See Ya at What Gets Me Hot: 19 July 2009

July 27, 2009

13 Most Unfortunate Personal Names for their Jobs - Oddee.com

13 Most Unfortunate Personal Names for their Jobs

Kim Yoo Suk
Kim “You Suck” - no matter how well you perform, when the crowd starts chanting your name you can't help but be reminded.
(Source)

Chew Kok
You are travelling in comfort with Chew Kok. (Source)

Sue Yoo
Lawyer Sue Yoo: when you least expect she is going to sue you! (Source)

Dr. Ted Kadiver
For some reason, some doctors have the most unusual names that don't fit their profession. I'm sure this man is a fine, fine surgeon, but it's just his name… Dr. Ted Kadiver. (Source)
Melvin Boner
Endodentist Dr. Boner, first class services!
(Source)

Dr. Alden Cockburn
Dr. Cockburn is an urologist (obviously) working in New Mexico. (Source)

Brad Slaughter
Some guys were just born into their jobs. (Source)

Karl Thojntxhebvwg
Are you looking for a loan or a new mortgage? If so, ask for this gentleman right here -- if you can… (Source)

Oliver Loser
Candidate Oliver Loser. It seems we have a winner. (Source)

Willie Stroker
Judge Stroker, you can imagine what he's doing when he has his hands down... (Source)

Mike Litoris
Owned! (Source)

Rusty Kuntz
Most unfortunate baseball player ever (Source)

Robert G.Aycock
His parent's didn't see this coming? (Source)

13 Most Unfortunate Personal Names for their Jobs - Oddee.com

TINA NSFW - via THEY DONT CALL THEM LOVERS IN HIGH SCHOOL, LEELAND:

TINA NSFW

THEY DONT CALL THEM LOVERS IN HIGH SCHOOL, LEELAND: TINA NSFW

Pero, ¿qué es Twitter? | Blog de Miguel Jorge |

Supongo que es difícil que al menos no hayas oído hablar del fenómeno más simple del mundo, y junto a facebook con mayor éxito en la red. Veamos cuáles son las claves de su éxito.

Si las 2.0 se han convertido en las relaciones sociales del nuevo siglo, ¿por qué no simplificarlo todo aún más?. Eso debió pensar Jack Dorsey, padre fundador y director ejecutivo de Twitter, el 13 de julio del 2006.

Basado en el servicio de microblogging (publicaciones y envíos breves, de unos 140 caracteres) y en un entorno gráfico pionero en los microblogging, Twitter ofrece al usuario la posibilidad de explicar brevemente aquello que uno hace en su vida. Estos mensajes cortos son enviados a toda la lista de seguidores o usuarios conectados a tus redes (facebook, Twinkle, tuenti ...).

Hoy los envío pueden llegar a través de sms (no en todos los países), messenger, RSS o el propio Twitter. Una de las aplicaciones que mejor se ha implantado en el uso de Twitter es la del seguimiento de eventos, conferencia o charlas, convirtiendo a la aplicación en una fuente de primicias periodísticas. Para un blog o periódico digital es una herramienta perfecta, incluyendo en el momento de colgar una noticia el enlace directo en twitter.

Muchos blogs han escrito sobre la definición de twitter, un fenómeno tan simple como atractivo para la red, personalmente creo que el éxito viene del morbo y la curiosidad que despierta saber lo hacen los demás, vender una noticia sin saberlo todo acerca de ella, una herramienta 2.0 muy sólida. Os cuelgo dos vídeos que nos explican qué es una red social y twitter en imágenes.

2.0

Twitter

iBlog | Blog de Miguel Jorge | Gente blogs

Grasping for the Wind: The Lists Archives

Polgara the Sorceress

David Eddings' no nonsense sorceress of The Belgariad and The Mallorean. She is like a favorite aunt, except most aunts can't kill you with a stare. Good at jokes and keeping Garion in line.

Kahlan Amnell

Whatever your opinion of Terry Goodkind's works, no list would be complete without the Mother Confessor. Able to bend men to her will with a simple touch, Kahlan is every man's nightmare.

Liath/Liathano

The creation of Kate Elliott, Liath is the star of the seven book Crown of Stars series. Raped and humiliated as a child, Liath goes on to become the most powerful woman in her world.

Karigan G'ladheaon

Kristen Britain's little seen but very interesting character. A woman who survives by her own wits and some good luck. Karigan becomes a Green Rider and very close to the High King. Though there are only three books about her, she is probably the most real character of the bunch.

Cattie-brie

Powerful archer. Companion to a drow. Human Daughter of a Dwarf. Need I say more. R.A. Salvatore's creation sets the standard for sword and sorcery heroines of today.

Wren Ohmsford

The best of the Ohmsfords. Terry Brooks' heroine is the elf who is not an elf. She journeys through dark and distant lands to find her past, instead finding herself.

Arya Stark

Undeniably one of George R. R. Martin's better characters. She is noble, sacrificing and determined. Question is, is she still alive?

Hekat

Another up from the boot straps character Karen Miller's little-known but highly praised character is the epitome of the strong-willed woman. You will love to hate her and yet still wish her success in her endeavors.

Egwene

Country girl makes good. Robert Jordan's (God Rest his Soul) needy little girl grows up to become the most powerful woman in the world. Even Rand al'Thor thinks twice about crossing her. She is character that underwent great changes over the course of eleven books, with at least one more to come.
Do you have other suggestions for this list? These are only the ones I happen to have read. Who else would you add? Let me know in the comments.

Grasping for the Wind: The Lists Archives

Twittories - Short Stories Written In Twitter » Twittory #1 - The Darkness Inside

Twittory #1 - The Darkness Inside

“I have this rule,” she said, colder than the dark side of the moon. “We only talk using public channels from now on.”

Julian bolted up knocking his seat over, fists tightly clenched. “You can’t be serious! We’re being closely monitored as it is!” She, the Cold One, who will remain nameless due to the ongoing conflict with the overlords, stared at J with ice daggers as eyes. Her history with Julian spanned years, to their time in Majorca, through Europe and Asia, then to here at the gates of hell.

“Ahh! I don’t like this new avatar of yours”, Julian said, “you were so much hotter before! Can’t we roll back a few versions?” “Like hell,” she said. “I don’t want you thinking that there’s more than there is.” Privately, she cringed, hating the lies. He sighed, wondering why she was making such a big deal. “OK, can’t we just agree to disagree, at least until it’s done?”

She thought for a while. Disagree? No she would not have it. Why could he not see her metamorphosis? She poured another gin. I’ll play his game, and once we’ve conquered the overlords, i’ll unveil the real me - stripped from this avatar facade. Until then… She raised her glass in a gesture as scripted as it was joyless. Would it be enough? “To truth,” she said. They drank, a smile creeping across her face as she watched Julian empty his glass, the little umbrella resting upon his cheek.

“So where do we go from here?” Julian asked her. “I don’t like leaving things just hanging. I need to know how we stand and what happens now.” He was as tactless as she was cold. “Perhaps,” she said, “I do this on my own.” His obsession had gone far enough. “At least the poison in his drink will be be fast acting” she reassured herself. It was not the first time she had killed a man. Julian gulped his drink and collapsed into the sofa, numb. He felt the poison. The bitch! All he had left were his watery eyes. How? How did she know he was an overlord?! His system rapidly deteriorating, visions of the last few weeks raced in his mind.

Jennifer wept. She could feel agent Julian’s life force depleting rapidly and cried out, “Send in the medibots now, she’s done something lethal to Julian.”

But what Jennifer did not know was that Julian was already packing medibots galore. And his medibots had already begun to fight back! …briefly. <5% charge! He cursed that tiny docking station. A bland, colourless overlord life flashed before him. But whose?

Jennifer watched anxiously as Julian began to stir, muttering incoherently as he fought through the fog clouding his mind. “Don’t make me kill you twice! Don’t look for me, don’t speak my name…ever”. Into the fog of his mind she dissolves.

Dark shapes began to lunge at him through the fog. Unable to make sense of it all, he focused on the one thing that was clear; beyond the shapes he saw a light. Brilliant, almost ultra-violet. It grew. And then, silhouetted against it, the figure of a man emerged with dark eyes and a wicked grin singing an age old song. Julian recognized it from his childhood, but couldn’t place it. The melody weaved through the air around his fading consciousness, slowing down, everything becoming still. That man … who? Memories.

The mouth. Julian’s mind filled with an obscene close-up of the mouth, blistered lips and stained teeth. He begged. Tell me.

“Soon..” whispered the figure, twisted mouth turning upwards into a toothy rictus that caused his entire face to distort. In an instant it was gone. Darkness fell once again. Julian stood there unable to get the menacing image out of his mind. The disconnect launched a mutinous war of vertigo; demanding the conflicting realities to reconcile sensibly. Jennifer went to leave the room, certain that she would never see Julian alive again. As she descended the stairs she heard the…

Savanna sighed and put down the book. Spy novels always captured her imagination, but the mundane realities of life were calling. She whistled to herself as she headed down the stairs, eager to see what the day had in store for her. While she might not be a famous spy, she lived a life filled with suspense and danger. She was scheduled to go back to 1992 this afternoon and she still needed her shots

She stepped into her office and picked up the photo from her desk, softly, lovingly tracing her thumb over John’s face. His image stirred memories of a better time, when they were young and free. A time when her twin shared everything with her. But that was a lifetime ago. “Stop dreaming” she told herself. “This is the way of things. Its not some story written for fun.” For now she has to go 17 years back in time, a time she isn’t looking forward to, but for humanity, she has to re-live the pain. Pushing today’s self into a corner of her mind, Savanna allowed that dark, awful past to engulf her.

Needles. De-con. It is time.

