New Splicer Volume 3.6 Tunisia Tourist Board

سفنتت نأ ىسنت ال مستبت نأ ىسنت ال

~NEW SPLICER~Volume 3.6

August 2012

In this issue

Topic of the month: Tunisia Tourism Board...

The ancient city of CarthageTozeur, Mos Espa & Tatooine...

Red Lizard train The Phoenicians...

The jewel of the mediterranean... and much more!


Foreword

This issue is a little overdue but I hope well worth the wait! Featuring New Splicers first Horror story and genuine undercover report on the

magical land of Tunisia.

Come take a ride with me and lets shape the desert sands into a giant Zen garden so we can, all in good time, die in deserted peace.

A BIG thank you to FFion, FFiz and Durrant for there excellent contribu-tions to this (*Cough) months edition.

Enjoy - New Splicer


~~~~~~~~~ToPIC of the Month~~~~~~~~Tunisia Tourism Board

Diary extract

Dear Diary,

I started my new job today as Press Attaché at the Tunisian National Tourist Council. I was so exited. I was not entirely sure what it would involve as I’d applied for the marketing role. It turns out to be quite interesting – media relations basically and taking journalists to Tunisia for them to then write about the tourist hot spots.

The people in the office are interesting. I was amazed that the office has four floors for just seven people – all natives bar me and the sec-retary from France. A mix of (poor) English, (poor) French, (poor) Arabic and Tunisian dialect is spoken.

Uscef and Safi are on the first floor. They don’t get on. I witnessed this first hand when Uscef took a call for Safi. Instead of telling Safi or transferring the call, he came up to my floor and asked Cimmi to pass on the message. Then disappeared back downstairs to sit again with Safi...in silence. It did seem a bizarre set up but it works.

Still...Really looking forward to travelling and learning more about the Tunisian people and culture!


Life in the office

I haven’t been to Tunisia yet but have been learning from their inter-esting ways of working.

The Phones: The inter phones don’t work completely – you can trans-fer a call but cannot talk to the person in the office before transferring the call to explain who it is. Nobody in the office accepts the call with-out knowing who it is. This means that Cimmi and I take a call for x for example, take a message then put on hold, run up the stairs to ask x if he will take the call. Sometimes he wants more information so we run back down, ask the question, put the caller on hold again and then run upstairs to x. If he takes the call, we run back down and transfer. If he doesn’t we either make up an excuse – he is not in after all or just hang up in pretence the line was cut and hope they don’t call back.

Another interesting way of working is how Uscef answers the phone and pretends he is not Uscef - “no Uscef is not in at the moment – can I take a message?” Incredulous!

The other fancy equipment we have which doesn’t quite work is the intercom. We cannot see the door so rely on the intercom but it only rings 50% of the time. Sometimes we get irate people phoning us from outside. As guests speak to Uscef, we have to put them on hold, run down stairs for Uscef to take the call before letting them in if they haven’t already left.

The fax: No work can commence without authorisation from HQ in Tunisia by fax. They are not very trusting of their own people as email is not accepted as they can be doctored. The only problems with the fax being:

A) Half the time the paper is jammed our endB) The other half of the time, the paper is jammed in TunisiaC) Nobody in the outside world uses fax any more!



The computers: Nobody in the office has a clue about IT. I know how to turn mine on so I am the office IT wiz kid. All our office computers are Windows Home version. The IT contractor was called in to upload the latest version which Walidi so proudly informed him was a pirate version from Tunisia.

The health & safety: I have recently noticed that our fire extinguishers are out of date. They expired 3 years ago. Also, when asking about the fire exit, I was told it is the door leading to the roof, above the fourth floor but nobody knew who had the key or which key it was. Diary Extract – The Journey

Off to Tunisia. On the way to the airport. Uscef driving so left the of-fice at time said to meet the journalists in the airport (which is 45min away). They have already started calling. Left voice mails. More angry voice mails. Arrive at airport. Slightly irate journalists given how late I am. Attempt to check everyone in. Tunisian Airways have cancelled the flight. ….Aghhh!!!!

Airline (I am trying to promote) didn’t book us on the flight. Were only 4 people scheduled to fly on the new route (me and my journalists) so flight cancelled. Thought today would be a good time to tell me.

Frantically call head office. Arrange to get on flight to north of the country. Journalists are meant to write on the south of the country. About the new airline in fact, direct to the south. Which the airline cancelled on them. Call back head office. Arrange to be driven to the south. It is a 12 hours round drive. Journalists still write about new route.



