America's bedraggled, debt slave consumers are about to reap the final whirlwind which will finally unwind what is left of their consumer materialist society. This final shoe will come in the form of the cheaply made and cheap priced and often poisonous Chinese consumer goods. It is these very goods that not only have stuffed American households in a gluttony of soulless, Christless consumerism but have equally driven those same mindless consumers out of their middle class manufacturing jobs and into the lower class that make up the vast vast masses of service sector jobs.
Of course the fact that a service economy is a natural by product of a manufacturing economy is lost on those whose education is now a deteriorating 3rd world joke with a 1st world price tag and who listen to the likes of the Communist News Network (CNN) or Faux News, both corporately owned by a small powerful and government aligned (both parties) oligarchs.
But all that aside, and back to the subject. The Chinese are about to raise prices on consumer goods as they have already raised prices on metal industrial inputs. There are three reasons for this. First is the falling dollar. Turns out, all those pseudo calls to release the Yuan did just that and the Yuan, while still ballasted down not to rise to quickly, has risen 6% against the dollar. So that's 6% so far. Then we have the 9% inflation rate of today's China, which equally raises the prices of inputs (raw materials), work (ok, the Chinese slave wage is a joke so 10% more on a 25 cent per hour pay is still a joke at 27.5 cents) and overhead (paper pushers, electricity, energy in general, rent, etc). Finally, in order to combat an overheated economy, which is obvious from the high inflation rate, China has moved to cut back subsidies to it's industry (that's right all you Free Trade zealot fools, you're the only idiots playing that game, everyone else plays mercantilism...defending their economy). Seems that many of those cuts are up to 20% in nature and the suppliers have tacked that 20% right on to their prices.
So all told, so far, that's about a 30-36% rise in price.
Have not felt that yet? Do not worry, they are working their way up the manufacturing chain, as usual starting with basic inputs and propagating upwards. You will feel it soon enough.
What will an economy, the world's biggest debtor, already under strains of a 7-10% actual inflation rate (vs the 3% marked down liar rate of the Fed) and where consumerism alone makes up 70% of the economy, do?
Well the usual Fed policy of making more money sure as hell won't help the situation.
Good luck, you'll need it.
Owner: Stanislav Mishin at stas.mishin71@gmail.com
"Whosoever shall come to us with the sword shall perish by it. Upon this stood and stands the land of Russia".
St Prince Alexander Nevsky, in the 13th century
Romans 8:31
Monday, March 31, 2008
Monday, March 10, 2008
Russia Voting
I am presently in Russia and have watched the voting live in Ekiterinenburg and on TV throughout Russia. It is a moving view, especially when compared to how voting is viewed in the US.
In the weeks leading up, on all channels and on billboards were signs urging everyone to vote, to do their duty of citizenship. Even the Patriarch of the Holy Russian Orthodox Church came out on TV to tell believers they have a duty as citizens.
On all the channels were debates and policy statements by the main four candidates.
As voting started, Sunday is a holiday and is labelled as a holiday for voting. That's right, voting day isn't something you do or don't do but is treated as a holiday with concerts and balloons and merry making. Right now I'm watching on TV a huge concert on Red Square in Moscow in celebration of the voting day. Nationalistic and patriotic songs by the best artists of Russia, no globalist elitest crap here, none. A huge sign hangs over the stage: Rassia Vperod (Russia Forward). In tis whole crowd, during the concert, without body guards, Putin and Medvedov (winning with 66%) have just walked out inot the snow, amongst the gatherd crowds and the crowds are cheering. They look like two ordinary guys in leather jackets. They've come up on stage and to the cheering crowds. Again, no obvious body guards.
Medvedov just thanked all the people who voted for him and then thanked all the people who voted for his opponents as they have all done their duty. "Togather we will now go forward to victory for Russia." Putin has given a speech that the will of the people has been set and it is the duty of all the parties to work togather for what is best for the country. The crowds are chanting his name.
Polling stations were set up everywhere people go: in hotels, in shopping centers, schools, everywhere and people were not assigned one specific place, so they could attact people. For first time voters, gifts were given out. Drinks and food for people as they waited. Whole families coming out with children. Attendence is well over 60%.
Compare this to the US on next November.
Friday, February 8, 2008
Chronicles of the Dark Messiah: Prologue & Chapter 1
PROLOGUE
The thirty or so warriors that remained of the Tribe of the White Elk stood proudly and defiantly, regardless of the fact that they were all that was left of their once mighty tribe. Many carried the tell tale wounds of battle. Their women and children huddled together behind them. Some of the children and younger women whimpered or sobbed, somewhere a baby wailed. The rest of their people stood in silent defiance like their men. All knew what was about to descend upon them. They had just spurred the final offer of the so-called Khan to integrate them into his new confederacy.
The White Elk had been a proud and powerful tribe that had kept its independence for generations through the strength of its warriors. But a mere day ago, that had all been undone. The tides of battle had gone against them as the upstart youngster who called himself a Khan, had wielded a mystic blade of great power against them. The survivors had tried to make a run for the far northern mountains but had been over taken. Now this small valley would see their final, futile stand and serve as their grave.
*****
“What have they to say to my generous offer?” Abtu asked, seated on his plains pony, the Myst Blade upon his lap. The young Hekesh warrior was growing his first true mustache and he scratched it often, almost with no thought. Though his face was that of a youngster, his eyes belayed that fact. They were deep and authoritative. The Khan’s gaze pierced into men, making them squirm and look away. There was an almost fevered drive in them.
“They do not accept. They wish to fight,” said the older warrior, serving as the young would-be Khan’s steward. The family resemblance between nephew and uncle was startling. “Should I give the order to attack?”
Abtu gave his uncle a cross look. “Is that, dear uncle, any way to address your Khan?” Abtu’s hand absent-mindedly caressed his blade. The tingle of its magik ran through his fingers. He had always been ambitious and had known that he would climb far, but even his wildest imagination had never dreamt of what the Sword had given him.
“My apologies…neph…my Khan, how could I have forgotten?” the man did little to hide his sarcasm.
“Very well, give the order to attack. Spare no one, not even the women. We shall make an example of the White Elk Tribe for all the other Hekesh tribes to learn. They can join or face extermination. At least all will not be lost with this waste.”