Images of Buenos Aires starting flowing back to her, in La Boca - a slum neighbourhood coloured by Italian immigrants that settled there. Boca Juniors football matches, with their inevitable evening riots, held a special meaning to Savanna, she found it hurtful to remember. Snogging Maradona. Well it seemed like “Diego”, kissed like she’d imagine Diego would kiss. Even wore the kit. But, it was the result of that kiss, well many kisses, that hurt the most. There was no way they’d let her stay to raise her son, it had damn near killed her trying. She instinctively raised her hand and gingerly touched the still sensitive scar. She could again feel the bitter blade as it pierced her skin and ripped her life apart. Her memory burned with the image of sensual nueva canción nights, tango clubs, and moonlight serenades forever vanished as she lay assaulted, breathing faint sighs as the blood ran away like an ungrateful child. Now that was replaced with coolant. They rebuilt her, made her faster, stronger.

She was faster, stronger, but not human. She longed to feel the beat of her own heart. Most of all she longed for her lost son. In sudden agony, the sound of…Kenny ROGERS filled her mind. The mission was lost…Zune technology. She needed a reset. FAST. Internal mechanisms began making adjustments. Muscle relaxants, serotonin. What to calm her mind? Focus…her son, where had they taken him? At that precise moment, in the nanosecond in which machine usurped her human reality, she awakened in frightening revelation. She last had contact with Billy at their usual meeting place, a honky tonk club infamous for its ties to the Alamo. She didn’t know why but she sensed Billy was nearby. A familiar sound echoed in her ear. It was their song. “Our time is running out…” crooned Matt Bellamy. It was a code, a game they’d played once. She knew where to find him now.

A mother’s instinct is always correct. Billy would be found, not in the club, but at the place that meant the most to them both. Time ticks. The conviction of finally seeing her son, was all it took to give her the strength she needed to recover and move as fast as she could. Knowing she’d be heading into darkness, she grabbed the flares that had saved her more than once. Rushing out, she left the packet behind purposefully, knowing its contents were no longer useful to her. Consciously, she choose her path, her life depended on it. It would be only moments until she would arrive at “their” place. Would Billy be waiting? Was it a dream? Darkness overcame her. The sky spun, the Milky Way sharpened as the narrator introduced “The Nine Planets” Seemed odd to be watching a planetarium show until she realized some sort of change was happening from nanobots in her internal fluid modifying her vision. Blurry and hazy, her mind’s image sharpened until it was seared into her emotion-reactors. He was there and she had to move right now or he would leave knowing a slight amount of satisfaction in his decision to abandon her when she needed him most. Yes, she needed him more than had been necessary the last time. She wouldn’t let him break the connection. Reaching out she took hold of his hand.

She stepped out into the night, its darkness robed her with anonymity, her invisible protection from the masses. The night air was suddenly lit by a blinding light as a nuclear explosion went off in the distance, throwing her to the ground. She glanced towards the sky in an effort to figure out its origin, but the light from the explosion was too intense. Everything was quiet and still for a second before the shock and horror reached the populace of what just happened. In the distance there were screams. Warm blood trickled from her forehead, her hands and knees stung… her hands, empty - where was Billy? She looked around, but Billy was no where to be seen. Slowly she stood and leaned against the wall. The light had faded slightly

Forewarned, Billy had slipped from Savanna’s grasp. As he entered the bunker under the planatarium,he gasped, “Dad! She’s here”. his father’s face grew white and his expressionless face searched for emotion. “Well, this day has finally come.” He heaved a sigh. “It had to happen at some point.”

The boy’s father was Lou Reed. That shit. Savanna had never forgiven him for Metal Machine Music. She threw a Zune at him, programmed to self-destruct on impact or at the end of track one of MMM depending which came first. “It’s over Lou”, she cackled.

But it wasn’t over. The nuclear explosion had somehow revitalized the aging rocker. He was impervious to Zune technology! Savannah stared with disbelief as her former lover morphed before her. With horror she recognised his new form. Ricky Martin. She couldn’t believe it… It couldn’t be true! Time was ticking and she knew there were only three hours left before the nano-bots in her blood stream would regenerate another body for her then she would enter her present life, and John would again be lost in her past. She slowly awoke from that nightmare of 17 years ago, back to elsewhere, Daniel stood silently in front of the Apple store, frozen with indecision. Silently she willed him to make the right choice. Get it wrong and They might rip reality apart again. Daniel sighed and turned toward Savannah with fresh tears in his eyes. “What should I do next? Where should we go now? I feel completely lost right now.”

By submission:

“I have this rule,” she said, colder than the dark side of the moon. “We only talk using public channels from now on.” (@cameronreilly)
Julian bolted up knocking his seat over, fists tightly clenched. “You can’t be serious! We’re being closely monitored as it is!” (@dekrazee1)
She, the Cold One, who will remain nameless due to the ongoing conflict with the overlords, stared at J with ice daggers as eyes (@jodiem)
Her history with Julian spanned years, to their time in Majorica, through Europe and Asia, then to here at the gates of hell (@duncanriley)
“Ahh! I don’t like this new avatar of yours”, Julian said, “you were so much hotter before! Can’t we roll back a few versions?” (@m1k3y)
“Like hell,” she said. “I don’t want you thinking that there’s more than there is.” Privately, she cringed, hating the lies. (@velvetsarah)
(@grumpywookie) He sighed, wondering why she was making such a big deal. “OK, can’t we just agree to disagree, at least until it’s done?”
(@fifikins) She thought for a while. Disagree? No she would not have it. Why could he not see her metamorphosis? She poured another gin.
(@renelemerle) I’ll play his game, and once we’ve conquered the overlords, i’ll unveil the real me - stripped from this avatar facade.
(@ceezedby) Until then… She raised her glass in a gesture as scripted as it was joyless. Would it be enough? “To truth,” she said.
(@j_stirk) They drank, a smile creeping across her face as she watched Julian empty his glass, the little umbrella resting upon his cheek.
(@noodlez) “So where do we go from here?” Julian asked her. “I don’t like leaving things just hanging. I need to know how we stand and what happens now.”
(@iankath) - moved to #141
(@Bronwen) He was as tactless as she was cold. “Perhaps,” she said, “I do this on my own.” His obsession had gone far enough.
(@andrewsayer) “At least the poison in his drink will be fast acting” she reassured herself. It was not the first time she had killed a man
(@notaphysicist) Julian gulped his drink and collapsed into the sofa, numb. He felt the poison. The bitch! All he had left were his watery eyes.
(@hugosharp) How? How did she know he was an overlord?! His system rapidly deteriorating, visions of the last few weeks raced in his mind.
(@fang) Jennifer wept.
(@abuttigieg) (bumped)
(@glemak) She could feel agent Julian’s life force depleting rapidly and cried out, “Send in the medibots now, she’s done something lethal to Julian.”
(@ssharwood) But what Jennifer did not know was that Julian was already packing medibots galore. And his medibots had already begun to fight back!
(@bigyahu) …briefly. <5% charge! He cursed that tiny docking station. A bland, colourless overlord life flashed before him. But whose?
(@miriamparkinson) Jennifer watched anxiously as Julian began to stir, muttering incoherently as he fought through the fog clouding his mind.
(@livinggently)”Don’t make me kill you twice! Don’t look for me, don’t speak my name…ever”. Into the fog of his mind she dissolves.
(@warwraith) Dark shapes began to lunge at him through the fog. Unable to make sense of it all, he focused on the one thing that was clear;
(@andrewbarnett) beyond the shapes he saw a light. Brilliant, almost ultra-violet. It grew. And then, silhouetted against it, the figure of a man
(@sollitaire) emerged with dark eyes and a wicked grin singing an age old song. Julian recognized it from his childhood, but couldn’t place it. The melody
(@pureCaffeine) weaved through the air around his fading consciousness, slowing down, everything becoming still. That man … who? Memories.
(@grasuth) The mouth. Julian’s mind filled with an obscene close-up of the mouth, blistered lips and stained teeth. He begged. Tell me.
(@MarinaMartin) (*bumped)
(@Thommo) “Soon..” whispered the figure, twisted mouth turning upwards into a toothy rictus that caused his entire face to distort.
(@KarrieLyne) In an instant it was gone. Darkness fell once again. Julian stood there unable to get the menacing image out of his mind.
(@jstanden) The disconnect launched a mutinous war of vertigo; demanding the conflicting realities to reconcile sensibly.
(@charlieperry) Jennifer went to leave the room, certain that she would never see Julian alive again. As she descended the stairs she heard the
(@artywah) Savanna sighed and put down the book. Spy novels always captured her imagination, but the mundane realities of life were calling
(@bck) She whistled to herself as she headed down the stairs, eager to see what the day had in store for her. While she might not be a famous spy, she
(@trula) lived a life filled with suspense and danger. She was scheduled to go back to 1992 this afternoon and she still needed her shots
(@pixel8ted) She stepped into her office and picked up the photo from her desk, softly, lovingly tracing her thumb over John’s face.
(@eskimo_sparky) His image stirred memories of a better time, when they were young and free. A time when her twin shared everything with her.
@KenShima) But that was a lifetime ago. “Stop dreaming” she told herself. “This is the way of things. Its not some story written for fun.”
Ajay Ranipeta @funkycoda For now she has to go 17 years back in time, a time she isn’t looking forward to, but for humanity, she has to re-live the pain.
Matthew Hall @aDB Pushing today’s self into a corner of her mind, Savanna allowed that dark, awful past to engulf her. Needles. De-con. It is time
Elias Bizannes @liako Images of Buenos Airies starting flowing back to her, in La Boca - a slum neighbourhood coloured by Italian imigrants that settled there.
(@extremo) Boca Juniors football matches, with their inevitable evening riots, held a special meaning to Savanna, she found it hurtful to remember.
Tony Goodson @tgtips Snogging Maradona. Well it seemed like “Diego”, kissed like she’d imagine Diego would kiss. Even wore the kit. But,
Luis (@lu_lu) it was the result of that kiss, well many kisses, that hurt the most. There was no way they’d let her stay to raise her son, it
Catherine @cybner had damn near killed her trying. She instinctively raised her hand and gingerly touched the still sensitive scar.
John Johnston @jjprojects She could again feel the bitter blade as it pierced her skin and ripped her life apart. Her memory burned with the image of
Francis Shepherd @shepherdfx sensual nueva canción nights, tango clubs, and moonlight serenades forever vanished as she lay assaulted, breathing faint sighs
Lachlan Hibbert-Wells @Warlach as the blood ran away like an ungrateful child. Now that was replaced with coolant. They rebuilt her, made her faster, stronger.
Liz davis @lizbdavis She was faster, stronger, but not human. She longed to feel the beat of her own heart. Most of all she longed for her lost son.
Harriet Wakelam @hwakelam in sudden agony, the sound of…Kenny ROGERS filled her mind. The mission was lost …Zune technology.she needed a reset.FAST.
Carla Echevarria @heravarice (bumped)
Colby Palmer @colbyworld Internal mechanisms began making adjustments. Muscle relaxants, serotonin. What to calm her mind? Focus…her son, where had they taken him?
Alec Couros @courosa At that precise moment, in the nanosecond in which machine usurped her human reality, she awakened in frightening revelation.
Brian C. Smith @briancsmith She last had contact with Billy at their usual meeting place, a honky tonk club infamous for its ties to the Alamo.
Dean Shareski @shareski She didn’t know why but she sensed Billy was nearby. A familiar sound echoed in her ear. It was their song.
Penelope Millar @peneli “Our time is running out…” crooned Matt Bellamy. It was a code, a game they’d played once. She knew where to find him now.
Judith Epcke @jepcke A mother’s instinct is always correct. Billy would be found, not in the club, but at the place that meant the most to them both. Time ticks.
Silvia Tolisano @langwitches The conviction of finally seeing her son, was all it took to give her the strength she needed to recover and move as fast as she could.
Jeanette Johnson @johnsoj2 Knowing she’d be heading into darkness, she grabbed the flares that had saved her more than once. Rushing out, she left the packet behind
Linda Nitsche @lnitsche purposefully, knowing its contents were no longer useful to her. Consciously, she choose her path, her life depended on it.
Carey Gilcher @TheGilch This path was bound to be one that would alter her fate forever, and without the packet, even less predictable.
Charlene Chausis @cchausis It would be only moments until she would arrive at “their” place. Would Billy be waiting? Was it a dream? Darkness overcame her.
Anne Van Meter @whynot88 The sky spun, the Milky Way sharpened as the narrator introduced “The Nine Planets” Seemed odd to be watching a planetarium show
Derrall Garrison @derrallg until she realized some sort of change was happening from nanobots in her internal fluid modifying her vision.
Ginger Lewman @GingerTPLC Blurry and hazy, her mind’s image sharpened until it was seared into her emotion-reactors. He was there and she had to move right now or he
Scott Meech @smeech would leave knowing a slight amount of satisfaction in his decision to abandon her when she needed him most. Yes, she needed him more than
Christine Parfitt @ChrisParfitt had been necessary the last time. She wouldn’t let him break the connection. Reaching out she took hold of his hand
CityWitch @citywitch (bumped)
Chris Saad @ChrisSaad (bumped)
David Novakovic @dpn She stepped out into the night, its darkness robed her with anonymity, her invisible protection from the masses. The night air
Kate Raynes-Goldie @oceanpark was suddenly lit by a blinding light as a nuclear explosion went off in the distance, throwing her to the ground
Ben Novakovic @bmn She glanced towards the sky in an effort to figure out its origin, but the light from the explosion was too intense.
Vanessa Stacy @GoldCoastGirl Everything was quiet and still for a second before the shock and horror reached the populace of what just happened.
Melissah @melissah (bumped)
Kate @waxlyrical In the distance there were screams. Warm blood trickled from her forehead, her hands and knees stung… her hands, empty - where was Billy?
Mike @sizemore She looked around, but Billy was no where to be seen. Slowly she stood and leaned against the wall. The light had faded slightly
Kathryn @sirexkat Forewarned, Billy had slipped from Savanna’s grasp. As he entered the bunker under the planatarium,he gasped, “Dad! She’s here”.
Tyler Willis @tylerwillis his father’s face grew white and his expressionless face searched for emotion. “Well, this day has finally come.”
Langley @langley (bumped)
Andreas Wagner @anwag (bumped)
Peter @thewavingcat He heaved a sigh. “It had to happen at some point.”
Richard MacManus @rww The boy’s father was Lou Reed. That shit. Savanna had never forgiven him for Metal Machine Music. She threw a Zune at him.
Dominic Campbell @dominiccampbell programmed to self-destruct on impact, or at the end of track one of MMM depending which came first. “It’s over Lou”, she cackled.
MG @parislemon But it wasn’t over. The nuclear explosion had somehow revitalized the aging rocker. He was impervious to Zune technology!
Lauren Vargas @vargasl (bumped)
Liz@BZBSavannah stared with disbelief as her former lover morphed before her. With horror she recognised his new form. Ricky Martin.
Amy Tucker @tastelikecrazy (bumped)
Andrea Vascellari @vascellari She couldn’t believe it… It couldn’t be true! Time was ticking and she knew there were only three hours left before
Tony @rexyinc the nano-bots in her blood stream would regenerate another body for her then she would
Demetri @demetri enter her present life, and John would again be lost in her past. She slowly awoke from that nightmare of 17 years ago, back to
Jack @jackhodgson elsewhere, daniel stood silently in front of the apple store, frozen with indecision.
Scott @xrodgers (bumped)
Tim @timd (bumped)
LindaH @lindiop Silently she willed him to make the right choice. Get it wrong and They might rip reality apart again. Daniel sighed and turned
Basti Hirsch @cervus (bumped)
Robert Armstrong @ninety7 (bumped)
Amie Gillingham @gillie toward Savannah with fresh tears in his eyes. “What should I do next? Where should we go now? I feel completely lost right now.”

Twittories - Short Stories Written In Twitter » Twittory #1 - The Darkness Inside

This is a list of words twittering! FOLLOW [::] @mrjyn @twittonary @shoq - More Twords! Look for Twitter Words from Around the Twitterverse @next @!

This is a list of words twittering!