In a bid to host another “mega press” trip, we have invited journal-ists (Including a representitve from New Splicer), politicians, travel agents, the former Princess of Yugoslavia again and of course Uscef ’s friends, family and car dealer (that is not even a joke). This is for Tunis air’s new Manchester – Monstir route. We will depart from Man-chester and the return flight will be a double touch down via London. (Passengers who have booked flights London – Tunis will board in Lon-don and go via Manchester to let our guests off only they don’t know about this).

As we have kept inviting more and more people and Tunis air have kept selling seats, the return flight is now overbooked. We have flagged this up to the Minister of Tourism who assures us he will resolve the problem and we will have a bigger plane for the return leg. On the day of departure – there is still the same plane and problem for the return leg. Hmm, something to deal with later.

We arrive 40min early so decide to hide from everybody in the café as usual. An hour an a half later we surface. As we are now late a (slightly angry) crowd has gathered. I set about checking people in and counting out how many people have arrived.

All checked in and as usual – Tunis air flight is delayed.

We arrive at Monastir and transfer to the hotel. Everybody is on coach-es together like a school trip. Uproar at the hotel – the Labour MP is beside himself to have been put on the bus with the common people. He has not given his time up to go on a “package holiday” are his words.We try to appease him and tell him we have a suite for him (all the rooms in the hotel are suites). I show him to his room and then to dinner which is a fantastic spread. I tell him that the next day, he and the other politicians will have their own programme and driver which pleases him no end. Phew. Now just the other 90 guests to please.


Day one

I have arranged for a tourist noddy train to take us to Hammamet for some shopping. I asked Uscef if we should count heads. “No there are too many of them. They will find us and the know the name of the hotel.” Interesting strategy.

We get on the noddy train – speed limit must be 30mph. We do a nice tour of the promenade and then head on the motor way to the utter annoyance of all other motorists and equal utter astonishment of our guests. The situation is so ridiculous I cannot help but laugh.

At Hammamet we tell the guests – meet back here in 40min and let them loose at the market. An hour later we leave. Again – no head counting. Turns out we left one behind. She had got back to the meet-ing place on time, couldn’t find us so went looking for the group. Mean-while we had got on the bus and left.

We go for lunch and it pours down! After lunch we are scheduled to go to the outdoor zoo. I am told instead that we will go to see the dolphin show as this is covered from the rain and like an idiot I am left to tell everybody this who asks. When we arrive, it is like monsoon season. I lead the way to the “sheltered” amphitheatre to watch the show. It is a porous canvas! The water runs straight through. Thankfully, the politicians are not with us but out of the 90 that are, approximately 15 find it as ridiculous as I do and therefore amusing. The other 65 are not amused! Avoid eye contact. Avoid eye contact!

We return to the hotel soaked (oh, and left a couple in the zoo as we didn’t count heads. They had to pay £30 for a taxi to get back to the hotel). Some free time before dinner. By time we head for dinner, eve-rybody is up to speed on the news – the Icelandic volcano is erupting again and flights are starting to be cancelled. This would be perfect for us as Tunis air still don’t have a plane big enough for all our guests. Please, let the flights be cancelled.

“A recent tobacco industry survey found that 98% of ll men that use camels still prefer women”


Day two

Day goes well. Trip to Monastir, see where Monty Python was filmed and historical artefacts.

The evening dinner is a little embarrassing as we have belly dancers dancing on our table as well as on the table of the politicians and in front of the former Princess of Yugoslavia.

The Minister of Tourism has joined us and said that unfortunately, he can no longer guarantee a bigger plane. Back at the hotel, rumours are rife. Oh dear.

We arrive at the airport and are told that only the people going to Man-chester have been booked on the flight. Uscef and I queue jump to see if this is true. Yep it is. We are not on the flight.

We book the Politicians on and try to get them through as quickly as possible so that they don’t realise what is happening. The rest of the people going to London are fuming. Some people volunteer to stay until the next direct flight back. Some people have medical issues so we make sure they get on the plane but about 16 are left with the alter-native of going via Paris. Included unfortunately are the three people who got left behind at the zoo and market. And including New Splicers journalist.

There are no more seats left now but as I know the Director of Tunis air, I am given the choice – stay in Tunis with those awaiting the next flight or sit in the cock pit back to London with the Pilot. It is a no brain-er especially given that I would not be aloud to go with the group via Paris as my expenses would not be covered. Guiltily, I leave those with no seats, make my way to the departure lounge, breathe a sigh of relief and try my best not to touch any of the buttons in the cock pit. So, we took 102 guests to Tunisia and bring just 80 back. Oh, well – still an A grade by academic standards hey!

