The Truth about Terry Childs being interred

Dear Diary,

Once upon a time, a very fine man, of the highest quality made one of the most complex networks the world had ever seen. It was in the city of San Francisco, which, being on the San Andreas fault, was one of the most unstable places to hard-wire a city's network. He was interred (not by due process, but by corruption), by the Establishment planting a story, manipulating the media, and thus destroying his credibility. All Terry Childs wanted to do, was do his job, to the best of his ability. Everything you read about it is all propaganda. Since Google started screening the internet (Chinese style), anything relating to the truth of the matter, has been effaced. So, every time you switch on your television, or read about it on the web, all you get is a very one-sided bias account that ignores the heart of the matter.

The politicians in the states wanted the passwords, so they could control and manipulate the city's flow of information. Terry replied that it was his job, as the creator and maintainer of the system to keep the passwords secret. Then the Establishment prosecuted him on trumped up charges, and interred him in prison, through a bribed kangaroo court.

The thrust of the prosecution's argument was that he had shut down the city's network. When it was revealed during the trial that his system was still in-place and fully functioning, this evidence was conveniently ignored, and Terry was interred. Now, their is no moral justification for this kind of unlawful behaviour. The corruption and manipulation that was present at the heart of the matter, meant only that the people responsible for the smear campaign have an insatiable lust for power and control, and will stop at nothing to get what they desire, even if it means interring the only man whom could repair such a network, when it inevitably becomes damaged again through tremors and earthquakes.

I could likely end up being "put out of the way" for saying this manner of material, but I believe the risk is worth it, as I believe in truth, ethics, and always doing the right thing - not coercion via something as ugly as political corruption, no matter how much cash they have to throw at the case.

A similar thing happened to a friend of mine. John, an Englishman who lives in the Philippines. A rich oil tycoon in Texas raped then brutally murdered his only daughter. When the case was brought to trial, the judges and jury were all paid off, and no justice was served. This is the world we live in. This is what goes on. Truth, ethics, morality, goodness, uprightness, all that is true and good and beautiful is subordinate to one thing only: the love of money, which is the root of all evil.

Roman Archaeology in Uplyme

Dear Diary,

I am thrilled to bits this morning. The sun is shining, I have a week off work, and have found a site of some interest to specialists in Roman Archaeology. It is a proposed site for building development, and is not far from the most interesting Roman Villa in Devonshire. Many artefacts have been found near there, even some coins in 2011. I immediately contacted Phil of Arrowhead Archaeology, and being a professional, will know the process to follow in order to legitimise an above-board archaeological survey or watching brief. Oh! This is so exciting! Okay, sure, most historians I meet (very few and far between, but I do meet the odd one, now and again) say that they would much rather be wading through archives than getting their hands dirty "doing the real business". Archaeologists also wade through archives. I am just overwhelmed by the prospect of gaining some more valuable experience under Phil's watchful eyes. I learn a great deal from him, and I don't mind getting my hands dirty.

I was going to spend my week off going to see some people (I should go and see my daughter), but have decided instead to write all week. Do a little translation, (finally) finish my play - Zenobia - and get that sent off to the publishers, and I am also working on a new play. It is a mythological work, about a Centaur who embarks on a voyage in search of knowledge, and finds meaning in his otherwise banal life, through a love of learning. Part epic, part satire, it looks to be interesting.

Greek myths and mushrooms

Dear Diary,

We walked, as dewy morn’ dried ’neath Phoebus’ rays,
Down beside the riverbank: Saturday,
Amidst nature’s verdant fecundity,
Hovered three birds’ wings, humming gently,
A lady-chaffinch swooped down atop they,
And joined the hov’ring dance: nature’s ballet,
Auster’s warm caress licks softly ’cross skin,
What other place, could one possibly live in?

"Sunrise Walk Beside a Riverbank." - M.Latham, 2015.

Okay. So getting Wolfae in on the whole work thang has been just great. Awesome. Although the sociologist has myriad lovers, knowing half how to "get through 'em", it has brought us together, closer. It is a shame I am so solitary, and that she is so much of an anarchist. (Her anarchy [sociology] was the root cause of her recent boyfriend and her splitting up). Anyway.

I should be revising, I know I should, as I am freaking out about this bloody examination palava. It is like being nailed up, up-side down, put through a meat grinder, mangled up. So, instead, I have decided to get drunk, skip work (I had a gig today, and cancelled) and write poetry instead. This is the wrong move. I should be focussing. I should be doing some kind of revision type thang.

Alas, I have reached the stage in Higher Education (some former students of our great Open University, such as James Ashmé never reach this stage) where I am obliged not to discuss matters of intellect with simpletons, such as my "learned" colleagues in Savage Kitchen, webbed feet, crossed-eyes, and far too many large moles.

Alas, I am unable to share with you, that which my heart yearns to discuss. However, I can tell you that in the introduction to Robert Graves' Greek Myths (volume 1) that I enjoyed reading Robert Graves' theories about amanita muscaria and Greek/Roman mythology. He's hardcore man. I've never had the brass balls to try them. I have found them (you know, the one's from The Smurfs, red and white polka dot), twice, and both times bailed out on indulging. I remember reading a book on mycinoids wherein was writ' the effects of ingesting amanita muscaria. "Paranoia" (tick), "Intense visions" (tick), "Sweats" (tick), "Shakes" (tick), "finally you enter into a death-like trance, from which you may or may not recover". (Ahhhh, hold the phone a cotton pickin' minute). Hat's off for Robbie Graves. Hard-core

The one time I found some (outside Didier's) I was going to prepare them properly, and perhaps take them. Didier, said, "Non!". The one time they found a neighbour after having eaten the amanita muscaria, he was on all fours, with holes in his jeans. We didn't know whether he had done a tour of the forest, impersonating some kind of quadruped , or whether he had simply been in his barn all night (where we found him), going round in circles, on all fours, "doing a howler". This man was straight before that, and now all his art is abstract. In any case, it is not a wise move to take such… things. Grant took some, in Ireland. He just had the tiniest slither, was violently sick for three whole days, had sweats and shakes, then when he came to, his art changed to all abstract. Arnaud Schmidt, of the "Number Nine Experiment" has taken a great deal of hallucinogenics, especially mushies, and has never seen anything vision like. I suggested he take D.M.T. (or even better: use his imagination). Long since are my wayward days of self-indulgence done. Anyway, back to revision.