The other bowed shallowly and rode off to pass on the Khan’s order. Abtu’s eyes followed his uncle closely. Under his breath he said to himself. “And as for you uncle, you too shall make an example of the discipline I demand of others.”
CHAPTER I
What made Sarnin’s Thousand so
dangerous is that each one was
a man with no hope, seeking only
the glorious death.
Milthanous Diaries
4 Marte AE 514
Adarian wiped the icy rain from his eyes with his left hand, the leather gauntlet was soaked through. With his other hand he gripped the reins of his chestnut while hunkering further down in his cloak. Water ran down his soaked through leather breeches filling his boots. Adarian had already stopped and emptied them thrice. Adarian was thoroughly miserable and it was only midmorning. He shuddered uncontrollably as the wind blew his oiled cloak up and rain pelted his tuniced back.
Glancing about, Adarian eyed the hills and trees that spread about him, with suspicion. The Urgi Hills were not known for the hospitality of their inhabitants. The Urgi Hills were located between Melik and Lserria forming a natural barrier between the civilized lands of Melik, its neighbors Vavitica and Tusin and the tribal Lserr.
The hills were a no man’s land inhabited by brigands, humanoids, and renegades. They were also a breeding place for beast of all types, both mundane and magical. As a sight, however, their dangerous nature could easily be over looked. The terrain was mostly rolling forested hills. Occasional rock outcropping belayed the Urgi Hills true nature. They were all that remained of the once powerful peaks that crossed the land here. The weather was usually very moist providing for a rich canopy. At the southwestern edge of the Hills lay the heavy forest of Ok-Met-Ruyk. It was believed to be the true source of many of the beasts that made their way into the Hills and beyond.
This was the perfect place for what Adarian sought. The North Coast Lands had been to quiet recently, ever since the Second Bhorrgoh Wars had ended. Adarian smiled to himself, running his left thumb over the jagged scar under his left eye. The Second Bhorrgoh Wars had ended two years prior and to Adarian’s grief, he had found himself out of a job as General of the Sued Armies. He had also lost the chance for what he truly sought. The glory of the battle was now denied him. There were other places where he could go. The Inner Sea Lands were always a hot bed of turmoil.
Rounding a huge, two-story rock out cropping of leach covered granite, Adarian found himself looking down upon a serene valley. Tall aspens, just starting to turn green covered much of the ground and a creek, swollen by the melting snow, ran down its center. Despite the dismal weather Adarian found it beautiful, though he wasted little deep thought upon it. Another Adarian, a much younger Adarian, would have thought deeply upon such splendor, but that man was no more. The rain suddenly slackened and the clouds temporarily parted, causing Adarian to smile in relief. It had thankfully been an early spring.
It was then that he noticed the Smovona box wagon that sat in a small clearing in the valley’s heart, some six hundred paces below. The nomad folk were little danger, except maybe to one’s purse, that is if one was not careful of its whereabouts. It was rumored that these people harbored a secret so deep that it could shatter the Inner Sea Lands and for that reason they were bound to their nomadic life. Adarian paid such legends little heed, meant to scare small children.
The Smovona had come across with the others in the Great Exodus, some five centuries past. Unlike the other peoples who came to these barbaric lands, bringing with them the laws and ways of civilization, the Smovona had returned to the more primitive state of nomads. However they were not hunter-gatherers like so many of the local peoples had been. Now they traveled as entertainers, storytellers and purse pickers. It was quite evident to the perceptive mind, however, that some deeper purpose drove them. These secrets were never told to outsiders, and Adarian had his suspicions, even to most of the common Smovona.
The rain had slackened off and a break in the clouds allowed the sun to peak through ever so quickly, like an arrant child afraid of being punished if caught.
Adarian prepared to ride down the soft hillside when a glint of sunlight reflecting off of metal caught his eye. Adarian stopped, looking closely. He could make out figures moving about. One was clutching something long and thin, and obviously metallic. It was the reflection off of this that had caught his attention. With an over the head swing, the wielder brought it down on to another figure, felling it. A sword! From what he could see, there were probably six or more armed figures down there. A sane man would surely turn away. Who ever accused Adarian of sanity was a fool, and probably a dead fool at that.
Guiding the chestnut down the hill and through the aspens, Adarian made his way to the edge of the clearing. The soft, wet, moss covered ground silenced his approach. The whole of the way down he prepared for battle. The oiled cloth came off of his large round shield, its symbol of Adros shining brightly on the blue gray steel. Adros’ lion and dragon heads faced outwardly portraying the guardian god’s vicious strength for all to see. Once Adarian had been one of the god’s Protectors, cherished in the North for the safety they brought to those around them. Adarian had been the greatest of these, a man of whom legends had been spun, often much more embroidered then the truth.
Adarian spit at these memories. He winced at the cracked skin of his lower lip. Those times were past. He had walked away from his god, though the god seemed to continue to pursue him. Why else had the markings of Adros not faded?
The large double crossbow, also of steel, sat in the crook of his right arm. He
had had it made especially to his instruction during the last great Murghe uprising. The weapon was deadly, able to pierce a steel breastplate at a thousand paces. Only a man of considerable strength could hope to reset the steel bowstrings, even with the use of the pulley and lever.
Mentally Adarian inventoried his various swords and daggers.
In the clearing before him the brigands were busy. A young Smovona man lay on the ground, beside the colorful box wagon, his pale, lifeless skin in sharp contrast to the colorful and conflicting outfit that he wore. His blood flowed from the jagged slash at the base of his throat. It fed the new spring grass. Another Smovona man stood against the side of the wagon, pinned to it by a broken javelin in his right shoulder. His bright green silk shirt was turning dark with blood. His eyes were blank, shock was setting in.
A brigand dressed in ragged furs stood guarding him, holding a bronze tipped spear. The small bow legged man’s attention was, however, not on his charge, least he would have spotted Adarian. Instead the man was watching his seven friends who were gathered around the three Smovoni women who were laid out in a row for the brigands’ pleasure. Three of the brigands were on top of the women, using them.