“In Nevada it is illegal to drive a camel on the highway”


Tozeur, Mos Espa & TatooineYes I am a child of the 80s and this generally means one thing, I was raised with the Force; the epic tale of a small boys rise from a nobody on a desert planet to defender of the galaxy. Father was lord of the dark side with a hidden heart, everyone has the potential for good, I have felt it. What wonderful father figures they were to a small boy with dreams of the universe and all its wonders. If you don’t know what I am talking about, go and lock yourself away in a room now and watch Star Wars IV, V & VI. If you do know, congratulations, your childhood was probably awesome...

Tunisia, a land ravaged by politics and war now survives on what little tourism comes its way. I sent my own reporter to the field to review a recent attempt of the Tunisia Tourist Boards attempt to attract more tourists to the barren desert planet. They spoke to the desperate lo-cals who attempted to sell anything they could, but upon deeper inves-tigation he discovered that times are desperately harsh with even the tourists now staying away. What they found was this:~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~New Splicers undercover report

“JFiz” reports on the newly open flights from Manchester to Tunisia.

The idea was simple, we travelled to Manchester from London for the first tourist flight between Manchester and Tunisia. Arriving went smoothly, the hotel was a 5* palace, simply beautiful.


Day 1

A little tour around the local markets is where the real Tunisia first be-came apparent, I was tricked into the sellers store with the line: Hello, stranger, do you know what تت نأ ىسن is? Then led into the store... I knew French so I struck up a conversation and learned of the increas-ingly small tourist trade in Tunisia. And tourists were the main source of income for the vast majority of the people remaining in the ghost like towns.

Day 2- We saw a fort and more empty cities, it was at this point the rumours began. This came in the whispers that there would not be enough room on the plane for all the people who arrived to return. Surly not, on a press trip with months to plan ahead and book the cor-rect travel arrangements.

Day 3- More sights, more empty buildings. Rumour began turning into realisation; the Tunisian Tourist Board was not quite what it should be. Here I descend into quick travel scribbles as the situation became more apparent:

Some main guy from the Tunisian Travel Board began walking amongst us and those who were signalled would get to go home. This included the VIPs and any journal/newspaper of high subscription.

This did not include junior reporters and New Splicer staff! We would not be travelling home via the same route. An indirect flight to London via Paris was the suggestion, not too bad, possibly even better (or so we thought).

This was our party - Princess and the nymphomaniac (just divorced) and group-on travelling publication. A few random people and the cou-ple separate from the group.

When is a desert tasty? Who put sand in my dessert?

I once deserted an ice cream Sunday.


The Journey home.

We were told by main guy that we would take a flight to Paris then on to London.

Our host went direct to London. Left us to find our own way back!We stayed behind. Left in airport. Upgraded to business class. We had access to business area it was Shit. So drinks and crappy sandwiches.Took the flight, plane will also be late. And trouble, as we need to make a connection, will it wait for us?

We were 1.5 hours late. And we figured we would be late unless plane waited. It didn’t.

Little train between terminals... Plane gone. Tunis Air nowhere to be seen. No help. A few vip journalists found a small place but only 2 peo-ple got on a plane and left the group.

I took the little train back to the Tunis booth... It was closed.

Then train back to terminal. Lost half group, including the princess.

While running I quoted “Oh shit, we lost the princess”, went to airport help. They were useless. I described my situation, her answer- your flight arrived late!!.. She went away for 5min returned and told us “your flight left”! NO S&%T

A phone call alerted Tunis office, and they got in contact with princess. Someone was coming. So we took train again [5th time that evening].

22 yr old cracked and crashed and cried.

Still in Paris, Orley. Now it’s sunset. Calling hotels to sleep. None avail-able. The entire of Paris.! I called at least 20 hotels!

So we got food. Got taxi, to get food at restaurant Tunis. Couple got the hotel room, not playing with the group.


Could not guarantee flight tomorrow.

Still no hotel, but full with dinner. Some people got a room.We went towards Eurostar trains. Tunis guy asked taxi do you know hotel, “yeah I do”... Blah blah trip around gare du nord and surprise surprise NO HOTELS...

Can’t take it. We go to 24h bar in Eurostar depot and wait.

So, news from guys in hotel. They wanted £300 for hotel [3x price]. Girl who cracked had card eaten. So no hotel, they also go to gare du nord.

Spend night chilling with drinks before going home. A day late and straight to work...

Thanks Tunisia Tourist Board...Sincerely JFiz~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~I would suggest a total rethink for Tunisia tourism... We need to give the people a reason to risk the travel and hopefully stabilise the entire region. And for that we need “The empire”.

