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Be careful what you wish for, liberal Puritans! Remember when you ganged up on the guy who committed the horrible sin of printing gory war pictures without saying the Daily Kos magic words, i.e., how horrible war is and how terrible the Bush administration is?

You recall Chris Wilson, I'm sure. He's the one who ran the amateur porn site that gave free memberships to deployed soldiers. To prove that they were deployed they had to send a picture of themselves in the field. About 15% of the pics were extremely gory; Wilson printed all the pics, gory and otherwise. But the liberal blogosphere, led by John Aravosis at Americablog, spread the lie that Wilson was running a "gore for porn" site.

That turned into a 10-day crusade against the military for tolerating "gore for porn," which then caused Wilson to be thrown in jail. The ACLU played hands-off for a few months until they were finally shamed into joining the case. The ultimate resolution would please freedom-haters -- including those at Daily Kos -- everywhere.

Wilson pleaded guilty to a misdemeanor and agreed to shut down his website. The liberal blogosphere achieved its goal, which is a partnership with the Bush administration in service of sanitizing the reality of the Iraq War. Congratulations, children! You helped extinguish free speech in America. Proud of yourselves, are you?

And guess what? It's not going to stop there. Now that we know the liberal blogosphere hates porn the way it does -- along with second-hand smoke, no doubt -- the Bush administration has issued subpoenas to all of the search engine operators to forcce them to provide information that will help the federal government argue for the segregation of porn into an Internet ghetto all its own.

Of course, you know what comes after being roped off into a ghetto, don't you?

It's shake-'n-bake, "liberals," and you helped. See, when you hate one person's freedom you hate every person's freedom. Now you're up against the federal government and its efforts to protect children. Hey, if you wanted to shut down a web site in Florida to protect everyone from seeing war pictures without your preferred political disclaimers, what's to stop the federal government from protecting children?

Notice how The Washington Post is involved? The "seamier side" of the Internet. News flash! It's shake-'n-bake, children, and you helped. You signed onto the censorship agenda. Be careful what you wish for.

One last thing: My handle cwilson, has no relationship whatsoever with the Chris Wilson who started that site. I live in Seattle. I haven't been to Florida for years, and my name's not Wilson. My handle is a pseudonym, and the similarity is entirely coincidental. I realize this won't stop a bunch of you from lying about it, but I thought I'd say it anyway. Someone ought to tell the truth here. Addendum: I read through the comments and am greatly amused to see the very same sorts of insults directed at me as I have had when posting on rightwingnut "milblogs" about the Liar-in-Chief and his war. The echosphere is the echosphere! More on the comments: Something calling itself tlh lib puked: "Oh and when I saw he'd 1-rated every comment in the diary I too gave a 4 to every comment here." A couple responses. First off, I don't give a flyin' fuck what your ratings are. Rate people a "12" if you want. Hell, if "0" and "1" ratings didn't get comments censored from this board in true liberal style, I'd respond comment by comment myself. Secondly, you're either an idiot or a liar, because I actually picked through the comments and didn't rate five of them. doorguy cited a prior posting of his and commented that he didn't get flamed. I should note that his was one of the comments here that I left unrated. Beyond that, I will also note that several of the people who commented in doorguy's thread lied about the "gore-for-porn" angle, which was never true. doorguy never called them on the lie, which leads me to think he should change his handle to "doormat."

Originally posted to cwilson on Sat Jan 21, 2006 at 01:25 AM PST.

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Comment Preferences

  •  Ya know, I remember a dKos Puritan (4.00)
    who diaried this back as it was breaking, I don't recall the same nasty comments you do. What'd I miss?

    (none / 0), (none / 0), it's off to Kos we go, with a...

    by doorguy on Sat Jan 21, 2006 at 01:30:56 AM PST

    •  What you missed apparently (3.66)

      FILIBUSTER RADICAL ScALITO NOW- Demand a Mainstream nominee who will LET the Constitution protect ALL Americans.

      by tlh lib on Sat Jan 21, 2006 at 01:48:20 AM PST

      [ Parent ]

      •  Hey, here's a good opportunity... (3.62)
        ... to ask folks for recipes.

        I want to make something involving lamb sausage and pasta, but can't find any really tasty recipes.

        Anyone have any ideas?

        Political analysis, comfortable chairs, and free coffee, all at The Next Hurrah.

        by Page van der Linden on Sat Jan 21, 2006 at 02:00:19 AM PST

        [ Parent ]

        •  Ever made an omelette with fresh cilantro (3.40)
          and cheddar inside? The sour taste of the cilantro and the salty taste of the cheddar, wowie.

          (none / 0), (none / 0), it's off to Kos we go, with a...

          by doorguy on Sat Jan 21, 2006 at 02:02:48 AM PST

          [ Parent ]

        •  Man you recipie fiends lol (3.50)
          As a single guy who loves cooking yet hates cooking for one and subsequently rarely ever does (too much always gets thrown out eventually as I'm obviously an idiot in cooking for one).....can somebody translate these recipies into a "cooking for one" version .....a diary on this would be the shit too:

          DailyKos Troll Recipie Book:  Cooking for One Version

          I plan on buying the actual book to support yearlykos when i have a few spare dollars next but sadly i'm not snarking on this one.   I suck at figuring out how to cook for just one while hating it since I love cooking as long as there are enough to spread the good food around to.

