Claude Charbonneau

Photography and Communications

Twitter and space exploration


This post stem from my kloud and falls between a ‘klomercial’ and ‘kloment’. I love to recycle words and create new ones. I crafted a few self-centered very straightforward personalized expressions that integrate my name. Instead of comments I post kloment (both a noun and a verb). Kloud represents my vision and defines my universe and my sphere. I exist within my kloud. I promote my work via klomercials. I recycle letters and concepts and create unique expressions that leave a lot of room for imagination and augmented content for those who love to read between the lines. You may also catch subtle audio references if you listen carefully to the voice inside your head as you read. I like to use complex multi media metaphors. Do I sound loud or soft? Do you hear my accent? I wonder if in your head I sound like a female or male. My name confuses people and my accent as well. I started to write my name the way it sounds: Klod. Otherwise, English speakers cannot seem to pronounce it properly when spelled Claude. I gave up trying to include references to make it possible to determine my gender. We define gender using obsolete notions so I prefer to avoid references to it. You can think what you please and hear as you read a male or female and you can interchange. I write to please your imagination and I leave you all the latitude.

I want to kloment on Twitter. I confess that I got addicted to Twitter in just a few weeks. Quick thinkers beware. It could happen to you just as fast. Those who love information, speed, condensed and varied content and who want to stay on top of developments should realized the great risks involved the moment they open an account. Information starts pouring in within seconds and it never stops. More often than enough, at the same speed than my strain of thought. I find that most amazing. I initially joined to connect with other photographers and communicators with the primary goal to promote my photography work. I got hooked to the incessant flow of information. I appreciate viewing content in different languages as part of the same feed. I follow French, Spanish, Italian and Portuguese accounts and Twitter provides me with a live international virtual window. No wasted time or words on Twitter. Every single letter counts. Messages go directly and strictly to the point. I love that. And it provides ample room for multimedia content. I now access so much content that I would miss otherwise. And I find it interesting to check who follows who. One gets a glimpse of someone’s interests and influences. Why did I wait so long to adopt this lively stream of human activity and make it part of my kloud. Now this really sounds like a klomercial but its form the heart.

A promised earlier, I want to tell you all I know and disclose the whole details regarding encapsulated human sperm going into space in the very near future. I apologize for taking so long. It involves summarizing a lot of information and insights into high tech, human nature, psychology, behavioral science, justice, advanced marketing and the history of space exploration. I want to give you a clear, unbiased and realistic explanation. I sought a legal opinion and await feedback from my advisors. I must ensure first that I will not break any laws by disclosing what I learned. The true story of space exploration is strikingly different than what we teach in schools and read in official accounts. For starters, they claim Russia first sent a dog into space. That really is a lousy gigantic lie. A real scientific hoax. To think that they used a dog when hundreds of thousands of Indians were being experimented on and available is fantasist. The reason they made that dog story up is to cover the fact that the first human being to make it into space was a minor women. A 16 year old Indian women. They trained her for years for that experiment. Her and the whole village where she was born. It took a decade to prepare everything and everyone. The capsule was really small and inner space restricted. She was chosen because she was both tiny and smart. The whole story is quite amazing. I will disclose it all as promised as soon as I obtain clearance. Stay tuned. I will not discuss this subject at all via Twitter because there is just not enough space for such a vast subject.


Dying with style


Why do you blog? I do because I will die and I want to leave legacy of virtual bits and bytes of words, images and thoughts. I plan to live as long as I can but I could be dead in just a few hours or even within minutes. Accidentally, perhaps crossing the street or victim of a crime. My heart could stop. A bomb could explode. Who knows. I don’t but whatever happens, I feel confident it will be all right. I prefer not to know exactly when or how, but I am prepared. I love spontaneity and detest taking engagements too long in advance. Except for my death. That appointment will come. I refuse to schedule it and will push it back and ignore it as long as feasible. But considering that I dispose of an entire life time, I see no valid excuses for dying unprepared, no matter the circumstances or how suddenly or soon it happens. No one should schedule their death, but one should have plans.

Notice how people carefully write wills. They arrange their funerals but avoid spending time thinking exactly how technically they will die. When you ask, they usually evade the question or simply say I want to die fast or without pain. That’s it. Most imagine how they do not want to die, disregarding common sense and a basic rule of life: you must be careful of what you think because it just may happen. And death is not even optional, so one should embrace it openly and positively and early in life.