Imagine, Tunisia as Tatooine with a real Mos Eisley space port. We should convert the entire country into a new hope for its people. Im-agine, hanging at the bar and listening to the Cantina Band; deciding who shot first... We have land speeders and hovercraft, just need a few Millennium Falcons.. I for one would go, role play on a world scale, imagine a Star Wars re-enactment a few times a week. Drop in and stay for the light sabre show, just keep your belongings safe from the wretched hive of scum and villainy...



Carthage Ancient Carthage (from Phoenician Qart-ḥadašt) was a Semitic civi-lization centred on the Phoenician city-state of Carthage, located in North Africa on the Gulf of Tunis, outside what is now Tunis, Tunisia. It was founded in 814 BC. Originally a dependency of the Phoenician state of Tyre, Carthage gained independence around 650 BC and es-tablished a hegemony over other Phoenician settlements throughout the Mediterranean, North Africa and what is now Spain which lasted until 146 BC. At the height of the city’s prominence, its political influ-ence extended over most of the western Mediterranean and it was one of the major trade hubs.

For much of its history, Carthage was in a constant state of strug-gle with the Greeks on Sicily and the Roman Republic, which led to a series of armed conflicts known as the Greek-Punic Wars and Punic Wars. They also had to deal with the volatile Berbers, the indigenous inhabitants of the entire area where Carthage was built. After the third and final Punic War, Carthage was destroyed and then occupied by Ro-man forces. Nearly all of the other Phoenician city-states and former Carthaginian dependencies fell into Roman hands from then on.

Carthage is today a suburb of Tunis, Tunisia, with a population of 20,715 (2004 census), and was the centre of the Carthaginian Empire in antiquity. The city has existed for nearly 3,000 years, developing from a Phoenician colony of the 1st millennium BC into the capital of an ancient empire.

Carthage was built on a promontory with inlets to the sea to the north and south. The city’s location made it master of the Mediterranean’s maritime trade. All ships crossing the sea had to pass between Sicily and the coast of Tunisia, where Carthage was built, affording it great power and influence.

“A rat can last longer without water than a camel, so can half an empty glass”


The first civilization that developed within the city’s sphere of influence is referred to as Punic (a form of the word “Phoenician”) or Carthag-inian. The city of Carthage is located on the eastern side of Lake Tu-nis across from the centre of Tunis. According to Greek historians it was founded by Canaanite-speaking Phoenician colonists from Tyre (in modern Lebanon) under the leadership of Elissa who was renamed (Queen Dido) in Virgil’s Aeneid. It became a large and rich city and thus a major power in the Mediterranean. The resulting rivalry with Syracuse, Numidia, and Rome was accompanied by several wars with respective invasions of each other’s homeland.

Hannibal’s invasion of Italy in the Second Punic War culminated in the Carthaginian victory at Cannae and led to a serious threat to the con-tinuation of Roman rule over Italy; however, Carthage emerged from the conflict weaker after Hannibal’s defeat at the Battle of Zama in 202 BC. Following the Third Punic War, the city was destroyed by the Romans in 146 BC. However, the Romans refounded Carthage, which became the Empire’s fourth most important city and the capital of the short-lived Vandal kingdom. It remained one of the most important Ro-man cities until the Muslim conquest when it was destroyed a second time in 698.




Two large, artificial harbours were built within the city, one for har-bouring the city’s massive navy of 220 warships and the other for mercantile trade. A walled tower overlooked both harbours.The city had massive walls, 23 miles (37 kilometres) in length, longer than the walls of comparable cities. Most of the walls were located on the shore and thus could be less impressive, as Carthaginian control of the sea made attack from that direction difficult. The 2.5 to 3 miles (4 to 4.8 kilometres) of wall on the isthmus to the west were truly large and, in fact, were never penetrated.

The city had a huge necropolis or burial ground, religious area, market places, council house, towers and a theatre and was divided into four equally sized residential areas with the same layout. Roughly in the middle of the city stood a high citadel called the Byrsa.

Carthage was one of the largest cities in Hellenistic times (by some estimates only Alexandria was larger) and was among the largest cit-ies in pre-industrial history.

The historical study of Carthage is problematic. Because its culture and records were destroyed by the Romans at the end of the Third Punic War, very few Carthaginian primary historical sources survive. While there are a few ancient translations of Punic texts into Greek and Latin, as well as inscriptions on monuments and buildings discov-ered in North Africa, the main sources are Greek and Roman histori-ans, including Livy, Polybius, Appian, Cornelius Nepos, Silius Italicus, Plutarch, Dio Cassius, and Herodotus. These writers belonged to peo-ples in competition, and often in conflict, with Carthage. Greek cities contested with Carthage for Sicily, and the Romans fought three wars against Carthage. Not surprisingly, their accounts of Carthage are extremely hostile; while there are a few Greek authors who took a favorable view, these works have been lost.

