{
  "trx_id": "8e29c10f3b8918a42caaee11a466465f41eb2350",
  "block": 36115804,
  "trx_in_block": 2,
  "op_in_trx": 0,
  "virtual_op": 0,
  "timestamp": "2019-09-04T02:49:36",
  "op": [
    "comment",
    {
      "parent_author": "placeholder",
      "parent_permlink": "i-ve-had-steady-work",
      "author": "steemitboard",
      "permlink": "steemitboard-notify-placeholder-20190904t024935000z",
      "title": "",
      "body": "Congratulations @placeholder! You received a personal award!\n\n<table><tr><td>https://steemitimages.com/70x70/http://steemitboard.com/@placeholder/birthday3.png</td><td>Happy Birthday! - You are on the Steem blockchain for 3 years!</td></tr></table>\n\n<sub>_You can view [your badges on your Steem Board](https://steemitboard.com/@placeholder) and compare to others on the [Steem Ranking](https://steemitboard.com/ranking/index.php?name=placeholder)_</sub>\n\n\n###### [Vote for @Steemitboard as a witness](https://v2.steemconnect.com/sign/account-witness-vote?witness=steemitboard&approve=1) to get one more award and increased upvotes!",
      "json_metadata": "{\"image\":[\"https://steemitboard.com/img/notify.png\"]}"
    }
  ]
}

{
  "trx_id": "3817431c5e35df298efa8eff46c6a22c10b347eb",
  "block": 4745442,
  "trx_in_block": 1,
  "op_in_trx": 0,
  "virtual_op": 0,
  "timestamp": "2016-09-06T22:41:30",
  "op": [
    "vote",
    {
      "voter": "kirky",
      "author": "placeholder",
      "permlink": "i-ve-had-steady-work",
      "weight": 10000
    }
  ]
}

{
  "trx_id": "9da6fc3688256c32b99d5d6fe5d55c8c0c94b7cb",
  "block": 4745366,
  "trx_in_block": 1,
  "op_in_trx": 0,
  "virtual_op": 0,
  "timestamp": "2016-09-06T22:37:42",
  "op": [
    "vote",
    {
      "voter": "placeholder",
      "author": "placeholder",
      "permlink": "i-ve-had-steady-work",
      "weight": 10000
    }
  ]
}

{
  "trx_id": "9da6fc3688256c32b99d5d6fe5d55c8c0c94b7cb",
  "block": 4745366,
  "trx_in_block": 1,
  "op_in_trx": 0,
  "virtual_op": 0,
  "timestamp": "2016-09-06T22:37:42",
  "op": [
    "comment",
    {
      "parent_author": "",
      "parent_permlink": "writing",
      "author": "placeholder",
      "permlink": "i-ve-had-steady-work",
      "title": "I've Had Steady Work",
      "body": "It is two weeks in a row now that I have had steady work.  This is no small matter; and that it does not involve robbing or killing is also noteworthy.  Every morning I go to a nearby market and wait outside for Zayed Al-Fulani to arrive in his ramshackle, orange Citroen.  I am able to hear the sound of Zayed's car backfiring from blocks away, so I am never in danger of missing him as I pass the time browsing the market.  It is an old-style market, which means it is entirely outdoors and most of the animals are still alive.  There are shouts in my direction enticing the purchase of rugs, chickens, chicken parts, and used mobile phones.  The mobiles attract my attention most mornings, as I have a small fantasy about coming across one which still contains the names and numbers of those individuals known to the original owner.  Were I to discover such a phone I imagine purchasing it, then working through the day with it tucked safely into my jeans pocket, barely paying attention to the task at hand whilst running over and over in my mind those first moments alone with the mobile upon my return home in the evening.  Of course, I could never call any of the names on the list, there has been no service in Baghdad since the start of the occupation (really, I can't figure on how this stall-keep ever sells one of these devices), but I would move through the list, assigning faces, and personalities, and lives to the names and numbers.  Ah, such a thing is a waste of time.  To be idle in such a manner is disgraceful, and surely no way to improve one's lot in life.  I am saved from the dilemma, for today at least, by the sound of Zayed approaching the market.  The Citroen pulls up to the curb, and Zayed, from inside the car, beckons for me to get in.  I climb inside, and we're off to work.",
      "json_metadata": "{\"tags\":[\"writing\",\"fiction\",\"iraq\",\"story\"]}"
    }
  ]
}

