Mutability is good. Makes things interesting, and ultimately is a principle built-in in life. Yet mutability is one of those things that you learn to hate when living in Vancouver, when you are unable to plan a weekend because rain follows sun, pretty much with the same probability (though not certainty) that a night trails the day. So, here we are, on a Sunday I was to take off work and use for some hiking, sitting at home and looking out at what can at best be described British bleakness.

Energy is another word of interest. If I do not muster some energy I can see myself sitting on this chair and checking the news all day. I am bound to chat with some blogger on things Iranian and guaranteed to be depressed by more news of forest fires in Greece. Can we not please send them our rain? Yes the story goes that September is going to be the month for all things Iranian. I can already see the sad faces of my students and the good folk in North Van when our neighbors in the South decide that not having enough on their plate, what makes most sense is to attack Persia.
It has to be wondered whether it is power that makes people crazy, or whether this, the American Empire, is more peculiar than every other one before it. It is probably the first imperial state to be abducted by a clique of people using it solely for their own interests. Every imperial state to some extent does that. Rome expanded to offer commands and enriching opportunities to its senatorial elite, England expanded to serve a number of commercial interests and in order to provide legitimacy for a number of succesful pirates (I know history redux). You could even argue that as those states expanded, at least their populations benefited alongside the elites from the reality of empire. Yet all those empires had a sense of what their limits were and eventually, when they reached them, simply scaled down their activities. The US has reached its limits yet, it faces an interesting reality. While its influence, both economic and political is becoming increasinly limited, it still has the means to project force.

And here is where it gets interesting. It would be to the interest of the general population of the US for its elite to realize they are no longer an empire (call it superpower if you will) and go through a voluntary process of demobilization. In the case of the US there is no India or Rodesia to be abandoned. What should rather be mothballed, if not outright scrapped are at least half of its aircraft carriers, half of its airforce and at least half of its armed forces. The US has to become like France and England, even better, like Germany after the second world war. A country that has enough troops to send on a peace mission but no more. This would naturally create an automatic economic boom as resources waisted in non-productive investment in the wasteful defense industries, would go to fuel a services economy based on innovation, education and welfare. Yet this is a pipe dream, as the strength of the armed forces, allows the tiny plutocratic cabal ruling the country to make one last attempt at looting society before the inevitable turn towards new forms of Keynesianism shows its face.
We are dealing with a class of a few hundred men with stocks and stock options in positions of power, using the most powerful military machine ever to act on earth, to amass loot, as much loot as possible, before they are faced with some sort of popular reaction. What is interesting, in our case is that those men, the ones most wrapped in the flag of all Americans, are also the ones who will be the first to take their money and live in some Caribbean island or, as the case may be, in Southern France; a place most suited for rich retirees with a history of imperial overstretch. So the sooner we realize that we are no dealing with Americans per se, but with accummulative barbarians, the sooner we will remedy the situation and will lead this great neighbors of ours, and with it the world, to a safer path, where real concerns, from famine and human rights to the environment can be addressed.

Been a while. Have to wonder what spurs the communication bug. Is it simply lack of company? Possibly. Highly likely in fact. Anyhow. NAY approaching (New Academic Year) and things are bound to get busy. AS for me I am still escaping with bad writing in world I am sure I would not like to live in. Escape from what you ask? Who knows. Things are more or less optimal and yet Byzantine fantasies keep me occupied. Have a taste of bad prose:

The professor paused and turned to his students. It was early in the morning and a good 10 out of 17 were still in Morpheus' world, present bodily but absent in every other sense from the classroom. Two of the younger ones were looking at him with bright eyes. It was to be expected. Attaleiates’ great grandson Theodore and Psellos’ great granson Basileios Malesis sat on the front row proud to hear their professor read from the famous history of Skleros Seth, the foremost historian of his generation, still alive though impossibly old, and prolific like few others. Seth, who had been the son of a friend of their great grandfathers and one of Psellos’ last students had grown to become a sensation in Constantinopolitan letters. His Historia Leptomeres was a model of historical composition and was taught in every classroom. The professor turned to Theodore and before he could address him the 15 year old opened his mouth: "it is Thucydidean master. Seth starts with Thucydides’ staged dialogues, only he does something very interesting. This is not simply a set piece with each side presenting a dialogue to the agora. This is more novelistic. It is as if Seth wants us to know everything about the event. Clothes matter, tables and rolls of paper, even what the people felt, their hesitations. I have not seen this in Thucydides. I have not seen it in my great grand father’s work either. He cut straight to the chase. Not with Seth. He seems to have taken Achileas Tatios and the other Greek novelists and stole their techniques of detailed description. And I have to admit, he seems to have read a lot of Malesis’ great grandfather as well. All this emphasis in their inner thoughts is Psellos, it cannot be anything else." The master was once again awestruck. The young man before him was showing acumen that few mature readers, let alone students had shown in the many years of his teaching. He took another careful look at Theodore, clapped his hands to awake the two sleeping students at the end of the class and threw a reed stylus at a third who had fixed his gaze at the rear of Artemis’ statue standing at the crossroads just outside the school. He then addressed the young man with warmth that rarely escaped his body. "Theodore you’re truly right with this, and I may even argue that there is more. We are no longer in the realm of historiography. This class, by reading Skleros Seth is not just talking history. With Skleros we have politics weaved elegantly in the text. Have you noticed the configuration of the dialogue? Have you thought of the participants? Why does Skleros introduce devolution with those men and in the form of a dialogue? What does it mean that a man in a monk’s dress, known as a philosopher, a judge and ultimate authority are discussing politics? Do you see how the most important moment for the reform of our great empire’s system of governance is rooted by Seth in religion, philosophy, justice and victorious imperial power? Am I getting through to anyone of you? Does anyone other than Malesis and Theodore get it?" The silence was disappointing. The master started thinking that his classes would have to meet later in the day. The students before him were too sleepy, or simply too dumb.