          Yes yes roll your eyes....I know I know....but sadly I'm speaking the truth.

          FILIBUSTER RADICAL ScALITO NOW- Demand a Mainstream nominee who will LET the Constitution protect ALL Americans.

          by tlh lib on Sat Jan 21, 2006 at 02:07:29 AM PST

          [ Parent ]

          •  Cooking for one (3.57)
            Yeah, I hated doing that too.  I lived in the same city as my mom and dad, so I'd just go over there and freeload, lol.

            I bought the troll recipe book.  It's awesome.  There are some fantastic recipes in there, so it's definitely worth it.

            Political analysis, comfortable chairs, and free coffee, all at The Next Hurrah.

            by Page van der Linden on Sat Jan 21, 2006 at 02:12:12 AM PST

            [ Parent ]

          •  That is.. (3.57)
            ..fucking brilliant. What an awesome fundraiser! I'll compile 'em into something pretty if someone wants to do the footwork...
          •  Cooking for one is fun (3.57)
            Every female I know who has cooked for a family has tired of it.  Cooking for one is great because you can buy expensive ingredients, experiment away, and eat leftovers without any complaints.

            But cooking for one requires 1) enjoying it and 2) strategies.  

            Strategy One is Quick Cooking - i.e. small chops, omelets, pasta with chicken cutlets, that kind of thing.  A tiny loin lamb chop that is much too expensive for a family will give you an exquisite meal in 10 minutes.

            Strategy Two is Leftovers.  You make a lot of something, then you can go in two directions, freezing it (and PLAN it into your future) or eating it on successive nights (and days - I make a pot of soup on the weekends and take it to work).  And you count your blessings that you have leftovers instead of having to listen to complaints about eating the same thing again.

            Strategy Three is Planning.  This is what I aspire to, but have not yet achieved.  Almost every night you do something towards a future meal - chop the vegetables for the next night, mix dough for cookies, make a salad dressing.  Then you keep things revolving through the week.

            Remember:  cooking for one is more fun.  I can't imagine anything more a drag than cooking for a bunch of complaining, critical kids.

            My Liberal Values: a clean earth, universal access to health care, human and civil rights, a broader distribution of wealth, and a global perspective

            by Pellice on Sat Jan 21, 2006 at 03:18:10 AM PST

            [ Parent ]

            •  complaining critical kids? (3.57)
              Ye Gods and Goddesses!

              I've got preschoolers whose only virtue is that they are like Jack Sprat and his wife.  One doesn't eat cheese, one doesn't eat lunch meat.  One devours fruit, one eats only raisins and bananas.  And cooking a proper meal with meat and vegetables?  I cook for myself and hope I can get them to eat more than one thing on their plate.  

              My SAHD friend has two boys older than mine.  He's teaching them how to cook.  That's a solution!

              We must never lose it, or sell it, or give it away. We must never let them take it from us.

              by Fabian on Sat Jan 21, 2006 at 04:14:50 AM PST

              [ Parent ]

            •  eh agree with all you say (3.57)
              but one thing you're missing is the money factor...your version of cooking for one has no regard for money.  ;-)

              But cooking for one requires 1) enjoying it and 2) strategies.  

              3) either having no concern for money and going by your strategy or being poor and reverting back to my initial post.


              FILIBUSTER RADICAL ScALITO NOW- Demand a Mainstream nominee who will LET the Constitution protect ALL Americans.

              by tlh lib on Sat Jan 21, 2006 at 04:56:27 AM PST

              [ Parent ]

              •  I learned to cook while poor (3.62)
                Cooking for one can be expensive, but it's usually not.  I saved money for my down payment via cooking.  I had a roomate, and we both got jobs about the same time.  I almost never went out to eat, brown bagged my lunch almost every day, and ate a lot of split pea soup!  (Which I still do).  I figured, conservatively, that I spent $20 less per week on food than she did.  At the end of six years, I had a down payment.

                Even now, buying organic a lot, buying whatever ingredients I want, I spend less than $30/week on food, and as I get better at cooking and planning, the cost is going down.  Right now I'm eating some pancakes I made from scratch and then froze - very cheap!

                But, I know, it takes some initial investing, and cooking is generally expensive in terms of time.  Good luck

                My Liberal Values: a clean earth, universal access to health care, human and civil rights, a broader distribution of wealth, and a global perspective

                by Pellice on Sat Jan 21, 2006 at 05:46:13 AM PST

                [ Parent ]

                •  Well apparently (3.40)
                  I have a lot to learn indeed.   Sometimes, like right now, I wish osmosis was a workable way of learning on DailyKos.  :p

                  Thanks for the response.

                  FILIBUSTER RADICAL ScALITO NOW- Demand a Mainstream nominee who will LET the Constitution protect ALL Americans.

                  by tlh lib on Sat Jan 21, 2006 at 11:39:23 PM PST

                  [ Parent ]

            •  Heh (3.57)
              Couldnt agree more except for my inability to connect my budget with all of it while funneling it through your point #2, leftovers.

              Don't get me wrong...I was being sarcastic to a small degree....I cook a good bit....I just suck at cooking for one and end up throwing more food out than I should be, to say the least.

              I cook but I wish I were better at conserving from the get go or at any stage so that the food lasts longer.   Dunno if I just have no clue about cutting recipies into the right portions or I'm jus hopelessly cooking too much (probably more the latter) but I know I'm a fool with food and wasting it.