crotchless
Star
Tuxedo
Transparency in armaments
Actinidia
Custody of children
Fishing
Education
Trekkie
Aristophanes indefinite
Serum
Advisory
YAPS Apply
Tuberculosis
Myrmidon
Snort
Merchant
Tools
And Veto
Report Votive chirrup
Mitch
Mission
Female
twaiting
Tweak audit
toweling
Tailpipe
TWA
Tamer
twammers
Flexible deer
twangier
twinset
twerp
triplication's
wetware
thwart
twisted
twitchy
Twain
Teodorico's
twats
destitute
taint
tweedy
tweaking
Sweat
tweavesdropping
twitchy
Twirly
tweedier
tweeative
Wahhabi
Tween
weekender
tweeks
dereliction
twink
dwarfish
Temple
tweeps
tweepy
Pigs shout
The woman began to cry
Sing to save
Wong sing again
Debt shout
Chatter
Tweetag
crotchless
Ticker
Σμόκιν
Διαφάνεια στους εξοπλισμούς
Ακτινίδια
Σηκώστε ένα παιδί
Ψάρεμα
NutraSweet
Trekkies
Αριστοφάνης diophantine
Μαραμένοι
Για να διαβουλεύεται με
Φλυαρία αιτών
TB
Myrmidon
Ρωθωνίζω
Dealer
Εργαλεία
Και Vetoava
Έκθεση Vetoava τερέτισμα
Μιτς
Ιεραποστολή
Πόρνη
twaiting
Twake παρακολούθηση
twalking
Twallpaper
Twam
Twammer
twammers
Ευέλικτη ελάφια
twanker
twanxiety
twapp
twapplications
twardware
twart
twashdot
twatch
Twatchn
twatrix
twatters
twattitude
twaunt
twead
tweaming
Tweat
tweavesdropping
twech
Twecial
twedit
tweeative
tweehab
Tweek
tweekend
tweeks
tweelection
tweenk
tweepish
tweeple
tweeps
tweepy
Χοίρειο κελαηδώ
Γυναίκες κελαηδώ
Τραγούδα για να αποθηκεύσετε
Τραγούδα ξανά
Δάνειο τερέτισμα
Twitter Σχέδια
Tweetag
Tweetahead
tweetaholic
tweetaholism
Tweetake
tweetard
TweetBar
TweetBeep
TweetBomb
Tweetburner
TweetCloud
Tweetcrunch
TweetDeck
Μεγάφωνο
tweeterboxes
tweeterities
tweetfaced
tweetfest
tweetheart
tweetin
tweeting
TweetLater
tweetlicious
Tweetoed
tweetoker
tweetotalers
Tweetr
tweets
Tweetscan
tweetsfromlastnight
Tweetstalk
Tweetstats
Tweetsult tweetsulted
tweettypo
tweetup
Tweetwhatyoueat
Tweetwhatyouspend
tweetword
TweetWrath
twego
twegosearching
twelder
Twellow
twelp
twemment
twemporary twemporarily
Tweople
Tweory
twerminology
Twerpscan
twerzle
Twessenger
Twexican
Twexit
twexplanation
twezhead
twhepherd
twhiner
Twhirl
twhore
Πέντε διπλά
twibye
Twick
Twicketing
Twictionary
Twiddict
Twiddy
Air twidentity
twideo cronicity
Twidget
twidiot
twifference
Twific
Twight
TwigLatin
twignorance
twiking
twilence
Twilighttering
TWIM
Twimidated
Twimors
Twimposter ες
twinfancy
Twinfluence
Twinja
Στην γρήγορα
twinkedIn
twinkie
Flash
twino
twinovative
Twinslet
Twintern
Twipochondria
Twippera
Twired
twirlfriend
twirror
twirting
twise
Υλικό για θρυαλλίδες
twisticuffs
Twistory
Θυμός
Θυμός TiNi
Θυμός διαφήμιση
Twit el
Twit Life
Twitbacks
twitbandon twitbandoner
Twitbin
TwitBox
twitbud
Ληστεία
Twitchronicity
twitcripple
TwitDir
twiteruption
TwitFakie
Twitgit
twithouse
Κυριακή twitiful
twitilliterate
Twitizen
Twitkit
twitku
Twitlexia Twitlexic
Twitlive
twitness
twitosphere
twitoverse
Twitpic
Twitpipe
Twitsaver
twitscape
twitserter
twitSLAM
Twitstamp
Twitstar
Twitstat
Twitter link Lee
twittamundo
twittastic
twittcrastination
Twittduit
twittectomy
Twittelater
Twitter
Η CHAPUTERO
Twitter Βαθμός
Το κλειδί για Twitter
Τερέτισμα φως τομέα
CHAPUMERU
Κελαηδούν αναζήτησης
Twitter ζωοτροφών
Τραγουδάω
CoE τραγούδι
twitteracy
twitterage
Twitterati
twitterazzi
twitterbole
twittercal μάζα
Χαχανίζω
Twitterese
twitterfly
Twitterfool
Twittergasm
Twitterholic
twitterholics
Twitterhood
twitterian
twitterick
Twitterific
Twitteriku
Twitter
twitterish
twitteritas
twitteritus
twitterject
Twitterland
twitterlinkr
TwitterLocal
twitterlooing
twitterloop
Twitterluscious
twittermaps
twittermob
twitterness
twitterology
Twitteroo
twitterpated
twitterphoria
twitterrhea
Twitterrific
twitterspeak
twittertories
twittertude
Twittervention
twitterzine
twittext
Twittfeinated twired κατανόηση
twittfessional
twitticisms
twittilate
twittiot
twittish
Twittonary
twittorial
twittshitt
twittsomnia
twittwistered
twittworking
Twitzanoia
Twitzophrenia
Twiving
Ψυχή μεταξύ
Twleep Twumber
twob
twocal
twockup
twoet twoem twoetry
twofor
Twolice
twondle
Twonkies
Twonvert
twoogle
twooped
twoopin
twooping
twoops
twoosh
twootball
twootnite
Όχι Twooty
twopsies
twopular
Tword
tworgasm g σε
Tworture
Twought
Twoxit
twriller
TWTBL
twtrage
Ο twuck
Twuffer
twug
Twump
Ο ηλίθιος
twurvey
twutty
twype
这是一个名单上的字词Twitter的！
燕尾服
军备透明度
猕猴桃
抚养一个孩子
钓鱼
研究的
星舰迷
阿里斯托芬不定
枯萎
协商
Yapp 申请人
结核病
跟班
Snort的
经销商
工具
和Vetoava
报告Vetoava叽叽喳喳
米奇
团
妓女
twaiting
Twake监测
twalking
Twallpaper
Twam
Twammer
twammers
灵活，鹿
twanker
twanxiety
twapp
twapplications
twardware
twart
twashdot
twatch
Twatchn
twatrix
twatters
twattitude
twaunt
twead
tweaming
Tweat
tweavesdropping
twech
Twecial
twedit
tweeative
tweehab
Tweek
tweekend
tweeks
tweelection
tweenk
tweepish
tweeple
tweeps
tweepy
猪叽叽喳喳
妇女叽叽喳喳
唱保存
黄成再次
贷款叽叽喳喳
Twitter的项目
Tweetag
Tweetahead
นี่คือรายชื่อของคำพูดเบาและรวดเร็ว!
ดวงดาว
Tuxedo
ความโปร่งใสใน armaments
Actinidia
ความอารักขาของเด็ก
ประมง
การศึกษา
Trekkies
Aristophanes ไม่ตายตัว
Fusarium
ปรึกษา
Yapp สมัคร
วัณโรค
Myrmidon
การดื่มอย่างรวดเร็วของ
ตัวแทนจำหน่าย
เครื่องมือ
และ Vetoava
รายงาน Vetoava ร้องเจี๊ยกๆ
Mitch
พันธกิจ
ผู้หญิง
twaiting
Twake การตรวจสอบ
twalking
Twallpaper
Twam
Twammer
twammers
ยืดหยุ่น กวาง
twanker
twanxiety
twapp
twapplications
twardware
twart
twashdot
twatch
Twatchn
twatrix
twatters
twattitude
twaunt
twead
tweaming
Tweat
tweavesdropping
twech
Twecial
twedit
tweeative
tweehab
Tweek
tweekend
tweeks
tweelection
tweenk
tweepish
tweeple
tweeps
tweepy
Pigs เพรียกพร้อง
สตรีเพรียกพร้อง
ร้องเพลงบันทึก
Wong ร้องเพลงอีกครั้ง
สินเชื่อเพรียกพร้อง
ตัวสั่นด้วยความตื่นเต้นโครงการ
Tweetag
Tweetahead
tweetaholic
tweetaholism
Tweetake
tweetard
TweetBar
TweetBeep
TweetBomb
Tweetburner
TweetCloud
Tweetcrunch
TweetDeck
ลำโพง
tweeterboxes
tweeterities
tweetfaced
tweetfest
tweetheart
tweetin
tweeting
TweetLater
tweetlicious
Tweetoed
tweetoker
tweetotalers
Tweetr
tweets
Tweetscan
tweetsfromlastnight
Tweetstalk
Tweetstats
Tweetsult tweetsulted
tweettypo
tweetup
Tweetwhatyoueat
Tweetwhatyouspend
tweetword
TweetWrath
twego
twegosearching
twelder
Twellow
twelp
twemment
twemporary twemporarily
Tweople
Tweory
twerminology
Twerpscan
twerzle
Twessenger
Twexican
Twexit
twexplanation
twezhead
twhepherd
twhiner
Twhirl
twhore
ห้าปีสอง
twibye
Twick
Twicketing
Twictionary
Twiddict
Twiddy
แอร์ twidentity
twideo cronicity
Twidget
twidiot
twifference
Twific
Twight
TwigLatin
twignorance
twiking
twilence
Twilighttering
TWIM
Twimidated
Twimors
Twimposter เมือง
twinfancy
Twinfluence
Twinja
อย่างรวดเร็ว
twinkedIn
ผู้เข้าร่วม
แฟลช
twino
twinovative
Twinslet
Twintern
Twipochondria
Twippera
Twired
twirlfriend
twirror
twirting
twise
ไส้ตะเกียง
twisticuffs
Twistory
โกรธ
TiNi โกรธ
โกรธ โฆษณา
Twit el
Twit Life
Twitbacks
twitbandon twitbandoner
Twitbin
TwitBox
twitbud
ชิงทรัพย์
Twitchronicity
twitcripple
TwitDir
twiteruption
TwitFakie
Twitgit
twithouse
วันอาทิตย์ twitiful
twitilliterate
Twitizen
Twitkit
twitku
Twitlexia Twitlexic
Twitlive
twitness
twitosphere
twitoverse
Twitpic
Twitpipe
Twitsaver
twitscape
twitserter
twitSLAM
Twitstamp
Twitstar
Twitstat
ตัวสั่นด้วยความตื่นเต้นที่ได้ ลิงก์ Li
twittamundo
twittastic
twittcrastination
Twittduit
twittectomy
Twittelater
การพูดเบาและรวดเร็ว
ที่ CHAPUTERO
ตัวสั่นด้วยความตื่นเต้นลำดับชั้น
ที่สำคัญในการพูดเบาและรวดเร็ว
อำเภอ Chirped เบาบาง
CHAPUMERU
Chirped ค้นหา
ตัวสั่นด้วยความตื่นเต้นฟีด
ร้องเพลง
คณะกรรมาธิการยุโรปเพลง
twitteracy
twitterage
Twitterati
twitterazzi
twitterbole
twittercal สาธารณะ
หัวเราะ
Twitterese
twitterfly
Twitterfool
Twittergasm
Twitterholic
twitterholics
Twitterhood
twitterian
twitterick
Twitterific
Twitteriku
การพูดเบาและรวดเร็ว
twitterish
twitteritas
twitteritus
twitterject
Twitterland
twitterlinkr
TwitterLocal
twitterlooing
twitterloop
Twitterluscious
twittermaps
twittermob
twitterness
twitterology
Twitteroo
twitterpated
twitterphoria
twitterrhea
Twitterrific
twitterspeak
twittertories
twittertude
Twittervention
twitterzine
twittext
Twittfeinated twired เข้าใจ
twittfessional
twitticisms
twittilate
twittiot
twittish
Twittonary
twittorial
twittshitt
twittsomnia
twittwistered
twittworking
Twitzanoia
Twitzophrenia
Twiving
กลาง
Twleep Twumber
twob
twocal
twockup
twoet twoem twoetry
twofor
Twolice
twondle
Twonkies
Twonvert
twoogle
twooped
twoopin
twooping
twoops
twoosh
twootball
twootnite
ไม่ Twooty
twopsies
twopular
Tword
tworgasm กรัม
Tworture
Twought
Twoxit
twriller
TWTBL
twtrage
ที่ twuck
Twuffer
twug
Twump
คนโง่เง่า
twurvey
twutty
twype
tweetaholic
tweetaholism
Tweetake
tweetard
TweetBar
TweetBeep
TweetBomb
Tweetburner
TweetCloud
Tweetcrunch
TweetDeck
Speakers
tweeterboxes
tweeterities
tweetfaced
tweetfest
tweetheart
tweetin
tweeting
TweetLater
tweetlicious
Tweetoed
tweetoker
tweetotalers
Tweetr
tweets
Tweetscan
tweetsfromlastnight
Tweetstalk
Tweetstats
Tweetsult tweetsulted
tweettypo
tweetup
Tweetwhatyoueat
Tweetwhatyouspend
tweetword
TweetWrath
twego
twegosearching
twelder
Twellow
twelp
twemment
twemporary twemporarily
Tweople
Tweory
twerminology
Twerpscan
twerzle
Twessenger
Twexican
Twexit
twexplanation
twezhead
twhepherd
twhiner
Twhirl
twhore
Five years
twibye
Twick
Twicketing
Twictionary
Twiddict
Twiddy
Air twidentity
twideo cronicity
Twidget
twidiot
twifference
Twific
Twight
TwigLatin
twignorance
twiking
twilence
Twilighttering
TWIM
Twimidated
Twimors
Twimposter city
twinfancy
Twinfluence
Twinja
Early
twinkedIn
Participants
Flash
twino
twinovative
Twinslet
Twintern
Twipochondria
Twippera
Twired
twirlfriend
twirror
twirting
twise
Vik
twisticuffs
Twistory
Angry
TiNi anger
Angry Ad
Twit el
Twit Life
Twitbacks
twitbandon twitbandoner
Twitbin
TwitBox
twitbud
Robbery
Twitchronicity
twitcripple
TwitDir
twiteruption
TwitFakie
Twitgit
twithouse
Sunday twitiful
twitilliterate
Twitizen
Twitkit
twitku
Twitlexia Twitlexic
Twitlive
twitness
twitosphere
twitoverse
Twitpic
Twitpipe
Twitsaver
twitscape
twitserter
twitSLAM
Twitstamp
Twitstar
Twitstat
Twitter would be added
twittamundo
twittastic
twittcrastination
Twittduit
twittectomy
Twittelater
Twitter this
In CHAPUTERO
Twitter hierarchy
It is important to twitter
Chirped Light District
CHAPUMERU
Chirped search
Twitter feed
Singing
The European Commission Music
twitteracy
twitterage
Twitterati
twitterazzi
twitterbole
twittercal public
Laugh
Twitterese
twitterfly
Twitterfool
Twittergasm
Twitterholic
twitterholics
Twitterhood
twitterian
twitterick
Twitterific
Twitteriku
Twitter this
twitterish
twitteritas
twitteritus
twitterject
Twitterland
twitterlinkr
TwitterLocal
twitterlooing
twitterloop
Twitterluscious
twittermaps
twittermob
twitterness
twitterology
Twitteroo
twitterpated
twitterphoria
twitterrhea
Twitterrific
twitterspeak
twittertories
twittertude
Twittervention
twitterzine
twittext
Twittfeinated
twired
twittfessional
twitticisms
twittilate
twittiot
twittish
Twittonary
twittorial
twittshitt
twittsomnia
twittwistered
twittworking
Twitzanoia
Twitzophrenia
Twiving
Klang
Twleep Twumber
twob
twocal
twockup
twoet twoem twoetry
twofor
Twolice
twondle
Twonkies
Twonvert
twoogle
twooped
twoopin
twooping
twoops
twoosh
twootball
twootnite
Not Twooty
twopsies
twopular
Tword
tworgasm
Tworture
Twought
Twoxit
twriller
TWTBL
twtrage
In twuck
Twuffer
twug
Twump
Stupid
twurvey
twutty
twype

