Blazing a trail across History (poem mine)

Blaze a trail across the pages of history, do not embrace the herd mentality.
March to a different drumbeat, dance to your own music.
Do not conform to the accepted norm.

Dance in the rain, walk naked on the beach if you want, step into the gap, make a difference. Do not be a sheep, do not bleat in fear, rather shout your battle cry.
Let the pages of the ages tell of your great deeds.

Make them remember you. Fly like a shooting star across the pages of history, across the ages let your name ring true, bringing honour to all your house.

Don’t be a mouse, be brave, talk not of a noble death; for death is not noble, nor glorious just a messy and sad end to the spark of life which can burn so bright. Run like a a stallion

When in your last days as you lay gasping for one more breath and it is asked “Do you have regrets quietly say. No U have not, I have tried everything that I wanted to do, I have no regrets in some I was not successful and in others I was,
I rage not at the coming of my night.
My Star has burned brighter the universe is lighter for my having been here.

When death come do not hide in the grave yard where he will not look for you.
Rather stand in the gap one last time and when death approach be sure to check and you will see in his shadow he brings reinforcements for a life well lived and reinforced even death trembles and fears in the presence of such a life.

Now for the Gaelic Interpretation
Blaze slighe air feadh na duilleagan eachdraidh, chan eil gabhail an treud inntinn.
Màrt gu eadar-dhealaichte drumbeat, dannsa ri ceòl agad fhèin.
Chan eil rèir slatan-tomhais a ‘gabhail ris àbhaisteach.

Dannsa ann an uisge, coiseachd rùisgte air an tràigh ma tha thu ag iarraidh, ceum a-steach a ‘bheàrn, a’ dèanamh eadar-dhealachadh. Cha bhi caora, chan eil bleat ann an eagal, an àite a bhith ag èigheachd ur blàr glaodh.
Leig an duilleagan a ‘aois innse do gnìomhan mìorbhaileach.

Cuimhnich iad air a dhèanamh dhuibh. Fly mar seilg rionnag air feadh na duilleagan eachdraidh, air feadh na h-aoisean leig ur n-ainm fìor fàinne, a ‘toirt urram do na h-uile taigh agaibh.

Cha bhi luchag, fearail, a ‘bruidhinn cha uasal bàs; airson bàs chan eil uasal, ni mò glòrmhor dìreach bùrachail agus deireadh duilich ris an sradag de bheatha a dh’fhaodas a losgadh cho soilleir. Ruith mar a Stallion

Nuair ann do làithean mu dheireadh mar a tha thu Lay gasping airson aon tuilleadh anail agus thathar ag iarraidh air “A bheil aithreachas gu sàmhach ràdh. No U chan eil, tha mi air feuchainn-uile rud a bha mi ag iarraidh a dhèanamh, feumaidh mi eil aithreachas ann an cuid cha robh mi soirbheachail agus ann an daoine eile a bha mi,
Sèididh mi nach eil a ‘tighinn mo oidhche.
My Star air a losgadh gealltanaiche na cruinne-cè a tha nas aotroime do m ‘an dèidh a bhith an seo.

Nuair a thig am bàs cha bhi falach anns an uaigh gàrradh far am bi e a ‘coimhead airson nach eil thu.
An àite seasamh anns a ‘bheàrn aon turas mu dheireadh agus an uair a’ bhàis a bhith cinnteach gu bheil dòigh-obrach gus dèanamh cinnteach agus chì thu ann am faileas aige fhèin e a ‘toirt shaighdearan airson beatha gu math beò agus a’ daingneachadh fiù ‘s bàs crith agus eagalan an làthair leithid de bheatha.
Copy write and protected by the individual intellect property acts and laws of South Africa 2016 all writes property of TB Wood / Sarejess/ Sarejessian .
The owner gives consent for reproduction of the above unreservedly under 1 proviso That due recognition be given with each reproduction.

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In the Lord of the rings Simgol calls the golden ring his precious. An all consuming greed fills him to have it, he wants it. Anyone who sees it wants it only one hobbit who is pure of heart can carry it to the fires of destruction without been affected by it’s power.

