stickiness, my mind f=
lashed back to the memory of my father's mud wrestling videos. Of course he=
was not aware that I knew of their existence, but you know kids, they can =
instinctively discover all the best hiding places.

I stumbled across them on one of my 'seeking out the family secrets', adven=
tures. Amongst numerous nude magazines, condoms, straps and other strange a=
nd fascinating objects I found three videotapes. The covers displayed femal=
es fighting in mud; these images immediately caught my eye. I ran downstair=
s, drew the curtains so no one could see from outside and placed one of the=
videocassettes into the video player. The video player was not like the di=
gital ones that we use theses days, although it was exactly like the one th=
ey had at my school. It was big, clumsy, and noisy and it didn't always wor=
k. This time it did work and the visuals that appeared onto the screen at f=
irst made me laugh. The sight of full grown naked, woman who were probably =
the same age as my mother, throwing each other around in mud seemed hilario=
us and pointless at first. Suddenly my attention focused on the mud that th=
e two females were playing around in. A close-up of one of the women's butt=
ocks filled the screen. I paused the frame and looked more in detail at the=
image before me; I began to feel a slight tingle in my bones. I could just=
make out her bum-hole as her bare ass was covered in mud. Then it hit me; =
they were fighting in pretend shit.

After this revelation my interest for excreta became an obsession, my atten=
tion for shit references started go wild and innuendoes flourished, as well=
as taking the odd sneaky trip to my parents bedroom when the rest of my fa=
mily was out. Television was my lifeline in my youth, there were plenty of =
films and adventure serials on the box that gave me constant information an=
d pleasure, feeding my new found very secret hobby. The Amazing Adventures =
of Tarzan was one of my favourites, serialized on BBC1 every Saturday morni=
ng and Tarzan always seemed to in some kind of kinky scrape. He would be ha=
lf-naked, swimming and splashing around in dense, insect, infested water an=
d looking pretty sexy, or he would be wallowing in my most cherished medium=
- mud. Whenever I saw someone being swallowed by quicksand on the televisi=
on, my nerves tingled and I would imagine that it was shit and that it was =
I who was in it, with my naked, vulnerable flesh being engulfed.

http://www.furtherfield.org/mgarrett/shit.htm

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<DIV>
<P align=center><FONT face="Courier New, Courier, mono" color=#000000=

size=2><B>HISTOR-RECTUM-ME</B></FONT></P>
<P><FONT face="Courier New, Courier, mono" color=#000000 size=2><BR>I=
remember
looking at a horse turd when I was a slip of a lad; my family was on holida=
y.
We, my mother, father, sister and I, spent our family break mostly wanderin=
g
around the countryside on enforced walking adventures. I recall it vividly =
and
the cottage we were staying in did not have a television, which caused much=

stress for my sister Annie and I. we were immensely disturbed of the fact t=
hat
we were missing all our favourite children's programs.<BR></FONT></P>
<P></P>
<P><FONT face="Courier New, Courier, mono" color=#000000 size=2>Dad w=
as keen on
walking and always said that it would do us the world of good if we followe=
d
suit. Annie and I were not as infused by the idea but he still dragged us o=
ut
into the painfully boring, countryside all the same. I never did appreciate=
the
nature scene; there was never any people to accidentally bump into, no poli=
cemen
for mimicking silly walks. Not enough streets and houses for us to play kno=
ck
down ginger in, no shops to steal sweets from, just very slow
tractors.<BR><BR>Anyway it was a scorching hot day in the year 1976, the In=
dian
Summer. There was a draught across the whole country and we were roasting l=
ike
bacon under the blazing sun. We came across this field and there it was a=

