The Ship of Fools
Chronicle of Ordinary Madness
January 6, 2008
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I really wish I had some good news to share.
Suddenly I think of a line from a poem by Jacques Prévert:
“Those who make pens in basements, so that others can write that everything’s going fine.”
My readers keep sending me links to videos. I have plenty of horrible things to choose from. I feel like asking, “Where should we start? With a report on the evils of the Taser? Or with what Russo said six months before his death?” I want to flee from this blank page, this empty screen I must fill. I wish I could be carefree. But I manage to stay that way—rest assured, dear readers. I’ve found the “stick” I need to lean on. An old friend even insisted on giving it to me. One gets used to it. Yet I dream of flying again one day—of running across grass, feeling my feet leave the ground, steering my flight just like a hawk.
My friend Daniel is recovering from an unbelievable ordeal he went through a few months ago: gangsters forced him to take off in a plane, heading toward a prison, for an escape attempt. It sounds like a joke.
“We’re taking off. You’ll fly us, my buddy and me, to the prison. We’ll guide you there and pick up another friend.”
“You’re crazy! This is a two-seater…”
“What? The manual says it can carry 700 kilos...”
“That’s the total weight limit, not the payload capacity!”
The two masked thugs were baffled. When you get a manual for a flying machine, you read it thoroughly! In the end, the escape attempt did happen. Daniel flew along with a masked man who kept his Kalashnikov pressed against his temple. Since the onboard lighting was being modified, it didn’t work. He had to fly with a flashlight in his mouth. But at takeoff, two prisoners tried to play Belmondo—they grabbed onto the left ski. The aircraft, skimming just above the water, immediately flipped over. One thug lost a leg. Daniel passed right through the rotating propeller; he was lucky not to be hit and fainted. One prisoner managed to escape by taking guards hostage. That man’s dangerous—he’s already been sentenced to life imprisonment. If cops catch him, they won’t bother with warnings. Besides, he’s already seriously injured one officer.
With his shoulder completely ruined, Daniel lay motionless in the prison yard. It took three hours before he was taken to a hospital; it was the prisoners who brought him coffee. At the hospital, Belgian doctors saw nothing abnormal on the X-rays.
“Well, it’ll heal up with some rehab.”
Wrong—he had two tendons severed and a bone torn away. He ended up having surgery in Paris, at Val de Grâce, with a specialist experienced in treating racing drivers’ injuries. Once he recovers, maybe we’ll fly again. Meanwhile, I’ve started a new comic strip about navigation in ancient times.
I stumbled upon a discounted book called Liners, published by Köneman. Inside were tons of photos of the Mauretania, the ship on which I crossed the Atlantic on my way over. We’ll have some fun before diving into the world’s miseries.
The Mauretania
During those transatlantic cruises lasting just under a week, there wasn’t much to do except chase after women. I recall that among the French passengers there was a guy who looked just like François Périer. I asked him why he was heading to the States:
“Have you seen my face? In France, with girls, I’m a total loser. But in the U.S., if a woman finds out you’re French, she throws herself into your arms—just thinking of Louis Jourdan.”
On that outbound trip, there weren’t many attractive women around. The ship, departing from Le Havre, was scheduled to stop in Cork, Ireland. Back then, huge liners like this could take on extra passengers without docking. The photo below shows a ferry approaching the Mauretania, making its size obvious. It was one of the largest ships of its time.
A ferry leaving an English port, approaching the Mauretania
They were supposed to bring aboard 200 more passengers. All the young rascals on board watched the approaching ship eagerly. On its deck, they saw only a big black patch. Actually, it was a group of priests and nuns headed to New York for a conference.
The Mauretania at launch:
The Mauretania at launch
You can see how, at launch, the ship slides along a flat ramp. Really large ships have excellent stability; they float flat on the sea like shoeboxes. You can clearly see that perfectly flat bottom during construction:
Thus these ships aren’t heavily weighted down by engines or fuel. The downside? If they tilt past 45°, they capsize. I made the return trip on a French Line ship of similar size; it was its final voyage.