Bile rose up into Adarian’s mouth, he pushed it back down. No matter how many times he had seen it, it still made him sick. Even his cynical self recoiled at the sight of man’s bestiality toward man. While a younger Adarian might have wished to find a solution to this, a way to placate the evil beast in man, this Adarian wished only to destroy it with all the violence he could muster. He could muster much violence. He would crush these men like the insignificant insects that they were.
Placing his steel and leather half helm over his head, Adarian lifted the crossbow to his shoulder and took aim.
With a high pitched twang the first bolt was loosened. Without seeing the results, Adarian redirected his aim and loosened the second. The first foot long bolt buried itself in the guard’s neck, with such force that it actually snapped the vertebrae. With barely a gurgle the man collapsed. The Smovona only stared in shocked disbelief. The second bolt planted itself in the shoulder of the left rapist, smashing the shoulder blade. The man fell on top of his victim, screaming and thrashing, unable to reach the bolt stuck in his back.
The brigands stood, for a moment, in disbelief before starting for their weapons. It was all the time that Adarian needed. Kicking his horse in the flanks, he charged. A fierce throat wrenching war cry escaped his lips. The long Erdorian sword went singing out of its scabbard. The red sapphires that were the eyes of the lion and dragonheads of the pommel glowed in red flames, while the blade itself shimmered in an unearthly green glow. Once more that blade would taste blood.
The chestnut slammed into the first two men, crushing one man’s skull with a hoof. The other fell and rolled, drawing two daggers as he came up in one smooth move. A third man came charging onto Adarian’s left, his battle scream drawing Adarian’s deadly attention. The large burly, fur clad brigand wielded a huge battle-ax raised over his head to strike. It’s curved and pitted blade promised only death.
Without thought Adarian swung. His sword gave a high pitched hum as it sliced through the battle-axe’s blade, showering red sparks. It ended its flight at the base of the man’s neck, having passed through his head. With a heave Adarian freed his blade, as its victim’s lifeless body collapsed, blood fountaining out. The reverse swing caught the second brigand, severing his right arm at the elbow. The dagger fell harmlessly to the ground. Adarian spared but a second on the man who was now on his knees screaming and grasping the knob that had been his arm.
The remaining three uninjured men had formed a semi circle around Adarian. Two were armed with crude stone tipped spears, the third with a rusty broad sword. The forth man, his pants now up, stood behind them. His left hand clumsily held a short sword of Atherin design, its cross guard almost non-existent. The man’s right arm hung uselessly at his side, the bolt still protruding from his back. His bearded face was set in rage.
“Well what’r you maggots waiting for?” he yelled out, spittle showering through his broken, blackened teeth and hanging in his beard. The others ignored their leader, eyeing Adarian with apprehension and obvious fear. The chestnut snorted, striking at the ground with a hoof. Swinging his left leg over the pommel, Adarian stepped down. He arrogantly rounded on the brigands. They, as one, moved back into a more guarded posture. He watched them. It was obvious they did not know what to make of this mad man who had attacked against impossible odds and as yet was still standing. They slowly shuffled around him, weapons leveled and ready. Ever so slowly Adarian moved his left hand down, the shield hiding the movements, reached for the small hand ax on his belt. It was time to finish this affair.
In a flash, the axe was loose and sent flying and Adarian was a blur on the move. The spearman on the left dodged, the axe nicking his left shoulder. The swordsman charged. The spearman on the right raised up his spear, fear upon his dirty, young face. Adarian butted aside the spearman’s strike. His sword stroke took the man’s head off above the lower jaw, brains spilling forth.
Spinning to meet the sword man’s charge, Adarian slipped on the wet grass and fell to one knee. It saved his life. The rusty broad sword flew by where Adarian's head had been seconds before. Adarian’s blade went forward spitting the attacker, the sword came out between the forth and fifth rib. Blood flowed from between the startled man’s lips. His eyes glazed and the body slumped, sliding off of the blade.
Expecting further attack, Adarian brought his shield up, sword back. None came. Lowering his shield, Adarian evaluated his situation. The remaining spearman was down, his throat slit from ear to ear. An old Smovona woman kneeled beside him, blood covering her naked and bruised form and her long sagging breasts. She made no move to cover herself. The brigand leader just stood there, his face showing the shock of the slaughter. Adarian purposely marched toward him. He batted aside the shortsword the other raised clumsily. Teeth broke as Adarian slammed his fist, sword pommel held tightly, into the man’s mouth. The blow collapsed the brigand. Adarian thrust his sword, turning as he cut, ending it.
Cleaning and sheathing his blade, his shoulders slumped. The nausea was almost uncontrollable. It always was, ever since that slaughter years ago. Adarian heaved for several minutes. Wiping his chin he regained control and began stripping the dead of their meager valuables. He never noticed the Smovona man, no longer pinned by the javelin, coming up behind him.
“Ah…master?” the other began.
Adarian spun around, a snarl on his face. The other man jumped back startled, wincing at the pain of his wound. “What?” Adarian snarled at him.
“I...I...We want to thank you for the help you....”
“I don’t care, go away.”
“But? Will you take my youngest daughter as my gratitude? Teasi will serve
you well.”
“What do I want with a Smovona girl? I did what I did because I wanted to,
not because of you.” Adarian looked down at the coin pouch he was holding. “Here take this” He threw it to the man.
“Wha...”
“Tell everyone you meet that Adarian of Thesskelok passed here.”
“But master, a man such as you must have many enemies. Wont they find you?”
Adarian smiled, a fatalistically doomed smile. “Yes, yes they will.”
The thirty or so warriors that remained of the Tribe of the White Elk stood proudly and defiantly, regardless of the fact that they were all that was left of their once mighty tribe. Many carried the tell tale wounds of battle. Their women and children huddled together behind them. Some of the children and younger women whimpered or sobbed, somewhere a baby wailed. The rest of their people stood in silent defiance like their men. All knew what was about to descend upon them. They had just spurred the final offer of the so-called Khan to integrate them into his new confederacy.
The White Elk had been a proud and powerful tribe that had kept its independence for generations through the strength of its warriors. But a mere day ago, that had all been undone. The tides of battle had gone against them as the upstart youngster who called himself a Khan, had wielded a mystic blade of great power against them. The survivors had tried to make a run for the far northern mountains but had been over taken. Now this small valley would see their final, futile stand and serve as their grave.