massive turd and it smelled wonderful. Flies buzzed around our heads as we =
all
flicked them aside. The horse that had laid the shit stood proud, it was ta=
ller
than my dad and he was six foot odd. Everyone laughed and made the usual jo=
kes
about the size of the horse's dick as it hung, unselfconscious, vulnerable =
and
bare. I was more interested in its droppings, hypnotized as another turd es=
caped
from the horse's ass and plopped onto the dry grass, scorched by the sun.<B=
R>It
fascinated me so much so that my father had to drag me away from the scene =
as I
moaned loudly. He had a different agenda planned, so we had to carry on wit=
h the
days booked mission, the family's official expedition.<BR><BR>That night in=
our
rented cottage a few hours after everyone had finally gone to bed. I sneake=
d
down the stairs out of the back door and followed the lane for a while, unt=
il I
came across the field where we had seen the horse earlier that day. My smal=
l
frame climbed over the steel gate and jumped into the field. There was no s=
ign
of the creature so I began collecting as much horse shit as possible and pl=
aced
it all in one big pile. After spending about half an hour building a heap o=
f
horse shit in the middle of the field I decided to undress.<BR>It was very =
warm
and the excreta glistened under the silvery, shine of a crescent moon. My n=
aked,
white body stood above the mass, pausing apprehensively. I took a deep brea=
th
and smelled the aroma on my hands and stood still captured by the moment,=

excited and nervous at the same time. I slowly knelt and dipped my hands in=
to
the half-crusty, slimy solution and then dipped my nose into it. Then immer=
sed
the rest of my body into the abundantly large amount of horse-shit.<BR><BR>=
As I
rolled around in it, experiencing its voluptuous stickiness, my mind flashe=
d
back to the memory of my father's mud wrestling videos. Of course he was no=
t
aware that I knew of their existence, but you know kids, they can instincti=
vely
discover all the best hiding places.<BR><BR>I stumbled across them on one o=
f my
'seeking out the family secrets', adventures. Amongst numerous nude magazin=
es,
condoms, straps and other strange and fascinating objects I found three
videotapes. The covers displayed females fighting in mud; these images
immediately caught my eye. I ran downstairs, drew the curtains so no one co=
uld
see from outside and placed one of the videocassettes into the video player=
. The
video player was not like the digital ones that we use theses days, althoug=
h it
was exactly like the one they had at my school. It was big, clumsy, and noi=
sy
and it didn't always work. This time it did work and the visuals that appea=
red
onto the screen at first made me laugh. The sight of full grown naked, woma=
n who
were probably the same age as my mother, throwing each other around in mud=

seemed hilarious and pointless at first. Suddenly my attention focused on t=
he
mud that the two females were playing around in. A close-up of one of the=

women's buttocks filled the screen. I paused the frame and looked more in d=
etail
at the image before me; I began to feel a slight tingle in my bones. I coul=
d
just make out her bum-hole as her bare ass was covered in mud. Then it hit =
me;
they were fighting in pretend shit.<BR></FONT></P>
<P><FONT face="Courier New, Courier, mono" color=#000000 size=2>After=
this
revelation my interest for excreta became an obsession, my attention for sh=
it
references started go wild and innuendoes flourished, as well as taking the=
odd
sneaky trip to my parents bedroom when the rest of my family was out. Telev=
ision
was my lifeline in my youth, there were plenty of films and adventure seria=
ls on
the box that gave me constant information and pleasure, feeding my new foun=
d
very secret hobby. The Amazing Adventures of Tarzan was one of my favourite=
s,
serialized on BBC1 every Saturday morning and Tarzan always seemed to in so=
me
kind of kinky scrape. He would be half-naked, swimming and splashing around=
in
dense, insect, infested water and looking pretty sexy, or he would be wallo=
wing
in my most cherished medium - mud. Whenever I saw someone being swallowed b=
y
quicksand on the television, my nerves tingled and I would imagine that it =
was
shit and that it was I who was in it, with my naked, vulnerable flesh being=

engulfed.<BR></FONT></P></DIV>
<P><A
href="http://www.furtherfield.org/mgarrett/shit.htm">http://www.furtherfi=
eld.org/mgarrett/shit.htm</A></P></BODY></HTML>

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DISCUSSION

Re: Spoilt Princess...