A ghost of the French Line
This 300-meter-long vessel was slated to be sold to Japan and converted into a hotel. It was its last voyage—and almost mine too. October 1961: storm season in the Atlantic. We encountered a whopper, with waves thirty meters high. There were 500 passengers, meaning the ship was half-empty. First class was deserted. Wealthy folks preferred flying on quad-engine Constellation planes. Most folks felt sick. At mealtimes, fewer than twenty people sat in the dining room. Waiters swayed; lots of passengers swayed too. I remember one violinist who kept tilting left and right. The tourist-class lounge was at the front, so every time a wave hit, the bow rose and fell thirty meters. During ascent, acceleration prevented drinkers from raising their glasses; on descent, anyone careless got drenched.
I found the storm utterly fascinating. The sea was blanketed in white foam. One night I wanted to witness the fury up close. In the photo above, you can see a series of decks toward the rear; the closest to the water is the maneuvering deck, with winches taller than a man. I climbed down and reached the door marked “Passengers prohibited.” At 22, I ignored it. The sight was breathtaking: entire mountains of black water appeared. Suddenly I realized one was about to crash onto my deck. By sheer luck I reacted instantly, rushing to shut the metal door behind me. I heard the wave smash against it. Had I stayed outside, the water would’ve lifted me off the deck; seconds later I’d have watched the liner drift away. I must have a guardian angel watching over a goof like me.
But that wasn’t the craziest part of the return voyage. Wind blew from astern at a thirty-degree angle; wave length matched the ship’s size. It climbed three-hundred-meter-high liquid mountains, then slid back down. Anyone who’s sailed knows this. I spent most days alone on nearly empty decks, breathing in spray and staring at the endless white sea. Then something astonishing happened: the ship began resonating. Every ship has its own roll frequency; this one’s natural period was several dozen seconds. By pure chance, the roll caused by waves came very close to that value. These liners traveled at 45 km/h—twelve meters per second—so it took them twenty-five seconds to ascend a thirty-meter wave at a 30° angle. Slowly at first, then faster, the ship rocked six or seven times. According to the logbook, the final tilt reached 38°. At 45°, it would flip. Two of us stood on the vast wooden stern deck; I clutched the rail. Dozens of meters away, a passenger clung to a lifebuoy tied to the railing; the rope snapped and he shot across the deck like a rocket. Luckily, railings on such ships are tall; he didn’t fall overboard—just got a scare. The captain ordered a full turnabout; mid-ocean we steered toward Newfoundland... toward the U.S., facing waves head-on so roll stress stayed far from critical levels. I believe our zigzag trek lasted eleven days—a record. Two people died during those oscillations: a woman fell from her bunk and smashed her skull on the sink; a steward ran down a corridor carrying drinks and crashed into a bulkhead. We struggled to free an elderly lady wedged between toilet and wall; drawn by her screams, we had to remove the door.
There was another rather amusing incident. In violent storms, steel covers are placed over portholes; usually only low ones. During that wild tilt, a wave shattered a cabin window; water flooded in, turning it into a pool where a poor passenger flailed helplessly.
Memories are like attics explored with a flashlight. Discovering this book brought them back. Generally I prefer the present. Adventure isn’t about place or age; what I’m doing now with a few lads my sons’ age is pretty wild—it follows the motto “Be realistic; aim for the impossible.” Check out this page; it’s quite extraordinary. Basically we’ll set up a magnetohydrodynamics lab in a Fontenay garage, 1500 meters from a metro terminus. Sixty members of the association and donors have given us 4800 euros; membership costs at least ten euros. Maybe two thousand more are waiting in GESTO funds. We already own a brand-new Edwards vacuum pump bought in 2007 for 1300 euros. Julien Geffray, 29, found all needed gear: thick Pyrex vacuum bell, pressure gauge, power supply. We’ll recreate what Maurice and I did over thirty years ago in Marseille’s Space Astronomy Lab.
But there’s more madness to come. We’ll also build a circular “hull basin” using a prefab swimming pool kit—just a wavy plastic wall and liner. We’ll fill it with acidic water, then place a concrete-weighted pole in the middle, topped with a rotating arm where MHD hydrodynamical models will be attached, powered by car batteries linked to the rotating rig.
See http://www.savoir-sans-frontieres.com/JPP/telechargeables/Francais/mur_silence.htm (1983); specifically page 45.
This link takes you to the bottom of the aforementioned page, featuring an announcement (below) by DCNS—the organization employing 13,000 workers making ships, weapons, and military research vessels. Thirteen thousand staff managing countless subcontractors: that’s all of France’s naval military industry, including weaponry.