{
  "trx_id": "5cbd3ee3f4131be607cdb9d20ca966f7735dc0ad",
  "block": 4691037,
  "trx_in_block": 0,
  "op_in_trx": 0,
  "virtual_op": 0,
  "timestamp": "2016-09-05T01:16:18",
  "op": [
    "vote",
    {
      "voter": "placeholder",
      "author": "placeholder",
      "permlink": "the-nightmares-have-become-more-frequent",
      "weight": 10000
    }
  ]
}

{
  "trx_id": "5cbd3ee3f4131be607cdb9d20ca966f7735dc0ad",
  "block": 4691037,
  "trx_in_block": 0,
  "op_in_trx": 0,
  "virtual_op": 0,
  "timestamp": "2016-09-05T01:16:18",
  "op": [
    "comment",
    {
      "parent_author": "",
      "parent_permlink": "writing",
      "author": "placeholder",
      "permlink": "the-nightmares-have-become-more-frequent",
      "title": "The Nightmares Have Become More Frequent",
      "body": "The nightmares have become more frequent.  They began two years ago, I think, when my sub-conscious started having a difficult time sifting through and making sense of the increased violence here in the city.  They've only become worse as time has passed, and often there are nights during which I get no sleep at all due to the mental state in which these visions leave me.  There is one in particular, it is recurring, and it is the one I had last night, from which I've learned not to attempt recovery.  One's sleeping pass is voided.\n\nIt begins as a YouTube video.  Grainy.  Narrow field of vision.  Likely filmed on a mobile.  The video is of Saddam as he is about to be hanged by hooded insurgents.  Everything is going along just as history would dictate until Saddam manages to wrestle free of his captors.  Starting with the man nearest him, Saddam swallows each man whole, one by one.  It does not seem at all difficult for him.  He simply eats them like snacks.  No chewing.  Now it seems I'm watching this video from inside an American prison camp, and the Americans are watching too, and they all have looks of helplessness and naked terror across their faces as they run around shouting things and grabbing guns.  Then Saddam is at the prison camp and it is known that he's been devouring everyone in his path during the trek across the country.  Also, it is now apparent that he's come to rescue me.  There are screams from just outside my cell, and then the door swings open, and standing in the entry is Saddam, smiling, like he's genuinely happy to see me.  Even with him smiling, I am certain that I will be swallowed next, but instead he places his arm around my shoulders and we're in one of his bombed out palaces, because he's retaken control of the country.  For some reason, Saddam really, really enjoys my company, which at first might seem like a good position to be in, except it means that he always wants me around.  Nearly every waking hour is spent in his presence, during which time the fiction that is my reciprocated affection for Saddam must be maintained.  It is all, \"Yes, Saddam\", and \"That was a good one, Saddam.\"  And always, he is listening to \"Staying Alive\" by the Bee Gees.  He says, \"This is my song, Aziz.  Do you understand?\"  \"Yes, Saddam.  Because you have stayed alive.  That is a good one, Saddam.\"  This is all for the rest of the dream.  It is a tedious series of innocuous encounters, and always there is a steady undercurrent of potential chaos and violence should I slip up and reveal my true loathing of this man.  Sometimes, I do make a mistake.  Instead of agreeing with him I say something like, \"I will not change the channel, and you are a vile demon, evacuated from the bowels of Hell upon an undeserving land.\"  His perpetual smile vanishes and he immediately kills me in one of various methods at his disposal.  Occasionally, his son's will be summoned to deal with me, appearing in the same pulpy, bloody form that I remember from the last photos I saw of them.  They move with a determined lethargy, like movie zombies, and it is because of this association that they eat me as they would a shank of lamb.\n\nI awaken from these dreams soaked with sweat, and exhausted.  I am still exhausted now, as I have not returned to sleep, yet I must be off to see a man about some work.  Money is scarce, but must be earned all the same.  I would ask that today could be a lucky day, but I am aware that luck plays no part.",
      "json_metadata": "{\"tags\":[\"writing\",\"fiction\",\"iraq\",\"story\"]}"
    }
  ]
}