OK,

Before I get into a trivial slanging match over nuances & fine distinctions,
subtlety of language - I was responding to your thread earlier, in respect
of identity...

but in matters of autism, it is a known fact that the male is 30% more
emotionally autistic than the female, hence thuggery. Thereare various
forms of autism as I am sure you are aware of. But just in case, here is a
link for you http://www.ont-autism.uoguelph.ca/G&M.PDF to enlighten yourself
on the global and historical, social issue of male autism, and the potential
threat that it has on humanity, larger scale.

Princesses need their fathers, so excuse their daddy's autism...that's all
I'm gonna say on the matter.

marc

> what do you mean by "spoilt," "princess," and what does it have to do with
autism?
>
> vijayp
>
> > "marc.garrett" <marc.garrett@furtherfield.org> "Vijay Pattisapu"
<disco@junglist.com>Cc: <list@rhizome.org>
> > RHIZOME_RAW: Spoilt Princess...Date: Sun, 8 Dec 2002 17:21:02 -0000
> >Reply-To: "marc.garrett" <marc.garrett@furtherfield.org>
> >
> >You are wrong,
> >
> >Rhizome has been dealing with a spoilt Princess...
> >
> >not a he...
> >
> >although seemingly just as autistic.
> >
> >marc
> >
> >
> >> Hey man...I ain't leanin on no 'psychoanalytic crutch'...
> >>
> >> I doubt _I'm_ part of the Kandinskij phenomenon...It feels like it's
one
> >person, but hey...gets blurry...it'd be weird if K was more people than
all
> >of us combined! hehe... I doubt his identity is just a simple collection
of
> >several discrete personalities either, so never mind...point is, there's
> >stuff here to consider, even if it isn't all sugar-coated...at least
that's
> >what I think
> >>
> >>
> >> -Vijay P
> >>
> >> p.s. let's pool all of this conflict into positive energy for 2.Moksha!
> >...more blind hope
> >> ...wait, all you guys may actually be contributing more than you know
=)
> >>
> >> >Date: Sat, 7 Dec 2002 15:41:13 -0800 (PST)
> >> > "-IID42 Kandinskij @27+" <death@zaphod.terminal.org> Vijay Gorrepati
> ><vijayg@mail.com> Re: RHIZOME_RAW: 2Moksha 2Moksha. Let's all be victims.
> >> >On Sat, 7 Dec 2002, Vijay Gorrepati wrote:
> >> >
> >> >> I have no clue who "they" are. They are on the rhizome mailing list.
> >Ask vijay p about them, he has some interesting things to tell.
> >> >
> >> >> anyways, have fun, kman is good at telling you to stop telling
people
> >do
> >> >> something.
> >> >
> >> > We are not 'telling you' to 'stop telling people to do something'.
> >> > Meaningless generalities do not apply to Reality.
> >> >
> >> >> and they like to
> >> >
> >> > We neither like nor dislike.
> >> >
> >> >> lean on a psychoanalytical cruch,
> >> >
> >> > We lean on no crutches, love. Nor do we engage in 'psychoanalyis'.
> >> > Avoid attempting to present your cultural conditioing programmatic
> >> > knee-jerks as what 'we' are.
> >> >
> >> >
> >> >> albeit not very responsibly.
> >> >
> >> > Dear, you have no understanding of responsibility.
> >> > You're simply throwong about verbal concepts.
> >> >
> >> >
> >> >> Somehow they instantly know who you are and
> >> >
> >> >
> >> >> WILL tell what you are doing,
> >> >
> >> > That is not what we are doing, love.
> >> >
> >> >> even if you are not, because they just know.
> >> >
> >> > Nor is the above what we are doing.
> >> >
> >> >> They also dont take responsibility in their actions
> >> >
> >> > Actually dear, we are perfectly responsible for our actions.
> >> >
> >> >> and are quick to forget them.
> >> >
> >> > Dear we do nothing of the sort.
> >> >
> >> >> Very hypocritical too.
> >> >
> >> > Nor are we hypocritical in the least.
> >> >
> >> >> APE!
> >> >
> >> > So dear, can you do anything besides project
> >> > standard knee-jerk attempts at insults mixed up
> >> > with things you perceive as 'insults' on our behalf?
> >>
> >>
> >>
> >>
> >> ------------------------------------------------------------
> >> Get Your Free and Private Junglist E-mail from Junglist.com
> >> Register Online Here -> http://www.junglist.com
> >>
> >>
> >> ---------------------------------------------------------------------
> >> Express yourself with a super cool email address from BigMailBox.com.
> >> Hundreds of choices. It's free!
> >> http://www.bigmailbox.com
> >> ---------------------------------------------------------------------
> >> + ti esrever dna ti pilf nwod gniht ym tup
> >> -> post: list@rhizome.org
> >> -> questions: info@rhizome.org
> >> -> subscribe/unsubscribe: http://rhizome.org/preferences/subscribe.rhiz
> >> -> give: http://rhizome.org/support
> >> +
> >> Subscribers to Rhizome are subject to the terms set out in the
> >> Membership Agreement available online at http://rhizome.org/info/29.php
> >>
> >>
> >
> >
> >+ ti esrever dna ti pilf nwod gniht ym tup
> >-> post: list@rhizome.org
> >-> questions: info@rhizome.org
> >-> subscribe/unsubscribe: http://rhizome.org/preferences/subscribe.rhiz
> >-> give: http://rhizome.org/support
> >+
> >Subscribers to Rhizome are subject to the terms set out in the
> >Membership Agreement available online at http://rhizome.org/info/29.php
>
>
>
>
> ------------------------------------------------------------
> Get Your Free and Private Junglist E-mail from Junglist.com
> Register Online Here -> http://www.junglist.com
>
>
> ---------------------------------------------------------------------
> Express yourself with a super cool email address from BigMailBox.com.
> Hundreds of choices. It's free!
> http://www.bigmailbox.com
> ---------------------------------------------------------------------
>