The phrase “analysis of indiscretions related to magnetohydrodynamic propulsion (MHD)” makes my eyebrows rise. It’s absurd; suggests the writer knows nothing and is just fishing (maybe natural for sailors?). But you’re not done being surprised. Another reader found this bizarre DCNS posting:
It starts with a literature review; the author obviously knows nothing and is “fishing.” Note the proposed monthly salary for this fluid mechanics engineer: 800–1100 euros. Yet the person posting it doesn’t rule out a scientific paper resulting from this six-month contract.
Written by a fool, it reveals the sorry state of French MHD research.
I spoke on the phone with a friend who worked in high-tech defense—the Navy—and he agrees that MHD propulsion in France is practically nonexistent. That’s what these ridiculous ads imply. Let me share a tale. Over ten years ago, I attended an international MHD congress in Cadarache, just twenty minutes from home. Organized by engineer Marbach, founder of PAMIR (MHD applications for Industry & Research).
There I heard students from Moreau’s group (MHD in liquid media, Grenoble) describe their initial experiments in a “sea water loop”—basically a closed channel driven by a linear Faraday accelerator. At the end, I stood up and asked:
“Have you considered placing the MHD accelerator outside the submarine?”
He gaped. Late nineties, I think. I went to the blackboard and explained the “wall accelerator” principle. The other fellow, ignorant of it, asked:
“Where can we find info on this?”
“In my comic, The Wall of Silence, page 36 (1983).”
He never knew it. I wonder where they stand now. It feels like pedaling through surrealism. Twenty-five years after The Wall of Silence, it’s possible French military still haven’t grasped MHD’s potential. Other nations mastered it ages ago; its corollary is silence—exactly what Red October depicted. We just learned Chinese subs reportedly slipped beneath U.S. ships in the Strait of Hormuz undetected. Perhaps they used MHD propulsion then. China surely invests in it; remember the shock Westerners felt in the early eighties when they saw China’s massive MHD research efforts at an international conference. China is the master of secrecy; no one knows its true level.
For those seeking “indiscretions” about MHD, know this: it’s silent (laminar flow) and emits negligible electromagnetic signatures—constant fields, intense but short-range. At distances equal to electrode spacing, its magnetic field becomes negligible.
So here’s the truth: whatever happens in that Fontenay garage, funded by sympathetic supporters, will be the sole MHD activity in France. I doubt gas-based MHD fares better. It’d be funny if it weren’t so tragic.
No cooperation awaits us. Our goals differ. Military folks dream of hypervelocity torpedoes, MHD subs, hypersonic cruise missiles. I couldn’t care less about France’s arms delays. We aim to prove UFOs are flying machines. We speak different languages, though DCNS engineers claim to “work with passion” in their video.
This drawing isn’t mere humor. For twenty-five years, the army systematically sabotaged my MHD research, largely via Polytechnician Gilbert Payan. If today someone showed up saying:
“I’m Mr. So-and-so, representing DGA or DCNS...”
I’d kick him out instantly. Unless I tossed him into the acidic pool to examine our models. Jean-Stéphane, 24, another team member, suggests putting this on the door:
DO SCIENCE, NOT WAR
One of my readers sent me a nice poem; click here to read it. No country does genuine military research; everywhere there are reckless kids playing with matches. It’s insane to allocate such huge budgets to weapons. To grasp when this shift occurred—when applied and basic research merged with weapon development—read my book Children of the Devil (archive from 14/10/2008). Why that title? In research circles, the devil is... the military.
Next, we’ll tackle the world’s horrors. They’re so plentiful and revolting that I’ll serve them “in small bites,” sprinkling in distractions or dreams. Otherwise this world would drive us mad.
Watch this video from Karl Zéro’s site. The Taser causes cardiac arrest, delayed heart attacks, severe nerve damage due to oxygen deprivation from muscle paralysis. In prisons, it’s torture device and killer, repeatedly shocking victims.
Must watch: http://leweb2zero.tv/video/impetuoso_684747529835837
France already has 5,000 Taser guns issued to police.
Click here to see a video showcasing a new Taser product. The accompanying text reads:
“You’ll see the most technologically advanced projectile ever fired from a 12-gauge shotgun.”