*****
“What have they to say to my generous offer?” Abtu asked, seated on his plains pony, the Myst Blade upon his lap. The young Hekesh warrior was growing his first true mustache and he scratched it often, almost with no thought. Though his face was that of a youngster, his eyes belayed that fact. They were deep and authoritative. The Khan’s gaze pierced into men, making them squirm and look away. There was an almost fevered drive in them.
“They do not accept. They wish to fight,” said the older warrior, serving as the young would-be Khan’s steward. The family resemblance between nephew and uncle was startling. “Should I give the order to attack?”
Abtu gave his uncle a cross look. “Is that, dear uncle, any way to address your Khan?” Abtu’s hand absent-mindedly caressed his blade. The tingle of its magik ran through his fingers. He had always been ambitious and had known that he would climb far, but even his wildest imagination had never dreamt of what the Sword had given him.
“My apologies…neph…my Khan, how could I have forgotten?” the man did little to hide his sarcasm.
“Very well, give the order to attack. Spare no one, not even the women. We shall make an example of the White Elk Tribe for all the other Hekesh tribes to learn. They can join or face extermination. At least all will not be lost with this waste.”
The other bowed shallowly and rode off to pass on the Khan’s order. Abtu’s eyes followed his uncle closely. Under his breath he said to himself. “And as for you uncle, you too shall make an example of the discipline I demand of others.”
CHAPTER I
What made Sarnin’s Thousand so
dangerous is that each one was
a man with no hope, seeking only
the glorious death.
Milthanous Diaries
4 Marte AE 514
Adarian wiped the icy rain from his eyes with his left hand, the leather gauntlet was soaked through. With his other hand he gripped the reins of his chestnut while hunkering further down in his cloak. Water ran down his soaked through leather breeches filling his boots. Adarian had already stopped and emptied them thrice. Adarian was thoroughly miserable and it was only midmorning. He shuddered uncontrollably as the wind blew his oiled cloak up and rain pelted his tuniced back.
Glancing about, Adarian eyed the hills and trees that spread about him, with suspicion. The Urgi Hills were not known for the hospitality of their inhabitants. The Urgi Hills were located between Melik and Lserria forming a natural barrier between the civilized lands of Melik, its neighbors Vavitica and Tusin and the tribal Lserr.
The hills were a no man’s land inhabited by brigands, humanoids, and renegades. They were also a breeding place for beast of all types, both mundane and magical. As a sight, however, their dangerous nature could easily be over looked. The terrain was mostly rolling forested hills. Occasional rock outcropping belayed the Urgi Hills true nature. They were all that remained of the once powerful peaks that crossed the land here. The weather was usually very moist providing for a rich canopy. At the southwestern edge of the Hills lay the heavy forest of Ok-Met-Ruyk. It was believed to be the true source of many of the beasts that made their way into the Hills and beyond.
This was the perfect place for what Adarian sought. The North Coast Lands had been to quiet recently, ever since the Second Bhorrgoh Wars had ended. Adarian smiled to himself, running his left thumb over the jagged scar under his left eye. The Second Bhorrgoh Wars had ended two years prior and to Adarian’s grief, he had found himself out of a job as General of the Sued Armies. He had also lost the chance for what he truly sought. The glory of the battle was now denied him. There were other places where he could go. The Inner Sea Lands were always a hot bed of turmoil.
Rounding a huge, two-story rock out cropping of leach covered granite, Adarian found himself looking down upon a serene valley. Tall aspens, just starting to turn green covered much of the ground and a creek, swollen by the melting snow, ran down its center. Despite the dismal weather Adarian found it beautiful, though he wasted little deep thought upon it. Another Adarian, a much younger Adarian, would have thought deeply upon such splendor, but that man was no more. The rain suddenly slackened and the clouds temporarily parted, causing Adarian to smile in relief. It had thankfully been an early spring.
It was then that he noticed the Smovona box wagon that sat in a small clearing in the valley’s heart, some six hundred paces below. The nomad folk were little danger, except maybe to one’s purse, that is if one was not careful of its whereabouts. It was rumored that these people harbored a secret so deep that it could shatter the Inner Sea Lands and for that reason they were bound to their nomadic life. Adarian paid such legends little heed, meant to scare small children.
The Smovona had come across with the others in the Great Exodus, some five centuries past. Unlike the other peoples who came to these barbaric lands, bringing with them the laws and ways of civilization, the Smovona had returned to the more primitive state of nomads. However they were not hunter-gatherers like so many of the local peoples had been. Now they traveled as entertainers, storytellers and purse pickers. It was quite evident to the perceptive mind, however, that some deeper purpose drove them. These secrets were never told to outsiders, and Adarian had his suspicions, even to most of the common Smovona.
The rain had slackened off and a break in the clouds allowed the sun to peak through ever so quickly, like an arrant child afraid of being punished if caught.
Adarian prepared to ride down the soft hillside when a glint of sunlight reflecting off of metal caught his eye. Adarian stopped, looking closely. He could make out figures moving about. One was clutching something long and thin, and obviously metallic. It was the reflection off of this that had caught his attention. With an over the head swing, the wielder brought it down on to another figure, felling it. A sword! From what he could see, there were probably six or more armed figures down there. A sane man would surely turn away. Who ever accused Adarian of sanity was a fool, and probably a dead fool at that.
Guiding the chestnut down the hill and through the aspens, Adarian made his way to the edge of the clearing. The soft, wet, moss covered ground silenced his approach. The whole of the way down he prepared for battle. The oiled cloth came off of his large round shield, its symbol of Adros shining brightly on the blue gray steel. Adros’ lion and dragon heads faced outwardly portraying the guardian god’s vicious strength for all to see. Once Adarian had been one of the god’s Protectors, cherished in the North for the safety they brought to those around them. Adarian had been the greatest of these, a man of whom legends had been spun, often much more embroidered then the truth.
Adarian spit at these memories. He winced at the cracked skin of his lower lip. Those times were past. He had walked away from his god, though the god seemed to continue to pursue him. Why else had the markings of Adros not faded?
The large double crossbow, also of steel, sat in the crook of his right arm. He
had had it made especially to his instruction during the last great Murghe uprising. The weapon was deadly, able to pierce a steel breastplate at a thousand paces. Only a man of considerable strength could hope to reset the steel bowstrings, even with the use of the pulley and lever.