I know a man in his 8th decade who carries a gold coin minted in the times of the Maccabees who swears his business and personal wealth comes from the possession of this coin. Maybe it does maybe it doesn’t, who knows. The cost of possession of such items comes at a great price Smigol goes to his death in the Moulton lava with the ring.
It would be interesting to see what happens to the man with the coin.

Operation Blackout a world war 2 safety mechanism for stopping 21st Century Terrorism

During the blitz and the Battle of Briton it was required of everyone to cover up the windows to make it more difficult for the German bombers t poo drop their payload of death on Britain’s population.

If the same principal was applied to cities and countries that suffer a terror attack like the resent attacks in France, would it not make sense to apply the same principal as mentioned above with slight variations I.e. total shutdown of the media for the period required to apprehend the guilty, and deprive the terrorist organisations, the opportunity of using the shock and fear generated by the attacks as a tactic to  gather support for their cause.
Secondly, all communication other than emergency services to be shut down to prevent the news spreading across social media, and deprive the terrorist using this as a tool to spread their message.

Allow internal communication but international communications must be none existent.

The reasons for this act mentioned above can be used in another far effective way by cutting off communication you are not only stopping the fear factor, but also knowing that terrorism will still try and get the message our will allow the security forces to pin point the attempts made by the terrorists to communicate there actions internationally,  and help to quickly apprehend the guilty.

Parc  chapitre un

Le Sterley du parc d’Oakland dans le comté de Surrey avait pendant longtemps été noblesse distinguée le premier Sterley à lever à la noblesse était monsieur John ayant été dans le service de la Reine Continue reading “”

Short story

I found it washed on to the beach on the incoming tide, one morning after a stormy night on which the wind had blow a gale.
The wind had howled around the lighthouse rattling all the shutters  the oil lamp had been primed in the early afternoon the day before as the clouds began to build over the hills to the north. By 4pm the wind had begun to rise and the ran began to fall the light had faded and I lit the lamp the shuttles began there rotation the strong light beam cast itself out into the driving rain and dark occasionally the lightening flashed and the sound of thunder rumbling long after the flash of lighting had disappeared.
In I was looking out of the window and saw the ocean with 12 foot high waves and swells in which no boat could live in seas like this I thought and I prayed that we would not have to launch the boat that night.

I settled down to read a book besides the fire and drink a glass of brandy to warm my chilled body.
Life as a lighthouse guard was not easy.

I began read and grew comfortable besides the fire and soon fell into a doze.

Soon I was fast asleep I began to dream, I dreamed I was on the quarterdeck of a ship in the storm.

The ship was in trouble and most of the sails had been torn to shreds, the main mast was the only one left standing both the fore mast and quarterdeck mast had gone by the boards. The captain had given orders that the ship was to be abandoned. I clasped the small golden love locket of my wife in Port Elizabeth had given me and kissed it before climbing onto  the life boat.

The waves we’re huge the night dark, with high seas running in the far distance the flash of Cape Reciffe lighthouse caught my eye.

We pulled hard on the oars to get away from the sinking ship when she went down if we were to close she would take the lifeboat down with her and us in it.

For a moment the ship tillted like a crazy milk bucket and then she was gone. A moment later the lifeboat was sucked under.

I felt the air been pulled from my lungs, the heavy coat pulled me down the cold ocean water began freezing my limbs as I struggled to free myself from the heavy coat
Some thing struck me and I remembered no more…

I awoke with a start the fire had gone out and the storm abated. I wondered down to the beach to see how things looked as I walked along the beach the soft wet sand under feet something caught my eye a small golden love locket.

Da Vinci Painted The Last Supper I drew the last Sucker

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By The Sarejessian.

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Fat George of Hanover and his friend Doctor Hamilton Lector of America a new novel (Alternative History)

In this Alternative history James II was not dethroned, William of Orange remained on his farm in Holland, George of Hanover never became king of Britain and the Jacobite rebellion never happened.
Continue reading “Fat George of Hanover and his friend Doctor Hamilton Lector of America a new novel (Alternative History)”