              I'm used to just cooking for pleasure and taste when the food is there.   I guess I need some self discpline to match the budget.....probably that more than anything really.

              don't mind me....just talking out loud :p

              FILIBUSTER RADICAL ScALITO NOW- Demand a Mainstream nominee who will LET the Constitution protect ALL Americans.

              by tlh lib on Sat Jan 21, 2006 at 05:43:15 AM PST

              [ Parent ]

        •  Re: lamb sausage thing.. (3.50)
          Hm. Try raviolli in an basil alfredo sauce; stuff the raviolli with a mixture of lamb sausage, cilantro, and maybe something crunchy like yellow bell peppers, and maybe some diced olives. Top it with goat or parmesean cheese.
          •  That sounds fantastic (3.57)
            It's perfect.  I don't have a pasta maker, though.  

            Political analysis, comfortable chairs, and free coffee, all at The Next Hurrah.

            by Page van der Linden on Sat Jan 21, 2006 at 02:34:08 AM PST

            [ Parent ]

            •  Homemade pasta is fun and easy! (3.70)
              I present you with my homemade pasta recipie, from memory!

              • 1 egg, slightly beaten
              • 1/2 tsp salt
              • 1 cup all-purpose flour
              • 2 tbsp water
              1. Sift together flour and salt.
              2. Add the beaten egg and mix until dough is stiff -- add water as required.
              3. Knead on a floured surface for about 5 minutes, until well-mixed.
              4. (here's the trick): Get two thick rubber bands and put them around the ends of your rolling pin, and roll it out, using a knife to cut it to the desired shape (squares for raviolli)
              Remember, when you cook fresh pasta, it takes about half the time, if not less, than the dry packaged stuff, so don't walk away.
            •  cwilson (3.25)
              I don't have a pasta maker, either.  

              I do have candy kitchen appliances, but none are necessary for this.

              Extra-Nutty Nut Brittle

              2 cups sugar
              1 cup light corn syrup
              1 cup water
              3 cup unsalted dry roasted mixed nuts
              2 tablespoons butter or margarine
              2 teaspoons vanilla
              2 teaspoons baking soda

              Mix sugar, syrup and water in a large heavy saucepan. Cover and heat to boiling. Uncover and cook rapidly to 236° F. on candy thermometer (soft ball stage). Stir in nuts slowly, keeping mixture bubbling.

              Cook rapidly, stirring constantly, to 280 F. (hard ball stage). Stir in butter continue cooking to 300° F. (a teaspoon of syrup dropped in cold water will separate into hard and brittle threads). Remove from heat. Stir in vanilla: sprinkle soda over top quickly, then stir vigorously about 15 seconds or until mixture is puffy. Pour at once into greased baking pan (15x10x1").

              Cool completely. Break into bite size pieces.

        •  Lamb on the shell (3.62)
          PP - the only things I'm aware of are recipes involving those huge shells or manicotti that you would stuff.  The Ground Lamb is seasoned as if you were making meatballs or loaf.  Alfredo-type sauce served over it.
        •  Shouldn't be too hard (3.62)
          I'll make one up:

          1.  Boil 3 liters (goin' metric since you're in The Netherlands) of water, salted to taste.

          2.  If the sausage is in links, cut into coins about 1-cm long.  Count on about 150 g per person.  Set aside.

          3.  When water is  boiling, plunge three small (Roma) tomatoes briefly into water.  Withdraw and peel under cold running water.  Seed and chop coarsely. Set aside.  

          4.  Coarsely chop 3 to 4 cloves of garlic.

          5.  Coarsly chop a small handful of fresh basil.  Put in small bowl, and then coarsely chop a bunch of spinach (stems removed) - put in separate bowl from basil.

          6.  Crumble feta cheese into coarse crumbles, about 0.25 metric cup per person

          7.  Cook sausage coins in a small amount of olive oil over medium heat until done.  Remove from pan and keep warm.  

          8.  Put penne or other short pasta into boiling water.  If using dry pasta, assume about 75 g per person.

          9.  Pour all but about 1 Tablespoon (15 mL) of oil from the pan in which you cooked the sausage.  Over low heat, cook garlic until fragrant.  Add tomatoes and cook until a sauce starts to form.  Increase heat and add spinach.  It will cook down quickly.  If the mixture seems too dry, spoon a little (a few spoonfuls) of the pasta water into the pan or add some dry red wine you may have around.

          10. Return cooked sausage to pan, along with any drippings, and toss over low heat until sausage is warm.  Keep warm.

          11.  When pasta is done, drain and combine with the sausage mixture in the larger of the two pans you've used so far.  Add feta and basil.  Toss. If you like, add a little olive oil or butter.  You may want to return it to a low heat and continue tossing lightly if there isn't enough residual heat to start to melt the feta.

          I like things spicy, so I'd probably add crushed red pepper flakes to taste at this point.  

          For a nicer presentation (and if you have any handy) mince either fresh mint or flat-leaf parsley and sprinkle over the pasta on the plates.

          If you use enough feta, pasta, and sausage, this is probably enough for two to three people. If you're cooking more, increase the garlic, spinach, tomatoes, and basil as desired.