Doors offer access even as they block it. In my apartment-building doors are what keeps the world outside and firedoors what creates a notion of safety inside. You see the building had suffered a fire years ago and like London post 1666 the psychosis among the natives is palpable. I buy it, I understand it, but I also, as a Greek feel odd about it. Fire hazzard drills were non-existent in Greece where cement just makes us assume a posture of hubris; that is till the forest next to us burns... Meawhile in my own abode, the logistical possibility of hosting people has just been created as my couch-bed has arrrived making my space more friendly to visitors. And even as my place is ready to be lived-in, I have to abandon it in order to play tour-guide for 29 young Canadians. Good luck to me and to them.

A new day brings me closer to the departure, but also directly into a new kind of work and life arrangement as by now I am getting to test-live my new place. I have not used the bedroom yet but I am settled on my desk and dealing with the bureaucratic and research issues that constitute my life at this stage. It is not the brightest of days, which is an understatement for :it has been raining all day and I just saw a bit of light from the south east," yet it feels good listening to the Band and editing a future article. The new work area is pretty good and well positioned for Vancoveur's grey reality, just under the main living-room windows. More work to be had, not more procrastinating.

Here I am in new environs. This posting will have the mundane but necessary function of guiding you through my new abode. It starts from the middle. We skip the entry and the front door as I simply did not photograph it. Maybe a sense that the name "Oakcrest" written on the translucent door window would invite mocking comments. Or maybe just a haste to drag you into the very inards of my world. What you see here is the living room with emphasis on the windows and the Audio-visual equipment. Should you wish to escape this second picture shows you the way towards the corridor. One could argue that the breadth of this hall is space wasted. To be frank, in my previous space this hall would have made up a bedroom. Still should you wish to leave here is the door. So, you are still here. Let us then turn towards the food preparation laboratory. To reach it we have to go past the dining room. One is linked to the other and both are connected to the living room as is plainly evident from this next picture. To the left side of the dining room just before the windows there is space for a bookcase. Unfortunately it simply did not fit the stairs up to my aprtment. It patiently waits dismantling and reassembly. Glory and curses to IKEA. So you arrive to the dining room, which has pretty decent light. In fact the apartment in general has very good light, which I am afraid may mean that I will be warm in the summer. Contributions to global warming are expected as an airconditioning unit may be purchased. Smaller than my previous kitchen, this one is less kitsch and at the same time has at least as many cupboards and storage. Overall an improvement though I will miss the in-kitchen table. On our way out of the kitchen we get the opportunity to look at the living room from the very corner of the dining-space and get the full size of the windows looking on oak. I should be getting pictures of the mountains to the north-east. Yes I can see them from my windows. I lack balconies though. We move to the bedroom. This is the view from the bathroom accross the hall and into the bedroom. As you can see the light is pretty good in this area of the apartment as well. The bedroom is also used as an office and yet it does not seem as if this makes it crammed. So this is it. I may post more as paintings go up the walls and as my desk and bookcase are positioned in place. More of the bedroom will also follow. For now a break. Health.

The early morning rise has its rewards. You see a world untouched yet from the fretfulness of the day that runs on coffee. I drove N to the airport and then took the bus to campus. Some work to be done on my course and a medical kit to collect for the field -school. Even as I ride the bus I feel my self getting aggravated by the bumps on the road shaking my note-taking tablet. Even as the day grows older I feel anger seeping in me. I have to wonder whether life is mostly a process of anger management. The ones of us who do it best are the either successful or quietly irrelevant. Those who fail are incarcerated, killed in a blaze of rapid machine gun fire or simply rise to become Attila the Hun. The day however, is still young and the sun pierces the dense forest on the hill to my work. Not a bad moment even if I feel the urgent need for sleep, or maybe more coffee. I have arrived at the office and among other things I am once again facing a naked door. Someone removed my name tag from the door. It is the second time and it is a bit annoying. You assume that once you got your F you turn to self-reflection and work harder. I need to be careful however, who knows how one moves from stealing name tags to shooting the professor. Maybe this will be the next form of academic attire. Please excese the gratuitous use of sexy bullet proof vest model.

There is something reassuring in seeing an electorate learn. The French are certainly still in an existential crisis regarding the direction of their republic, they have nevertheless learned an important lesson: if you do not want the fascists in the game and if you want to have a choice between slightly different visions of the future, you need to vote. Apathy is not a political statement. With participation in the order of 80 t0 85% the French have made this Sunday a celebration of the political process, with football games on the side as a refreshment to boot. So Lyon is winning the championship for this year in France and the Sego-Sarko shootout will entertain us in two weeks time offering a true clash of distinctly different ideas rearding France's future direction. Whether we like the two clashing visions or not is another story. At least for now we can be consoled in the existence of la différence.