“From now on, when you see a man carrying such a weapon, you’ll look at him differently.”
http://www.taser.com/pages/VideoDetails.aspx?videoid=56 (archive from 27/10/2010)
http://www.taser.com/products/law/Pages/XREP.aspx (archive from 25/06/2009)
I’ll stop here; these images revolt me. It’s the “electric scrubber” for cleaning bad places, inhabited by bad people. Despite human rights protests, this non-lethal weapon spreads worldwide; it’s killed seventy Americans already and will kill many more. I lost the link to a “Taser party” video where masochistic men got shocked by girlfriends. Another shows Taser initiation rites among Marines. Sarkozy already equipped many cops with it; thousands more will arm our municipal police. There’ve been mishaps: in Lyon, a 17-year-old eco-activist, arrested at a protest, called cops “little dicks”; they Taserred her. Tasering is becoming routine for any arrest; even a driver pulled over for speeding gets shocked. Likewise a student shouting at politician John Kerry was subdued and shocked. It’s punishment tool; see how a female cop coldly fires at a downed youth: “Shut up or I’ll shock you!”
Another video shows Taser torture in U.S. prisons; one victim’s body bore numerous impact marks. If readers send links, I’ll add them. This page thus serves as “Taser news.”
Taser is becoming a status symbol for weak, insecure folks finding compensation in policing.
“Now, with my Taser, people respect me!”
Psychologists call it a phallic substitute; no surprise women use it. Read this:
Taser sold door-to-door, à la Tupperware
http://fr.rd.yahoo.com/partners/ap/SIG=10vvp3lim/*http%3A//www.ap.org/francais/
By Chris Kahn AP – 2 hours 58 minutes ago
GILBERT, Arizona – Dana Shafman confides to new friends her fear of nighttime assaults, then extols her pink Taser on the coffee table. This 34-year-old single American sells the weapon at Tupperware-style gatherings.
Capable of paralyzing targets for seconds via 50,000-volt shocks, the Taser was first used by police in forty-three countries. Now a civilian model, the C2 “personal protector,” is marketed by Shafman.
That day, in a Gilbert living room, she tells a dozen women how she used to hide knives under her pillow. Then she presents her solution: a hefty electric razor-shaped device meant to disable aggressors at 4.5 meters, advertised as non-lethal.
Soon, ladies form a line to test it on metal targets. “Go on, shoot it!” urges Shafman amid giggles.
Shafman, an independent seller, initially tried classic door-to-door sales, but negative publicity hindered her. “Nobody buys a product they think can kill,” she admits.
Amnesty International notes 70 deaths from police Tasering in the U.S.; Canada advised police to restrict its use after a Polish immigrant died post-Taser at Vancouver airport.
Shafman prefers close contact selling; women love slipping it into purses, preferring pink. Cost: 349.99 dollars (238 euros); she claims thirty sales/month since her October 15 “Taser meeting.” Taser Corp won’t adopt this method, but finds it promising. “When I speak of Taser, I sound like a salesman; when she does, it rings true,” praises Steve Tuttle, company spokesperson.
Amnesty fears civilian sales, warning of abuse and domestic violence uses. “I’d rather be attacked by a Taser than a knife or gun,” replies Shafman calmly.
French police and gendarmerie already use Tasers; municipal forces may follow. SMP Technologies markets the C2 to civilians, insisting it’s legal. Sold at 650 euros, buyers must watch a training DVD first. AP
Next link: Pink Taser with holster.
http://www.taser.com/PRODUCTS/CONSUMERS/Pages/C2.aspx
For non-English speakers:
I WANT TO BE MASTER OF MY OWN DESTINY
Today’s confidence demands self-protection. For independent women, the C2 Taser is effective protection fitting all lifestyles.
Another variant:
Translation:
FASHION WITH A BITE
Let this innovative, unparalleled design give you flair
Wager that companies are developing phone-Taser hybrids?
We’re entering the “Taser Civilization.” This phenomenon is just one symptom of our global civilization’s decay—one whose scale is hard to grasp; I’ll discuss it next. You might wonder why immensely rich, powerful figures can’t stop themselves. A leader must stay cool; I seriously doubt our current president can, judging by his rude gesture at a protester. Is this “people’s president” actually a “gangster president”? I wonder.
Who is Nicolas Sarkozy? What exactly are his ties to the Bush clique from his U.S. visits? Can he separate personal chaos from state duties? Is he up to the task? I fear, like many predecessors or rivals, he lacks imagination.
Continuation of “Ship of Fools” series