The Twittonary Blog

Anyone else this addicted to twitter??

Current is back with another video, Celebrity Twitter Overkill, which takes a dig at Twitter users obsession with celebrities on Twitter, such as; Shaq, Ashton, and Jimmy Fallon. Their first video, The Twouble with Twitters became quite the viral sensation. This one is just as funny if not more so, and the end has a bit of a twist surprise.

Twouble with Twitters
A young man struggles against the pressure to Twitter his life away.

CONJOINED TWINS BORN WITH ONE BODY | Weekly World News

JAKARTA – An Indonesian woman has given birth to conjoined twins who have separate heads but a shared body.

The boys, who have not been named yet, share all vital organs and limbs, except for having two hearts and two heads.

They were delivered via cesarean section last Thursday, and were being held in the hospital in critical condition over the weekend.

Hospital director Dr. Rasul Alim said it would be medically impossible to separate the twins. Andreas Makmur, a member of the medical team working on the twins, said that their blood circulation and lungs were “in a bad shape.”

This type of fusion is extremely rare, and only four known sets of conjoined twins who share an undivided torso and two legs have ever survived into adulthood. The most well-known pair is Abigail and Brittany Hensel, a set of American women who now attend college together. However, Abigail and Brittany have a number of sets of organs, such as 2 stomachs, 4 lungs and 3 kidneys, which the infants do not.

The hospital has released footage of the Indonesian twins, seen below:

CONJOINED TWINS BORN WITH ONE BODY | Weekly World News

Teens Don’t Use Twitter (and Why Should They?)

[27 July 2009]

Star intern Matthew Robson’s report on teen Internet use has one key takeaway: for teens, the Internet is fun, and that might be all that it is.

By Liz Colville

A 15-year-old boy wrote a report for Morgan Stanley on the social media usage of himself and his friends. For the financial firm founded in 1935, the report was worthy of presentation at last week’s Allen & Company Conference in Sun Valley, Idaho. Initially, the press seemed to be reporting the discovery of the Holy Grail by an unwitting child.

Then the media turned cold. The most common reactions appearing to be, “So what?” and “Is this stuff really true?” As Corante’s Suw Charman-Anderson put it, “both Morgan Stanley and the media seem to be treating it as if Robson has Spoken The One Great Truth.” (“The plural of anecdote is not data,” Corante, 13 July 2009).

So Robson and his friends are but a tiny sampling of social media users. But the report still shouldn’t be ignored. Robson belongs to everyone’s favorite demographic. Businesses would really like to know what he thinks, or more importantly, what he knows. The report was a fresh look at a familiar, if cynical, observation: the Internet encourages its young users to be at best, social butterflies and stingy consumers, and at worst, lazy readers and music thieves.

Robson’s set doesn’t care about Twitter, doesn’t want to pay for music, goes to the movies no matter what’s showing, and doesn’t really read newspapers because they “cannot be bothered to read pages and pages of text while they could watch the news summarised on the internet or on TV,” he said. (The Guardian reprinted his report here.)

For businesses, the obvious but still harrowing observation Robson made for “elderly media moguls…fret[ting] over their business models,” as Silicon Alley Insider describes the conference attendees, is that “tomorrow’s consumers are using more and more media but are unwilling to pay for it” (“15-Year-Old Analyst Trashes TV, Newspapers, Radio, And…Twitter,” Henry Blodget, Silicon Alley Insider, 13 July 2009).

The real revelation is the sensible and irreverent things Robson says about our media darling, Twitter. It may be “growing in popularity among younger people,” according to a recent study (“Inside Twitter,” Sysomos, June 2009), but it’s largely a grown-up affair for people who have expensive smartphone plans and spend a lot of time marketing, networking, reporting and curating. As Robson put it, the teens who sign up for Twitter realize that “no one is viewing their profile, so their ‘tweets’ are pointless.” The question is: why don’t more of them put in the time, the way they did with Facebook?

One reason is that they don’t yet see the value of Twitter as we adults have fashioned it: a rapid ticker of interesting links, breaking news, and networking opportunities; they aren’t old enough to. Teen entrepreneurs, such as the shoe-collecting blogger Jane Aldridge, who runs Sea Of Shoes, are making forays onto Twitter, but they are tentative. (Her first tweet was “Hey guys, I need help with this!,” and she has since updated twice.)

The second reason teens aren’t rushing to Twitter follows the first: the site is “aimed at adults”, Robson observes, calling the UK’s most famous Twitter user, Stephen Fry, “not particularly cool” (“Teen who doesn’t tweet reveals how he became top dog in the City,” The Evening Standard, 14 July 2009). No doubt Aldridge, because she is a mini-mogul, was told by older people that she just had to join Twitter.

But where and how does a regular teenager start to feel that they are a part of this new world? How does anyone? Helpful sites like Mashable are there, well SEO’d and ready to be found. But there is no teenage initiative. Teenagers are right to remain skeptical. Facebook was targeted at college kids and trickled down to teens before it trickled up to adults. Robson said teens are all over social networking sites, but the only site he mentions by name is Facebook. Sure, teens might be embarrassed and annoyed that the Stephen Frys of the world (including their parents) are now on Facebook, but it was the teens’ site first.

Perhaps educators and parents should be grateful that teens haven’t yet migrated to Twitter. It’s an imperfect system that moves too fast. Valuable time is spent learning how to use, tweak, and customize Twitter, gain followers, gain friends, and actually benefit from the tidbits and links that are tweeted.

And what exactly are the benefits? That the Internet now looms largest (and larger than ever) in our lives? Social media is more of a conduit to more media than it is a conduit to socialization. It is a feed and a factory of information, but it churns out high page views, rapid click-throughs, and infinite little doses glugged back like a rainbow cocktail of drugs. Is this how we want young people to consume information?

When teens do use the Internet “as a source of information for a variety of topics,” as Robson put it, they turn to Google. Google is still our compass, no matter which social media vessel we ride. But as Bob Batchelor wrote on this site earlier this month, Google “never” provides “answers”. Google provides “facts” and “information”, he says, but unfortunately they can be confused for one another, especially by younger eyes (“Google and the End of Wisdom,” PopMatters, 10 July 2009).

Teenagers like Robson and his friends are very active Internet users. They listen to music, socialize, play video games, and watch videos and movies. Yes, they seek out information on the Internet, but only because they’re already online. Batchelor is even more cynical: “I would guess that we have students graduating with honors who have barely cracked a book in over four years,” he writes. What are these students finding in place of books? If they’re seeking information other than their friends’ latest Facebook wall posts and status updates, they’re finding it on sites that are largely unaware of their presence, and unaware of how they are interpreting and using the information provided.

We know this is problematic, but instead of looking for ways to fix the problem, the media and most businesses and startups who think about the Internet are thinking about- that is to say, obsessing over- social media. The evidence suggests that there are few organizations out there concerned about making the Internet more educational; if they are, they’re being drowned out. (Imagine how Wikipedia would change if its motto was “Doing it for Young Minds”.)