      •  OMG (3.25)
        'nuff said.  thanks for the heads up, tlh. :)
    •  What you might also take note of (3.50)
      is the fact that CWilson refuses to post comments anymore.   He simply posts bullshit GOP Talking Points diaries disguised as a Democrat (and poorly disguised, to say the least).  

      CWilson is a GOP troll and has been one for a good while here.   He just doesnt post comments anymore because he's a smart troll and realizes that if he does then Scoop will auto ban him with the zeroes he'll get.

      Best ignored (until he has the cajones to post another comment ;-) ).    

      FILIBUSTER RADICAL ScALITO NOW- Demand a Mainstream nominee who will LET the Constitution protect ALL Americans.

      by tlh lib on Sat Jan 21, 2006 at 01:53:00 AM PST

      [ Parent ]

  •  Colin wilson? (4.00)
    You know, The Outsider?
  •  What is it like... (3.57)
    ...going through life as a prick? Must be difficult. Go the fuck away.
  •  You're a fool cwilson (3.72)
    The trouble ain't that there is too many fools, but that the lightning ain't distributed right.
    -- Mark Twain
  •   boring (3.62)

    "i was always dreaming of very powerful people, dictators and things like that." -- arnold schwarzenegger in "pumping iron"

    by hoodoo meat bucket on Sat Jan 21, 2006 at 02:19:09 AM PST

  •  Get a grip, mate (3.57)
    Prefferably not on yourself in public, and not on anyone like-minded.  You need to seriously chill-out, IMHO.

    It is difficult to get the right answers if you don't ask the right questions!

    by wgard on Sat Jan 21, 2006 at 03:38:53 AM PST

  •  Trollcakes (3.62)
    You know, the reason I post this recipe is that it's almost impossible to screw up.

    Things you need from the store-

    • Buttermilk instant pancake mix, any brand will do they're all the same.
    • Cooking Spray (hey, that's what Pam calls it).

    Things you should have at home-
    • A griddle or large frying pan.
    • A bowl.
    • Water.
    • A potato (not potatoe) masher of the W type.
    • A ladle.
    • A spatula.

    Heat your griddle or frying pan.  Lubricate with cooking spray.  Put half (did you hear that?  half!) as much pancake mix in the bowl as you think you will want to eat.  Add water and mix with masher until you have a thick, lumpy paste (don't add too much water or mix too much).  Ladle it onto your griddle or pan and cook until the top side is set (dry, bubbles don't break).  Flip with spatula.  The second side takes about 1/3 as long as the first.

    Throw away your first batch, they always suck.

  •  posted at 0425 (3.62)
    must've been a long, hard night of drinkin'.

    Drag out the klezmer and start acting like a man, 'cause you are about to get a truthmitzvah!

    by calipygian on Sat Jan 21, 2006 at 04:50:57 AM PST

  •  Marinara Sauce (3.62)
    Marinara Sauce

    If fresh tomatoes aren't available, you can substitute a 28-ounce can of whole tomatoes, undrained and chopped, plus a 28-ounce can of diced tomatoes, undrained, instead. To balance the flavor and thicken the sauce, add 3 tablespoons of tomato paste and 1 teaspoon of sugar to the canned tomatoes.

    1  tablespoon olive oil
    1 1/2  tablespoons minced garlic
    6  pounds coarsely chopped peeled tomato (about 6 cups)
    3/4  teaspoon salt
    1/2  teaspoon black pepper
    1/4  cup chopped fresh basil
    1/4  cup chopped fresh parsley
    8  cups hot cooked spaghetti (about 1 pound uncooked pasta)

    Heat oil in a large saucepan over medium heat. Add garlic; cook 2 minutes, stirring frequently. Add tomato, salt, and pepper; bring to a boil. Reduce heat; simmer 25 minutes, stirring occasionally. Stir in basil and parsley, and cook 1 minute. Serve over pasta.

    Yield: 6 servings (serving size: 1 cup sauce and 1 1/3 cups pasta)

    CALORIES 384(12% from fat); FAT 5.1g (sat 0.7g,mono 2g,poly 1.3g); PROTEIN 13.1g; CHOLESTEROL 0.0mg; CALCIUM 48mg; SODIUM 338mg; FIBER 8.4g; IRON 5mg; CARBOHYDRATE 75.1g

    Pennacchio for Pennsylvania

    by PAprogressive on Sat Jan 21, 2006 at 06:47:26 AM PST

  •  aoeu (3.66)
    Fyodor Dostoevsky (1821-1881).  Crime and Punishment.
    The Harvard Classics Shelf of Fiction.  1917.