Mentally Adarian inventoried his various swords and daggers.
In the clearing before him the brigands were busy. A young Smovona man lay on the ground, beside the colorful box wagon, his pale, lifeless skin in sharp contrast to the colorful and conflicting outfit that he wore. His blood flowed from the jagged slash at the base of his throat. It fed the new spring grass. Another Smovona man stood against the side of the wagon, pinned to it by a broken javelin in his right shoulder. His bright green silk shirt was turning dark with blood. His eyes were blank, shock was setting in.
A brigand dressed in ragged furs stood guarding him, holding a bronze tipped spear. The small bow legged man’s attention was, however, not on his charge, least he would have spotted Adarian. Instead the man was watching his seven friends who were gathered around the three Smovoni women who were laid out in a row for the brigands’ pleasure. Three of the brigands were on top of the women, using them.
Bile rose up into Adarian’s mouth, he pushed it back down. No matter how many times he had seen it, it still made him sick. Even his cynical self recoiled at the sight of man’s bestiality toward man. While a younger Adarian might have wished to find a solution to this, a way to placate the evil beast in man, this Adarian wished only to destroy it with all the violence he could muster. He could muster much violence. He would crush these men like the insignificant insects that they were.
Placing his steel and leather half helm over his head, Adarian lifted the crossbow to his shoulder and took aim.
With a high pitched twang the first bolt was loosened. Without seeing the results, Adarian redirected his aim and loosened the second. The first foot long bolt buried itself in the guard’s neck, with such force that it actually snapped the vertebrae. With barely a gurgle the man collapsed. The Smovona only stared in shocked disbelief. The second bolt planted itself in the shoulder of the left rapist, smashing the shoulder blade. The man fell on top of his victim, screaming and thrashing, unable to reach the bolt stuck in his back.
The brigands stood, for a moment, in disbelief before starting for their weapons. It was all the time that Adarian needed. Kicking his horse in the flanks, he charged. A fierce throat wrenching war cry escaped his lips. The long Erdorian sword went singing out of its scabbard. The red sapphires that were the eyes of the lion and dragonheads of the pommel glowed in red flames, while the blade itself shimmered in an unearthly green glow. Once more that blade would taste blood.
The chestnut slammed into the first two men, crushing one man’s skull with a hoof. The other fell and rolled, drawing two daggers as he came up in one smooth move. A third man came charging onto Adarian’s left, his battle scream drawing Adarian’s deadly attention. The large burly, fur clad brigand wielded a huge battle-ax raised over his head to strike. It’s curved and pitted blade promised only death.
Without thought Adarian swung. His sword gave a high pitched hum as it sliced through the battle-axe’s blade, showering red sparks. It ended its flight at the base of the man’s neck, having passed through his head. With a heave Adarian freed his blade, as its victim’s lifeless body collapsed, blood fountaining out. The reverse swing caught the second brigand, severing his right arm at the elbow. The dagger fell harmlessly to the ground. Adarian spared but a second on the man who was now on his knees screaming and grasping the knob that had been his arm.
The remaining three uninjured men had formed a semi circle around Adarian. Two were armed with crude stone tipped spears, the third with a rusty broad sword. The forth man, his pants now up, stood behind them. His left hand clumsily held a short sword of Atherin design, its cross guard almost non-existent. The man’s right arm hung uselessly at his side, the bolt still protruding from his back. His bearded face was set in rage.
“Well what’r you maggots waiting for?” he yelled out, spittle showering through his broken, blackened teeth and hanging in his beard. The others ignored their leader, eyeing Adarian with apprehension and obvious fear. The chestnut snorted, striking at the ground with a hoof. Swinging his left leg over the pommel, Adarian stepped down. He arrogantly rounded on the brigands. They, as one, moved back into a more guarded posture. He watched them. It was obvious they did not know what to make of this mad man who had attacked against impossible odds and as yet was still standing. They slowly shuffled around him, weapons leveled and ready. Ever so slowly Adarian moved his left hand down, the shield hiding the movements, reached for the small hand ax on his belt. It was time to finish this affair.
In a flash, the axe was loose and sent flying and Adarian was a blur on the move. The spearman on the left dodged, the axe nicking his left shoulder. The swordsman charged. The spearman on the right raised up his spear, fear upon his dirty, young face. Adarian butted aside the spearman’s strike. His sword stroke took the man’s head off above the lower jaw, brains spilling forth.
Spinning to meet the sword man’s charge, Adarian slipped on the wet grass and fell to one knee. It saved his life. The rusty broad sword flew by where Adarian's head had been seconds before. Adarian’s blade went forward spitting the attacker, the sword came out between the forth and fifth rib. Blood flowed from between the startled man’s lips. His eyes glazed and the body slumped, sliding off of the blade.
Expecting further attack, Adarian brought his shield up, sword back. None came. Lowering his shield, Adarian evaluated his situation. The remaining spearman was down, his throat slit from ear to ear. An old Smovona woman kneeled beside him, blood covering her naked and bruised form and her long sagging breasts. She made no move to cover herself. The brigand leader just stood there, his face showing the shock of the slaughter. Adarian purposely marched toward him. He batted aside the shortsword the other raised clumsily. Teeth broke as Adarian slammed his fist, sword pommel held tightly, into the man’s mouth. The blow collapsed the brigand. Adarian thrust his sword, turning as he cut, ending it.
Cleaning and sheathing his blade, his shoulders slumped. The nausea was almost uncontrollable. It always was, ever since that slaughter years ago. Adarian heaved for several minutes. Wiping his chin he regained control and began stripping the dead of their meager valuables. He never noticed the Smovona man, no longer pinned by the javelin, coming up behind him.
“Ah…master?” the other began.
Adarian spun around, a snarl on his face. The other man jumped back startled, wincing at the pain of his wound. “What?” Adarian snarled at him.
“I...I...We want to thank you for the help you....”
“I don’t care, go away.”
“But? Will you take my youngest daughter as my gratitude? Teasi will serve
you well.”
“What do I want with a Smovona girl? I did what I did because I wanted to,
not because of you.” Adarian looked down at the coin pouch he was holding. “Here take this” He threw it to the man.