Layout of the city.


Foundation legends

According to Roman sources, Phoenician colonists from modern-day Lebanon, led by Queen Dido (Elissa) founded Carthage. Queen Elissa (also known as “Alissar”), was an exiled princess of the ancient Phoenician city of Tyre. At its peak, the metropolis she founded, Carthage, came to be called the “shining city,” ruling 300 other cities around the western Mediterranean and leading the Phoenician (or Punic) world.

Elissa’s brother, King Pygmalion of Tyre, had murdered her husband, the high priest. Elissa escaped the tyranny of her own country, founding the “new city” of Carthage and subsequently its later dominions. Details of her life are sketchy and confusing, but the following can be deduced from various sources. According to Justin, Princess Elis-sa was the daughter of King Matten of Tyre (also known asMuttoial or Belus II). When he died, the throne was jointly bequeathed to her and her brother, Pygmalion. She married her uncle Acherbas (also known as Sychaeus), the High Priest of Melqart, a man with both authority and wealth comparable to the king. This led to increased rivalry between religion and the monarchy. Pygmalion was a tyrant, lover of both gold and intrigue, who desired the authority and fortune enjoyed by Acherbas. Pygmalion assassinated Acherbas in the temple and kept the misdeed concealed from his sister for a long time, deceiving her with lies about her husband’s death. At the same time, the people of Tyre called for a single sovereign, causing dissent within the royal family.

Ever heard of ' how the stars fall: the ballad of trooper 1648'? Probably not, as I've just made it up. It's the story of a star trooper, known only by his number, forced to join the empire by his violent alcoholic mother after his father lost his job in the pits when he was injured in rebel crossfire. He sends the majority of his pay check back to his parents every month and works all the overtime he can just to help them out. One day, during a routine patrol, word gets round that some dangerous droids are on the lose and need to be captured. For a moment he thinks he sees them in a tavern, and his heart races with the thought of promotion for his reward, but for some reason he cannot fathom he lets them go. His superiors find out and write him off as a traitor and have him shot at the second dawn the following day. So ends the

ballad of trooper 1648.


Red Lizard trainA Horror(ible) Story

No visit to Central Tunisia is complete without a visit to and ride on the famous lézard rouge (Red Lizard Train). Make your way 42 km (26 miles) south-west of Gafsa, to the foot of the Tell Atlas to Met-aloui, the centre of the country’s phosphate mining industry, buy your tickets from the town’s main train station and at 11am every day but Saturday, you can climb aboard and take your seat beside the widows of the quaint red carriages and set off on a exhilarating journey along the Seldja Gorge.

Built by the French at the end of the 19th century, the original purpose of the narrow gauge line was to transport the rich phosphate deposits, discovered in 1896 by amateur palaeontologist and French army veter-inary surgeon, Philippe Thomas, from Metaloui westwards to Redeyef. The Red Lizard itself was for many years used by the Bey of Tunis, to travel between Tunis and his summer palace at Hammam Lif, but in 1995 was refitted by the national railway company and set to work, which it still does today, transporting tourists in style.

Taking an enjoyable hour and a half, the return journey along the gorge takes you through some of Tunisia’s weirdest and most wonder-ful rock formations. As the track follows the path carved out by the Oued Seldja, the riverbed which is dry for most of the time, still has enough moisture to allow small pockets of lush greenery which serve to heighten the drama of the rocky landscape and make your adventure all the more remarkable.

The train overheats to a halt, steam vapour emits from natural pours, both mechanical and biological. There was a reason for all things; this is the story of a name. Several people sat in the silence of metallic expansion, the atoms tingled all around; perspiration and skin danced together. Daylight with a desert hue; light, shifting at the periphery of vision a mirage of water. As in all unexplained events whispers follow the silence, first amongst lovers and family, the strangers are the last to talk.


“What happened, where is the driver” was the first group announce-ment [usually from either the bravest or most annoying soul – interest-ingly first and last to die, I am yet to decide, let us see how their per-sonality develops]. A few hushed noises ricocheted around the cabin as fast as each eye would not make contact with another. “Someone check the front cabin” this thought although a good one was derided by all on the train even those that knew it was a good idea [but actions speak louder than words].

Here we meet James, our first hero, “Ill do it, its probably just some-thing on the tracks” he did not seem to convince himself but he was like all of them rapidly losing brain moisture. The sun does make think-ing difficult for creatures of 70% water.