    Part I
    Chapter VI

    LATER on, Raskolnikov happened to find out why the huckster and his wife had invited Lizaveta. It was a very ordinary matter and there was nothing exceptional about it. A family who had come to the town and been reduced to poverty were selling their household goods and clothes, all women's things. As the things would have fetched little in the market, they were looking for a dealer. This was Lizaveta's business. She undertook such jobs and was frequently employed, as she was very honest and always fixed a fair price and stuck to it. She spoke as a rule little and, as we have said already, she was very submissive and timid.       1
      But Raskolnikov had become superstitious of late. The traces of superstition remained in him long after, and were almost ineradicable. And in all this he was always afterwards disposed to see something strange and mysterious, as it were the presence of some peculiar influences and coincidences. In the previous winter a student he knew called Pokorev, who had left for Harkov, had chanced in conversation to give him the address of Alyona Ivanovna, the old pawnbroker, in case he might want to pawn anything. For a long while he did not go to her, for he had lessons and managed to get along somehow. Six weeks ago he had remembered the address; he had two articles that could be pawned: his father's old silver watch and a little gold ring with three red stones, a present from his sister at parting. He decided to take the ring. When he found the old woman he had felt an insurmountable repulsion for her at the first glance, though he knew nothing special about her. He got two roubles from her and went into a miserable little tavern on his way home. He asked for tea, sat down and sank into deep thought. A strange idea was pecking at his brain like a chicken in the egg, and very, very much absorbed him.       2
      Almost beside him at the next table there was sitting a student, whom he did not know and had never seen, and with him a young officer. They had played a game of billiards and began drinking tea. All at once he heard the student mention to the officer the pawnbroker Alyona Ivanovna and give him her address. This of itself seemed strange to Raskolnikov; he had just come from her and here at once heard her name. Of course it was a chance, but he could not shake off a very extraordinary impression, and here some one seemed to be speaking expressly for him; the student began telling his friend various details about Alyona Ivanovna.       3
      "She is first rate," he said. "You can always get money from her. She is as rich as a Jew, she can give you five thousand roubles at a time and she is not above taking a pledge for a rouble. Lots of our fellows have had dealings with her. But she is an awful old harpy...."       4
      And he began describing how spiteful and uncertain she was, how if you were only a day late with your interest the pledge was lost; how she gave a quarter of the value of an article and took five and even seven per cent. a month on it and so on. The student chattered on, saying that she had a sister Lizaveta, whom the wretched little creature was continually beating, and kept in complete bondage like a small child, though Lizaveta was at least six feet high.       5
      "There's a phenomenon for you," cried the student and he laughed.       6
      They began talking about Lizaveta. The student spoke about her with a peculiar relish and was continually laughing and the officer listened with great interest and asked him to send Lizaveta to do some mending for him. Raskolnikov did not miss a word and learned everything about her. Lizaveta was younger than the old woman and was her half-sister, being the child of a different mother. She was thirty-five. She worked day and night for her sister, and besides doing the cooking and the washing, she did sewing and worked as a charwoman and gave her sister all she earned. She did not dare to accept an order or job of any kind without her sister's permission. The old woman had already made her will, and Lizaveta knew of it, and by this will she would not get a farthing; nothing but the movables, chairs and so on; all the money was left to a monastery in the province of N--, that prayers might be said for her in perpetuity. Lizaveta was of lower rank than her sister, unmarried and awfully uncouth in appearance, remarkably tall with long feet that looked as if they were bent outwards. She always wore battered goatskin shoes, and was clean in her person. What the student expressed most surprise and amusement about was the fact that Lizaveta was continually with child.       7
      "But you say she is hideous?" observed the officer.       8
      "Yes, she is so dark-skinned and looks like a soldier dressed up, but you know she is not at all hideous. She has such a good-natured face and eyes. Strikingly so. And the proof of it is that lots of people are attracted by her. She is such a soft, gentle creature, ready to put up with anything, always willing, willing to do anything. And her smile is really very sweet."       9
      "You seem to find her attractive yourself," laughed the officer.      10
      "From her queerness. No, I'll tell you what. I could kill that damned old woman and make off with her money, I assure you, without the faintest conscience-prick," the student added with warmth. The officer laughed again while Raskolnikov shuddered. How strange it was!      11
      "Listen, I want to ask you a serious question," the student said hotly. "I was joking of course, but look here; on one side we have a stupid, senseless, worthless, spiteful, ailing, horrid old woman, not simply useless but doing actual mischief, who has not an idea what she is living for herself, and who will die in a day or two in any case. You understand? You understand?"      12
      "Yes, yes, I understand," answered the officer, watching his excited companion attentively.      13
      `Well, listen then. On the other side, fresh young lives thrown away for want of help and by thousands, on every side! A hundred thousand good deeds could be done and helped, on that old woman's money which will be buried in a monastery! Hundreds, thousands perhaps, might be set on the right path; dozens of families saved from destitution, from ruin, from vice, from the Lock hospitals--and all with her money. Kill her, take her money and with the help of it devote oneself to the service of humanity and the good of all. What do you think, would not one tiny crime be wiped out by thousands of good deeds? For one life thousands would be saved from corruption and decay. One death, and a hundred lives in exchange--it's simple arithmetic? Besides, what value has the life of that sickly, stupid, ill-natured old woman in the balance of existence? No more than the life of a louse, of a black beetle, less in fact because the old woman is doing harm. She is wearing out the lives of others; the other day she bit Lizaveta's finger out of spite; it almost had to be amputated."      14