{
  "trx_id": "1dcdad4f416fe251f061cec499ef5d192635cc17",
  "block": 4676326,
  "trx_in_block": 2,
  "op_in_trx": 0,
  "virtual_op": 0,
  "timestamp": "2016-09-04T12:59:30",
  "op": [
    "vote",
    {
      "voter": "r4fken",
      "author": "placeholder",
      "permlink": "i-was-watching-an-episode-of-seinfeld",
      "weight": -1600
    }
  ]
}

{
  "trx_id": "7f25a1f80b98b0a04e3d68a68c1b42bd7ce59d06",
  "block": 4674745,
  "trx_in_block": 1,
  "op_in_trx": 0,
  "virtual_op": 0,
  "timestamp": "2016-09-04T11:40:18",
  "op": [
    "comment",
    {
      "parent_author": "",
      "parent_permlink": "writing",
      "author": "placeholder",
      "permlink": "i-was-watching-an-episode-of-seinfeld",
      "title": "I Was Watching an Episode of Seinfeld...",
      "body": "@@ -4320,17 +4320,19 @@\n  is not \n-a\n+the\n  hospita\n@@ -4401,16 +4401,17 @@\n st, and \n+t\n his med-\n",
      "json_metadata": "{\"tags\":[\"writing\",\"fiction\",\"iraq\",\"story\"]}"
    }
  ]
}

{
  "trx_id": "1a0f2a231bd73f8e19d9c08217e00207e972f955",
  "block": 4674626,
  "trx_in_block": 1,
  "op_in_trx": 0,
  "virtual_op": 0,
  "timestamp": "2016-09-04T11:34:21",
  "op": [
    "vote",
    {
      "voter": "richman",
      "author": "placeholder",
      "permlink": "i-was-watching-an-episode-of-seinfeld",
      "weight": 10000
    }
  ]
}

{
  "trx_id": "1892280270bb0a34350a1c9603c7cec28b2ded88",
  "block": 4674432,
  "trx_in_block": 0,
  "op_in_trx": 0,
  "virtual_op": 0,
  "timestamp": "2016-09-04T11:24:39",
  "op": [
    "comment",
    {
      "parent_author": "",
      "parent_permlink": "writing",
      "author": "placeholder",
      "permlink": "the-iraqi-police-are-either-inept-or-corrupt",
      "title": "The Iraqi Police are Either Inept or Corrupt",
      "body": "@@ -1261,20 +1261,16 @@\n amin. %0A%0A\n-    \n If spent\n@@ -3020,20 +3020,16 @@\n eople.%0A%0A\n-    \n The 'wro\n@@ -4051,13 +4051,8 @@\n e?%0A%0A\n-     \n Last\n@@ -5536,12 +5536,8 @@\n e.%0A%0A\n-    \n I wi\n",
      "json_metadata": "{\"tags\":[\"writing\",\"fiction\",\"iraq\",\"story\"]}"
    }
  ]
}

{
  "trx_id": "fdfd73d73384d5ed3299a3cd5d1108b1092aaeb1",
  "block": 4673754,
  "trx_in_block": 2,
  "op_in_trx": 0,
  "virtual_op": 0,
  "timestamp": "2016-09-04T10:50:06",
  "op": [
    "vote",
    {
      "voter": "onetree",
      "author": "placeholder",
      "permlink": "i-was-watching-an-episode-of-seinfeld",
      "weight": 3000
    }
  ]
}

{
  "trx_id": "69e1b1b9b920459e2dccdfe89bdda7dd385dc2e6",
  "block": 4673571,
  "trx_in_block": 1,
  "op_in_trx": 0,
  "virtual_op": 0,
  "timestamp": "2016-09-04T10:40:21",
  "op": [
    "vote",
    {
      "voter": "placeholder",
      "author": "placeholder",
      "permlink": "i-was-watching-an-episode-of-seinfeld",
      "weight": 10000
    }
  ]
}