Twitter may inspire love, hate, fatigue, and A.D.D., but its story is actually promising: it didn’t set out to be the information parkway that it is today. It started as a mobile, ever-changing collection of “away messages”. The people transformed it into a mobile, ever-changing online media exhibition and ombudsman. The trouble is, there’s a party in full swing on Twitter, but over at Google, there’s a pandemic that needs our attention.

Liz Colville is a senior writer and audience development coordinator at the Internet library findingDulcinea.com and the search engine SweetSearch.com. She is also a music critic for Tiny Mix Tapes and has previously been a staff writer at Pitchfork Media and Stylus Magazine. She has a music blog at Lizzyville.com.

Teens Don’t Use Twitter (and Why Should They?) < Columns | PopMatters

July 26, 2009

My Friend Michael Jackson: Uri's Story ITV1 Sunday 26/07/09 8:00 PM

My Friend Michael Jackson: Uri's Story ITV1 Sunday 26/07/09 8:00 PM

We will remember Michael Jackson for his heart-lifting songs, for his breath-taking dance moves, for his achingly poignant lyrics, for his magnetic, mesmeric charisma.

We will remember how he could draw love from millions of fans and turn that into pure music energy. We will remember him as an icon, an idol and a unique phenomenon. Most of all we will remember him as the greatest Prince of Pop the planet has ever seen.

Michael Jackson had a probing mind, and many times we talked about life after death. Once we discussed Albert Einstein and his theory of relativity, which states that energy cannot be destroyed. My friend has died but he is a pure energy source now, and that will live forever.

I believe he is shining as brilliantly as ever, in another life, with Lennon, and Presley, and Sinatra, and a twinkling of other supernovas. He burned brighter than any of them.

Amazing effect

A gift from Michael

MJ asked Uri to draw him a drawing for his last CD Invincible so this is what Uri drew.

But this is the version that his record label ended up with

www.peebycartoons.com

The Exeter Charity excursion

My friend Michael Jackson

Michael Jackson was one of my dearest and closest friends, a man I loved so dearly that when Hanna and I were married in 2001 (after 30 years of unbreakable togetherness, and two children) it was to Michael we turned as best man. That day brought the tensions which were inevitable with Michael's haphazard, chaotic entourage: he arrived several hours late, by which time my guests — including Nigel Mansell, Dave Stewart, David Blaine and Justin Hayward of the Moody Blues — had already polished off the wedding feast.

But it was that day, amid the excitement of our marriage vows, which gave me a glimpse of the real Michael Jackson, the man who adored his fans and drew all his strength from their affection.

Two ingenious young Germans broke into my home. We had posted security guards all round the perimeter of the grounds, and we were tolerating half a dozen paparazzi who were pointing lenses like cannon barrels over the privet hedge by the Thames, and there were a few girls perched in the riverbank trees too, with nothing to see but the marquee and a helicopter.

A steady stream of guests drove up to our gates and announced their names to the guards. The Germans, a boy and a girl, were clever and brazen – they hung around to hear a couple announce themselves, walked away for 20 minutes, then came back and presented themselves under the same names. Hanna's brother, Shipi, saw them walking down our long driveway: “Who’s that?” he demanded nervously, but by then the Germans were inside, and we didn’t want a scene. Not in front of the paparazzi. Not on my wedding day. If these guys were willing to behave themselves ... and they were, but they pleaded to be allowed close enough to say hi to Michael when the ceremony had been concluded.

Michael did more than say hi. He beckoned them to him, embraced each of them gently, accepted their gifts graciously and posed for their cameras. He told them he truly valued their friendship, thanked them for taking such risks to bring him presents, and smiled a blessing upon each of them.

The great tragedy of his life is that Michael was not permitted to be the simple, humble man that at heart he always was. Instead, he was driven to stardom at ten years old by an ambitious father, and dogged by controversy all his life. I believe the media must take much of the blame for his slow destruction and eventual death: with his sanity buffeted and his health wracked by the global bullying, it is incredible to me that Michael stayed as normal as he was.

I was particularly angered by the way he was mocked and vilified for the colour of his skin. Whether it was the cosmetic bleaching or the rare disease vitiligo which altered his appearance, I have to condemn his critics as racist — that's the only word for people who judge others by their colour.

In the hours that followed his death — and I was up all night, talking to TV reporters all over the world — the controversy is ebbing away. Michael's legend is being redefined, in a positive light. It is his music which shines.

We will remember Michael Jackson for his heart-lifting songs, for his breath-taking dance moves, for his achingly poignant lyrics, for his magnetic, mesmeric charisma. We will remember how he could draw love from millions of fans and turn that into pure music energy. We will remember him as an icon, an idol and a unique phenomenon.

He existed in a world of cosmic celebrity. I remember the aftershow party, at New York's Tavern on the Green in Central Park, following his 2001 concert: Liza Minnelli gave me a long squeeze and a kiss that made me tingle for days. Marlon Brando looked awesome as he left the stage. He greeted me but at the same time stared through my face, like some deity carved from a mountain with sightless, granite eyes.

Liz Taylor, though in a wheelchair, was still a great beauty. Her presence seemed supernatural too, but unlike Brando she was very approachable. “You have to come down to my home again,” she ordered, “and unbend all the cutlery from your last visit!” I spent much of the evening talking Hebrew with her bodyguards – all ex-Mossad Israeli secret service men, the toughest in the world.

One exceptional memory will never leave me. Michael had a magical imagination, filled with Hollywood images and children's dreams. The immediate thing that struck me when I walked into his hotel suite at our first meeting was the immense poster of E.T. bicycling over a full moon. Beside it stood an eight-foot cardboard cutout of Anakin Skywalker, peeping from behind the robes of Darth Maul. Michael adored the concept of space travel — even his trademark dance was called the Moonwalk. And when the prospect of a rocket voyage to the moon itself became a brief, tantalising reality, Michael was like a rich kid in a sweet shop — he wanted it all and he wanted it now.

I have an answerphone message, recorded at about 3am, with Michael's whisper barely audible above the transatlantic crackle: “Uri Geller, this is Michael Jackson calling. Please, I wish, I pray that we do the moon trip. I want to be the first one to do it in the pop world. All these people are trying to do it, I want to be first! Please! I love you.”

He truly believed it was possible, and part of his magic was the mesmeric, hypnotic force of his charisma, which made everyone else believe the impossible too. He never did make that trip to the moon, but Michael and I discussed life after death on several occasions and I know he believed that our souls are indestructible. Our energy lives after us.

Somewhere in the beyond, Michael's star is burning with all his unquenchable briliance.

Uri interviewed for South African Radio

My defining memory of Michael Jackson — vulnerable, brilliant, otherworldly — is of watching him dance to the soundtrack of a movie. This was early in our friendship, around ten years ago in New York, and I was amazed by the Hollywood posters and eight-foot cutouts that decorated his hotel room: Anakin Skywalker peeping out from the folds of Darth Maul's cape, E.T. bicycling over the full moon.

I told him he should see The Matrix, because of the spoonbending sequence, and he immediately instructed his aides to book a cinema. The response was instant: "Yes Michael!" Nobody around him every said 'No' to him... and during the tragedy that unfolded over the next decade, I often reflected that what he needed above everything was someone to tell him 'No' once in a while.

We took Michael's little boy to the Sony cinema, and sat side-by-side in the empty auditorium with boxes of popcorn and candy.

After about half an hour, Michael slipped out of his seat. I assumed this was his way of avoiding goodbyes, but after a few minutes I looked round and saw him silhouetted in the projectionist's beam. He was dancing, lost in the moves that only he could make — the twists, the spins, the moonwalk. No one else on Earth ever danced like that. Michael was absorbed in the soundtrack, unaware I was watching him. He was mesmeric.

He was in New York to record of his album Invincible, a $30m project that was intended to relaunch his career — but his confidence was so battered that he could no longer believe in his own musical genius. "The music is stil in me," he whispered sadly, "but sometimes, when I sing, I don't know how to reach down and touch it. Please — help me."

But he wanted more than motivation — he wanted mental transformation. At last he decided that he could only break through his fears with the power of hypnosis, and he begged me to place him in a trance. I agreed to try a technique I have used many times on heavy smokers who are trying to quit. Within a few seconds Michael had surrendered his will. I have hypnotised many people, and it’s easy to tell if they are faking. A good subject can eat a whole onion in the belief that it’s a sweet apple. Jackson was an excellent subject.

We worked for a few minutes on his musical block, and then I did something I have never done before. I'm not proud of this — in fact, I feel it might have been unethical — but I began to probe deeper into Michael's mind. I knew of the disturbing rumours that he had bought off a court case with a $20m settlement. My intuition told me he was innocent, and so sensitive to attacks that he would do anything, even throw away millions, rather than face a confrontation. But I had to be certain.

“Michael Jackson," I said, "tell me with total honesty — did you ever touch a child in an inappropriate manner?"

He answered without hesitation. “No. I would never do that."

"Then why did you pay Jordy Chandler's family off?"

“It was the easiest thing to do.” The statement was simple and unembroidered, made without pause to invent a lie. “I couldn’t take it any more. I’d had enough.”

I pushed the question again: “Have you ever touched a child or a young person in a way that you shouldn’t?”

And he replied: “Never. I would never do that. My friendships with children are all very beautiful.”

He appeared to be still under deep hypnosis and I believed he was quite literally incapable of lying. Years later, when he was hounded by prosecutors in California who forced him to stand trial on similar allegations, I never doubted that he was innocent — though I did fear that the jury would convict him, not on the evidence but on prejudices.

As I was sucked into the insanity of media and adulation that followed him round the world, I began to marvel that Michael remained as sane as he was. One evening we drove out of his Knightsbridge hotel in a people-mover with midnight-tinted windows, and there were 2,000 people crowded across the pavement. Around 60 of the younger ones broke from the press and sprinted alongside us. I was concerned that someone could slip and fall under a wheel, but they were all so exuberantly happy. They were shouting out, “Michael, we love you!”