“Wha...”
“Tell everyone you meet that Adarian of Thesskelok passed here.”
“But master, a man such as you must have many enemies. Wont they find you?”
Adarian smiled, a fatalistically doomed smile. “Yes, yes they will.”
US Russophobia Will Mean Russia's Survival
As many of you may have noticed, there are not a lot of Russian made goods for sale in America. Now most people of average intelligence will come to a conclusion that that must mean that there is nothing produced in Russia, as even the few food items sold in specialty stores are made in some upstate New York area or in California or Canada. However this is far from the truth and that truth will equally save Russia from the US led collapse.
Russian industry is booming, with an average 7-8% growth rate, low taxation and a motivated work force and it has been doing so since 1999. The final trigger that allowed Russian industry to burst out was the 1998 economic collapse, which was really just the final fall of the 1990s decade of collapse. The key that started this was not really just the fall of the Soviet Union but the readiness of the Russian establishment to believe the West that by letting in Western companies they would all become rich...well the oligarchs and chivaks became rich but the people as a whole suffered. Why? Simple: Russian industry had little time to learn to play in the Western world before it was crushed by Western giants who then sucked it dry and left empty husks, while flooding the market with US/EU goods.
The 1998 collapse, however made those imported goods entirely to expensive. This in turn led to demand being satisfied by local production, which in turn led to job growths and more demand and more job growth and so on...the road to recovery. This is the exact path, but in the opposite direction, that a quickly deindustrialized, debtor nation America is traveling on as it comes more and more to resemble the third world nation it now is...ok, maybe 2nd world.
Russian exports have also been growing and not just in raw materials, but also in grains, finished foods, beverages, machinery, weapons, IT and many other fields.
But why are there no products in America and how will this help the Russian economy survive America's death throws that threaten much of the world?
It all comes from America's own Russophobia...or rather that of the ruling elites who do as they please, the people be damned (and it will soon seem that way). Basically put, Russia is still under the Jackson-Vanik regime. What is the Jackson-Vanik Act? It was a 1970s law that forbade American trade with nations that prohibited free movement of their peoples and was used to undermine the Soviet Union. But, now you'll notice that the Soviet Union has been gone for 17 years, how could this still be in effect? It should not, but it is.
Russia, in the hopes of trading with America and in the spirit of revolution, quickly liberalized its immigration laws. Over 1 million Jews left, and after all the Jackson-Vanik Act was aimed at them. In the 17 years that have passed, some 15% returned to live in Russia from Israel. But the law has stayed in effect, hung like a treat in front of the Russian mule to get it to move constantly to the whims of the American master. This of course came to an end some 5 years ago, when the government basically said to hell with the US promises, just like with WTO membership, which not only will never happen (Russia is the ONLY industrialized nation not in the WTO, thanks to the US or its proxies like Georgia...which has 6 factories in the whole country) but Russia no longer needs the WTO and it's socialism.
Now, Russian industry is primarily aimed at satisfying the rapidly growing internal markets and not on exports to the world's debtors, the US. Because of this, mostly thanks to US Russophobic politicians, Russia will survive this world shaking economic collapse to come out one of the strongest industrialized nations in the world.
This statement has been evidenced that out of the BRIC group of countries (Brazil, Russia, India, China) Russia is the only one who's stock market has continued to grow while the others have been on the free fall, along with their primary customer America. The Europeans who also export heavily to the US will not be and are not to far behind.
Russia, however, with low taxes, massive resources, all the energy she needs and a huge internal market demand and a middle class of between 20-30% and growing and a poverty class of 15% and falling, will be standing rather tall by 2012.
Here's to the Holy Third Rome.
Russian industry is booming, with an average 7-8% growth rate, low taxation and a motivated work force and it has been doing so since 1999. The final trigger that allowed Russian industry to burst out was the 1998 economic collapse, which was really just the final fall of the 1990s decade of collapse. The key that started this was not really just the fall of the Soviet Union but the readiness of the Russian establishment to believe the West that by letting in Western companies they would all become rich...well the oligarchs and chivaks became rich but the people as a whole suffered. Why? Simple: Russian industry had little time to learn to play in the Western world before it was crushed by Western giants who then sucked it dry and left empty husks, while flooding the market with US/EU goods.
The 1998 collapse, however made those imported goods entirely to expensive. This in turn led to demand being satisfied by local production, which in turn led to job growths and more demand and more job growth and so on...the road to recovery. This is the exact path, but in the opposite direction, that a quickly deindustrialized, debtor nation America is traveling on as it comes more and more to resemble the third world nation it now is...ok, maybe 2nd world.
Russian exports have also been growing and not just in raw materials, but also in grains, finished foods, beverages, machinery, weapons, IT and many other fields.
But why are there no products in America and how will this help the Russian economy survive America's death throws that threaten much of the world?
It all comes from America's own Russophobia...or rather that of the ruling elites who do as they please, the people be damned (and it will soon seem that way). Basically put, Russia is still under the Jackson-Vanik regime. What is the Jackson-Vanik Act? It was a 1970s law that forbade American trade with nations that prohibited free movement of their peoples and was used to undermine the Soviet Union. But, now you'll notice that the Soviet Union has been gone for 17 years, how could this still be in effect? It should not, but it is.
Russia, in the hopes of trading with America and in the spirit of revolution, quickly liberalized its immigration laws. Over 1 million Jews left, and after all the Jackson-Vanik Act was aimed at them. In the 17 years that have passed, some 15% returned to live in Russia from Israel. But the law has stayed in effect, hung like a treat in front of the Russian mule to get it to move constantly to the whims of the American master. This of course came to an end some 5 years ago, when the government basically said to hell with the US promises, just like with WTO membership, which not only will never happen (Russia is the ONLY industrialized nation not in the WTO, thanks to the US or its proxies like Georgia...which has 6 factories in the whole country) but Russia no longer needs the WTO and it's socialism.
Now, Russian industry is primarily aimed at satisfying the rapidly growing internal markets and not on exports to the world's debtors, the US. Because of this, mostly thanks to US Russophobic politicians, Russia will survive this world shaking economic collapse to come out one of the strongest industrialized nations in the world.