James, an old gentleman full of the scars of a well lived life kissed, on the forehead, his travelling partner of 48 years [in life and love] and shuffled to the front of the train. [I know what you’re thinking but people this good and a hero none the less should not die this soon ;)]. He politely knocked on the cabin door “Hello, Bonjour!?” No answer... The door was locked from the other side and the only point of access was to exit the train at the side and walk around to the drivers’ cabin. The door unlatched with a thankful sigh of pressure and slightly less cooked air passed over James due to the train now acting as an oven under the flame of the suns full glare. He stepped out to the sound of his own flesh being torn from his body faster than he could panic. In an instant in silence what remained of James lay dead in the sand. [I lied]. His wife, all too wise and weary to shed a tear, rose from her seat and moved towards the door. As she arrived to say her goodbyes nothing remained, only red tinted sand. The remaining tourists just watched, barely breathing. The lady walked out to where her husband once rest-ed, took a 360 degree look around the terrain. Desert and wilderness expensed to the right of her vision, up ahead a trimming of dark red rocks and a train that no longer held any joy. She outlived her James by no more than a few seconds; just enough time to see some of the red rocks move and remove her eyes. Her heart stopped several minutes before she died as it already belonged to the lost, none of this senti-ment was lost, nor felt, by her rocky predator.


“Who is next?” squeaked the one with a dark sense of humour. After a minute of Christian judgment stares, he retorted, “Just Kidding, I’ll go and see where they got to”. [I kind of like this guy, even though I just invented him, its kind of a shame]. Michael had those eyes of a thou-sand lives, athletic with a love for food and an unknown source of wis-dom [even to himself]. Since the first pause he had sat and observed everything, every drip of sweat, every swirl of dust. Assuming that nature would not change he had a good picture of this new and natural environment, he knew rocks did not move [not that fast anyhow]. He had smiled at the romance of the recently deceased couple, intention-ally provoked the train to assess the reactions and psychology of the remaining three passengers on the train. Nothing left to chance, well perhaps the last 0.1% just to keep life interesting.

Assessment – during the joke the first person to spin round was either most offended or most caring; either scared for his own life to the point of objection at the mocking of death or genuinely altruistic either way it was highly likely this guy would be the next to die [unless he was related to the elderly couple, but he never gave them the correct amount of glances thus far on this journey and did not help them on the train. Perhaps he hates his parents? Either way he cares more about himself – assessment unlikely.

The second person to turn was his partner, stout like a skinny pickle, she turned to me to asses who I was, then a second glance to see how her partner was going to react. [She was perfect, no trouble at all]. – No further assessment required.

The third person did not react, interesting, this would require some dialogue...

“Hello” I said “ It’s was only a truthful situational joke, I don’t think they will mind”...

“Rebellion without truth is like spring in a bleak, arid desert. Khalil Gibran”


Still silence, hmmm. “Sir, are you ok?” [potential rival and a danger, but only in the fact that no facts can be ascertained]. Perhaps he was already dead, or deaf. I would need to take this further, walking across the hallway of the carriage, dismissing the wife/partner [it really doesn’t matter which] and taking an authoritative role of someone who might know what they are doing “Don’t worry sir this happens all the time we have it under control, I will shortly be investigating the situa-tion”.

However preposterous I had already figured out the situation, there is no point crying over the dead, nor screaming monster. Something tore the old couple to dust and nothing currently suggested that it would not happen to anyone else the second we left the train. For arguments sake Ill call the beast the Red Lizard, it might ironically be true, but again it is irrelevant information. It had not attacked the train nor any-one while inside the train – facts [at least facts thus far in time]. In this climate, in this makeshift oven on rails, we would last no more than a day without water. Plus, I wanted to explore the newly discovered crea-ture intent on pursuing its own nature [which currently involved killing its human prey quickly]. Not a bad way to go... See you distracted me, that third person could be plotting against me.

I sat opposite my, as yet, unfocused rival... Leathery like a Bedouin, wise from a thousand cigars, cracked veins from the dirtiest whisky this rival was most certainly desiccated. The remaining couple did not know this fact so I proceeded to continue my conversation, part for fun and to some end of advantage. “So you say you know why we are be-ing attacked you say?” “What?” I leaned in closer to rifle through his pockets. This man had been dead before we had all boarded, I had as-sumed he was a quiet sleeper. “HAHAHAHAHAHA” I bellowed, “Don’t be a fool old man” and with that took his head clean off with a well-po-sitioned punch to the nose. Like a weak leather boxing-bag he tore and went flying across the cabin towards the couple. Before they had time to screech I had shouted “Heads-up!”... And run outside the train...


“Who in gods hell was that!” proclaimed the remaining man. His part-ner was in tears, but he remained relatively calm. The last survivor’s syndrome had given him some courage, as there was no one left to deal with the problem. [This time always truly separated the heroes from the fodder]. “Don’t worry dear, we will be rescued”. As these words were spoken the red lizard blurred across the windows of the train and I let out my last cry “Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.....” The train shook and the driver’s door inched open by the same amount.