Michael gestured for the car to slow down, and he edged his door open, leaning out of the car to touch the hands of his fans.

“We love you, Michael!”

“I love you more,” he said.

But too often he seemed not to love himself. With no one to say 'No' to him, his behaviour could become self-destructive — and when I tried to be the one who stood up to Michael and his ever-changing squad of advisors, our roller-coaster friendship dived into a trough. I lost my patience and shouted at him: "Stop doing this! Before it kills you!" Michael did not want to listen. That was the beginning of a rift between us, although on his most recent visit to London he did ask me to visit him.

On my wedding day in 2001, Michael was our best man. He was hours late, and afterwards he seemed jetlagged and exhausted, so I led him into the family room of our home. Crystal pyramids and globes are clustered on the table, and beside the sofa stands a lifesize wooden effigy of Elvis, in his Rhinestone period.

I sat Michael down, gave him a drink of juice and left him to relax. At the doorway I turned round. Michael was sitting quite still, with his eyes closed, and he had reached up to hold Elvis's hand. The King of Rock and Roll stood over the Prince of Pop, like a guardian angel with a guitar.

See Uri's article in The Weekly News here

Uri Geller Speaks About Michael Jackson

Uri's comment about the Tribute:

The ceremony, and the songs, and the speeches were so intensely moving that I think the world will always remember how important Michael was, not only as an entertainer but as a life-changing light for the whole of humanity. He was a brother to the world, and I loved him as a brother.

An Important message from Uri

The results of Michael's autopsy won't be known for weeks, the press is reporting that the police found a dangerous sedative at his home; I pray to God he wasn't taking that, but I fear it is possible. My great hope is that Michael's appalling death will shock young people to their senses before they can slide into a life of drug abuse.
Drugs can destroy anyone, no matter how rich or talented, if the tragedy of Michael Jackson inspires young people to step back from addiction it will be a powerful force for good, which could save countless lives.
The loss to music and entertainment is incalculable, but so is the potential lesson Michael's life and death can teach.

Uri Geller: My Friend Michael Jackson (May 2001)

This, I promise, is how you will react when you meet Michael Jackson: you'll stare, you'll start, you'll step up and you'll freeze. Everyone does the same thing - fans, celebrities, journalists, children, parents, shoppers, waitresses, prime ministers, prime ministers' bodyguards ...

First you look. Michael has the most arresting appearance of any man I ever saw. It isn't only the face, and the clothes. It's the aura. But before you have taken that in, you'll start to move towards him. Instinctively.

You take a step or two, and freeze. It's like being hit by a wave of awareness, first of all pushing you forwards and then stopping you cold in the backwash. "Oh my God it's Michael Jackson" and then "Oh! My God. It's Michael Jackson ..."

I've been in the massive lobby of an international five-star hotel when Michael walked in, and I've seen the wave sweep over 70 people - not only the super-rich and the professionally cool, but the porters and receptionists and bell-boys.The people nearest him moved, and then froze. Further away, people turned, and moved, and froze, while some of those nearest began to move again. It was like a century-old fragment of celluloid, the lobby suddenly silent and the air flickering, crackling, as people moved in jerks and lurches. Michael simply smiled and pressed his hands together in greeting.

Last month we drove out of his Knightsbridge hotel in a people-mover with midnight-tinted windows, and there were 2,000 people crowded across the pavement. Around 60 of the younger ones broke from the press and sprinted alongside us. I was concerned that someone could slip and fall under a wheel, but they were all so exuberantly happy. They were shouting out, "Michael, we love you!" Michael gestured for the car to slow down, and he edged his door open, leaning out of the car to touch the hands of his fans.

"We love you, Michael!" "I love you more," he said. I heard him say it again and again during the next few days. "I love you more."

When Michael walks over to a group of fans who have waited hours for a glimpse, you see some of them lock solid. They have messages for him, they want to say how much he has meant to them all through their lives, how his music has been their soundtrack, but all they can do is stare. Many bring handmade gifts. Embroidered cushions, framed paintings, poems, boxes, candles, national flags. He takes every one and holds it to his chest for a moment. He says, "Thank you. I love you," again and again. He does not refuse any request for an autograph or a photograph. I walked with him for 200 yards through the pouring rain across an Oxford road and past barriers after his address to the privileged Union audience last month, to a huddle of drenched and shivering fans. They had not been able to get tickets, and they had turned up on a bitter night without any real hope of being close to Michael for more than a moment, but they (and not the curiosity-hunters in the Union building) were the real fans.

Michael truly loves his fans. When he tells them, he does not do it in the superficial way that most pop stars intend when they shout it from the stage. He means it this way - when Michael walked through the rain that night, he was on crutches, with two broken bones in a foot that was swaddled in bandages. By the time we got back to the limousine he was squeezing filthy, icy rainwater out of the bandages onto newspapers on the floor. I laid my hands on the aching flesh and let energy flow through me, to activate Michael's own healing powers. He sat back with a calm expression on his face and his eyes closed, perfectly accepting of the possibility that healing can begin with positive thinking.

The fan's gifts are displayed in Michael's hotel suites. Wherever he's staying - and he moves around a lot, even between places in the same city - his favourite presents are on display. And he has a lot of favourites. He uses objects almost as pledges, reminders of affection from people who can't be with him, the way you might fill your wallet with photos of your children and folded postcards from old friends. On Michael's walls there are pictures of his own children, of course, and photos of him with his family and friends, but the reverence with which the admirers' gifts are arranged seems to say that his fans are his family too.

I saw how sincerely he felt this when two ingenious German über-fans broke into my home on my wedding day. Michael was to be best man, though by the time the ceremony was due to start neither he nor the rabbi, Shmuley Boteach, had turned up. My manager, Shipi, who is also my brother-in-law, had posted security guards all round the perimeter of the grounds. We were tolerating half a dozen paparazzi who were pointing lenses like cannon barrels over the privet hedge which screens the house from the Thames, and there were a few girls perched in the riverbank trees too, with nothing to see but the marquee and a helicopter. Once or twice the magician David Blaine floated outside for interviews - I do mean floated, and if you haven't yet seen David Blaine levitate then you have a real shock in store.

Many guests commented that I seemed nervous, and I was -but not about getting married. Hanna and I had been together 30 years, and I felt I was probably ready for the commitment. What concerned me was a call from an Israeli source, warning there might be a terrorist attack on the wedding. I took the warning very seriously and I engaged all precautions, Scotland Yard referred me to the local police who in turn sent two policemen to discuss the day. Some internationally famous people were there, aside from Michael - the Formula One racing champion Nigel Mansell, Sir David Frost, Dave Stewart of the Eurythmics, the horror writer James Herbert, Dido's producer Youth, not to mention an Israeli consul and the Japanese Ambassador... any terrorist wanting to make a name for himself need only open fire on the canvas walls of the marquee with an automatic weapon. My helicopter pilot was under orders to fly anyone wounded by gunfire to the nearby Royal Berkshire hospital. A medical doctor was on standby, unseen by the guests inside the main house, and Michael's own doctor would accompany him.

Most of the fans, with no thoughts of terrorists, were outside the main gates. A steady stream of guests drove up and announced their names to the guards. The Germans, a boy and a girl, were clever and brazen - they hung around to hear a couple announce themselves, walked away for 20 minutes, then came back and presented themselves under the same names. Shipi saw them walking down our long driveway: "Who's that?" he demanded nervously, but by then the Germans were inside, and we didn't want a scene. Not in front of the paparazzi. Not on my wedding day. If these guys were willing to behave themselves ... and they were, but they pleaded to be allowed close enough to say hi to Michael when the ceremony had been concluded.

Michael did more than say hi. He beckoned them to him, embraced each of them gently, accepted their gifts graciously and posed for their cameras. He told them he truly valued their friendship, thanked them for taking such risks to bring him presents, and smiled a blessing upon each of them.

Now, you may be cynical about Michael Jackson. You may be influenced by the highly inventive controversies which have dogged his career. You may be prejudiced by his appearance - though you'd better ask yourself why you feel free to comment on his colour and his looks when you profess that you never judge anyone by their skin or their face. You may feel that I'm painting him as some kind of saint, when some supermarket tabloids are eager for you to believe the opposite.

I won't bother to argue with you. Michael has maintained the dignity throughout his career to ignore the mudslingers. I know what it is to be falsely accused and reviled, to be laughed at by people who don't have the first idea of what they're saying - but I thank God that the mud aimed at me over the decades has been nothing like the rancid filth hurled at Michael. I have nothing but contempt for some of the people who made such claims, nothing but pity for the people credulous enough to believe them.

All I will say is this: how many other people, now or at any time in history, have possessed the charismatic power to change lives with a smile? To offer a blessing and make a person feel deeply, fully blessed?

And how many of those people kept their gift uncorrupted and used it with generosity? There are a few names in your mind perhaps, but I won't make the comparison with Michael. I will leave you to do that for yourself. Let it be a test of how open-minded you can be.

Most people who achieve great fame taste this power, this unexpected gift from God to bestow inspiration on people. Michael has it to an exceptional degree, and this is partly because it has been his to wield for so long. Most sports stars and rock gods lose it after a year or two, as their fame fades. Or they push it away from them without understanding it. Or they foolishly imagine it will protect them from the ravages of their drinking and drug habits. Michael treats the gift with awe, as if it were a healing power ... which it is. A smile from Michael can heal the spirit.