DISCUSSION

Bloody Hands Full of Gold


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BlankHenry Kissinger

Bloody Hands Full of Gold
By Cheryl Seal

01 December 2002
It has become the joke of the day that the Bush Administration is stuffed f=
ull of "political dinosaurs" from the Cold War era who want to rattle their=
sabers and make one last stand like geriatric John Waynes.

They are everywhere, both in front of the curtain -Cheney, Rumsfeld, Powell=
, et al.- and behind it -Bush, Sr., James Baker, Henry Kissinger, and God o=
nly knows who else. However, what these men truly represent is no joke at a=
ll.

http://www.newsinsider.org/editorials/bloody_hands_full_of_gold.html

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<CENTER><FONT color=#800000 size=+1><B>Henry Kissinger </B></FONT></CEN=
TER>
<P>
<CENTER><FONT color=#000080 size=+1><B>Bloody Hands Full of Gold
</B></FONT></CENTER><FONT size=-1>
<P align=left><B>By <A href="http://www.newsinsider.org/communicate.htm=
l"><FONT
color=#123dcf>Cheryl Seal</FONT></A> </B></FONT>
<DIV align=right><FONT size=-1><I>01 December 2002 </I></FONT></DIV><FO=
NT
size=-1>
<P align=justify>It has become the joke of the day that the Bush Administ=
ration
is stuffed full of "political dinosaurs" from the Cold War era who want to=

rattle their sabers and make one last stand like geriatric John Waynes.
<P align=justify>They are everywhere, both in front of the curtain -Chene=
y,
Rumsfeld, Powell, <I>et al.</I>- and behind it -Bush, Sr., James Baker, Hen=
ry
Kissinger, and God only knows who else. However, what these men truly repre=
sent
is no joke at all. <BR><BR><A
href="http://www.newsinsider.org/editorials/bloody_hands_full_of_gold.htm=
l">http://www.newsinsider.org/editorials/bloody_hands_full_of_gold.html</A>=
</P></FONT></DIV>
<P>&nbsp;</P></BODY></HTML>

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