Wednesday, June 17, 2009

Tuesday, June 09, 2009

Feuersturm


I'm going to post more music eventually but also try to write more here and there.


I am reading a phenomenal book called Fire and Fury which is about the largely untold Allied bombing of Germany during WW2. There are hundreds of entertaining moments: portraits of charismatic madmen (Harris, Göring), intriguing and horrifying details about political and strategic tactics, and the gruesome experiences of pilots and civilians. Essentially, a few powerful men (Portal and Harris) decided that night-bombing of residential and cultural sites with heavy explosives and incendiaries would win the war. The Americans preferred strategic day-time bombing of specific industrial targets, and figured the Nazis were so heavily indoctrinated that bombing civilians would only intensify their war production. While both contributed to Germany's defeat, the war could have ended sooner had the Allies coordinated their bombing campaigns to defeat the military-industrial complex. While German citizens were boiled alive in canals from the firestorms, they became united, just as the Brits were during the Blitz, by the indiscriminate nature of civilian bombing. One sentence in particular struck me: "In one of the war's ironies, British angels were prepared to go where German devils feared to tread."

For example, one incredible story is when both Britain and Germany were developing radar (and radar-jamming) at exactly the same time. The Brits knew that a technique called Window (dropping metal strips from the planes in a coordinated manner by planes flying in single file) would allow a surprise attack knowing it would cause havoc for German radar. However, they feared using this tactic, as the Germans would retaliate. Nevertheless, a reluctant Churchill approved this strategy. In an incredible twist of fate, the Germans had developed similar technology, but their air commander had all the research destroyed, fearing it would lead to mutually assured destruction. A few weeks later, the firebombing of Hamburg (codenamed Operation Gomorrah) was a stunning success.

Ragavan


I turned on the computer, sat down on my uncomfortable chair, and felt two sensations: crotch chafing and coffee gut. I looked around my surroundings. They did not have a desk or computer for me, so I am sitting in Ragavan’s cubicle, or, as I prefer, Raga’s cube, which sounds mystic and magical. It is clear that he treasures his two young children and their horrific artwork, which consists of a mixed race dinosaur (really more of a dino-bird-rat), other unidentifiable creatures, and some sort of depressed kite with a single coloured string stapled to its face. In truth, Ragavan is a dashing young man with an attractive wife. The picture above could be any Ragavan, any children. There is the man, and there is the legend.
There are other little trinkets and mysteries here. Miniature plastic Asian dolls, a large box of salt, a bag of instant honeyed ginger drink, and a note which states: Hope you like our muffins?? Ragamuffin = Peanut butter + jam. Sitting at Ragavan’s desk makes me squirm a little. There are ten pairs of shoes under the desk (fungus?) and a big tub of Vaseline – more fungus? I can’t reveal to you where I am employed; that information is classified. Let’s just say I work in the civil service.