      "Of course she does not deserve to live," remarked the officer, "but there it is, it's nature."      15
      "Oh well, brother, but we have to correct and direct nature, and, but for that, we should drown in an ocean of prejudice. But for that, there would never have been a single great man. They talk of duty, conscience--I don't want to say anything against duty and conscience;--but the point is what do we mean by them. Stay, I have another question to ask you. Listen!"      16
      "No, you stay, I'll ask you a question. Listen!"      17
      "Well!"      18
      "You are talking and speechifying away, but tell me, would you kill the old woman yourself?"      19
      "Of course not! I was only arguing the justice of it.... It's nothing to do with me...."      20
      "But I think, if you would not do it yourself, there's no justice about it.... Let us have another game."      21
      Raskolnikov was violently agitated. Of course, it was all ordinary youthful talk and thought, such as he had often heard before in different forms and on different themes. But why had he happened to hear such a discussion and such ideas at the very moment when his own brain was just conceiving ... the very same ideas? And why, just at the moment when he had brought away the embryo of his idea from the old woman, had he dropped at once upon a conversation about her? This coincidence always seemed strange to him. This trivial talk in a tavern had an immense influence on him in his later action; as though there had really been in it something preordained, some guiding hint....      22
      On returning from the Hay Market he flung himself on the sofa and sat for a whole hour without stirring. Meanwhile it got dark; he had no candle and, indeed, it did not occur to him to light up. He could never recollect whether he had been thinking about anything at that time. At last he was conscious of his former fever and shivering, and he realised with relief that he could lie down on the sofa. Soon heavy, leaden sleep came over him, as it were crushing him.      23
      He slept an extraordinary long time and without dreaming. Nastasya, coming into his room at ten o'clock the next morning, had difficulty in rousing him. She brought him in tea and bread. The tea was again the second brew and again in her own teapot.      24
      "My goodness, how he sleeps!" she cried indignantly. "And he is always asleep."      25
      He got up with an effort. His head ached, he stood up, took a turn in his garret and sank back on the sofa again.      26
      "Going to sleep again," cried Nastasya. "Are you ill, eh?" He made no reply.      27
      "Do you want some tea?"      28
      "Afterwards," he said with an effort, closing his eyes again and turning to the wall.      29
      Nastasya stood over him.      30
      "Perhaps he really is ill," she said, turned and went out. She came in again at two o'clock with soup. He was lying as before. The tea stood untouched. Nastasya felt positively offended and began wrathfully rousing him.      31
      "Why are you lying like a log?" she shouted, looking at him with repulsion.      32
      He got up, and sat down again, but said nothing and stared at the floor.      33
      "Are you ill or not?" asked Nastasya and again received no answer. "You'd better go out and get a breath of air," she said after a pause. "Will you eat it or not?"      34
      "Afterwards," he said weakly. "You can go."      35
      And he motioned her out.      36
      She remained a little longer, looked at him with compassion and went out.      37
      A few minutes afterwards, he raised his eyes and looked for a long while at the tea and the soup. Then he took the bread, took up a spoon and began to eat.      38
      He ate a little, three or four spoonfuls, without appetite, as it were mechanically. His head ached less. After his meal he stretched himself on the sofa again, but now he could not sleep; he lay without stirring, with his face in the pillow. He was haunted by daydreams and such strange daydreams; in one, that kept recurring, he fancied that he was in Africa, in Egypt, in some sort of oasis. The caravan was resting, the camels were peacefully lying down; the palms stood all round in a complete circle; all the party were at dinner. But he was drinking water from a spring which flowed gurgling close by. And it was so cool, it was wonderful, wonderful, blue, cold water running among the parti-coloured stones and over the clean sand which glistened here and there like gold.... Suddenly he heard a clock strike. He started, roused himself, raised his head, looked out of the window, and seeing how late it was, suddenly jumped up wide awake as though some one had pulled him off the sofa. He crept on tiptoe to the door, stealthily opened it and began listening on the staircase. His heart beat terribly. But all was quiet on the stairs as if every one was asleep.... It seemed to him strange and monstrous that he could have slept in such forgetfulness from the previous day and had done nothing, had prepared nothing yet.... And meanwhile perhaps it had struck six. And his drowsiness and stupefaction were followed by an extraordinary, feverish, as it were, distracted, haste. But the preparations to be made were few. He concentrated all his energies on thinking of everything and forgetting nothing: and his heart kept beating and thumping so that he could hardly breathe. First he had to make a noose and sew it into his overcoat--a work of a moment. He rummaged under his pillow and picked out amongst the linen stuffed away under it, a worn out, old unwashed shirt. From its rags he tore a long strip, a couple of inches wide and about sixteen inches long. He folded this strip in two, took off his wide, strong summer overcoat of some stout cotton material (his only outer garment) and began sewing the two ends of the rag on the inside, under the left armhole. His hands shook as he sewed, but he did it successfully so that nothing showed outside when he put the coat on again. The needle and thread he had got ready long before and they lay on his table in a piece of paper. As for the noose, it was a very ingenious device of his own; the noose was intended for the axe. It was impossible for him to carry the axe through the street in his hands. And if hidden under his coat he would still have had to support it with his hand, which would have been noticeable. Now he had only to put the head of the axe in the noose, and it would hang quietly under his arm on the inside. Putting his hand in his coat pocket, he could hold the end of the handly all the way, so that it did not swing; and as the coat was very full, a regular sack in fact, it could not be seen from outside that he was holding something with the hand that was in the pocket. This noose, too, he had designed a fortnight before.      39