{
  "trx_id": "69e1b1b9b920459e2dccdfe89bdda7dd385dc2e6",
  "block": 4673571,
  "trx_in_block": 1,
  "op_in_trx": 0,
  "virtual_op": 0,
  "timestamp": "2016-09-04T10:40:21",
  "op": [
    "comment",
    {
      "parent_author": "",
      "parent_permlink": "writing",
      "author": "placeholder",
      "permlink": "i-was-watching-an-episode-of-seinfeld",
      "title": "I Was Watching an Episode of Seinfeld...",
      "body": "I was watching an episode of Seinfeld on the satellite yesterday afternoon, when an explosion detonated just a few blocks away.  It does not come all at once.  There is a build up.  Yes, it happens very quickly, but this build up can be discerned.  There is a low rumbling which seems to originate from within, as if one's stomach is upset.  Am I hungry? I wonder, turning to the window.  The rumbling grows louder, and it is now no longer from inside me.  Now, it is all around me, and as the roar grows louder, it begins to feel as if I've been hollowed-out.  My body is a vacant cavity, and all blood has has taken refuge in my brain.  Immediately, I have a terrible headache, and my extremities are rigid.  My head and eyes are staring through the window as the cacophony swells.  The glass is vibrating violently, but does not want to shatter.  It does not want to break, and I don't want the glass to break either, because I'm very close to it, and still staring directly through to the street and buildings beyond.  There is a frozen man on the sidewalk opposite my apartment.  He is turned away, his head tilted slightly upward, his arms bent and half-raised, like he is waiting to catch a ball arching down from above.  There is no ball, of course, this is simply the position in which he has become petrified.  I wonder about the expression on his face.  I wonder if he happens to be stuck with a smile, and if this helps to improve the situation at all.  I've recently finished a book in which it was said that much of our emotional state is dictated by the expressions we make with our face, not simply the other way around, as is intuitive.  So, who knows? if he's smiling, this might all seem like a real great time.  There is a grimace on my face.  This is not fun for me.  There is no time to try to smile.  There is time to recognize the grimace, and to wonder about the man, and now to notice that my window has taken on the seeming properties of a liquid, rippling within each segment of the pane, but there is no time to smile.  I will try to smile later.  We will all look back on this one day and laugh.  The man across the street is crushed by a collapsing facade.  We'll all laugh one day.\n\nIt's over, and there's a kind of silence.  It is a thick silence, not so much that there is no noise, but more that I am experiencing a deafness.  Quickly, I realize that I am still staring, and that my window has not broken, and that my television program was not interrupted during this event.  Sensing it is now safe, the blood rushes back to my limbs, and I rise purposefully from my chair, knowing I must check on the man beneath the rubble.\n\nThe street is desolate as I exit my building, and run to the man.  Usually, after one of these episodes, the streets are bursting with angry, wailing throngs.  I think that everyone gets the sense things are safest immediately after an attack, and so they become more brazen.  This time, there is no one.  My hands and fingers become scraped and bloodied from trying to sift through the pulverized concrete.  A gurgling groaning sound emanates from one corner of the pile, and I decide to do most of my work in that area.  I was hoping that chance would have created a space beneath the rubble for the man, the brunt of the weight being distributed across a wider swath, and not upon him directly.  However, after rolling away a particularly large hunk of concrete and twisted rebar it became obvious this was not the case.  A crushed nose had been revealed.  It seemed that swelling had already begun, and so the nose was quite large, and deeply purpled.  The surrounding debris pressed heavily on the rest of the man's face, and my eyes watered at the thought of what that much pressure could possibly feel like.  I hurried to clear the rest of the debris, working from the head down until his snarled body was free.\n\nHe might have still been alive, but by this time, others had arrived, eager to take over for me, and so I let them.  They will drag him to his feet, and then rest his body upon a make-shift gurney.  Through the streets, to the nearest medical center, they will run with the man aloft, crying for revenge, and the man will die somewhere along the way, but they will have anticipated this, and so when they arrive at their destination, it is not a hospital, but instead the morgue.  His body will be piled with the rest, and his med-evac team will disperse, dreaming righteous dreams.",
      "json_metadata": "{\"tags\":[\"writing\",\"fiction\",\"iraq\",\"story\"]}"
    }
  ]
}