He has an angelic talent for choosing words which will touch the heart. I treasure the inscription on a photograph he gave to me, because he wrote without holding back: "To Uri, you are truly a Godsend. The world needs you - I need you. Michael"

When I perform, particularly when I have to bend spoons again and again, I feel drained afterwards. It's not the tiredness that comes from hard labour or long study or too much partying - it's an enervation, as if I've been sweating raw energy and all my nerve endings are swollen and raw. I often sleep in the back of the car. When he is exhausted, Michael meditates. After the wedding was over and the celebrity photos were all done, he asked me for a room in my home where he could be alone for 20 minutes. Michael is not a frail man, despite what you may have read - he is tall, lithe and his hands are large and strong, like a tennis player's. But at this moment he looked like the finalist after five sets on Wimbledon's centre court. He needed peace of mind.

I showed him into our family room, with its tables of crystal globes and pyramids and its lifesize wooden effigy of Elvis in his rhinestone phase, and left him to meditate. Maybe the spirit of Elvis came to him - the Pop Prince was once the King's son-in-law, after all. When he emerged, he seemed still tired, but more centred.

Michael's family was famously religious - they were Jehovah's Witnesses and Michael occasionally disguised himself to join his fellow believers as they went from house to house, inviting people to think about God. As a grown man, he has moved beyond denominations of faith - his concern is not with religion but with spirituality. This gives him strength, but I think it is the joy he takes in life which keeps renewing his vitality - that, and a second factor which I shall describe in a moment.

He has a lot of fun, childish fun. Not just child-like, but downright fun. He giggles a lot. He has a great sense of mischief. Michael first became aware of me through reading his school textbooks when he was a teenager. We were introduced by Mohamed Al Fayed, a man whose grasp of English is often variable but whose fluency in swearing is unmatched in any language. Even Hungarians don't swear as enthusiastically as Mo. I think he is spurred on by the presence of people who might be easily offended, like little old ladies or royalty. Or pop royalty - when Mo starts cursing in front of Michael, the tirade is punctuated by delighted giggles and, "Oh, Mohamed! Ohhhh, Mohamed!"

He loves gadgets. Show him a watch that's calibrated via a satellite link to the atomic clock, or a digital writing pad with a built-in camera, or a mobile phone with a scanner, and he's like a boy - "That's cool, I love it, can I have it? I mean, just play with it?" He surrounds himself with boyish paraphernalia -pictures of dolphins and sunsets, huge teddies and model cars. He's not into sport much, though he's very fit, like any professional dancer, and he supports newly-promoted Fulham - in the casual way that a lot of teenagers say they support Manchester United, not really understanding the rules or remembering the results, but happy to relate to the team that always wins. Plus, of course, Fulham are owned by a friend of his - MO took him to a game and they sat there in Fulham scarves and caps. Michael has infinite respect towards Princess Diana who tragically died with Mo's son Dodi whom Michael adored; they were working on a movie together.

Michael's hotel rooms are always decorated with movie posters and eight-foot cardboard cut-outs, Anakin Skywalker peeping out from the folds of Darth Maul's cape, E.T. bicycling over the full moon. The first time I visited him in New York we hired Sony's cinema and took in The Matrix, because there's a sequence inspired by me where children teach Keanu Reeves to bend spoons with the power of the mind.

Michael brought popcorn and candy, and his little boy Prince rocketed around between the seats, stopping every few moments to fix me with his luminously intelligent eyes and ask a question. After about half the movie, Michael slipped out of his seat. I didn't say anything and I thought that maybe this was his way of avoiding a 'goodbye' moment. But after four or five minutes I twisted round and saw him, silhouetted under the projectionist's beam. Dancing. Moonwalking to the soundtrack, spaced out in a complex routine of twists and jerks. Anyone could have seen that it was Michael Jackson. No one else on Earth moves that way.

He took me to his studio, the Hit Factory - it isn't his own, he merely hires it, but when Michael walks into the recording area it becomes his. He dominates the studio, a different kind of domination to the way he overwhelms a crowd. This is business, and this is the second factor which restores his youth. Michael is utterly committed to his music. He works passionately at it, with a dedication that surprised me when I first saw it. I had deliberately ditched all my preconceptions about this man, because I'd known about his music and his life since I was a young paratrooper and later a paranormalist doing shows for Israeli troops, three decades ago. All that second-hand clutter wasn't going to help me understand the real human being. But in our few meetings and a series of increasingly deep telephone conversations, I had not divined an artist who could be so forceful, so powerful, in the studio.

His attitude shines out of him like an aura. Writing, performing, mixing, arranging - he is in command. Always a confident person who will say what he means even though he says it quietly, in the studio his confidence reaches an entirely different level. He is dominant. And nothing pleases him more than honest praise from another musician. Michael's face was radiant when I told him that Justin Hayward, guru of the Moody Blues, had called me from his home in France especially to tell me to pass a message to Michael: you have never made a record that was less than excellent, he said, and this is almost unique among artists of your longevity. I think he took pride because he knew it to be true. There is not one poor disc. Perhaps not even one poor track. Simply a catalogue of stone classics. I am proud of myself that Michael liked my own paintings enough to commission a piece of art for the sleeve of his forthcoming CD. And I was totally flattered when he asked me to energize the tapes which were in the studio's safe. It wasn't the first time I have worked in this way with super performers.

I visited the Spice Girls in a studio in London around five years ago, they were planning to go to America and I bent a spoon for them and told them to take it with them to the US to bring them positive energy.

It was a similar experience with N'Sync, they were playing small shows in Germany and here (the UK) and wanted to break in America I went to see them, talked to them motivated the group bent a spoon for them and said keep this with you as a talisman as a tool for your mind when you go back to America. Both bands have been catapulted to success.

John Lennon and I become close in the seventies, I lived a block away from him in New York and we would meet up about once a month in secret to talk about UFO's. When John wanted Yoko to come back to him he asked for my help.

I had a meeting with Elvis too, he requested that we meet about 20 miles outside Las Vegas, he wanted the meeting to be private and told me where to meet him in the desert in a trailer - he was amazing.

I introduced Michael to my friend Rabbi Shmuley Boteach, who was writing a book of letters, The Psychic And The Rabbi, with me, and together we took Michael to the Carlebach Shul in New York for his first visit to a synagogue. We chose this setting because Rabbi Carlebach was famous for his music and his singing. Jewish worship is filled with song, and Michael's face was a picture as he swayed and clapped with the music. I saw the same expression in his eyes when I glanced down at him under the chupa, the traditional Jewish wedding canopy, as our guests lifted Hanna and me onto their shoulders.

It was during the synagogue service that I began to understand how Michael's gift for bestowing blessings might be most generously spread. Shmuley had the same idea and, as he was moving to New York from Oxford, England, with his wife and six children (it's seven now), the rabbi was able to put his particular gift for practical energy to good use - together, they founded the charity Heal The Kids.

My concept was more abstract. Tormented by the disintegration of the peace process in the Holy Land, I wanted to hold up the almost supernatural aura which emanates from Michael when he is giving hope and happiness to his fans, and shine that like a beacon over Israel. I had no idea how this could possibly be done - I just could not fathom a world where soldiers shot at children who threw stones at cars, and snipers who took aim at babies, while millions of people of all races, creed and colour on other continents loved a man who reflected their affection back so dazzlingly. That contradiction just floors me. Everyone in Israel has heard of Michael - his concert a few years ago was a massive sell-out. Everyone would have recognised, at a single glance, his dancing image at the back of that cinema. So what's to prevent his gift of peace from working in Israel?

I remembered a stone I had picked up in the Sinai desert, close to the monastery of St Katerina, when my father and I drove out there one day after the Six Day War. I was recovering from my wounds that I suffered in Ramallah and I believe my dad was proud of me at that time as he never was before or since - my father was a professional soldier. We tried to imagine the place where God had spoken to Moses from the centre of a blazing bush. When I sensed I had found the place -and I can still feel the electric tingle in my palms and fingers, the dowser's sensation that decades later told me when I had discovered gold or oil - my father helped me dislodge a stone.

Moses' foot may have trodden on this triangular piece of rock. We prised it out of the ground and brushed the sand off it, and carried it to the jeep. We drove back to Jerusalem, and close to the Western Wall I placed the stone on the ground. Whenever I returned to the city I went to look at it.

But after the Carlebach Shul, I went back to do more than look. Shipi persuaded a guard to look the other way while I prised the slab out of the earth for a second time and loaded it into a suitcase. I won't tell you all the difficulties I had getting that suitcase through El Al's security cordon and past US customs, but at one stage I seriously feared the stone would be smashed to shards. Finally, I put it beside me in a yellow cab and called Michael to tell him I was bringing a present. I called it the Stone of Peace.

More than a year later, as Shmuley and I posed for photographs with Michael and the Prime Minister of Israel, Ariel Sharon, I realised how we might make the Stone of Peace the cornerstone for our own peace mission. The meeting with Arik was utterly unexpected -I was staying in New York with a Swiss friend at his Manhattan apartment, and the place was suddenly crawling with security ... the kind of security that only Middle Eastern leaders can generate. My friend joked with a bodyguard, "Who do we have upstairs? Arafat and Sharon?" "Just Sharon," came the answer.

Too good a chance to miss. Too good a synchronicity. I believe these strange coincidences are planned for us, perhaps millions of years in advance, by an intelligence we cannot begin to comprehend. And I saw Michael's magic working again. Even the bodyguards moved in stop-start motion. Even the prime minister looked up and reached forward and froze and moved again. I saw the thought written on his face: "Michael Jackson! That's Michael Jackson!"

I knew then that Michael's blessing could work on the warring factions of the Holy Land. We are planning a visit, for June or July of this year, to meet the Israeli president and the Kings of Jordan and Morocco. I have hopes that Arafat too and the leaders of Hizbollah might be willing to sit down with us. We won't expect anyone to negotiate -we are not negotiators or politicians, nor miracle workers. All we can do is hope that music and rhythm and the power of pop can indeed work a miracle where politics and religious schism fail tragically every day. It is not only we who need this mirage of peace to become real, after all - it is our children, and their unborn children, and all the songs that they will sing.

- Copyright Uri Geller, 2001 - No duplication without prior permission -