While we are chasing after castles in the air, the ruskies, the arabs and other non-democratic states are digging our graves with oil profits.

There is no evidence that oil is created solely by dead dinosaurs. Hydrocarbons abound on Titan. Peak Oil or (that's all there is and its running out) is a scare tactic that most are too afraid to oppose for fear of standing up for rational thought. Oil is there for the taking but enough of us have lost the will to survive that the entire nation is doomed. We are not a has-been nation whose time in the sun is over simply because we are afraid of hydrocarbons....

It's time to survive and not dream of what if.... You can't put a gun to the heads of scientists and engineers and command them to 'invent' us out of the need for oil.....there are no new technologies that can prevent us from starving to death and imploding into civil-war depression in the next 5 years. Oil is the name of the game in spite of the energy-anorexic liberal mantra of alternative fuels...

Dr Zhivago...

[Strelnikov (Pasha Antipov) after telling Zhivago that he used to admire his poetry]

.........I shouldn't admire it now. I should find it absurdly personal. Don't you agree?

Feelings, insights, affections... it's suddenly trivial now.... You don't agree?; you're wrong.

The personal life is dead in Russia. History has killed it.

Pasha: The private life is dead - for a man with any manhood.

Zhivago: I saw some of your 'manhood' on the way at a place called Minsk.

Pasha: They were selling horses to the Whites.

Zhivago: It seems you've burnt the wrong village.

Pasha: They always say that, and what does it matter? The village is burned, the point made.

Zhivago: Your point - their village. od. (Doctor Zhivago by Boris Pasternak)

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[the camera shows a group of dejected-looking Russian soldiers in a trench, staring out across a snowy no-man's land during World War I as Yevgraf narrates]

Yevgraf: "By the second winter of the war, the boots had worn out. . . but the line still held. Their great coats fell to pieces on their backs. Their rations were irregular. Half of them went into action without arms, led by men they didn't trust."

Officer: [leaps up on top of trench with a saber drawn] Come on, you bastards!

Yevgraf: "And those they did trust. . ."

Pasha: [jumps out of the trench waving his rifle] Come on, comrades! Come on! [the Russian soldiers hesitantly follow Pasha as the German guns open fire]

Pasha: Come on! Comrades! Earth-shakers! SHOW THEM!!! CHARGE!

[Pasha is hit by several artillery explosions; the rest of the Russian soldiers retreat back to their trench. Cut to Russian soldiers beginning to leave their trenches and desert.]

Yevgraf: "At last, they did what all the armies dreamed of doing - they began to go home. That was the beginning of the Revolution."

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Gen. Yevgraf Zhivago: [narrating over a military parade in Moscow]

In bourgeois terms, it was a war between the Allies and Germany. In Bolshevik terms, it was a war between the Allied and German upper classes - and which of them won was of total indifference.

My task was to organize defeat, so as to hasten the onset of revolution. I enlisted under the name of Petrov.

The party looked to the peasant conscript soldiers - many of whom were wearing their first real pair of boots. When the boots had worn out, they'd be ready to listen. When the time came, I was able to take three whole battalions out of the front lines with me - the best day's work I ever did. But for now, there was nothing to be done. There were too many volunteers. Most of it was mere hysteria.

**************************************************************************

[Zhivago has been captured by Partisans.]

Partisan Commander: Comrade Doctor, I need a medical officer.

Zhivago: I'm sorry, I have a wife and child in Varykino-

Commissar: And a mistress in Yuriatin.

[The commander laughs.]

Partisan Commander: Comrade Medical Officer, we are Red Partisans, and we shoot deserters. ***********************************************************************************************************

Partisan Commander: I command this unit!

Commissar: We command jointly! The party bulletin expressly states-

[The Commander knocks the Commissar's papers off the table.]

Partisan Commander: Bah! I could have you taken out and shot!

Commissar: And could you have the party taken out and shot?

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Komarovski: I think you do. There's another kind. Not high-minded, not pure, but alive. Now, that your tastes at this time should incline towards the juvenile is understandable; but for you to marry that boy would be a disaster. Because there's two kinds of women. There are two kinds of women and you, as we well know, are not the first kind. You, my dear, are a slut.

*************************************************************

[Komarovsky returns.]

Komarovsky: Strelnikov is dead.

Zhivago: What?!

Komarovsky: Spare me your expressions of regret. He was a murderous neurotic of no use to anyone. Do you see how this affects Larissa? You don't. You're a fool. She's Strelnikov's wife. Why do you think they haven't arrested her – is this the usual practice? Why do you think they had her watched at Yuriatin? They were waiting for Strelnikov.

Zhivago: If they thought Strelnikov would come running to his wife, they didn't know him…

Komarovsky: They knew him well enough. He was only five miles from here when they caught him. He was arrested on the open road. He didn't conceal his identity – indeed throughout the interview he insisted they call him Pavel Antipov, which is his right name, and refused to answer to the name Strelnikov. On his way to execution he took a pistol from one of the guards and blew his own brains out.

Zhivago: Oh my god… don't tell Lara this.

Komarovsky: I think I know Lara at least as well as you. But don't you see how this affects her position? She's served her purpose. These men that came with me today as an escort will come for her and the child tomorrow as a firing squad! Now, I know exactly what you think of me, and why, but if you're not coming with me she's not coming with me. So – are you coming with me? Do you accept the protection of this ignoble Caliban on any terms that Caliban cares to make.. or is your.. delicacy.. so exorbitant that you would sacrifice a woman and a child to it?

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Socialism and communism - just fancy words for human misery and death.