A slither of light came from the cabin, this was the perfect opportunity to be brave with little cost thought the last man [Lets call him someone I don’t like as we all know he doesn’t have long to live]. William left his wife with a replicating but far emptier kiss on the forehead. “Ill be back soon” [lol’]. Will’ peered through the gap in the door; all looked fine so he swung it open while jumping back in defence of an almost empty cabin. The cabin was almost empty, under the drivers seat neat-ly tucked into the legroom was the driver. “Ce n’etait pas ma faute! Ils m’ont fait faire!” she shouted. A reflective rail badge spelled out her name “Durrant”, she lay shaking a once white shirt was wrapped in a one piece denim dungaree outfit, with a cap too small for most folk perched on top of a coal darkened dust smeared face. None of this was relevant just descriptive.

Blue eyes and tiny, she crept from under the seat. Will was slightly lost in her blond hair, he understood enough French to make out that she was forced to do something, to bring them there? Perhaps, he would try to find this out later. Well, he would have had the driver not kicked him out the side door of the train. The moment passed quickly, so I will describe it slowly; as he hit the ground and exhaled his penultimate burnt breath the corner of his eye saw his last rays of light. The red liz-ard waited in slight rocky shadow for movement, and scurried through the air surfing the sand. Poisons in the teeth delivered the first blow piercing the lungs and heart simultaneously as claws removed limbs. The last breath rolled along the desert in the settling dust cloud as the demon vanished again.


Neither remaining women screamed, for one had lost all and the other was not finished. Durrant walked over to the shaking women and de-manded “Get up, you must leave the train. It all safe now, your partner is waiting for you”... She knew this was not true... But she was a woman of god and stood, herded like sheep to the door the driver had almost completed her task. Just one more push...

“Move, he is waiting!” Just as she was at the resting place of all those who came before the woman turned and bit into the driver, her eyes were still with apathy. But no fear, no hope, only revenge is a powerful stimulant. From my vantage point under the train, I saw two women burst in an endless embrace to the red floor. Of course, endless was a stretching metaphor and in reality was barely longer than death itself. I had seen enough now and climbed briskly back onto the train.

I could drive this thing, but what good would that do anyone; I knew how to end this after all observations had gone predictably to plan. It was almost a boring game, but on to the red lizard while I cared enough to get the job done.

A minute later, I stood 2 meters away from the train, the lizard came at me from precisely where it should. I barely skipped a heartbeat and did not hold my breath; all it would take was the correct angle of bite on the gas canister that was on the train. I even had time to smile as the lizard approached. It was just a predator, it could not sensed its impending doom anymore than I sensed my own. Fortunately for me it was a good death, the first and last time I would experience something new. As the blood drained from my severed neck, I never forgot to smile nor breathe, I even thanked the lizard. The gas canister stared at me for the last time safe and still on the train; as long as someone writes the story I’m finally free to stop thinking...

“Life is the desert, life the solitude, death joins us to the great majority. – Edward Young”


The Jewel of the MediterraneanA crystal resonates just like a stone they just sing a different song. I am in-terested in the songs of all things, moments, memories, people, animals and the universe. This, I recently discovered, works both ways, music can create new memories, moments; beyond the natural attachments we associate to a song [No wedding songs please, there is a reason Schrödinger invented a box and that was to think outside it and kill a cat].

Before sand shattered Before the oceans dried up

The sun watched in heat

Life is music, every movement a new note to my eyes and ears, I am all that I am because I can hear its tune and rewrite its notes. I once performed a ballet during the creation of butternut squash risotto, with crushed pine nuts, parmesan, wine, stock, stuffed into a roasted pepper and topped with freshly prepared rocket pesto. This is a dance with a tasty ending; I am a practiced artist, taste, smells, aroma of the mix. All for a small audience of the special few...

Now the scary part, people; my closest friends and departed loves are the peo-ple I do not fully understand. To fascinate and inspire is what they do, I love this about them [a reflection of me in smoke and mirrors]. I can read most people like a book but these are passing notes in my life; I now intend for life to be an explosive-creative energy on a path gather and blend with all beautiful energies around. Imagine that song! I intend not to write about this life, rather just live it [and if i ever get old and more/less senile then Ill attempt to write] New Splicer is just a guide to this quantum music resonating within us all.

So if you a crying! OMG I think the same, get in contact come join the ride. Perhaps, these insane little stories amuse [also wonderful]; if you have your own stories or thoughts on this very odd life we lead join us here at New Splicer, you are not alone. But you knew this...