This statement has been evidenced that out of the BRIC group of countries (Brazil, Russia, India, China) Russia is the only one who's stock market has continued to grow while the others have been on the free fall, along with their primary customer America. The Europeans who also export heavily to the US will not be and are not to far behind.
Russia, however, with low taxes, massive resources, all the energy she needs and a huge internal market demand and a middle class of between 20-30% and growing and a poverty class of 15% and falling, will be standing rather tall by 2012.
Here's to the Holy Third Rome.
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Globalization? Now it's Regionalization.
Globalization may be its own worst enemy, driving a new trend of regionalization.
There are several very strong trends that are now in the process of reshaping the terrain of the global economy in a very unglobal way.
The first of these trends is the collapsing US dollar, which for the world's largest economy and importer, means that those imports, both of the completed product and the subcomponent nature are no longer quite so attractive. This is not across the board, of course, but it is a major acting factor. China is one of the few nations not directly affected by this because their currency devalues along with the dollar. However, due to the dollar evaluation, so far, most US businesses are facing a price increase (read inflation) of between 12-20%. Another major cut by the Fed will have catastrophic effects. While the short term effect for American business will be disastrous, because of the higher cost of parts and few or no local suppliers, a long term decline on the dollar will drive local suppliers to develop new capacities.
However, this is a centric trend, even if it is affecting the world's biggest economy. There are two other trends that are equally putting pressure for regionalization. The first of these mega, world trends, is the obvious price increase in oil and thus fuel oil used for sea bound transportation. As prices increase in the cost of moving goods to and from, local more expensive suppliers suddenly do not seem so expensive, as companies are steadily coming to grips with TCO. TCO is an acronym for Total Cost of Ownership, which is the full real price that one pays for a good. Earlier in the drive to outsource, most companies had a siloed approach to this, meaning they were looking only at the bottom line of the man-hours and or over head costs. The cost of transportation, port fees, import/export duties, quality issues, safety stock, geopolitical risk and even port facility capabilities were all ignored. Wisdom, at a high price in lost dollars, has at last prevailed and has found that the TCO often made those cheap cheap manufacturing prices not so cheap cheap. Indeed, not only the transportation fuel costs but also it's capacity has become a major issue, which blends into the other global trend: capacity.
Most people are aware that the ports are struggling to handle the amount of traffic coming and going and coupled with the cost of the various inspection regimes, has led to very long lead times and thus to a demand for much higher and more expensive safety stocks..aka inventories. However, what most people are not aware of is that the actual transport capacity has fallen far behind demand. It has already been reported that China has effectively locked in 80% of the super transport capacity for 2008, leaving the rest of the world with crumbs to fight over. Add to this the often 2 to 3 week wait periods at Chinese ports just to unload and the three to four year construction period for a new super transport and one quickly realizes how much of a real issue this is. Woe to the fact that demand is still growing much faster then new ship construction.
These two trends globally and the US centric trend all lead to regional suppliers in what was once the dieing rust belt of the West having one more shot at life. In America, with stagnant manufacturing wages and massive illegal employment (the social costs are carried by the very generous or naive and politically powerless US taxpayers), this becomes even a better proposition.
There are several very strong trends that are now in the process of reshaping the terrain of the global economy in a very unglobal way.
The first of these trends is the collapsing US dollar, which for the world's largest economy and importer, means that those imports, both of the completed product and the subcomponent nature are no longer quite so attractive. This is not across the board, of course, but it is a major acting factor. China is one of the few nations not directly affected by this because their currency devalues along with the dollar. However, due to the dollar evaluation, so far, most US businesses are facing a price increase (read inflation) of between 12-20%. Another major cut by the Fed will have catastrophic effects. While the short term effect for American business will be disastrous, because of the higher cost of parts and few or no local suppliers, a long term decline on the dollar will drive local suppliers to develop new capacities.
However, this is a centric trend, even if it is affecting the world's biggest economy. There are two other trends that are equally putting pressure for regionalization. The first of these mega, world trends, is the obvious price increase in oil and thus fuel oil used for sea bound transportation. As prices increase in the cost of moving goods to and from, local more expensive suppliers suddenly do not seem so expensive, as companies are steadily coming to grips with TCO. TCO is an acronym for Total Cost of Ownership, which is the full real price that one pays for a good. Earlier in the drive to outsource, most companies had a siloed approach to this, meaning they were looking only at the bottom line of the man-hours and or over head costs. The cost of transportation, port fees, import/export duties, quality issues, safety stock, geopolitical risk and even port facility capabilities were all ignored. Wisdom, at a high price in lost dollars, has at last prevailed and has found that the TCO often made those cheap cheap manufacturing prices not so cheap cheap. Indeed, not only the transportation fuel costs but also it's capacity has become a major issue, which blends into the other global trend: capacity.
Most people are aware that the ports are struggling to handle the amount of traffic coming and going and coupled with the cost of the various inspection regimes, has led to very long lead times and thus to a demand for much higher and more expensive safety stocks..aka inventories. However, what most people are not aware of is that the actual transport capacity has fallen far behind demand. It has already been reported that China has effectively locked in 80% of the super transport capacity for 2008, leaving the rest of the world with crumbs to fight over. Add to this the often 2 to 3 week wait periods at Chinese ports just to unload and the three to four year construction period for a new super transport and one quickly realizes how much of a real issue this is. Woe to the fact that demand is still growing much faster then new ship construction.
These two trends globally and the US centric trend all lead to regional suppliers in what was once the dieing rust belt of the West having one more shot at life. In America, with stagnant manufacturing wages and massive illegal employment (the social costs are carried by the very generous or naive and politically powerless US taxpayers), this becomes even a better proposition.
Thursday, November 1, 2007
You Bet a Weak Dollar Drives Inflation
So here I am in this position as a global sourcing manager and I've got news for you, a weak dollar is going to kill the American economy. What you say? How could that be? Why the Fed swears up and down that it's doing this to save the US economy.
Well the problem is, the Fed has built a house of cards over the years, with a massive creation of M3 (cash) flooding the world, very low interest rates and no regulation of lending along with low amounts of reserve cash at banks...all to create a perfect storm. Of course, for those who create the money (the private banking system called the Federal Reserve) this is a windfall that's moving your wealth to their pockets...suckers.