{
  "trx_id": "c5fba2aa8af4fa2c629d5dcf424ddc8cd8a7411e",
  "block": 4663506,
  "trx_in_block": 1,
  "op_in_trx": 0,
  "virtual_op": 0,
  "timestamp": "2016-09-04T02:13:00",
  "op": [
    "vote",
    {
      "voter": "goingpaper",
      "author": "placeholder",
      "permlink": "the-iraqi-police-are-either-inept-or-corrupt",
      "weight": 10000
    }
  ]
}

{
  "trx_id": "1c4ec0295007b58666f84eafcc061c8b2deebf6e",
  "block": 4662638,
  "trx_in_block": 2,
  "op_in_trx": 0,
  "virtual_op": 0,
  "timestamp": "2016-09-04T01:29:36",
  "op": [
    "vote",
    {
      "voter": "placeholder",
      "author": "placeholder",
      "permlink": "the-iraqi-police-are-either-inept-or-corrupt",
      "weight": 10000
    }
  ]
}

{
  "trx_id": "1c4ec0295007b58666f84eafcc061c8b2deebf6e",
  "block": 4662638,
  "trx_in_block": 2,
  "op_in_trx": 0,
  "virtual_op": 0,
  "timestamp": "2016-09-04T01:29:36",
  "op": [
    "comment",
    {
      "parent_author": "",
      "parent_permlink": "writing",
      "author": "placeholder",
      "permlink": "the-iraqi-police-are-either-inept-or-corrupt",
      "title": "The Iraqi Police are Either Inept or Corrupt",
      "body": "The Iraqi police are either inept or corrupt.  The best one can hope for is some combination of both; meaning they are just ineffective at shaking you down.  Of course, having a few dinar taken is nothing next to ending up in a mass grave just beyond the bounds of Baghdad; a fate known to many in my mostly Shiite neighborhood.  These guys only want American currency anyway.  Before the U.S. invasion I'd never seen a U.S. dollar, but when the Americans rolled in, they brought with them millions of dollars in cash, mostly hundred dollar bills.  I've now heard the phrase 'greasing the wheels', which I know to mean bribing local clerics and anyone else who might hold some sway over public opinion.  The effectiveness of this strategy would seem to be in doubt.  There is no mistaking the presence, now, of a secondary economy based on the one hundred dollar bill.  Having a Benjamin Franklin is a symbol of very high status.  It requires that you are either someone of great importance, or you've managed to kill someone of great importance, itself a kind of transaction.  Many high-value goods and services in Baghdad are now offered only in exchange for increments of one hundred U.S. dollars, simply because no one wishes to diminish the cache' of Benjamin. \n\n    If spent in the wrong place, though, American money can get one murdered.  There are many Iraqi's who work for the Americans inside the Green Zone.  These men and women are scared even to tell their own families about the true nature of their work.  They change into high fashion office-wear after leaving home in the morning, and change back into less conspicuous attire before returning.  These are not bad people, they are simply trying to avoid becoming the targets of one faction or another, or simply the victims of bandits (an aside:  Bandits have assumed romantic connotations of late.  They are murderers, yes, but they hold allegiance to no god, no state, and no warring faction.  Their crimes are individuating in a society that has come to abhor individualism.  They are scoundrels with a silent, though legion, fan base.).  But, along with learning to lie to their loved ones, these U.S. employed Iraqi's also learn where their U.S. dollars can be safely spent.  Since the invention of this new breed of Iraqi, numerous shadow clubs have cropped up throughout the city.  The addresses of these places belong to the ephemera, constantly shifting and known only to those with connections to those who know.  Clubs like this are referred to by Iraqi's as dollar pubs, as the only currency accepted is that of the occupier, and those who would do their work.  The dollar pubs trade in things not available to typical Iraqi's, such as sex, alcohol, and other illicit drugs.  Halal is not a concern.  One can imagine why an air of secrecy is kept about these places.  The need for the dollar pubs to maintain anonymity is what encourages those with U.S. currency to spend freely.  Destruction is mutually assured should word slip to the wrong people.\n\n    The 'wrong people' is an interesting phrase these days.  Most of those who used to be known to me as neighbors have now either fled the country, seeking refuge in Jordan, Iran, or Syria; or have been cut down in their homes, in their cars, or in their office parks by the insurgents/terrorists/loyalists/mercenaries, or whoever.  As it is now, the entire population of Iraq is comprised of only the 'wrong people'.  It is an improvised society, bound only by the velocities of violence.  Death, of course, is a constant throughout the world.  However, in Baghdad, carnage is our only constant.  The shrieking mothers praise Allah when their child's lifeless body retains form enough to allow for a viewing before its deposit into the earth.  To die of old age or disease is a luxury no longer afforded those outside the Green Zone.  There is a joke in Baghdad that praises Iraqi genius in discovering a cure for cancer; sectarian violence.  So, if only the 'wrong people' are left here, I wonder, what does this say about me?\n\n     Last week there was a large explosion inside one of the open air markets I happen to frequent.  After the last of the remains of what used to be 35 human beings was scraped from the pavement, the police determined that the source of the explosion was a small pigeon cage which had contained actual live pigeons.  It has since been advised that any pigeon-related activity be relayed to the proper authorities.  Who those proper authorities might be, remains to be seen.  There are as many people saying the Iraqi police planted the pigeon-bomb as there are those who feel it was the Americans, or Sadr's Sunni's (sounds like a footballing club).  In truth, The Authority is whoever happens to have his boot on your throat at a given moment.  The novelty of the attack has also spawned rumors of trained carrier pigeons, strapped with explosives, being employed by the Israelis as a means of striking Islam from afar.  To worry about such things as who, or why is no longer relevant.  It isn't relevant because it is everyone, for all reasons.  One can either be crippled by the screws and nails used as shrapnel in the bombs that go off around the city, or he can be crippled by his fear.  This is a false choice, but a large part of maintaining one's sanity is wrapped up in the ability to remain convinced that choices exist.  A failure on this level is what compels many to explode themselves in the name of Allah.  There is no path more certain than that which leads to paradise.\n\n    I will post again.",
      "json_metadata": "{\"tags\":[\"writing\",\"fiction\",\"iraq\",\"story\"]}"
    }
  ]
}