So I developed a list of acceptable ways and palatable scenarios. I want to die in style and frankly, I want my death to be the best day of my life. I only get one opportunity to do it right and no practice run. So I envisage it with great care and because it could be in an hour or in many decades, I included in my list many adaptable scenarios to suit various changing circumstances. I built a reputation for creativity and for my ability to quickly adapt. I trust that I won’t suddenly change just before dying.

I prefer not to share the technical details and the many scenarios I crafted with those who know and love me. Just with the persons they may involve. I would feel guilty to die surrounded by the people I love. Dying amongst strangers would be best because my passing away is less likely to traumatize a stranger. This is why I share some of my last desires and wishes on line. When I discuss the topic with people who know me they try to dissuade me and use their influence to convince me to opt for a boring exit.

Ideally, I wish to die of a long sort of little death in the company of strangers hired for the circumstance, and on a cruise ship sailing within international warm waters (I hate cold water) infested with sharks. They can simply and discretely dump my body after I die in the water so that the sharks can eat me immediately. Those who know me would simply not be able to throw me off the ship and would actually try to revive me. Well paid strangers will not. Plus they will have an incentive for disposing of my body in the ocean. Money. And I stand the chance that my identity survives for a while. Many would love to acquire a Canadian passport. As I do not care for it after I die, if a stranger who disposes of my body as I want wants to use my passport and ID cards, I see no problems with that. My official identity can continue to live and cross frontiers and borders. I find this actually a cool concept. I would certainly hire someone much younger. That person could pretend to be me after a face-lift and instead of thinking me dead, those who know me would think me lucky to look so young.

I really do not like the notion of anyone manipulating my deceased body. Those who will, as it is likely going to be necessary (unless a killer whale eats me while kayaking, an acceptable but unlikely scenario), I want them to receive appropriate compensation. There are a lot of sick people and who knows what they could do, like taking pictures, or dressing me up with ridiculous clothes and apply lipstick and too much make up. I want an environmentally friendly death and once without life, I insist that my body be recycled as quickly as possible, without additives, with all of its parts and with the clothes I was wearing, if any, at the time of my death and no makeup. Fish start feeding at sunrise. I hate getting up in the morning so early morning is the best time from all perspective. I do not intend to get up the day I die anyhow.

Since I took a personality test and it revealed that I am a catalyst, I am scared of spontaneous combustion. While dying of it resolves the technical issues related to the disposition of my body, I do not want to burn. In the event that I die alone (no one ever witnessed someone dying from spontaneous combustion), to explode would be fine if it is the result of getting hit by a meteorite or a collision with a shooting star. Or I could innovate and simply mysteriously evaporate or liquefy.

If I die inland, an acceptable alternative to dispose of my body would be to transform it into food. I love animals and dogs. To be turned into kibbles would be suitable. Someone suggested bird seeds and I really like that concept because, as it was pointed, I would take an ultimate flight. If I get transformed into bird seeds, I should be fed to the pigeons in downtown Ottawa. After eating and flying me, they can drop me off over the downtown core.

I am flexible and leave it up to my executor to select the easiest method available. As long as I am slowly cooked. I refused to be grilled, burned, cremated, buried, dissected or studied. And I want my body transported directly to the transformation plant in a police car. I do not want a slow procession that clogs traffic. I dream of driving a police car at full speed with the flashers on and all, but as it is not likely to happen, it is prohibited as I am not a police officer, I could get my wish partially fulfilled on my way out of this world. Driven to be transformed in a police car with its lights and sirens on, rolling fast, way to fast for anyone to follow, in case someone tries to stop me. And once transformed into kibbles, I want to be sold on Ebay in small bags branded K-line food. I want to proceeds to go to the humane society.

Naked angels, holy bread scraps and sucre à la creme

Naked angelMy family included many catholic devotees and nuns and priests. One of my aunt, a Franciscan nun, would mind me from time to time and the convent where she lived and where I would go left a profound impression on me. I fondly recall the beautiful high ceilings, the stained glass and the artwork which was everywhere. It really was a fascinating environment. I remember the smell of the incense and also of the food in the kitchen. My aunt was a cook so I would spend time with her in the kitchen. Sometimes she would prepare holy bread. I would get the scrap pieces. Bagful actually, to take back home.  I ate a lot of scraps of holy bread during my childhood.  Before it gets transformed into the flesh of the holy Christ mind you.  It did not at all turn me into a devotee of the church. Quite the contrary.  I really liked the general peaceful atmosphere of the Maison-mère and I recall the kindness of the nuns, the whispered conversations and the overall quietness. And everything shined.  There were no other children around as it was not a school and I would receive a lot of attention during my short stays and I likely appreciated that.   