Now, back to this driving inflation thing and the weak dollar. As most people learned in the one or two economic classes they might actually have taken, a weak currency allows a nation to export more, especially finished goods. Alas, that's under normal circumstances and there is absolutely nothing normal about the modern American shamonomy. With most of the US' manufacturing base overseas there is little to either 1. export or 2. export that does not require at least some of the components to be manufactured globally and brought back to America.
Again, back to the sliding dollar and my suppliers. Well now, I've just gotten done with several supplier conferences and guess what: I've got suppliers from India to Indonesia, from Italy to Canada asking for price increases from 7-15%. Yup, ghouls and goblins (it is Halloween) this is called inflation, inflation driven by global manufacturing and the falling dollar. And while we here in what's left of American industry might still be able to fight off these full increases it should never be mistaken for what it is: a rear guard action and that's absolutely what it is, a fighting retreat just made worse by Mr. Bernanke and the interest knife he wields. Never mind how he'll compete for investments for Uncle Spend Like a Drunken Sailor's budget deficits when competing with much higher European and Japanese rates.
So boys and girls, ghasts and ghosts, while the shock might not be hitting you yet, just give it another 3 or so months and you'll definitely have a yule tide log...that'll cost you 15% more.
Well the problem is, the Fed has built a house of cards over the years, with a massive creation of M3 (cash) flooding the world, very low interest rates and no regulation of lending along with low amounts of reserve cash at banks...all to create a perfect storm. Of course, for those who create the money (the private banking system called the Federal Reserve) this is a windfall that's moving your wealth to their pockets...suckers.
Now, back to this driving inflation thing and the weak dollar. As most people learned in the one or two economic classes they might actually have taken, a weak currency allows a nation to export more, especially finished goods. Alas, that's under normal circumstances and there is absolutely nothing normal about the modern American shamonomy. With most of the US' manufacturing base overseas there is little to either 1. export or 2. export that does not require at least some of the components to be manufactured globally and brought back to America.
Again, back to the sliding dollar and my suppliers. Well now, I've just gotten done with several supplier conferences and guess what: I've got suppliers from India to Indonesia, from Italy to Canada asking for price increases from 7-15%. Yup, ghouls and goblins (it is Halloween) this is called inflation, inflation driven by global manufacturing and the falling dollar. And while we here in what's left of American industry might still be able to fight off these full increases it should never be mistaken for what it is: a rear guard action and that's absolutely what it is, a fighting retreat just made worse by Mr. Bernanke and the interest knife he wields. Never mind how he'll compete for investments for Uncle Spend Like a Drunken Sailor's budget deficits when competing with much higher European and Japanese rates.
So boys and girls, ghasts and ghosts, while the shock might not be hitting you yet, just give it another 3 or so months and you'll definitely have a yule tide log...that'll cost you 15% more.
Friday, May 25, 2007
Russia and the US Farmer
There exist two problems with one simple solution: a solution that would benefit both parties tremendously and would alleviate a worse future out come for both.
The first problem is that Russia has lots of land, a lot of empty agricultural land at that and a desire to not only grow its' population but also its' agricultural output. It would further rather not have this land exploited and its' population increased by the Chinese illegals streaming across the Russian borders.
America has a different problem. This is a problem of people, or rather of one class of people in particular. These are a new, unappreciated and unneeded people, as determined by American society. What ever the benefits to a nation of a class of successful small farmers, and there are many, the American progressive society has made a conscious decision to ditch them. To kick them to the curb, a throw away class from a throw away past by a throw away society. This is obvious by the growth of mega corporations, subsidized by government largess of tax payer funds. Since the late 1970s, over 300,000 small farms have failed and at an average of 5 members per household, that's 1.5 million people without their lively hood that they loved and cherished.
Thus the two problems beg a solution, a solution that is linked and limbered to each other as few others can be. With well over 1.5 million members of the farming class, in America, facing or experiencing failure or at best, just barely hanging on, Russia can offer an outlet of abundant land for these masses.
Several initiatives will make this possible. Russia should offer these farmers twenty acres a piece and allow them to buy more for hard cash, no loans. It should then attach with this a mandatory one year road to citizenship, free transportation of the farm equipment and animals from the US to Russia and a low interested fixed rate loan for building (where needed) a homestead and starting capital for the first year's season.
In exchange, these farmers will agree to several conditions and will in turn provide key benefits. The first issue is loyalty. To assure this, immigrants and their families will agree in writing to take up Russian citizenship within 1 year of arrival. Before immigration takes place, they will be given six months to learn a set minimum fluency in the Russian language and Russian history/culture.
The immigrants will further guarantee that each of their sons, upon reaching the legal age, will serve out the minimal term of enlistment in the Russian armed forces. Furthermore, the immigrants will provide classes weekly, to their adopted communities, on Western standards and science of agriculture. These will continue as long as there is a demand from the community.
Lastly, the immigrants will be required to donate 5% of their income to their adoptive communities for a period no longer then 15 years. This money may be given to the local established church, the village government, directly to the poor or as an individually initiated and executed project that shows results within a 24 month period. The immigrant will have his choice of the above.
There are, undeniably, several hazards and drawbacks.
The primary issue is absorption into the main culture/society of Russia. To this end, immigrants should not be allowed to make up more then 5% of the population in any community. This will keep them permanently a minority and thus force absorption into the main stream culture within one or two generations. Similarly, the different religious background of most American immigrants (protestants and catholics) should also be tended to through education of the Orthodox faith and gentle missionary work by properly prepared clergy. The requirement for military service will also help ensure that the second generation is culturally and genetically absorbed, through a much greater chance of mixed marriages.
Issues of American historic territorial expansion, through colonization followed by land grabs (as seen in Texas, California, Colorado, Florida and Hawaii) will also be addressed by keeping the immigrants a minority and away from the eastern coastal regions.
Finally, any local jealousy over accusations of favoritism for immigrants, should be alleviated by the 5% required re investments and the classes given by the immigrants.
Once and if this program is a success, as this author predicts it will be, the gold mines of British, German, Italian, French dissatisfaction can be equally mined for new Western, Christian immigrants, whose absorption into the dominant Russian culture will help ensure Russia of remaining Russia and growing more prosperous.
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