      When he had finished with this, he thrust his hand into a little opening between his sofa and the floor, fumbled in the left corner and drew out the pledge, which he had got ready long before and hidden there. This pledge was, however, only a smoothly planed piece of wood the size and thickness of a silver cigarette case. He picked up this piece of wood in one of his wanderings in a courtyard where there was some sort of a workshop. Afterwards he had added to the wood a thin smooth piece of iron, which he had also picked up at the same time in the street. Putting the iron which was a little the smaller on the piece of wood, he fastened them very firmly, crossing and recrossing the thread round them; then wrapped them carefully and daintily in clean, white paper and tied up the parcel so that it would be very difficult to untie it. This was in order to divert the attention of the old woman for a time, while she was trying to undo the knot, and so to gain a moment. The iron strip was added to give weight, so that the woman might not guess the first minute that the "thing" was made of wood. All this had been stored by him beforehand under the sofa. He had only just got the pledge out when he heard some one suddenly shout in the yard.      40
      "It struck six long ago."      41
      "Long ago! My God!"      42
      He rushed to the door, listened, caught up his hat and began to descend his thirteen steps cautiously, noiselessly, like a cat. He had still the most important thing to do--to steal the axe from the kitchen. That the deed must be done with an axe he had decided long ago. He had also a pocket pruning-knife, but he could not rely on the knife and still less on his own strength, and so resolved finally on the axe. We may note in passing, one peculiarity in regard to all the final resolutions taken by him in the matter; they had one strange characteristic; the more final they were, the more hideous and the more absurd they at once became in his eyes. In spite of all his agonising inward struggle, he never for a single instant all that time could believe in the carrying out of his plans.      43
      And, indeed, if it had ever happened that everything to the least point could have been considered and finally settled, and no uncertainty of any kind had remained, he would, it seems, have renounced it all as something absurd, monstrous and impossible. But a whole mass of unsettled points and uncertainties remained. As for getting the axe, that trifling business cost him no anxiety, for nothing could be easier. Nastasya was continually out of the house, especially in the evenings; she would run in to the neighbours or to a shop, and always left the door ajar. It was the one thing the landlady was always scolding her about. And so when the time came, he would only have to go quietly into the kitchen and to take the axe, and an hour later (when everything was over) go in and put it back again. But these were doubtful points. Supposing he returned an hour later to put it back, and Nastasya had come back and was on the spot. He would of course have to go by and wait till she went out again. But supposing she were in the meantime to miss the axe, look for it, make an outcry--that would mean suspicion or at least grounds for suspicion.      44
      But those were all trifles which he had not even begun to consider, and indeed he had no time. He was thinking of the chief point, and put off trifling details, until he could believe in it all. But that seemed utterly unattainable. So it seemed to himself at least. He could not imagine, for instance, that he would sometime leave off thinking, get up and simply go there.... Even his late experiment (i.e. his visit with the object of a final survey of the place) was simply an attempt at an experiment, far from being the real thing, as though one should say "come, let us go and try it--why dream about it!"--and at once he had broken down and had run away cursing, in a frenzy with himself. Meanwhile it would seem, as regards the moral question, that his analysis was complete; his casuistry had become keen as a razor, and he could not find rational objections in himself. But in the last resort he simply ceased to believe in himself, and doggedly, slavishly sought arguments in all directions, fumbling for them, as though some one were forcing and drawing him to it.      45
      At first--long before indeed--he had been much occupied with one question; why almost all crimes are so badly concealed and so easily detected, and why almost all criminals leave such obvious traces? He had come gradually to many different and curious conclusions, and in his opinion the chief reason lay not so much in the material impossibility of concealing the crime, as in the criminal himself. Almost every criminal is subject to a failure of will and reasoning power by a childish and phenomenal heedlessness, at the very instant when prudence and caution are most essential. It was his conviction that this eclipse of reason and failure of will power attacked a man like a disease, developed gradually and reached its highest point just before the perpetration of the crime, continued with equal violence at the moment of the crime and for longer or shorter time after, according to the individual case, and then passed off like any other disease. The question whether the disease gives rise to the crime, or whether the crime from its own peculiar nature is always accompanied by something of the nature of disease he did not yet feel able to decide.      46
      When he reached these conclusions, he decided that in his own case there could not be such a morbid reaction, that his reason and will would remain unimpaired at the time of carrying out his design, for the single reason that his design was "not a crime...." We will omit all the process by means of which he arrived at this last conclusion; we have run too far ahead already.... We may add only that the practical, purely material difficulties of the affair occupied a secondary position in his mind. "One has but to keep all one's will power and reason to deal with them, and they will all be overcome at the time when once one has familiarised oneself with the minutest details of the business...." But this preparation had never been begun. His final decisions were what he came to trust least, and when the hour struck, it all came to pass quite differently, as it were accidentally and unexpectedly.      47
      One trifling circumstance upset his calculations, before he had even left the staircase. When he reached the landlady's kitchen, the door, of which was open as usual, he glanced cautiously in to see whether, in Nastasya's absence, the landlady herself was there, or if not, whether the door to her own room was closed, so that she might not peep out when he went in for the axe. But what was his amazement when he suddenly saw that Nastasya was not only at home in the kitchen, but was occupied there, taking linen out of a basket and hanging it on a line. Seeing him, she left off hanging the clothes, turned to him and stared at him all the time he was passing. He turned away his eyes, and walked past as though he noticed nothing. But it was the end of everything; he had not the axe! He was overwhelmed.      48