But some of the paintings and artwork really puzzled me because they included naked angels. That kind of made me feel uncomfortable. The images were very nice and I did not really understand why, but I felt a strange malaise looking at them and there were many and everywhere.  Perhaps because although they were naked, it was impossible to determine the sex of these angels? There were naked angels on the walls and on the ceilings.  There were statues of naked infants of all sizes on the tables, on pedestals in the hallway, in the grand salon.  Everywhere except in the kitchen. 

I find it difficult to conciliate that we find within churches so much artwork that depicts naked bodies of infants and how members of those institutions condemn nudity entirely outside of their walls. Also in practical terms, I wonder how praying immersed and surrounded in images of naked babies and children with wings and without sexes impacts on the subconscious of worshippers. Could it be one of the reasons why so many priests, brothers and nuns abused children? Perhaps it seems totally normal to them after being exposed to what could be perceived as an insidious form of pornography ? I wonder what a psychiatrist or a psycho-analyst would think of that. I know that I started to make too many connections and ask questions difficult to answer at an early age and I maintained a downward path in that regard. And I tend to blame a lot of ills on catholic values.  Maybe I ate too much holy bread.  I really preferred the sucre à la creme my aunt also made.

Coming out over the internet

After a decade of resistance, I caved in an made my coming out on Facebook. A major outage occurred within the hour. I find this such an awkward coincidence.  I caught myself innocently feeling guilty.  Not for personal reasons as I have noting to do with the outage, but because guilt is ingrained in our culture.  So is innocence.

I searched the Internet hoping to find a technical explanation.  While I found many articles on the impact the outage created and learned that many called emergency services and police departments to report it, I could not find much technical information. Here in Canada, many attacks allegedly stemming from China were reported in recent days and critical government networks were shut down.  I suspect that a relationship between the two events exists, but in reality, absolutely none that can be attributed to me creating and using a FB account.

I noticed the outage just as, for the first time ever, I attempted to post comments in reaction to two news reports published by CBC, our national state sponsored broadcaster, using my newly created FB credentials. I commented about a service dog owners can purchase to send the remains of their deceased pet into space. I wrote that it would be difficult to explain this to an alien race and how, technically and seen from an outside perspective, it makes it harder to defend the notion that humans form an intelligent species.  I trust that alien ships would be robust enough and would not suffer significant damage as a result of hitting a capsule of dog ashes.  However, it concerns me a bit for our own satellites.  Probably the impact of watching Gravity, which I think is a great and visually stunning movie. Otherwise I find it amazing that while municipal bylaws prohibit pet owners from burying deceased dogs and cats on their property, it seems perfectly legal to send their remains into space.  This just does not seem environmentally sound from a footprint point of view.

Count me in as a conspiracy theorist if you will if I doubt that pet remains will actually make it into orbit.  While I keep the details for future posts, I suspect that sperm will get launched into space before the ashes of deceased dogs, unofficially and independently of the producer (of the sperm) and the company legitimately and honestly selling the service to pet owners.  I base this statement on decades of observations, real news reports and a profound faith in human nature.

By now, I hope I convinced you  that I am a possessed by a vivid imagination.  I also claim a certain ability to make links between elements.  I love creative communications and I started this blog for that sole reason. I know that including references to sperm will attract attention. I also slip in sex for good measure. While those two words may deter a few humans from reading further and perceive this post as unprofessional, they will get search engines and crawlers excited and generate traffic.  That is why I included them.

My second comment on CBC submitted using my new FB credentials concerned an interesting article on censorship during WWI and I simply suggested that follow up articles on the same topic and covering subsequent wars and the early history of the Canadian National Film Board and the role it played during WWII would be interesting.

The above is met solely for entertainment.  Now I would not post without including substance and the following is the real content I want you to remember. I make it short and it really is sad.  One hundred years ago today, Canada entered into WWI.

A total of 619,636 men and women served in the Canadian forces. 66,655 died, 172,950 were wounded.  One of every ten Canadians who fought did not return.

The conscription enforced nearly broke the country apart.

World wide, between 22,078,366 and 23,674,204 humans died.

Lest We Forget

Some, many, entire nations claim they won the war.  I disagree.  Wars only create losers.  We lost.  The entire human race lost it.   And watching the news proves that we fail to learn from our mistakes.  I want peace.