Tunisia sunMediterranean Jewel

Both now have a home


I am listening to Torche, location Pret – Canary Wharf, window view current function, writing and observation [people watching]. What do I see:

1. Bald man, mid 70s, moustache and glasses, evening standard rain coat [thin] this is what I see – his song – No smile, but he rarely smiles, con-tent with his situation a small family who visit just about enough he likes the solitude. Happy in his world, Raincoat backs this statement up, not a follower of fashion and will tell you this. Likes to travel, Costa del sol. Now the big guesses, brisk pace heading towards the DLR [most likely direct interchange from the Jubilee line, via one shop stop off. Not a local or regular to Canary Wharf [like myself]. The solitude of a person always makes analysis tricky, if only I could have spoke to him just once. A minute is usually enough for a life’s story. [Now this is highly important, I must stress that this is all unfor-tunately too accurate and has been proven by myself on countless times (too accurate as I sometimes wish everyone was a unknown canvas to me). I am just using strangers, as they are most readily available. If you can also do this PLEASE contact me and let’s take over the world or at least write a New Splicer together].

2. Women, Samsung GS3 on speaker speaking, white coat, expensive bag, plus gap shopping, slightly athletic build, blonde dye black hair pulled back into bunch, black shoes, black stockings. I see, fashion as ubiquitous as air yet she attempts to be fashionable but this is likely to be work biased. Has money but worked for it, has a partner but works for it. Does not enjoy her job but likes the money it provides, and the freedom of status. She is mid status in her world, unlikely to climb much higher than regular progression, but she will try and fight for it. What makes her smile, unfortunately only the things that do not make her truly happy [and they are lost to time already], fame fortune, being a mum eventually [but almost irrespective of the dad – ohhh harsh, slap thyself*]. God she is boring and I haven’t even said hi, no point, as she shouts at the phone, I cant hear as Im listening to Unida “Plastic” Excerpt for mood - “your gone, with all that pain I said your gone! With all that fucking pain I said your gone.. Yeahhhhh, yours to get used to. Then yours to get used to, yours to get used to to get used to... “ Quite fitting, I smile to myself... Well to the world...

“What makes the desert beautiful is that somewhere it hides a well. Antonie de Saint-Exupery”


3. Artists or designer possibly hairdresser, male early 20s, wearing a pork pie hat [*shivers]. Knitted cardigan [For f*$k sake], skinny beige cor-duroy trousers, wine red skinny shirt with fashion hole around top of chest. Ok this one is perfect! To prove that even in the arts [and science too!] that creative does not mean creative! How in Sam hell do they not realise they look and dress like a million other unique creative people out there. Ok so ZERO creativity points. He is a nice guy, pleasant in company and fairly knowledge-able [about yogurt and the plight of Syria but will never help either in any valuable way], has been on protests because that is what he is supposed to do. Most likely a vegetarian [pasty skin, skinny and good guesswork]. Thinks of himself as unique, smiles at those who “Follow fashion”. [Every item of cloth-ing that you buy in a store is mass produced, they only true way to be creative is by dressing in whatever you like and not caring about it. Or make your own clothes, ask any artist friend of yours and they will have done this, most likely a charity store purchase with additional embroidery [clearly not unique either but if you don’t care who cares! Its all about intent, knowledge of what you do and why. This individual [in the loosest sense] dresses like this to feel differ-ent, and stand out from his collection of all unique friends [They all think each other is less unique than themselves]. RANT over, I could and perhaps should write an issue on the “Hipster”... This is not true for all artists...

I add that these people are selections of the population, not because they are particularly more simple to decipher but even more unfortunately they repre-sent the most interesting thus far [too many people can be analysed with a single look, sort it out en masse]. As for myself, I know who I am and why I do things and at least in my mind that makes it ok...

I’m looking for people who have eyes for the world, the Jewels of the universe. Feel free and scared to apply... I mean what do I really know anyway...


The Phoenicians...

-ician

(Greek: a suffix; meaning, specialist in, practitioner of)


Meowing Soon...

This time next month (hopefully), you will all be purring with de-light... Yes my friends, I have been begged, bribed and forced at gun point to bring you the New Splicer CAT issue!!!

Not a single Dog will feature, this will be awfully cute, sickeningly furry and in theory lots of fun!

Send in your cat tales, fluffy poems and silly pics...

After all these cats are supposed to run the internet and be gods of some description. Find out all and much more in the next issue...

New Splicer


~NEW SPLICER~Volume 3.7September 2012

In this issue

Topic of the month: Bastet the first LOL cat...

CatnipWhen Cats rule the world...

Meow MeowIron Like A Lion In Zion...

The Selfless Cat... and much more!Don’t forget to Meow Don’t forget to Purr


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Documents

New Splicer Volume 3.6 Tunisia Tourist Board