{
  "trx_id": "08c93e65158c39e399cbe4fdaf0781b4bcea7d6b",
  "block": 4662477,
  "trx_in_block": 1,
  "op_in_trx": 0,
  "virtual_op": 0,
  "timestamp": "2016-09-04T01:21:33",
  "op": [
    "vote",
    {
      "voter": "placeholder",
      "author": "fintekneeks",
      "permlink": "announcing-the-second-official-dash-giveaway-dashaway",
      "weight": 10000
    }
  ]
}

{
  "trx_id": "729455a70cf1685149b6d04b2adedb28f65a69ab",
  "block": 4662407,
  "trx_in_block": 3,
  "op_in_trx": 0,
  "virtual_op": 0,
  "timestamp": "2016-09-04T01:18:00",
  "op": [
    "account_create",
    {
      "fee": "10.000 STEEM",
      "creator": "steem",
      "new_account_name": "placeholder",
      "owner": {
        "weight_threshold": 1,
        "account_auths": [],
        "key_auths": [
          [
            "STM6h5aMdvtd8Rt5LSYVPSVR9yzZDKfZYcs4Wnc7DHf4wnjmZmmmS",
            1
          ]
        ]
      },
      "active": {
        "weight_threshold": 1,
        "account_auths": [],
        "key_auths": [
          [
            "STM6BBo4fKTH42ozUWaF3hqu2dSUfuimhw858Xh7BrSABExuDMmZ3",
            1
          ]
        ]
      },
      "posting": {
        "weight_threshold": 1,
        "account_auths": [],
        "key_auths": [
          [
            "STM5cPS8Et4tQNdCtdUyUxB8VxxwoCd6PVPp93GVk7U6a2wLnVm39",
            1
          ]
        ]
      },
      "memo_key": "STM8kfQQyuZR7DyMfZXag8HBgSpuPjJu4oXZh2BrFvWezEZso5MHv",
      "json_metadata": ""
    }
  ]
}