      "What made me think," he reflected, as he went under the gateway. "What made me think that she would be sure not to be at home at that moment! Why, why, why did I assume this so certainly?"      49
      He was crushed and even humiliated. He could have laughed at himself in his anger.... A dull animal rage boiled within him.      50
      He stood hesitating in the gateway. To go into the street, to go a walk for appearance' sake was revolting; to go back to his room, even more revolting. "And what a chance I have lost for ever!" he muttered, standing aimlessly in the gateway, just opposite the porter's little dark room, which was open. Suddenly he started. From the porter's room, two paces away from him, something shining under the bench to the right caught his eye.... He looked about him--nobody. He approached the room on tiptoe, went down two steps into it and in a faint voice called the porter. "Yes, not at home! Somewhere near though, in the yard, for the door is wide open." He dashed to the axe (it was an axe) and pulled it out from under the bench, where it lay between two chunks of wood; at once before going out, he made it fast in the noose, he thrust both hands into his pockets and went out of the room; no one had noticed him! "When reason fails, the devil helps!" he thought with a strange grin. This chance raised his spirits extraordinarily.      51
      He walked along quietly and sedately, without hurry, to avoid awakening suspicion. He scarcely looked at the passers-by, tried to escape looking at their faces at all, and to be as little noticeable as possible. Suddenly he thought of his hat. "Good heavens! I had the money the day before yesterday and did not get a cap to wear instead!" A curse rose from the bottom of his soul.      52
      Glancing out of the corner of his eye into a shop, he saw by a clock on the wall that it was ten minutes past seven. He had to make haste and at the same time to go some way round, so as to approach the house from the other side....      53
      When he had happened to imagine all this beforehand, he had sometimes thought that he would be very much afraid. But he was not very much afraid now, was not afraid at all, indeed. His mind was even occupied by irrelevant matters, but by nothing for long. As he passed the Yusupov garden, he was deeply absorbed in considering the building of great fountains, and of their refreshing effect on the atmosphere in all the squares. By degrees he passed to the conviction that if the summer garden were extended to the field of Mars, and perhaps joined to the garden of the Mihailovsky Palace, it would be a splendid thing and a great benefit to the town. Then he was interested by the question why in all great towns men are not simply driven by necessity, but in some peculiar way inclined to live in those parts of the town where there are no gardens nor fountains; where there is most dirt and smell and all sorts of nastiness. Then his own walks through the Hay Market came back to his mind, and for a moment he waked up to reality. "What nonsense!" he thought, "better think of nothing at all!"      54
      "So probably men led to execution clutch mentally at every object that meets them on the way," flashed through his mind, but simply flashed, like lightning; he made haste to dismiss this thought.... And by now he was near; here was the house, here was the gate. Suddenly a clock somewhere struck once. "What! can it be half-past seven? Impossible, it must be fast!"      55
      Luckily for him, everything went well again at the gates. At that very moment, as though expressly for his benefit, a huge waggon of hay had just driven in at the gate, completely screening him as he passed under the gateway, and the waggon had scarcely had time to drive through into the yard, before he had slipped in a flash to the right. On the other side of the waggon he could hear shouting and quarrelling; but no one noticed him and no one met him. Many windows looking into that huge quadrangular yard were open at that moment, but he did not raise his head--he had not the strength to. The staircase leading to the old woman's room was close by, just on the right of the gateway. He was already on the stairs....      56
      Drawing a breath, pressing his hand against his throbbing heart, and once more feeling for the axe and setting it straight, he began softly and cautiously ascending the stairs, listening every minute. But the stairs, too, were quite deserted; all the doors were shut; he met no one. One flat indeed on the first floor was wide open and painters were at work in it, but they did not glance at him. He stood still, thought a minute and went on. "Of course it would be better if they had not been here, but ... it's two storeys above them.      57
      And here was the fourth storey, here was the door, here was the flat opposite, the empty one. The flat underneath the old woman's was apparently empty also; the visiting card nailed on the door had been torn off--they had gone away!... He was out of breath. For one instant the thought floated through his mind "Shall I go back?" But he made no answer and began listening at the old woman's door, a dead silence. Then he listened again on the staircase, listened long and intently ... then looked about him for the last time, pulled himself together, drew himself up, and once more tried the axe in the noose. "Am I very pale?" he wondered. "Am I not evidently agitated? She is mistrustful.... Had I better wait a little longer ... till my heart leaves off thumping?" But his heart did not leave off. On the contrary, as though to spite him, it throbbed more and more violently. He could stand it no longer, he slowly put out his hand to the bell and rang. Half a minute later he rang again, more loudly.      58
      No answer. To go on ringing was useless and out of place. The old woman was, of course, at home, but she was suspicious and alone. He had some knowledge of her habits ... and once more he put his ear to the door. Either his senses were peculiarly keen (which it is difficult to suppose), or the sound was really very distinct. Anyway, he suddenly heard something like the cautious touch of a hand on the lock and the rustle of a skirt at the very door. Some one was standing stealthily close to the lock and just as he was doing on the outside was secretly listening within, and seemed to have her ear to the door.... He moved a little on purpose and muttered something aloud that he might not have the appearance of hiding, then rang a third time, but quietly, soberly and without impatience. Recalling it afterwards, that moment stood out in his mind vividly, distinctly, for ever; he could not make out how he had had such cunning, for his mind was as it were clouded at moments and he was almost unconscious of his body.... An instant later he heard the latch unfastened.

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