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Friday, December 27, 2002
 hat would he do if he lost the suitcase? That was unimaginable. The suitcase itself wasn't much: battered, Shanghai-made, dirty gray in color. But it was lined with $200,000 in $100 bills, more money than a farmer's son ever expected to be carrying.
He hadn't been to the U.S. in a awhile. The last time was a couple of years ago, and he'd posed as an agricultural secretary. His wallet had been stolen on the Washington subway -- that was embarassing. Some spy. He'd kept that incident to himself.
His feet began to sweat and he decided to go straight to the drop-off point. Climbing into a cab, he recited a Georgetown address in a heavy Mandarin accent.
His orders -- straight from a senior Party official -- were to hand the money over and catch the first plane back to Beijing. No sense hanging around. The Party was nervous. The American FBI had been warning Congress members about Chinese attempts to influence the elections. No word yet whether they were onto the efforts to get to the President. Extra caution was required.
His role ended with the drop-off, but he knew what would happen next. The man renting the Georgtown townhouse was a naturalized American citizen, originally from Canton. The Cantonese would deposit the money in small bits into several bank accounts. A week or two later he would write a check to the DNC for $50,000.
Next, the Cantonese would be invited to the White House for coffee with the President: That had been previously arranged with the DNC. The Cantonese already had been supplied with a list of Chinese businessmen he was supposed to bring along to the presidential meeting.... How amenable the President proved to be to China's concerns would determine whether more checks to the DNC would be written or not...
posted by CoolSoulSmith a.k.a Rinci|ak
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Wednesday, December 25, 2002
Loneliness
by Adrian Whitehead
Loneliness is a burden.
It feels like a heavy pressure of varying weight, draped unevenly across the back of my shoulders, pressing me closer to the Earth. Strangely enough, it seems at its heaviest when I'm around other people I don't know. It's easier to avoid something you don't want to see than acknowledge it exists and then ignore it. And every pair of eyes sliding across my sight, fixed on a spot apparently behind or above my head, adds more weight to that burden.
Loneliness is a void.
When you're trapped in the middle of a void, you can't see how far across your horizons it stretches. The borderlines become fuzzy, or they even shift here and there, it stretches on and on as far as your eyes can see. And there's usually nothing to relieve the landscape either; the destination after a days' walk virtually mirrors the place you started from. And being trapped means you can't voluntarily leave this world, either. I find myself many times experiencing even little things - the glow of a mission accomplished, a good movie, stuff like that - and in the middle of a contented reflection over the event, I wonder how much better it could have been had I been able to share it with someone close to me. And it brings back with a painful jolt the evidence of the void of which I try to escape.
Loneliness is a thief.
A thief? Yes I suppose it is: it robs you of emotions, or the proper ones when you need them. And rather then weep or talk about it - and reveal your flaws - you just clam up and practice a straight face while inside you moan in despair: it's either that or having to wear the cruel brand of an attention-seeker. After some practice, it comes automatically; the inner voice is shut off and your face takes on a detached look. Then when something agreeable happens, you're unable to express yourself decently and convey it to others. That's when the rumours of coldness, robot-like emotions and unflappability become attached to you, along with titles like 'Ice Prince', and others like 'your Iciness'. A vicious circle: because people don't want to know you, it gets around you don't want to know them.
Loneliness aches.
And it eats at your heart. It isn't a symptom of the head: they're usually sharp, but mercifully quick in duration. No, loneliness is an ache of the heart: more blunt and indefinite in it's residence. How many times have I wanted to talk to a girl who would be close to me? Or not even use words: simply to exchange entire messages with one look in her eyes. To put my arms around her; to playfully nip at her earlobe; engage in playfights, and even win sometimes; things like that. After a while you find yourself longing for such things, even if only fleetingly. And you're unable to admit it, of course.
Loneliness hurts.
Then again, I guess I know.
Because loneliness is me.
posted by CoolSoulSmith a.k.a Rinci|ak
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